by Ste Sharp
An hour later, another battlefield appeared on the horizon.
‘Just like the last one, Khan,’ Tode reported after scouting ahead. ‘Shall we go around it?’
‘No,’ Gal-qadan snapped.
He needed a weapon.
‘But the fields beyond lie thick with battle debris. Surely it will become impassable?’ Tode said.
Gal-qadan felt his shoulders relax. There was so much possibility here. He looked ahead and saw the size of the next debris plain – he would need help.
‘We go through, but everyone must look for anything of use.’ He paused, wondering how much detail to give. ‘We need supplies.’
‘Food and water?’ Tode asked.
Gal-qadan nodded. ‘And arrows… missiles for each soldier.’
***
The pattern was repeated over and over: a new battlefield raised the chance of finding the weapon of Gal-qadan’s desires. He had no time to stare at the bizarre alien physiologies of the dead: he only had eyes for their weapons. He picked up the odd blade or gun but in his mind he pictured a hand-held gun, like the rifles Dakaniha and Ethan carried but deadlier. His frustrations grew with each empty battlefield, while his battalion grew rich in trinkets and shields.
Gal-qadan reluctantly joined Tode after another fruitless search.
‘Two more changes to report, Khan.’
Gal-qadan sighed, growing tired of his men’s successes.
‘Three tocka wandered off path and–’
Gal-qadan cut Tode off. ‘Was that the explosion I heard?’
‘Yes, Khan.’
‘Are they dead?’
‘No, Khan.’ Tode’s eyes lit up. ‘They survived and now wear a coat of metal. Most fortunate.’
‘Fortunate?’ Gal-qadan looked away. It would make the tocka more of a threat. Useful when negotiating with the army leader.
He turned away. Maybe the next field would have what he was looking for? He had struggled enough, leading this band of complaining men through war, hunger and thirst. He deserved something in return.
Five battlefields later, when the green clouds above had turned a shade of peach, signalling the start of another long dusk, Gal-qadan found scores of squat bodies lying in a semicircle. Their feet pointed in the same direction, which told Gal-qadan they had been killed by the same weapon, belonging to their metallic, ball-shaped enemy. This was what he had been looking for! Gal-qadan’s pulse raced and he turned his tocka to follow an invisible line from the set of dead feet to a patch of bare earth. He leapt down and kicked one of the spherical bodies, which rolled away with a tinny echo.
‘There is nothing here,’ he growled and looked across the field of debris.
Dakaniha and Tode were silently riding their tocka through a patch of bones, while Ethan rode atop a shallow ridge. Beyond him, Kastor was inspecting something of interest.
Anger built and Gal-qadan kicked another dead spheroid, wincing as his toe hit a hard object beneath. His tocka stepped away. Gal-qadan looked around but nobody had been watching. Still, he felt a tingle in his neck. He rolled the offending corpse away and spotted a dark line in the ground. He brushed away soil to reveal a ridge of metal and followed it, pushing more spheres out of the way. Had they died protecting this? Something nobody else had found? Breathing heavily, Gal-qadan cleared three corners and stepped back to stare at the triangle of metal embedded in the ground. He pounded it with his fists and forced his short sword under a corner, desperate to prise it free. He jabbed and poked at the corner – then stopped. A shape had appeared by his side. He turned to see his tocka, who gently tapped a hoof on the edge of the triangle and, with a hiss, a door hinged up, revealing a dark recess where two spherical creatures, as dead as those above ground, sat either side of a metal tube the length of his arm.
‘At last.’ Gal-qadan reached in to pick up the weapon.
He froze again. He could hear footsteps. He spun round with his sword aimed at the newcomer.
‘That is not yours to take, human,’ the deep voice spoke slowly.
Gal-qadan stared at the tall, thickset humanoid. The wind jingled trinkets hanging across its body and its one large eye stared down darkly.
Gal-qadan’s head throbbed as he fought to control his anger. He may have been called rash or quick-tempered in the past, but he knew when he was outmuscled.
‘I forbid you to take that weapon,’ the tall warrior’s voice boomed again.
Gal-qadan heard no malice in the voice but it implied great strength, so he placed the tubular weapon back beside its dead owners and faced the newcomer. He was too far away for a sword lunge and too near to string and fire an arrow.
‘What authority do you have, stranger?’ he asked.
‘I protect the belongings of the dead,’ it replied.
Gal-qadan glanced at the array of objects hooked on its armour: sharp implements hung alongside metal trinkets with winking lights, which jostled with colourful discs and tubes.
‘Yet you take them yourself.’ He gestured at a sphere dangling on a chain. ‘What do you do with them?’
‘I protect them.’
‘From what?’ Gal-qadan asked.
‘Not what, whom,’ the deep voice boomed. ‘Anyone wishing to destroy them.’
Gal-qadan refrained from asking why.
‘You have no authority in this land or any other. I, Gal-qadan, lead my army to war and we require provision and armaments.’ Gal-qadan paused to stare into the large, unblinking eye, searching for a sign of anger or understanding. He pointed to a longsword hanging on its side. ‘You have taken weapons from my people, yet you demand I leave this weapon here?’
‘Yes.’ It remained motionless.
Gal-qadan thought about his armoured skin and was weighing up how he would fare in a fight with the giant, when an idea came to him.
‘If you wish to collect… protect this weapon,’ Gal-qadan pointed to the tube in the vault by his feet, ‘you may accompany us to our battle.’
The eye darkened.
‘On victory, or death, I will bequeath it to you,’ Gal-qadan said.
The eye lightened again.
‘If not,’ Gal-qadan said, ‘my men will destroy you and the weapons you carry.’ He swung his arm out to gesture at the soldiers on their tocka. ‘No matter how powerful your weapons may be, we outnumber you.’
The tall soldier remained silent but took half a step back.
‘My offer remains. I bequeath you the weapon on one condition.’
‘Name it,’ the tall being replied.
‘Show me how to use it.’
Silence.
The dangling trinkets tinkled in the soft breeze and Gal-qadan stood tense, waiting for a physical attack.
The humanoid seemed to shrug. ‘I will show you, human.’
‘Good,’ Gal-qadan replied.
The tall soldier shifted its footing to walk away. ‘I wish to observe humans in battle. Who do you fight?’
Gal-qadan kept his stony face rigid. It was a good question. Who would they fight? Giants like him? Or bizarre enemies like the red aliens that could only be defeated by the samurai ghosts?
‘They are unknown but will be defeated.’
‘The unknown enemy is never defeated.’
‘They will be with this weapon.’ Gal-qadan pointed down into the pit. ‘And then it will be yours.’
‘It shall.’
Even though he had the weapon, Gal-qadan couldn’t shake the feeling he had lost out.
Chapter 15
‘So you could tell it wasn’t human?’ Althorn asked Jakan-tar as he led the company of Sorean, human and other freed soldiers across the open grassy plain to meet Mihran and the rest of the army.
‘Yes.’ The cat-like captain blinked, which Olan translated as a shrug. ‘You humans have a… distinctive aroma.’
‘Oh, thanks!’ Olan laughed.
Olan had told Althorn about the events of the Frarex village in the woods and he needed to know more about the sh
ape-shifter that had masqueraded as Randeep. ‘You will tell us if we have more in our ranks?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ The Sorean’s large eyes stared up at Althorn, unnerving him a little. ‘We are allies.’
‘Thank you.’ Althorn faked a smile. He was unsure of these creatures. The army needed help but how deadly were these short fighters compared with the might of the Lutamek robots? And who was to say they would stay loyal?
Althorn stared back down the line of soldiers following him: Samas was discussing tactics with one of Jakan-tar’s fighters, while Lavalle was way back, wearing his new, black armour. The Sorean had offered Lavalle one of their hidden shields, but the knight would only accept a true metal suit of armour. Olan said the Sorean were natural blacksmiths and had built a bespoke suit in half a day using a strange metal held in each Sorean shield. If Lavalle was to be believed, the resulting armour was lighter than his undergarments.
A pang of guilt tightened Althorn’s stomach as he remembered he hadn’t told Lavalle about Euryleia’s injury.
When he had first seen the group, traipsing out of the forest and onto the plain, Althorn had circled, unsure whether Olan and the others had been taken hostage by the Sorean, who outnumbered them. He had sped in, triggering a dozen of the Sorean shields as he passed, which had impressed him, then lobbed explosives at the fringes and watched as Samas, Lavalle and Olan each drew their weapons alongside the strange cats.
This was war, he told them, so he had to be sure.
Jakan-tar spoke, pulling Althorn out of his thoughts. ‘You understand it’s likely the shape-shifter killed your comrade to get his sword?’
‘Yes.’ Althorn wondered if it had been the real Randeep who had killed the lion, then imagined Randeep’s broken body in a distant forest. ‘He was also Crossley, yet I know he lives.’
Jakan-tar tilted its head. ‘They can replicate bodies, faces and voices but nothing that can be separated from their body.’
‘How much further?’ Olan changed the subject. He had admitted regretting not chasing after John when he had had the chance and was clearly disturbed by the conversation.
‘Two ridges,’ Althorn said. He waited a moment before saying, ‘We all failed them, you know, John and Randeep.’
‘And you will be more vigilant in future,’ Jakan-tar said.
‘Yes and I hope–’ Althorn felt an odd sensation brush his mind. It felt like his head was underwater. He held a hand up and slowed his pace. ‘One moment.’ He knew what came next.
Althorn, can you hear me? It was Mihran’s voice. Unlike his call-to-arms broadcast, this one-to-one communication made Althorn feel dizzy. He closed his eyes to concentrate.
I hear you. Althorn spoke in his head and pushed the words out as Mihran had explained.
What is your position? Mihran asked.
We will be with you before midday. Althorn kept his sentences short to save the emotional energy it took to form and project the words.
And the new soldiers?
Althorn fixed an image of Jakan-tar in his mind and pushed it towards Mihran with the words: Small,but good weapons.
Good, Mihran replied and Althorn’s wave of nausea melted away.
He opened his eyes and saw Olan watching him with a look of concern. ‘Are you sick? Do you need water?’
‘Sorry. Water, yes.’ Althorn stretched his neck. ‘Mihran was talking to me and I find it difficult to talk back.’
‘How is that possible?’ Olan asked.
‘He uses his call-to-arms voice,’ Althorn explained.
‘And he can talk to us one at a time?’ Olan asked.
Althorn nodded and drank from a canteen. ‘Maybe he’ll speak to you next.’ He smiled, hoping the big Viking would feel as sick as he did.
***
‘Hey!’ Crossley was the first to greet them when they wound their way into the shallow valley where the human army hid. Li and Mihran were some steps behind. ‘Good to see you. Where’s John?’
‘We didn’t find him,’ Althorn said quietly.
Crossley peered at the Sorean warriors who waited patiently. ‘But you found some pets, I see.’
Jakan-tar’s eyes widened. ‘Pets?’ It walked up to Crossley and looked him up and down. ‘No weapon I see. Shall we duel?’
Crossley ignored him and looked at Olan. ‘They talk too? That’s cute.’
Althorn shook his head.
Samas and Lavalle arrived from the back of the line, catching Crossley’s attention. ‘Hey, Euryleia!’ he called out. ‘Your knight in shining armour’s back.’
Lavalle cricked his neck, avoiding Crossley’s taunt, and walked straight to Mihran. ‘Commander.’
‘Lavalle.’
The broad knight stared across the encampment. ‘There are fewer here than I expected.’
Mihran shrugged. ‘This land is wide. Are you expecting anyone in particular?’
‘Prester John.’ Lavalle cut to the chase, as was his way, Althorn thought. ‘We heard rumours of his army in the Levant but it never came. I assumed it had been brought here, with us.’
Li overheard. ‘I don’t think we can expect this army any time soon, Lavalle. I’m sorry.’ She turned to Mihran. ‘According to my records, Prester John and his army were mythical – probably created by a tenth-century European monarch frustrated by the power of the Pope.’
Mihran nodded and held Lavalle’s stare for a moment. ‘I think you should visit Euryleia.’ He gestured to where the Amazon slept.
Althorn stepped away to keep his distance, as was his way, and watched Samas update Li on their mission’s successes and failures. Then Olan introduced the Sorean.
‘May I introduce Captain Jakan-tar of the Sorean.’ Olan looked proud in his gleaming armour.
Jakan-tar stepped forward, staring Mihran in the eyes. ‘Commander, I am grateful to your men for the release of my soldiers. The Sorean offer our weapons in alliance to secure victory and exit from this land.’
Althorn noticed Mihran held back a smile as he was being addressed: if ever there was a man who enjoyed the power of a ritual, it was him.
‘Your offer humbles me and is welcome. Do you have any intelligence on our enemy, the Brakari?’ Mihran asked.
Jakan-tar blinked. ‘We had an encounter with the scouts of a shelled species…’
Althorn left the conversation to wander around the camp. The army had grown – maybe fifty more soldiers swelled their numbers. Some stayed in groups: a red-coated troop kept to themselves, as did ten or eleven Asian soldiers, whom he assumed from what he had learnt these past days were Chinese. Near a fire, Lavalle crouched with his arm around Euryleia and, near the centre, Li was showing Samas a silver box that had all the hallmarks of Lutamek design. A spout of dust shot out of the centre, rising to three times their height, and paused for a second before dropping with an audible patter.
‘Damn it!’ she cursed before trying again.
‘Maybe start with a smaller amount,’ Samas suggested as Althorn walked away.
Althorn had found it difficult to walk at his slow pace today and his stomach reminded him how long it had been since he last ate. Maybe he could dash away for a short spell and find another deer to roast?
Raised voices made him turn and Althorn saw Sakarbaal turning visible beside Mihran, leaving a line of irate warriors behind him. He had heard rumours the gladiator’s tattoos were merging to form patterns but had no idea of their camouflage abilities.
Althorn sped over to listen.
‘One Brakari coming this way – probably a scout,’ Sakarbaal said, out of breath. ‘What shall we do?’
Mihran replied with an open face, ‘Why, capture it of course.’
***
The anticipation of finishing his work with the human soldier made General Panzicosta’s shell vibrate. The soft-bellied vertebrate had squealed under his every slice and had even experienced pain through his metallic arm. Panzicosta pictured ripping the metal out of the human’s body and felt another tremble
. Such nervous creatures, these humans, he thought.
If he had any sense of remorse, he would have felt sorry for the species who would be the Brakari’s final enemy, but he didn’t feel pity – he relished the power he would have over them.
‘Victorio Brakarius, General.’ A freshly hatched guard bowed low as Panzicosta left through the gatehouse’s inner gates.
Panzicosta resisted the urge to ram his bludgeoning claw through the youngling’s head carapace for slowing him down.
‘Victorio Brakarius,’ he growled back.
The holding cells were just a few minutes’ walk away and Panzicosta pictured his victim, chained up and bleeding. The vision cheered him up. The information John had given him had been useless as far as he could tell, but he had passed it on all the same. The last Brakari had left the city and would carry word of the humans’ weaknesses to Belsang, but Panzicosta decided he would wait until morning to leave.
If these humans were as weak as their bodies and adaptations suggested, Panzicosta wouldn’t have to use his adaptation after all. Simple physical violence would suffice. His mouth-pieces gnashed against each other. They would be victorious and Belsang would have no further use for Doctor Cynigar, who could be disposed of, or Millok, who would be forced to submit to him.
The holes across his dark shell exhaled at the sight of the holding cells. As he breathed in he sensed blood. Sorean blood, he was sure. He sped up and spotted a ragged body on the path ahead.
‘How did you get here?’ Panzicosta loomed over the half-burnt cat-like creature pulling itself along the dirt floor with its remaining arm.
It didn’t have the strength to look up, let alone fight back, as Panzicosta scooped up the broken body with a wide claw and pressed its belly into his mouthparts. As he fed, small red spikes struck out of the dying body, but the enhancement was too weak to even scratch Panzicosta’s shell.
‘Better than Skrift meat,’ he mumbled, sucked up the last of the intestines and tossed the drained carcase to one side.
