Kunas
Although it had been many years since Kunas had set foot in Khala Val’ur, the power that resonated within the city still stirred him.
After prying himself from the watchful eyes of Duna Cullain, he had made his way toward the surface again, winding his way through the black and cavernous walls of the Sunken City and eventually emerging beneath the star-flung canopy that overlooked Khala Val’ur. The city had been his home when he was a boy, but he’d never felt any real connection to it.
He had been sent off to Ghal Thurái shortly after his Breaking—he had been selected based on his potential, and the High Khyth at the time had seen fit to send him despite his youth—so the only memories he had of the city were of leaving it. He had proven himself as a Khyth apprentice in Khala Val’ur and as a Master Khyth in Ghal Thurái. The only thing left for him now was to pursue the title of High Khyth.
He allowed himself a smile at the thought.
It was not lost on him that D’kane, the Khyth who had been expected to take Yetz’s place as High Khyth, was now rumored to be trapped in the Otherworld. That meant that he, Kunas, was now next in line to ascend to the position that was both envied and dangerous. With it would come political power and unparalleled influence, but it would also put a target on his back; no High Khyth had ever died of old age.
The Valurian sky was streaked with stars as Kunas made his way out of the northern pass of the mountains that surrounded Khala Val’ur. One thing that made the Sunken City so defensible was the two rings of mountains—one inner ring and one outer—that surrounded it, forcing any invading army through narrow passes to reach the city center. He stopped for a moment to admire it and the foresight his ancestors must have had when they designed it during the Shaping War. There was truly nothing like it in the world.
It was a pity that he would have to destroy it.
***
Even though he knew what to expect, Kunas was uneasy; Chovathi were anything but predictable. He also did not enjoy the fact that this one had told him to draw a blade across his own palm until it bled.
Is how find Ku-nas, the creature had said in its choking, gravelly voice. The way the Chovathi’s tongue had run over his jagged teeth had made Kunas’s skin crawl. But Kunas did as he was asked, well outside the protection of the walls of Khala Val’ur, and waited.
It had been at least an hour now by his count, and the creature had not yet made itself known. He didn’t know how—or why—this Chovathi had found him shortly after the attack on Ghal Thurái, but the things Kunas had heard had intrigued him.
The Chovathi had told him that his clan intended to wipe out all the other clans, leaving them as the only remaining Chovathi in Gal’dorok. He’d said it would make them stronger, which Kunas had not understood; it seemed a paradox to him—killing off their own kind in order to strengthen themselves. But, then again, the Chovathi were as different from him as he was from humans.
He frowned, and waited.
***
The Master Khyth had nearly worn a path into the ground with his pacing about when he heard a guttural growl from the darkness followed by a rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs.
That must be him, Kunas thought. The impending sense of doom he felt told him that it was.
Even though Chovathi did not reproduce sexually—their mating rituals involved violent dismemberment and the regeneration of a new body—the races of men had seen fit to attribute male and female labels to them based on role and appearance. Male Chovathi were large and slow, rarely leaving their nests. Females were small, quick, and cunning, the hunters and scouts of their people. Therefore, most of the Chovathi that travelers came across, if they lived to tell about it, were small—nearly man-sized. And sure enough, when the hulking white creature emerged from the darkness, Kunas had forgotten just how large the males could be. He took an unconscious step back when he realized he had to tilt his head to look up at the creature before him. Once, when he was a boy, he had seen a bear while wandering far from Khala Val’ur on an errand for his master; this Chovathi could have eaten that bear in three quick bites.
“So,” Kunas said as he wiped his bloody hand on his robes, “you found me again.” He hoped his voice did not betray the fear that was surging through his body.
“Find blood. Follow blood.” The creature labored over even the simplest of words, rarely speaking in complete sentences. In fact, this Chovathi was the only one that Kunas had ever seen with the ability to speak. The others he had seen had only communicated in shrill cries or low clicks. Nothing that had ever resembled a language—at least not a human one. But this one had done even more than that: he had named himself.
“Khaz follow blood easy,” the creature growled.
Well, that is horrifying, Kunas thought. “Indeed,” he replied, hoping the blood had only been a way for Khaz to find him and not an invitation to dine.
“What say of hunt?”
Kunas paused to digest the meaning of this question.
Most Chovathi concepts revolved around hunting because it took up such a large portion of their lives. If they were not killing each other, they were killing other creatures for food. But one thing that Kunas had quickly come to learn was that, despite Khaz’s rudimentary usage of language, he was anything but stupid. Chovathi, Kunas had come to realize, were frighteningly intelligent. They possessed logic and reason, the ability to plan, and the capability to express a dizzying number of concepts. The concept he had just mentioned was Khaz’s understanding of what Kunas was doing.
Ah, Kunas thought with sudden understanding. He means the hunt of the other Chovathi clans.
“We are interested in your help,” he said. “We will empty out Ghal Thurái of the other Chovathi who occupy it, and your clan will rise to power.”
Khaz made a noise like laughter. “Humans and Chovathi will struggle,” he said as he spread his massive arms. “Will fight.” He brought his hands together. “Will die.” He squeezed his clawed hands together and looked right at Kunas, a wild and wicked grin splitting his twisted face.
“They will,” he replied. “But you need to give them something to show that they can trust you.” Even as he said the words, Kunas felt as if he were staring right into the eyes of a wolf. Khaz was hunched over to make eye contact with Kunas—yet another chilling reminder of the creature’s intelligence. He dwarfed him like a full-grown man speaking to an infant. His ghastly white body was sharp and skeletal, and nothing like the smooth bodies of females. It was almost armor-like and clearly reflected his role as a warrior: the last line of defense in the nest, guarding the best-kept secret of the Chovathi.
“What Ku-nas need from Chovathi?” His eyes narrowed.
“When your clan has stabilized,” he said, “you will follow me. Not the female called Duna.”
Khaz snarled and looked away. Kunas couldn’t tell if it was anger or something else. Chovathi behavior was not human behavior, Kunas knew; but the real question was, how deep did the well go?
“I know,” Kunas began, “that you grow weary of living beneath the world, in the lonely and forgotten places of the earth.”
“Truth,” the Chovathi replied, still looking off in the distance.
Kunas suspected that there was more to these deceptively cunning creatures than they let on, and some of Khaz’s actions had tipped him off that there might be much more lurking below the surface. He often appeared to be listening to things that were not there, as though he was the lone participant in an internal conflict.
“Then, if you follow me, I will give you and your clan the city of Ghal Thurái, your ancestral home.”
Khaz finally looked back at Kunas. His face contorted, almost as if he were expending a great amount of mental effort. He looked away, eyes hollow, and loosed a rumbling growl.
“Ghal Thurái,” the Chovathi repeated.
The words chilled Kunas to the bone, but Kunas managed a nod.
The twisted grin appeared again on the Chovathi’s face, and Kunas couldn’t help but feel like he was a rat serving a snake.
Better to serve the Chovathi snake, Kunas thought, than the Khyth rat.
Rats would eat their own if they were driven to, but the problem was that one could never tell if a rat was desperate enough to do so.
With the snake, it was not a question of desperation; it was a question of which rat it would eat—and when.
“Ku-nas will have help of Xua’al clan,” Khaz finally growled.
With the help of Khaz and his clan, Kunas could finally push out Yetz as High Khyth and take Khala Val’ur as his own. And then he could simply exterminate the Chovathi as he saw fit, perhaps even keeping around some of the more useful ones, like Khaz.
“Good,” the Master Khyth said with a smile, aiming to fill the bellies of the snakes so that one rat, and one rat alone, remained.