Sword Destiny

by Robert Leader

  The second cat had clawed its way up over the great dome of Huthar’s skull, ripping the soft, bulbous eyeball to agonized, weeping shreds as it did so. It leaped again and crashed against Sanjay’s chest, forcing the tall prince to topple backwards. In an instant, the savage white jaws had snapped down on Sanjay’s throat, slicing through his chin strap and knocking away his helmet. Its front claws held him by the shoulders, digging deep, scraping on bone and plunging through muscle, while its hind claws raked through his chain mail vest and tore at his belly.

  Sanjay writhed helplessly and rolled off Huthar’s broad back. His harness held him for a moment and both man and cheetah hung in mid-air, snarling and screaming in a crazed mixture of pain and fury. Then the stitching of the harness ripped away and cat and man dropped together to the earth. The equally pain-crazed elephant was stamping and rearing blindly and no man dared to venture close enough to help. Karakhoran and Maghallan alike all pressed back to escape the blundering bulk of the dying bull elephant, and the roaring, whirling cat with its helpless prey and slashing claws.

  Word rippled quickly through the stunned battlefield with the news. Prince Sanjay had fallen. Jahan fought from the back of his chariot nearby, and as the shout went up he paused in his grim work and stared in dismay. Over the sea of heads of the suddenly still fighting men, he saw the rearing, riderless island that was the hump of Huthar’s back as the elephant circled aimlessly, bellowing its agony to the sky. Desperately Jahan urged on his horses, hauling their heads round and racing to the scene.

  He crashed through ranks of men with no thought of distinguishing friends from foes, but as he hauled up his reins and skidded his chariot to a halt, he saw that he was already too late. Sanjay lay still and lifeless on the ground with the spotted cheetah still tearing at his ravaged throat. With a roar of rage, Jahan sprang down from his chariot and ran forward. His sword was still in his hand, and as the hungry cat looked up and turned, snarling, to face him, he swung the blade in one almighty blow. He struck for the neck and decapitated the animal in his fury, sending the head spinning and rolling in the dust. His wrath was still unabated, and seeing the second cheetah now feeding calmly at the body of Sanjay’s dead driver, he swung the great sword again, crushing and cleaving the head of the second animal with all the power of his enraged arms.

  The sounds of snarling and feeding stopped. Huthar had run off to die and vanished out of sight and suddenly there was silence over the battlefield. Jahan stared around the circle of watching faces, suddenly aware that they were now waiting for something else to happen. No one raised a weapon or moved toward him, and then he knew. He turned slowly on his heel, the ruby-hilted sword at the ready, and faced Sardar.

  The ruler of Maghalla stood tall in his chariot, his black-plumed helmet giving him the illusion of even greater height. He wore black and gold body armour and a large axe swung in his free hand. His scarred face was split into a grotesque travesty of a grin. The death of Sanjay was a triumph for the first part of his three-stage battle strategy and now Jahan stood isolated from his chariot and his guards. Sardar yelled his delight as he charged his chariot straight at his standing enemy.

  The swinging axe was in Sardar’s right hand. Jahan waited until the last moment, when the snorting horses were close enough for him to feel their hot, steaming breath. Then he hurled himself desperately to Sardar’s left and rolled. The flying hooves and the ironbound wheel missed him by inches, and Sardar was slashing his axe down on the wrong side of his chariot.

  Jahan was badly bruised and battered, with the breath knocked out of him, but he knew that his life depended upon rising and made a mighty effort to push himself up and stagger to his feet. Somehow he was still holding his sword. Sardar had meanwhile turned his chariot, whipped the horse team again, and came thundering back. This time Sardar was not aiming to plough his victim under his hooves and wheels. Instead he aimed to sweep past and chop Jahan down in passing.

  There was no hope this time of ducking in front of the horses. Jahan braced himself with his blade, as if intending to meet the axe blow, but then in the last second he flung the blade at Sardar’s face. Sardar instinctively twisted his head aside and the flat of Jahan’s blade struck with a ringing crack on the side of his helmet. The axe was swinging down for the killing blow, but Jahan leaped forward and inward, snatching at Sardar’s outstretched arm with both hands and holding fast. The impact and his clinging weight tore Sardar out of the fast-flying chariot, the reins ripping out of his hands as he was tumbled backward. With a crash, they hit the ground together and the axe flew from Sardar’s grasp.

  For a moment they both sprawled, stunned, then slowly each man began to move. Jahan crawled to his knees, shook his head to clear his dazed brain, and then squinted through dust-gritted, sweat-stinging eyes to find his sword. Sunlight flashed a beckoning red gleam from the great ruby jewel set into his sword hilt and he stumbled toward it. He reached down, closed his hand upon the hilt and turned again to face his enemy. Sardar had also regained his feet and some of his breath, and although his ears were still ringing, he had managed to draw his own sword from its scabbard.

  They approached each other warily, both of them breathing deeply to draw back strength and power into their lungs and muscles. Sardar the Merciless, King of Maghalla, was the younger and faster, but the old Warmaster General of Karakhor was an experienced and doughty fighter. By surviving the encounter this far, he had proved that he would be no easy victory, and now they were fighting on equal terms. Slowly they began to circle each other, neither of them yet ready to rush into single combat, but both of them knowing that there was no other way for this to finish, and that one of them must die.

  It had been two weeks since her Tri-Thruster command ship had blasted off from its Alphan launch pad and Zela was beginning to fret. It was good to be back in the familiar surroundings of the ship and to be back in command of her crew. She and Kananda had been lucky to escape from Ghedda and the blue skin dye that had enabled them to move freely was wearing away. Her skin was now its normal honey-golden colour and Kananda was once more Hindu brown. However, inactivity and worry was causing her to be more sombre than her normally positive disposition would allow.

  Kananda had noticed. His spirits were high with the knowledge that he was returning to Earth. He had failed to find Maryam on their mission to Ghedda, but at least he knew that his sister was alive and that in all probability she was somewhere ahead of them on Raven’s ship. She too was returning to Earth.

  “You are unhappy,” he told Zela as they relaxed in the small cramped cabin that served as her quarters. On this return voyage they slept together in the narrow bunk and her crew had made no comment. Their relationship was firmly established.

  Zela was silent for a moment and then admitted, “I cannot help wondering what has happened on Dooma.”

  “But you can speak to them? Why do you not ask?”

  “Because it is best that we maintain radio silence. We launched our ships while there was a major electrical storm raging over the Sea of Storms that divides the two continents. The storms play havoc with our attempts to keep surveillance on each other. We have intercepted no warning signals from Ghedda to Raven’s fleet, so we can hope that Ghedda is still in ignorance of the fact that Alpha has launched a pursuit. If we remain silent now, we may catch up with Raven’s ships and still have the tactical element of surprise.”

  Kananda understood part of what she was saying. The technology of space travel and all that went with it was still a mystery, but the tactics of hunt and pursuit were familiar. If the enemy did not know that they were being followed then that was an advantage to be preserved. He also understood her fears for her homeworld. Over the past few months he had felt many pangs of guilt for leaving his city, his friends and his people when they needed him most. Now it was Zela’s turn to be torn between the different calls of duty.

  He kissed her cheek as they lay together and she turned her head to look at him. The air was hot i
n the confined space and he wore only a loincloth. Her silver uniform hung behind the door and she had stripped to her brief underclothes.

  “Thank you,” she murmured softly and kissed him on the lips. They snuggled closer.

  They were silent for a moment and then Kananda admitted his own concerns. “I hope that Raven will be able to land his ship before we catch up with him,” he said quietly. “Perhaps then Maryam will be able to escape, or I will be able to free her, before our fleets engage.”

  “I would prefer to fight Raven face-to-face.” Zela sighed. “I have spent years perfecting my skill with the sword so I can challenge Raven with his own weapon. He slew my brother Lorin on Mars, and for me to kill him in turn with his own chosen weapon would be the sweetest vengeance. Unfortunately my duty to Alpha must now come first. If we can catch up with Raven’s fleet while we are still in space, then I must engage him in battle at the first opportunity.”

  Kananda knew that she would have no choice. Six ships followed her leadership and she had to lead with her duty to Alpha overruling all her personal hopes and feelings. However, he also knew that he would continue to pray for the opportunity to save Maryam. He had pursued her too far and for too long to give up hope now. If the gods were willing there would be a way.

  They lay silent for a little longer and then their natural instincts began to take over. They were two healthy young people who were in love, with a large number of long and empty hours ahead of them. There was only one sensible way to fill the time. Kananda’s erection became noticeable and Zela signified her approval by stroking it gently through the thin material of his loincloth. They began to kiss with more passion. Soon Kananda turned his attention to her breasts, those wonderful large honey-gold breasts that were so much more voluptuous than the relatively flat-chested Hindu women of his own planet.

  Zela glanced toward the cabin door to check that it was locked and then decided that it was playtime.

  Kasim, Gujar and the two young princes had reached the stone bridge that led back over the river to the city gates when they became aware of the hushed stillness that had fallen over the battlefield. Kasim and Nirad reined in the two chariots and they stopped to look back. Most of the fighting had stopped, and although they could see nothing through the packed ranks of warriors, they knew that only a gladiatorial combat between champions could have such an effect.

  Ramesh searched the field for the one man who should have been visible and felt a sudden awful fear. “There is no sign of Prince Sanjay.” He shaded his eyes with his hand. “There are other elephants, but I cannot see Huthar.”

  “Something is happening,” Nirad said beside him.

  They continued to watch and wait. Above them, the hungry hawks and buzzards also kept a steady, circling surveillance, knowing that their time was still not yet. From a distance came the faint but furious ring of swords.

  “Two blades,” Gujar said softly. “No more.”

  “Devan or Jahan,” Kasim guessed. “But which one—and who is his opponent?”

  No one could answer him and they looked at each other with apprehension. They needed fresh horses and chariots, but now they could not bring themselves to leave the battlefield. They all knew that Karakhor could not afford to lose either of her two greatest fighters. If either of them were to fall, it would have a devastating impact on the morale of the whole city.

  The guard captain and the warriors whom Jahan had assigned for the protection of his nephews had followed them out of the battle, and they too stood in a tense uncertain group. Ramesh made a decision and gave an order. “Captain, send two men into the city and bring out two horse teams and chariots. We will wait here.”

  The guard captain nodded and detailed two of his men. Immediately they ran across the bridge and disappeared through the gates. The rest of them continued to wait. There were archers and old men and boys above the gates and on the walls and Ramesh called up to them for information, but none was forthcoming. The duel was taking place too far away for anyone to discern who was involved. Then, suddenly, those who lined the walls were shouting a warning and pointing wildly stabbing fingers.

  They all turned their heads, squinting into the lowering sun. A dust cloud had appeared and out of it came the thunder of racing hooves and chariot wheels. A score of battle cars had circled behind the two locked armies and was now hurtling toward them along the riverbank. The trailing pennants of the three leading chariots were the coiled cobra of Tuluq, the black-mailed fist of Zarin and the red fist of Bharat.

  Kasim was the first to recover his wits and realize what this flying raid intended. “Block the bridge,” he shouted. “Do not let them pass.” As he spoke, he whipped up his horses and raced for the bridge. On reaching it, he hauled up his team, pulled them round and reversed his chariot back on to the bridge itself. Then he tossed the reins to Gujar and reached for his bow.

  Nirad was almost as quick. Within moments, he had caught up and was reversing his own chariot into the gap beside Kasim. The two chariots together blocked the bridge.

  The Maghallans were almost upon them as Kasim launched his first arrow. His aim was true and the shaft hammered into the high-arched neck of the black-maned lead stallion pulling Bharat’s chariot. The horse screamed and went down, pulling its teammate into a stumbling fall alongside. Kasim’s second arrow took one of Zarin’s horses in the eye. With just two shafts, the speeding chariot attack was turned into a shambles of crashing, overturned vehicles. Those that avoided the front rank debacle were forced to turn aside.

  Ramesh seized Nirad’s bow and was quick to follow Kasim’s example. The charge was checked and now their arrows sought human targets with devastating effect. Bharat and Zarin had abandoned their wrecked chariots, both of them stunned and demoralized, and Zarin had to help his staggering uncle clear of the fight. Tuluq had been forced to swing his chariot round in a circle, but had escaped unscathed and now he was roaring to goad his remaining followers to attack. Each chariot had carried as many warrior passengers as could cling on to the back of the car, and now these all piled forward to clear the bridge. They were met by the warriors of the princely guard, by the flying arrows of Kasim and Nirad, and by the swords of Gujar and Ramesh.

  The Karakhorans were outnumbered and the foot soldiers quickly fell. Kasim and Ramesh swiftly exhausted the last of their arrows and then drew their swords. The mixed force of Maghallan and Kanju warriors had to force their way past the four terrified horses that were now rearing and plunging wildly and backing even further up along the bridge. From the commanding heights on top of their chariots, the two young princes and the two young lords were able to defend the narrow gaps on either side with their flashing blades, and although the fighting was hot and ferocious, they held their ground.

  A dozen of the enemy had been cut down, their bodies toppled over the edges of the bridge on either side to splash down and be carried away by the deep-flowing waters of the Mahanadi and then Tuluq had a flash of inspiration and roared out a new command. “Push the horses. Push them into the river.”

  He suited action to the words and grabbed at the halter of one of the horses, hauling the animal’s head down and heaving his shoulder against its neck in an effort to push it sideways. The animal stumbled against its teammate, and then more warriors were throwing their full weight into the push and slowly the struggling horse team was jostled closer to the edge. Kasim and Gujar swore together as their chariot was twisted round, the ironbound wheels grating and striking sparks from the hard stone as they slowly skidded sideways. The nearside horse lost its footing, neighing shrilly as it toppled over the edge. Its teammate and the heavy chariot were pulled over with it, crashing down into the river.

  Kasim and Gujar abandoned the chariot together, jumping down onto the bridge as their battle car vanished from beneath them. They landed, swords still in hand, and carried the fight immediately to the still staggering enemy fighters who were momentarily off-balance. Without pause, their blades flashed with deadly ef
fect.

  Tuluq had the good sense to skip back and let others die in his place. More warriors of Kanju had rushed up to support Bharat and Zarin and Tuluq rallied the new arrivals into another charge. Bharat was led off limping badly, but Zarin had recovered enough to join again in the battle. Nirad jumped down onto the bridge to help Kasim and Gujar fill the gap, while Ramesh continued to defend the off-side of their remaining chariot.

  Again the fighting was hot and furious and for a moment it seemed that the defenders would be overwhelmed by the sheer weight of numbers. Slowly they were forced back. Another yard, Nirad realized, and they would be pushed back past the rear of his chariot and then the enemy would be able to dart through the gap and encircle them from behind. Valiantly, he renewed his efforts to hold his ground, and suddenly Zarin was before him, hacking furiously at his sword. At any other time, this meeting of princes would have been deemed a single combat and the battle around them would have stilled to watch. Now the holding or taking of the bridge was of paramount importance and there was no respite.

  Tuluq howled for victory, but the battle for the bridge had not gone unnoticed. The warriors of Kanju rushed to support their princes, but Salim and Ranjit, the house lords of Bulsar, were also close enough to become aware of what was happening. In yet another stampede of hooves and men, the banners of the blue and black ravens arrived together and fell upon Tuluq’s forces from behind.

  Frustrated and furious, Tuluq had to turn and defend his rear. Almost immediately, he found himself face-to-face with the grim-faced Salim who had jumped down from his chariot to roar a challenge. Again the code demanded that this should be a pause for single combat, but the fever pitch of the conflict on all sides allowed for no chance to rest. They attacked each other savagely while the fighting continued to rage all around them.

  Salim had the advantages of weight and muscle power, while Tuluq was tall and lean with a cat-like speed. In single combat, Tuluq would have been the faster, but in the crush of battle they were forced close and Salim’s greater strength was telling in the exchange of blows. For a moment they were pushed almost chest-to-chest, and Salim took the opportunity to slam his helmet forward in a massive head butt. As their steel-crowned heads crashed together, the sharp edge of the short bar that protected the bridge of Salim’s nose cut deep into Tuluq’s cheek.