Prosperine: The Adventures of the Space Heroine Hickory Lace: Books 1, 2 & 3 (The Prosperine Trilogy)

by PJ McDermott

  Twenty minutes later, they stood on the top of the cliff. From this high up, the air was sparkling clear, and they could see all the way to the foothills in the Hinterland. Behind them stood the forest.

  Gareth untied the rope from his waist and let out a long breath. “Whatever happens from here on in, it won’t be as bad as that climb,” he said.

  “I hope you’re right,” said Jakah, looking at the woods, “but I wouldn’t put credits on it.”

  Hickory surveyed the forest. Dark and forbidding, its giant trees stretched tall and clustered close together, their silvered bark streaked with orange and their leaves drooping pendulously. Quiet as the grave. Not even a birdcall.

  The five walked along the edge of the forest searching for a break in the perimeter, a path or an animal trail. Gnarled branches met to form a roof making it difficult to see more than a few yards into the forest. Hickory consulted her chart. “There’s supposed to be a track that leads to the other side around here. Maybe it’s become overgrown since the map was drawn.” She paused, considering her options. She searched the faces of those around her. “Unless anyone has a better idea, I suggest we make our way through at this point and follow the compass heading northwest. The forest doesn’t seem quite so dark hereabouts.”

  “How far is it to Crodal?” asked Saurab, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t fancy getting lost in there. We might never find our way out again.”

  “It’s only a mile or so on the other side. The forest is three miles at its deepest point, two at its most narrow, so only four miles as the crow flies. When we reach the other side, we’ll try and take a reading on where we are relative to the town and head in that direction along the edge of the trees.”

  Jess nodded. “And if we guess wrong we’ll retrace our steps. Simple enough.”

  A huge laugh erupted from Jakah. “We don’t need to worry about that yet. We’ll be lucky if we get out of the forest. But I see no alternative except to abandon the mission. I agree—we go in.”

  Hickory turned to Saurab and Gareth, who nodded their agreement. She looked back at the forest. “Let’s have something hot to eat before we start. I’m not sure that fire in there would be the wisest thing, and it might be a while before our next cooked meal.”

  They gathered some branches from the edge of the woods and made a small fire, on which they baked some cornbread and made a vegetable stew. Gareth found a patch of fungi growing wild under some trees and added them to the broth.

  “You sure they’re not poisonous?” asked Jess anxiously.

  “Sure as I can be, given I’m not an expert on Prosperine mushrooms. What the hell, Mother. You can only die once.”

  Jess scowled at him and helped herself to some of the broth. She nibbled cautiously at a mushroom. Suddenly Gareth gagged and fell over onto his side, his hands grasping at his neck. Jess spat out the food in her mouth and jumped to her feet. “Gareth!” She ran over to the boy, knelt beside him and turned him onto his back.

  Gareth’s eyes opened and he smiled at her. “Told you I’d get you back.”

  “Stupid boy!”

  Twenty yards inside the forest, they couldn’t see anything but trees and brush. The undergrowth was filled with thorny bramble canes that whipped against unprotected faces, and weeds that seemed intent on tripping them up. Progress was slow, and they found it impossible to travel in a straight line. They walked in single file, taking turns at the front to cut and slash. After the first hour, Hickory was covered in sweat. She let Gareth take over the lead.

  “I wish I had a zapper,” said Gareth. “This stuff is ruining my sword.” He examined the edge of the blade that Sabin, the smith, had made for him on his last visit to Prosperine. The cutting edge was protected by a layer of crynidium. In its liquid state, the ultra-rare metal was a vital component of faster-than-light fuel and Prosperine was one of only a few known reservoirs in the Universe. Crynidium was used by local weapon masters to add strength and sharpness to swords and spears, but even so the woody vines had left their mark.

  Hickory compressed her lips. This is taking too long. She grumbled with annoyance. “You know we can’t bring anything to this planet other than the medieval weapons sanctioned by the Avanauri government. What’s the point of wishing for something you can’t have?”

  Gareth slashed viciously at the vines blocking their path. “Just saying. Vogel didn’t feel he had to comply with that statute. Isn’t it strange that the crooks never feel constrained by Agency regulations or government mandates? He almost killed Jess and me with his blaster.”

  “That’s because he’s one of the bad guys, Gareth. We live by a different code.”

  “Okay, okay. I don’t need a lecture. I’m just pointing out how bloody difficult this is without the right equipment.” He slashed angrily at another patch of brambles.

  Four hours later, Hickory called a halt. The cover overhead seemed thinner, with more daylight penetrating the constant shade. “This is as good a place as any we’ve seen. Fifteen minutes’ rest. Let’s see if we can clear away some of this brush so we can at least sit down.”

  “How far do you think we’ve come?” said Jess a little later, slumping to the ground with her back against the trunk of a large tree.

  Hickory wiped her brow and sat beside her. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure. I estimate we only made around a hundred yards in that last hour.” She bent her head close to Jess and whispered, “Don’t say anything, but we have company.”

  Startled, Jess glanced around. “Where? Who?”

  “They’re keeping out of sight, and I can’t get a fix on them with my empathic sense, but they’re there.”

  Jess’s eyes opened wide. “You think it’s someone we know?”

  Gareth rolled onto one arm and looked up at them. “Seriously? If it were the Teacher, surely he would show himself?”

  The Teacher was an enigmatic sort, given to appearing and disappearing when you least expected, thought Hickory, but… “Not the Teacher, no. I think maybe it’s a primitive Erlachi tribesman. I spotted one yesterday on the other side of the canyon when we were climbing. I thought then it was only a coincidence.”

  She swiped at a persistent flying insect. “What are these things?” she exclaimed, as a bug landed on her face.

  Saurab and Jakah were resting opposite. They both jumped to their feet, flapping at a cloud of insects. Gareth laughed until he too was surrounded.

  “Caranackos,” shouted Jakah. “Loosely translates as bloodsuckers. We need to get out of here before they eat us alive or drive us crazy—probably both.” His face was blotched with small red bite marks.

  Jess rummaged through her pack and brought forth a small olive-green block. “Here, rub some of this over your face and arms,” she said, breaking off a piece for each. “It’s a natural repellent made from the leaves of a desert plant. Mack and I found this up near Birregur when we posed as botanists on our last trip. I thought it might come in handy this time around. It won’t kill them, but it should keep most of them away.”

  The ointment wasn’t wholly successful. Hickory still felt the occasional persistent insect sink its small teeth into her neck, but it kept the majority at bay.

  They hadn’t enjoyed much rest, but they shouldered their packs and set off with Saurab in the lead. His muscular arms flexed and shone with sweat as he hacked at the brush.

  Even with Saurab taking on most of the workload, Hickory figured they were only halfway through the forest by the time it became so gloomy she could hardly see the way ahead. The question now was whether they should press on despite the dark and their weariness or whether it was better to stop for the night and risk whatever threat might eventuate in the darkness. She weighed the condition of each of them. Saurab was still strong, as was Jakah. Gareth was wilting, and Jess looked as though she was out on her feet, although she would never admit it and would battle on until she dropped. Which wouldn’t be very helpful really.

  She made her decision. “W
e’ll stop here for the night. Let’s get some rest and then we’ll make a final push first thing tomorrow.”

  They didn’t dare light a fire for fear it would get out of hand while they slept, but it was warm enough under the shelter of the trees. In fact, it was quite stuffy, thought Hickory, as though not enough air found its way through the thick canopy. They decided to keep watch, and Hickory took the first two-hour shift. All the others quickly fell asleep, leaving her to her thoughts.

  She wondered about the naur following them. Now that she had the time to think about it, she wasn’t so sure it was one of the primitives. Why would anyone pursue them across a rocky canyon and into this dark place? Was it possible that they and their mission were known to someone other than IA personnel? The answer popped into her head. Yonni-sѐr-Abelen, the High Reeve. The admiral would have given him the details. It’s possible that Yonni arranged for someone to look for them at the landing site. But why? She couldn’t come up with a logical reason. The High Reeve may well be running a separate agenda from the Agency, or maybe he only wants to keep tabs on us.

  She recalled how insistent the High Reeve had been that she reveal to him Kar-sѐr- Sephiryth’s movements, even with the Pharlaxian rebels practically at the city gates. Almost paranoid. Perhaps the Teacher posed a greater threat to him than she knew. Kar brought a different religious philosophy to the Avanauri. Before him, hell and heaven were foreign concepts. Everyone believed that the reward for doing right in this world was another life, also in this world. Kar challenged this traditional thinking, introducing the idea of eternal life after death. Such a belief, should it take root, would undermine the existing power structure in Avanaux. Yonni wanted the Sword back—the symbol of his absolute authority—but he would much prefer if the Teacher were lost forever. Could it be that the one following them had been charged with making this happen?

  She heard a branch snap and instantly tuned her senses towards the noise.

  Hickory was a neoteric, one of a small percentage of the population born with nascent empathic ability deep in the receptors of their brains. Ever since she was a young girl, she could sense whether someone was lying or being truthful simply by reaching out to them with her mind. During her last mission in Avanaux, this ability had been enriched, allowing her to sense and even communicate with lesser life forms telepathically. The SIM implanted in her brain magnified this sense so that she could feel the presence of others in the vicinity.

  She reached out, seeking the mind of the one hidden in the darkness.

  Albetius V

  Albetius V, the thirteenth of his line in the house of Vistiore, admitted to being an ineffectual leader. Unlike his father and grandfather before him, he did not command the unquestioned loyalty of his nobles. He understood the key principle of kingship, that sometimes it is necessary to rule with an iron fist to keep the peace. But Albetius had a mild, artistic temperament which did not assist him in a land where warrior naurs had traditionally been valued as superior in all ways to the females of their species.

  Light downy feathers cascaded over his skull and down his back, and his eyes were large, round and blue—an inheritance from his mother. She had raised him in the absence of his father who had died in a border skirmish when he was but five years old.

  Albetius was well aware of his deficiencies, and he had become accustomed to seeing the contempt in the eyes of his detractors. Like the three standing in front of him now—three of the most powerful warlords in the kingdom. They were standing! Disrespectful in the extreme, it would have resulted in losing their heads in earlier times. Although furious at the slight, Albetius was relieved that only three stood before him. More would have meant that he was to be removed instantly from his stewardship. These chieftains, however, would be reluctant to act without the backing of most of the ruling warlords in the kingdom.

  He mustered the courage to look into their eyes. Such eyes. Burning like the sun, they were surrounded by mottled red pigment and overshadowed by brows that made them always seem angry. Tall and muscular, each stood over six feet and held a spear in their right hand, which was also against protocol. In the king’s presence, the lords of the six kingdoms had the right to bear arms, but only in their left hands and only with the sharp points resting on the floor.

  The tallest of the three, Xeroz, representing the neighboring state of Physlin, stepped forward and nodded curtly. “Albetius, King. The nanari of Physlin send their greetings.”

  Nothing about fealty or spurious wishes for my health, noted the king. He smiled wryly. Xeroz wasn’t going to bother with ceremony. Very well then, neither would he. “What brings you to my court, chieftain Xeroz?”

  Xeroz’s feathers stood out on his neck but otherwise he gave no sign of the insult. By rights, he should have been addressed as Warlord, rather than by the lesser title of chieftain.

  “A matter of great import for the kingdom, my liege,” he said and waited.

  “Speak it out,” said Albetius, almost spitting in anger.

  Xeroz inclined his head. He gestured to the two Erlachi behind him. “We have journeyed a long way, and it is customary to offer visitors to the court a glass of wine, but I perceive you are busy. No doubt, important matters of the realm consume your attention.” He bowed low, but always with his eyes on the king. “A messenger from Ezekan arrived in Physlin while I was entertaining Querast and Rome, here.” He indicated his two compatriots.

  The king gave them each a sour glance, then returned his attention to Xeroz. “Yes? Who is this messenger who flaunts our customs by not first presenting himself to the king’s court and instead reaches out to you three?”

  “He is a lieutenant named Thurle, formerly of the Peacekeepers in Avanaux, but recently sworn to Sequana, the leader of the Pharlaxian rebel forces.”

  The king walked to a small table holding a flagon of wine and several cups. He poured himself a drink, took a long swallow, and returned to his throne. Then he said, “What message does he bring?”

  “News from the battlefront in Avanaux. It appears the government has colluded with beings from another world to force the rebels to retreat.”

  Albetius’ mouth fell open and he burst into laughter. “Beings? From another world? What childish nonsense is this? You believed him, no doubt?” He laughed again and quaffed his drink.

  Xeroz’s face went ashen, and the others lowered the points of their spears. Xeroz shook his head and signaled to them to raise their weapons.

  “Oh, surely you don’t expect me to believe such nonsense!” said the king.

  “Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant at this point. The second part of the message is what is important.”

  The King sneered. “Go on. I can hardly wait.”

  “The rebel leader is on his way here to speak with you.”

  Albetius’ humor vanished. He poured another drink but set his goblet down untouched. “Why should I admit an outlaw to my court, this rebel against the lawful government of our neighbor state?”

  “He is Sequana-sѐr-Kira, the leader of the Pharlaxia, a powerful faction even in our own country. As to why you should admit him, he has come a long way to meet with you, and it is common courtesy to offer sanctuary to such a one.”

  Albetius stood abruptly, dislodging the goblet from the arm of his chair. It clattered to the floor, splattering red wine over his sandals. The feathers stood erect on his head, and he spoke between clenched teeth. “You dare lecture me on courtesy, Xeroz? One more word and I’ll have you imprisoned.” He made a cutting motion with his hand as the warlord was about to reply. “You come into my presence, you and these…these conspirators, and you insult me in my own court? How dare you!”

  Xeroz stood impassively until Albetius had finished. He stared directly at the king. “I have said only that it is in the interests of the land and our people that you see this naur. He carries with him the sword of Connat-sѐra-Haagar.”

  Albetius faltered, his feathers going limp on his head. “The Sw
ord?” He pulled his cloak, decorated with purple and red mystical symbols, tightly around him. “Hamash,” he called to an attendant standing by the door. “When this visitor arrives, please see he is housed in appropriate accommodation and make sure his needs are catered for. I will retire and consider this matter.” The King glided out of the room. He did not witness the triumphant grins on the faces of his three warlords.

  The King sat on his bed, two pillows arranged behind him, and frowned. His chief of staff, Forclav, stood next to him with his hands clasped. Albetius had appointed him two years previously, because of his knowledge of ancient history as much as his experience in matters of state. Now he needed to hear more than tales of the olden days.

  “Tell me what you think, Forclav. Should I admit this naur through our front door?”

  Forclav coughed nervously. “Sequana is the leader of the Pharlaxian rebels, Your Majesty. He has come here because he has been defeated in battle and has nowhere else to turn. It would cause offense in Avanaux were you to officially recognize him, although there is a precedent for providing sanctuary in such cases.”

  “But he has the sword, Forclav. He has the sword. How can we refuse him?” The King rubbed his shoulders apprehensively.

  The chief of staff smoothed the feathers on his head and pursed his lips. After a long pause, he said, “I believe it would be more dangerous not to admit him, but we must require him to leave the weapon outside. We cannot allow him to parade it in the great hall. It would be seen by the people as a sign of weakness. Xeroz and his supporters would use it to turn Erlach against you.”

  “And if he refuses, this Sequana?”

  “He must be persuaded. I will speak with him personally.”

  The Pharlaxian leader paced back and forth across the floor of the anteroom and scowled at the small band who accompanied him. He was unused to dealing with nobility and had found those he’d already met to be pretentious, distasteful and poisonous. They had sought to draw him into their plotting, but he had no wish to join another’s revolution. His purpose remained in Avanaux. Unfortunately, he needed soldiers to win his own cause. He had been forced to flee Avanaux after the Earthlings betrayed their policy of non-interference and fought alongside the government. The Bikashi general, Vogel, who had aided him, had either been captured or was dead, and his troops were in disarray.