The Sword Lord (20 page)

Kananda held his ground, turned the Maghallan blade, and as their bodies met in solid, sweating impact, he smashed his elbow into the Maghallan's nose, breaking the bone and causing a spout of blood to spill from the screaming face. The skull-faced man fell back, but in the split-second before Kananda would have killed him, another was in his place. And then another. As fast as they fell, there were others, until his blade arced in a bright rainbow of splattering gore.

Hamir cried in pain and sagged to his knees, clutching at the Maghallan spear that had pierced his belly. Kananda wheeled to cut the spearman down, and the fighting square reformed as a triangle with the fallen man in the middle. Still the Maghallans came on. Kasim hewed mightily, left and right, severing limbs and laying open heads and breasts and faces. Zela spun lightly on her feet, her blade flying faster and with more deadly accuracy than any of them.

Even so, the sheer weight of numbers would have borne them down. But then, from far away, the shrill sound of a battle horn echoed across the grassy plain. The first notes failed to penetrate through the battle clamour of screams and groans and sword blows, but then the Maghallans at the rear of the conflict began to take notice. A score of chariots were thundering toward the besieged rock pile from the east.

The Maghallan attack faltered, and some of the warriors began to hurry back down the hill to take up defensive positions or to reach their tethered horses. The rest rallied again as the skull-faced chieftain screeched at them to finish this fight before they faced the next.

The Maghallan commander had briefly withdrawn to nurse his shattered nose, but now he was back with a vengeance, his face a red mask of blood and his heart black with rage. Six of his warriors joined him, and Kananda and Zela faced them together while Kasim protected their backs. Again their swords whirled and sang in showers of bright red rain.

The leading chariot flew the bright green pennant of the young lord Gujar and was the first to skid to a halt at the foot of the hill. The neighing horses reared and trampled two of the fleeing Maghallan warriors before they could get away, and then Gujar leapt down and was leading a dozen fresh fighting men on foot as they fell upon the disorganized Maghallans from behind. The remaining Karakhorans fired a deadly covering rain of arrows from their chariots over the heads of Gujar and his force as they advanced. With the rescue mission were two of the Alphans, distinctive in their bright silver spacesuits, striking death and terror into the enemy ranks with searing energy bolts from their hand lazers.

Gujar stormed the hill at a run, cutting down all who tried to bar his way, and at his side, never a pace behind, with a sword in one hand and a lazer in the other, was Blair. The tall Alphan was as reckless with his life as the young lord and they reached the crest of the hill together. They arrived just in time to see Zela dispatch the second to last man of the enemy. Kananda thrust his sword through the frustrated heart of the skull-faced chieftain a moment later.

“Kananda!” Gujar cried. “Praise
Indra
! You are alive!”

“Gujar!” Kananda answered. “I have never been happier to see you.”

They sheathed their swords, laughed aloud, and clasped arms violently in the eternal gesture of friendship. Kananda offered his free arm to Kasim, and Kasim and Gujar completed the arm-locked triangle. They had been boyhood friends and now they were comrades-in-arms and brothers in the hot blood of battle. The emotion and the love between them were electric.

Slowly the elation and the blood-lust cooled. Kananda broke the circle and checked the body of Ramesh who still lay unconscious, protected and ignored and half buried under the corpses of their fallen comrades. He said grimly, “I am alive and so barely is Ramesh, but so many of our friends are dead.”

He knelt by the fallen huntsman, lifting the man's head and shoulders to find that he was still breathing, although unconscious and sorely wounded. He looked up again to Gujar. “This one has fought valiantly and loyally. We must find something to stop his bleeding.”

There was a silver suit beside him. Kananda recognized Kyle. The Alphan laid down his hand lazer and took his medical kit from his belt pack. He was breathing heavily from his run up the hill and said briefly, “I can help him.”

Kananda nodded and entrusted the care of the fallen man to the others. He rose and turned to look for Zela.

He wanted to embrace her with a passion and emotion that soared far above his feelings for Kasim and Gujar and yet he held back. Zela stood with her feet apart, her reddened sword tip touching the ground, still panting from her recent exertions and smiling as she faced Blair.

“Commander.” The tall Alphan was formal in deference to her rank, but his anxiety showed through. “Are you harmed?”

“No.” Zela shook her head, her long golden hair dancing silkily on her shoulders. “I think I am in one piece.”

Blair's gaze roved over the cuts and stains on her suit, the bruise on her jaw and the graze on her temple that denied the reassurance of her smile.

“But you are wounded—“

“Only a few scratches and I am very tired. But there is nothing serious.” Her eyes softened and she reached forward and touched his arm. Relief and anguish filtered into her voice. “Oh, Blair—there was a moment when I felt that you would not find me. I should have known better.”

“Your message was badly distorted,” Blair explained. “You were too far away, but somehow Laurya managed to pinpoint your position. I feared she was guessing but it seems she was not.”

“Laurya seems to have gifts that none of us can understand,” Zela said thankfully.

“We couldn't use the ship.” Blair's voice hinted at his frustration. “Cadel has been doing more maintenance work on the engines and parts of the engage thrusters were dismantled. We were fortunate that Gujar decided to bring up the Karakhoran chariots and the rest of their horses soon after you left. Laurya was able to establish the distance and direction of your signal and we calculated that the chariots would reach you more quickly than the time it would take us to get the ship ready for flight.”

Blair's voice continued calm and matter of fact, but Kananda detected the undersurface tension beneath the formal exterior. The Alphan had fought with a rash ferocity that had been totally unsuspected in his previously imperturbable personality and suddenly, with a lover's instinct, Kananda knew that Blair was also in love with Zela.

Here was another unexpected and this time unwelcome surprise. Kananda realized that because Kyle and Laurya had been so open in their love for each other, he had mistakenly assumed that all Alphans made no secret of their feelings. Now, Kananda guessed that for reasons of his own, perhaps because a love affair at the command level might prove detrimental to their mission, Blair had chosen to keep his feelings secret. Or perhaps Blair had not even admitted his inner feelings to himself. Perhaps Zela knew. Perhaps she did not. Kananda was unsure. He only knew he was right about Blair.

When the huntsman's wound had been sealed and they had gathered up their scattered horses, they began the return journey. This time Ramesh and Hamir traveled more comfortably in two of the chariots. For Kananda it was a silent, thoughtful ride, and his thoughts were divided, jealous and disturbed. He knew that his immediate duty must be to return to Karakhor, to confirm Sardar's alliance with the monkey tribes and to warn the city and his father.

But he did not want to part from Zela, especially now that he knew he had a rival. His heart was torn between duty and love, and the pain was worse than dying.

 

 

 

In the kaleidoscope of life's rich patterns that pulsated continuously in the vibrant city of Karakhor, every single stage of its population's life cycle could be witnessed on almost every day. Working and bargaining, playing and loving went on as busily as usual, despite the overlay of apprehension that followed the arrival of the Gheddan spaceship. At every sunset, the funeral pyres glowed on the burning ghats on the lower reaches of the Mahanadi River just below the city, and day and night squalling infants continued to make their traumatic entrance into the world. Weddings were equally a daily occurrence, and on festival and holy days there would be a spate of them. Today was one of the many feast days of
Agni
, god of the sacred sacrificial flames that acted as messengers between men and the gods, and so it was not difficult for Maryam to find a temple where a marriage ceremony was taking place.

This was something she particularly wanted Raven to see, but she had chosen the location with care. She did not dare to offend him by leading him to another shrine of
Varuna
, and she could not be sure which side
Agni
might have taken if there was conflict between the gods. So the temple had to be dedicated to
Indra
. It was a smaller temple of more ancient design but exquisitely crafted, with curves and turrets flowing upward in sculpted tiers to a crowning lotus of stone. It was situated on a platform overlooking the river and the wedding pavilion had been erected in bright red and gold silks on the greensward beside it.

Maryam had timed their arrival to coincide with the moment of betrothal for she did not want Raven to arrive too soon and become bored before the crucial rites were performed. It would ruin all her plans if he chose to leave before the full implications of the ceremony became clear.

The sacred fires were lit upon the altar and censers of burning incense added their curls of fragrant smoke to the scented air. Garlands of golden marigolds vied with the rich and colourful finery of the guests, and a profusion of gemstones flashed and sparkled in pendants, rings and necklaces. On a white lace tablecloth, gold and silver bowls and salvers were piled high with fruit and sweetmeats and savoury food, waiting for the feast to begin. A white-robed priest sang the sacred mantras and the bride, almost invisible beneath her splendid bridal gown, golden shawl and veil and more draped flower garlands, was led forward by her father to the altar.

Maryam held tight to Raven's arm, holding him back so they could observe without becoming the focus of attention. She did not know the bride—the girl was a daughter of one of the lesser houses of Karakhor— but a wedding day belonged to the bride and groom and to them alone. Maryam did not want to spoil it by stealing any of their limelight.

The groom was already there, a slender, nervous youth in spotless white shirt, turban and trousers. While the priest read blessings over them, the proud, bewhiskered father carefully placed the hand of his daughter into the hand of the groom, at the same time promising that she would be unto death his faithful wife. The young man spoke his own vows and the girl gravely nodded her assent. The priest threw a handful of powder onto the flames which flashed upward. The father withdrew. Hand-in-hand, the bride and groom followed the chanting priest to walk three times around the sacred fire. With each circuit, the priest threw more powder into the burning brazier and the bright essence of
Agni
flew skyward to announce that two were now blessed as one.

Congratulations and a profusion of flower petals showered down on the happy couple. Their hands were firmly clasped now. The groom was smiling broadly and the bride's eyes shone brightly above her masking veil. An orchestra began to play at the back of the pavilion, the music fluting and tinkling lightly and sweetly above the excited babble of the guests.

Maryam had seen enough. The revels would go on late into the night but the ritual was over. They had not been invited and it would be impolite to stay, but she hoped that Raven had understood the meaning of what they had witnessed. She led him away and they walked through a short avenue of red and purple bougainvillea to the edge of the river.

They were alone and she put her arms around his neck and passionately kissed his mouth. Then, by means of signs and a play-acting charade of themselves going through the same motions as the young couple they had just watched, she made plain her hopes and desires. She had feared that he would be angry, but instead he was amused and, mistaking his smile for joy and acceptance, she hugged him to her and kissed him again and again.

Raven enjoyed her attentions. He could and would take her as and when he wanted, but a warm and loving woman always gave more satisfaction than one that was cold, hostile or frightened. Also, he had no doubts about what she wanted, although a Gheddan marriage would have been a much more robust affair. On the home continent of his world a man simply called his stronghold together, placed his left hand firmly upon the shoulder of his chosen woman, drew his sword with his right hand and proclaimed that she was his wife. If the woman's father and brothers approved, they cheered and offered him beer and wine. If they did not, they drew swords and challenged. The suitor calculated his acceptability or his sword prowess in advance and took his chances.

To go through this hand-in-hand nonsense of free giving, chanting priest, burning powders and cascades of flower petals, would be for Raven both meaningless and non-binding. But he was shrewd enough to see the political value of going along with her wishes. This pompous and insipid ritual would clearly have profound meaning for Maryam and for the city's rulers and its people. Political alliance marriages were not unknown in Gheddan history and he could see how such a gesture could help to stabilize the situation here while his ship returned to Ghedda.

And so, to Maryam's overpowering delight, her awesome hopes were fully realized. The blue-skinned god enfolded her in his strong arms, purposefully returned her enraptured kisses and nodded his glorious blue-curled head to signify his agreement.

She almost swooned on the spot, except that this was a moment to be forever cherished, an emotional excitement too wonderful to be missed by the departure of her senses. She held fast to her god and wished that he would consume her with all the fires of his passion.