The Sword Lord

by Robert Leader

  “What of your plan to go through their marriage ceremony with the king’s daughter?” Taron asked.

  Raven shrugged. “It might have proved useful if the situation had not changed. It would have given me a positive role in their ruling power structure, in terms of their own laws and customs. We could then have left Thorn and one other here to maintain a Gheddan presence in my name until the garrison arrives. Now we have to be more ruthless.”

  Thorn looked surprised. He had not realized that it had been Raven’s intention that he should stay behind. Then he saw that he should have guessed it, for it was obvious that Raven would not delegate his command for the poor pleasures of this puerile planet.

  “There is something else.” It suddenly occurred to Thorn that this was worth some consideration. “Earlier this afternoon I succeeded in finding the girl they tried to hide from me. She made so much stupid fuss that the only way to give my ears some peace was to stuff her mouth. The silly fool choked and died. This could anger them against us.”

  It was a careless account, an afterthought added because it might have some bearing on the mood of the city.

  Raven realized that Thorn was talking about Namita, Maryam’s sister and a princess of the ruling family of Karakhor. He stared coldly at his second-in-command but then he relaxed. Killing the girl was clearly a mistake, but if there was anyone to blame then it was his own fault, for he had not thought to forbid his crew from interfering with the women of the royal family. Thorn was a Gheddan Swordmaster, and in the absence of any direct order from a higher sword, it was only natural for him to take what he wanted.

  Raven could see how Namita’s death would have worked against his original plans but now it was of no great consequence. Events were moving and the situation was changing fast, which meant that all plans and strategies had to be open and fluid. He looked to his senior engineer.

  “Landis, how soon will the ship be ready for flight?”

  “The major parts of the maintenance and inspection programme are complete. What remain are minor checks that can be postponed. With Caid to assist me, I can have her ready in a few hours.”

  “Good enough. We can use the delay to settle matters in the city. Landis, you will stay here with Caid to prepare the ship for immediate launch and battle. Also to maintain a constant all-levels watch for the Alphan ship. The rest will come with me. We will use the gong again that summons all their leaders into the great hall of the king’s palace. Last night we only executed one of them as an example. But this time we will kill all of those who show signs of defiance, especially the king, his two brothers, and that growling old war-dog.”

  Thorn grinned widely. The others showed varying degrees of satisfaction and approval. None of them wanted to challenge any of Raven’s decisions.

  “We will wipe out all of those who are strong enough to lead a rebellion against us,” Raven finished. “That will keep the city crushed and suitably reminded of us until we can return.”

  “And the Alphans?” Landis asked.

  “We shall come back immediately to the ship. As soon as she is ready to launch, we will begin a grid-search to the south west. When we find the Alphan ship, we will lazer-blast it out of existence.”

  In the dusky twilight, silhouetted against a sky that was the darkening colour of dried blood, the four Gheddans whipped the horses of their borrowed chariots as they raced back into the city. Hooves and wheels clattered and rumbled across the single bridge that spanned the Mahanadi. The warriors guarding the city gates moved forward from their posts but then shrank back again when they saw the stern blue faces of the gods. No one dared to hinder their passage.

  At the same moment in time, a mile below the bridge, concealed by the walls of the city and the bend of the river, Kananda and his force entered the smooth flowing water and began to swim across. Zela had warned them that the tall spires of the Gheddan ship had powerful “eyes” that could “see” them over great distances and so they had approached the city with stealth and caution. Their chariots were hidden in the forest and they had kept under cover, skirting the open plain in front of the bridge that was dominated by the Solar Cruiser.

  To Kananda, it was galling that he had to enter Karakhor under the cover of darkness, emerging dripping from the river like a thief in the night. But they had to enter unseen and this was the only way. He promised himself grimly that this was another outrage for which he would exact a due price.

  He climbed onto the far bank, straightened up and drew his sword. They had picked a deserted boatyard just above the burning ghats. It reeked of rotting fish scales, black pitch and drifting funeral smoke that had the prophetic taint of death. Rats scuttled among piles of refuse. An old beggar opened his eyes under the crumbling boat hulk that was his refuge, but did not dare to move or show himself.

  Kasim and Gujar stepped up beside Kananda and they too drew their swords. One by one the other warriors of the small band splashed their way out of the water to stand, sword-ready, waiting for Kananda’s command. The three Alphans emerged last from the river. They had taken off their weapon belts and swam more slowly as they struggled to keep their hand lazers and the spare fuel packs high and dry.

  When they were all assembled, Kananda made a sign with his sword and led them swiftly and silently into the heart of the city. The streets behind the boatyards were mainly the areas of the artisans, the metalworkers, wool-dyers, carpenters and weavers. They were by day colourful, overflowing hives of commerce and industry, but by night the wooden doors of the little shops were all barred and bolted. There may have been eyes to see them or ears to hear, but no one interfered or challenged them as they passed through. There were no whispers behind them and Kananda began to sense the hush of cold fear that had settled over the city. He had left Karakhor alive with laughter and movement and now all was unnaturally still, muted and afraid. Again a fierce and passionate anger surged in his breast.

  Kananda led them unerringly through the night-dark maze until they emerged from the leather-tanged streets of the harness-makers immediately below the side walls of the palace. The walls were twice the height of a man, constructed of rough-hewn stone, and they moved along the outside until Kananda found a narrow gateway. He tried to push open the heavy, iron-studded door but it was barred on the inside.

  Kasim was at his side, as always. The young lord glanced upward at the top of the wall, and then to Gujar who pressed close behind them. “A toss?” He suggested cheerfully.

  Gujar smiled and nodded. He braced his back firmly against the wall and then clasped his hands in front of him ready to take Kasim’s leaping foot. Kasim sheathed his sword and stepped back to take a short run. Then they all froze as the boom of the great gong shattered the hush of the dread-filled night.

  The sound waves of the first stroke rolled away, to be replaced by the second and then the third. As the gong beats continued, the warriors looked at each other with uncertainty on their faces. Zela pushed through and looked to Kananda.

  “What does this mean?”

  “The great gong calls all the nobles and princes to an audience with the king,” Kananda told her briefly. “’But I cannot understand why my father should make such a summons in the dead of night. Something is very wrong here.”

  “Then we should hurry.”

  Kananda nodded and signed to Kasim. The young lord took his run and leaped. Gujar caught his sandaled foot and heaved upward with all his strength. Kasim caught the top of the wall, squirmed over it with athletic ease and dropped down on the inside. They heard the rattle of the bar and seconds later the door was opened. They all passed through into a side courtyard, the Karakhorans with ready swords, the Alphans with hand lazers drawn.

  Kananda led them into the palace, through kitchens and servants quarters, heading directly toward the king’s apartments and the great hall. Urgency gripped him now and he moved at a run, all attempts at stealth and secrecy forgotten. There was something harsh and ominous in the beating of the gong. The b
lows were too violent and too close together. They were a signal for some nameless savagery, an omen of impending disaster. Instinctively, and as though the gods had at last relented to roar a voice of warning within his mind, Kananda knew that he had to reach the great audience hall with all possible speed.

  Fear spurred him on and he ran almost blindly until he reached a point where two corridors converged. There, he collided heavily with another running man, almost impaling the other on his sword as they tumbled over together. Nimble as a cat, Kananda spun onto his feet again, his sword ready to thrust and finish deliberately what had so nearly happened by accident. Then he stayed his hand and checked his followers as he recognized the panic-stricken face and popping eyes of his half brother.

  “Rajar ! What is happening? Where are you going?”

  The young prince was momentarily incapable of speech. He struggled to his feet and Kasim and Gujar helped him to stand. He hung between them, white-faced and gasping.

  “Rajar,” Kananda demanded in exasperation. “Why is the gong sounding?”

  Rajar swallowed hard, his throat moving as he sought desperately to gather his scattered wits. He was convinced in his own terrified mind that the gong was sounding for his own sins. The gods had somehow discovered his part in the attempted assassination of their leader and now they were summoning him to meet the same brutal justice that had been dispensed upon the luckless lord of Gandhar. With this fear in mind, he had been fleeing the palace, but these were things he dared not reveal to Kananda.

  “Prince Rajar.” Kasim was shaking him gently and repeating Kananda’s question. “Why does the king call an assembly?”

  “It is not the command of Kara-Rashna that sounds the gong.” Rajar found his voice at last. “The blue-skinned ones sound the gong. They call the princes and the nobles to their deaths.”

  “How? Why?” There was a steel band around Kananda’s heart and he hardly knew how to ask the questions.

  “Last night the great gong sounded,” Rajar told them hoarsely. “We all went to the great hall to answer the summons. One of the blue-skinned ones was sounding the gong. Then they killed the lord of Gandhar with their white fire weapons. None of us could prevent it. None of us could avenge him. Now the gong sounds again. I fear it is to kill more of us.”

  Gujar had turned deathly pale. He pulled on Rajar’s arm, turning the young prince to face him. “My father,” he said in stunned disbelief. “They have killed my father?”

  Rajar nodded, a cold fist was twisting his entrails and he did not dare look into the son’s eyes. “It is so, my friend—you are Lord of the House of Gandhar now.”

  Tears filled Gujar’s eyes. His body trembled and his hand became ice-white around the hilt of his sword.

  “They killed my father—why?”

  “I—I do not know.” The lie almost choked him. He sought frantically to evade any further interrogation on that delicate matter and turned back to Kananda. “There is more—the one called Thorn has raped and murdered our sister Namita.”

  Kananda stared at him, now the colour was draining from his face and an awful sickness filled his stomach. His heart seemed to stop beating. He said slowly, “Namita—our pure little Namita, so young, so innocent—she is dead?”

  Rajar nodded again. “Foully violated—and foully murdered. He choked her to death.”

  “And the name of this monster?”

  “Thorn,” Rajar repeated.

  “Thorn.” Kananda echoed. And the sickness faded in his stomach, to be replaced by a slow swelling wave of righteous and unrestrained fury. His blood flowed hot and his heart began to beat again with the grim, measured thud of a giant war drum.

  “Fear not, brave brother.” His left hand gripped Rajar’s shoulder. “Now you do not have to go alone to the audience hall. You can come with us.”

  The grip was released and Kananda ran onward. Kasim, Gujar and the three Alphans hurried at his heels. Rajar gaped at the silver-suited strangers and then realized with an awful shock that the rest the warriors were deferentially waiting for him to precede them in Kananda’s wake.

  Nobody had yet realized that Rajar had been running away and so reluctantly he was forced to join them.

  This time it was Garl who was sounding the great gong. Raven reclined on Kara-Rashna’s throne as before, his fingers idly caressing the polished ivory arms. Thorn and Taron stood on either side of him, arms folded across their chests, calmly waiting.

  For several minutes, it seemed that this time they had misjudged the rulers of Karakhor and that no one was willing to respond. Then Jahan stepped grim-faced into the great hall. The warmaster general wore his best uniform, the tiger emblem snarling from his breast, the fire-red gemstone blazing in his turban and the great ruby-hilted sword at his hip. He stopped, facing the Gheddans, saying nothing, folding his own arms and waiting in turn.

  There was a movement in the outer corridor. Raven glimpsed a warrior moving into position behind the doorway. The man carried a bow and arrows. Raven’s eyes narrowed. The old war-dog was learning. This time he brought not swordsman but archers, numbers unknown, and keeping just out of sight. The decision to kill this old man was a sound one; he possessed a stubborn fighting spirit which could prove dangerous even on this backward planet.

  Kara-Rashna came next, dragging his crippled left leg and assisted by only one young warrior from his guard. He wore his best royal finery, a silk turban that was so heavily encrusted with jewels that it flashed back the flickering torch-light in all directions and sheathed at his hip was his sword.

  The princes Sanjay and Devan arrived in almost the same moment to stand on either side of their brother and king, each of them looking only slightly less resplendent.

  Jahan spared them a fleeting look that was a heavy combination of disapproval, anguish and pride. He had advised strongly against their presence, insisting that this time he should go alone to discover what new atrocity the blue-skinned ones intended. Kara-Rashna had considered carefully but then rejected his general’s advice. If his rule was ended, then let it be so. Let the House of Karakhor fall but he would not let it be known that he was afraid to face his enemy in his own palace. Neither would he allow his old friend to die in his place. Once the king’s will was spoken, the princes had steadfastly determined to accompany him.

  Jahan had been unable to stop them, although he had hurried ahead to post his best archers in the adjacent corridors. He was not sure that they could do anything against the white firebolts but at least arrows flew further than swords. If he kept them out of sight, they might prove a surprise factor, although he had a sinking feeling that the blue-skinned ones were already aware of them.

  Raven made no move, although Thorn and Taron had now drawn their hand-lazers. Garl tired of beating the gong, deciding that it had already been sounded enough and threw down the hammer. He turned to face the four who had answered its summons and he too drew his hand lazer. Still Raven waited.

  A few more minutes passed, and then Nirad appeared, pale-faced but bravely taking his place beside his father and his uncles. Jahan looked at the boy and groaned. This one he might have saved with a direct order to hide or quit the palace but he had not realized that the young prince had so much courage. Now it was too late.

  Raven waited another minute, and then decided that this small assembly was large enough. Those not brave enough to respond to the gong for the second time would do little enough harm if they were left alive.

  He rose to his feet and drew his own hand lazer. He intended no ceremony but simply to give the order to fire. The command almost reached his lips but then there was a movement and a loud, ringing voice of defiance behind him.

  “Hold cowards of Ghedda! I am Kananda, First Prince of Karakhor! I challenge the one named Thorn to combat by the sword!”

  The men of Karahhor recognized the voice and the Gheddans knew enough of the Alphan tongue to understand the words. All turned sharply to see Kananda step through one of the narrow side door
s that were on either side of the hall behind the dais and the throne. He moved through the high, carved columns that supported the great dome and circled to the front of the dais, his sword drawn and gripped firmly in his right hand.

  “I seek the one called Thorn,” he repeated coldly. “I seek the cowardly murderer of my sister Namita. By your own code—by your own Gheddan law—I challenge him to combat by the sword.”

  He was one man, a stranger with one blade, standing between four leveled lazers and the men who had been condemned to die. But he had issued a sword challenge and it could not be denied. Suddenly all of Gheddan pride and honour was at stake.

  “I am Thorn!”

  The Swordmaster holstered his lazer and drew his own long blade. He moved to the edge of the dais, paused and flickered one brief glance to his commander.

  Raven frowned but then nodded. There was no doubt in his mind that Thorn could kill any swordsman that this planet might produce.

  “Do it quickly.” he ordered. “Do not play with him. We do not have time to waste.”

  Thorn grinned and stepped down from the platform.

  Concealed in the corridor behind the doorway on the opposite side of the hall to which Kananda had entered, Zela was seething with acute frustration. Kananda had chosen to split his small force, taking Kasim and Kyle and half the warriors to one side of the hall and entrusting Gujar with the task of leading her and Blair and the rest to the other side. It made sense to try and trap the Gheddans between a crossfire of lazer beams and so Zela had agreed.

  What she had not realized was that Kananda had intended to challenge Thorn. Perhaps the idea had not even occurred to him until after they had parted. She had known in her own mind that she would challenge Raven if the opportunity arose, but theirs had been the longer route and she had arrived bare seconds too late. She had taught Kananda too well on the code of their enemies and he had stolen the opportunity from her.