The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) (155 page)

They threaded their way through the abandoned possessions that littered the compound. Somewhere off to their right, beyond the stockade, the sand scarags would soon be massing against the fortress’s sheer outer walls, like surf breaking against the foot of a cliff.

First Lyall. Then Keris. Now Alondo. Was that how it was going to be? Was she going to be forced to watch as each of her friends gave themselves one by one in noble sacrifice, foundation stones in a monument to a great and glorious failure?

We’re not dead yet.

At the first hut, she pulled back the iron bolt and hauled the door open; she and Rael stepped inside. Bleary eyes blinked in the half-light, but none she recognised. Her heart flipped and died. She started into her prepared speech. “My name is Shann. This is Rael. We have come to take you back to your homes and families. Please wait outside in the compound while we free the others.”

“The soldiers,” someone croaked. “The Keltar?”

“They are gone,” she said, trying to inject some compassion into her tired voice. “No one will harm you. Please, gather your possessions as quickly as possible and come with us.”

The tributes stared at the girl in the frilly blue dress and the boy in the badly fitting suit, then started to file out through the door, too weary either to laugh or to resist.

The second hut uncovered more inmates—dazed and disbelieving, like animals led to slaughter—but still no sign of Roanol.

Leaving Patris to oversee the growing throng, Shann and Rael headed off in the direction of the last hut.

Rael said nothing, but she could tell what he was thinking. If these people were their new allies against the Prophet’s forces, then their campaign was scarcely any better off than it was before. Most were sick or malnourished. Some had to be carried on litters; others could barely stand. They couldn’t even take on a bunch of raw recruits, never mind Keltar.

With Rael’s help, she wrested open the door. She hesitated at the threshold.

Rael put a hand on her shoulder and stepped ahead of her. “All right, listen up all of you. We’re getting you out of here now. Just follow us.”

The same bewildered looks. The same blank, uncomprehending stares.

Then,
“Shann.”
The cry came from the rear of the group. A youth with bright blue eyes and hair the colour of desert sand broke through the front line and seized her by the shoulders. “Shann, it
is
you!” He hugged her, leaning backwards so that her feet lifted clear off the ground. She tried to respond but found that she was fighting for air. “I knew you would come.” He kissed her on the forehead.

Rael deflated like a popped balloon.

Her boots came into contact with the floor once more and she found her voice. “This is Roanol... ” She trailed off. Suddenly, no explanation seemed adequate.

“Leskin is in a bad way,” Roanol said. “We have to help him.” He threw an arm around her shoulders, and she allowed herself to be led away. Behind her, the boy who had faithfully followed her across half a world now drifted, alone and bereft on an ocean of hurt.

~

A thin raggedy line crawled, trudged, limped, and stumbled its way through the vast Southern Desert. An army already defeated, without a battle. Their objective, the nameless outpost that lay to the north of Gort, was determined not by some master strategy designed to lead them to victory, but by a single imperative. Water.

A few able-bodied tributes, including Roanol, had loosely armed themselves with discarded or crudely manufactured weapons and were taking orders from Shann. Leskin—laid up with a fever of some kind— had nonetheless been sufficiently lucid both to recognize her and to bestow his approval. It was enough to settle any question of authority.

Remembering Keris’s tactics in similar circumstances, she split the volunteers into two groups to cover the column’s rear and van, respectively. She did not give much for their chances in the event of an ambush, but she told herself it was better than nothing.

It also gave her the opportunity to place Rael and Roanol as far apart as possible. Rael had been sullen and uncommunicative ever since they had freed the tributes. Roanol, on the other hand, seemed to delight in every opportunity to shower her with warmth and affection. She felt confused and under pressure from both of them, and she resented it. However, she also needed them both. Putting them at opposite ends of the column meant that she did not have to try to sort out her feelings—for now at least.

Splashes of deep claret washed away the golden glow to the east as evening gradually gave way to night. McCann was waiting for them along the track. She felt a ripple of apprehension pass along the line. No one besides her and Roanol had encountered a hu-man before, and the grotesque appearance of this one, with his bulky torso and luxuriant facial growth, was unsettling, to say the least.

Stepping forward, crimson cloak draped once more about her shoulders, she raised her voice and tried to sound authoritative. “This is Alexander McCann. He is not Kelanni. He is... ” She was not going to lie to these people. “He is hu-man. He is of the same race as Wang, the individual known to you as the Prophet.”

She allowed a moment for the murmuring to subside. “However, he is working with us now, to free the Kelanni from hu-man domination. You are to trust him as you would Leskin... or me.”

The expressions on the faces of some showed that this was a lot for them to swallow, but no voices were raised in dissension. She allowed her words to hang in the air a moment longer. Then, “All right, let’s move out.”

McCann sidled up to her and whispered in her ear, “Thanks for the ringing endorsement.”

“Shut up.”

He was another complication she didn’t need right now. She strode off along the rough desert road without looking back.

A while later, he reappeared at her elbow. “Would you like to know what’s happening at Chalimar right now?”

She considered various possible replies and opted in the end for sarcasm. “I thought you lost your Ring at Akalon.”

“Oh, I don’t need to Ring them. The Keltar at Gort will already have done that. The authorities at the keep will be busy plotting our demise.” He began to count off on his fingers. “Say, a day or two for them to marshal a sufficient number of troops. Then two to three days more for them to march down here and stomp all over us.”

“We’re not dead yet.”

“No, not for another three to five days at any rate.”

She wished she had an answer for him. Her determination had been to carry forward Lyall’s original plan to free the captives at Gort and to fulfil her promise to Roanol and the others. Now she was just making it up as she went along.

They reached the southern outpost shortly before dawn. Leaving the main column a short way off, she advanced on the smattering of single-storey stone constructs with a party consisting of McCann, Patris, Roanol, and a select group of the more agile tributes. Rael was back with the column. When she had ordered him to stay behind, he had not replied or even looked at her.
I don’t have time for this.

First, secure the outpost’s water and supplies. Then she could work out what to do next. She gave a hand signal, and they crouched down together near the road. Two guards were clearly visible flanking the tiny guardhouse. “We need to overpower them before they can raise the alarm.”

“It won’t matter,” McCann maintained. “When they fail to report in, the authorities at the keep will know exactly where we are.”

She rounded on him. “If you’d rather go rejoin your hu-man friends, then just say the word.” A dozen pairs of eyes were staring at her.

Roanol spoke into the tense silence. “Shann is right. We don’t know how many of them there are. We have to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible.”

It wasn’t what she had meant, but she let the comment stand. She took McCann and five of the others and dispatched Patris, Roanol, and the rest to take care of the other guard.

The desert was deathly quiet; every rustle or swish of their clothing seemed amplified. Fortunately, their quarry was leaning on his pike and appeared to be on his last legs.

Shann started to rise up and felt a restraining hand on her shoulder. To her surprise, it was McCann. He made a ‘stay here’ gesture and set off by himself on a low run. A few moments later, a meaty arm whipped out across the sentry’s face, covering his nose and mouth. The Kelanni’s weapon dropped to the sand, and his arms and legs thrashed about before he finally went limp.

She gestured to the others of her company and circled around the rear. Patris’s group stood in a loose knot. In front of them, the other guard lay flat on the sand. She checked inside the guardhouse, but it was empty. The largest of the stone edifices—that would be the barracks.

She indicated it and led the reunited team across the open ground. Flattening her back to the wall, with Roanol at her shoulder, she listened. There was no sound from within. She pointed to McCann and the largest of the Kelanni and jerked a thumb at the door. They nodded to each other, stepped forward, raised a leg, and kicked together with all the force they could muster.

The wood burst from its hinges and they shoved their way inside, the others hard on their heels. Moments later they reappeared, dragging four bleary-eyed soldiers in long undergarments and throwing them unceremoniously onto the sand. The four raised their hands in capitulation. The outpost was theirs.

She turned to the tall Kelanni who had helped kick in the door. “Take three men and pick up the two sentries. Then put them all in here and post a guard till we decide what to do with them. Roanol. Take three more and locate the stores. Then post another guard and begin taking an inventory. Make a separate list of any weapons you come across. The rest of you are with me. We’ll bring the column in, set up camp, and begin distributing water from the well.”

The raiding party broke up and set about their various tasks. McCann caught up to her once more. “Nicely done. Clean. Efficient. You did a good job.”

An isolated way station manned by poorly motivated troops, caught by surprise, and outnumbered two to one. It was hardly the greatest victory of all time. Still, she appreciated the compliment.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “About earlier.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Burdens of command. Think nothing of it. The Captain has said far worse to me in his time.”

Ever since she had learned of the Prophet’s true origins, she had thought of hu-mans as ruthless, selfish, and dangerous. Yet McCann and Susan Gilmer, the only two she had really known, showed loyalty, patience, and tolerance.
Maybe they are not so different from us after all.

They crested a small rise and caught sight of the tribute column. She caught her breath. No longer spread out along the desert road, they were pressed together in a circle. All around them, fencing them in, stood soldiers with weapons poised, interspersed with Keltar clad in charcoal-black.

The column was surrounded.

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Chapter 42

Shann stared at the scene spread out before her and trawled for explanations. No detachment sent from Chalimar could possibly have gotten here this fast. Unless they had already been on their way... a relief contingent, maybe? If true, then she and the others were victims of an incredible piece of bad timing. However, there was one other possibility—that these were soldiers from Gort who had somehow managed to break through the horde of sand scarags ringing the fortress and catch up to them here.

“I’m going down there,” she announced.

“Shann, you can’t.” It was Roanol.

“I can’t just walk away. Someone has to find out what’s what. Negotiate with these people if necessary. Wait here.”

She trotted off down the slope without waiting for an answer.

Shouts rang out. Two figures broke away and headed in her direction—one in studded leather armour with shining brass plates, the other in Keltar black.

The Keltar approached to within a few paces and then halted. He was lean and dark as the departing night and his face was contorted into a scowl. “And who might you be?”

She raised her head and set her jaw. “My name is Shann. I speak for these people.”

“These
people,
” he indicated behind him with a flick of the head, “are tributes escaped from Gort. They are fugitives. No one speaks for them.”