Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (34 page)

Three
soldiers were lifting Zimma onto a table. She twisted and thrashed trying to
get free, but they laughed and forced her legs apart. She scratched one of them
and he backhanded her across the face. Blood shot from her nose and soaked the
gag in her mouth. Laughing at the sight, the guards fondled her breasts.

Zimma
was naked except for underpants, which were being cut off. Two guards on duty
at the tent door looked on with their lust showing and sidled closer. The
commander’s erection was visible as he spread Zimma’s thighs farther and moved
between her legs.

One
of the guards stared stupidly when a knife blade suddenly pierced the tent wall
and slit a seam from top to bottom.

“You
son of a bitch!”

Leaping
through the cut, Jeff drove his saber through the commander’s body. Kicking the
writhing body off his sword with a snarl, he swung a roundhouse cut that nearly
decapitated one of those holding Zimma. Shouts of alarm rang out as the saber
pierced the throat of another guard. Arzaks stationed at the tent door turned
to run but bounced off others trying to enter. Jerking Zimma off the table,
Jeff thrust her behind him and shifted the saber to his left hand. The .357
flew into his right.

Five
Arzaks started their rush with drawn swords. Jeff dropped to a knee and fired
at the nearest one, the crashing ring of the explosion deafening in the
confined space. Hit in the chest, the guard was blown backward into the man
behind who was also struck by the bullet as it continued its path. Jeff fired a
second then a third time, knocking over two more and filling the tent with
gunsmoke and blast concussions. The last Arzak turned tail and ran out of the
tent wailing terror.

Holstering
the .357, Jeff ripped the gag off. Zimma didn’t seem to recognize him, just
stared blankly and wiped at the blood running down her chin. One side of her
face was turning purple, and red handprints were visible on both breasts. Fury
that had been building since he discovered Carl had not been satisfied, but the
need for revenge was pushed aside by the sound of thudding boots. Jeff hoisted
Zimma into a fireman’s carry and staggered out the rear of the tent.

Once
into the forest he stopped to get his breath. Zimma was beginning to struggle
so he set her down. Pulling her along, Jeff raced to the body of the Baktar seaman
and stripped it of trousers and tunic. He handed them to Zimma, but she let
them drop.

“It’s
Jeff, Zimma. You must put these on.” He held the clothing out to her again.
Shouts and screams were hardly softened by screening trees, and a bugle was
braying the alarm over and over. “Oh, baby, please! We can’t stay here!”

Zimma
shook her head violently, spit blood from her mouth and put on the clothing
with Jeff’s help. Taking her hand, they moved deeper into the woods. When the
uproar faded to a faint commotion, he stopped to wipe blood from her face. It
was a simple act of concern that triggered such a rush of emotion that Zimma
burst into great sobs of relief. She really was safe. Jeff held her until she
quieted.

“It
is difficult to ask this of you. There is another person I am going release
tonight. I must do this or not return.”

After
only a heartbeat, Zimma nodded. Anger had overcome terror. Jeff took her hand
again and hurried toward the slave tent. This was a golden opportunity to free
Carl. In fact, it was now or never.

With
infinite care, Jeff sliced open a rear panel of the wall tent that served as a
holding pen and peered inside. A single oil lamp did little more than create
shadows. Three guards, and it looked like the slaves were chained to two
massive posts. Two of the guards were peering out the entrance trying to figure
out what was going on. There wasn’t a chance he could silence all of the guards
before they raised the alarm. Hopefully there were no more stationed outside.

It
suddenly occurred to Jeff that there might be more than one holding pen. Carl
might not be in this one. He studied the pile of slaves and exhaled slowly.
Curled up in a ball, Carl was sleeping in a tangle of chains.

Jeff
whispered, “Ready?” Zimma gripped his hand in reply. Knife at the ready, he
stepped inside.

Slipping
up behind the nearest guard, Jeff clamped a hand over his mouth and cut his
throat. The two guards at the entrance noticed the motion and came on with a
shout. Jeff waited until they were within a few yards and shot them both.

“The
keys! We must find them! We only have minutes!”

“Here
they are!” Zimma plucked a ring of keys from the first guard Jeff had killed.

Panicked
by the gunshots, slaves clanked around in a confused jumble while Zimma
unlocked chains with flying fingers. Jeff reloaded and hurried to Carl. He was
looking around with dazed eyes and little comprehension.

“Off
your ass, Jorgenson. We’ve got to move.”

Tearing
the irons off Carl’s ankles, Jeff dragged him to the front of the tent. He
stopped at the entrance and held an arm out to prevent Zimma from leaving,
allowing slaves to run from the tent in twos and threes. Angry shouts and
orders to stop rang out accompanied by the crack of whips. Jeff counted to ten
and looked outside.

The
larger moon was well up and the smaller above the treetops, serving to reveal
Arzaks racing around the area shouting questions, orders and counter-orders.
Bonfires were beginning to roar as wood was heaped on, adding dancing orange
light to the confusion. Grimly satisfied, Jeff took Carl’s hand and they moved
at a cautious trot toward the shore.

They
made it to the far side of the bazaar before Jeff heard loud commands not far
behind. It was still at least three hundred yards to the beach. They would
never make it. He stopped behind a booth and took Zimma by the shoulders.

“You
must go on and take Carl with you. I think Belstan will be waiting a short ways
from the beach. Call him! If he isn’t waiting, swim for the Baktar. I must stay
and gain time.”

“I
cannot leave you to face the soldiers alone!”

“What
can you do, Zimma? You have no weapon. Someone must get Carl to the beach.
Please do this for me.”

Zimma
wanted to refuse but realized there was little she could do to help. Suddenly
they were in each other’s arms. Jeff crushed Zimma to him and quickly released
her. Turning away, he jogged back the way they had come. Zimma caught Carl’s
hand and pulled him toward the beach. Before fading into the night, she threw
an agonized look over her shoulder.

Concealed
behind a trading booth, Jeff waited. Shortly he detected a vague group of
figures moving cautiously from shadow to shadow in the moonlight. Jeff counted
seven in the group and waited with drawn saber. He planned to cut down as many
as possible in the first assault, then turn to the Colt.

When
they were abreast he jumped out of hiding with sword in motion. Surprise was
complete. Before they could rally, two Arzak were down and the rest fell back.
He was about to draw the pistol when he was attacked from the side and had to
beat off a furious assault. Unnoticed, a second group of four Arzaks had
circled in from his left. Jeff put his back to the booth and held them off, but
could not spare even the few seconds it would take to draw the Colt.

It
was not many minutes before he began to grow very tired. He knew the end was
not far unless he could get at the pistol. Jeff went for it but felt a searing
shock in his left leg and nearly collapsed as a blade drove home. Eager to make
the kill, more Arzak crowded in on the fight with excited shouts. Within
seconds he had taken another cut on his left side.

Numb
with fatigue and blood loss, Jeff was only vaguely aware when the pressure of
their attack slackened to nothing and Arzak shouts of victory gave way to
mortal shrieks.

Standing
with his back to the booth holding his side, Jeff slid to the ground in a
sprawl. He watched the battle with vacant interest as blood pooled beneath him
then all was black.

Later,
Jeff could remember only disjointed scenes and impressions from the first two
days after receiving wounds that had nearly killed him. He faded in and out of
consciousness, the only consistent picture that of Zimma’s face hovering over
him. Distantly, he noted the ever-darker circles under her eyes. On occasion
Belstan’s voice drifted in from the background.

Jeff
entered full consciousness swaying in a hammock strung amidships on the
Baktar’s deck, the sun warming him as he moved from shadow to light and back
again. He tried to lift his head but could not. Zimma’s face abruptly appeared
and looked down at him.

A
large bruise on her cheek was turning green, and her lips and nose were badly
swollen. He managed a wan smile. Tears fell on his face when Zimma laid her
cheek on his. That evening, having been carried below and fortified with a mug
of broth, Jeff learned what had transpired after parting from Zimma and Carl.

At
the shore, Zimma and Carl had literally stumbled into Belstan. He had indeed
left the beach, but only to collect the Baktar’s crew and return. Upon hearing
what had happened to her and of the death of their fellow crewman, the Baktars
were in a fury. They would have rushed headlong into battle had not Belstan
organized and led the attack.

Seven
Arzaks remained when they arrived. The crew wanted blood and none of the Arzak
remained alive after a furious counterattack. While the battle swirled around
her, Zimma tried to stop the blood flow from Jeff’s leg but could do no more
than slow it down. She called for help and one of the older men applied a
tourniquet to his thigh above the laceration. The chest wound was not bleeding
badly and would have to wait.

Hoisting
Jeff on their shoulders, they beat a hasty retreat to the ship with a fresh
contingent of Arzaks on their heels. The captain had remained on board to
prepare. The launch had no more than settled on the deck when the anchor heaved
out of the water and the Baktar gathered way to the north on a fading zephyr.

At
that point in the recitation, Jeff broke in with an urgent whisper. “My sword.
Where’s my sword?”

Belstan
chuckled and came over to where he was lying carrying the saber. “Now I am
convinced you will heal. I was certain you would ask. We have also put your
weapon-of-six-deaths under lock and key.”

“How
is Carl?”

“He
is in the next cabin sleeping.” Belstan shook his head in sadness and disgust.
“Long have Borgo and Arzak traded in slaves, robbing them of their lives and,
much more heinous, their minds. Some, when by chance or circumstance freed,
recover their will while others live on as a shadow of what they were or could
have been.” He smiled and waved an optimistic finger about. “This one, I
believe, has good prospects. The spark of awareness and interest in life appear
to be returning.”

Three
days had passed since leaving Tradertown. Considering the fluky winds, the
captain estimated they were still two days out. Jeff spent the rest of the trip
flat on his back in a cot or swaying in the hammock. His body was so weak he
could hardly shift position, but Zimma was always there to help.

The
breeze held up long enough for the Baktar to ghost into port. Jeff became aware
of their proximity to Khorgan by a string of loud orders and tramping on deck
as sails were lowered, followed by a bump as she slipped into her spot at the
pier. Jeff and Carl were transferred to a spacious room in the warehouse next
morning. Shortly thereafter a physician visited them.

Unceremoniously
rolling Jeff onto his right side, the physician muttered over the wounds. After
a period of poking, prodding and sniffing, he redressed the wounds.

“You
are most fortunate. The suturing leaves much to be desired, but there is no
sign of green suppuration.” He turned to Carl.

Carl
had been scrubbed clean on the Baktar, exposing every wound. Examining wide
areas of crisscrossed whip marks and inflamed, oozing sores, the physician
cursed the Arzaks in several languages. Each wound brought a new round of oaths
until they grew stale, at which point he cleaned and bandaged in silence.
Handing a list of instructions to Carl, the physician packed up and left.

Alone
in their room, the two friends silently examined each other. Carl got out of
bed and kneeled down to gather Jeff into his arms. His body started to shake,
and he burst into great wracking sobs.

“I...oh,
Jesus—thank you for finding me. God, I love you. I can’t...oh, shit…”

Jeff
patted Carl’s back. “It’s done, buddy. We’re back together and you’re safe.”

Carl
hung on for life and wept tears of agony. Jeff pulled Carl’s head onto his
chest and held him. On and on, tears flowed in recollection of the horror and
in relief at having been rescued. Jeff found his friend’s pain nearly
unbearable and held Carl even tighter as if to physically squeeze love into
him.

Some
time later and exhausted by the reunion, Carl left to find something to drink.
He returned with two cups of fruit juice and sat down on the foot of Jeff’s
bed. Taking a grateful sip, Jeff solemnly looked at Carl.