Kananda, Kasim and Zela were also on the edge of exhaustion. They had been forced to hand over their mounts and finish the ride as passengers in three of the chariots. The day was ending and the twilight fading when, with huge relief, they saw again the peaceful campfires by the valley stream, the welcoming faces of their friends, and the black, needle spires of the Alphan spaceship.
The old priest wept tears of joy when he saw that his prince was alive. They embraced and the two warriors stepped back a pace while Kananda held the old man in his arms. When they parted, the warriors supported Kaseem again and he blinked his tears away as he looked around him. He had been babbling praises to Indra in thanks for Kananda’s safe return, but now he saw that of the two parties that had been missing for so long, only two others were alive and unwounded. He recognized the bloodied form of Ramesh that lay in the back of one of the chariots. His first thought was that he was looking at a corpse and a piercing wail of pure anguish was torn from his breast.
Now he wept again, more profusely than before, and these were tears of torment and pain. He tore at his white robe and beat his fists upon his shriveled breast. He pounded at his forehead and temples with the heel of his palm until Kananda feared that he would knock himself senseless and moved to restrain him.
“Holy One,” Kananda almost shouted at him. “Do not torture yourself. Ramesh is alive. He is sorely wounded. But he is alive!”
Kaseem paused in his wailing and self-punishment and Kananda led him closer to the chariot. Gripping the priest’s wrist, Kananda held the wrinkled palm against his brother’s white temple. “He is still warm,” Kananda said softly. “He has survived his wounds and our flight to safety. With care and gentle treatment, I think he may now recover.”
The pale flesh under his hand was not icy, Kaseem realized. Ramesh still clung to life, even though his eyes were closed and he would clearly need much time and care to recover.
“I have still failed him.” The old priest would not wholly give up his bitter lamentations. “I failed my princes. I failed my duty. I failed your father. It was my place to watch over you, to counsel and advise you. My miserable wisdom was meant to be your protection. I did not watch you enough. I did not advise you correctly. The gods are angry with me. My prayers were useless—”
“Kaseem, Holy One, beloved by the gods and of my father—” Kananda wept with him, his arm around the old man’s frail shoulders. “The fault is not yours. If there is any fault, it is mine. I have twice failed in my duty. I could not catch up with my brother in time. And I could not prevent the forces of Maghalla from slaughtering more than two score of his companions and mine. Surely I am the one who has found disfavour with the gods.”
Kaseem could not be comforted. The fervent intensity of his prayers and devotions over the past four days and then the rigours of the astral flight had taken a heavy toll on his strength and spirit. Now it seemed that almost all of his efforts had been in vain.
“The gods have deserted me,” he insisted wretchedly. “They reject this sinful Brahmin as unworthy and unclean. I must have performed my sacrifices incorrectly. I must have recited the Vedic verses wrongly. I must have bad karma, for which I must suffer as the gods abandon me.”
“No,” Kananda groaned. “It is my karma that is sinful. It is because of me that Karakhor must now suffer the full onslaught of both Maghalla and the monkey tribes.”
“What is this karma?”
Zela asked the question partly because she was puzzled and did not know what they were talking about and partly in an effort to break them out of their mutual exchange of self-blame and self-pity. For a moment they were too distressed to respond, and then it was Gujar who answered.
“The law of karma is the prime law of creation. It is the law which balances all the good and bad deeds of our previous lives and thus determines our place and status in our next incarnation.”
This was a new concept and Zela was no better informed. “What is incarnation?” she asked blankly.
The young lord’s brow furrowed as he sought for a clearer explanation, but he was saved by Kaseem, who was not yet ready to be fully usurped from his privileged role. The old priest ceased beating himself, struggled to rally his thoughts and mournfully expounded on the subject.
“It is known that men and all other beings are primarily spirit,” he said tonelessly, for he was still sure of that much. “We die, but we are endlessly reborn. Each birth is an incarnation of the soul in its next body. What governs each rebirth, its time, place and duration is karma. It is both the sum of our past and the whole of our future. It is our destiny, written by our own actions from the beginning of all things.”
Kananda nodded gravely. “No man can escape his destiny, but I did not know that mine was so black. My spirit must have committed great evil for the gods to punish me so grievously. For Ramesh to be so gravely wounded. For so many others to have died. And for the royal House of Karakhor to lose face and dignity before the monkey tribes and Maghalla, my sins must indeed have been terrible. So terrible that now all of Karakhor must face destruction and disaster.”
“Past sins! Future destiny! Souls reborn into new bodies!” Zela lifted her hands in helpless amazement. “Surely you cannot believe in such things?”
Kaseem was scandalized by such blasphemy. He clasped his hands in horror to his ears. “Samsara is the ever-lasting stream of consciousness,” he told her angrily. “It is the stream of life—of existence itself. And karma is the law of Samsara. Not even the gods are above the law.”
Zela saw from the shocked faces gathered around her that she had been tactless and so she was prepared to let the matter rest. But Kananda was now looking at her with eyes that were filled with infinite sadness.
“Zela,” he said softly. “Do you not realize that your people also have their own karma? You told me how your earlier generations have created weapons of fire and power so monstrous that they can destroy your entire world. And now those weapons have passed into the hands of your Gheddan enemies who will turn them against you. By creating those weapons, your race has sown the seeds of its own destruction. That is the law of karma. The actions from our past forever haunt us and determine what will happen in our future. There is no escape.”
The evening was warm and a nearby campfire cast its flame shadows over them, but suddenly Zela was cold. For a moment, it was as though a gust of air from the coldest ice world on the far rim of the solar system had briefly caressed her spine. And for that moment, she believed him.
Her home planet did face imminent catastrophe. The Gheddan Empire was sufficiently insane to launch all of its vast thermonuclear and lazer capability in the suicidal folly of a first strike. Every Alphan adult had faced up to the fact that it was only a matter of time.
Zela shivered and turned wearily away.
They were awakened soon after dawn. Kananda felt the urgent hand upon his shoulder and reached instinctively for his sword, but it was only the hand of Gujar.
“Runners have arrived,” the young lord informed him, “from your father.”
Kananda felt as though he had barely had time to close his eyes. His body felt as heavy as stone. With an effort, he roused himself and followed Gujar out of the tent to where two lean and long-legged youths, garbed only in sandals and loincloths, were waiting.
“Speak,” he commanded them. “What news do you bring from Kara-Rashna?”
“Sire, the news is not good.” The spokesman hung his head as though he was responsible. “Our Lord Jahan has discovered that Maghalla is now aligned with Kanju. A Kanju prince has been married to Princess Seeva, a daughter of Sardar. Lord Jahan and your royal father both feel that this alliance may make Maghalla bolder and thus endanger yourself and Prince Ramesh. Thus it is Kara-Rashna’s wish that you conclude your tiger hunt quickly and return with all speed to Karakhor.”
“Your warning comes too late,” Kananda said bitterly. “We have lost many of our young lords and warriors and Prince Ramesh still hover
s on the edge of death.”
The camp was now wide awake, the warriors gathering round to listen. Kaseem emerged from his tent, wringing his wrinkled hands together, his face anxious. Zela and two of her crew were walking curiously toward them.
“Maghalla, the monkey tribes and now Kanju—all arrayed against Karakhor.” Kaseem was ready to weep again. “Truly the gods have forsaken us.”
“Then we must stand alone,” Kananda said grimly. “With or without the gods, Karakhor will fight. Gujar, give the orders to break camp. We return to the city as soon and as fast as we are able.”
Gujar nodded, but the runners were still hovering tentatively and so he waited.
“Is there more?” Kananda asked.
“There are strangers in the city.” The youth who was spokesman half turned and pointed to the Alphan Tri-Thruster standing further up the valley. “They came in a steel temple as tall as this one. They came in fire and thunder and their powers are in fire. Many people in the city say that they are from the gods.”
Zela was close enough to overhear. She stepped forward and said quickly, “Describe these people. Do they look like myself and my friends?”
The youth gaped at her, taking in the silver suit and golden hair. Then he shook his head. He remembered to look back to his prince.
“Sire, the strangers in the city have blue faces. The hair upon their heads is of darker blue. They wear white clothing with pieces of golden chain armour.”
“Gheddans,” Zela said through compressed lips. She turned to Blair who was beside her. “The Gheddan Empire has sent a ship to follow us.”
“How many of these strangers are there?” Blair asked the runner.
The youth looked awkwardly to Kananda. He did not know the correct protocol here. Kananda indicated that he should answer.
“They are five.”
“Look at our temple,” Zela suggested. “Tell us how this other temple is different.”
The runner stared at the spaceship, biting his lip, struggling to compare the impossible reality with the miraculous memory. “The centre spire was as tall but not so slender on the other temple,” he decided at last. “The smaller spires were much closer to the central spire, and there were four, not two.”
“A Class Five Solar Cruiser,” Blair said with conviction. “Its lazer power is slightly more formidable than ours, and its pulse bombs are heavier. But we have the edge on speed, range and manoeuvreability.”
“So we believe,” Zela said cautiously. “The two have never met in hot combat.”
“A Class Five carries a crew of six,” Laurya pointed out. She had come up beside them with Kyle.
“Only five would show themselves.” Blair was certain. “The sixth would stay on board at all times to man the lazer banks.”
Kananda was losing track of this conversation. He pushed between them, facing Zela and said grimly, “Explain to me. What does all this mean?”
She put her hand on his arm, and although her touch was soft and concerned, her face was set hard.
“It means, Kananda, that the threat from your earthly enemies is now a minor one. It is still imperative to reach your city of Karakhor as quickly as possible—but now some of us must come with you and we must get there before Gheddan treachery can take over the city.”
“This time I will come,” Blair added firmly.
Kananda half turned, giving him a searching, uncertain look, but then Kyle intruded with a warning.
“Commander, have you considered that this might be a trap—a means to divide some of us from our ship?”
Zela frowned. She looked to the Hindu messenger who stood bewildered beside them, and then to Laurya. The young Alphan woman raised an almost imperceptible golden eyebrow in enquiry and Zela nodded. Laurya stepped forward and took the hands of the startled runner gently in her own. Kananda shot Zela a questioning glance.
“It is all right,” Zela calmed him. “Laurya seems to have a highly developed sense of instinct. I would guess that is how she was able to be so sure of our position when my radio communication only half got through. By making touch contact with another, she can also sense and tune in to the vibrations, tensions and feelings in the other’s body. She cannot read minds, but she is very accurate in detecting hidden feelings and reading emotions. She is almost a human lie detector.”
Kaseem had appeared to stand on the edge of the silent group of Hindus that simply watched and listened. His eyes were fixed on Laurya and he began to realize that there was much more about her present incarnation that he did not know.
Laurya was smiling at the young messenger. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed lightly and a full minute passed. Then she broke her concentration, opened her eyes, smiled again and gently released the young man’s hands.
“I think that the only instructions he has received are those from his king. The rest of his news comes from his own observations. I cannot be wholly sure, because he is naturally afraid of our strangeness. But there are no deep panic fears and no signs of guilt or hidden secrets. I can only be sure that he is not knowingly deceiving us.”
“Then we go to Karakhor,” Zela decided.
Laurya’s face was expressionless. She touched Zela’s hand and said, “Be careful, commander. Let reason rule your anger.”
Zela felt a moment of discomfort. This rare sensitivity in her communications officer was often a valuable asset, but was also an occasional embarrassment. She nodded briefly and then turned away. Kananda fell into step beside her.
As they moved out of hearing, Laurya turned with a final word for Blair. Her hands touched his for a moment as she said softly, almost sadly, “And you too be careful. Let caution rule your heart.”
The day passed. Dusk closed around Karakhor, the shadows thickening into night. The random patterns of the stars were crystals of white fire embedded in black velvet. Torch and camp fires glowed smokily and moonlight bathed the city. It was a warm night with no breeze, too warm for Gheddan comfort.
Garl and Landis had rejoined Taron and Caid on the ship. There were regular checks and maintenance work that had to be done between interplanetary flights. Only Thorn remained in the city with Raven and Thorn was bored. Raven was spending most of his time with Maryam, and Thorn had been left much to his own devices. He had eaten and drunk as much as any man could and he had made sexual use of his two slave girls. But the wine here was too weak to get a man really roaring drunk and the slave girls too timid to give him any real sport and satisfaction.
There was no sound from the next chamber, and for the moment, he had no idea of where Raven and Maryam might be. He remembered the sounds of their lovemaking. There was at least a little promise in the highborn women of this city and that seemed to be all that this pathetic planet had to offer. He stirred himself and kicked one of the slave girls off his bed in disgust.
His thoughts drifted to Namita. The other highborn one had passed him twice during the day, each time accompanied by the puffed-up, self important and grandiose little man-imitations whom he guessed were her brothers. Each time, she had smiled at him, but it had been such a pale and ghastly little smile that he had decided the creature must be sick. His interest had decreased rather than strengthened, but now, in the crushing boredom of the empty night, he began to speculate again on how she might perform in bed.
He made up his mind abruptly. The girl could not be any less inspiring than the two he had already experienced, and there was nothing else to amuse him in this dead rat-hole. He kicked the other slave girl off his bed and swung his feet to the floor. He was a Gheddan Swordmaster, accustomed to taking anything that he wanted, even if he only half wanted it. He buckled his weapon belt with his sword and lazer about his waist and went out of the chamber. The two slave girls lay terrified on the floor behind him and dared not move until he had gone.
The time he had spent in the city, like Raven’s, had not been without purpose. Together they had made note of the city’s defences and the strength and morale o
f its warriors. Like Raven, Thorn was not impressed. The city walls and the river could only protect it from the most primitive form of land assault and all resistance would collapse at the first flash of a lazer. One minimum-yield pulse bomb would obliterate it within seconds. However, the survey had been completed as a matter of trained routine and had included noting the residence and sleeping quarters of all the key figures in the opposing military and power structure. Thorn knew where the king, his general and all his brothers could be found and assassinated at night. He had also noted the private apartments of the two princesses.
He marched carelessly down the high-vaulted corridors, lit by moonlight shining through the stone-latticed windows or by torchlight where the shadows were thick. He passed several doorways where sentries stiffened fearfully, their knuckles whitening on the shafts of their spears, but he disdainfully ignored them. He came at last to the double doorway where earlier in the evening he had seen Namita take leave of her brothers and disappear inside.
A single warrior guarded the door. Thorn faced the man squarely and motioned him to move aside. The guard went pale. Sweat beaded his forehead, but he knew his duty and he was loyal. His hands trembled as he shifted his feet and his spear into a more threatening stance. He spoke a hoarse denial.
Thorn shrugged his shoulders, stepped back a pace and drew his lazer.
The guard’s nerve broke. He had heard of these white fire weapons that destroyed even the gods, and among his companions, the tales had grown more lurid with every telling. Before the weapon could be leveled, he had lowered his spear and fled.
Thorn’s roar of laughter echoed, loud and cheerful, along the corridors. Then he pushed open the double doors and went inside. He was in a room furnished with rich carpets and drapes, a cushioned couch and chairs. It was empty except for a startled slave girl crouching beside an inner door. She had obviously been sleeping there, but now her eyes were wide and bewildered.
The Sword Lord Page 17
