Sword Empire

by Robert Leader

  After an hour, the waiting was again sawing at his nerves, and he was now getting curious looks from the two serving girls behind the ale counter. Then at last he was rewarded. He saw Zela coming up the street toward him, walking proudly with her hood thrown back and her face fully revealed. Relief flooded through him like an incoming tide as he sprang to his feet and moved to the door. As she passed, he reached out, grabbed at her arm and pulled her inside.

  Her body tensed with instinctive resistance, and then came to him too quickly and too easily. He knew her too well and his free hand clamped down on her wrist as she succeeded in half drawing the long dagger at her waist. He hissed a warning and her eyes widened with recognition. The flash of steel vanished at her hip as she pushed the dagger back into its sheath, and she allowed him to draw her deeper into the gloom.

  Swiftly he explained, keeping his voice low and ignoring the two puzzled serving girls who were now exchanging nervous glances. Zela’s grasp of the situation was immediate and they moved back to the window table where they could continue to keep watch for Jayna. Zela called for ale for herself and another for Kananda, smiling broadly at the girl who brought the mugs as though all was well. Only when they were alone again did she attempt to fill in the gaps with detailed questions, still smiling as though this was just intimate talk after a surprise meeting between old friends.

  It was now late afternoon and they had to wait for yet another long-drawn hour before Jayna finally appeared. Unfortunately Jayna did not walk past the Silver Blade where they hopefully waited. She approached instead from the second street which met at the intersection. Zela spotted her the moment she emerged from the junction, but Jayna was by then only a few paces away from the Green Fish. She was moving quickly and went directly inside.

  Kananda and Zela stared helplessly at each other, and then Kananda began to curse. Zela silenced him and they continued to watch. Kananda toyed with the hilt of his sword. His impulse was to charge over there, but Zela held him in check. Her military training had taught her that blind, unthinking action rarely achieved the desired results.

  Ten minutes passed.

  “One of us must go over there,” Kananda insisted. “I can go through the back yard and enter through the latrine again.”

  “And if the guards are waiting for you?”

  Kananda half drew his sword. “Then I will fight my way out and bring Jayna with me. We cannot leave her there. We must do something.”

  “We can wait. Something will happen to tell us what is going on.”

  “Or nothing.” Kananda was now uncertain. “Perhaps I was wrong and there is no trap.”

  “Then we can still afford to wait.”

  Kananda had spent the entire day in a state of growing frustration, He was ready to explode and craving a fight, but he was still a Prince of Karakhor, trained and moulded by the old Warmaster Jahan, and his head still ruled his sword arm and his heart. He took Zena’s counsel and continued to wait.

  Time passed, and then abruptly there was a clattering roar in the sky above. A City Guard patrol car in its black livery with the silver sword of the empire emblazoned on its flanks appeared over the intersection in front of the Green Fish. The car hovered for a few seconds only and then began to descend, a controlled vertical drop into the centre of the street.

  In the same moment, the doors of the inn were flung open and two large, black-leathered guardsmen stepped out, their swords drawn and ready. The slim figure of Jayna hung between them. Her cloak had been torn away, her face was bruised and bloodied, and she was barely conscious. Her captors dragged her roughly to the settling sky-car. The door was thrown open before the vehicle touched the road and Jayna was hurled inside.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was night when the aircraft carrying Raven and his companions landed at the Kaz-ar spacefield, and yet they descended into a blaze of lights and a swirl of activity that was as bright and busy as the middle of the day. Wheeled craft and groundworkers swarmed around ranks of huge troop transporters and smaller two-winged fighter air vehicles and around the sky-piercing spires of the sleek solar space cruisers. Weapons and fuel were being loaded amid a rush of last-minute maintenance and checks. After the calm of the long flight over the moonlit desert and the beauty of the night stars that were now harshly diminished, the onslaught on their senses was a sudden shock, and even Maryam could see that this awesome military armada was preparing for imminent war.

  They landed on one of the side runways where a single sky-car and a junior Space Corps officer waited for them. The young officer drew himself to attention and made the formal open palm salute as they descended from their aircraft. Raven returned the courtesy, but his eyes were cold and hard.

  “Where is the Sword Lord Karn?” he asked grimly.

  “The Sword Lord Karn is dead.” The young man’s face and voice were without expression. It was just a statement of fact.

  “By the sword, or by assassination?” Raven’s voice was dangerously soft.

  “Neither, Commander. The eating sickness in his stomach killed him. I believe he bled to death through his own backside in his latrine.”

  There was a moment of tense silence, and then Taron spoke quietly, but close to Raven’s ear. “A knife blade up the arse could have done the job just as neat.”

  Raven nodded almost imperceptibly, just the smallest sign that he had heard. His eyes were still searching the young officer’s face.

  “Your orders?” he demanded.

  “To take all of you immediately to the Council of Twelve.”

  Raven was thoughtful for a few more seconds. A dozen blades might have enforced the order but the boy was alone. Finally he shrugged and nodded his consent. He boarded the sky-car and the others crowded in behind him. Their young escort took the pilot seat and whirled them up into the sky.

  It was a short but silent journey. Taron had voiced their only real doubt and there was nothing more to discuss. The three men knew that they would find the answers to all their questions soon enough.

  However, Maryam’s heart was thudding painfully and she wondered how the three Gheddans could remain so calm. Raven had killed Doran’s man Uris, and now their own protector was dead. They had no friends on the Council of Twelve, and Doran was almost certainly in complete control. Whether Karn had died a natural death or been cruelly murdered seemed only an academic question. She knew enough about politics to realize that either way, their position must now be perilous and uncertain. The thoughts and fears whirled in her mind, and yet she could not see what other course Raven could have taken. His code of honour would not simply let him run away, and that at least she could understand.

  Their pilot wove his way skillfully through the few towers surrounding the gigantic steel sword that marked the military heart and command centre of the city. He landed the sky-car in a corner of the vast parade ground, switched off the engines, and without speaking opened his cabin door and stepped lightly to the ground. He stood there calmly waiting.

  Taron and Garl exchanged glances and shrugs. The sudden silence was ominous and a chill wind blew in through the open door, but the parade ground was empty with no blades waiting to surround them. They were reassured but still wary. Raven climbed down from the cabin and Maryam hurried to stay at his side. She was still fearful. Taron and Garl followed.

  Their escort led off, again without comment, and they followed him to the massive squared complex block that housed the administrative centre of the empire. At this hour, there were no guards lining the broad stone steps, only the two on either side of the high entrance doors. One stayed rock-solid, one hand on his sword hilt, the other on his holstered lazer. The second guard moved to open the door and let them pass inside.

  Their guide led them briskly along the high-ceilinged corridors, and soon they were back in the central Council chamber. Maryam remembered their last visit with vivid mental pictures of Raven fighting his bloody sword duel with Radd, and her mouth was dry. Her heart beat even faster, b
ut as they entered the chamber, she saw that there were changes. There was no audience, and only three of the Council of Twelve were seated behind the black marble table. Most comforting of all, there were no naked swords on the table. At least this time Raven was not on trial.

  Their escort stopped just inside the door, taking up the standard guard position. Raven continued directly to the raised central platform, stepped up and walked up to the black marble table. Taron and Garl stayed back, folding their arms across their chests and waiting. Maryam stayed with them.

  Raven studied the three men on the opposite side of the table. Two faces were familiar. Doran, who sat in the centre, and an old, grizzle-faced veteran named Dral. The third was a stranger, a young but hard-faced Space Commander of his own rank, and almost certainly Karn’s replacement.

  Raven made the open palm salute and the formal statement of his presence.

  “I am Raven, Sword Lord of Stronghold Raven, Space Commander First Class of the Gheddan Empire. I have been summoned by the Council.” He locked eyes with Doran, folded his arms, and waited.

  Doran rose heavily to his feet, bracing both hands upon the table as he leaned forward. The tatters of his sword-slashed nostrils vibrated as he breathed and he returned Raven’s direct gaze without blinking.

  “Your return is well-timed, Commander. You will have noticed the war fleet assembling at Kaz-ar. The Sword Brigades are also under orders to prepare for a full scale assault. There have been changes on the Council, and we are now united in our determination to attack and conquer the enemy continent of Alpha. All of our orbiting battle stations are now in place. As soon as our final preparations are complete, Alpha will be defeated and destroyed. The power and the glory of the Gheddan Empire will at last be confirmed for all time.”

  Doran paused, savouring the moment. He had worked long and hard to this end, and his face twisted into a smile. For he was now the head and heart of the Gheddan Empire, and that military glory, the final and lasting triumph of the Sword Empire, would be mostly his own.

  Raven continued to watch Doran’s face, but he was aware of the other two members of the Council who were also grinning. Dral seemed relaxed, but there was a tension within the newcomer, as though he inwardly hoped for some sort of confrontation.

  The outcome of this summons still seemed to hang in the balance, and at last Raven asked softly, “And my orders?”

  Doran chuckled and his ragged nostrils quivered. “There has been some discussion about that. The Council has decided that in view of the Alphan interest in the third planet, it may be best if that world can also be secured for the empire. It would be folly to leave a place of refuge where the Alphan High Command might escape with their deep range space ships. Or an otherworld base where they might launch some future attack.”

  “You have explored the third planet.” Dral spoke for the first time. “You know the population centre where the Alphans have already made contact and made allies. You will return there and secure the planet for Ghedda.”

  Raven understood. He was a threat, the one man whose loyalty to Karn might lead him to ask awkward questions, and yet there was no one of the twelve who would face the direct challenge of his sword. The new face on the Council was not another Radd, and they did not have a champion they could trust with the task between them. It made military sense to deny an escape route to Earth for the Alphans, and he was the one space commander they could happily spare for the task. With an effort, he kept his face straight and suppressed a smile.

  “The officers you left behind are already preparing your ship,” Doran continued. “You will lead a conquest fleet of five ships back to the third planet and secure this city of Karakhor for the empire. You will leave as soon as the ships are fuelled and mustered.”

  “You made mistakes before,” Dral added a word of warning. “But your record is otherwise sound. You and your crew have another chance to serve the empire.”

  Raven nodded. It made sense that they would want him out of the city and off the planet as soon as possible. Two problems would then be solved with one stroke. There was to be no mention of Karn, no explanations, and no questions invited or answered. Karn was dead, and now there was nothing that would bring him back, and Raven was not a man given to empty gestures. In any other circumstances, he would have sought a full explanation of Karn’s death, and a spearhead role in the all-out attack on Alpha. However, he knew that at this moment in time he was in no position to refuse the offer, which he guessed had been orchestrated by Dral. When he returned from Earth, the war with Alpha would be over. Then, he determined grimly, he would make a full investigation into the death of his old mentor.

  He made the open palm salute and said formally, “I hear the command of the empire, and I obey.”

  Maryam had listened closely to every word, and now she felt faint with overpowering waves of relief and joy. Not only were they safe, but she was going home, home to Earth, and home to Karakhor. All the other implications of what had happened here were momentarily lost to her. As the meaning of Raven’s orders sank in, her heart sang and her soul soared. She almost swooned with delight and Taron had to grab at her shoulder to hold her steady. She was going home to Karakhor!

  As Jayna was thrown unceremoniously into the waiting sky-car, a third guard appeared from the doorway of the Green Fish. In one hand he held Jayna’s shoulder pack, and in the other he held her communicator.

  “The evidence,” he called loudly to the two-man crew of the patrol car. “The bitch is an Alphan spy.”

  Kananda was on his feet, his sword drawn as he moved swiftly to the doorway of the Silver Blade. Zela was as fast and her hand on his shoulder checked him for a split second.

  “We must get her out of there,” Kananda snapped over his shoulder.

  “No.” Zela snapped back. “We take the sky-car. It’s the only way.”

  Kananda hesitated, his mind racing. This was an idea that had not occurred to him, and yet suddenly, despite the odds against them, it made perfect sense.

  “You must take the three on the ground,” Zela ordered grimly. “I will take the two in the car.”

  Her long dagger was in her right hand and she was moving past him. There was no time to argue and Kananda raced at her side. They were through the door and halfway to the sky-car before they were spotted. The three city guards were conferring with the two men inside the patrol car, but by now a small knot of spectators had assembled to gawp, including Lars who had also emerged from the Green Fish. It was the tall boatman who saw them coming and shouted a warning.

  Zela veered slightly to the left, aiming a course that would take her to the left-hand side of the sky-car, and at the same time keeping her out of sight of the men inside. Kananda charged to the right-hand side of the vehicle, in full view and heading straight for the three guardsmen who had brought Jayna out from the inn.

  “Stand! Stand for Karakhor!” He roared a defiant war cry. The words belonged to a distant planet that had no meaning for any of those who heard it, but it distracted every eye from Zela and brought the full attention of the City Guard to his own charging figure. Even the crew of the sky-car were twisting their heads to seek him out.

  Two of the black-leather-clad guardsmen already had their swords drawn and leaped forward together to meet Kananda’s whirlwind attack. Kananda’s blade smashed through them, one cut almost severing a sword-arm and reducing the odds against him to two. He whirled lightly on his heel as the second man also turned, and the narrow street echoed with the deafening ring of steel upon steel as their two blades cut and parried with blinding speed.

  The third guard dropped Jayna’s backpack and her communicator. With his right hand, he drew his sword and with his left, he cleared his hand lazer from its holster. The two movements were performed together in perfect synchronization, but initially his comrade blocked his line of fire. For a moment he danced undecided on the edge of the field of combat. One part of him lusted for a prestige kill with the sword, another saw t
he practical wisdom of finishing the business with a quick blast from the lazer.

  While the third guard made up his mind, Zela had reached the cabin door on the blind side of the sky-car. She flung it open, and the startled pilot whipped round in his seat to face her. Zela grabbed his shoulder with her left hand and heaved him toward her with all her strength, pulling him out and straight onto the thrusting dagger in her left hand. The blade cut through the lacing securing his leather tunic and hammered up below the breastbone to his heart. His shocked eyes glazed and he was dead before the single gasping cry of pain had erupted from his throat.

  Zela let him fall to the road. There was no chance to retrieve her dagger, but that had never been her intention. Instead, she snatched at the lazer holstered at the dead man’s hip.

  The second man in the cabin had already drawn his hand lazer, but like the third guard on the ground, he was holding back, expecting the sword duel to end in the favour of their companion, but ready to fire if it did not. Now he too twisted in his seat to face this new and equally unexpected attack, but he was already a split second too late. As he tried to swing his lazer across his own body to bring it to a new firing position, Zela fired a single shot that blasted him out the opposite door.

  Swift as a jungle cat, she swung herself up into the pilot seat of the sky-car.

  The two remaining guards both saw what was happening. The man with the lazer swung to face the sky-car, aiming quickly at Zela. In the same instant, Kananda saw an opening and ran his blade through the throat of his distracted opponent. Turning, he charged the last surviving guardsman, drawing his attention with another howl of, “Stand for Karakhor.”

  The last guardsman twisted his body once more, leveling his lazer at Kananda, but by now he had missed his chance. Zela blasted him with a single shot before he could pull the trigger and he spun away and fell in a sprawling heap.