Blade Of Fire (Book 2)

by Stuart Hill

  Sharley looked up from the pommel of his saddle where he’d been tiredly running through the events of the last few days, and as his eyes took in the glorious sweep of Lusuland he gasped aloud. “It’s beautiful!” he said, his voice reduced to an awed whisper.

  “And dangerous,” added Mekhmet. “This land is the home of strange and dangerous beasts, and it also bred the people who withstood the cavalry of the Sultans when they were at their most powerful. They are more than just warriors; they are learned and artistic. Their thinkers and scholars have influenced our culture more than many are prepared to accept, and their friendship, once made, is unshakeable. But despite their greatness, I don’t think the mighty impis of the Lusu people have been fully tested yet.”

  “Then let’s hope they’ll come to the north with us and put themselves to the test against the armies of the Empire.”

  “Yes, let’s hope,” Mekhmet agreed.

  As the temperature cooled, the tough little horses started to get skittish, and it was all Sharley could do to keep Suleiman under control as he danced and sidled on his neat hooves. The rainy season had made Lusuland lush, and on the wind Sharley could smell greenery and growing things. He had almost forgotten the perfume of rich fertile soil and foliage after being in the Desert Kingdom for so long, and he breathed deeply, filling his lungs with an exotic reminder of home.

  But this was not home, and Sharley was soon made starkly aware that they were entering another strange and dangerous land. He constantly felt as though he was being watched, and once or twice he thought he heard an unnerving call, like evil laughter, but he dismissed the idea as ludicrous – obviously it was just a bird of some sort. The cry sounded again, nearer this time, and Suleiman whickered nervously.

  “Strange how that call sounds like laughter,” said Sharley.

  “That’s exactly what it is,” Mekhmet answered. “It’s the Laughing Ones you can hear.”

  Sharley shuddered. “The Laughing Ones? Who are they?”

  “People . . . in a way,” his friend answered mysteriously. “Don’t worry, they shouldn’t bother us in daylight, especially as we’re armed.”

  The cry came again, sounding like something that took pleasure in pain and death.

  “It sounds so evil.”

  “They are evil.”

  Before Sharley could ask more, the sound of a horn blasted into the air and was answered by a second from a different direction, slightly farther off. There was something in the quality of the note that was undeniably military. Mekhmet seemed unconcerned and simply trotted on, but some of the younger troopers in the guard were nervous and would have drawn their scimitars if the Commander hadn’t barked out orders forbidding it. Within a matter of minutes Sharley spotted movement on the road ahead, as two cohorts of cavalry met and, without pausing, smoothly melded together and came on as one.

  Mekhmet held up his hand for his own party to stop. Sharley gazed ahead. These were the first Lusu he’d met and he was eager to see what they were like. But in the event it wasn’t the people that caught his eye, but their mounts. As they drew closer he suddenly realised they were riding black-and-white striped horses! He gasped aloud, then giggled, but stopped when he saw Mekhmet’s ferocious glare.

  He tried to ignore the strange spectacle of the horses, and concentrated instead on the people. They were a rich mahogany brown, like one or two he’d seen in the Desert Kingdom, but these men and women rode with a sense of pride that made every one of them seem like a king or queen. In their regal presence Sharley felt awkward, and for the first time in weeks he blushed. But this didn’t stop him from scrutinising their weaponry and equipment as he almost subconsciously assessed their suitability as possible allies.

  They wore no armour but carried kite-shaped shields made of hide, which were strengthened with a metal rim and central boss. Their weapons consisted of light throwing spears, a mace with a vicious-looking toothed metal head, and a long sword, the Lusu equivalent of a cavalry sabre. Their flowing robes were richly coloured, and on their heads they all wore plumes made from the feathers of what must have been truly enormous birds.

  The cavalry stopped a few paces away, and their Commander and one of the other officers rode forward. “Who are you that enter the lands of the mighty Lusu people, armed and ready for war?”

  “Truly, we enter your lands,” Mekhmet replied formally. “But war is not our intention. These soldiers are merely the fitting escort for two Princes of venerable and famed Royal Houses.”

  The Commander’s expression remained neutral. Sharley was struck by her beauty, even though like his mother she looked almost thirty years old.

  “Name these Royal Houses, and we shall see if their fame merits such an escort,” she continued, her voice cold and brusque.

  “The name of one you know already: I am Crown Prince Mekhmet, Sword of the Desert, Beloved of the One, scion of the House of Nasrid. And this is Charlemagne Athelstan Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield. It was his mighty House that defeated the Polypontian Empire when General Scipio Bellorum invaded their land called the Icemark, far, far to the north.”

  The Commander urged her striped horse forward and peered closely at Sharley. “Let me see the face of this Prince whose House drove back the unstoppable army of the Empire.”

  Sharley slowly removed the cloth of his headdress, and then with an unconscious flourish he threw it to the ground. All of the Lusu gasped aloud at the sight of his red hair and pale skin, and the Commander drew back several paces.

  “What terrible disease have you brought to our lands? Leave now, and be glad that we do not kill you for fear of contaminating our soil with your sick blood!”

  “Disease?” said Sharley, shocked. “I’m not diseased! Lots of people in my country look like me!”

  “But your skin has no colour and your hair is like blood diluted by fire. Who could look so terrible and still live?”

  In deep embarrassment, Sharley’s skin blushed crimson and his hair actually rose so that it seemed to swirl about his head. But seeing the Lusu warriors cowering in horror before him, he suddenly saw the funny side of it. He hadn’t known he looked so bad. Someone had once even described him as handsome, but here were people who thought he looked so horrible they were actually scared of him.

  He struggled hard to maintain an expression of outraged dignity, but it was impossible. He snorted, then giggled, and finally let out a huge bark of laughter that echoed around the foothills of the mountain. Mekhmet didn’t know whether to join in or to stop his friend. But, as usual, Sharley’s infectious laughter got to him and he too burst into laughter.

  It took a long time for the boys to regain control of themselves, but they eventually calmed down and wiped their eyes. The sight of the Lusu Commander’s mixed expression of horror at Sharley’s appearance, and offended dignity that anyone should dare to laugh at her, almost started them off again. With a supreme effort Mekhmet settled down and remembered that he was a Crown Prince, and this woman a mere Commander of cavalry.

  “You should accept the knowledge that far to the north, all people have colourless skin, and some have hair like fire and eyes the colour of emeralds. I am told that some even have hair as fair as ripe wheat and eyes the colour of sapphires, and though I’ve not seen this for myself, I have no reason to doubt it.”

  The Commander heard the unmistakable note of authority in Mekhmet’s voice, and bowed her head in reluctant acceptance. But she still wasn’t convinced that their visit was entirely peaceful. “That the Prince from the north is not diseased, I will allow, and bow to your greater knowledge of such things, but you still haven’t told me of the reason for your presence in our land.”

  “I am the Guest Friend of Queen Ketshaka III and would travel to her Royal Kraal, there to present myself and Prince Charlemagne to Her Mightiness and have discussion on matters too lofty for your concern.”

  “I am not aware of any friendship between the Desert Kingdom and Lusuland. I only know of unres
olved disputes that periodically erupt into open warfare. Why would the Great She-Lion, Mother of the Nation, want to give audience to one of your House?”

  Mekhmet’s voice sank to an icy purr of suppressed fury that took Sharley completely by surprise. He’d never seen his friend look or sound so angry, and he watched in fascination as he glared at the woman. “That there have been differences in the past, I cannot contest. But obviously regular diplomatic contact is maintained between our peoples, as is proven by the fact that you speak to me now in the language of the Desert Kingdom. Why should you, a mere Commander of cavalry, speak our tongue so fluently, if you have no use for it? And further, must I, a stranger in your land, remind you that it is your duty to escort all those who request an audience with Her Mightiness to the Royal Kraal in the city of Swahati? And must I also repeat that I am a Guest Friend of Queen Ketshaka, having travelled here at the time of my Coming of Age? Think of Her Majesty’s wrath, when she hears that you bandied words with one who claims the sacred trust of hospitality – because be told, oh Commander of mice and ratlings, I will inform Her Mightiness of your impudence and demand retribution!”

  For fully five minutes, Prince and cavalry Commander glared at each other in silence, until at last the Lusu woman nodded curtly. “It is well. I will escort you to Swahati and deliver you into the power of the Great She-Lion. She will decide your fate.”

  “It is well,” said Mekhmet with quiet venom.

  The Lusu cavalry led the way. A collective sigh of relief sounded from Mekhmet’s own escort, and loosened scimitars were pushed more firmly back into scabbards. They may have been outnumbered more than three to one by the Lusu, but they had all sworn to defend their Prince to the death.

  “Well, that was an interesting first encounter with a new people,” said Sharley brightly. “Are they always like that?”

  “Not normally, no. I would think the Commander is new to her post, and perhaps a little over-zealous in carrying out her duties.”

  “Right. No hard feelings, then.”

  “No?” Mekhmet asked ominously.

  They rode on in silence while the beautiful countryside of Lusuland unfolded around them. The foothills soon gave way to a wide plain, submerged beneath a sea of tall grass that heaved and billowed like waves in the warm wind. Here and there, individual trees and small copses rose like islands out of the surrounding grassland, where an amazing variety of beasts could be seen grazing and moving in huge herds. Sharley didn’t recognise any of the species at all, apart from some striped horses in the distance that he rightly assumed were the cavalry mounts in their wild state.

  “Those animals are amazing,” he said to Mekhmet, nodding at the Lusus’ steeds.

  “Yes, they are, aren’t they? They’re known as zebras, and they make superb warhorses, as we’ve found to our cost every time we’ve invaded.”

  “Are there no ordinary horses in these parts?” Sharley asked, still gazing around him at the amazing variety of animals. But without waiting for an answer he grabbed Mekhmet’s arm. “What are those?” He almost squeaked in excitement as a herd of creatures with enormously long necks sailed by on equally long legs.

  “We call them camelopards, but in the Lusu tongue they’re known as giraffes.”

  “Incredible!” Sharley gasped, but before he could recover from the excitement of the giraffes, another sight almost made him fall from the saddle. A small copse of trees was literally brushed aside as a group of truly astounding animals emerged. They were huge – at least twice as tall as the biggest of his mother’s horses – and were roughly grey in colour and had a tail at both ends! Their ears were the size of sails, and they had two horns like gigantic fangs growing either side of the front tail.

  This time Sharley couldn’t speak for excitement and incredulity. Mekhmet glanced at him and sighed impatiently. “Elephants,” he explained in a loud voice, as though talking to an idiot. “They’re called elephants. The Lusu say they’re the biggest animals in the world, and I suspect they’re right. There are rumours that in some lands far to the south they use them in warfare, a bit like oversized cavalry, I suppose.”

  He caught Sharley’s excited eyes and shook his head emphatically. “Forget it! Nobody knows how to train them, let alone actually ride them to war. And besides, you’d never get them across the desert; they need to drink an ocean of water every day, not to mention the mountain of food they eat.”

  Sharley gazed at them with longing, but reluctantly let go of the image of himself at the head of a cavalry of elephants, sweeping Bellorum and his army aside as though they were ants.

  At last Sharley’s overloaded sense of wonder was allowed to rest when the huge red ball of the sun dipped below the horizon, and it became too dark to see.

  Night had arrived as suddenly as it did in the Desert Kingdom, and with it had come the strange laughing cries that they’d heard that morning. All around, in the tall shadowy grass, something seemed horribly amused. Sharley stared out at the darkening savannah, but could see nothing, and had to concentrate on keeping Suleiman calm.

  But no one else seemed bothered by the laughter, and soon the escort of Lusus reined to a halt and immediately set about making camp. Despite his worries, Sharley watched with interest as the troopers cut huge quantities of thorn bush and set it in a wide unbroken circle as a protective wall around them all. They tethered the zebras inside it, lit several fires and began to cook a meal. Mekhmet directed his men to tether their horses, too, and pitch the tents.

  They ate listening to the nocturnal sounds of animals calling and screeching over the wide plain. Something in the quality of the night air allowed the sounds to carry for miles, and several times Sharley leaped to his feet as a huge roar erupted seemingly just outside the protecting hedge of thorns. But worse even than that were the sinister calls of the Laughing Ones, which seemed to surround the camp. Sharley shuddered. The cry came again, and was answered by another that went into such paroxysms of maniacal screeching that Sharley got up from his seat and drew closer to the fire.

  The Lusu troopers found this extremely funny, and would have sat in a circle watching him for the next round of entertainment if their Commander had allowed it. As it was, they kept stealing glances from their separate fires, just in case the weird looking northern Prince did something else that would have them in fits of laughter.

  Sharley noticed this scrutiny, and, trying to set aside his worries about the Laughing Ones, he decided to exploit it. He walked over to the Lusus’ fires and sat down amongst the troopers. The Commander regarded him with suspicion at first, but eventually shrugged and continued her discussion with her second-in-command. Some of the lower ranks of Lusu spoke the language of the Desert People, and soon Sharley was chatting and laughing with them. He also seized the opportunity to learn a few Lusu words. The troopers were amazed by him. Not only did he look so strange, but the few foreigners they’d met had always kept themselves well apart, and certainly wouldn’t have spent time talking with the lower ranks.

  Eventually, Sharley worked his way over to the pickets of zebras, where he stroked their muzzles and patted them until he’d satisfied himself that, apart from their rather flat backs – which meant that the Lusu troopers tended to ride closer to the animal’s shoulder than was usual for cavalry – and, of course, their fabulous stripes, they were just the same as any other horse.

  The next day Sharley woke to brilliant sunshine and the sweet smell of warming grasslands. Mingled with this was the wonderful scent of griddlecakes and some unknown meat the Lusu were frying. He climbed out of his sleeping roll and joined the troopers of both nationalities, who were standing round the cooks, looking hungry. Mekhmet, as usual, kept himself aloof from such matters, and waited for his breakfast to be brought to him. But Sharley felt at ease with the troopers, and besides, he was hungry enough to eat a zebra. At least he’d get fed before the Crown Prince.

  An hour later, everything was packed and ready, and both squadrons of cavalry line
d up to begin the last stage of the journey to the city of Swahati. Only then did Sharley appear dressed in the full panoply of black arms and armour that Mekhmet had given him. There were times when you couldn’t put too much emphasis on a little personal pride and dignity, and riding to meet the monarch of a new land was one of them.

  The escort of Desert People murmured amongst themselves, and the name “Shadow of the Storm” passed to and fro amongst them. The Lusus seemed surprised by the reaction, but made no comment. Mekhmet merely smiled and waited for his friend to join him at the head of the escort’s column.

  They made good time, and as they’d set out extra early they expected to be in the capital before nightfall. But for some reason the Lusu Commander, Tigazi, seemed ill at ease and sent out several patrols, then took careful note of their reports when they returned. Sharley watched her closely. What possible need could there be to send outriders ahead? According to Mekhmet, the Lusu had been at peace for more than twenty years and banditry was almost unheard of. Besides, it would need a huge gang of bandits to take on their combined cavalry.

  Eventually, after another hour of riding, the Commander left an officer in charge and galloped ahead herself. By this time Sharley was burning with curiosity, and determined to find out what the problem was. “I’ll just give Suleiman a run. It’ll do him good. He’s a bit restless,” he said to Mekhmet, and before his friend could protest he galloped after the Commander.

  She’d obviously travelled a good way ahead; after five minutes or so of hard riding he still hadn’t caught up with her. But then a strange cry reached his ears, a sort of broken braying, like a mule or donkey with hiccups. This was obviously the call of the zebras. He slowed to listen, but then a huge clamour of hideous laughter broke out, and lowering his lance he galloped ahead.