Sword Destiny (16 page)

“If he is alive, then his ship must be crippled, probably in a worse state than our own,” Kyle said as he stared at the screens. “He must be lurking behind the planet or behind its moon.”

“Damn him!” Zela said with feeling. Until they knew for certain, their situation had suddenly become a stand-off. They could not now dare to land or relax their vigilance until they knew what had happened to the last Gheddan ship.

 

 

 

Maryam could smell the fires as Nirad led her through the narrow streets of the old city toward her father's palace. Immediately she sensed that something was wrong. The smoke scent that wafted clearly to her sensitive nostrils was not the harsh, acrid stench of oil-fired thatch and timbers, the sort of burning that she would expect to find in the aftermath of battle. Instead the smoke was pleasant, tinged with sandalwood and perfumes, the more familiar aroma of sacrificial fires. It should have brought back happy memories, but strangely it filled her with a dire sense of foreboding.

There was also the sombre change in Nirad. Her half brother's initial greeting had been one of elation and delight and yet it had quickly evaporated. Now he walked silently, as though a heavy sadness had come over him.

“What is it?” Maryam asked bluntly. “Does the battle go badly?”

“The battle is almost over,” Nirad admitted. “Most of our champions and half of our fighting men are slain. Today we lost Lord Ranjit. He had proved a mighty fighter since the death of his bother Salim. No sword could stand against him. But today an arrow took him through the throat.”

“So the funeral fire burns for Ranjit?”

Nirad nodded, but his reluctance to add words told her that there was more.

“Tell me all that has happened,” she commanded.

Nirad shrugged. “At first we fought on the plain, but the forces of Maghalla were too many. So we withdrew behind the walls, and here we have held for fifty days. At first we waited while Maghalla built bridges, but now Maghalla has crossed the river and breached the walls. Of our great champions only Prince Devan and Lord Jahan are left. Jahan can walk again but he drags his leg.”

“Our father?” she asked in a whisper.

“Kara-Rashna is dead.”

“Our brothers?”

“Ramesh and Rajar still live. The Lords Kasim and Gujar also. We five seem to be blessed by the gods.”

“Kananda? He rules now?”

“Jahan and Kaseem hold our father's mandate in his absence. Kananda left to follow you. When the blue gods took you in their steel temple, Kananda followed you with the golden gods. He pursued you into the stars.” Nirad stared at her. “Did he not find you?”

Maryam stared back at him and now her eyes were again filled with tears. In all her days and nights on Ghedda, she had thought often of her beloved older brother, but never in her wildest dreams had she ever guessed that he might also be on the fifth planet, searching for her. Now there was that awful sinking feeling again in her stomach as she realized that, if Kananda was with the golden gods, then he must be with Alpha, and the Sword Lords of Ghedda had sworn to destroy their rival continent.

Nirad took her arm again and led her on. “I must take you to your mother,” he said gravely. “Then I must return to my post.”

Maryam made no argument. Her thoughts and emotions were churning as she tried to assimilate all that he had told her. They passed through the central square of the city and she saw that in the adjoining courtyards of all the great temples, the funeral fires were burning high and bright. The images of leaping flames and ascending sparks burned into her memory, and yet for the moment, there were other factors that would only register later. There were no bodies in the flames or awaiting cremation and no scent of roasting body flesh. The fires were lit, with praying priests in attendance, but they were waiting for something else.

They reached the palace and he led her to the women's quarters. There he knocked on the door to the Queen's apartments and bid her goodbye.

As he turned to leave, she caught at his arm. “Nirad, there is something you are not telling me. What is it?”

He blinked and she saw that there were tears in his eyes. Then he bit down on his lip. “The women will tell you,” he said. “But perhaps it would have been better if you had not returned to us.” He spun on his heel and walked stiffly away.

Maryam would have run after him, but in that moment the doors opened and she was swept up in the tears and embraces of her mother and her aunt. The queens Padmini and Kamali kissed her and hugged her and drew her inside and then she was struggling to answer a thousand questions. Bravely she tried to respond, but then slowly the answers died on her lips. She realized that all the heartfelt weeping that accompanied this reunion was not due to tears of joy and neither was it due to their shock at her appearance, despite the fact that she was still smeared with river mud and dried blood. Their faces were too pale and desperate and the robes they wore were the simple white that symbolized death. Suddenly it all fell into place: Nirad's reluctance to talk, the high funeral pyres and the white robes.

“Mother.” She almost screamed as she touched the plain white linen of her mother's sleeve. “What madness is this?”

Padmini drew a deep, sighing breath. She looked to Kamali, their faces frozen white, and suddenly the weeping stopped. Both queens tried to draw themselves together and restore some dignity. Padmini took Maryam's right hand between her own and held it tight. Kamali did the same with her left hand. Maryam stared horrified from her mother to her aunt.

“Dearest daughter,” Padmini said softly. “The gods are cruel to us all. You could not have chosen a more bitter time to return to us. Karakhor is defeated. Lord Jahan believes that the next attack must be the last. The fires in the temple courtyards are our funeral pyres, already lit for the
Juahar
ceremony. At dawn, Lord Jahan and Prince Devan will lead the last of our men out on to the plain to die, to hold back the hordes of Maghalla for one last day, while we lead the noble ladies of our city into the flames.”

The
Juahar
was the ceremony of ritual suicide, when a dutiful wife mounted her husband's funeral pyre to perform the act of
Sati.
It was the extreme act of final sacrifice, or total despair.

“No,” Maryam cried. “No, you cannot do this.”

“We have no choice,” Padmini said softly. “It is something which perhaps we should have performed weeks ago, when our husband, your father, the noble Kara-Rashna died. At that time, Holy Kaseem counseled against it and his counsel seemed wise. We knew that many more wives must lose their husbands before this war could be over and we did not wish to set a precedent for
Sati.
But now our situation is hopeless. At least the
Juahar
will give us all a proud and clean death by holy fire and save us all from being raped and despoiled by Sardar and his barbarians.”

“No,” Maryam cried again. “Karakhor can hold—must hold—for another day. Raven—my blue god—will return with his steel ship and fight for us. He can destroy the army of Maghalla.”

“The prayers have been said and all the sacrifices made, and all the gods have deserted us,” Padmini wept. “If Indra, Varuna and Agni have abandoned us, then why should we believe in your blue god?”

“Our time has come,” Kamali whispered. “Lord Jahan and Prince Devan have said that they will not fight their last battle hiding behind our broken walls. They are both proud and noble men. They will lead our forces out on to the plain for the last stand of Karakhor. We must perform
Sati
. We must go through the
Juahar
.”

“Raven will come back,” Maryam insisted. “I am his wife. He will not abandon me.”

The two older women looked at her sadly, their expressions reminding her of how she must appear to them after crawling through the mud along the riverbank and with the tangled leaves of the forest still matted in her loose black hair.

“Your god has abandoned you,” Padmini said bitterly. “Now we have no faith left in any gods.”

“Join us,” Kamali pleaded. “Join us in the
Juahar
.”

“Yes.” Padmini nodded. “All this began because you defied Sardar of Maghalla. It would be too much to bear if he were to have you now. You must enter the flames with us.”

“No.” Maryam tore her hands from theirs and backed away. “I must find Jahan or Kaseem. I must persuade them to wait.”

She fled from their rooms and ran down the long corridors to her father's audience hall where she hoped to find Jahan. The plaintive calls of her mother and aunt echoed behind her and she threw her hands up to her ears in a desperate effort to shut them out. Startled handmaidens shrieked and scuttled out of her path and then she turned a corner and crashed into Kaseem, sending him flying backwards as she fell sprawling on top of him.

The old priest had been on his way to the royal apartments, knowing that Nirad had taken her there. He expected to be needed to comfort the spirited but dutiful princess he had known and was only half-prepared for this hurtling, half-clothed wildcat with the big Gheddan knife strapped to her waist. He lay beneath her gasping for breath until she got up and helped him to his feet. She found his staff, which had landed a dozen paces away, and then at last they were both able to speak.

“Holy One, I am sorry,” she apologized. “I was looking for you or for Lord Jahan.”

“I think you have found me,” Kaseem said wryly, still trying to get back his wind.

“You know what my mother is planning to do?”

“Yes,” Kaseem said sadly. “I know.”

“You must stop her. You must stop them all. And you must stop Lord Jahan from making this hopeless stand on the plain. I promise you, Holy One, even if your gods have decreed victory to Maghalla, my god will not. My blue god will return and his ship has the power to destroy Maghalla.”

Her faith was piteous, and Kaseem felt as though his heart was being torn from his chest. He clung to his staff for support and struggled to reply. “Maryam, dearest daughter of all Karakhor, your blue god will not return. I have—I have seen a holy vision.” He still did not know how else to describe his travels on the astral. “A most terrible holy vision.”

He closed his eyes tight and the tears trickled through as he saw again the awful images of the two space fleets exploding into the obscene, star-bright flashes of death and destruction. In all the confusion, he believed that all the ships had virtually vaporized and vanished, and that both Kananda and his beloved Laurya must both have perished. He had a duty to perform, but in his own overwhelming grief and anguish he had no real comfort to offer her.

“All are dead,” he told her. “The ships of Alpha and of Ghedda have destroyed each other.”

Chapter Eight

Raven and his crew, like Zela, were appalled by the outcome of the space battle. In their perception, Alpha was soft and peace-loving, spineless and weak, their men as feminine as their women. Ghedda was warlike and invincible, every man sworn to the sword, their women almost as masculine as their men. There should have been no real contest. They had expected to win, perhaps to lose one or two ships, but not to lose them all. This was almost incredible. To know that their ship was damaged and practically helpless while one Alphan ship still survived to hunt them was a violent blow to both their colossal pride and their entire belief structure.

Raven had succeeded in taking out two of the Alphan Tri-thrusters after his ship received its initial hit. His superb flying skills and the ship's ability to take heavy damage but still fight had given him an edge. But then a second direct hit had taken out one of his nuclear-pulse engines and drained his ship of power. The Solar Cruiser had skewered off into the planet's atmosphere and there she now hung in a slowly decaying orbit. His lazer banks were empty. He had fired his last shot. He could slowly slide ever deeper into the gravitational pull of the planet until at last they plunged into a final crash dive, or he could make an attempt to land. He had no other options.

“One Alphan ship is still out there.” Garl had kept track while Raven piloted the ship and Taron controlled the weaponry and he repeated what they already knew with the echoes of shock still in his voice. “They are waiting for us to come out of the planet's cloud cover.”

“Let them wait.” Raven shrugged in a careless gesture. “We do not have that choice.” He turned and looked for Caid. “Can you get power back to the ship?”

“No, Commander.” It was the engineer's turn to shrug. “The breached sections of the hull and the engine room have automatically self-sealed. Even if I could get in there, it would take several hours and even then only if I had the spare parts. Long before that happens we will hit the planet's surface.”

“And if I try to land?”

“Perhaps there is enough residual power for one controlled landing. Perhaps not. We can only try.”

Raven laughed. “Either way we are going to hit the ground. There is nothing more we can do up here. Our duty to Ghedda and the City of Swords is finished. We will try to land.”

“Where?” Taron asked the question although he knew the answer.

Raven shrugged again. “Karakhor is as good a place as any.”

“The woman?” Taron's tone was matter-of-fact, suggesting neither criticism nor support.

Raven turned and stared at him, and briefly nodded.

Taron laughed and said, “Why not?”

Garl, Caid and Landis all grinned resigned agreement. Without Raven's masterly handling of the ship, they would already be dead, so they owed him that much. Plus there was no way now that they could go home. It no longer mattered anyway.

 

 

 

Maryam had finally succumbed partially to the pleas and protests of her mother and aunt and had allowed her handmaidens to bathe her. It was an alien and irritating process after so many weeks of caring for herself. The water was too warm and the soap and perfumes too sickly cloying. She refused to prolong the experience she had once craved, and as soon as the dirt and blood had been washed off her skin and out of her hair, she insisted on getting dried and dressed. She had thrown away the white linen of death that had been offered to her and then cast aside a tentatively proposed range of beautiful silk saris. Instead she insisted upon strong pantaloons, a stiff tunic and leather boots, all more suitable for hard riding and fighting. Then she scorned makeup and jewels and shocked everyone by retrieving her long Gheddan knife. To add to all their horror and dismay, she went even further by robbing one of her newly appointed guards of his sword belt and sword. Then she marched off in search of Jahan.