Sword Empire

by Robert Leader

  Her bladder was painfully full, and emerging from her furs she rose quietly to her feet. Raven glanced at her and smiled briefly, but said nothing. Maryam hurried into the trees until she was just out of sight, paused to look carefully all around, and then went about her business. She had seen nothing to alarm her, but even so she did not intend to linger any longer than was absolutely necessary.

  The dominant Whitejaw bull had squinted skyward as the dawn light brightened. The retreat of darkness and the thick shadows was almost a signal for him to also withdraw, and yet still he had hesitated. Some instinct in that small brain had warned him that the strange man-things could be dangerous, and that same instinct had warned him that they were alert. One of them was always standing guard, as a good bull should.

  There was a slow but determined conflict taking place behind that solid wall of bone beneath the wrinkled black brows. In one corner was the tiny, warning voice of instinct, and in the other all the brute pride and arrogance which made him the dominant male. This was his territory and he could not afford to show weakness. If he did not drive off these hairless blue invaders then more might come. Or, an even more troubling scenario, one of the sub-dominant bulls might see his failing as a sign of weakening strength and purpose. Then he would be challenged for his right to leadership, and his first breeding rights with his females. He had led the group here to defend his territory, and to demonstrate his continuing rights and powers. Part of him now wanted to back off, and yet he could not.

  Dawn was his decision time, and he had inched closer. The others were tense now, anticipating his signal. And then the brown female had left the dying fire circle and walked directly toward him.

  The big bull had crouched low, peering through a curtain of leaves. He saw the woman stop and squat, and then the slight breeze brought him the scent of her urine. It was a sexual smell, stimulating and tempting. The bull ape understood. The female was vulnerable. She could be caught off guard. He opened his mouth in a fearsome roar and charged.

  Maryam fell over backward as the black monster erupted upward out of the undergrowth and hurtled toward her. Its long, powerful arms were stretched out to seize her, but she saw only the hot black eyes and the slavering white jaws which seemed to fill the whole lower half of the animal’s face. In that horrifying second, the eyes reminded her of Sardar the Merciless and she screamed her terror.

  Raven stepped up behind her, his right arm extended and leveled, and his hand lazer gripped firmly in his fist. He fired one short burst and there was the soft hiss of burning fur, flesh and bone, as the white beam drilled the creature neatly between the eyes. The bull ape was towering over Maryam, almost twice her height and within inches of tearing her head from her shoulders, and then it stopped as though it had crashed full tilt into a wall of solid rock. For a moment it seemed to hang suspended in the air above her, and then it was thrown abruptly backward. The tiny brain was boiled into a soft mush and the dominant bull was dead before it hit the ground.

  The rest of the group had charged in a screaming mass attack in the same moment. Maryam saw at least a dozen of the fearsome animals bearing down upon them and screamed again. Raven shot two more with quick flashes of brilliant light from his lazer, and then Taron and Garl were running up behind him. They, too, opened fire with their hand-held lazers. Twice more the deadly white beams lanced forth. Two more of the screaming apes went down, and the air was filled with the stench of the hot burn wounds.

  One of the sub-dominant bulls was now down, and three of the females. The apes slowed and backed off, snarling and furious, but suddenly afraid. The last surviving bull realized that he now stood alone. He reared up to his full height and beat upon his massive gorilla chest with his balled fists, a savage drumming sound that was echoed by a series of monstrous roars, but even as he demonstrated his defiance he was still retreating. The females broke and fled into the forest. The new dominant bull kept up his show for a few moments longer, and then he too turned and dropped onto his knuckles to lope quickly away into the trees and the thick curtains of undergrowth.

  Raven holstered his lazer and helped Maryam to her feet.

  “You should not go so far from the camp,” he told her. “If I had not kept you in sight, they would have killed you.”

  Maryam flushed hot pink with embarrassment. Her leggings were still tangled down around her knees and Taron and Garl were grinning broadly. Then she was saved from any further discussion by more agonized animal screaming.

  “The horses!” Raven snapped, and drawing his hand lazer again, he led his two crewmen off at a swift run.

  They were only seconds away, but they were too late. By the time they reached the spot where the horses were tethered, only three of them were left. The fourth was already being dragged off into the thick undergrowth, blood pumping from its severed jugular and its broken neck firmly clamped in the jaws of a huge, black-maned forest lion that had also waited all through the night for its moment of opportunity.

  With the remaining three horses still milling hysterically in their line of fire, there was no chance for any of the three Gheddans to get in another lazer shot. The steel tethering spike had been pulled from the earth as the animals reared in panic, but they were still held fast together. The fact that they were so constrained while facing in different directions was the only reason that they had not bolted. They were all pulling madly against each other. By the time they were brought under control, the lion had escaped with its prey.

  Raven cursed loudly and angrily, but that did little good.

  Maryam was angry too, but she was angry with herself. Not for going off alone, or even for being caught literally with her trousers down, but because she had screamed and showed her weakness and her fear. She knew that she had lost face with Raven and the others, and after all she had done to earn their respect it was a hard thing to bear.

  When they rode on, Maryam now had to ride double behind Raven. It was not even her mount which had been taken. It was Garl’s. But now Garl rode her horse, and she had to ride behind Raven. She fumed inwardly, but there was nothing she could do.

  The rest of their journey beside the river through the bottom of the gorge was as beautiful as before, but the magic had gone. Maryam could no longer enjoy the gurgle of the running water, the warm sunshine or the twittering birdsong. Now she knew exactly what might lay watching and waiting behind the thick screens of foliage and it was impossible to relax. Her gaze darted to and fro among the shadows, and for the first time, she wished that she too could carry one of the white-fire weapons and knew how to use one.

  After a short ride, Raven pulled to a halt and pointed forward and upward to where the sheer cliffs on their left were topped with continuing walls of man-hewn stone. Only the chequerboard pattern of squared blocks showed where the natural cliff face ended and the human construction began.

  “Stronghold Raven,” he said calmly. “Only a frontal attack is possible, for there are only two approaches to defend. Against swords it is almost impregnable. We could have reached it last night if I had hurried the pace, but the cliff would be impossible to climb in darkness.”

  Taron and Garl stared upward, but made no comment. Raven kicked the flank of his horse with his heel and led them on.

  At the base of the cliff, they had to leave the three horses, tethering them loosely to a low branch on one of the trees. Maryam lingered to give them a sorrowful parting glance before she turned to follow the three men on the first part of the upward scramble over loose rock and boulders. She wondered how long the horses would have to wait here, and what were their chances of survival. It seemed of no concern to Raven and the others, but she had learned to trust the large, ugly horses, and now she felt pity for them.

  It was a breathless but relatively easy climb to the top of the long, broken slope where the rock face began. Here they rested briefly, looking back over the tree tops and the green-tangled length of the gorge. For the moment, most of the river was hidden below them. Finall
y, Raven unbuckled his sword belt and slung it over one shoulder so that the sword and scabbard hung down his back out of the way. Taron and Garl, and then Maryam, followed his example.

  Raven studied the cliff face above them for a few moments. It was almost sheer, but there were ledges, knobbled outcrops and fissures to provide hand and footholds, so although difficult and dangerous, the climb did look possible. Having chosen his route, he stepped forward and started up.

  Taron and Garl followed his lead, spacing themselves about ten paces apart, and finally Maryam pulled herself onto the cliff face to bring up the rear. Taron was copying the movements of Raven, trusting to the same levers and holds. Garl dutifully took his lead from Taron, and in turn Maryam watched and tried to follow Garl. However, her arms and legs were not quite as long as those of the three Gheddans, and the cracks and steps that were feasible for them were frequently just out of her reach. She soon realized that she had to trust her own judgement and find her own way.

  Soon she was breathless and tiring. Her fingers were scratched and bleeding and her knees were bruised. Every muscle in her back, shoulders and thighs was starting to ache. Only once did she look down, and the sheer drop below caused a sickening lurch in her stomach. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and hung on until the moment of nausea had passed. When she forced herself to open her eyes again, she kept her gaze fixed on the rock wall in front and the three men spread-eagled above. She knew that it would be a fatal mistake to look down again. Climbing down would be even worse than climbing up and now that she was this far committed she had no choice but to keep going upward.

  Dirt and small stones spattered down on her, and she realized that if any of the three men slipped and fell, they would probably sweep her off the rock face. If Raven fell, he might even take all of them with him. She began to pray then, with the same fixed determination that kept her clawing upward, one step or arm-pull at a time.

  Raven climbed in silence, but several times she heard both Taron and Garl curse and swear. Those sounds and the rattle of dislodged debris were the only noises for most of the long climb, but as they drew near to the base of the man-made wall there were other sounds, louder shouts and curses, and above all the clash and ring of steel.

  There was a battle taking place above them. Maryam stopped and clung tight to the rock face, staring upward. Above her Raven, Taron and Garl were now climbing faster, almost carelessly as they kicked down greater quantities of dirt that showered into her face. She had to squeeze her eyes shut again and hang there blind as they scrambled to the base of the wall. Their blood was up and they were missing a fight.

  There was a narrow ledge at the top of the cliff-face, and there they gathered while Raven cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed loudly for attention. The massive squared blocks were too large and too closely jointed to provide a continued ascent without help, but eventually a startled face appeared at the top of the wall and gaped down at them. Raven stood, face up-turned, hands on hips, and shouted out his identity and his commands. A few minutes later a rope was brought and tumbled down toward them.

  As soon as the rope was secure, Raven was hauling himself up hand over hand and disappeared over the top. A second rope snaked down and Taron and Garl ascended together.

  Maryam waited until they were all out of sight and then wearily completed her last stretch of the climb to the base of the wall. She stood there panting for a moment, and then tested the pull of the nearest rope. Still refusing to look down, she drew a deep breath, leaned backward and began to walk up the wall, pulling herself with her arms as she had learned from watching the others. The three men had been helped over the top by rough but willing hands, but she had been forgotten and no one had even noticed her presence as she had crouched helplessly lower down the cliff-face.

  Maryam had climbed walls before, but only the garden walls of Kara-Rashna’s palace. She had scrambled after her brothers as they escaped the confines of their playgrounds and had proved herself as nimble and daredevil as any of them. This was different and she had never climbed so high before and never been so tired. Her arms ached and her hands burned from gripping the rope, but once she had started she knew that she could not go back. If she tried to lower herself the rope would slip and burn through her hands. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and kept pulling upward.

  That final part of the climb seemed to last forever. The pain in her hands and arms became agony. She began to think that she must inevitably fail and fall, but eventually she was able to haul herself over the top of the wall and dropped down thankfully onto a parapet a few feet below.

  There were three discarded sword belts on the parapet. Maryam dropped her own belt on the pile, first withdrawing the blade from its scabbard, but then she simply leaned her back against the supporting edge of the wall. She was exhausted and lacked the strength to do any more. Looking down, she saw that there was a large open courtyard below, and on the far side, the massive stone walls of a solid hall and keep. The stone-paved courtyard was filled with the song of steel and a mass of furiously cursing and fighting barbarian men. One half of the wooden double gates which had barred entry to the stronghold was smashed and smouldering and had obviously been set on fire. A large assault force had broken in, but now Raven, Taron and Garl were at the forefront of a ferocious counter attack, their swords flashing and dancing in the sunlight.

  Even as she watched, the tide of battle turned. The invaders were falling quickly under the combined cutting power of three fresh blades, and now they began to fall back toward the gates. Raven seized the momentary lull to turn aside and run swiftly to a flight of stone steps that brought him back to the top of the parapet. From one of the defenders, he had commandeered a curved battle horn which he now raised to his lips with his free hand. He blew into it with one long, savage blast which would not have disgraced an angry bull elephant. The men below him flinched as the signal note deafened their ears, and both sides lowered their sword blades and stared upward.

  The battle horn had served its purpose and Raven tossed it to one side. He raised his bloodied sword blade and allowed it to rest casually in the palm of his left hand.

  “I am Raven,” he said loudly, his voice carrying crisp and clear above all their upturned faces. “Sword Lord of this stronghold. I am told that I have received a sword challenge, from something called Brack.”

  There was a moment of silence. Maryam realized that now she could distinguish the defenders from the attackers. The former displayed sudden wide grins of triumph and delight. The latter showed faces of grim shock and dismay. A huge man with a bald blue head, carrying his own reddened blade, slowly stepped forward. He planted his feet wide apart and made a cutting motion in the air as those around him backed away to clear a circle.

  “I am Brack,” he said harshly. “Sword Lord of Stronghold Brack.”

  “Your father was a disgusting old rock toad,” Raven said pleasantly. “I can see that you have inherited his fine features.”

  “I will kill you for that,” Brack roared. His voice was positive and powerful but his eyes lacked certainty.

  Raven laughed and ran down the steps again and into the fighting circle.

  Maryam watched the duel begin and again there was a swift flowering of fear in her heart. The long climb had drained her to the point of collapse, and Raven had made that same climb. He must surely be tired, and his sword arm must weigh as heavily as her own. Brack, by comparison, must be fresh and strong. Again it was hammered into her heart and mind that if Raven died, she would be alone on this savage planet, and she hardly dared to think of what might befall her without his protection.

  The two circled each other for a long minute, and then Brack gave a mighty bellow and charged. His technique was that of a battering ram, swinging his sword ahead of him in great sweeps that would have carved him a swift path through a wall of lesser men. But he was no match for a master swordsman. Raven weaved left and right, giving ground but deflecting every blow. Then his
sword tip snaked forward and sliced Brack’s left cheek just below the eye. Stung with pain, the big man flinched back, and Raven deftly opened his other cheek.

  Brack knew then that he was doomed. This was no duel, but simply an execution.

  When Brack had made his loud challenge to Stronghold Raven, it was with the firm assurance that its reigning Sword Lord was absent on another world. He had hoped to meet Bhorg or Scarl, who were a better match, but they had refused. He had jeered at them with scorn, but now there was only the sour taste of death in his mouth. Still, he was a Gheddan Sword Lord, and he attacked again with heavy-handed fury. He never knew exactly how it happened, for Raven’s blade-work was too fast for his clumsy eye to follow. There was just the sudden, violent stabbing pain in his heart, and he died impaled upon Raven’s sword.

  Raven stepped back to let the hulking body fall. His chest rose and fell slowly as his body sucked in oxygen, but he showed no other sign of his recent exertions. His sword arm was aching now, but he held the blade as though it were weightless. He looked around the circle of watching men and said softly: “So that was Brack. Which is Raige?”

  Brack’s ally stepped slowly forward. He was a tall man with a great hooked nose under an iron helmet. He carried a sword and a black wolfhair shield. He, too, knew that he was looking into the eyes of death, but his gaze was steady.

  “I am Raige, Sword Lord of my stronghold.”

  Raven smiled, a wicked, thin-lipped smile. “You chose your friends badly.”

  For a moment he said nothing more, considering his options. Then he allowed his sword point to drop and touch the rough flagstones that paved the courtyard. He clasped both hands around the top of the blade, just below the hilt.

  “I have the right to challenge, but it is my decision. Would you prefer to kiss my sword?”

  Raige hesitated, but he had seen how quickly Brack had died. If he accepted a challenge, it would mean his own certain death, and Raige was not yet ready to die. He swallowed his pride and crouched slowly on one knee. Leaning his head forward, he briefly kissed the hilt of Raven’s sword.