The Soterion Mission (4 page)

Timur thoughtfully fingered his wispy beard and returned to the business in hand. “Haven’t you removed the tongue yet? Oh, Sheza! You must do that before we get down to the really amusing part.”

Whether he recaptured Roxanne or not, Timur would make an unforgettable example of the batbrained idiot he held responsible for letting her go. If he did not, it was possible that some of his sharper followers might suspect the truth. Roxanne’s escape had been his fault.

The next day, Roxanne slipped out of the Mudir dormitory as night was falling and made her way to the bridge that lay between the settlement and its fields. She was less tired now and less conspicuous in a simple Tallin dress of plain wool. This was the first time she had been left alone since the meeting of the Majlis, and she had to make the most of it. Her Death Month drew closer by the day, blotting out the horizon like an approaching storm.

On the bridge she paused, looked around to make sure she was alone, and gazed at her reflection in the clear water below. Long hair, almost black, framed a face of high cheekbones and brilliant green eyes. Above, jagged and crude, the disfiguring mark of a Zed. She raised a hand and traced the scar with her fingers.

“Yes, it was the cruellest, cleverest thing he could have done, wasn’t it?” She recognised the voice at once. So he had been watching for her, as she hoped. She had not overestimated him.

“Cyrus. I’m glad you’ve come. Thank you.”

He left her and walked on over the bridge without looking back. “Not here, Roxanne. It’s too public. Someone’s bound to be watching.”

The remark was truer than he realised.

Roxanne waited till Cyrus had disappeared into the trees flanking the path, then crossed the bridge herself and turned right. After a short walk, she came to a place where the river bank had fallen in, creating a low beach beside the stream. Here she waited, listening intently.

Cyrus found her shortly afterwards. Calling her name quietly from the top of the bank, he scrambled down to stand before her in the darkness.

“Roxanne, I wanted to speak to you because, well…”

“I know, Cyrus,” she interrupted, speaking with a quiet urgency. “You believed in me from the beginning, from the moment I came over your barricade, and I’m so grateful to you. I won’t let you down, I promise. You know I need assistance, don’t you? Whatever Leiss says, I have to get away soon. And I can’t manage on my own.”

Cyrus’ sensitive face with defined, even features, handsome in daylight, struck her as even more attractive by starlight. She took half a step back. No, she told herself, there can be no complications. She would soon be dead, and then nothing would matter. Before that, she must reach the Soterion.

“I have been through it in my mind dozens of times, Roxanne. Of course I want to help you. But Leiss forbade us from going with you. You are asking a Constant to disobey his Emir, to break the principles of a lifetime.”

“Lifetimes are short, Cyrus, and not all principles are equal. Might your duty to all Constants be greater than to just those of Della Tallis?”

“Maybe. If I knew for certain you are what you say and Taja is wrong to mistrust you…”

“Taja? Well, only you can make that decision, Cyrus.”

They remained there for some time, side by side, gazing at the starlight on the black surface of the stream. When Cyrus eventually spoke, he found it difficult to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“Alright, Roxanne. Count me in. Your mission has just doubled in size.”

His hand reached out in the darkness and grasped hers. She did not withdraw.

Cyrus had been on a number of forays out of Della Tallis. Some were scavenging expeditions, collecting remains from the time of the Long Dead; others were military operations to drive back nomadic Zeds camped too close to the settlement’s boundary. He had no trouble, therefore, in drawing up a plan to get out unchallenged.

Inviting other warriors to join him was trickier. He could approach only those he trusted absolutely. At the same time, he did not want to put his friends in a difficult position by forcing them to choose between keeping his secret and their loyalty to the community. He was, after all, asking them to disobey the Emir’s express command. The punishment for that was death.

Navid was the obvious choice. Even so, Cyrus hesitated. To his surprise, it was his friend who ended the agonising.

“To save you asking, yes, I will,” Navid said suddenly on the afternoon following Cyrus’ pact with Roxanne.

“Eh?”

“Come on, Cy. I might be slow but I’m not Zed speed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Roxanne’s had her eighteenth winter, yes?”

“Yes. I think that’s right.”

“You know it is, Cy. Her Death Month can’t be that far away, and it’s pretty obvious she’s not going to wait here until it starts. She’s a woman on a mission.”

“Is it that obvious, Nav?”

Navid grinned. “Well, I worked it out so others probably have. And I also worked out that she can’t do it alone. She needs companions, helpers. So I asked myself, ‘Navid, who do you think she would turn to?’ Answer, clear as a dew drop: Cyrus.”

“I see. But you can’t come, Nav. What about Salama? She will have your second baby soon.” He was fond of Navid’s wedun and did not want to be responsible for separating the couple.

“She agrees. I’ve told her.”

“You what?!” cried Cyrus, looking round to see if anyone was listening. “Nav, you didn’t –”

“Hey, don’t worry! All I said was that if I was to leave on some incredibly important mission, would she mind? Well, you know Salama. She said straight away it was up to me. No questions asked.”

Although Cyrus was not sure that she really grasped what was suggested, this was not the time for quibbling. If Navid had guessed that Roxanne was going to ask others to join her on the mission, who else might have reached the same conclusion? Leiss, perhaps. Certainly Taja. Cyrus looked around again, anxiously. They had to go that very night.

The two men agreed immediately on who should be the third warrior in the party. Zavar was the finest swordsman of his generation, wielding his steel blade with dazzling skill, and he was also terrifyingly brave. A few months ago, he had rescued a fellow Defender by charging alone into a band of Zeds and slaying all eight of them. Now in his final year of life but still on the lookout for fresh adventure, he instantly accepted Cyrus’ invitation to join them.

So it was that shortly before dawn the following morning, a band of four Defenders, tightly wrapped up against the cold and accompanied by a large dog, approached the watchtower manned by Obadis. Cyrus greeted the one-eyed Mudir cheerfully, explaining that he was leading a small scouting party to check that the Zeds who had pursued Roxanne had now left the district.

Obadis hesitated. No one had told him about this patrol and he was not supposed to let anyone out without express permission from Leiss. “He said we should keep an eye open for this Roxanne woman,” he explained with unconscious irony, “in case she tries to break out before a moon has passed.”

“Roxanne?” laughed Cyrus. “You reckon she’d want to go out into Zed territory again after what she’s been through? Be sensible, Obadis!”

The Mudir nodded and ordered the Defenders in his sector to let the scouting party pass. Not long afterwards, the four figures had cleared the barricade and, with the dog loping along behind, disappeared into the morning mist. “Hope they know what they’re doing,” Obadis muttered to himself.

He was surprised when, a few seconds later, a familiar figure glided into view and asked him the same question. Did he know what he was doing?

Obadis hesitated, inwardly cursing his poor eyesight. All of a sudden he was unsure how to reply.

By sunrise, the mission had crossed the open land surrounding Della Tallis and reached the safety of the woods further up the valley. The men, sure that no Tallin would pursue them this far, relaxed and started congratulating themselves on how easy it had been. Roxanne was less cheerful. She was fearful about being back in Zed territory and also anxious about the route they should take.

The Albans had said the way back to the Soterion lay in the direction of the rising sun. Part of the trail followed a Long Dead freeway that the Yonners identified as Highway 24. Although direct, the road was also highly dangerous; much of its length lay across arid semi-desert where food and water were hard to come by. Following this route would be tough enough, but first they had to find it. That meant striking out across unknown territory where vicious bands of scavenging Zeds lurked amid the overgrown ruins of abandoned towns.

After her capture, Roxanne had only a rough idea of where Timur had taken her. The sun had been at her back, she thought. There had also been a river, a huge one that the Zeds had crossed with some difficulty. She suggested, therefore, that they set out in the opposite direction to the one in which she had been taken as a prisoner. By journeying towards the sun at its highest – “noon” the Long Dead had called it – they should meet either the river or Highway 24.

“Before we go any further,” she added, glancing round at her escort, “there is something else you need to know.” The men looked at her intently. “You dismiss the Zeds as stupid. Well, nearly all of them are – little more than dumb brutes. But they are kept like that by their leaders. These men – and they are all men – are a carefully chosen élite, all surprisingly intelligent.

“The cleverest of all – and without doubt the most evil – is the man they call their ‘Malik’. His name is –”

“Timur,” interrupted Cyrus without thinking. “Sorry, Roxanne,” he added quickly, “that’s the name you cried out in your sleep on the day you arrived.”

An expression of pain moved across Roxanne’s face. “Yes, Cyrus, his name is Timur. And unless I have misjudged him, he will have been waiting for me to leave Della Tallis and continue my mission.”

Zavar let out a low whistle. “You mean they’re coming to us rather than us having to go looking for them?” he chuckled. “That makes a change!”

“Maybe,” frowned Roxanne, “but take great care. I have already fallen victim to one of Timur’s ambushes once.” She gave a slight shudder. “It’s not an experience I want to repeat.”

Cyrus, who had assumed leadership of the party, accepted all Roxanne said. He arranged for Navid and Corby to lead the way – the dog’s acute senses would alert them to danger long before they were aware of it themselves. He would follow, with Roxanne and Zavar bringing up the rear. Where possible, they would travel on high ground where an ambush was harder to organise. First, though, they had to get out of the valley.

Moving as quietly as possible and keeping to Cyrus’ formation, the Constants set off up the slope. They had gone no more than a few hundred paces when Corby began to growl and sniff around a clump of thick scrub to their left. Navid went to investigate. Standing in front of Roxanne with his spear at the ready, Cyrus watched and waited.

From behind him, Roxanne’s voice splintered the silence. “Cyrus!”

He spun round to see a Zed warrior, javelin raised, a couple of paces away. The man couldn’t miss. He tensed his arm for the throw – then suddenly it went limp. The javelin dropped harmlessly to the ground, followed by the quivering body of the Zed himself. A Constant arrow, fired with lethal precision, stuck out from his neck like a quill. Blood pumped from the wound and spread in a crimson pool across the sandy soil.

Cyrus stared open-mouthed at the archer who had saved his life. Impossible! Not here…How did she…?

“I thought I’d join you,” Taja said calmly, lowering her bow, “to make sure you knew what you were doing, Cyrus. I also wanted to keep an eye on Roxanne – you know what I feel about her, don’t you?”

No one replied.

Taja drew level with Zavar. “You may be a fine swordsman,” she said icily, “but you’re useless at fieldcraft. I’ve been following you ever since you deceived Obadis. Poor man! I hope they don’t execute him.”

After a painful pause, Cyrus said quietly. “Thank you, Taja. You just saved my life.”

Taja nodded. “Like I saved Roxanne’s when I ordered the dogs to be shot. Now you both owe me – kindly don’t forget it.”

“This isn’t really the time for point scoring,” cut in Roxanne. “That man you killed was not alone. We must get out… “

The sentence was never finished. Ignoring what was going on behind him, Corby continued rooting through the scrub. All of a sudden, he began to bark angrily. As if this was a signal, eight armed Zeds stood up in front of him.

At the same time, more warriors appeared from the trees on the other side of the track. Before the band of Constants had time to react, their enemies fanned out left and right.

Glancing around, Cyrus felt his throat run dry. They were surrounded.

“Well, Cyrus,” said Navid quietly. “You’re the leader. What now?”

3: Fighting Free

Cyrus was used to making quick decisions. For years, the Emirs of Della Tallis had singled him out as a future Mudir, and he had proved himself by leading a number of successful patrols out of Della Tallis. But he had never before been in such a desperate position.

Make a run for it or fight it out? The circling Zeds took a step closer. Eight to the left, four in front, and still more to the right and behind them…Twenty in total, all of them armed. No, a break out was impossible. Even if some of the Tallin party got through the ring, one of them was bound not to make it. What if it were Roxanne? If she went, the whole mission would be finished.

An urgent whisper broke into Cyrus’ thoughts. “Give them Roxanne! Do a deal, Cyrus. Hand her over and they’ll let us go!” It was Taja.

The words ran through Cyrus like an electric shock, jerking him into action. “Never!” he shouted, covering his response with a general order. “Constants never surrender! Shoulder to shoulder, and we’ll show them what Tallin Defenders can do!”

The five – three men and two women – did as Cyrus commanded. Without a word, they came together in a tight knot of sinew and steel. At their feet, Corby snarled menacingly.

“Hold your positions, whatever happens,” called Cyrus, his eyes fixed on the Zed standing directly before him. “Let them come to us.”

At this, the Zed in front of Cyrus brandished his weapon, an evil-looking instrument known as a “gut-ripper”, and began to speak: “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

Slowly and deliberately, he repeated the hypnotizing words. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

The men on either side of him picked up the chant and the Tallins were soon surrounded by a frenzied circle of screaming, stamping barbarians. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!” On and on it went, louder and louder, faster and faster, until the very trees seemed to join in the howling. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

Cyrus glanced to his left. Roxanne – normally so calm, so composed – was quivering uncontrollably. She had seen all this before, he realized, and it must bring back unspeakable memories. He had to do something before she collapsed completely. Five against twenty would be hard enough; with just four, their task would be all but impossible.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the tall, bearded man in front of him, Cyrus slowly drew his knife from his belt. At the end of each verse, on the final “Kill!”, he noticed that the Zed looked up at the sky and raised his arms above his head. At that moment, the scarred body, naked to the waist, was a perfect target.

A flash of bright steel, a slight whirring sound and then a dull thud as the knife struck home, burying itself deep into the man’s stomach. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill…”

The chanting stopped as swiftly as it had begun. The woods were suddenly silent. All eyes turned to the man holding the gut-ripper as he stared in disbelief at the wooden handle projecting from his body. Then, to Cyrus’ astonishment, with a ghastly grin he plucked the bloody dagger from his abdomen and flung it back towards the Tallins. It landed harmlessly a few feet in front of Roxanne.

The action broke the spell that held her. Keeping her eyes on the enemy, she bent down, picked the weapon up, wiped it on her tunic and handed it back to Cyrus. “Yours, I believe?” she said quietly. “I think you might need it.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the Zeds, infuriated by her composure and the injury to their leader, leaped forward with hideous cries of murder and revenge.

Four attackers fell before they reached the Tallins. After managing two short steps, the commander with the gut-ripper sagged to his knees clutching at the wound in his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers and dripped to the ground. He never rose again. Three other Zeds were pierced by Taja’s arrows. She shot with extraordinary rapidity, taking an arrow from her waist, fitting it to the bow, drawing and releasing it in what appeared to be a single movement. She aimed high, hitting two of her targets in the face and one in the chest.

Fortunately for the Constants, Timur had chosen the gut-ripper man as leader because of his ferocity, not his intelligence. He had told his band to leave their bows in the camp because they would be useless at close quarters. That left them armed only with a variety of crudely made spears, clubs and hooks, none of which was a match for the better-crafted Tallin weapons. Furthermore, the Zeds had come without dogs in case the half-trained beasts spoiled the surprise of an ambush – the Grozny had even less control over their animals than over themselves. Pain was their only discipline.

In short, unequal though the battle might have looked in terms of numbers, with five Zeds taken out before hand-to-hand combat began, the Tallins’ position was not hopeless.

After the first exchanges, it looked even better. Wielding only wooden clubs, the Zeds who charged at Navid were no match for his mighty axe. The first lost an arm, the second died instantly when the blade sliced into his skull. Beside him, another man struggled in vain against the huge dog that pinned him to the ground by the throat. When it came to a fight, Corby was more than a match for any Zed.

To Navid’s right, Cyrus fought off three opponents with his spear, stabbing one in the leg, another in the throat and a third with a well-aimed lunge to the chest.

Behind them, Zavar’s sword flashed and twinkled in the broken sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves. The two Zeds confronting him, unsure how to approach, darted this way and that trying to find a way in. Each time they advanced, they were pierced and sliced by that razor-sharp blade. Exhausted and bleeding heavily, they fell back.

Zavar was on the point of advancing to finish them off when he heard a cry to his left. It was Taja. Having fired all six arrows from her belt, she was trying desperately to defend herself with the long knife that all archers carried for cutting new ammunition. A Zed warrior armed with a club had knocked the weapon from her hand. Before her now loomed a grinning, broken-toothed warrior with a rusty machete poised above his head.

In one movement, Zavar spun round and drove forward with his sword. The Zed stood for a second, his expression frozen in deadly shock. An instant later, his machete clattered to the ground and he crumpled slowly beside it. Zavar’s thrust had pierced his heart.

The club man made a second lunge at Taja as she stooped to retrieve her knife. With eyes fixed on his adversary, he failed to notice a quick movement to his right. The stainless steel bayonet Cyrus had given Roxanne before they set out slipped easily between the man’s ribs. All Constants, young and old, male and female, were taught the skills of warfare: their lives depended on it. Roxanne was no exception.

Turning from the bayoneted man lying at her feet, Taja glanced towards the warrior whose swift action had saved her from serious injury, if not death. The eyes of the two women met. It was a glance of recognition, certainly, but Roxanne was unsure whether it was also a sign of reconciliation.

This was hardly the time for speculation. Zavar was in trouble. In turning to help Taja, he had momentarily taken his eyes off the Zeds immediately in front of him. Seizing his chance, a wiry fellow with the yellow tinge of jaundice upon his skin smashed his club into Zavar’s left shoulder. The blow sent him reeling and, to regain his balance, he lowered his sword. At this, the second Zed stabbed him in the same shoulder with a barbed spike lashed to the end of a wooden pole. Hearing his cry of pain, the two women came to his rescue. Seconds later, both Zeds, already seriously weakened by Zavar’s swordplay, were out of the fight.

No less than fourteen Zeds now lay bleeding upon the forest floor. Some were dead, others too badly injured to raise themselves. Cyrus appraised the situation in an instant. “Don’t let even one get away!” he gasped. “Not a single one!”

The Tallins advanced carefully on the remaining Zeds. Corby brought down one, and Cyrus and Navid accounted for another two. Roxanne’s bayonet gashed the back of a fourth as he fled into the trees with two other survivors. As giving chase risked another ambush, the exhausted Constants decided to let them go.

Navid, panting heavily, came over to Cyrus and put an arm round his shoulder. “Quite a fight, eh?” he grinned.

Cyrus brushed a lock of dark brown hair from his sweat-covered face. “Yes, but we shouldn’t have let any escape, Nav. They know our position and will report back.” He wiped the tip of his spear on a tuft of coarse grass. “We’ve got to get out of here quick, before they come after us with dogs.”

First, though, they had to tend to Zavar. He was in great pain. The blow from the club had broken a bone in his shoulder and the wound from the spike was bleeding badly. He was able to walk, though. When Cyrus had fashioned a sling out of a belt and Roxanne had stopped the flow of blood with a pad of leaves and a woollen bandage, the party struck out in what they hoped was the direction of Highway 24. This time Roxanne and Navid led the way, followed by Zavar and Taja with Cyrus bringing up the rear. Corby, unhurt in the fray, trotted along happily beside his master.

At the top of the rise, the trees gave way to denser, more regular undergrowth that covered an ancient vineyard. One or two wild vines remained and the party eagerly grabbed the purple grapes as they hurried by. From time to time, Cyrus raised a hand and they paused to listen for the sound of dogs. Not till well into the afternoon did they hear the ominous barking echo up from the valley behind them. Faces furrowed with anxiety, they gathered under a broad-leafed beech to listen.

“Six, seven thousand paces away?” suggested Cyrus.

“Yeah, about that,” nodded Navid.

Cyrus ran his hand through his hair. “Good. There’s no way they’ll catch up with us by sundown, and then they’ll have to call off the hounds in case they lose them. We’ll be safe in the dark.” 


Roxanne shook her head. “No, not safe, Cyrus. We’ll never be safe from Timur as long as he’s alive. I know the man only too well. He wants my secret and he’ll pursue me, day and night, until he gets it.”

“Then we’ll stay ahead of him, Roxanne, and get to the Soterion before he finds us. Trust me.”

Cyrus looked towards Zavar, who was sitting with his back against the trunk of the tree. “How is it?” he asked, squatting down beside him.

“To be honest, Cyrus, the pain’s quite bad. I’m sure it’ll ease off, but just now my whole body’s throbbing like I’ve got a drum inside me.”

No one replied. They all knew, as Zavar himself did, that wounds like his took weeks to heal, if they healed at all. Even innocent-looking cuts became infected and the sufferer died of blood poisoning. And Zavar’s wound did not look innocent.

Cyrus searched his mind for a solution. He had been on many Tallin salvage parties bringing back medical supplies from shops and other buildings that had escaped looting. Sadly, they didn’t know how to use the loot properly and powerful drugs, well passed their use-by date, often made patients sicker rather than better. Did the literate Yonners know better?

“You know how to read, Roxanne,” he said slowly, “and where you were brought up they have books –”

“Only three, Cyrus.”

“Yes, but don’t those books tell you about healing, about cures and that sort of thing? Like in the time of the Long Dead. Maybe you know something to help Zavar.”

Roxanne shook her head and, despite the cruel circumstances, smiled at his optimism. Not for the first time in her presence, Cyrus felt a wave of unexplained happiness wash over him.

“I wish I could be of use,” she said, looking round at the others. “Unfortunately, the Books of Yonne don’t speak much of science or healing. They are, well, odd. Difficult to understand – not the words themselves but the information and ideas they stand for. Generations of Yonner scholars have argued over them, trying to work out what they mean.”

Before anyone asked what these books were, the sound of barking began again in the distance. “Come on!” called Cyrus, snapping back into his role as leader. “I’m sure Zavar will be OK – and Roxanne can tell us about her weird books later. So, let’s go! If the mission gets through, there’ll be more books and knowledge than we ever dreamed of. But if we fail…” He left the sentence unfinished.

Cyrus and Taja helped Zavar to his feet and the party continued on its way. Out in front, after Roxanne and Navid had walked in silence for a while, she turned to him and asked earnestly, “You know how to keep wounds clean, don’t you Navid?”

“Yeah. That’s why you put those leaves on Zavar’s shoulder. Keep out the dirt.”

“Yes, but it needs to be properly cleaned. Water, Navid. We need to find water to wash the wound. Have you ever been here before, on a patrol?”

Navid shook his head. “Never. But if it’s water you want, I know a fellow who’ll find it for you.” He stooped down and patted Corby’s massive flank. “Drink time, old boy,” he whispered. “Go on! Drink! Find drink!”

The dog looked up at him as if to say, “Water? Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” then raised his nose in the air and sniffed. Seconds later, he was bundling off to the right, leaving the Tallins struggling to keep up. After a good deal of sniffing and snuffling, and a quick diversion in pursuit of a startled rabbit, Corby found what he was looking for. Galloping ahead of his master, he plunged into a shallow ravine and was soon lapping happily at the sluggish brown stream that ran along the bottom.

Though the water was not as clean as they would have wished and tasted of mud, it had to do. After they had drunk their fill and replenished their water bottles – some of leather, others battered relics rescued from a Long Dead store – Taja insisted that it was she who bathed Zavar’s wound and bandaged fresh leaves to his gashed flesh. She frowned as she worked but when Roxanne asked if she needed any help, she dismissed the offer with a curt, “No! I can manage on my own.”

Meanwhile, Cyrus and Navid discussed their next move. The stream was a triple blessing. Its water was essential for drinking and washing – and as a means of evading the Zeds. If they waded along it for a thousand paces or more, Cyrus reckoned, there was no way the dogs would be able to follow their scent.