Sword Destiny (3 page)

Shortly after noon another Gheddan rotary flier appeared and flew almost directly overhead. All three of them lay still as death in their holes among the rocks, scarcely daring to breathe. The sound of the circling blades battered the stillness with waves of scorching heat and flying dust, but the craft did not land. Eventually it flew on to look for more patches of possible shade, and Kananda relaxed his vice-like grip on the hilt of his sword with a slow exhalation of relief.

“They know we have escaped the crash because they have found no bodies,” Zela croaked through cracking lips. “They also know that if we were still in the dunes we would by now be dead. So they are now sweeping the edge of the foothills beyond the dunes. After this they may give up.”

Jayna looked doubtful, but Kananda merely nodded. He had neither the energy nor the knowledge to argue with her line of reasoning.

For the rest of that awful day, they lay up in their pitifully small shelter and it seemed as though the killing white ball of the sun would never set. At last it began to redden and sink toward the western horizon. As the shadows lengthened, Zela roused them and allowed them to share the few scraps of food and drink half of their remaining water. A little of their strength returned, the cooler air of evening revived them slightly and again they marched toward the north.

The barren lands continued, bleak and lifeless, a uniform grey in the clear starlight. The clouds that had partially covered their escape the night before had vanished, and the brilliance of the stars against the velvet blackness of space gave them some consolation. The moon of the previous night was higher now and a second moon trailed it, half hidden behind the horizon. They no longer had the soft sand sucking at their boots, but there were stones and small rocks under foot that tripped their feet and constantly threatened to twist a knee or ankle.

After four hours, they rested again and each wetted their lips and throats with another mouthful of water. Then they moved on, their bodies aching in every bone and muscle and with Jayna now needing both Zela and Kananda on either side to support her. Sometimes her feet dragged and she was barely conscious.

Dawn found them struggling almost drunkenly in the low, bare foothills, but still there was no glimpse of green in the unrelenting desert landscape. Zela had hoped to get clear of the desert before the sun rose for another day. Now she began to fear that they would not survive. As the sun rose higher and lashed them with its burning rays, they found another patch of shade beside a sand-scoured hill and collapsed into a sprawling heap.

They dozed fitfully. Their half-waking moments were delirious with hopeless dreams and haunting nightmares. Their bodies were dehydrated and their tongues began to swell. Zela finally shared out the last of their water. She threw the empty bottle away but Kananda crawled out into the merciless sun to retrieve it. His head was swimming but he was not yet ready to die. He said nothing but clung on to the hope that somewhere, somehow, they might be able to find more water and fill the bottle again.

When the sun dropped out of sight again, they were still alive. Kananda struggled to his knees and crawled closer to Zela. He pulled at her shoulder and she opened her eyes and stared at him blankly. He couldn't speak but tugged again at her shoulder, insistently, until at last she roused herself. Together they turned to Jayna who lay as though dead. Kananda slapped her face. Zela croaked her name. Finally Jayna too opened her eyes.

Somehow they got Jayna up between them and in the cooler night air they began to move on. Kananda started them off blindly in the direction from which they had come, toward the dunes and a certain death in the sands, but then Zela blinked her eyes and focused on the first stars appearing above. She recognized one of the constellations and with an effort pulled Kananda around to start them walking north again.

To Kananda, all that mattered now was to put one foot in front of the other, to keep going forward and to somehow drag Jayna and Zela along with him. He was light-headed and could feel his tongue growing larger in his mouth. Soon it would choke him and that would be the end, but until then he would not give up. More dead than alive, they continued doggedly northward, step by tortured step.

Kananda closed his eyes and closed his mind, concentrating every effort of his will into the one task of moving forward. Jayna became a dead weight, her right arm curled around his shoulder and neck, gradually slipping back. And then slowly came the realization that she was not just slipping away from him but actually trying to pull him to a stop. She groaned aloud and when he turned to look at her face, he saw that her bloated lips were moving and she was trying to speak.

He stopped and stared at her. On her other side, Zela too stumbled to a halt. Jayna moved her arm from Zela's shoulders and pointed unsteadily forward. They were in a hollow between two hills and a few paces in front of them there grew a living bush. It was a plant of green, bulbous stems protected by a fierce array of spiked thorns.

Jayna gave up her attempt to speak. She had their attention and slowly she disentangled herself from Kananda. She swayed on her feet and pulled at the hilt of his sword. Kananda understood. He pulled the blade free of the scabbard and gave it to her. Jayna tottered forward and sliced through one of the fat green stems of the plant. The sharp thorns gashed her hand and drew blood as she held the severed limb, but she was unfeeling to any pain. With two more cuts, she sliced off some of the hard, outer rind, and then pushed the soft inner plant flesh into her mouth. She chewed with difficulty, but after a few minutes, green juices were running down her chin and her eyes shone with delight. Deftly she cut another thick slice of the plant limb, halved it and gave them half each. With no questions asked, Kananda and Zela crammed the soft centers into their mouths and sucked at the bitter juice.

“Not too much,” Jayna managed to say at last. “Too much will make us sick but a little will keep us going.”

They sat beside the strange plant of bloated, silver green stumps and shining thorns and ate and chewed as much as Jayna deemed wise. The taste was not pleasant, but their mouths were refreshed and their spirits revived. Where their lips had started to crack, the juices stung, but that was a small price to pay.

“The Cacti plant stores moisture,” Jayna told them. “But to find it we must be on higher ground and we must be near to the tree line. I think we are going to live.”

After half an hour of rest, they moved on again. They soon began to see more of the strange cacti plants, growing larger and making weird and grotesque silhouettes against the darkness. They moved out of the low, barren hills and suddenly they were encountering tufts of sparse scrub bushes. When dawn broke, they could see the first of the distant clumps of low woodland.

“Trees.” Zela tried to laugh but the sound came out as a hoarse cackle. “Shelter. Water. We have won. We have crossed the Great Gar Desert.”

She clung to Kananda and kissed him, and then they included Jayna in their embrace. They had found the tree line and now had to only turn east under the tree canopy and hope to strike the Great Swamp River. There, if they did not drown in the murky marshes or fall foul of the giant crocodiles and lizards, they had only to follow the river upstream to find their hidden river and landing craft.

Despite their pains, exhaustion and hunger, hope flared again in all their hearts.

Chapter Two

Maryam, the first princess of Karakhor, stood on the bridge of the Gheddan Mark Five Solar Cruiser and stared at the vastness of space on the main viewscreen. In the command seat in front of her sat Raven, Sword Lord of Ghedda and Space Commander of the six-ship mission that was now heading for Earth. Raven wore the high-collared white tunic uniform of the Gheddan Space Corps. Maryam wore the leather shirt and skirt of a Gheddan warrior woman. Her wardrobe was severely limited.

In between the tense activity of launch and landing, space flight was interminably boring. Raven shared the watches with his crew. One of them was at all times seated here in the command seat and monitoring the ship's systems and view-screens. However, while everything ran smoothly and there was no meteor or other cosmic debris likely to cross their path, there was very little for them to do.

Dooma, the fifth planet of the solar system, still loomed large in the rear view-screen. Earth, the third planet, was still only a small star of light far away towards the sun.

Maryam wondered what was happening there, whether the war had already started. She feared that by now Maghalla must have gathered her allies for the great onslaught on Karakhor. She had been away too long but at last she was returning. This time Raven had six ships under his command, not just the one. Surely that would be enough to defeat Maghalla. She knew that was not his prime intention but it would be necessary if he was to secure Karakhor for Ghedda.

She let her brown hand rest on his shoulder and his blue hand stroked it briefly. His dark eyes looked up at her. His face was blue, his hair a tight mass of crinkly black curls. His smile was charming, but he smiled when he killed almost as warmly as when he made love.

“What will happen when we reach Earth?” she asked him.

Raven shrugged. “We will land and take over your city of Karakhor. Then we wait. If an Alphan ship appears, we will destroy it. When we hear that Alpha has been defeated and the war on Dooma is over, we will leave a garrison force at Karakhor and I will return to Dooma. I still intend to find out exactly what happened to the Sword Lord Karn.”

Maryam felt empty inside and bit her lip. She realized that for Raven there was only one war that mattered, the war between Ghedda and Alpha, the two great rival continents of Dooma. The Gheddans believed that they had the technological superiority that would enable them to crush Alpha, and their battle platforms were at last in orbit ready to launch the first strike.

“Karn is dead,” she said simply. “He died of the wasting disease.” She wanted to ask why he could not forget Karn and stay with her on Earth but she would not let her anger show.

“Perhaps,” Raven growled in answer. “But Karn opposed the Sword Lord Doran and the Council of Twelve. His death was too convenient. He died not by the sword and not with honour. When this war is over, I will have answers. Doran will answer to my blade.”

Maryam shivered but stayed silent. Raven looked up at her and tried to make her understand. “Karn was like an uncle to me. He approved my entry into the Space Corps. He gave me command of my first real mission, to the fourth planet, the one that you call Mars. The Alphans had sent a ship there. They called it exploration. We knew they wanted to claim Mars for Alpha.”

He smiled at the memory. “The Alphan expedition greeted us with talk of peace. They even seemed to think that we could share our findings. They looked surprised when we turned our weapons on them. Their commander showed some courage then. He challenged me to a duel. But it was no duel. He had no skill with the sword. It was like gutting a baby. We allowed his crew to return home with the message that the solar system belonged to Ghedda.”

Raven shifted his weight in his chair, settling himself more comfortably. “Karn saw that I received my due promotion for my work,” he continued. “He also gave me command of the next inter-planetary mission to combat Alpha. He sent me to Earth.”

He frowned. The Alphans had fought back on Earth, helping in the recapture of Karakhor and killing his second in command. It was not such a good memory and had been received as a failure on his return to Ghedda. “I became Karn's sword champion.” He found a more positive note. “You saw me kill the Sword Lord Radd?”

Maryam nodded. She had watched as he duelled with Doran's champion. She had also watched when he had killed the Sword Lord Brack who had challenged his northern stronghold. She had watched as he duelled and then cut down the handsome young unit commander Uris who had betrayed them on their journey north. Through all their adventures on Ghedda, it seemed that Raven had simply moved from one sword duel to another. Each one she had watched with fear in her heart, wondering what would happen to her on this alien world if he were to be killed.

She said softly, “You could stay on Earth. You have not been ordered to return to Dooma, only to secure Karakhor and deny Alpha. My father would welcome you as my husband.”

Raven looked at her with surprise. “Why would I want to stay on Earth?”

Her anger threatened to surge out. She drew back from him and breathed deeply to control herself. She loved this man and had followed him blindly but she knew that nothing could change his nature. He belonged to a military culture that could fly among the stars and had perfected terrible weapons of fire and destruction and yet still their highest value was a man's skill with his sword. Love would always be far down in his list of priorities. Still she loved him. In his own way, he loved her too, for he had chosen her above all others.

Suddenly and sadly she knew that she faced a dilemma.

In the retreat from Karakhor, she had fled with him like a bewildered child. She had followed him on to his ship and from there she had been bound to him by fate and helplessness. On the harsh world of Ghedda, she had no choice but to mature rapidly from a wilful Hindu princess to a ferocious fighting woman. Until now there had been no real choices for her to make. She had stayed with Raven because she loved him and because there was no other way for her to survive. Now, when they returned to Karakhor, she would be mistress of her own destiny once more. No matter what happened in all the uncertainties of the wars that would be raging on both planets, she would be back on Earth.

She loved Raven. But she did not want to go back to Ghedda. If Raven would not stay on Earth then she would have a painful decision to make.

 

 

That first day of the battle was a black one for Karakhor. The body of Kara-Rashna was carried home on his chariot with his sun-burst pennant lowered and his face covered by his shield. The news of his fall quickly spread throughout the city. His queens were distraught and the women of the city wailed and wept in the streets and squares and courtyards, filling the air with a vast outpouring of sobs and lamentations that could be heard even above the sounds of the continuing battle on the plains beyond the river. The heart-rending shrieks of grief rose in yet another wave of torment at sunset when the armies parted and many of the women learned that their own husbands, sons or lovers had been left slaughtered on the bloody field.