Star Axe

by Duncan McGeary

Balor was astonished that the Qreq had dared to establish such an encampment so near the House of Lahar, and on the far side from their home port of the Warrior’s Haven. The Qreq ship he had so stubbornly pursued was tied up on a makeshift dock. Now that he could see the full silhouette of the Qreq warship, Balor marveled that the Qreq had managed to maneuver the giant craft around the rapids. More and more of their camp was waking, and suddenly Balor spotted a small figure moving among the tall Qreq. He squinted, desperately trying to see who it was, and was rewarded with a glimpse of long, golden hair.

  Sanra! Balor almost shouted out her name. She was alive, and moving freely through the camp! His eyes followed her passage through the waking camp until she once more sat down among a pile of bundled bodies. The figures moved awkwardly and Balor guessed that the prisoners were bound. He counted three prone forms—three men of the Watch, Balor thought. That left one man still unaccounted for.

  The Qreq were all up and moving now, hurrying to complete their job before darkness fell. Balor was amazed to see them wheeling a huge wagon down the steep ramp. It slid into the water, creating waves that sent the warship reeling backwards. The crew cast a thick hawser to shore. When the warship had been positioned roughly over the wheeled cart, work parties joined to pull both ship and cart onto the ramp. The ship settled, with a groaning, creaking heaviness onto the wagon. Fascinated by this display of Qreq tenacity, Balor watched them pull the load up the causeway, inches at a time. As the ship left the water completely, it tottered to one side dangerously. The long chain of Qreq slaves stretched up the portage, and out of Balor’s sight.

  Balor’s awe was replaced by the realization that the Qreq would not escape him soon—not at the slow pace with which they were hauling their load upriver. The small cluster of prisoners remained unmoving throughout his investigation. Satisfied that he would not lose them again soon, Balor backtracked to wait for Kalese and the Lashitu. The sun descended to the horizon and still there was no sign of the two stragglers. Balor grew increasingly impatient. Finally, he thought he heard them approaching, and was about to step forward to greet them when he caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes.

  A Qreq sentry had emerged from his hidden shelter, cautiously peering downriver. Balor had just enough time to think that he must have passed the picket, unnoticed in the deepening shadows. But the sentry was showing alert curiosity now, he thought. The sentry had retreated back into his concealed niche, but Balor had no faith that the Qreq had not heard this noisy approach. The Lashitu appeared into view, making no effort to muffle his tread. Wary and silent, Kalese followed several steps behind him.

  Balor cursed and ran toward the area he had spotted the Qreq last. But he was still yards away when the Qreq suddenly popped from his concealment and stepped in front of the surprised Lashitu. As the ghostly warrior raised his curved sword, the Lashitu screeched and fell backwards. Kalese hurled her walking stick into the path of the sweeping sword, but she too was thrown back. Balor jumped the last few feet, thrusting his blade at the Qreq, but the Lashitu’s widening eyes unintentionally warned the ambusher in time. The Qreq turned and deflected the blow.

  The Qreq had forgotten, or had dismissed the other two, so he did not see the staff in Kalese’s hand as it came on his huge head. Without pausing, and without pity, Balor threw the body into the river. It bobbed once and then sank into the one of the countless small whirlpools of the River Danjar. If they found him, Balor hoped, they would believe that the guard had been caught in the treacherous currents of the river.

  When he once more looked up from the swirling waters he saw that Kalese was almost falling over in exhaustion. Balor, too, was feeling the toll of his marathon chase. “This time, the Lashitu will stand watch while we sleep,” he growled when they reached his hideaway above the Qreq camp. “Wake us at dawn,” he ordered the shaman. He did not add what they all knew—that when they awoke they would be on the lookout for an opportunity to rescue the prisoners. None of them had much faith in their success, but they had to try.

  The Lashitu merely nodded at his orders. He had seemed preoccupied ever since Balor had informed him that Kenlahar was not among the captives.

  Balor had to close his eyes. He had been pushing himself too hard, he thought. Now that there was no more urgent need to stay awake, and someone else to watch, the need to sleep overwhelmed him. The last image he had before he closed his eyes was of the Lashitu gloomily watching the Qreq camp.

  Balor opened his eyes, somehow certain that he had slept too long. It was still light, but the air felt wrong—not like a morning or afternoon, but fresher, as if it were late night. He felt disoriented by the contradiction to his expectations. His body, too, found it difficult to accept the evidence of his eyes—he was too rested for it to still be dark. Unless…the only explanation, Balor thought, was that he had slept all the night, and all the next day as well. But where was the Lashitu? Why had he not been woken?

  A surge of fear and adrenalin sent him groping for his sword and to his feet. But they were in no danger; the night was peacefully quiet, except for the constant roar of the falls. The Qreq camp was deserted, and the makeshift dock was teetering above the swift water of the River Danjar, the only sign of the enemy’s presence.

  Kalese lay quietly sleeping as he had seen her last, but the Lashitu was not standing guard, was not even awake. Instead he was kneeling against a bulwark he must have hastily dug, head in arms—fast asleep.

  Balor howled in fury, forgetting all caution or judgment, and lifted the shaman bodily into the air, ready at that moment to throw the Lashitu as far as he could down the small cliff, into the abandoned Qreq camp. The Lashitu shrieked as Balor began to launch him into the air. Kalese woke just in time and shouted, somehow penetrating his rage and bringing him back to his senses. At the last moment, he turned instead and dropped the Lashitu roughly to the ground. The shaman’s scream was abruptly stilled and he squirmed on his back, his eyes showing his frightened images of death, struggling to draw a breath.

  Balor immediately regretted his violent reaction, thinking that he may have seriously hurt the Lashitu. But Kalese pulled him away from the moaning shaman. “He is not injured, Balor,” she said. “Do not concern yourself with him. We both should have known that this would happen, but it is too late now. It is time to think on what our next action should be.”

  The Lashitu had finally caught his breath and now said, a little timidly, “But Kenlahar is not with them. I thought that was why we were after them. We should be looking for the Star Axe. Let us turn around now, I beg of you!”

  “Is that why you let them slip away, Lashitu?” Balor’s voice lashed at the shaman with scorn. “Did you think we would abandon our chase if you let them go? Then it is time I told you that I knew Kenlahar was not among them. I chose to pursue them anyway. You may not understand this, but it is the only way I can help Kenlahar now. Lashitu, if you have any counsel with the gods, ask them to help Kenlahar, for we cannot.”

  ‘‘I will join Balor in his quest,” Kalese said. “From this moment on I will neither hinder you or help you, Lashitu. From this moment on we will not turn back, we will not turn aside. We are after the Qreq!”

  She turned to lead the way down into the deserted camp and up the other side to the Qreq trail. Balor smiled at the Lashitu menacingly, and turned to follow her.

  The Lashitu hesitated, and looked uncertainly around him. At that moment, the rickety structure of the docks toppled into the river with a loud splash and the Lashitu shouted as if he had been stung. He rushed after the disappearing figures of the warrior and the swampgirl. The Lashitu’s fanatical loyalty did not, apparently, extend to being left marooned in the Tream, Balor thought. Even when they stepped up their pace, moving much faster than they had before, the Lashitu meekly followed, and did not complain.

  The giant wagon had cut deep ruts into the road, and halfway to the Statue of Kings they came upon one of its massive wheels, lying broken to one side. The crushed
remains of several Qreq were tossed callously about it, for the wheel had evidently only been replaced at the price of many lives. The wagon had continued grinding up the ancient causeway. Already the twin ruts left by the wagon in the hard earth of the portage were filling with dark rainwater.

  They were nearing the Statue of Kings, when they heard the creaking, grinding racket of the giant cart. The rear guard of the Qreq was set foolishly within the range of the wagon’s noise or the Companions would have stumbled onto them. The Qreq wagon crawled ponderously forward, while the three shadows followed.

  The guard was a token precaution, Balor thought. The Qreq were overconfident. They would learn better if he could reach the House of Lahar before they did. But the uncomfortable thought entered Balor’s mind that perhaps the Qreq were so bold because they no longer needed to fear the House of Lahar.

  The night still had several hours of darkness, but Balor did not believe the Qreq could reach the Statue of Kings, launch the ship, and embark before light. When the Lashitu complained once more that he could go no further without rest, he made his decision. “I may be able to reach the House of Lahar in time to warn them,” he whispered to Kalese. “You follow the Qreq, and when they make their attempt to sneak by, light some kind of signal. We will lay a trap for these reckless Qreq!”

  He started around the slow moving Qreq party, in a wide detour into the Tream. But his effort to remain just out of sight of the Qreq vanguard—and also away from the treacherous interior of the swamp—was constantly frustrated. Every clear passage through the tangle seemed to lead away from the River Danjar, and every obstacle seemed to lie between him and the river. His efforts to cut across the uncooperative land, and angle toward the river, were always hindered by growth. Only by exaggerating his progress toward the river, much farther than his sense told him he should, was he able to maintain his infrequent glimpses of blue that indicated the flow. He settled for keeping the murmur of the rushing water at an even level, and was thankful he did not have much farther to go.

  Now that the groaning Lashitu was not slowing his advance, Balor quickened his pace. He was gratified by the trouble the Qreq were encountering. Each time he had thought that he had fallen hopelessly behind, the Qreq had confronted a new obstacle. Perhaps the Raggorak were on the side of the Companions after all! He was eager to arrive at the House of Lahar. A Qreq warship had never before sailed below the island. The Watch commander would not wish to see the warship escape punishment!

  He negotiated his way up a steep muddy path, placing each foot solidly on the slippery earth before lifting the other. Even so, by the time he had reached the top of the bank he was covered by mud from falling. It seemed to him that every bush in the Tream had thorns, and every bit of dry land was infested with biting, stinging insects—as were the pools of foul smelling water. Every blade of grass burned with an itching poison, every step could turn into a quagmire.

  He was amazed that the few species of plant life could be twisted into many forms. The insects seemed to stay at a stationary distance from his nose, no matter how fast he moved, how swiftly he jerked his head away. Then, if he stopped paying attention for even a second, they would strike.

  Thus, Balor was not paying attention to his path. The Tream was springing its trap. Balor suddenly realized that he was lost, and his panic sent in running in the direction he was sure he had last seen the river. Before he could adjust the night was robbing him of sight. His sense of orientation, his sense of time seemed to be playing tricks on him. He should have seen the House of Lahar by now, he thought desperately. Find the river and he would find the House! But he could no longer even hear the river he realized with a feeling of dread.

  Finally he stopped his futile wandering. He peered into the darkness, trying somehow to distinguish something out of the murk. By watching intently he began to see lights on the horizon. At first the shimmer could barely be perceived, but gradually its glow intensified. The Qreq had saved him by a night attack on the House of Lahar, and their mammoth fires lighted the horizons. But it was only later that Balor learned of this irony. Right now, he hurried toward the strange lights, unsure how long they would stay lit. As he stumbled through the dark, and waded through the muddy pools of the swamp, he began to have intimations of their strategy. An attack in the early morning would allow the Qreq warship to slip by unnoticed!

  The banks surrounding the island were filled with the debris of past battles. Balor mounted a loose mass of wreckage upriver of the island and let the current carry him toward the House of Lahar, steering at times to maintain a distance from the Qreq ships. But the Qreq surrounding the island were not watching for someone trying to break through the siege lines from Outside.

  The warships had huge torches on their bows as a means of avoiding collisions. As he neared the island, Balor realized that the smaller boats of the House of Lahar were exploiting this exposure. The little boats of Lahar were sailing without lights, and Balor caught brief glimpses of them as they darted under the prows of the enemy crafts. Already one of the giant ships was burning. The Qreq had never before attacked by night and Balor doubted that they would ever do so again.

  Balor heard the sound of the river being cut neatly by the hull of a small boat somewhere very close to him. He cried out. Surprised voices drifted back across the river to him, and he yelled again, to identify himself. He was answered this time by the sound of arrows slicing through the water around him. He fell silent, and all the boat passed on. Apparently they were searching for larger prey.

  Balor continued paddling toward the island, but he began to wonder now how he would convince the Watch of his identity before they mistakenly killed him!

  . Wading ashore at the forest’s deepest point, he slipped easily past the warriors guarding the island. When he finally strolled openly into the Courtyard of Moons, he was not even noticed at first. Gradually, however, he began to draw stares. At least now they knew he was not a Qreq, he thought.

  So Balor walked up the broad stone steps of the Great Hall without hindrance. Someone cried out his name, and others took up the cheer with wonderment in their voices. He waved and entered the open doors. Marching down the long, dusty halls toward the Chambre of the Elders, all the warm, dry memories of his childhood returned. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief and safety.

  But he was not meant to rest within its confines yet, he reminded himself. He wished the inner rooms had windows on the river, for the vision of the Qreq ship passing by outside even now, kept entering his thoughts.

  CHAPTER IX

  Several hours had passed since Balor and the High Elder had assembled on the docks with a small company of the Watch. The low roof, supported by braces placed at random along the length of the pier, protected them from the worst of the rain. But it gave Balor the uneasy feeling of waiting within a long, dark cave. Waiting for the swollen river to rise and swallow them, he thought. Three boats had been outfitted for battle, and in their prows had been stowed clay pots filled with hot coals, and covered from the rain. Occasionally, one of the warriors would step from the shelter and jump into one of the boats to bail out the new rainfall.

  Balor peered into the darkness, waiting for a sign from Kalese that the Qreq were about to attempt their escape. His eyes hurt from the strain of searching in the blackness of night. From beside him, the High Elder said, “Perhaps they have passed us by already.”

  It was the third time, Balor noted, that the High Elder had wondered that. “No!” he insisted again. “Kalese would have signaled us. I am certain of it.” Nevertheless, the High Elder’s doubts were beginning to create doubts in Balor’s mind as well.

  The new Captain of the Watch, Tolose, added to his fears when he stopped his relentless pacing just long enough to say, “I do not trust this swampgirl.” The warrior turned away again without waiting for a reply.

  Balor held back an exasperated retort. Tolose was as grizzled and hoary as Captain Jonla had been, but did not have the tolerance. He w
ould never be convinced of any integrity among the People of the Cormat. It did not matter how much Balor argued with the man—in Tolose’s mind the swamp people were not to be trusted, and that was that. So instead of arguing again, Balor resumed his search for a light in the gloom.

  In this time of waiting, an aura of greatness seemed to have been granted Balor by the troop. Rumors moved among the warriors that the tall, blond battle-scarred man in their midst had been wandering in the Tream for many, many weeks. It was even whispered that he had dared to journey Outside, and had returned with dire tidings for the House of Lahar. It was fortunate, Balor thought, that they did not know of Kenlahar and the Star Axe, or just how bad his news had been.

  He was aware that his ragged, travel-stained clothes strengthened the wonderings of the warriors. He caught them casting him glances filled with awe. Though he tried his best to ignore the looks, he could not help himself from feeling a wry pride in his battered appearance.

  A tall guard from the Chambre, who had long ago been sent to fetch the Healer Coron, finally returned to report to the High Elder. Coron had refused to leave the Hospice without first tending to those laid to his charge, he reported. “There are many sorely wounded man from the battle,” the guard recited. “Further battle will have to wait.”

  “Is that his answer?” the High Elder demanded. “Has he no concern for the Axe-bearer? Go back and escort the Healer Coron to my presence.”

  “It does not matter, Elder,” Balor said. “There is nothing the Healer Coron can do until after we have captured the ship.”

  The High Elder reluctantly agreed and called back the guard. Balor thought it just as well. He was not looking forward to the old man’s questions. Coron saw too much, and never what you wished him to see.

  Meanwhile, Captain Tolose continued to pace back and forth, muttering fiercely to himself. All the company overheard, with amused snickers, his profane vows—he would teach the Qreq not to take their ships downriver! With a thankful prayer to Lahar, Balor reflected that he could not have asked for more cooperation from the grizzled warrior. Though he may have been of minor rank when he had left, he had returned as a Companion of the Star Axe, and he had a feeling he would be granted everything he asked for.