The Cyber Chronicles Book II: Death Zone (14 page)

A few huts
stood amongst the charred ruins of those that had been torched. The
paddock was empty, and the vegetable gardens trampled into the mud.
The bodies of several big, black-haired, bronze-skinned men were
nailed to posts on the perimeter. Their bellies had been slit to
allow their entrails to spill out in a gory mass, and carrion birds
had started their grisly feast.

Young boys
stood in hollow-eyed, apathetic groups, and a few girls huddled
together, their eyes red and puffy. The foetor of blood and
entrails thickened the air as he walked towards the central square,
where a funeral pyre blazed. Andarons wandered amongst the
wreckage, collecting debris to feed the fire. There was no sign of
a jet-maned head amongst them, and a strange ache filled his chest
as he approached Tassin's hut.

Charred wood
and crumbling walls marked the spot where it had stood, and his
stomach clenched. Shizana stood nearby, watching him with narrowed
eyes that glinted with hatred. Sabre opened his mouth to ask her
what had happened to Tassin, then remembered that he was forbidden
to speak and closed it.

If he broke
the rules after the Andarons had been so recently raided, they
might well try to kill him. Turning away from Shizana's baleful
glare, he called Mishra. Shizana gasped in outrage, but before she
could do anything else, the princess stepped from the midst of a
group and walked closer. She frowned, her eyes darting from him to
Shizana. He unslung the pack and emptied the heads at her feet,
each one wrapped in a bloody shirt.

"There's your
justice," he said. "Where's Queen Tassin?"

Shizana
started forward, her spear aimed at his belly. "You are forbidden
to speak!"

He addressed
the princess. "You ordered me to speak, Mishra."

She scowled at
him before glancing at Shizana. "I did."

Mishra pulled
the shirt away from one of the heads, and Shizana lowered her
spear. The princess stared at the dead face, then unveiled the
next, studying each one before looking at Sabre again.

"Did they
suffer?"

"They knew why
they died."

She nodded.
"That will do."

Her eyes
filled with tears, and Shizana put down her spear to hug the
sobbing girl, stroking her hair. Sabre shifted, anxious to find out
what had happened to Tassin, and Shizana deduced his need.

"Your queen is
alive. The Oroka have taken her."

Relief washed
through him, easing the knot in his stomach, and he swung away.

"Wait!"

He turned to
find Mishra facing him, brushing tears from her cheeks. "What will
you do?"

"I'm going to
get her back."

Mishra walked
closer, gripping the hilt of her knife. Spotting his new weapon,
she plucked it from his harness and handed it to Shizana, who had
picked up her spear again. The princess studied him, and her
scrutiny puzzled him.

"There's not a
mark on you." She frowned. "You killed those men with your bare
hands, and they didn't even land one blow? You have no bruises, no
cuts, nothing. Perhaps they were already dead, and you just stole
the heads?"

"No, I killed
each one alone."

"All of them
were bigger than you!"

"Size isn't
important."

Her eyes
narrowed. "I hope you're right, if you're going after your queen.
The Oroka are savage men. They stole eighteen girls."

"How many did
you kill?"

"Eight, but we
lost fourteen warriors. The village will feel their loss for years
to come. Tarren had two daughters stolen, but luckily for her,
she's dead. Entill had four younglings, two boys and two baby
girls. Now others will have to foster her daughters, and the boys
will go to the men's village early. It will be bad for them; the
men will abuse them. Twelve girls are orphaned, eight boys. Many
more will suffer for this day's work; not only those who died and
those who were stolen. This is what men do!" She spat on the
ground.

Sabre inclined
his head in commiseration. "I grieve for you, but I must find my
queen."

Mishra nodded.
"Go find your queen, if you can, but they've been gone for three
days already. If you don't find her, don't return, for without her
you're not welcome here."

"I'm not like
those men, Mishra. I think women should be cherished and protected,
not abused and butchered. I understand how you feel, and I'll get
Tassin back if she still lives."

Mishra
snorted. "She lives, rest assured."

Retrieving his
knife from Shizana, she held it out. Sabre took it warily, careful
not to touch her hand, then turned and trotted away. He would have
liked to have had his sword back, but did not want to push his luck
by asking for it.

The raiders
had left plenty of tracks, and he followed them to a fresh trail at
the far end of the village. There were about twenty men in the
raiding party, and the trail headed west. A set of clawed tracks
mingled with the men’s', as if some sort of monster had accompanied
them. Sabre settled into a fast lope, anxious to make up for lost
time. With three days' head start, the raiders might reach their
destination before he caught up, and the thought of Tassin
suffering at their hands drove him on even after night fell. He did
not doubt that the raiders' reaction to the Queen's barbed tongue
would not be pleasant.

The cyber's
infrared vision made travelling at speed in the dark forest easy,
so nightfall did not slow him. Before the silver moon rose, he
passed through their first camp, and a few hours before dawn he
came across the second one. He was gaining on them rapidly, but by
dawn his leaden limbs forced him to rest for half an hour.

The
mile-eating lope he employed was part of a cyber's training, faster
than a trot but not as tiring as a run. At noon, hunger forced him
to rein in his anxiety long enough to kill a bush pig and cook it,
knowing he would be useless if he did not have the strength to
rescue Tassin when he found her. After the meal, he slept for four
hours, and woke strengthened and refreshed.

The trail
crossed areas of thick bush and open forest glades, the terrain
becoming more diverse. Several times it became difficult to follow,
and he lost time scouting around before he picked it up again. The
Oroka made no effort to hide their tracks, evidently not expecting
pursuit, which, judging by the fatalistic acceptance of the
Andarons, they had never had before. Since the women stood no
chance of defeating so many armed warriors, their disinclination to
try to rescue the stolen girls was wise.

By dawn the
following day, he had slowed to a trot. More than thirty-six hours
of fast loping with little rest or food taxed even a cyber's
stamina. He had encountered a third and fourth campsite, yet
despite the women the Oroka made good time, and he worried about
Tassin, who was not as fit or robust as the Andaron girls. Again he
hunted, ate, and slept. If he caught up with the Oroka before they
reached their destination there would be a battle at the end of the
trail, and he did not want to be too exhausted to win it.

Chapter Eight

Tassin
stumbled behind the girl to whom she was tied, too tired to take
note of where she was, or care. Never had she walked so far, so
fast. Sabre had set a reasonable pace and stopped to rest when she
grew tired, but her captors moved fast, prodding the staggering
girls along.

Since her
abduction, it had been a nightmare of stumbling through thick
undergrowth, tripping over roots and being whipped by the branches
that the girl in front pushed aside. Twice she had fallen, and the
line had halted while a warrior dragged her to her feet and helped
her on her way with a push. When they had stopped for the night,
she had collapsed, her muscles jumping with weariness.

Now she reeled
forward with dragging feet, fatigue numbing her mind. Her legs and
arms ached, and she prayed for the journey to end before she passed
out from exhaustion, afraid of what might happen if she did. She
tried not to dwell on what may await her at the journey's end.
Numerous nasty possibilities had already presented themselves, all
of which were frightening. She cursed Sabre. Why had he gone off to
kill those men instead of staying at her side? What had taken him
so long, and where the hell was he?

The control
unit's warning light woke Sabre, and he sat up in alarm, glancing
around. The sun sank behind the trees, and he cursed. He had slept
for too long, craving rest, and, although he was stronger for it,
he had lost valuable time. A glance at the scanner information
revealed no danger in his vicinity; the cyber had used its warning
only to rouse him. After finishing the remains of the meal he had
cooked in the morning, he moved on at a fast lope again.

The terrain
grew damper, pools of stagnant water glinting amongst the trees on
either side of the trail, which became a well-worn track. There was
little undergrowth, since the ground was too wet to support
anything other than the strange tress, which stood on huge roots.
Furtive movement in the mud and water made him wonder what kind of
creatures lived in this swampy environment.

Safe on the
road, he increased his pace further, his feet flying over the
ground. With a cyber's stamina, he could keep up this pace for
hours. Only the need for food or sleep would slow him down. His
bio-status was not that good, however. It hovered at about eighty
per cent, and had not been at a hundred per cent since he had
stepped out of the casket. As the hours passed, it dropped.

Through the
fog of weariness, Tassin became aware that branches no longer
whipped and scratched her. With an effort, she raised her head to
look around. Tracts of swamp, populated with odd-looking trees,
bordered the road on which she travelled. Her aching feet trod a
dusty surface devoid of the roots and rocks that had tripped her on
the forest's leafy floor. Her breath rasped in painful gasps, and
her lungs burnt. The Andarons trotted, apparently tireless, but she
could go no further. Her head spun, and the world floated around
her like a bad dream, then she collapsed.

The rope
around her neck jerked tight, and dragged her for a short distance
before the girls stopped. She rested her head on the dirt and
closed her eyes. Her limbs seemed to be made of lead, and all she
wanted was to let lassitude claim her in a blessed tide. She longed
for the comfort of Sabre's presence, and wondered where he was. Now
would be an excellent time for him to appear.

Something
prodded her in the rump, and a voice shouted, "Get up! Move,
woman!"

A hard hand
gripped her arm and tried to pull her to her feet, but she sagged.
Another voice spoke, and she recognised the softer, more cultured
tones of the leader.

"Leave her,
she's had it."

"Leave her
here for the carracks?"

"No. We're
almost home, carry her."

The first
voice grumbled, then the rope around her neck was released, and
rough hands hauled her upright. She was hoisted over a shoulder,
and hung there while the warrior walked. His pungent smell stung
her nose, and his shoulder dug into her midriff. She cursed her
inability to keep up with the Andaron girls, hating her enforced
proximity with the warrior.

Gearn cursed
as he straightened from his perusal of the trail, staring up it.
Two hours ago, they had come across the village, and while circling
it the wolf had found this track. The beast stood further up the
trail, looking back. Murdor leant against a convenient tree, paring
his fingernails with his knife. There was no doubt that the prints
were the warrior mage's; his boots had a distinctive zigzag pattern
on their soles. The wolf was excited, which could only mean that
Tassin's scent was here too.

The other
tracks worried Gearn; some twenty odd male prints mixed with the
smaller footprints of many women. Judging by the state of the
village, the men had raided it and taken a number of women,
including the Queen. The warrior mage followed them, his track a
lot fresher than theirs. Gearn scowled. The warrior mage had
clearly lost her to these men, and the mage feared what might
happen to her. If he brought soiled goods back to Torrian, the King
would be furious.

This thought
spurred Gearn to start up the track after the wolf, which bounded
ahead. Murdor pushed himself away from the tree and followed, his
heavy footfalls loud. Gearn whispered a spell to give himself
strength, and fresh vigour flowed into his legs.

Tassin’s
captor carried her into a city and dumped her on stone paving with
the rest of the girls. The men removed the ropes and thrust the
girls into a metal cage in front of a pillared edifice on one side
of a plaza. The older warrior, whose name she had learnt was Rai,
came to stand before her. She refused to twist her neck to look up
at him, and was too tired to stand, so she ignored him. He hunkered
down, meeting her glare with hard brown eyes.

"I can take my
pick of the women, you know. As a raid leader, my status allows me
to do this. Perhaps I'll choose you. How would you like that?"

Tassin raised
her chin. "I would rather eat pig dung."

"Really?" He
smiled. "That can be arranged. It's been years since my last wife
died. No woman has interested me since, but I find you interesting.
You're different, not like these dull-witted blondes." He nodded.
"I think I'll have you for my own."

"I'll murder
you in your sleep."

His smile
widened. "You have spirit. I like that." Rising, he called to one
of the warriors, "Bring this one to my house and give her to my
sons."

Two men pulled
her to her feet as Rai walked away, and she shouted after him,
"You'll regret this, I promise!"