The Sword Lord (15 page)

Thorn paused for a moment to look around the shocked faces of the people clustered in the square, and then at the drained white face of Maryam who was fighting to prevent herself from swooning. Raven's words and actions made tactical sense, but again Thorn wondered whether Raven might have been partly influenced by the weaker motive of sparing the earth woman the greater distress of seeing the priest killed. Finally he dismissed the idea and followed his leader.

The young guard captain came forward to steady Maryam. It was all he dared to do, for his own heart was beating fast and his throat was too dry to issue orders. Maryam pushed his hand from her arm and bade him to tend to Namita. She stared up at the temple and now she knew who her chosen champion represented.

The door was guarded by the Lord of the Beasts, but the temple itself was dedicated to the worship of the Lord
Varuna
, the high god of the blue sky. Only one god was equal in power to
Varuna
, and that was
Indra
, the mighty god of war. She looked to
Indra's
temple on the opposite side of the square, as high and as splendid as the temple to
Varuna
. Only
Indra
would dare to destroy the Lord of the Beasts and desecrate the temple of
Varuna
. Therefore it could only be that the blue-skinned ones were messengers from
Indra
. Perhaps their leader, was an incarnation of
Indra
Himself!

 

 

 

Zela was violently awakened as a coarse hand crushed against her mouth. She had fallen asleep in the small wooded glade where they had stopped to snatch a short night's rest, and her last memory had been a gentle one of the brilliant canopy of stars spread high above her. She had identified the nearer speck of light that was Dooma and her fading thoughts had been of her home planet, together with a brief prayer to the God Behind All Gods, the spiritual essence of all creation.

Now the stars were blotted out, and the dark side of creation loomed over her in the form of a man whose only thought was to kill her. She saw a cruel face with fierce, dark eyes, and recognized the black turban and laced black waistcoat of a Maghallan soldier. She smelled the rank sweat and bloodlust on him and saw the glint of steel as his dagger swept down toward her breast.

She would have died, but another blade was faster. A sword slashed the wrist wielding the dagger aside and then Kananda kicked the Maghallan away from her. The man rolled into bushes and darkness, screaming as he clutched the severed stump of his wrist.

The camp was in uproar. The two guards Kananda had posted lay sprawled in the grass with slit throats, and from all sides the Maghallan soldiers were rushing forward through the surrounding trees.

“Stand! Stand!” Kananda roared the alarm. “Stand for Karakhor!”

He suited his action to the words by standing astride Zela as she still lay half shocked, his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other as he fought back the first wave of the Maghallan attack. His companions rose quickly, grabbing for their weapons, but half of them were too slow and too weary. The Maghallans had cut down four more of the Karakhorans before they could begin to defend themselves.

They were heavily out-numbered, taken by surprise, and within another minute they would all have been butchered. Zela's blood ran cold but her mind ran fast and she drew her hand lazer as she still lay sprawled on the ground. After retrieving the body of Ramesh, she had fitted a new fuel pack and the weapon was fully re-charged. She fired forward, through Kananda's spread legs, and then rolled quickly onto her elbows and stomach to fire left, right, and directly behind. She aimed only to miss their still-surviving companions, but the ranks of the Maghallans were so thick that each energy bolt killed or scorched at least two or three of the enemy. The Maghallan onslaught became a rout, and as they turned and fled, the lower branches of the trees behind them burst into flames.

Zela struggled shakily to her feet. “The horses,” she gasped, and gestured to where their tethered mounts were plunging and rearing in their terrified attempts to escape from the crackling heat.

Kananda understood and shouted more orders to the rest of the group. They ran for their mounts and grabbed for the reins before the animals could bolt. With swords they cut them free and backed them away from the fire then quickly they swung up into the saddles. Hamir and Kasim together heaved up the still unconscious body of Ramesh onto a spare horse and quickly roped it into place before finding their own mounts. Zela fired another lazer blast at the re-grouping Maghallans, but the beam was noticeably weaker and only one man fell.

“Ride,” Kananda commanded.

They were seven. Four of them instantly spurred their horses and charged out of the glade. Kasim was the fifth. He looked back in anguish to their fallen companions, but there was no time and no way in which any who might still be alive could be helped. Kanada struck the flank of Kasim's mount with the flat of his sword, and then scooping up the reins of the horse to which the body of his brother was now lashed, he followed with Zela at his side. Zela had holstered her lazer and her sword was now in her right hand as she carved their path.

The horses needed no further urging as they raced away from the smoke and sparks. A flurry of spears and arrows followed them but most were deflected by the branches of the forest and the rest were poorly aimed. The shouts of rage and pain faded behind them, but in the echoes Kananda faintly heard the commands of a Maghallan officer ordering a mounted pursuit.

They let the horses run in blind panic, crouching low to avoid being swept from their backs. The first pale rays of dawn were filtering through the broken gloom, slowly forcing back the shadows, and mercifully the undergrowth here was not too densely tangled and the trees were tall and not too thickly crowded. The riders gathered a painful assortment of cuts and bruises in their headlong flight, but none of them were thrown from the saddle. They emerged at last onto a plain of tall grass, and here they reined back and paused to let the panting horses recover their wind. They also needed to unwind their own frayed nerves.

“Where did they come from?” Kasim demanded, his voice both angry and anguished. “We must have been well ahead of any pursuit from Sardar's camp.

“I too thought we were safe,” Kananda said wearily. “Perhaps the monkey tribes were able to supply trackers who can track faster than we expected. But I did not see Sardar there, so perhaps we had the misfortune to cross the path of another Maghallan force.”

“But we set guards.” Kasim was still at a loss to understand.

“Our guards were killed by stealth. They were tired—as we all are— perhaps they were not as alert as they should have been.” Kananda was too heartsick to debate the matter any further. He looked to Zela and said gratefully, “Again we have to thank you for saving our lives. Your lightning bolts got us out of Sardar's camp, and now they have saved us again.”

Zela had drawn her lazer and ejected the spent fuel pack. She took another from her belt and showed it to them briefly before pressing it into place. “I have only two more of these,” she warned them. “I am using them up much faster than I anticipated. When they are dead, there can be no more lightning bolts. We shall have only our swords.”

“Then we must move on,” Kananda said. “The Maghallans have a strong leader. I heard him trying to organize a pursuit.”

No one argued and they started the horses at a steady trot. Ahead of them was largely open terrain, with scattered tumbles of piled rock and patches of scrub trees breaking up the grassland. It made for fast progress, but there was no real cover. This was good hunting country for a predator, and so they avoided the rock piles where a leopard or tiger might lie in the shade. The sun was climbing steadily overhead, its power beating down on them from the burnished blue of the sky. The horses, and then their riders, began to sweat.

They were still just within sight of the treeline when faint cries caused them to look back. The Maghallan force had emerged from the forest, some fifty strong, all of them mounted.

Kananda cursed for he knew the Maghallans rode a different breed of horse to their own. The Maghallan horses were smaller but more sturdy, reared on the fringes of the Great Thar Desert where they had adapted to crossing long distances without water. The Karakhoran horses had been bred in the Ganges plains. In a short race they would beat a Maghallan horse every time, but over long distances the Maghallan breed had the greater endurance and stamina. Before the end of the day, Kananda knew, the Maghallans would run them down.

 

 

 

The chase lasted through the fierce heat of midday until at last the Kharakoran horses were flagging, their nostrils flaring as they snorted painfully, their great chests heaving, and their flanks lathered and slippery with sweat. The yells and shrieks of the pursuing Maghallans became gradually louder and closer, filling with triumph and exultation, and the first wildly fired arrows began to fall just short of the fleeing riders.

Zela looked back over her shoulder, through the spray of dirt and grass blades churned by their own pounding hooves, and saw the Maghallan riders spread out in a gaining line behind them. She drew her lazer and fired at the nearest rider. It was difficult to aim from the swaying back of her struggling mare and the scorching beam did nothing more than set a patch of grass ablaze. The rider she had missed swerved in panic to collide with one of his fellows, but the pursuit was checked for only a moment before it resumed at full tilt.

Zela tasted her first moment of fear as she realized that she had placed too much faith in a single hand lazer. It was not enough to terrify their pursuers completely. Another arrow passed by her shoulder and she began to wish that she had listened to Blair.

Kananda also knew that their situation was desperate. He looked ahead and pointed out one of the larger outcrops of rocks. “We will take refuge there,” he shouted hoarsely. “It is better to stand and die than to be pulled down from behind, or to die like cowards with arrows in our backs.”

No one disputed his command. They whipped their horses to one final effort and raced for the hill of rocks. As they reached it, they reined in hard and sprang down from their saddles, whirling to face their enemies with drawn swords.

The Maghallans were on top of them in seconds, but as they closed the gap, they made the mistake of pulling into a tight packed force. Zela was again able to use her hand lazer to good effect and three fast shots cut down the first three riders by blasting their mounts from under them. The rest came to a confused stop in a melee of rearing and fallen horses. The shrieks of men and animals made a fearsome din, and only one of the Maghallan riders was quick enough to dismount and challenge the small group of Karakhorans as they stood with their backs to the rocks. He was too rash for his own good and Kananda dispatched him in an instant with a deft parry and thrust of his sword. He paused to cut the rope holding Ramesh to the back of the spare horse, and Kasim and Hamir again took the limp form of the young prince between them. Then, taking advantage of the confusion, they all turned quickly to scramble up into the rocks, aiming for the strongest defensive position at the top of the hill.

They were halfway there when the first flight of arrows followed them. The warrior on Kananda's right gave a strangled cry and pitched forward with an arrow through his upper arm. Kananda picked him up and half dragged and half carried him to the top of the hill. Behind him, Zela turned and fired two more energy bolts to kill another of their enemies and cause the rest to take cover. The respite gave them all a chance to reach the comparative safety of the hill-top where they crouched behind a wall of boulders with their enemies fifty feet below them. Kasim and three of the warriors still had their bows and quivers full of arrows, and Zela grimly fitted the last fuel pack into her lazer. They could repel a few attacks but soon they would be fighting sword to sword.

“At least we will sell our lives dearly,” Kananda declared grimly.

“Perhaps,” Zela answered. “But if we can hold out for long enough we may still have a chance.” She was taking another device from her belt pack as she spoke and continued in explanation. “I think we may now be close enough for me to communicate with my ship.”

 

 

 

Raven had completed his casual exploration of the city, finding little of military interest, and had returned to his chamber in the palace. He was better acclimatized to the savage winters of Northern Ghedda and found the midday heat of this sickly and spice-smelling city to be uncomfortable and oppressive. He took off his chain mail and his uniform tunic to wash his face and arms in the basin of cool water that had been provided, and was amused when a Hindu slave girl, averting her eyes, dried him gently with a soft towel.

He took off his belt with his sword and lazer and lay back on the bed. He was ready to rest and he needed time to think over his next moves before he discussed them with Thorn and the others. He had to decide how long he should remain here and whether he should make a closer inspection of the other cities of the subcontinent or other parts of the planet. He doubted whether any other Earth humans could be any further advanced technologically than the people of this city, but his mission was to be sure. Another part of his mission was to search for any traces of Alphan exploration, to deny Earth to Alpha, and to secure anything of value for Ghedda. Those were his primary instructions from the Imperial War Command.

He lay with his hands clasped behind his head and was aware that the slave girl was still hovering on the edge of his field of vision. He guessed that she was fascinated by the naked torso of his blue body, and her furtive scrutiny helped to remind him that it was a long time since he had pleasured himself with a woman. Again he wondered why he had refrained from the opportunity that had been offered last night. He could have had the slave girl, or he could have taken Maryam—he had at least learned her name—for there was no power here that could have stopped him. He had wanted Maryam, and never before had he hesitated in taking any woman he had wanted. But there had been times when taking a woman had also meant accepting a challenge to the sword. This was an unknown world, its codes and customs also unknown and so rationality had decreed a degree more caution that he would have shown on Ghedda.