Sword Empire (7 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Radd was light and fast, moving quickly on the toes and balls of his feet. He came at Raven in an attacking whirlwind of blurred steel, to the accompaniment of loud cheers of encouragement from the crowd. A lesser swordsman than Raven would have died in those first few furious minutes, but Raven's blade matched the speed of his opponent's and held Radd at sword's length as they fought back and forth across the raised dueling ground.

Some of the cheering began to falter, and Raven smiled into Radd's ice-cold eyes. He knew now what they had all expected. He had spent almost eight weeks in deep space and they had assumed that he would still be stiff from lack of exercise. But even in the confines of the ship he had worked daily to keep himself loose and supple, and to maintain the strength of his sword arm and wrist.

Radd bared his teeth in an answering smile, and for a split second, his pressure eased. Raven smashed forward an attack that drove the younger man backward and now the cheering all but died away.

Despite his slightness of build, Radd had the strength of coiled steel. He suddenly leaped high and whirled sideways. It was a neat trick, well practised and perfectly executed, but Raven had seen similar before. He whirled on his heel and his blade was there, defending as Radd attacked again. Raven was forced to give ground, and again there were cheers from Radd's supporters.

Raven had the measure of his man now. Radd's swordplay was brilliant, and he was without doubt the most dangerous opponent Raven had ever faced, but Radd had his weakness.

Raven knew that he was being pushed back to the very edge of the dueling platform. The uncertain cheers for Radd became louder, and then triumphant. Raven's heels were inches from the edge, and he risked all on flicking his gaze to the right as though checking the fighting room that was still available. It was the second Radd had waited for— the glacial eyes hardened, and his right shoulder hunched fractionally upward.

Raven saw the tell-tale sign from the corner of his left eye. He pivoted instantly on his left heel, dropping his upper body forward to keep his balance as he sucked his belly back. Radd's thrust lunged through suddenly empty air between Raven's chest and his knees, the disemboweling twist did no more than scratch the golden chain mail of his cod piece.

Radd recovered too late. Raven's blade flashed up and cut down again in a vicious back slash. The cut took Radd in the side of the neck and the force of the blow severed his head from his body. The dead man's trunk reeled sideways, pumping blood in a bright crimson fountain, and then crashed to the floor. The detached head rolled over to the foot of the table where the Council of Twelve sat and gaped.

There was a stunned silence. Raven slowly straightened and flexed his shoulders. He looked for the chalk-white face of Maryam and gave her a reassuring smile. Then he rested the flat of his bloodied blade briefly in the palm of his free hand as his sardonic gaze passed over the remaining spectators.

Taron, Garl and Landis found their breath, filled their lungs, and gave a great mutual roar of approval.

Raven smiled back at them and waited for the applause to fade. Then his smile disappeared as he returned his full attention to the Council of Twelve.

He walked back to his former position where he had stood to address them, and casually leaned forward to spike Radd's head, sliding the point of his blade into the severed windpipe. He held his grim trophy aloft.

“Swordmaster Radd was very good,” he said conversationally. “But he relied too much on his fancy tricks.”

He flicked the head disdainfully away, watching it roll off the edge of the platform. Then he took a pace forward, his hard gaze fixed on Doran. The old Sword Lord stared back at him without flinching, although Doran knew he was staring death in the face. The entire room was hushed, knowing that Raven now had full right to challenge Doran to the sword.

Raven's eyes flickered to the right, to the face of Karn. He raised one eyebrow in silent question.

Karn's face was another frozen mask. Nothing cracked, but almost imperceptibly he moved his head.

Raven was surprised. Both his eyebrows lifted, seeking confirmation.

Again Karn made the silent, negative motion of his head.

Raven returned his direct, thoughtful gaze to Doran. For some reason Karn did not want him to re-issue the sword challenge and kill his enemy.

Raven's mind raced, weighing his options. It was never wise to leave a sworn enemy alive, and the opportunity might not come again. Yet there were subtleties in this power struggle behind the scenes that he did not yet understand. Doran clearly wanted Karn dead, yet Karn wanted Doran alive. It was an intriguing mystery, well up to the labyrinthine workings of empire politics.

Perhaps time would give him the answers. Raven made up his mind and stepped back a pace, allowing his level gaze to sweep the full length of the table.

“Does anyone still wish to accuse me of foolishness and cowardice?” He asked pleasantly.

It was a general question and not a direct challenge to any individual member of the Council. For a moment, no one answered, and then Karn pushed himself painfully to his feet.

“We have seen that our first estimation was both hasty and ill-judged,” he announced ponderously. He looked neither left nor right for either confirmation or dissent from the remainder of the Council. “The Council accepts your report, and we are satisfied that all your actions and decisions on the third planet were made in the best interests of the Gheddan Empire, the Gheddan Code, and Gheddan Honour.”

Raven acknowledged the belated compliment with a slight bow. There were a few murmurs of agreement along the table and he pretended not to notice Doran sitting stone-faced and thunderous.

“Perhaps you will call on me later in my quarters,” Karn continued. He allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “When you have cleaned your blade.”

Raven sheathed his sword and made the open palm salute. Karn returned it, and with a final bow, Raven turned and walked away.

There were cheers from the spectators, all of them now for Raven. He ignored them, but as he stepped down from the fighting platform, he held out his left arm to the waiting Maryam. She moved into its welcome embrace with her chin held high and they exchanged smiles.

Raven felt an urgent need for her. Radd's sword had come close to clipping his manhood, and the memory had left him with a sudden perverse but undeniable hardening that was excruciatingly contained by the chain mail at his groin.

Maryam was not aware of it yet, but as the crowd parted to let them through and make their exit, she could not resist throwing a triumphant smile over his shoulder at Sylve.

 

 

 

It was two hours before Raven sought Karn in his quarters in one of the larger barrack blocks. The guards allowed him into the building with formal salutes but without comment. His knock was answered and the door opened by a silent young Gheddan woman who might have been Karn's daughter, but probably wasn't. Raven could not recollect her face from his previous visits, but in three months many things could change. The woman led him to an inner bedchamber where Karn waited and then discretely withdrew.

The old Sword Lord lay sprawled back on his bed with his head and shoulders propped up by half a dozen large fur cushions. He had removed his chain mail but still wore the white dress uniform. The tunic and waistbelt were both open and for a moment Raven thought that he had interrupted the same sport that he had paused to enjoy with Maryam. Then he saw the pain lines etched across Karn's ravaged face, which told a very different story.

Karn indicated a stool and Raven pulled it closer and sat down.

“How long have you been sick?” he asked.

Karn weakly shrugged his shoulders. His huge frame was wasted from what Raven remembered, but he was still larger than most men of his age. “It started soon after you left. Now it is well advanced. I have the eating sickness. It gnaws its way into my guts. All of my bowel movements are streaked with blood.”

Raven smiled. Karn had always been crude of speech, and the proximity of death had done nothing to improve his language.

“I am sorry,” he said simply.

“So am I,” Karn grunted shortly.

They were silent for a moment. The eating sickness was the general term for a malignant fungus that attacked its victims from the inside. It could occur almost anywhere, in the throat, the lungs or the stomach, and it was incurable. The empire physicians had made some attempts to cut the foul growths out of some of their patients, but all of them had died anyway. Karn was not the sort of man who would let the butchers cut him, and if the eating sickness was in his bowels, then his time was short.

“I understand why you did not send for me before.”

“Argh!” Karn grimaced. “It was not the pain. I thought that Doran might try to get at me through you. So it seemed best to let our friendship lie dormant, to hope that Doran might forget that I had named you as my champion. Not much of a hope, I admit. Doran had too much confidence in Swordmaster Radd.”

“An ill-placed confidence,” Raven said. “But some small warning might have been helpful.”

Karn laughed, a pain-filled grating sound. “You had your warning. Who do you think primed the drunken loudmouth who talked to your friend Taron?”

Raven laughed in turn. “I should have known.” It was the nearest he could come to an apology.

Karn continued to laugh until the agony rising up from his bowels choked it away. He reached for a glass that might have contained water or white spirits and gulped it down. They were silent for a moment after he replaced the empty glass.

“Why?” Raven asked at last.

“Why did I stop you from killing Doran?” Karn understood the question. “It is a long story. If Taron grasped all that he was told, then you know that Doran leads a majority on the Council that is demanding an immediate first strike war on Alpha.”

“I know that much,” Raven acknowledged. “I know also that we have launched the first of the three battle stations that will stop any counter-attack from Alpha and give certain victory to the empire. What I do not understand is why you oppose such action.”

Karn's eyes became wary. He knew that the truth of his conversion would find no credence anywhere within the Gheddan Empire. He said carefully, “I thought it prudent to examine the Alphan claim that such an exchange of our most powerful missiles could possibly destroy our planet and both empires. Now I believe they may be right. There are many more fire mountains than we first believed in the Great Northern Ranges. The Alphans claim that their continent shows even more evidence of volcanic activity. It is just possible that their fears are justified.”

“But we have always known of the fire mountains.” Raven was perplexed. “And the Alphan theory. No one believes it.”

“I am not saying that I believe it.” Karn knew that he could not go far. “I say only that it may be possible.” He reached up and gripped Raven's arm with a surprising lunge of strength. “Listen to me. I have studied all the geological and geographical evidence I can find, and I have to give them the benefit of the doubt. If the Alphans are right, then our whole world is in grave danger of total destruction, Alpha and Ghedda. Is it worth the risk?”

“Our victory is certain,” Raven said slowly. His eyes searched the older man's face and he wondered what Karn was holding back or hiding. “Doran and the majority of the Council think it is worth the risk.”

“Doran.” Karn sighed and relapsed back into his cushions. “Doran is my oldest friend. We have served together, guarded each others backs, fought shoulder to shoulder.”

“Is that why you did not wish me to kill him?”

“Partly.”

“But he planned to have Radd kill you.”

“I know,” Karn snarled because he could not deny the obvious. “But Doran is still my best hope. If I can convince anyone that the risk is real and that I am not senile, then it must be Doran. If you had killed him, then another young warhawk would have been elected to the Council.”

Raven smiled. “I might have been voted to the Council.”

“No.” Karn shook his head. “Only a majority vote from the surviving members can vote for a new member, and the vote would still have been seven against four. All those I can see as candidates have been shouting for war even louder than Doran.”

He was silent for a moment and then finished wearily. “Doran thinks that I have gone soft in the head, but if I can convince him, then the danger could be diverted. It is the only hope I have.”

“It galls me to leave it so,” Raven said softly.

“Trust me,” Karn said shortly. “Besides, there is nothing you can do now, and there are other matters that require your attention.”

“What other matters?”

Karn moved to try and make himself more comfortable on his cushions and then grimaced as a spasm of pain wrenched at his bowels. He clasped at his stomach with both hands and for a moment he was silent with gritted teeth.

“There was a communication for you while you were absent,” he said when he was able. “From your brother Bhorg. One of your neighbouring strongholds has changed hands. It has a new Sword Lord, a man named Brack. It seems that Sword Lord Brack is unduly ambitious. He has challenged your brother to the sword.”

Raven's face became hard and angry. His home stronghold was now far behind him, in terms of years, miles and emotional distance, and a trip north was something he did not particularly want.

“So Bhorg is dead,” he guessed harshly.

“No, Bhorg refused the challenge. So did your brother Scarl. They both claimed that they hold Stronghold Raven in your name.”

At that Raven chuckled. “So, they keep the stronghold but there is another sword duel waiting for me. It can wait a while longer.”

“Perhaps not. Brack has formed an alliance with another stronghold, a Sword Lord named Raige. Together they have laid siege to Stronghold Raven.”