Though it was still daylight, the sun was veiled by falling snow and billowing clouds. Some odji had strength in those conditions.
"Friend or foe?" Even if it were not the odji, not very many sane people would be out in this weather.
"Depends on who you ask." Han grinned. Getting a straight answer out of him was next to impossible.
"Have we found a place to stop for the night yet?"
Han jerked a thumb to the nearby foothills. "There are caves just around the bend. We checked them out. They're empty — and dry. The fire should be started by the time we get there."
They continued in silence for a few minutes. The wind howled around them, blasting gusts of powdery white on their heads. Rhanu sneezed violently. He spoke just to take his mind off his misery.
"So, are you going to tell me about our new friend?"
Han nearly stumbled, but caught himself. "You mean Shiru?"
"Of course I mean Shiru. You obviously know him, and the two of you have been arguing like lovers ever since he joined us."
Han glared. "No need to be crude. Yes, I know him. He is a Shao Warrior." He saw Rhanu's questioning look. "The Shao are the most gifted warriors in my homeland. They serve the Imperial Emperor and the Sovereign Ones as their fingers of justice. When conflict occurs that cannot be resolved by normal means, the Shao are the ones to settle it."
Rhanu slowly nodded. "Are you a Shao Warrior?"
"No." Han's voice grew wistful. "Every boy dreams of being a Shao, but few are privileged. My father trained at the temple but elected not to take the vows. My eldest brother was chosen to train in his stead. I am the youngest of five sons. There was little honor left for me. I was lucky my father took an interest in me at all. As it was, the life of a scribe was all that I had to look forward to. An honorable occupation, but not the life I wished for myself."
"So what does being a Shao mean?" Rhanu pulled his cloak tighter around himself. "Shama Nyori said something about Shiru being able to do something called Apokrypy, which sounds like odji sorcery." Rhanu felt his eyes narrow. He was suspicious of any of the secret arts. Nyori could perform unnatural feats herself. He had seen her bring Dradyn from the brink of death with his own eyes. And that staff of hers was obviously an artifact of great power. In his homeland such things were restricted to the Lektor, priests marked with red-dyed hands and tattooed faces. They were second only to the Anokfero in power.
Han gave him a wry glance. "It's not sorcery. It's a special focus combined with a secret language that only trained minds can learn. Here it is called Apokrypy. Back home we call it Yijing, the Words of Change. The Shao are masters of this art, along with being trained in the most powerful styles of fighting."
Rhanu mulled it over. "I once thought that only the odji practiced such things. I have learned that not to be true in all cases. But I cannot fully trust Nyori or Shiru for that matter. What does he want from you?"
Han's spoke his next words as if they were unimportant. "He wants to kill my father."
Rhanu stared. "What? Why?"
Han pulled his hood over his head and strode away across the drifts. "Shiru says that my father is a traitor who stole an object of vast power from the Sovereign Ones and seeks to trade it to the kuang-shi for power and protection."
"And you believe him?"
"I don't know," Han said. "I haven't seen my father in years." He continued to stride toward the front of the line, bringing the conversation to an end.
Rhanu reluctantly let him go. Privacy was the unspoken creed of the Huntsmen. Every one of them had tragedy in their past somewhere, and each respected the other's right to speak of it. Or not to speak. He knew better than to pry. It was not as though he had no secrets of his own.
His thoughts turned to the home he was exiled from. The blazing heat of the sun never seemed so attractive. He pictured the fields by the Eline River and the great dunes of shifting sand beyond. The grandeur of Hikuptah with its towering palaces and temples, gargantuan statues and stone pyramids that loomed over everything.
At that time of the year the harvest was finished and the weather pleasantly cool. He had thought it cold at night, but that was before he saw snow. At home he would sit atop the clay roof, let the breeze bring in the scent of the river, and be content. But that was before the dark times. Before the Lektor priests came for his sister.
His thoughts focused as the caves came into view. The other Huntsmen brushed snow from their clothes or collapsed to the gravelly cave floor in thankful relief. In the vast expanse of Garlanelle there were just flyspeck villages and small towns, none of which were nearby. They were lucky to find the caves. Although dank and moldy-smelling, they were dry and large enough for the entire group and their horses.
His band only numbered fifteen or sixteen. He tried not to keep track of specific numbers — it only made the pain sharper when one died. But they were a hardy bunch, used to life outdoors. He had collected them from Destine to the shores of Jafeh, from Parand all the way to Leodia, where Dradyn and Nyori had joined them. Along the way, he had lost about as many to the odji. The survival rate of the average Huntsman generally lasted up to his or her first encounter. Those who survived that encounter usually lasted a bit longer. He and Han had hunted the odji longer than anyone he knew, despite knowing they would die in the task.
"I begin to think you like this snow." Meshella grinned as she tossed him a dry rag. She was one who had surprised him. He hadn't expected her to survive past her arrival with the band, yet she had become one of the most skilled of the group.
He removed his hood and wool headdress, using the rag to soak the dampness from his coarse, twisted coils of hair. "I'll like it when it melts."
"Aw, the poor pup can't take the cold? I thought they made harder men in the Sea of Sand." The gemstones in her eye patch glittered. Meshella had lost her left eye driving off the odji that slew her husband and children. Much more had been lost besides the eye, though like the rest of them she did not speak much of it. The Huntsmen were her family now, and she defended them as fiercely as she must have done on that day.
She had unceremoniously doffed her wet clothes and stood in her sodden undergarments. Her body was tanned and lined with lean muscle, decorated with more than a few scars that did nothing to subtract from her beauty. Even so, he didn't feel the arousal he may have felt around someone else. She was a sister to him. She looked nothing like Tameri, but her manner, some of the things she said brought his sister to mind strongly.
It was better that way.
The others did not share his virtuous perspective. He caught many them sneaking sidelong looks, a few staring openly at the golden-haired beauty as she spread out her clothes against the rocky wall. Even Dradyn stirred from his gloomy stupor with appreciative eyes.
Rhanu grinned. Her lack of chastity was not on purpose. She seemed surprised at the stares at first, and it tickled her to no end when she found out why. She was from the wild nomadic castes that traveled the grasslands of the Steppes and Runet, content in their uncivilized ways and cloaked in secrecy and mystique. She said the women would at times go about completely unclad, often when they hunted or dueled one another.
Han certainly took in the view without hesitation. He was as skilled a warrior as they came, but his youth was definitely put on display when he encountered women.