Sword Empire

by Robert Leader

  Raven chuckled, gave Raige a friendly slap on the shoulder and helped him to his feet. “This time you chose wisely. Now gather your blades.”

  Raige looked around the crowded courtyard and nodded. The men who were his followers came forward and gathered round him. They had all kissed his sword and were bound to him, and through him they were now all bound to Raven. The defenders of Stronghold Raven stood fast in grinning ranks behind Bhorg and Scarl. The group that was left also drew more tightly together, exchanging grim, uncertain glances. The swift turn of events had left them leaderless and outnumbered, and there was fear in their eyes. Most of them expected to be massacred.

  Raven let them stew for a moment, as though he was again pondering his options. Then he stepped forward to face them. His sword blade again rested casually across the palm of his left hand.

  “Your stronghold has no Sword Lord. I suggest you go away and chose one. He will have the same choice as the Sword Lord Raige. If the man who emerges to lead you does not return to kiss my sword within two hours, then we are still at war.”

  He waited while his words were considered in silence. Brack’s men shifted uncomfortably and exchanged glances amongst themselves. Finally one of them nodded agreement. Without looking back, they all turned and marched away through the shattered gates, dragging their dead and wounded with them.

  From the parapet wall, Maryam watched them depart, with a huge sense of relief now that Raven did not have to fight another immediate duel. However, it was also very clear that dueling was a way of life on this primitive planet, and she knew that someday Raven must fall. No man could live forever, and no man could remain a champion for all of his days, no matter how skilled he might be at his chosen profession. Raven lived by his sword, and with a cold chill around her heart, she knew that some day he would die by the sword.

  Taron’s thoughts were in a similar vein. He too was a competent swordsman and he had acquitted himself well. The blood of at least three of their enemies still dripped from his reddened blade. He had followed Raven over the wall and into the battle without question, and he had watched Raven kill Brack with expressionless eyes. However, deep in his private thoughts there had been a moment when he was unsure whether he had truly wanted his commander to emerge victorious.

  There had been no doubt in his mind of Raven’s skill. But they were all weary from that back-breaking climb up the cliff, and he knew that a tired man might make mistakes. Sometimes it needed only one small slip or miscalculation and even the most brilliant of swords could fall.

  If Raven had died, then Taron knew that he would have claimed Maryam for his own. He wanted her, and with Raven gone, he would have her. But he also knew that his claim would not have gone long unchallenged, perhaps by Garl. He wondered how long he might hope to survive in that situation. And then, seriously, whether the delight of having the brown woman today would be worth the pain of dying for her tomorrow.

  CHAPTER TEN

  To Maryam, it seemed that every other man on this accursed planet had his already ugly face slashed by dueling scars, and Bhorg, Raven’s eldest living brother and his nominated holder of the stronghold, was no exception to the general rule. Bhorg was even taller and uglier than Raige, although Raven’s second brother, Scarl, was without doubt the most loathsome Gheddan she had yet encountered. He was broad and squat, with a broken nose and a black leather patch over one eye. He leered at her constantly from the other, a pale grey orb that was watery and unblinking. On her private scale of revulsion, he was only slightly preferable to Sardar the Merciless or a Whitejaw ape.

  They gathered at a table in the Great Hall where food and drink were quickly brought, and although Maryam determinedly joined them without invitation, she was not introduced. Raven had more important things on his mind.

  “How did it happen?” he demanded, his eyes fixed on Bhorg. “How did they break in?”

  Bhorg tugged off the heavy, bronze hawk’s-head helmet he had worn during the battle. It was the same helmet that their unlamented brother Volkar had worn on the day he had died on Raven’s blade. Bhorg had taken the helmet for his own and now he slammed it down on the rough wood of the table top and wiped the sweat from his temples before he answered angrily.

  “They sneaked up with piles of brushwood and oil and fired the gates just before dawn. We would have driven them back and extinguished the flames from above, but the moment we appeared above the gates they fired on us with lazer weapons. Several of the fighting men were cut down. We were kept back until the gates burned through, and then they charged in with swords.”

  “We have held the stronghold through six weeks of siege and attack,” Scarl added belligerently. “We could have held it forever against men and swords.”

  Raven swung his gaze onto Raige. “Lazer weapons are weapons of the empire. All power weapons are forbidden to all except Empire soldiers and guards. The law decrees death for anyone to own such a weapon who has not kissed the Empire Sword. Where did these weapons come from?”

  “Brack acquired them.” Raige spoke freely and promptly, for he was Raven’s man now. “About a week ago, he disappeared overnight with two of his best men. I only know that he went south down the main trail. When he returned at dawn, he had obtained a dozen hand lazers, each with three spare power packs.”

  “Two nights ago, our night camp was attacked on the main trail, initially with lazer fire.”

  Raige nodded. “That would be Mace, Brack’s Second Sword. He left three days ago with a dozen swords. Less than half of them came back last night, nursing their cuts and wounds. Mace was not with them. When they returned, Brack knew that you were still alive and on your way here. That was when he decided to fire the gates and use the power weapons to make sure that they continued to burn. He swore that our swords would take the stronghold at dawn. If you had kept to the main trail, there would have been another night attack. If you had arrived at all, you would have arrived too late.”

  “You would have failed,” Bhorg snarled. “Even if Raven had not returned, we would have held.”

  Raige looked ready to argue, but then he remembered his new position. He shrugged, and said diplomatically, “Perhaps.”

  Raven relaxed, he had all the information he needed at this stage. He turned his attention to the food. The others did the same and the talk became more general between mouthfuls of bread and meat and gulps of ale. After all the early morning activity, they all had ravenous appetites. Even Maryam ate as heartily as her ill-mannered hosts.

  More of the fighting men had joined them, filling up the long tables in the dining hall, Raige’s men among them. Defenders and former enemies mingled warily, but all seemed to accept the new situation with only a minimum of lingering hostility. Many of them shot curious and speculative glances toward Maryam, but she ignored them all and ate stolidly on. The womenfolk of the stronghold had emerged to serve the food and ale, some of them laughing and joking with the men, but they carefully avoided her eye. Maryam sensed their displeasure, but as long as she acted as though she had Raven’s approval and he did not deny it, then no one was bold enough to object to her presence.

  There was a pause when one man demanded more bread and was told there was very little left. The talk stopped for a moment. Then Raige rose to his feet and looked around for two of his lieutenants. Casually he ordered them to fetch all their own remaining stores. Both men left the hall to obey without argument. There were grins all round and the feeding and drinking continued.

  Within two hours, the men of Stronghold Brack had returned. Raven went out to the courtyard again to meet them, with his brothers and Raige close behind him.

  Every man in the hall rose to follow them and watch, a few of them thoughtfully loosening their blades in their scabbards, although most of them expected no more trouble. Some of them took their meatbones with them and were still casually gnawing and chewing. Maryam went with them, sticking close to Taron and Garl.

  The swordsman who now led the circle of B
rack’s fighting men was a lean, hard-muscled man who wore his outer fur loose over leather breastplates and arm shields. A large, freshly-bloodstained pad was visible under the fur cloak, strapped over his left shoulder. The wound was less than an hour old, testament to a challenge answered to cement his new standing.

  “Greig,” Raige said cheerfully. “I thought it would be you.”

  Greig nodded. “Stronghold Brack is now Stronghold Greig,” he acknowledged heavily.

  Raven smiled and said nothing. He drew his blade and held it upright, his hands clasped on the blade below the hilt as the ritual demanded. Greig came forward, mounted the stone steps which led up to the doorway of the food hall, knelt, and briefly kissed the sword.

  “We are all brothers, sworn to the same sword,” Raven said calmly as he sheathed his blade. “Remember that I am sworn to the empire, so you are all swordsmen of the empire now.” He smiled warmly at Greig and welcomed him with a hard slap on the back. “We were eating. Bring your blades and join us.”

  Having settled all his business at the stronghold to his complete satisfaction, with Bhorg and Scarl firmly in control again and the neighbouring strongholds now sworn to support them, Raven was impatient to be gone. He spent a couple of hours in close consultation with his brothers while Taron and Garl mainly picked their teeth and Maryam maintained an uncomfortable silence. Finally, four fresh horses were saddled and they took their leave. As they rode out of the stronghold through the still smouldering remains of the gates, Maryam was also glad that they were on their way. There were no fond goodbyes and none of them looked back.

  It was an uneventful return ride through the cheerless forest, and there were moments of boredom when Maryam almost felt that she could exchange its pressing gloom for the bright sunlight and the company of the river in the gorge—almost, but not quite. They rode hard with few halts, and within three days they were back at the last outpost of the empire on the forest edge. As the crude log buildings came into view round the last bend in the trail, Maryam realized that her three companions had again become cold-eyed and grim. Taron and Garl both flexed their shoulders to loosen up their muscles, and she suddenly realized that here there was some more unfinished business.

  A shout warned of their approach and Unit Commander Uris came out of the mess hut to meet them. The young officer stared in sudden shock and disbelief. Raven reined in his horse and stopped while they were still separated by fifty paces. Taron and Garl stopped on either side of him. Maryam’s mount pulled level, blundered another step forward, and then she managed to haul on the reins and back it up until she too was in line. She looked uncertainly at Raven.

  The dozen men of Uris’s command had all emerged from the mess hut to form an uneven line on the narrow verandah behind their officer. They, too, were exchanging uncertain glances. Some of them allowed their hands to hover near their weapons.

  Raven dismounted. He unclipped his fur cloak and tossed it over his saddle, and then walked slowly forward.

  Uris came down the three steps that ascended the verandah, and he too walked cautiously forward. His face was pale and his greeting insincere. “Commander Raven, welcome. You return sooner than expected. I trust your mission was successful.”

  “The siege is lifted. My stronghold is now secure. The Sword Lord Brack is dead.” Raven paused and smiled. “But you are not wholly comfortable, Commander Uris. You did not expect me to return at all.”

  Uris stiffened. “I do not understand,” he objected.

  “You understand very well,” Raven said calmly, and he allowed his hand to rest on the hilt of his sword, a symbolic gesture that could not go unnoticed. “Your friend Brack was supplied with hand lazers—power weapons which are strictly controlled by the empire. In this remote wilderness, they could only have been passed through your outpost. It could not have been done without your knowledge.”

  Uris tightened his lips but he had pride and did not attempt to deny the accusation.

  “I am sure that you acted on the orders of the Sword Lord Doran. But even one of the Council of Twelve can be held to account for the direct contradiction of empire law.” Raven smiled and finished bleakly, “Doran cannot protect you now.”

  Uris stepped back and drew his blade. “I am an officer of the empire,” he said harshly. “I have the right to challenge. Let the swords decide.”

  Raven nodded approvingly and drew his sword. “It is your right,” he agreed softly.

  Taron and Garl had both dismounted from their horses. Now they walked silently forward, giving the two combatants a wide berth on either side. They stopped, facing the row of Uris’s men on the verandah, and folded their arms across their chests. Their stance stated bluntly that this was to be a single combat and no one would be allowed to interfere.

  Maryam was tired of being left out of everything. She swung down from her saddle, marched forward and took up a place between Taron and Garl. Glowering defiantly at the hesitant soldiers, she too stood with her feet slightly apart, and her arms folded firmly across her breasts. She could feel the weight of the captured sword which still hung at her hip, and the fearful hammering of her heart, and she wondered for a moment if she had gone insane.

  Taron flicked her a brief sideways glance and grinned, then he was watchful to his front again.

  From behind her, Maryam heard the swift clash of steel. It lasted for less than sixty heartbeats before ending with a sharp death cry and a last gurgling gasp of agony.

  A moment later, Raven stepped calmly past her and wiped his red blade on a tuft of dry grass. The task completed, he sheathed his sword and studied the silent rank of men before him. Only one of them wore a single sword sign of rank on his sleeve.

  “You are the Second Sword?”

  The man nodded. “I am Cabot, sub-commander of this unit.”

  “Well, Cabot, you are now Unit Commander until further orders reach you from the City of Swords. Your unit will carry on its duties and routines as before. Do you have any questions?”

  “None.” Cabot gave the open palm salute. “My sword serves the empire.”

  “Good.” Raven yawned. “Now perhaps you will supply us with food and wine while we wait for our aircraft to return. It has been a long, hungry ride.”

  Wharfside was the area of the city that bordered on the docks and quays on both sides of the river. It was a rabbit warren of cheap drink dens and lodging houses which swarmed by day with sailors and merchants, and by night with drunks, cut-throats, and women who would sell themselves for a few coins. The latter were easy enough to have, but sometimes hard to get rid of, and each one invariably wore a sharp dagger sheathed at her thigh.

  “If you try one, be sure to pay,” Jayna warned Kananda with a sly laugh. “And if you wish to keep your manhood, do not insult her by paying too little.”

  The whole area was a riot of strange smells and colours, noisy with shouts, laughter, arguments and occasional fights. Here, the black-leathered swordsmen of the City Guard made high profile patrols, but never in less than groups of three. Usually their presence was enough to keep the peace, and trouble would only break out after they had passed and were well out of the way.

  Lars had tied up his riverboat on the east bank and there the three travelers had left him early the following morning. Jayna had led them away until they were out of sight, and then doubled back along one of the parallel streets behind the riverfront before crossing the bridge and finally hunting for a cheap lodging house on the west side. They had found an inn which did not stink too badly, and which was as far away from the river as they dared to go without the risk of being out of place and attracting too much attention. A sun-bleached wooden sign proclaimed it as the Inn of the Green Fish. There they took one large room with three beds.

  For the next week, they did nothing but haunt the various drinking places and markets of the city, listening to idle talk. The two women generally separated to cover more ground. Kananda accompanied one or the other, although he soon realized that
they were able to achieve better results without him. His presence was an awkward handicap to their ability to mingle freely and strike up casual conversations. However, Kananda was desperate to hear as much as possible first-hand and was reluctant to be left behind. He was also reluctant to let either Jayna or Zela out of his sight, although for them to be efficient in their quest, he had very little choice.

  There seemed to be no secrets in the city. Every topic was free knowledge and even political and military matters were discussed at all levels. There was an arrogance in the Gheddan High Command, which allowed it to either believe that it was impossible for any non-Gheddans to cross the ocean and penetrate their city, or that even if there were spies they must be irrelevant. The power of the Gheddan Empire was seen as absolute, Gheddan swords would prevail, and the outcome of war with Alpha was never in any doubt.

  The general picture of what was happening very quickly built up. They soon learned that the balance of power had changed in the Council of Twelve. The one Sword Lord who had opposed the coming war with Alpha had been removed. The Council of Twelve was now united. All military leave for all the Gheddan Sword Brigades had been cancelled. All members of the Gheddan Space Corps had been recalled to stand by their ships. All three of the Gheddan lazer defence platforms had now been launched and were in operational orbit. Vast fleets of ocean-crossing ships and aircraft were being assembled to carry the Gheddan troops to plunder the soon-to-be-devastated continent of Alpha. The information pieces of the conversational jigsaw, overheard from a score of drink dens and public gathering places, tumbled together with terrifying rapidity.

  As often as she dared, Jayna used her hidden communicator to send messages back to Alpha, but they had no way of receiving a reply. They could only trust that the larger and more powerful communicator on board their skimmer was still undiscovered. Also that it was operating as designed to boost and relay their messages back over that horrendous ocean of magnetic storms to where Antar could receive them. Eventually the uncertainty became too much and Zela began to fret.