The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (122 page)

The valthar rubbed the food into the dirt with their snouts. Two of the beasts locked horns briefly, kicking up showers of dirt. The conflict ceased as quickly as it began, and the pack turned its attention back to its quarry, skulking among the trees.

The growling rose in pitch. Suddenly one of the creatures broke ranks and rushed at them. McCann grabbed a branch, ripped it from the tree that was sheltering them, and ran to meet it. He waved it in front of the oncoming creature, letting forth a primeval cry. The beast skidded to a halt, gave a defiant snarl, and turned tail. The human’s flush of triumph was cut short as he spotted another animal crashing through the brush to his left. It reached Yaron and loomed over his prone form, shining amber eyes jubilant, razor-toothed mouth curled upward in an insane grin. The boy screamed.

McCann sprinted back to his position, flailing his branch and bellowing like a Highland clan warrior. The valthar raised its ugly head and roared defiantly at the engineer. McCann came in swinging. The creature snapped at him with its massive jaws, while the engineer thrashed his makeshift weapon wildly. The valthar retreated, surged forward, and then backed off again before finally turning tail. McCann sagged, rested his hands on his knees, and panted for breath. Sets of ochreous eyes were watching him from just beyond the trees. Waiting. Assessing.

Outflanked.
The thought struck McCann like a slap in the face.

There was nothing mindless or random about the valthars’ attack. It was well considered. A frontal assault intended to draw the enemy out, followed by a thrust from the side. And it had almost worked. These creatures thought as a pack—moved as a pack.
They know they have us trapped. They can afford to be patient. To wait us out. To probe our defences until we tire or make a single fatal mistake.

McCann’s breathing slowed, and he drew himself erect, making his way back to where Yaron lay.

“You beat ‘em off,” the boy exclaimed. His dirt-streaked face shone in an expression akin to hero worship.

McCann had no time for such foolishness. He knelt by the bundle and resumed his task of going through the boy’s things. His fingers touched something metal. Carefully, he pulled out a small cylinder. “What’s this?”

“It’s a tinderbox.”

“A what?”

“A tinderbox. Havancha seen one o’ them before? Ya use it t’ start a campfire.”

“You can make fire with this?”

“O’ course.”

Fire.
Fire.
Renewed hope surged through McCann. He took the tinderbox in both hands and examined it closely. “How does it work?”

“Ya turn that handle there.” The engineer turned it. Nothing happened. He turned it again. Still nothing. He tried rotating the wheel faster. Sparks appeared at the end of the cylinder. Hastily he assembled a small pile of twigs and leaves, held the tinderbox next to it, and began turning the handle once more. Sparks sputtered from the primitive device, but the pile remained stubbornly unlit.

“Whatcha doin’?”

McCann ignored him and continued his efforts.

“Whatcha doin’?” the alien repeated.

McCann did not look up. “Trying to start a fire.”

“How many fires y’ started?”

“This will be my first.”

“Not like that ya won’t. Gimme the box.”

McCann hesitated, then handed the cylinder to the boy. He watched as the Kelanni reached into his bundle and pulled out a small black cloth, which he unfolded neatly. Then he went into his pack again and extracted a small bundle of wood splints. He pointed the tinderbox at the cloth and turned the handle twice. A loose spark ignited the cloth, creating a tiny, slow-burning flame. Yaron ignited one of the splints, blew the flame out from the cloth, and then set the splint to the hastily assembled wood pile, working until the flicker grew into a small blaze.

The suns had started to set and the grey clouds were daubed with miles-wide brushes of pink and orange. McCann scoured the grove, gathering every scrap of dry wood he could find. The valthar could still be seen, amorphous shapes moving beyond the firelight—keeping their distance. They were safe for the moment; however, it was far from over. The fuel in their little stockpile was fast running out, and when the fire started to die down, the pack would still be there—waiting to seize its opportunity.

“How fast can you move?” McCann asked.

“I dunno. As fast as I ’ave to, I s’pose. Whatcha gonna do?”

“I’m going to try and drive them off, but I don’t know how effective it will be, or how soon they might return. Once they are gone, then we are going to have to get as far away as we can, as quickly as possible.”

Yaron nodded. “Just gimme th’ word.”

McCann selected the two stoutest tree limbs he could find and thrust them into the centre of the fire until they were glowing orange and burning fiercely. He took one in each hand. The boy stood awkwardly and leaned against the tree, regarding him expectantly. “Wait here,” McCann instructed.

He passed beyond the tree line, holding the firebrands aloft. The valthar slithered past each other in the gathering gloom, like angry shadows. McCann advanced on them, yelling and waving the flaming torches. Snarls became interspersed with yelps. Without warning, one of the creatures came loping towards him. It stopped a few feet away, opened its tooth-filled maw, and issued a growl from somewhere deep in the back of its throat.

McCann stepped forward, thrusting the flames at the immense beast.
“Yah... yah... ”
The creature flinched, shook its immense head, turned around, and trotted off down the hill. Slowly, the theroid sounds drifted away on the wind, and silence descended over the hillside. McCann turned and jogged back to the copse, where Yaron still waited. “All right. Time to move.”

He tossed the dwindling brands into the bonfire, lit another branch, and held the flickering torch high in one hand, while supporting the boy with the other as the two of them descended the other side of the hill and re-joined the track.

The cart had trundled to a stop a few hundred yards farther on. The striped animal that was drawing it stood, grazing peacefully at the side of the road. Soon the odd pair of broad, bearded human and lithe young Kelanni was underway, riding side by side together on the front seat. The light was fading. Normally, it would be past time to stop and set up camp for the night, but there was an unspoken urgency between them— a need to get as far away as possible from the place where they had both so recently come face to face with death.

The young Kelanni finally broke the tension. “Ya came t’ ma rescue back there, though the mountain take me if I knows why.” McCann did not answer. He had no answer that made any sense. “Anyway, I can’ turn in someone as saved ma life.”

McCann stared into the distance. He remembered the funeral. Max’s mother and older sister clinging to one another, inconsolable. The empty casket slipping silently from the access tube and out into the cold reaches of space. There was no body, of course—nothing left to recover from the explosion. “What will happen to your family?”

“I dunno. The Directorate don’ like Yonach; ’is rivals know that. If they report ’im for not turnin’ ya in, then ’e could lose ’is prospectin’ licence. Still, I s’pose we’re jus’ gonna ’ave t’ take the chance.”

McCann pressed his lips together. “What if you were to tell them that you tried to bring me in, but that you were attacked by those... valthar things and, as a result, I managed to get away?”

The Kelanni raised his eyebrows. “It might work at that.”

“When we reach Kieroth we can part company. Just give me half a day; then you can go to your Directorate and tell them what happened.”

Another awkward silence followed, punctuated by the creaking and rattling of the cart. Finally Yaron spoke once more into the gathering gloom. “The others—the other ’u-mans, I mean—are they all like you?”

McCann did not have the faintest clue how to begin to answer the boy’s question. “... Like... me?”

“What I mean is... well, since we was young’uns we was always told that ’u-mans was treacherous—deceitful—not t’ be trusted. I’d ’a never ’a thought one ’d risk ’is own life t’ save mine.”

“Humans say bad things about Kelanni. I... I think war does that to people.”

The boy nodded sagely in a way that struck McCann as funny. Then he turned to the engineer. His large brown eyes were soft— almost feminine. “My people. Did they really abandon ya in the Cathgorns t’ die?”

The forest far below. The forest of orange and vermillion and bright yellow—a fairground of leaves and flowers with an ancient and mighty tree at its centre. Now bleached white and ashen and filled with nothing but death.

“Yes,” McCann said. Then he added, “But I probably deserved it.”

<><><><><>

Chapter 13

“Is it time yet?”

Lyall dragged himself up from his private thoughts to see his lifelong friend standing in front of him, framed against the evening sky, enduring red cap perched precariously on his head. A gentle wind blew like an impatient sigh through the ancient granite vale. High above, flocks of four-winged black and white birds whooped and cawed. He smiled. “Ask Keris. She’s in charge.”

Alondo’s eyes grew wide. “Seriously?”

“Well, she’s the expert when it comes to this infiltration stuff. In addition to which, she’s the only one who knows the layout of the place.”

“What about Susan Gilmer?”

“Keris is meeting with her now to plan the details.” Lyall’s tone was informative, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

Alondo picked up on the signal. “You don’t trust her—you think she might betray us.”

“I think she is not Kelanni. And this is not her world.”

“Then maybe you should have refused her help?”

“Keris says we need her. She feels it’s worth the risk.”

Alondo made a snorting noise that took Lyall aback, then sat down beside him on the irregular boulder that had been pressed into service as a seat. He stared at the long- dry river-bed that wound through the small valley. “Shann is suspicious of Susan Gilmer’s motives, too. You know what she told me?
‘The mylar doesn’t fly in the perridon’s shadow.’”

Lyall smiled and shook his head. “Now
there’s
a surprise.”

“The boy Rael seems in two minds over the hu-man woman. In the end, though, he has a tendency to side with Shann.”

Lyall met the sparkle in his friend’s eye. “You think we need to keep a watch on the young people?”

“My impression is that the river flows only one way. It’s the oldest story in the book—she likes him as a friend.”

“Ouch,” Lyall said.

“Of course,” Alondo tilted his head, “women have been known to change their mind.”

Lyall let out a sigh. “I guess I tend to forget that.”

“Forget what?”

“That our Shann is becoming a woman.”

Alondo stared out across the valley and spoke quietly. “She’s come a long way since I found her hiding in a barrel of rotting moba in Lind. She still has the same fire, but she’s come to terms with who she is, and there’s a grace about her that wasn’t there before.”

Will it be enough? After I’m gone, will she have the strength and the courage to do what must be done?
With some effort, he pulled himself back to the here and now. “You haven’t said what you think, old friend.”

“About Susan Gilmer? I don’t know. We’ve known her for less than a day. She’s hu-man, and hu-mans have caused nothing but ruin and death since they came to our world. It’s difficult to believe one of them would turn against her own people to help us, especially since it apparently involves sacrificing the chance to return home.”

“She says she wants to stay here and find the one called McCann,” Lyall pointed out.

“The one who spied on us at the Dais and who fought with Keris and Shann at the Tower of Akalon,” Alondo reminded him. “She’s also admitted to being allied with their Captain—our Prophet—although she claims she’s now working against him. She could be genuine... or it could all be part of an elaborate deception.”

“Which do you think it is?” Lyall asked.