Lady of the Star Wind

by Veronica Scott

  “Dead. Broken neck.” Mark’s assessment was matter-of-fact.

  “What’s going on? Who has a broken neck?” She tugged at his arm. “If you plan to hog the viewers, at least tell me what you’re seeing.” Hand over her eyes, squinting as if to improve her vision, Sandy stared at the approaching dust cloud.

  “We’re getting to the safety of our door and closing it behind us now.” He shoved the viewers in his pocket, holstered the blaster, and half carried Sandy the rest of the way to the entrance.

  “Can’t we stay, see what happens?” she said. “If we take cover behind these rocks, they won’t know we’re here. They certainly have no reason to be on the lookout for us. I understand you’re worried about me, but we need to gather information, don’t we?”

  Blaster in his hand again, Mark surveyed their position. Sandy was right. The rocks in front of them would provide good cover. “All right, close the door, and then I want you to sit right here and don’t make a move.” He indicated a spot that was shielded but would afford her a view of the valley immediately below. “If I tell you to open the portal and go inside, promise you’ll obey without question.”

  “I promise.” She crouched where he’d indicated, holding the key in her hand.

  Mark took up a position next to her, his blaster trained on the pass below as the party being pursued wheeled into view.

  “Getting ready for a last stand.” Mark’s hand tightened on the grip of his M27 as he watched the smaller group. He admired the unknown officer’s crisp, efficient manner as he directed his meager forces to deploy, using the mountain as a shield at their backs. “Must realize he can’t escape the superior force with those tired horses. Not enough vehicles now anyway.”

  “We should do something.” Sandy touched his arm, gave him a pleading glance.

  “We don’t know who the good guys are. We might not want to take either side. Although if I had to make a guess, I’m betting on this set, the smaller one.”

  “Why?”

  “Can’t explain it. Soldier’s instincts maybe.” Safe behind the rocks, he watched as the seven warriors formed a defensive ring behind the two remaining chariots, which had been drawn into a woefully inadequate barricade. The six horses were off to the side now, tethered to some scrubby bushes growing at the base of the mountain.

  The officer took the woman by the hand and led her to the spot farthest away from where the enemy assault was going to hit. The couple stared at each other for a moment, exchanging words before the man leaned down for a long kiss, after which he directed her to the meager cover amongst the brush. Then, sword in hand, he strode to the barricade.

  Apparently touched by the tender scene, Sandy grabbed his arm and said, “We have to help them!”

  Flights of stubby black arrows came arching in from the pursuers. Three archers among the desperate escapees sent a return volley, but to what effect Mark couldn’t tell, being at the wrong angle for a clear view. The exchange of arrows went on for a few moments, one of the defenders screaming and falling limp when a chance shot managed to penetrate their barricade of shields.

  Three of the heavier, four-horse vehicles rushed in, sweeping to a halt in front of the makeshift barricade. Jumping from their conveyances, the soldiers engaged the hunted in fierce hand-to-hand combat with short swords. Drivers pulled their plunging teams out of the way. A fourth chariot drove up, the horses sweating with exertion in the heat. This driver seemed about to attempt a smashing assault on the defenders’ makeshift wall but swerved at the last second. He waited impatiently as his complement of soldiers left the vehicle, avoiding engagement with the men already fighting. As soon as he was clear, the newcomer headed for the woman’s hiding place, her colorful dress giving her position in the brown, dry underbrush away.

  The officer in charge of the fugitives dispatched the man he fought with a fierce stroke, half decapitating his enemy. He ran to help the screaming woman as she was dragged toward the waiting chariot. Two more of the enemy troopers closed in from behind him, as if intending to capture him as well.

  “I’ve seen enough. Get inside the mountain, seal the door, and wait for me. Now!”

  Sandy scrambled to obey. Taking careful aim with his blaster, Mark drilled one attacker, then the other. Both fell to the sand. The officer spun around, seeking the source of this unexpected rescue. While he was distracted, another enemy soldier rushed in, striking him with a sword. The officer collapsed as Mark shot this new assailant.

  Screaming, the woman struggled as her captors threw her into the waiting chariot. The driver whipped his team into a gallop, heading toward the open plain to the east. The departure acted as a signal for the other soldiers, who disengaged, running for their own chariots. Mark picked off as many as he could from his hiding place, then half ran, half slid down the incline, blaster in hand, sprinting into the open valley.

  The dazed, battered defenders stared at him with mouths open.

  As Mark ran to where the horses were tethered, he holstered his blaster.

  Drawing his combat knife, he slashed through the traces, freeing the closest horse. Slamming the knife into its sheath, Mark took a firm grasp of the animal’s coarse black mane. Gathering the reins in his other hand and stepping onto the framework of the chariot, he mounted. The horse took violent exception to carrying a person, bucking and kicking. A determined, skillful rider, Mark established control in the man-versus-beast battle of wills. Wheeling the animal in a tight circle, without checking to see if any of the soldiers would follow his lead, Mark gave the terrified horse its head and galloped at full speed after the four departing chariots, now spread out in a wedge, the one carrying their captive in the center. He drew his horse even with the chariot and fired one close-range shot at the driver, who lost the reins and slumped over, apparently dead. The woman lunged for the straps, but they slipped away, dragging in the sand under the horses’ pounding hooves.

  Blessed by ancestors from a fierce, horse-riding warrior clan, whose skills their descendants proudly maintained on his world even in the modern age, Mark didn’t hesitate. Gripping his horse with his knees, Mark leaned over to grab the loose reins. He brought the team to a halt, yelling at the woman. “Come on, we haven’t much time here, lady.” He leaned over, prepared to pluck her out of the chariot. She cringed before taking a closer look at the horse he rode. Then she held out her hands to him, and he managed to hoist her behind him onto the horse, where she locked her arms around his waist.

  He kicked the horse’s flanks and headed to the base of the oasis mountain, where her own people waited. The enemy chariots were making wide turns and attempting to follow him. Mark fired off a few shots, aiming at the chariot drivers. He managed to wing one man, who lost control of his vehicle, which crashed into the one next to it. The remaining chariot came to a halt, its passengers apparently intimidated by his ability to deliver death long range.

  Satisfied, he galloped back to the scene of the recent battle.

  The apparent second-in-command met him. As the woman called out to him, this soldier gave Mark a searching look, continuing his study as he assisted the rescued lady to dismount.

  The local asked a question. The language had an annoyingly familiar sound, Mark thought, as he dismounted, hanging on to the broken leather straps. He got about half the gist of what the man said. He’d been given hypno implants on many languages during various missions in the Sectors, and the babel sorted itself out in the unconscious part of his brain as the master implant analyzed the input. One language came to the fore out of the cacophony.

  High Chetal.

  Well, better than nothing.

  “We’ve got to get inside before your enemies return,” Mark told the soldier.

  “Thank you and the lady for coming to our assistance, my lord.” The man saluted, fist over the heart.

  “The lady—” Mark spun around. Sandy had disobeyed his orders. She must have gone upstairs to the aerie to retrieve her medical kit, which now lay open besid
e her as she worked over the injured officer

  Livid, he couldn’t honestly say he was surprised. She was a doctor, so of course she’d come to help. Handing the horse off to an open-mouthed soldier standing nearby, Mark strode over to the princess. “How is he?”

  Clearly in professional mode, Sandy answered matter-of-factly. “Head trauma. Probably a concussion. Nothing he can’t recover from. Those two over there are dead. The others have superficial wounds.”

  The soldier holding Mark’s horse shouted and pointed to the east, where a new dust cloud sprouted on the horizon. Mark caught the arm of the man who had greeted him. Switching easily from Outlier to High Chetal, he said, “We need to get the horses and ourselves to a safe place right away, before your enemies come back.”

  Eyeing him, but apparently willing to take sensible orders, the warrior hastened toward the horses, calling to his few remaining troopers.

  Mark gave his attention to Sandy and the unconscious patient. “We have to move this man inside the garage.”

  She stood, drawing the other woman with her. “I understand. Try not to jar him too much.”

  “Get going!” Mark gave her a not-too-gentle push in the direction of the incline leading to the garage door.

  Two of the soldiers came to carry their fallen officer across the narrow passage, up the hill, and into the opening in the side of the mountain. Mark and the others brought the horses and as much of the gear as the men could carry. The broken chariots and the fallen soldiers of both sides had to be left where they were, for now. He heard the sound of the approaching enemy chariots as Sandy keyed the portal door closed. Pivoing on his heel, he faced their motley assortment of new guests.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The four surviving soldiers had gone to one knee before Mark, heads bowed, right hands to their left shoulders in a salute. The woman remained standing, staring at him in a mixture of defiance and fear. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her chest heaved as she breathed heavily.

  “You can talk to them?” Sandy knelt beside her patient, taking his pulse. “Is this a planet you’ve been on after all?”

  “No. The language is similar to one I had hypno implanted for a mission a long time ago. I’m not getting everything these people say, so they’re probably having just as much trouble with me.”

  “Why are they kneeling to us?”

  “I’ll ask.” Mark found translation duty tiresome. He hoped she was good with languages and learned fast.

  The woman he’d rescued spoke first, before he could get a word out. Her tone was proud and regal, her voice low and musical. “I am Princess Tia, daughter of the last King of Nakhtiaar. My thanks to the Lady of the Star Wind and her consort for choosing to intervene in this humble matter of our lives.”

  Mark bowed to the woman. “My lady’s name is Alessandra. I’m Mark.”

  “Your magic has been mighty, to bring us forth from death and into the safety of this place.” Tia glanced around. “Surely there’s more to your dwelling, Exalted Ones?”

  “We’ll take you to the living quarters,” Mark said. “Your officer needs medical attention.”

  Tears trickled through the dust on Tia’s cheeks “You don’t intend to send us into the afterlife?” She pushed her black hair away from her wan face.

  “Into the—no, quite the opposite. We want to help,” Mark said. He gave the impatient Sandy a quick synopsis.

  She grinned. “Lady of the Star Wind, hmm? Has a nice ring to it. What do they call you, then?”

  Mark could feel his face reddening. Glad the lighting in the garage wasn’t too bright, he said, “Your warrior. Concepts don’t translate word for word.”

  “We need to get this man upstairs where I can treat these wounds.” Sandy smoothed the strap of her medical bag where it dug into her shoulder. “The sooner, the better.”

  “This is Rothan.” The woman gestured at the unconscious officer. “He’s more dear to me than life itself. These men are his personal guard, what’s left of them.” She indicated the man who’d taken command after the officer was stricken. Although short, the man had well-developed arm and shoulder muscles. “Djed, chief archer of the Western Border.”

  The archer bowed. “I’m yours to command, Exalted One.”

  Mark wanted to get the locals to stop referring to him in such lofty terms but needed to have a better grasp of the situation before he corrected anyone’s assumptions. He and Sandy could have made a huge mistake by intervening in local politics on the side of the refugees now standing in their garage.

  “All right, Djed, I need your men to carry your captain farther into our dwelling, so the—the Lady of the Star Wind may continue her healing. Then we’ll need to get the horses rubbed down. We can bring them some water and fodder later.”

  “Excellent.” Rising to his feet, released from obeisance by the receipt of orders from one plainly used to giving them, the chief archer examined his surroundings, brow furrowed. “I see no exit, my lord, no water or grazing for the horses.”

  “This is a place of magic, exactly as you said.” Mark gestured at Sandy. “She’ll make it all plain to you.” Then, in Outlier, he said to the princess, “Go ahead and open the portal to the dwelling, okay? We’ll carry the wounded guy into the bedroom, and I’ve told Djed to get food and water for the horses from the oasis, once you let him out there.”

  “Just tell me what you need me to do. I have to get to my patient before he loses any more blood.”

  Mark touched her satchel. “How much in the way of medical supplies do you have?”

  She frowned as she walked toward the portal. “Not as much as I’d like, but enough to take care of these people. I packed it practically to bursting when I left Outlier, because I wasn’t ever going back. There must be local medicines I can learn to use or adapt, as my stock is exhausted.” Flashing the lavender crystal key at the wall, she opened the way for them to proceed into the dwelling.

  “The locals apparently believe you’re some kind of a goddess or magical being. I think we need to be careful not to dispel such a useful impression right now,” Mark said as he gestured for the awed refugees to follow Sandy through the portal.

  After Sandy treated Rothan’s wounds under Lady Tia’s close scrutiny, Mark left Djed sitting with the unconscious man. Mark and Sandy escorted the noblewoman outside to the patio for something to eat. Tia accepted a leafy plate full of fish, fruit, and berries from one of the soldiers and then sank cross-legged onto the terrace across from Sandy.

  Mark brought her a drink of water. “When you’ve eaten, we’d appreciate knowing what’s going on. Why were you here in the desert? And why did these soldiers try to kidnap you?”

  “We’re on our way to the Lost City in search of the Crown and Scepter of Khunarum. If we can’t locate the treasures and convey them to Nakhtiaar in time, our failure will mean disaster for my brother Hutenen and our people.”

  When he translated for Sandy, it was plain from her expression that the summary failed to enlighten her any more than it had made sense to him. “Do you understand the significance of anything she said?”

  “I’m missing words here and there,” he reminded her. “Let me try for a more complete explanation.”

  “There’s a usurper on the throne. How is it you aren’t aware of this fact?” Tia’s surprise betrayed her puzzlement at being asked for a lesson in current events. “You’ve been absent from this land for at least three thousand years. Not a single mention of you in the scrolls of recent history. Yet here you are, in the Oasis of the Traveler. You chose to come to our rescue—unless this is all a dream or a vision. But you know nothing at all of what has been transpiring? You don’t even speak the language as we do today!” She made a graceful hand gesture toward Sandy, who sat with a smile plastered on her face as the discussion occurred in a language she didn’t comprehend. ”Please don’t mistake me. I’m grateful to meet you and find you kindly disposed to our cause. But I’m perplexed nonetheless.”
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br />   Mark pondered how best to answer their guest’s qualms. “Are you, then, one of those who fled this Lost City?”

  “Of course not! The fall of the city occurred many generations ago.” Tia laughed merrily at the idea. “Some three thousand years or more.”

  “Well, she isn’t the Lady of the Star Wind who lived then either,” Mark said, pointing at Sandy. “And I’m not the warrior from that legendary time. The events happened a long time ago even for my people. And we’ve been busy with other concerns in far-off places.”

  This explanation appeared to satisfy Tia. “Nakhtiaar needs your help to free the people from those who oppress and enslave them, so you’ve timed your return well.”

  Mark decided it might be best to let the discussion end there. Sure that he could obtain more intel the longer he spent with the Nakhtiaar, he didn’t see a need to push the issue now.

  He volunteered to sit with the injured man through the night. Sandy had discovered how to raise and lower the ambient lighting in the various chambers, so he had enough illumination to see the man’s face. The patient lay under the folds of his own deep blue cloak in the bedroom. The women were asleep in the dining room, and the troopers were bivouacked outside in the oasis. A single man was stationed below with the horses.

  Somewhere in the wee hours of the night, Rothan stirred. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times, moving his head restlessly on the makeshift pillow constructed from another cloak. He licked his cracked lips. “Water?”

  Djed had filled a crude canteen at the tiny lake earlier in the evening. Mark offered it to the patient, holding the waterskin so the other could drink. “Just a few sips. You don’t want to be sick.”

  Obediently, the man gulped a small amount of the water. “Thank you.” Mark put his arm behind the man’s shoulders to assist him in reclining.