Sword Destiny

by Robert Leader

  The Tri-thruster thundered down in a swooping arc, powered by the backward lancing, red-flame spears of her engines and the main battle lazer banks in her bows fired the last terrible burst of white-hot fire. Zela had targeted the hordes of Maghalla and the white beam sliced and burned its way through the fear-maddened ranks. Thousands of men, scores of chariots, and the last handful of Maghallan war elephants were all incinerated in an instant in that almighty blast of scorching death.

  A second pass would have annihilated Sardar’s forces but the ship’s energy sources were swiftly depleted. The white lazer beam flickered and vanished and the engine thrust fires died. The ship’s belly sagged and touched earth and one of her three dead external engine fins was torn away in a nightmare shrieking of tortured steel. Then the ship crashed down fully and was tearing and skidding her way across the plain, ploughing up the red soil and great piles of the dead and dying.

  Zela had aimed her crash landing just forward of the Karakhoran lines, and again it was the fading might of Maghalla that was crushed and scattered under the ship’s descent. The Tri-Thruster practically fell from the sky, obliterating all in its path. It careered across the full length of the plain and finally came to a stop where it smashed into the edge of the jungle. The first trees splintered and snapped, allowing the ship to continue its slithering progress. As more and stronger trunks took the impact, and foliage and liana vines wrapped around her like a net of stretching elastic, the ship halted. She lay steaming and groaning as her tortured plates buckled under her settling weight.

  A haunted hush hung over the battlefield, broken only by low groans and whimpers. In the paths of the white lazer beam and the crashed spaceship, there was now only death and smoking piles of charred and broken men, horses and chariots.

  Proud Kamar had died, roasted alive in his battle car, but Sardar, Nazik and Tuluq had been far enough back to survive. They all stared, stunned, at the totally transformed battlefield. Their forces had been more than halved at a single stroke.

  Slowly the men who lived began to move, struggling to stand, looking around them in disbelief, searching the skies for more dangers and looking for their comrades and their weapons. Then the desertions began. The blue sea serpent banner of Bahdra fled the field as the reluctant Prince Vijay led the remains of his father’s token force away. The survivors of the Monkey Clans broke and ran to hide in the comforting vastness of the forest that was their natural home. Many others also turned their backs on the city that had so nearly been won, their heads bowed and humbled, their feet and sword points dragging in the dust.

  Sardar saw what was left of his forces draining away and cursed them for cowards. He stood tall in his chariot and his roaring voice strove to rally them for one last effort. “The gods have fallen from the sky,” he insisted. “Victory is ours. Not even the gods can stop us now.” The trickles of departing men became streams and he howled his frustration. “Karakhor is defeated. The city is ours. All the gold of Karakhor, all the riches, all the women. The war is over. Let us take what we have won.”

  The streams paused. Some of the surviving captains and chieftains began to curse and tongue-lash their men back into line. The battle was over. The gods had crashed to earth. Karakhor was still a ripe, sweet fruit that only waited to be picked. The numerical odds were even now, but Karakhor was still the weaker, almost leaderless and sapped by wounds and starvation. If Maghalla could overcome her terror, her forces were still the stronger. After all the weeks of fighting, they could not simply turn tail now and walk away.

  “Let us finish it,” Sardar roared. He held his sword aloft, ready to signal another charge, and now they were wavering, almost persuaded to be led back into the fray.

  Suddenly there was sound and movement from the crashed spaceship. With a resounding clang, a hatchway was pushed open from the inside and allowed to fall back against the hull. The echoes rang in the still air and all faces turned back to watch. There was a collective intake of fearful breath, and then a human figure slowly emerged to stand tall on the ship’s hull. In his right hand, he carried a naked sword that gleamed and sparkled in the sunlight.

  “I am Kananda—” His voice carried loud and clear. “First Prince of Karakhor.” He allowed a moment for the words to sink home as he searched the remaining ranks of the enemy for the black leopard banner. Then he issued his challenge. “Sardar of Maghalla, there has been enough bloodshed here on both sides. Now let us decide the fate of this war, you and I, in single combat. Karakhor, send me a chariot.”

  There was a mighty cheer from the riverbank, and immediately two chariots were speeding across the plain. They were driven by Kasim and Gujar and they made a gleeful race of it, finally reining in with their horses almost neck and neck together. Kananda jumped down from the hull of the Tri-thruster and the two young lords from their chariots. The three friends embraced together, and then Kananda took the reins from Kasim and leaped up into his vacated chariot. With a whip of the reins, he sent the horse team thundering back into the centre of the battlefield.

  “Sardar,” he shouted again as he hauled the chariot to a halt. “Sardar of Maghalla—come forth and die!”

  Sardar recognized the name. It was the young Karakhoran prince who had, all those months ago, denied him his bride and turned what should have been his triumphant wedding day into a humiliation. It was the same upstart young prince who had dared to attack him in the forest. There were old scores to be settled here and he could not ignore the challenge. Instead he saw it as a heaven-sent gift, a chance to show his forces that he could still lead them to victory. All he had to do was to cut down this haughty young prince.

  Bellowing his mighty war cry, he swung his sword high and charged his chariot forward.

  Chapter Ten

  Kaseem stared open-mouthed as the Alphan ship came down. The walls on which he stood trembled with the frightful impact as the long black spacecraft hit the yielding earth. For a moment he feared that the whole weakened structure of the shaking gate tower would collapse beneath him. The thunderous roar and screech of sound, mixed with the howls and screams of the dying and the terrified, all hammered at his ears and deafened him. The rising clouds of brick dust choked his throat and nostrils and stung at his eyes, half blinding him as the scenes of devastation unfolded.

  He clung with one hand to his staff and with the other to the ramparts, his legs tottering beneath him. It seemed that if the tower did not give way then his knees would surely fail him, but somehow both held and he remained standing. The dust slowly settled and he blinked away the grit and tears so that he could see. Half of Sardar’s army had been sliced away and the Alphan Tri-thruster was now a pile of black steel wreckage that had half-buried itself in the edge of the forest.

  On the plain below him, most men were still stunned and shocked. The wake of that nightmare of tearing sound was just as suddenly replaced by a ripple of dull groans and whimpers. The old priest stared with almost as much incomprehension as the rest of them, but then, like light explosions in his brain, two things became clear. One was that he must stop the Juahar.

  The other, of which he was equally and instinctively certain, was that his beloved Laurya was trapped inside the hot wreckage of the crashed spaceship.

  For a few more seconds, he clung weakly to the wall and then he rallied his wits and turned away. There were other watchers along the ramparts, some women, a few small boys and a few grandfathers too crippled by old age to even lift a sword. The old ones would be too slow and he stumbled toward the nearest boy, a lad of about eight who was standing on tip-toes to see through an arrow slit in the ramparts. Kaseem prodded the boy sharply in the ribs with his stick, a painfully crude but effective way of gaining his attention.

  “You, boy, you know the priest who was with me. His name was Sahani. Run after him. Tell him he must stop the Juahar.”

  The boy gawked. Everything was happening too fast for him. His face was blank and petrified.

  “Go,” Kaseem screeched
and gave him another prod. “Run to the temple courtyards. Stop the Juahar. Tell them the High Priest Kaseem says they must still wait.”

  The boy backed away a step and then fled as fast as his legs would carry him. Kaseem was not sure whether he was just running in terror to avoid another thrust with the stick or whether he was actually going to carry the message. However, the boy raced down the stone steps into the city, heading in the general direction of the central square and the temple precincts and Kaseem could only hope.

  He leaned against the wall again, feeling sick and weak, and stared once more at the wrecked Tri-thruster. He was certain it was the same ship that he had come to know so well in the river valley where the tiger hunt had ended so long ago. It was Commander Zela’s ship and Laurya was part of her crew. Laurya, his eternal soul-mate, was out there, perhaps hurt, perhaps dead, but she was there. He knew it. Even if he had not recognized the ship, he was certain. His soul could feel the psychic link.

  He saw the hatch cover open and saw Kananda emerge. If he had needed proof, then this was it. He heard Kananda announce himself and his heart leapt with joy. His prince was alive and had returned but it was not enough. He continued to watch the open hatchway and felt his anguish return when no one else appeared. At the very core of his being, he knew that Laurya was in there and that she must be hurt.

  He had to do something and he bitterly cursed his ancient, useless body that would no longer fully obey his will. Then he realized that this was foolish. Nothing could change the fact that his physical body was now an ailing handicap and the only answer was to leave it behind. He looked almost guiltily along the wall but no one was paying him any attention. Their eyes were all fixed on the events in the centre of the plain. Beside him, the gate tower was topped by a small, open-sided room where the watchmen could shelter if necessary from a storm and Kaseem made up his mind and hobbled inside. The room was empty and there was one simple stone seat against the wall where the watchmen could take turns to sit and rest.

  Kaseem sat and leaned his back against the wall. The seat was cold and uncomfortable but he ignored it. He was out of sight, unseen and unmissed. He clasped his hands in his lap as though in prayer and closed his eyes. He willed himself to relax and concentrate. He had never before attempted to break through to the astral plane from such a tense situation but the rules were the same. To shed his body, he had to allow every muscle to become still and limp, he had to slow his heartbeat, to let his breathing become slow and shallow, to clear his mind...

  As Kananda prepared to meet Sardar in Kasim’s chariot, Gujar picked up Kasim and together they headed back to the Karakhoran lines, there to get a closer view of the contest and to rejoin their companions in readiness for any further fighting. However, Gujar had barely touched the reins to his horse team when a shout hailed them. Looking back, they saw Kyle climbing out of the hatchway and waving frantically to attract their attention.

  The young lords exchanged hesitant glances, torn between pleasure at recognizing an old friend and a reluctance to miss the first blows of what promised to be the decisive single combat of the war. Then Gujar wheeled his horses and brought the chariot back alongside the downed ship.

  Kyle knelt on the edge of the hatchway, his golden face now grey with worry, but thankful that he had found faces he knew. “I need help,” he said simply. “Laurya has been badly hurt. I fear she may die if I cannot get her quickly to a healer.”

  Gujar looked back over his shoulder to where the chariots of Kananda and Sardar were thundering towards each other in the first charge and his face was torn with indecision. This was one fight he desperately did not want to miss but the Alphan’s face was equally desperate. Gujar knew that Kyle and Laurya were man and wife and Kyle and Zela had been their loyal companions when they had hurried to take Karakhor back from the first invasion by the blue men. They had all fought side by side. Gujar looked to Kasim and Kasim sighed and nodded. They could not ignore this plea for help from a friend to whom they owed so much.

  “We will get her into the chariot,” Gujar decided, “and take you both into the city.”

  They tied the reins of the chariot to the inner wheel that opened and closed the hatch cover, and then the two Hindus followed Kyle back inside. They were clumsy in the unfamiliar interior, banging their sheathed swords and arm shields on the narrow walls as they crouched to pass through. They came on to the flight deck where Zela was still at her control seat, staring at the view-screen that was now focused on the two battle cars as they met on the plain. She had argued with Kananda but he had been adamant in his course of action. Now she too was reluctant to tear her gaze away from what was happening outside.

  “They will help us,” Kyle said. “We must get Laurya into the chariot and then into the city.”

  Zela bit her lip, but then nodded and turned to assist them. Apart from the broken shoulder, Laurya’s injuries were all internal and Zela was not sure how anyone in Karakhor would have the necessary healing knowledge and ability to help her. She feared that Laurya would probably die anyway but she could not bring herself to pass her doubts on to Kyle. In any case, they had to try anything that offered even the smallest hope.

  In his astral form, Kaseem flew high over the battlefield, soaring in the wild exultation of being swift and free. He was again in the form of Kharga, the warrior of Ghedda, and he had instinctively willed a sharp sword into his right hand. He saw the chariots of Sardar and Kananda meet in the first pass below him, each of them striving to impale the other with spears, but he paid them only a fleeting glance. After that first joyful leap, he sped downward again, pausing to hover immediately above the broken Tri-thruster.

  He saw the secured chariot and horses beside the open hatchway and knew that something had happened during the few minutes it had taken him to swamp out his physical senses and attain the higher plane. He recognized the double-bladed axe pennant of the House of Gandhar and knew that the chariot was Gujar’s, but of Gujar and Kasim there was no sign.

  He guessed that they could only be inside and so he too penetrated the open hatchway and made his silent, invisible way to the flight deck. Voices led him down another short corridor to the sleeping compartment where Laurya lay strapped to her bunk. Kyle and Zela were releasing her harness while the two Hindus helped where they could. Their discussion told him that they were planning to lift her on her couch mattress and then slide her down into the chariot.

  Kaseem hovered close enough to see Laurya’s face. She was unconscious and he could tell that she was near to death. She was bleeding inside and all that was left of her will and spirit was a feeble flicker. He knew that there was no way in which she could join him on the astral. If she left her physical body in its present shocked and weakened state, it would die. He was aware suddenly of what she had experienced when Dooma had died. With a flash of understanding, he too knew what had happened and what it had done to her. His soul recoiled in an agony of despair.

  As Kananda whipped up his horses to meet Sardar’s first charge, he saw that his enemy had leveled a heavy war spear and was aiming for a pass that would rip out his heart. Swiftly he sheathed his sword and took Kasim’s spear from its rack to counter the move. The straining horse teams had their heads forward, necks stretched, hooves pounding as the two men tore at each other in a headlong collision course. Both teams were well trained and experienced in what was needed of them. They held the charge until the jerk of each set of commanding reins told them when and which way to swerve.

  At the last moment, Kananda and Sardar flicked their reins together. The horse teams swung away from each other and the two flying chariots grazed walls as they passed. Kananda swung his body away from the razor-edged blade of Sardar’s thrusting spear and the edge scored a shallow cut across his ribs. Sardar’s howl of triumph became a curse of fury and he swept up his shield arm to deflect Kananda’s spear in its turn. The arm shield shattered into a thousand splinters and Kananda’s spear shaft broke in two.

  They had
plenty of room in which to fight and both riders hauled their chariots round in a tight turn to come back at each other, thundering again into their own clouds of churned up dust. Kananda was again at the disadvantage. He had started the duel with no helmet and no arm shield and now he had no spear. He discarded the broken shaft and again drew his sword. Sardar had drawn first blood and was encouraged. He screamed his war cry as he again thrust his war spear for Kananda’s heart.

  Kananda twisted backwards and away at the last second, the spear blade missing his chest by a hairsbreadth. The contorted movement almost threw him out of the far side of the chariot and in the same moment he swung his sword blade over and chopped down, smashing through Sardar’s spear shaft. Only his tight grasp on the reins and a scrabbling grip with his left foot, which he hooked against one of the inner struts of the battle car, enabled him to keep his balance.

  Again the two chariots slewed round to face each other. Kananda had momentarily lost complete control of his horses and Sardar was the first to charge again. This time he snatched a javelin from his rack and held it poised to throw.

  Kasim’s weapons rack was empty. The young lord had fought all through the morning and except for the one war spear he had nothing left but his sword. Now Kananda also had only his sword. He ducked the first thrown javelin as Sardar swept wide and saw his enemy reach for another as he turned his chariot yet again.

  Sardar’s weapon rack still held half a dozen unused javelins and he had no need yet to come within sword range.

  Kananda gritted his teeth and thrashed his horses. Sardar turned again as he threw and again the speeding javelin sailed over Kananda’s shoulder as he dodged and ducked. However, this time Kananda refused to pull his horse team away. He bore down on Sardar’s turning chariot in a pounding of hooves and crashed the two chariots together. He was unlucky in that it was his chariot wheel that mounted high over the other, tipping his chariot over and on to its side as splinters and spokes flew from both disintegrating vehicles.