Sword Destiny Page 6

  “The first casualties of war,” Antar said bleakly.

  There was a long silence as they continued to watch the screens, but no more images appeared. Kananda looked out through the cockpit window again but saw only a few molten fragments drifting on the edge of space. He realized that he had just watched men die. One Alphan and two Gheddan fighter crews had just perished in those lightning flashes and the awful swiftness and the sudden finality of it appalled him. When a man fought a man, there was always an option to give mercy and at the least an awareness of that moment of death when a man could call upon the gods to accept his soul. When the machines fought, there was nothing. They were merciless and without souls. Kananda had by now, with his sword, killed more than a score of men in the sweating heat of battle, but this new concept of cold-blooded, remote, push-button killing disturbed him.

  Antar led the way off the cramped flight deck and back into the small passenger cabin where he and Zela and Jayna were taking their seats. Kananda stared silently through the window for a few moments and then turned to join them.

  “You took a risk in coming out here to meet us,” Zela was saying.

  Antar nodded. “We anticipate a Gheddan attack at any moment, so there is no time to waste. I know you have all had an exhausting journey and need rest, but this way I can listen to your reports and brief you on your next mission during the flight back to Alpha.”

  “Our next mission?” Zela stared at him in protest.

  “I am sorry.” Antar raised his hands helplessly and looked as though he meant it. “You know that Ghedda has launched a second mission to the third planet?”

  “We know. The mission is led by Sword Lord Raven. He has six ships and orders to return to Earth and secure Karakhor for Ghedda.”

  “Which we cannot allow him to do. Our escape ships must have a refuge. We cannot send our children helpless and almost undefended into a city that is already occupied by Ghedda. That is why your ship is waiting for you, fully fuelled and ready to take off with your crew on board. You too have five support ships, as much as we can spare to combat Raven’s fleet. The Gheddans are seven days ahead of you, but our ships are faster. You should be able to close the gap just before they reach Earth.”

  “It will be a long race, but at max speed we should be able to catch them up.” Zela smiled wearily. “At least I should be able to get some sleep while we overtake them.”

  “Forgive me.” Antar made the conciliatory gesture with his hands again. “But you are the obvious choice. Prince Kananda will go with you, of course. We are still honour-bound to return him and we still need his help and the goodwill of his people.”

  “What about me?” Jayna asked.

  Antar shrugged helplessly. “With the combat fleet, I can only sanction space for one essential passenger. But your daughter still has a place on the first escape ship, and I will make sure that you will be one of the few adults to fly with her. We hope to be able to launch those ships within a few weeks.”

  “You still talk of weeks and the Gheddan assault is only a few days, perhaps a few hours away.” Jayna spoke with a new edge of bitterness. During their time on Ghedda, she had come alive, as though all the risks and dangers had been some kind of stimulating drug. Now she was drained and exhausted, facing the inevitable again and accepting that all their efforts had been no more than spitting in the wind.

  There was an uncomfortable pause and then Zela asked, “When I catch up with the Gheddan fleet, what are my orders?”

  “Destroy them,” Antar said simply. “By then we will almost certainly be at war. Our own planet may no longer exist. Earth will be the only inhabitable planet left in this solar system and we cannot allow it to be contaminated by the madness of the Gheddans. The Council is all agreed. You are not to permit one single Gheddan ship to set down on Earth.”

  Kananda stared at him, remembering those bright fireballs of destruction he had witnessed only a few moments before. Now he did not know whether to continue to pray that Maryam might still be alive and with Raven. If she was dead or left alive on Ghedda, then he had lost her. Yet if she was still with Raven, then it seemed that she was now doomed to die in an unavoidable space battle between the two fleets. With either thought, his hopes sank and his heart quailed and shuddered within his breast.

  Chapter Four

  The black leopard banner of Sardar marked the large black and gold command tent in the centre of the Maghallan camp. It was surrounded by a tight circle of armed guards, each warrior hand-picked for his size and savagery and his dog-like devotion to his master. Beyond was the inner circle of the tents of his generals and chieftains, and his supporting kings, each one with its own grim-faced guardians. A large fire burned in front of each tent, throwing sparks and smoke to the star-encrusted vault of the heavens.

  It was the fifth night of the great battle and most of the satellite tents were empty. Sardar had gathered all of his lieutenants into his own tent to discuss the tactics of the battle. The more important ones sat or lolled upon cushions, while the rest stood further back. Sardar sat at the head of the inner circle, his squat form like that of a great, satiated, hairy toad, wine spilling down the crease of the scar below his chin as he drank from an incongruously slender gold goblet. He had thrown aside his armour to relax, but the rest of his clothing still stank of the day’s sweat.

  His High Priest, the hawk-faced Nazik, sat as always on his right. Tuluq was on his left, the heir apparent, his oldest, most ferocious and most trusted son. Kamar, Bharat, Zarin and the representatives of Bahdra and the Monkey Clans completed the inner circle. The latter spoke little at these meetings, for planning and strategy was not what they had to offer. They simply led their followers in blind shrieking and killing, all for the promise of future rape and plunder.

  There were two empty spaces, deliberate reminders that Durga and the young prince Udaya had fallen. Kamar glanced frequently at the cushions where his son had once reclined, each time pursing his thick lips in a scowl of raging anger. He had single-handedly slain more than a score of the enemy in his grief and fury, but had yet to reach either of the two Karakhoran princes he held responsible.

  “They have three great champions whom we must kill if we are to win this war,” Nazik said grimly. He brandished his eagle-headed staff in the direction of the city as he named them. “Prince Sanjay, who rides the war elephant, is taking a terrible toll of our best warriors. His javelins never miss and none of us dares to go within the range of his throw. Prince Devan is proving himself a mighty swordsman and so far no man has been able to stand against him. But the key is Jahan. Their Warmaster holds the army of Karakhor together. Jahan is the brain, the military genius who unites them all. We must kill them all if we can—but we must kill Jahan.”

  “I will kill Jahan.” Kamar and Tuluq growled the words together, and then exchanged angry glares.

  Sardar chuckled and threw his empty glass over his shoulder. He tore a mouthful from the leg of roast pheasant he held in his other hand and spoke as he chewed. “I have watched this battle for five days now. I can see as clearly as Nazik what needs to be done, and I know how to do it. For a start, we will topple Prince Sanjay. He believes he is lord of the battlefield on top of his great elephant, but I have a way to bring him down.”

  “Our best archers have tried and failed,” Bharat pointed out. “It is as though he is blessed by the Gods. No arrow can find its mark.”

  “I have a better way than arrows.” Sardar grinned. “Tomorrow, the javelin-throwing prince will be brought down. This I promise you. When he falls, Jahan will be drawn to the scene. Jahan or Devan, but I hope Jahan. Then I shall be on hand to challenge him to single combat. One of them will die on my sword. Two of their champions will not live to see another day.”

  “Let me take Jahan,” Kamar begged. “I have yet to fully avenge my son.”

  “I need you to watch the battlefield while I fight. With Durga gone, you are my first general now. And believe me, while I kill Jahan th
ere will be much to watch.” He turned to Tuluq. “I have other plans for you, my son. And for you—” He nodded to Bharat. “While Jahan and Devan are distracted, you will strike at the very heart of Karakhor. I do not intend for this war to drag on forever.”

  On the morning of the sixth day, the two armies lined up to face each other as before. Despite all the bloodshed, the great host of Maghalla seemed almost as numerous as on the first day. They were being reinforced by late arrivals who had not kept up with the main march. However, the smaller forces of Karakhor were inevitably shrinking. The sun touched the white walls and towers of the city, gleaming from the golden domes of the palaces, lighting up the carved red towers of the temples. As the light brightened and the shadows fled, the spear tips and drawn sword blades also began to flash and glitter. The drums beat, the trumpets and the conch shells sounded and again the battle was joined. Like the hurricane forces of two great waves, the ranks of chariots, elephants and men hurled themselves upon each other.

  It was four days since young Prince Rajar had made his angry outburst in the audience hall. His clash with Ramesh still rankled and his claim to the throne was not forgotten, but he had recognized his own impetuosity and bided his time. For four days he had acquitted himself well. He had chosen as his main weapon the bow, which he could shoot from a safer distance. He had risen in the eyes of his peers almost as high as Kasim, whom he secretly cursed and envied. However, Kasim was still called unequaled and was not afraid to draw his sword.

  Today Rajar had decided to make his move and had casually positioned his chariot in the second rank beside that of Ramesh. He hoped that his elders would have forgotten their differences, but there was one man who was still watchful and suspicious. Ramesh glanced curiously at his half-brother and rival, but had no real awareness that anything was amiss. Gujar, however, was not deceived, and he too fell back a rank to deliberately place his own chariot on the other side of Ramesh.

  As they charged into the fray, it was Ramesh who set the pace, thrashing his horses and adding his own defiant war cry to the thousands of throats shouting and screaming all around them. All too soon the charge was checked as the front rank chariots tore through each other, turned, and the fighting commenced. In the turmoil, Rajar let his horses turn and drop back so that he was just behind Ramesh, and leaning forward, he deftly thrust the blade of his spear into the still turning wheel of Ramesh’s chariot.

  The spear was torn from Rajar’s hand but its work was already done. The wheel spokes shattered and the side of the chariot dropped. Ramesh was flung out and then the broken chariot rolled over him as it spun to one side, dragging the horse team off balance.

  Rajar whipped up his own team and raced on, as though unaware that anything had happened behind him. He sped along the line of battle, stopped to let his own guard form around him, and then un-slung his bow and began firing arrows into the ranks of Maghalla without once looking back.

  Ramesh was left to the mercy of a gleeful group of Black Monkey Clan foot soldiers who charged forward to cut him down. In the same split second, Gujar hauled round his chariot team and smashed through them, trampling their leaders under his horses’s hooves. His chariot wheel crashed into the remains of the broken car and harness that still trailed behind Ramesh’s staggering team, and for the moment he was trapped. Without hesitation, Gujar abandoned his chariot, leaped down and ran to protect Ramesh.

  Another tribesman was leaping at the young prince with a wicked curved sword. Gujar cut him down before the curved blade could fall and helped Ramesh stagger to his feet. The monkey men were on them again and Gujar’s blade whirled in frantic swordplay to keep them at bay. Then the guard captain and the guards Jahan had appointed to watch over his nephew caught up with them. The odds were almost even and a ferocious hand-to-hand battle flared, the Monkey Clan scenting a victory and the Karakhorans fighting desperately to save their prince.

  It could have gone either way, but then another horse team thundered up, whirling a fast chariot flying the black orchid of the House of Tilak around the perimeter of the close-fighting circle. Kasim stood upright in the chariot, letting fly with arrow after arrow from his singing bow. Each feathered shaft scored a razor-pointed kill and a painted savage dropped in the bloodied dust. The Karakhoran swordsmen took heart and cut and slashed with new vigour. Gujar’s sword arm was tiring and the blood was running back down the hilt and over his wrist to his elbow, but then the guards closed ranks in front of him and there was a moment of respite.

  He was still supporting the dazed and badly bruised Ramesh with his free hand when another chariot skidded to a halt beside him. Nirad leaned out and shouted his name. Gujar hesitated for a moment, and then decided that Nirad was no part of this, even though he and Rajar were brothers. Quickly he helped Ramesh up into Nirad’s chariot.

  His own chariot and the broken remains of Ramesh’s chariot were still entangled together. Kasim drove up to them, exchanged his bow for his sword and cut both pairs of struggling horses free, and then retrieved the proud banners of the silver panther and the double-headed axe. Gujar jumped up behind him, grinning his relief and offering his thanks.

  Nirad reined in alongside them. “What now?” he shouted.

  “Gujar must have a new chariot,” Kasim decided. “And Ramesh must be taken back to the city. We will head back to the bridge.”

  “I am unhurt,” Ramesh insisted. “The breath was knocked out of me, that is all. I can still fight.”

  “Then you, too, need a new chariot.” Kasim was adamant. “You are a prince of Karakhor. We cannot let you fight on foot.”

  Ramesh coughed and swallowed a mouthful of dust. Then he said with some embarrassment, “I owe you all my life, especially you, Lord Gujar. I am again in your dept.”

  “Thank you, my prince.” Gujar bowed, and then asked tentatively, “How did you come to fall?”

  “I don’t know. It happened so quickly. I think the wheel must have come off my chariot.” Ramesh shrugged and spread his hands.

  Gujar nodded and said no more. It seemed that no one else had witnessed Rajar’s treachery, but at least Gujar himself had no more doubts.

  The ebb and flow of the fighting had moved away from them and their way back to the river and the city was clear.

  “Come,” Nirad said. “We are missing the battle and we need more chariots.”

  From the broad shoulders of the mighty Huthar, the one-armed Sanjay was again the dominant figure in the heart of the battlefield. After charging up and down over the terrified foot soldiers of Maghalla, the huge war elephant at last lumbered to a stop, making a defiant stand with ears fanned wide and his fearsome tusks and trunk upraised in a bellowing roar. While the elephant was on the move, Sanjay needed his one good arm to help hold himself in place, but now he trusted to his harness and began to hurl his store of javelins with the usual deadly accuracy. One after another, the enemy champions crashed down into the churning dust, until the ranks in front of him had scattered and he yelled at his driver to move Huthar onward.

  In the first few days of battle, scores of the war elephants had been brought down on either side. A brave man could dart in with an axe and hamstring an elephant from behind and that would be the beginning of the end for both beast and rider. Now most men with that particular skill had been cut down, gored or trampled. The elephants that were left were too valuable to lose and each one now had a dedicated team of foot warriors to protect its hindquarters. Of the Maghallan elephants that remained, none of them had the size or ferocity to challenge Huthar and none of their riders could match the speed and skill of Sanjay with a bow or javelin. The Maghallan war elephants and their riders steered clear, leaving Sanjay and Huthar to rule the field.

  Again Huthar crashed into the thick of the battle and again he paused to trumpet his deafening bull roar of triumph. Sanjay hurled another javelin and saw its blade crash through the leather armour and pierce the heart of a shocked Maghallan captain. He selected another weapon, looked for an
other target and then paused with the first flickering awareness that something abnormal was happening. Usually the enemy ranks melted away immediately in front of him, but now some of them were pushing forward and looking frantically over their shoulders. The Maghallan ranks were parting, but from the rear.

  Sanjay stood tall on Huthar’s lofty shoulders, stretching up to see what was coming toward him. For a moment he could see nothing, just men scattering in panic. Then he saw the two massive Maghallan warriors, walking slowly forward, but leaning backward to prevent themselves from being dragged. Each man held a short chain. The last jostling pack of intervening bodies peeled left and right to clear the way and Sanjay saw the two lean, spotted cats lunging toward him.

  They were hunting cheetahs, fed from birth on nothing but human flesh and trained to pull down every meal from the back of an elephant. When the way was clear, the two handlers deftly slipped the chains and let them loose.

  The animals were ravenous. Both of them had been starved for three days, and their natural food was the two men perched high on the elephant. Their taut muscles uncoiled with all the leaping power of steel springs as they raced forward. They were the swiftest wild animals on earth and, with an incredible burst of speed, they had reached their target and were leaping upward. They came in two streaking blurs of spotted fur, raking claws and snarling jaws.

  Huthar squealed in terrible pain and anger as the two cats slammed down onto his forehead, their claws scrambling for a grip and immediately blinding him in one eye. The first cat reached the white-faced driver and sank dripping fangs deep into his upper arm. Sanjay lunged down with the javelin in his hand and stabbed the cat through the shoulder. It screamed but did not let go and animal and man tumbled together to slam down spitting, flailing and screaming to the dust. The javelin was torn from Sanjay’s hand and there was no time for him to select another.