Tales of Erogenia: Book 1 - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Tren

It took almost an entire day to get the twenty-seven slaves, the horses, and pack mules across the river. The small raft that served as a ferry could hold no more than two horses at a time and for reasons of security Gazari would allow no more than two prisoners to be transported together. The process of removing them from the others and then rechaining them on the other side was most time consuming. Fortunately, the local ferryman was most obliging. It appeared that this was not the first time he had transported slaves and he was careful to get his fee each time.

Once across the river the march resumed. For the first day the column followed the course of the river, but then Gazari turned inland and the course of the march changed once again. The farther the column got from the river the drier the landscape became. At first it was almost imperceptible, but by the middle of the fourth day Zenaria realized that there were no longer any trees along the line of march. Stretching ahead of them was a vast grassland that went on for as far as the eye could see.

Zenaria had never imagined a land without trees, and for the first time she began to fear that Gazari might actually succeed in getting her to the slave market. The flatter landscape made the going easier and even in their weakened condition the slaves made better time, covering as many as fifteen miles in a day. At that pace it seemed almost certain that in just a week or so they would reach their destination. But then fate intervened in a most unexpected fashion.

---

It happened during the early evening of the ninth day since the river crossing. The prisoners were huddled in the centre of the camp, flanked by Gazar's men. Most of the slaves were asleep or nearly so, but it just so happened that Zenaria was wide awake. There was no specific reason why she should have been so alert. Normally she would have been just as tired as the other captives, but on this particular night her eyes refused to close. Her senses tingled, reminding her of the time she had brought down her first deer. As a result she was in a perfect position to see the slaver nearest her go down with an arrow in his throat.

It was a perfect shot. The slaver collapsed without making a sound. It was for that reason that no one noticed him until his body actually hit the ground. It was then that a second arrow came out of the darkness, taking down a second man. This one made considerably more fuss, but it didn't save still a third slaver from taking an arrow. Then pandemonium exploded through the camp. The remaining slavers ran wildly in all directions. Some headed to the far side of the camp, away from the place where the arrows came from. Others drew their swords and ran toward the mystery attackers. A few dropped to the ground and one even hid among the tethered slaves.

Gazari stood in the middle of the camp shouting orders. He was only five feet away from Zenaria. Without thinking she rose to her feet and dragging several other captives with her charged toward the 'thuski'. She now knew that the word meant chief, but she wasn't thinking of that, as a matter of fact she wasn't really thinking at all or she would have realized that attempting to attack someone while dragging four or five people with her was almost impossible. Almost impossible. Somehow in the confusion she managed to get to within two feet of the slaver chieftain. It was close enough.

The chains that connected her wrists to the iron collar around her neck were just long enough. She encircled Gazar's neck with a length of chain and dragged him toward her. The Sandakar made a gurgling sound as his breath was cut off. He kicked wildly as Zenaria's muscles tensed and there was an ugly crunch as the slaver's windpipe was crushed.

"I said I'd get you," Zenaria growled. Releasing the dead man she got to her feet and looked around for someone else to kill, but she needn't have bothered. Two more slavers with down, transfixed by arrows. Another had been savaged by the slaves, emulating Zenaria, and the others were nowhere to be seen. They had fled the camp into the night.

There was considerable tumult and some rejoicing among the slaves, until they realized that they were still chained together and had no way of breaking the chains. That quieted them down a little and they got even quieter when a dark-clad figure stepped out of the darkness.

Zenaria had little problem identifying him as the mystery attacker. He was carrying a short curved bow and slung over his shoulder was a quiver of arrows. Belted around his waist were two swords in lacquered black scabbards. What was just as interesting was his stature. He was even shorter than the Sandakar and would barely have come up to Zenaria's shoulder.

He was dressed in a loose-fitting garment of black cloth that covered him from head to toe allowing only his eyes to be seen. However, after coming to a halt in front of them he pushed back his hood and revealed his face. He was certainly not an Erogenian. His features were far too dark for that, although not as dark as the Sandakar, but it was his dark eyes that caught everyone's attention. They were slanted, resembling the nuts called almonds that a trader had brought to the Snow Leopard stockade. Zenaria was reminded of the Juree's eyes although the big leopard's eyes were yellow rather than brown. The overall effect was not displeasing. Zenaria would not have called him handsome; he was too different for that, but he certainly was interesting and in spite of his short stature he had a commanding presence. This was further emphasized when he spoke.

He voice was deep and well modulated, and his message went right to the point. "You're free. Now let's see if I can get you out of those chains."

It took a few seconds for the information to sink in. One minute the twenty-seven Erogenian warriors had been prisoners. Now they were about to receive their freedom. But Erogenians were nothing if not resilient.

One of the older warriors, a woman called Toloria got to her feet. "Who are you and why did you save us?" In spite of the strange warrior's promise to free them, her voice held a trace of suspicion. It was obvious that Erogenia's long history of being threatened by its purportedly more civilized neighbours had left her suspicious of any stranger, even her supposed rescuer.

"I am Tren Ja Nyen, and you have nothing to fear from me. My motives are my own, but rest assured I have no love for the Sandakar." Without waiting for a reaction he turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. He returned a few seconds later carrying a small anvil and a hammer and chisel.

Zenaria's brilliant eyes narrowed. What was her mysterious rescuer doing with the tools needed to break her shackles and those of her fellow Erogenians? It seemed there was much more to Tren Ja Nyen than he was revealing.

Toloria was the first of the Erogenian warriors released. After that it was a matter of each warrior waiting his or her turn. Once freed the warriors explored the goods Gazar's band had been transporting. It took them only a few minutes to find something worthwhile.

"I thought so," Toloria said, brandishing a sword. "The Sandakar scum kept all of our weapons."

Her observation proved true. As the warriors were freed they retrieved their weapons and other possessions. It appeared that the slavers had kept the warriors' gear with the intention of selling it.

Zenaria's turn came at last. The almond-eyed warrior looked at her curiously when he noted that she was chained not just by the neck but by the wrists as well. However, other than a slight narrowing of his eyes he said nothing but simply motioned for her to place her head on the anvil. A practiced blow cut through the rivet of her collar and two more removed the iron bands from her wrists. Zenaria felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her and she swayed unsteadily.

Her rescuer reached out a hand to steady her. "Are you alright?" he asked as he caught her arm.

"I'm fine," Zenaria replied, pulling her arm away from Tren's grasp. She was ashamed to have shown such weakness in front of a total stranger and especially one much smaller than her.

Tren nodded and then turned away. He seemed completely unperturbed by Zenaria's ungracious response. He moved toward the other Erogenians, who having found their weapons were milling about in some disorder. "There is food enough to last you until you reach the river. I suggest you rest for a day or so and then start back."

"Who elected you captain?" Toloria asked. Her tone of voice indicated that she was somewhat irked at Tren's assumption of authority.

"No one," Tren replied without rancour. "You seem to be the leader. Perhaps you should give the orders." Without further comment he turned and walked away. A slight smile flickered across his face.

"What was that about?" Zenaria asked. "Toloria is no more our leader than you are."

"I know," Tren answered. "Eventually they will sort that out and do what I suggested. Like most Erogenians they like to think that they are in charge."

---

Events proved him right. Within a remarkably short time the warriors had elected Toloria as their temporary leader. Since most of the ex-captives were from the same tribe as she was that was acceptable to most of them. The reminder decided to tolerate her until they were across the river and left the main party to return to their own tribes.

As it turned out, the Erogenian warriors followed Tren's advice almost exactly, resting for two days and fashioning suitable footwear for the return trek. There were not enough horses for all of them and there was some arguing about that until Tren suggested they share out the horses by taking it in turns riding them. After some discussion his suggestion was followed and the group of warriors set out in the direction they had come, taking most of the slavers' goods with them.

All except Zenaria. As Tren watched the Erogenians move off she made no move to join them an action that caused Tren to raise one eyebrow. He said nothing, but she explained anyway.

"They are not of my tribe. I am not yet finished my quest. I will stay with you."

Tren regarded her impassively, but his words were not at all inviting. "I hunt alone. I desire no company."

Zenaria drew herself up to her full height. "I am a Princess of the Snow Leopard tribe. I go where I wish. If my course takes me in the same direction as you then you cannot stop me."

"Suit yourself, princess," Tren replied. "But I go on horseback. If you can keep up with a horse then you may come with me."

With that the mysterious, dark-robed warrior, leaped into his saddle and without waiting for a reply spurred his mount into a gallop. Within a minute he was little more than a dot in the sea of grass.

Zenaria watched him go, her face calm. Then with a slight smile on her face she broke into a jog, her long legs carrying her swiftly after the departing warrior. She knew little about horses, but doubted that they could be galloped all day. She on the other hand, was quite capable of maintaining her ground-devouring pace for hours.

Tren's trail was easy to follow. Even when a slight rise in the ground obscured her view of him she had no trouble following his track. The two day rest had restored her strength and stamina and the flat ground made running easy. An hour after Tren had ridden off she caught sight on him again. She smiled again. Let him see if he could escape her.

She was no longer dressed in the traditional deerskin of a Snow Leopard warrior. That costume was long gone. But she had salvaged Gazar's boots and modified them enough to fit her and had also taken his robe and weapons' harness.

She felt no guilt about robbing a dead man. After all she had killed him and in her mind the victor had a right to the spoils. From his robe and other garments she had fashioned a cloak to protect her against rain and cold and had also cut a short skirt and halter. In typical Erogenian fashion she saw no need to cover her tanned body unnecessarily. In her mind clothing simply hampered her movements and she was somewhat bemused at the amount of clothing Tren wore. To her it seemed that he would be most hot and uncomfortable and she had difficulty understanding why he would hide so much of his body. Nevertheless, she was determined to follow him. Something in her told him that he was now part of her spirit quest and she was not about to let him get away.

She caught up with him just after noon. He was squatting on the ground beside his horse and chewing on a piece of dried meat. Without comment he tore off a chunk and tossed it in her direction as she came jogging up.

Zenaria caught the offering and sitting cross-legged on the ground proceeded to rip apart the tough meat with her strong white teeth.

"So," Tren commented as he offered her another chunk of meat, "it seems that you can keep up with me. Alright, you may come with me, but if you falter I will not wait for you. And you should be warned; where I go there is great danger."

"And where do you go?" Zenaria asked.

"There," Tren answered, gesturing toward a point on the distant horizon.

Zenaria squinted, but could make out nothing. "And what is there?"

"The Sandakar have something I want. I intend to get it back."

That was all the explanation Zenaria got and she did not ask for more. Completing his simple meal, and taking a swig of water from his waterskin, Tren counted his horse and set off at a walk, Zenaria following.

They journeyed until dusk, when Tren finally stopped and set up his simple camp. During the entire afternoon neither he nor Zenaria had spoken a word, and although she was burning to know more about him she kept her silence.

Surprisingly, it was Tren who was the first to speak. Upon completing a meal of the same spicy food she had been served by the slavers he turned toward her. "You spoke of a quest. What is it?"

Zenaria explained, recounting some of her adventures, but not all. She could see no reason why she should tell Tren of the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of Garrod and the trolls, instead simply stating that she had been captured by the slavers and leaving it at that. She could tell that Tren knew she was holding something back, but he made no comment, and now it was her turn to ask a question.

"And what did the Sandakar take from you that you pursue them?"

Tren hesitated and then with look that spoke of intense hatred answered. "My sister."

Tren's answer ended the conversation. Without another word he rolled himself into his sleeping blanket and turned away. Zenaria sat for a few seconds digesting his words and then followed suit.

---

The next day they breakfasted and continued in the direction they had been traveling. As Zenaria trotted alongside Tren spoke to her. "I know that Erogenians think nothing of baring their bodies beyond the point of decency, but you might find it wiser if you covered yourself. The place where I am going is not kind to those who are not properly attired."

Zenaria bristled at Tren's comment. "It is you who are strangely dressed. Like the Sandakar you smother yourself in unnecessary coverings. It allows for no freedom of movement and is a disadvantage in battle."

"Suit yourself, princess. But before long you will see that I am right and you are wrong." With a light flick of the rein he urged his horse ahead, indicating that the conversation was at an end. Zenaria did not attempt to catch up but maintained her pace several yards behind. She was somewhat annoyed at his criticism. She would see who was right. Sooner or later the summer heat would force Tren to remove his unsuitable clothing.

For the next hour or so they journeyed in silence. The sea of grass seemed endless, but as Zenaria discovered, it was not empty.

Tren spotted them first. His position on horseback gave him a height advantage and he could see farther. "Ready yourself," he said, taking his short curved bow from his saddle and stringing it.

Zenaria readied her own bow and then caught sight of what Tren had already seen.

At first she could not quite make them out and then the images outlined against the sky resolved themselves into a flock of birds. But they were like no birds Zenaria had ever seen.

First of all, they stood almost twice her height and were clearly flightless. That was just as well. They would have been formidable indeed if they had been able to get their bulk off the ground. Powerful legs propelled them across the ground at a speed greater than that of any horse. Above a large golden-feathered body a long sinuous neck supported a head filled with razor teeth.

"What are they?" Zenaria murmured, her eyes taking in every deadly detail of the approaching predators. She now saw that in addition to the strange toothed beak a wicked hooked claw protruded from the back of each of their ankles.

"They are called Moaan," Tren answered and they will come at us from two directions. Although birds, they are not without intelligence and are deadly hunters."

That last point did not have to be explained to Zenaria. Even the trolls seemed tame compared to the huge avians. There were six of them and as Tren had foretold they spread out into a long thin line as they approached and then split into two groups.

"Take the right," Tren ordered, "and be prepared to use that sword."

Zenaria growled under her breath at Tren's tone of voice. How dare he order her around? However, this seemed like a poor time to argue the point. She nocked an arrow to her bowstring and drew it slowly back.

The three Moaan on the right had now swung around them in a wide arc as had the three on Tren's side. The birds emitted high-pitched shrieks as they moved, perhaps intended to frighten their prey or perhaps some sort of communication. Whatever it was the attack seemed coordinated, indicating a disturbing level of intelligence.

Zenaria waited patiently for the moaan to move within range. Her powerful bow could launch an arrow a good three hundreds yards, but the moaan were moving too quickly for her to be sure of hitting one at such a distance. Years of hunting in the forests of the snow leopard had ingrained in her the ability to wait until the precise moment her target presented itself before releasing her arrow. That moment came when the Moaan stopped their flanking movement and came directly at her.

Zenaria released her arrow. With a twang and a thunk the yard long shaft left the bowstring and buried itself to the flights in chest of the charging moaan. The charging predator staggered, letting out a horrendous shriek as the arrow found its mark. Its forward momentum kept it moving for another two strides and then it somersaulted forward, flipping head over heels. But Zenaria was already releasing her second arrow. This one also hit its target, but not where she had hoped. The charging Moaan ducked forward, its neck outstretched as it bounded across the space separating it from its intended prey. Instead of striking the predator's chest the arrow entered its gaping mouth, piercing its skull and jutting a foot out the other side of its head.

Unfortunately, the arrow failed to find the Moaan's tiny brain and it hardly faltered in its stride. The beast and the third Moaan were now too close to trust the bow and Zenaria let it drop, pulling her sword from its sheath. The Moaan bounded toward her, covering the remaining distance in huge twenty foot leaps and then just before reaching Zenaria it jumped high in the air its murderous hooked claw extended.

If it had struck her Zenaria would have been ripped open from crotch to breast, but Zenaria was not there. She leaped to one side at the same time swinging her blade in a wide arc that lopped the Moaan's head off. The bird was dead, but its momentum carried it into Tren's horse. The animal, which had remained steadfast until now, bolted just as Tren prepared to release his last arrow.

Busy with her own encounter Zenaria had not noticed how Tren was faring. In a flash she saw that he had dispatched two of the three Moaan attacking him, but the third now slammed into him at full speed. The impact knocked him from the saddle, but fortunately he was not the predator's target. Instead the Moaan's wicked claw disembowelled his terrified horse.

All of this Zenaria saw in the split second her attention allowed. However, there was the third moaan to deal with. It came in right behind the one she had beheaded, however, it was forced to swerve around the body of the bird Zenaria had just killed. The momentary delay allowed her to duck under the deadly claws. She whirled as the Moaan passed over her, every once of her strength in the swing, and lopped off the bird's right foot.

The Moaan shrieked, its cry almost deafening at such close quarters. It attempted to turn, but put its weight on its bloody stump and toppled sideways. Neck outstretched, it tried to sink its teeth into Zenaria, presenting her with an inviting target. A second later its head joined that of the other Moaan.

Zenaria turned her attention to Tren. Somehow he had managed to leap clear of his horse as it fell, and retaining his hold on his compact bow loosed two more arrows into the last Moaan. The creature slumped to the ground and lay still. Pumped full of adrenaline, Zenaria remained in a fighting stance, her legs spread wide and her chest heaving in excitement. As the last Moaan fell she shouted her tribe's battle cry.

Tren whirled on her in amazement. No doubt to him her shout had sounded like the death cry of some animal. He shook his head in an expression of irritation and lowered his bow.

"I celebrate my victory," Zenaria explained. "It is our custom."

Tren frowned. "It is a rather noisy custom." He turned to his horse his face expressionless, but a look of sorrow in his eyes.

"Now we both walk," he muttered. "It will slow us down."

"It will slow you down," Zenaria replied.

"Since you have chosen to accompany me, my speed is your speed," Tren said, flatly. He pulled his saddlebags off the dead horse and began to sort through them, creating two piles. "Without the horse we will have to travel lighter until I can find another."

Zenaria watched and then without asking stuffed a few of the food items into her pack. Tren nodded his approval and then packed away those items he had chosen and tossed one of the saddlebags over his shoulder.

Zenaria wandered over to one of the dead Moaan. Deftly she plucked several of the two - foot long golden feathers from its crest and tucked them into her belt. Then she went to the next bird and repeated the action.

Tren stared at her, his face expressionless. Zenaria had never anyone who showed less emotion, but she sensed his disapproval. "What is it now?" she asked. "These may be of some value. Perhaps if we collect enough we could purchase a horse."

"But your idea may have some merit." Tren answered. "We may encounter the Zuni."

"The Zuni?" Zenaria asked. "Who are the Zuni?"

Tren looked at her before replying. It was almost as if he could not believe the limits of Zenaria's knowledge, but as usual his face gave nothing away. "Nomads of the grasslands. They bear no love for the Sandakar, but they are few in number. Chancing upon them will be a rare occurrence. However, bring your feathers. They may yet prove useful."

Zenaria moved around the other dead Moaan, gathering their head feathers. She paused by each one to ask the snow leopard to bless the passage into the spirit world of the beast she had helped kill. As she did so she felt Tren's eyes on her watching as she performed what was to him was probably a strange ritual. However, she ignored him and continued to gather feathers until she had so many stuffed into her belt that she resembled a bird herself, but if Tren thought her appearance odd he made no comment. "What about the meat?" she asked. There is enough here to feed us for weeks."

"No one eats Moaan," Tren replied. The meat is tainted by a foul secretion."

It seemed a colossal waste, but Zenaria took Tren at his word and gathered only the feathers. Finally, her plundering of the dead Moaan complete, Zenaria joined Tren. "There is a village some three days walk from here," he said. "It may have a donkey we can obtain. I doubt that it will have any horses."

"Are horses so rare in Sandak?" Zenaria asked, setting out beside Tren.

"No, but the thuski tax their people so heavily they have little left over for anything as costly as a horse."

"These Sandakar sound like fools to treat their people so, and the people equally foolish to accept such oppression."

"Perhaps," Tren agreed, "but such is the nature of a people who worship Aroo."

"Aroo is their chief god?" Zenaria asked.

"Aroo is their only god. To worship any other is punishable by death."

Zenaria frowned. "Surely that is foolishness. How can one god attend to everything? He would have no time for anything else."

"I am sure Aroo agrees with you, however, that would not prevent the Sandakar from stoning you to death for airing such a point of view, although in your case I expect they might keep you for something else."

Zenaria flushed in anger. Tren's words reminded her all too sharply of her humiliation at the hands of the slavers. "I would have preferred the stoning to that. I permit no man to touch me."

Tren turned his eyes toward her. He had covered his face again and only his eyes showed. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. "Perhaps I have been misinformed, but I have been told that Erogenians were somewhat unrestrained in their relationships with one another."

Zenaria did not like the way the conversation was developing. "I choose who I go with," she said hotly. "No man has the right to decide that for me."

Tren shifted his pack and nodded toward the horizon, neatly changing the subject. "We will camp in another hour there is water there."

Zenaria was glad to change the subject. "It is not yet midafternoon. Why do we stop so early?"

"There is water there. Probably the only source for miles."

"How do you know that?"

"Do you see the birds? They are found only near water. We are only four days march from the desert. Water is a scarce commodity on these plains."

Zenaria saw what Tren spoke of. She could see the shapes of birds wheeling over the grassland, but she could not discern what type of bird they were. As she and Tren neared the place he had indicated she saw that he was right. A marshland came into view, nestled in a slight depression in the grasslands. It was surrounded by willows and a few aspen.

Selecting a suitable spot near the edge they unpacked their gear. Tren set about putting together a simple shelter using willow withes while Zenaria busied herself looking for firewood. Within a short time they had both a shelter and a small fire. Later while Tren tended to preparing a meal from their limited food supply Zenaria scouted the area around the marsh looking for game. She managed to bring down two rabbits and gutted and skinned them while Tren prepared the fiery dish that he and the Sandakar seemed to prefer.

"You did well today," Tren commented as he and Zenaria finished off the spicy mixture of rabbit and rice.

Zenaria stifled a smile of pleasure. For some reason she found Tren's words pleasing, but she was not about to let him know that. "Of course I did well," she snapped. "I am a warrior of the Snow Leopard."

Tren's face flickered in annoyance. "You would do well to learn to take a compliment or is that forbidden for a Snow Leopard warrior?"

"Warriors of the Snow Leopard need no praise. We let our actions speak for us."

"Hmmpph!" Tren snorted. "Your actions were somewhat muted until I freed you from the iron collar about your pretty neck."

Zenaria's face burned both in anger and shame. It was bad enough that she had suffered the humiliation of being enslaved without being reminded that she owed Tren a debt of gratitude for freeing her. And the reference to her pretty neck had her fuming.

She leaped to her feet. "I seek advice from no man. Especially one who would be no taller more than a child." Without waiting for Tren's reaction to her insult she stalked off into the darkness.

Tren's voice followed her. "Be careful not to stray too far from the fire. There are more dangerous things than Moaan out there."

"He treats me like an infant," Zenaria muttered. "I slew three Moaan. Have I not proved myself a warrior? And who is he anyway? He tells me nothing about himself." She turned suddenly and headed back toward the fire. "Who are you she demanded? And how did you come to be near when the slavers passed by?"

Tren regarded her calmly from his seat by the fire, his face still hidden by a fold of his hood. "And why do you hide your face?" Zenaria continued. "Are you afraid of what others might see?"

"You lack manners," Tren replied quietly. "You are a spoiled child who seeks to change the world to her satisfaction. Remember I did not seek your company. You forced yourself on me."

Tren's words did nothing to cool Zenaria's hair-trigger temper. "Perhaps you would like to teach me some manners," she snarled. She towered over him, her bearing threatening."

"You might try," Tren answered. "But what would that prove? If you defeat me, then you have beaten a man who by your own description is no taller than a child of your tribe. And if I defeat you, then you will have suffered a greater humiliation than your enslavement."

"If you defeat me, then you can have me," Zenaria blurted out.

"I am not Sandakar," Tren replied, his voice rising. "I take no woman by force."

"It would not be force. Defeat me and I would give myself willingly."

With an obvious effort Tren calmed himself. "Come back to the fire," he said quietly. "We will speak no more of this."

As quickly as it had risen Zenaria's anger died. "I have disturbed your cha. I should not have spoken in anger."

"You will have to tell me more about the Cha, but for now enough has been said. We have a long walk tomorrow and will have to carry our water. I suggest you get some rest." With that Tren rolled himself into his sleeping blanket and turned away from the fire.

Zenaria recognized a truce and realizing that she had forced herself on Tren decieded to let it go. "Until tomorrow," she said.

Continued in Chapter 7

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