Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [142]
And he had no eyes. His eye sockets were dark holes in his face, half-covered by sagging skin that made him appear sad faced. He wore only a short, pale robe, belted with a thin rope. It was the sort of thing only a prisoner or slave would wear, and entirely the wrong color for a warrior at night.
Skralang brought Zeth to me as my warriors looked on with surprise and curiosity. In the failing sunlight, the withered shaman seemed to have deteriorated even more since I had seen him, only hours before. Splotches of blackness dotted his face and arms, marks of a curse on him. I was terrified he would touch me.
"Zeth," said the old shaman with a prompt at his grandson's elbow. "Here are your warriors. Go forth, as the gods have commanded, and carry out their will."
The big half-human stared over me, his unseeing gaze level with the top of my head, then nodded dumbly. I saw that Zeth had no weaponry, and I started to pull an extra dagger from my waist scabbard. Skralang stopped me with an upraised hand. "Not necessary," the old shaman said. "Zeth has no need of blades or armor. He has all he will need."
With a last look at me, the shaman summoned his retinue of guards and servants, then retired inside the cavern. The great doors were pulled shut behind him and barred. Not even the usual guards were posted tonight.
I swallowed as I stared up at the eyeless sockets of the white half-human. He merely looked off to the west, where the sun had vanished a while ago.
"What is your wish?" I finally asked. If I were lucky, Zeth would prove to be mad as well as blind. I wondered if the prohibition against arms and armor was meant to speed his death in battle. It made sense to me. His quick death would release us from this mission, perhaps allowing brief foraging in the countryside to gain a few pigs or cattle before returning to the Nightbelow.
The big half-human slowly turned his head to the south, as if he'd heard something in the gentle wind. Southward lay the kingdom of Durpar, which we had once raided regularly. He nodded slightly, then set off toward that distant land. After two steps, he almost fell over a log that had been pulled up to the cave entrance as a bench. He stumbled, caught himself, and walked on. No one laughed or moved to help him. We merely watched.
I nodded to myself. With luck, the mission would be a short one.
"Single file, scout fore and back, standard march," I called. The warriors glanced at me, then fell into place. We set off into the coming night.
We marched south for about ten hours by the stars. That Zeth had some ability to sense his path became more evident as the night deepened. He would pause at times, then slowly make his way across a creek or through a rock field. At other times, he acted as blind as he appeared, running into low tree branches or dancing out of thistle. Perhaps his hearing gave him a little help, but I began to think perhaps his eyes were present but merely small and deeply set.
Dawn was coming on when I finally moved up alongside the stumbling half-human. I hesitated over proper forms of address, then ignored them all. I couldn't see that it mattered. "Dawn is near," I said under my breath. "We must pitch camp soon."
Zeth marched on in silence, his blind gaze fixed somewhere over the horizon. Abruptly he slowed and stopped. For a moment he stood, his chest heaving from exertion, then nodded quickly. "We will stop here," he gasped. It was more an animal moan than speech, the words wheezed out and half-mumbled. Was Zeth feebleminded as well? What was Skralang up to?
I gave the proper orders anyway and had everyone in hiding among the rocks and brush of a nearby hillside before sun-up. Zeth wandered away in the meantime, but returned to camp as the meal was served. I thought it politic to sit near him for the first meal and