Star Axe

by Duncan McGeary

  “He has left the House of Lahar,” the old man announced to the visitants. “He is on his way at last!” “Good!” the first of the thoughts boomed. “I should like to test this boy to see if he is truly the one.” Another thought, brash and confident, reprimanded the other. “The Star Axe has chosen. Why do you insist on questioning it?”

  “I for one, am still surprised that Balor was not the one,” a fourth presence added. This visitant seemed thoughtful and concerned. It contrasted with the louder, arguing voices.

  “I have always known it would be Kenlahar,” the Healer Coron said. “He suffered the more. Fortunately or unfortunately, only Kenlahar had to pay the price of his mother’s actions. Balor did not inherit his father’s features and therefore never learned the truth.”

  The fifth thought finally chimed in, timidly—but with logic. “Alcress has chosen and there is nothing we can do to change that. We need the Axe-bearer to defeat the Warlord—we are all agreed on that. It is our duty to help him on his path, to help him find the answer to the Star Axe.”

  Thoughtful entity had the last word. “I still think it ironic that we of the Raggorak should help the descendant of Lahar gain his rightful throne—the throne we denied his father. I just hope we do not regret it!”

  The boats were flat-bottomed, with high sides that slanted slightly outward. They had sails, but they were built unmistakably for one purpose and one purpose only—to weather the rapids. Even though an experienced riverman was at each of the helms, the trip was still violently hazardous. Kenlahar knew that only a long, meandering detour through the treacherous Tream was more dangerous.

  It was the very length of the rapids that was the major problem, every yard of the way a potential sinkhole, capable of capsizing any craft. Though the rivermen constantly updated the maps of the river channels with every report of the scouts, the changing nature of the river often confronted them with sudden danger, and a deep channel could disappear overnight, to be replaced by caved-in bank of the river.

  Thus Kenlahar, as the most valuable member of the party, found himself in the last of the Five boats, unaware that in a preceding boat Sanra pretended to sleep, covered from the rain and the eyes of the soldiers. The oars were silent and muffled as the boats were guided into the slower currents.

  They passed three campfires of Qreq sentries, moving at what seemed to Kenlahar to be a maddening crawl. The fires winked through the swamp reeds; malevolent eyes searching in the shadows. The boats drifted by the camps silently; none of the party daring to breathe. But no cries arose from the banks and they drifted on, eventually dipping the oars in deep, but muffled strokes.

  By morning, it was safe enough to make some noise and Kenlahar could hear Balor’s low and increasingly hoarse throat calling out the hazards from the leading boat. When it became light enough to see the shapes of the other boats, Captain Jonla ordered them ashore and by full light the boats lay camouflaged under piles of decaying, rotting swamp grass. Eventually, Kenlahar was even able to sleep through the pesterings of the millions of flying, crawling insects that filled the deep swamp.

  The next night’s journey brought them to the Statue of Kings. Bigger than the Great Hall, and made of stones bigger than a room, the ancient statue straddled the river the way boys try to straddle creeks. Even after all the time he must have been standing there, Kenlahar could still see the nobility, the royalty, in his face. For years the rivermen had been telling tales of the great statue. But to Kenlahar, seeing it was final proof of the existence of a great civilization—somewhere on the other side of the Tream. The civilization that had built the Statue of Kings could not have disappeared!

  Between the massive legs of the statue, Kenlahar could see the swirling white water of the rapids—a terrace of falls, studded by huge boulders. The pilots cried out for the anchors. Only the lead boat continued on, to land on the gravel ramp set below the eastern foot of the statue. Balor sprang ashore, and Kenlahar heard Captain Jonla in the boat at his side mutter, “This is where the Qreq will be waiting for us, if they intend to ambush us. We must carry the boats on the portage around these rapids, and we have to do it in the light of the day. Our only chance is that the Qreq do not know of us—or cannot believe we would attempt a long journey on the river.”

  After disappearing from view for several anxious minutes, Balor reappeared and waved them in, not very confidently. He met them at the causeway, shrugging his shoulders expressively. “I could detect nothing, but there are many places they could still be hiding among the ruins. Too many places to be examined.”

  Captain Jonla nodded and ordered sentinels around the perimeter. The other men he set to removing the gear in preparation for carrying the boats on their long portage. Then Balor and Captain Jonla moved off to one side and studied an ancient map, filled to the edge with unfamiliar landmarks and strange names.

  Left to his own devices and finding that he only got in the way of the closely structured unloading drill, Kenlahar began to forage about the rubble of one of the statue’s legs. He noticed a small hole in the side of the huge stone foot and, half curious and half in an attempt to escape the Lashitu, he crawled into the crevice. The Lashitu had taken to following him, and was becoming somewhat of a pest. He saw with relief that the shaman had evidently decided not to follow after him this time.

  Once inside, Kenlahar was surprised to see how large the hollow really was. There was a narrow, circular staircase hugging the inside of the statue’s inner walls, and he began to climb it idly. Reaching out, he lifted a brick from its precarious hold in the crumbled mortar of the wall, and skipped the stone down the steep steps. Suddenly, he noticed that someone had recently disturbed the dust of the deserted tunnel. He wondered who else might have visited the ruin, and looked about him uncertainly.

  More of the crumbled mortar, bouncing down the steps over him, and an echoing rumble, alerted him to the danger at last. Looking up he saw the vivid sight of Qreq warriors, pale, hairless and brandishing crude spears—and equally surprised, apparently. All stayed frozen for a moment, then Kenlahar turned and flew down the steps five, six at a bound, miraculously gauging his jumps accurately. He dived out the small hole at the bottom, sure that at any moment his legs would feel the bite of a sword. He cried out at the top of his lungs.

  The Lashitu joined him, shrieking for help, and pulled him out of the hole. Already, Captain Jonla and Balor had reacted to the shouts and the sight of him. They reached the exit at about the same moment the first of the Qreq warriors dared to poke his head out. Balor’s sword flashed, and the Qreq fell back, screaming and leaving his weapon in a pool of blood on the ground outside. Balor laughed triumphantly. “We can keep them in there all day!”

  But Captain Jonla’s dark face grimly surveyed the terrain, sure that there were other Qreq hiding among the ruins. Suddenly he pointed. Qreq appeared on the other side of the causeway, milling at the edge. “Back to the boats!” he shouted to his men. “Don’t wait for us. Cast off!”

  The men of Lahar saw at once that the river was their only escape route, though they retreated in a proud, disciplined column and were able to scoop up most of what they had already unloaded. The four Companions at the foot of the statue however, were farthest from the water, and cut off from the main body of warriors. It was quickly evident that the Qreq had been waiting for them, and only because Kenlahar had stumbled on them prematurely did they escape from being completely isolated from the river.

  It became a disordered race—a rout—to reach the river’s edge before the Qreq caught up with them. They didn’t make it. Just a few dozen feet away from the river, Jonla and Balor were forced to turn and face the Qreq at last. At first Kenlahar did not notice the fighting behind him, then he stopped, feeling inexplicably paralyzed. The Lashitu grabbed at his arm, urging him intensely to flee, but Kenlahar did not seem to hear him.

  A wedge of Qreq rushed toward Kenlahar, almost overwhelmingly Jonla and Balor who hastened to confront them. “Run, you fool!�
�� he heard Balor shout, as if from a distance. After a brief, violent flurry the surprised Qreq fell back. Balor dropped to one knee, clutching his shoulder, and the sight of his friend falling finally stirred Kenlahar to action. He rushed forward with an alarmed shout, and with the help of the Lashitu, dragged Balor the last few feet to the bank. They dumped him into the boat unceremoniously. Captain Jonla charged the Qreq one last time, showing no sign of his many wounds, and brandishing his sword menacingly with his one good arm. The Qreq hesitated long enough for Jonla to also jump into the boat, casting off just before the Qreq rushed them.

  The swift, churning water rapidly carried them away from the spears of the enemy; a spurt of motion so violent that it took Kenlahar by surprise, throwing him backwards into the boat. Four of the boats had made it away, and the other three were already vanishing down the rushing main channel. Captain Jonla somehow managed to pilot their riverboat to one side of the torrent, into slightly calmer water. The crew rowed and steered at the maelstroms edge, straining precariously to hold off the suction of the rapids. Kenlahar held onto the side of the boat in shock. He did not believe that the other boats would survive the rushing white water.

  Then he saw bundles of cargo and human arms flailing in the river. The shapes vanished underwater. Some reappeared moments later, desperately attempting to remain afloat; others did not re-emerge until minutes later, far down the river. Most of the objects and bodies did not come back up at all. For a moment Kenlahar thought he saw Sanra’s face among the lost men, and he cursed his mind for playing tricks on him. But when the head bobbed up again, he was oddly sure that it was her. He tried shouting at Jonla, but the roaring water drowned out his voice.

  When Sanra’s head again went under, Kenlahar knew that it was for the last time. Captain Jonla had still made no motions to indicate that he was going to attempt a rescue. Without thinking, Kenlahar dived into the river. His body stiffened as he felt the heavy shock of frigid water. He gasped for breath. The tail end of Captain Jonla’s angry shout reached him, but he ignored it. Looking about him desperately, he saw blond hair a few yards away, and a yard underwater. He kicked his legs under the body and locked them, reaching for the head of hair.

  Then he was fighting simply to keep both his and Sanra’s heads above the swirling water. They were fast approaching another set of plunging falls when he felt something trying to lift him up by the back of his tunic. But he desperately held onto Sanra, and did not let go until he saw her lifted safely into the riverboat. Then he let go. He felt himself going under just before strong arms caught him under his armpits.

  Once inside the boat he pressed his face thankfully to* its rough wood sides, wishing to never move again. “The Star Axe!” someone was shouting into his ears over the thunder of the falls. “Do you still have the Star Axe?”

  His stab of fear turned to an equally strong lift of relief as he searched under his cloak and his fingers encountered the blade. He told himself to wonder later why the metal head had not dragged him under. Then he passed out.

  When he awoke, he was still in the same cramped position, but the boat was at last motionless. His cheek was half-stuck to the side of the boat where it had pressed, apparently for many hours. Surveying his surroundings, he saw that the boat was tied precariously to the root of a tree, uncovered by the crumbling bank. Below, a finger peninsula of pitted gray jutted out into the river’s flow, catching what little flotsam survived the rapids. The river looked deceptively calm now, the roaring of the rapids a dull throb in the background. Kenlahar cursed the dark water, the life and death dealing River Danjar.

  Sanra lay beside him, evidently well, breathing deeply. But the Lashitu was nowhere in sight, and Kenlahar wondered briefly if he had also been lost in the river. Maybe a dozen others were in view—half of who lay sprawled asleep or injured. The others were setting camp, building a fire, or standing guard.

  Captain Jonla and Balor stood balancing on a large rock between the boat and the steep bank. They were arguing again, and had not noticed yet that he was awake. Balor, he saw, had a crude bandage on his shoulder.

  “I say we go on by river,” he was shouting. ‘‘We still have a boat, and a map that shows us a clear route—and some of the men are too wounded to go on by foot.” “No,” Captain Jonla answered, as if he had been repeating himself for some time. “The Qreq know we are on the river now. All they need to do is wait for us—there is no way we could avoid another ambush. But if we melt into the Tream, they will never find us.” “Yes, and we would be lost as well. The best way to avoid the Qreq is to be swift, and the quickest route is by the River Danjar.”‘

  “It is my decision to make,” Captain Jonla said with finality. “We will abandon the river and strike east. We will stay here for one day, to wait for any survivors, and to rest up. It will take the Qreq at least that long to arrive here by foot.”

  Kenlahar tried to get up, and moaned at the sudden pain in his cramped muscles. The two men fell silent, looking at him questioningly. But they made no comment, or any movement to help him as he climbed up the bank and hobbled to the fire. Kenlahar saw the accusing looks of the men of the Watch and he wondered what had happened to change their attitudes. Warming himself from the flames of the fire, he said through chattering teeth, “Bring the wounded to the fire. If possible everyone else should wear dry clothing; if not, stay near the fire. I will also need a sharp knife and boiling water.”

  “Do as he says,” Captain Jonla commanded, and then said to Kenlahar in an undertone, “Heal Balor’s shoulder first, if you can. I am going to need someone who has sense and will fight.”

  Kenlahar winced at the barb, for it was obviously directed at him alone. It was only then, as Captain Jonla walked contemptuously away, that Kenlahar remembered the Star Axe. Why had he not thought to use it in the fight? he thought. That was the question in the eyes of the warriors! The accusation had even been in the look that Balor had given him. He reflected on how little the Star Axe seemed to weigh—he had almost forgotten he carried it. But he could not use that as an excuse. Though there seemed little point in concealing the Star Axe now, his instinct still told him not to use it in violence if he could possibly delay that day. Besides, he thought, rebelliously, he wanted to cling to his Atima for as long as he could.

  Balor’s wound turned out to be shallow, and Kenlahar decided that the chief risk was of infection. He pulled the precious leaves of the herb Coron had called Earthsmoke from his pouch, and applied it generously to every wound. It will spoil soon anyway, he thought, after having become so sodden in the rain and the river. Only one of the warriors would have had to be carried, and though the wound to his leg should not have been fatal, he died in a short time. As a precaution, Kenlahar compelled them all to quaff yet another herb, that which Coron had called Sweetbark, which he boiled in the remaining hot water. If the Qreq had begun poisoning their weapons, as the Swamp People were wont to do, they would be readied. Balor refused to say anything to him as Kenlahar worked on his wounded shoulder, and walked away after the bandage had been applied. For the first time the friendship between Balor and Kenlahar was strained.

  When Kenlahar had at last finished he went to Sanra’s side. She had still not woken. He bathed her face with the Sweetbark, and she stirred but did not waken. Kenlahar could see no injuries on her frame and concluded that she had withdrawn into sleep.

  He turned from the fire worriedly just as the Lashitu appeared to greet him with news of an auspicious communion with the god Lahar. The shaman had apparently gone off alone to pray to his god, Kenlahar thought. He nodded grimly—it seemed ironic that the Lashitu should be the only one of them cheerful on this day.

  “Kenlahar?” he heard behind him, and turned to see Sanra finally sitting up. She was searching the darkness for him with blurry eyes. He hurried into the light of the fire. “I’m sorry, Kenlahar,” she said. “I had to follow you. I was afraid I would lose you.”

  “Yes, Sanra,” he said gently. “It’s
all right.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause trouble by following you,” she said again, dazed. “It’s just that I was sure that I would lose you forever if I let you go off without me.” “I know, Sanra. Go to sleep now. We can talk later.” Kenlahar stayed by her awhile longer, cupping her head in his arms, until she began to breathe evenly. He laid her head down carefully on his blanket, and left the fire. He searched for Captain Jonla in the dark, finding him at last sitting alone by the boat, staring out onto the surface of the river.

  “What are you going to do about Sanra?” he asked abruptly.

  “Do?” Captain Jonla answered, startled. But he refused to pull his eyes from the River Danjar. “What else can I do? The girl will have to come with us.” Kenlahar started to object, but Jonla suddenly grabbed his arm and pointed out into the darkness! “There!” he hissed. “Do you see it?”

  Kenlahar winced and strained his eyes in an effort to see something in the flashing reflections of moonlight in the dark flow. He was just about the turn and say that he could see nothing when he caught sight of what looked like the shadow of a twisted log pass over one of the patterns of light. “Come with me!” Captain Jonla shouted, jumping into the boat and slicing the rope with his sword.

  “What is it?” Kenlahar asked, barely making it aboard the craft before it pulled away from the bank. “Can you see what it is?”

  “I’m hoping…1 pray it is one of my men.” Kenlahar was unaccustomed to rowing and soon Captain Jonla was cursing at his ineptitude. But they managed to make some lopsided progress toward the object. Soon Kenlahar saw that it was one of their own boats, turned over, with the body of a large man draped over its hull. Jonla grabbed at the body and struggled to lift it. When Kenlahar added his strength, the body flopped into the boat. After more ineffective rowing by Kenlahar, and more cursing more Jonla, they reached shore. They barely avoided capsizing their own craft pulling it onto the bank.