The Hand I

The Hand I

With the fire warming her back, she turned her eyes to the skeleton by the hole to the mountains. It provided a focus, and she dearly needed something to distract her.

Vicious teeth spread in the mouth of empty bone. The body had been posed with a paw raised to strike the air. Claws curved on the forepaw that looked able to rend through a ribcage with a single swipe.

The beast must have been a horror while it lived - by size alone it would have easily matched one of the manticores. Yet - for all its menace - the calculating, fanged giant from the arena more than dwarfed it.

A shudder threatened to pass through her, but she forced her body still: she could not afford to draw attention to herself.

See something interesting, Zabyallan?

Her heart nearly stopped.

Milos gaze was upon her: the lie that appeared a man.

Would you grant me your name?

It-no, his. She corrected herself. He appeared a man. He called himself a man. Think of him as a man lest you melt into a wreck.

Predators chased you when you ran. They followed your fear.

And if you were to let yourself collapse

Tensing, she forcefully turned toward him. The cult leader sat easily, his arms settled and shoulders relaxed. His body spoke no threat. To most, he would appear no more than a wealthy patriarch in his own parlour. His eyes, thoughUpdated from novelbIn.(c)om

She could not face his eyes.

Her lips began to move. Wurhi, she forced the word out.

Hrrrrm, Milos leaned back in consideration. Wuuurhiiii, he slowly passed her name through his jaws. It was as though he were tasting it. Small and unassuming. A suitable name for a thief. And you-

Shchp!

A swipe of the knife drew a line of red across his palm. Wurhi winced.

-can change and strengthen unaided. He presented his hand to the table.

The wound had closed before it could bleed.

That is power. And I can give further example. He looked to one of the tapestries upon the wall. Unlike the rest, it hung not in haphazard tangles, but rather stood in a place of distinction. The space about it lay clear, calling attention to the scene woven throughout the thread.

Bare-skinned warriors leapt across a scarlet background with spears lowered in challenge. Before them rose a depiction of a lion with teeth bared and claws spread. Spears and arrows broke on the beasts hide. It quickly occurred to Wurhi that the tigers skeleton had been arranged in the same pose.

That tapestry depicts a real beast. Milos adjusted himself in his seat. When I was a young man, I began to carry a calf up and down the hill of my parents farm. In the morning I would lift her to pasture and in the evening, I would carry her back to the yard.

His eyes turned distant. That is the beauty of flesh: were I hauling a stone, I would have outgrown it in weeks, but my calf grew as I did. She grew fat. And I grew strong. He smiled in reminiscence. After two years she weighed more than six men, but I could bear her on my back without shaking, and a man passing the pasture saw this on one fine summer morning.

The cult leader chuckled. He made a face similar to the three of you now! Just standing there, gawking in the fields! I thought he meant to steal my cow! When he rushed over, I prepared to drive him off with a few solid blows, but he said: Milos voice raised an octave but took on a scratchy quality. Boy, how would like your name to live forever?

He looked to the three of them, his eyes sparking with life. Wurhi could near believe he was human, after all. I tell you, there are few more attractive words you can say to a bored, ambitious young man.

One of the acolytes shifted. Its what you said to me, Sacred Alpha.

I as well.

And to me.

Milos looked over the three of them with something akin to pride. I remember, my acolytes. I remember. But as for me, I put down my cow, fetched a club and followed that mans band of warriors for a hundred days until we reached the Olubrian wetlands.

He paused and pointed to the tapestry. And there we met him. Hed blocked-

The sound of a quarrel burst from the hall.