Star Axe

by Duncan McGeary

  Kenlahar slowly, almost reverently unsheathed the Star Axe in his hands. It seemed to be pulsing, with a power demanding to be released. “Come with me,” he said to Whistler and they walked to the now peaceful and confused battlefield. He marched to the very gates of the city. The scattered fighting—the Guard had not disengaged and was probing the apparent weakness of the rebels—ceased as he approached. Contrary to his commanders’ warnings, no one made a hostile motion from the walls. He stood vulnerable below them.

  “Prince Molnar!” he shouted, and on the hushed plain his voice carried to all. “I challenge you to single combat! Show yourself!” He said nothing more, but stood gloomily introspective between the greatest armies that the world had seen.

  Finally, the huge doors above creaked open a few yards, just enough for a narrow ramp to be extended onto the battlefield. One by one, a small delegation negotiated down the swaying board and gathered at the bottom. At the rear of the small party, Kenlahar saw the Prince of Kernback, now wearing a crown. Molnar had changed—had matured fully into a man. His plumpness was gone, and with it the deceptive softness. Now his face was drawn and haggard. No one could mistake him for a weakling. His bearing was proud, disdainful even in defeat.

  When all of the delegation had finally reached the safety of the Chalk Plains, the doors opened a little wider and a man was lowered with ropes, limply to the ground. Two of the Prince’s attendants dragged the man towards Kenlahar. They dropped him cruelly. Without a word they walked away.

  Kenlahar recognized Sar Devern, who seemed barely conscious of his surroundings. His traditional garb as Herald of Kernback was torn and tattered. Kenlahar could see no obvious wounds, but all could see that he had been hurt badly. A cold anger filled Kenlahar, unlike any emotion he had ever felt before. This anger did not confuse him or make him tremble, but seemed to focus all his fury at the Prince. Molnar paled at his look and even stepped backwards in surprise.

  Then Kenlahar knelt beside the old soldier and cradled his head in his lap. He knew that he had been right to come forward at last. Soon the bloodshed would be ended—one way or the other. Sar Devern opened his eyes at his touch and said wearily, as if reporting a simple message. He did not seem aware of the import of his presence. “The Prince of Kernback has rejected your proposal of a duel,” he said almost formally. Then the sight of Kenlahar revived him and he sat up. “I think he has changed his mind now,” he laughed painfully. “He did not think much of your army. Now he knows better!” He managed to smile.

  “Will you join us now?”

  “I did not want to betray my Queen, but she is dead. Molnar is now King! I owe them nothing more.”

  Torture had removed all the loyalty Sar Devern had once felt, Kenlahar saw. He did not have to ask how the Queen had died. He remembered Molnar’s fear and deep hatred of his mother, his yearnings to be master of all.

  Kenlahar also knew that his healing had little to do with what happened next. Sar Devern rose slowly to his feet and stood swaying, scornfully facing Molnar. The King could not hide his surprise. Kenlahar realized that Molnar had meant to give him a corpse. The men of both armies gasped at the miracle, attributing it to Kenlahar’s powers of healing. What had been meant to dismay Kenlahar turned into a symbol of his godhood. The Axe-bearer, though, knew it was nothing more than a manifestation of Sar Devern’s own strong will.

  The King of Kernback now approached alone and unprotected, glancing nervously at the revived Sar Devern. “Have you come to taunt me?” he asked.

  “I have come to offer you one last chance at single combat. Let us end the slaughter. With either of our deaths, there would be no more purpose in fighting. It is our battle, Molnar—others have fought for us too long.”

  Molnar’s eyes filled with a hopeful desperation. As Kenlahar had hoped, the King knew that he had lost the battle. Here was a chance to save his throne in one stroke of the blade! He looked at the Axe-bearer with a calculating glance, and seemed to sense the weakness of his opponent. Had not Kenlahar admitted his unfamiliarity with combat? And he could not have found the secret of the Star Axe or he would have used the weapon long before now. The spirit of defiance would be stilled by Kenlahar’s death. Then he would possess the Star Axe. He smiled and said, “I accept your challenge.”

  A circle of level ground was prepared for the duel. Kenlahar noticed that no one seemed very worried about the outcome. They did not expect him to lose. After all, was he not the Axe-bearer? Kenlahar could not tell them that the Star Axe was to him no more than an ordinary battleaxe, and that he did not know how to wield any weapon! If he was killed, then he had condemned all his followers to slavery.

  The Whistler was giving him last minute instructions. He alone seemed to sense Kenlahar’s fear and uncertainty. “The battleaxe can deal cruel blows, Kenlahar,” he whispered hurriedly. “It will shatter the armor into the wounds, where they will fester. But you are going to have to deal the fatal blow quickly. Strike hard and strike first! You must overwhelm him, for he shall have a sword and will be swifter. The battleaxe is not a good weapon for defense.”

  Kenlahar tried to listen carefully. Even these simple instructions were new to him. He had been carrying the Star Axe for months and had not wondered once how to use it as a weapon, not once had he practiced. He had just assumed the power of Alcress was something deeper than that, something spiritual, and that actually striking out with it would never be necessary. Now he regretted the lost time.

  The Whistler had outfitted him with a light, tough leather jerkin, and had given Kenlahar his own shield. A helmet was hastily fetched from some soldier of the army of Alcress. As Kenlahar placed it over his head, he felt the warmth of its owner, lining the inside of the helmet. He felt foolish wearing the armor, as if he were masquerading as a warrior. They walked slowly to the marked boundary of their battle field. The Queen’s Guard had emerged peacefully from the city to join the rebels around the circle. The crowd gave way before Kenlahar. Before he stepped into the ring, Kenlahar was given one last bit of advice by the Whistler. “Trust Alcress, Kenlahar. Trust the Star Axe!”

  To all but Molnar, and Kenlahar himself, the King looked foolishly confident. The multitude fell silent as the two men stepped into the field of combat, and circled each other slowly. The Star Axe felt heavy in Kenlahar’s hands for the first time, but he knew it was only his worried imagination. He remembered the Whistler’s admonishment to strike first. But, as always happened when he was faced with conflict, he could not bring himself to strike first. Molnar sensed this and grinned wolfishly, circling his unthreatening and frightened opponent without any effort to defend himself.

  Suddenly, Kenlahar’s eyes were blinded momentarily by a reflection from the White Walls of Kernback. Too late he remembered the ancient warning, “Cast down your eyes before the White Walls!” The sun had emerged from behind the clouds, and the King had cleverly maneuvered Kenlahar into facing the city at the same moment.

  Instinctively, Kenlahar threw up the shield, and the metal boss in the center of the barrier deflected Molnar’s blade. Kenlahar defended himself again and again with the shield, while the Star Axe trailed on the ground uselessly. Finally the sun once more ducked behind a cloud and Kenlahar scrambled away from the White Walls.

  Molnar stopped moving altogether and lowered his own shield. He taunted Kenlahar to use his own weapon. When Kenlahar did not respond, he pressed forward and again Kenlahar was forced to defend himself. The King backed away and grinned. Then, contemptuously, he threw down his shield and drew Toraq’s Bane from its concealed sheath.

  The men of both armies stopped their shouting at the sight of the deadly blade. It winked red in the midday light. All recognized Toraq’s Bane, and the King’s Guard started cheering. Only Kenlahar was not surprised. The dagger had once nearly killed Lahar himself! Suddenly, the tide of morale seemed to shift. The rebels no longer seemed so confident, the Guard no longer forlorn.

  With Toraq’s Bane in one hand, and his sword in
the other, Molnar prepared to attack one last time, confident now that Kenlahar would not strike back. When his flurry of blows came, everyone saw that despite the speed of his attack, Molnar had no defense at all. Even Kenlahar saw that he only needed to strike once and the King would be forced to fall back, even if not wounded. Kenlahar defended himself, and told himself that he was only waiting for the right moment. Perhaps his lack of plans for an attack saved his life for he was able to concentrate on defense. He felt his shield arm pierced. It grew numb and the shield dropped from his hands. His arms fell limply to his side. Part of the audience erupted into cheers at this sight, and the other half groaned at the desperation of Kenlahar’s plight.

  Kenlahar knew that he could not heft the battleaxe with full force in his weakened and injured condition. He stood and waited for the final assault. With a roar of triumph Molnar stepped forward, swinging Toraq’s Bane downward in a fatal blow. Awkwardly, Kenlahar swung the Star Axe up to meet the descent of the dagger. It moved swiftly and firmly, almost of its own accord. Kenlahar felt that he was doing no more than holding it when it shattered the sword and knocked Toraq’s Bane out of Molnar’s hand.

  Molnar fell back with a surprised scream. Then, without pause, the Star Axe struck deep through the King’s chest. Kenlahar stared down at the slain King in shock. He could not stop Alcress from dealing the fatal blow! He had commanded it to stop, and had pulled back with all his might—but it had swung down to strike the King. He felt sick.

  The King’s Guard was enraged. Kenlahar had played with their King, and then had struck without mercy. Several of them began to fight the rebels at their side. Only the Axe-bearer could have stopped the battle from starting again, but he was in a daze, hardly recognizing Whistler who came to lead him from the dead body of the King. So the battle began again, and would have ended only with the destruction of the entire Guard, if someone on the walls had not seen the approach of a vast army on the horizon.

  Kenlahar seemed to revive at the sighting. He knew instantly who it was—it all fitted the pattern. He would not have to return to the House of Lahar or march to the Warlord’s Havens to confront Toraq after all. “Qreq!” he shouted. Others took up the cry. Though few knew what the Qreq were, all could sense that they were the common enemy. “The Sorcerer King has come to enslave us!” he cried and all recognized this ancient name. The fighting was stopped and the two armies merged, drawn up before the gates of the city. There was no time for more than a portion of the host to enter the city, though men marched up the crude ramps until the last moment, and even during the battle.

  The King’s Guard chose to remain outside the walls and to meet the brunt of the assault. Behind them, the Seven Tribes remained with Kenlahar, who also refused to enter the safety of the city. So they stood solidly, as the disordered charge of the Qreq neared. To the people of Kernback, who had never seen the Qreq before, the warriors must have seemed frightening. The horde extended as far as the eye could see, until all of the Chalk Plain was crawling with their columns. But the army of the Star Axe stood its ground before the wave of Qreq.

  Though it was outnumbered a hundred to one, the King’s Guard refused to retreat. Whole lines of the soldiers would disappear at a time, swept away by the thousands of Qreq. The Seven Tribes waited their turn to confront the Qreq with pale faces, but they too stood their ground. Kenlahar’s eyes were drawn to a small knoll a short distance away. There he sensed the evil presence of the Warlord. But at this distance he could not distinguish the form of Toraq. It did not look to Kenlahar as if he would have a chance to test the power of Alcress against the Sorcerer King. Suddenly, it seemed that there was fighting on the knoll as well.

  Then the last of the Guard was down and the Qreq was before him. The Star Axe gleamed, seeming eager to fight the evil it felt around it. Then it was moving, of its own volition, protecting its master and laying a swath through the horde of Qreq. Yet Kenlahar soon saw that even the Star Axe could not hold back this army much longer. With his back to the cliff, he prepared for the end with the small number of men still standing.

  Sanra could see quick blinding flashes from the middle of the vast Chalk Plains. The Qreq horde had come at last to a wide field that stretched endlessly before them. It was as if a thousand mirrors were catching the reflection of the sun’s light. As they drew nearer, the Qreq began to mutter excitedly among themselves, and from beside her, Sanra heard Jonla gasp, “The White Walls of Kernback! So they exist after all…” his voice trailed off wonderingly. A huge cloud of white dust seemed to be hovering just below the high glittering walls, and she wondered what could have caused such a commotion of the earth.

  They saw two hills rising out of the flat plain, and a moving and faltering flow of bright reflections, surging back and forth across the land between the twin knolls. Even as she watched the flow it stopped, and she realized that it was two giant hosts of men. As the Qreq advanced, the two separate armies joined together to face the approaching horde. The Warlord’s resounding voice reached most of the warriors of his excitedly clustered army. “There!” he shouted. “There, behind those walls are the waters of Shallowspill!”

  The giant mass of Qreq were released, and with a surge, and cries of “Qreq!” rolled across the Chalk Plains. The horde of Qreq were disordered, an unruly mob, but as the two opposing hosts converged with a roaring tumble, Sanra saw their relative sizes. Her heart sank—no wonder the Warlord had been so confident! For year, upon festering year, the Sorcerer King had been breeding his Qreq in the warrens beneath the Havens. Though much of this horde had been already destroyed, still they overflowed even the vast width of the Chalk Plains. Sanra saw that the Qreq would soon simply swallow the armies of Kernback in their frenzy for the water lying within the city.

  The prison wagon had been drawn up beside the Sorcerer King and his guards, upon a low, sloping rise—perhaps the only elevation on all the Chalk Plains. The Warlord was standing only steps away, watching the battle with a look of delight at the slaughter. Toraq was surrounded by one those few he called his commanders. But his army did not need much direction—they simply fought whoever confronted them until they themselves were slain, and every Qreq was a strong fighter.

  The dry bed of Shallowspill turned in a crooked and meandering hook a few yards behind them. As Sanra watched, she thought she could see two small figures emerging from over the bank of the empty river. Then the mysterious shapes dropped and seemed to disappear into the low grass. When she could see no more movement, she convinced herself that her despair had caused her to imagine the sight. She turned back to watch the battle.

  Then she heard Jonla gasp, and he kicked her slightly with his bound legs. She looked back again and caught her breath. Kalese and Balor were running straight at them at a full run, like a vision out of one of their feverish dreams. None of the Qreq guards had noticed the two apparitions yet, and time seemed to stand still as the impossible distance was crossed. Kalese broke apart from Balor and ran toward the captives. Balor continued onward toward the back of the Sorcerer King, who stood absorbed in the battle.

  The Lashitu broke the quiet of impending doom. “No!” he screamed. “Balor—don’t hurt him!” The Qreq guards turned around in surprise at the yelp, and then Balor was among them, swinging his sword wildly. He killed in silence and with deadly effect against the weakened Qreq. Then Sanra saw the Warlord draw his sword with a grin, and move toward Balor.

  Kalese’s form blocked out the evolving duel. Sanra saw no more while Kalese sawed jaggedly first at Jonla’s bonds, and then hers. When Jonla was freed, he jumped from the wagon, falling briefly, and stooped to pick up a sword from one of the fallen guards. He cried out in pain from even this small movement. He staggered toward the fight, as the blood began to slowly flow back into his arms and legs. Then Sanra felt her hands become free as well, and both women turned to watch the duel.

  Balor was being driven backward by the surprising speed and strength of the Warlord’s thrusts. The few survivi
ng Qreq guards were merely watching the duel and made no effort to help their master. Toraq wanted to kill, and it was soon obvious that he did not need help in defeating Balor—or any mortal man. The Warlord seemed to be enjoying his battle, toying with Balor. Yet he tired with the play and sent Balor reeling backward over the body of a slain guard. Helpless, and without hope, Balor threw his sword up. Jonla’s shout brought Toraq around in surprise. But the Sorcerer King did not bother to play with the Captain of the Watch. The sword moved with supernatural speed, and Jonla’s limp form was sent flying sideways.

  But now Balor was once more on his feet and hefting his sword. He watched Toraq warily. He knew he was about to die. This opponent was faster and stronger than any he had met before, and possessed of an evil cleverness. That these attributes were supernatural would make no difference in the outcome.

  Kalese shouted for Sanra to follow and rushed toward the two circling figures. Sanra stood faltering, wondering how she could help. She had never held a weapon before; had never struck out in violence! Without drawing attention to herself, she slipped a small dagger from out of a Qreq hand and concealed it behind her palm and forearm. Moving slowly, ever so slowly, to the fight, she posed with a shocked and dazed look on her face. Over and over again she wailed, “Jonla!” as if she meant only to approach his lifeless body, and keen her grief. First Balor, and then Kalese were about to be easily overcome by the laughing Sorcerer King. Sanra saw Balor fall, with a blow to his head. He did not move again. Kalese moved without fear to take his place. For a moment it appeared that the enraged girl would penetrate Toraq’s defense, but she too was driven backwards.

  Sanra did not change her distracted expression, or her cries of grief. Then, only a few yards from the body of Jonla, she whirled and sank the blade of her dagger into the Warlord’s back. As the Warlord stiffened, Kalese also struck, and sliced across the exposed neck of the Sorcerer King. He fell headless into the white dust. The lifeless head freed a howl that reached the White Walls of Kernback. Then the beautiful, piercing eyes in the head glazed over.