Legacy: Book #3, the Fire Chronicles

by Susi Wright

  He glanced over at his young Gaian comrade, who had conveniently chosen now to busy himself with re-arranging the stores into neat piles. He sighed heavily, aware that he would be stuck with this unfamiliar task of holding a babe, for some hours yet. The middle-aged warrior had a Gaian wife. The couple had been childless for fifty years and some of his people would bewail that fact, but in this very moment, he was glad for it!

  The girl was beside herself with grief.

  The old warrior had seen Morvian funeral rites several times before, from soldiers after battle. Invariably, they would strip off every bit of clothing and make multiple incisions in their chests; bare-arsed regardless of the weather, they would dance around the pyre, supplicating their deities. Some were loud about it, others almost whispered their songs. He wasn't sure how the women usually behaved when grieving; in Baram, Morvians performed certain rituals behind closed doors, to avoid offending other members of the community.

  He guessed there could be nudity and, being a man of honour, he vigorously hoped against that possibility. Lelu was a female, and a maiden at that. If it happened, he would just have to turn his back.

  There would definitely be cutting . . . and a lot more wailing, or singing. It was difficult to tell the difference with Morvians. He couldn't foresee the infant sleeping through any of it.

  That bleak thought was emphasised by a sudden keening cry from Lelu and more weeping. A Gaian bore grief silently. The warrior couldn't help thinking that, for sentient beings, Morvians were certainly most vocal about death. And unbelievably, the three newcomers seemed completely oblivious, both to the noise and the emotional turmoil around them.

  Lelu had to face the truth.

  “I cannot see him coming back – he is gone, isn't he?” Lelu blurted between sobs. She had cut her forearms in several places.

  All this had come to pass since Tobu had adamantly refused a Gaian escort when he went out during the night, claiming to need a privvy, and had not returned. Finn and one of the warriors had gone out before dawn to search for him, but in vain. On foot, he would not have gone very far. Later, they had seen a couple of snow-cats and could only hope the old man was already gone from this world when the cats found him. Now it was full daylight and there had been no trace of a body.

  Of course, Finn knew the Morvian way. So did Lelu, but that did not make it any easier. Her grandfather had chosen this time to take himself off into the Long Sleep. It was his time. Finn had been told that finding a place to sleep in the snow was one of the more peaceful ways to go. He wished that for Tobu. His grandmother had thrown herself off a cliff.

  All Finn could do was put an arm around Lelu and squeeze gently, because he could not deny it. He just did not want to say it. It was her traditional right to do the grieving anyway. Tobu was her grandfather. Finn liked and respected the old man, despite having only known him for a short while. He intended to keep his promise to look after Lelu, but he had secret reservations about taking on the baby as well!

  Wanting to comfort her, Finn lifted his hand tenderly to Lelu's cheek, turning her face towards his, so he could commune directly. He invented mental glimpses of the happy future in store for them, their safe arrival in the new world; he was rewarded by Lelu's weak attempt at a smile through the tears.

  He was most careful not to draw attention to the fact that little Bilu did not feature in his visions. He believed they would be separated. There were other gaps he did not mention. There was peace ahead, he was almost certain of it.

  “Sweet Lelu, your grandfather wished for me to care for you. We have a chance at a life together, helped by our Baramese friends. Grieve today, as you must, but remember, I am here for you now, and tomorrow . . . and all the days beyond life!”

  *

  True to Shuul's word, after an hour's ride, the company came upon an abandoned barley farm. At the centre of the property was a log-cabin; other outbuildings were dotted around the paddocks. There was no sign of the Morvian farmer and his family. If they had not escaped, they would have fallen prey to the cannibals. The complete absence of livestock could also be blamed on the enemy. It looked like the farm had been pillaged months ago. A full silo attested to a successful harvest of grain early in the season; the surrounding fields were now completely overgrown with weeds.

  It seemed that no-one had been brave enough to return here to live, but there were signs of a recent visit to collect food. Fresh grain had been spilled near the access-hatch of the silo and had not yet been devoured by vermin and birds.

  On the approach to the farmlet, some Gaians sensed the presence of survivors in the vicinity and small party of fliers was sent out to scout the nearby woodlands for them. Within the time it took to load packs of grain on two beasts, they were back with four Morvians who had recognised the warriors as Gaian, from the first mission. The Zorg attack had destroyed the hope of rescue. The four were overjoyed to see they had not been forgotten after all. These lucky individuals, drifters from the north, arrived just two days ago, searching for food now the giants had moved on.

  Wasting no time, Luminor directed his earth-movers to dig a simple underground hideout. This was an easy task. The wooden hatch, made from an old barn door, was concealed in a thicket not far from the main cabin.

  “This will be the first base for those we rescue. There is food here to re-supply before crossing the mountains. I can only afford to leave two soldiers to guard those who shelter here. Most of the pack-animals will stay here to rest. The rest of us move out immediately, taking minimal supplies. We cannot stay long in Morvia, if we hope to cross the mountains before the worst weather. We face a very difficult decision, when the time comes to leave. Those not found by then will be left behind, because we have the survival of the others to consider!”

  These were basic facts of survival. Everyone accepted that it would come to that, without a miracle . . . and such things were rare occurrences, even for those with magic.

  When they moved out, Shuul took the lead, by the safest way he knew. Stolis and Jimbu rode beside him, while he explained the habits of the enemy, the most important being that a large part of the Zorg horde kept together. They had already moved south and west through the countryside like a swarm of giant locusts, devouring its inhabitants and burning many dwellings. They were unlikely to return.

  Stolis could understand the basic Morvian language, but he struggled to grasp Shuul's version, spoken in a heavy Cymbian accent. Luckily, Jimbu was there to provide clarification.

  That this Morvian was with them, reminded Shuul why he was back here, in this forsaken place. An occasional sidelong glance at Jimbu was the only evidence that the Cymbian chief was still a little uncomfortable, but he found no animosity there.

  “They are guided by mindless instinct. The most aggressive ones subjugate the others into herd mentality. Excited by new scent, they rarely retrace their steps,” he grinned, “and lucky for us, they lack the intelligence to destroy grain and produce stores. At least, we will not be short of food!” His expression became serious as he thought of what lay ahead for them all, well-fed or not. “How many of you have seen them? Believe me – they are truly terrible!”

  Jimbu replied in an informative tone. “I escaped from Morvia with my parents when I was a youth. We were chased from our homes by raiders so often, we took to the mountains as a last resort – that was long before the Zorgs came.” His pensive gaze slipped past Shuul. “Our two warrior-guides, the only survivors of the first mission, gave description of the giants . . . and the mayhem here.” Jimbu shared a look with Stolis and then gazed ahead of them into the distance. “Also – I have envisioned them.”

  The silence that followed spoke much of the unspeakable.

  Chapter 23 : ZORGS

  “You were wrong, Shuul! There is a dangerous presence – perhaps a hundred, on the move!” Luminor confronted the Cymbian chief with a stern expression.

  Shuul winced inwardly. Had he been mistaken? He did not like being wrong. “Are y
ou sure? Perhaps it is a roving herd of muloks. . ,” he asked hopefully. Xandor's explosive laugh made Shuul think that he could have just insulted the Gaian lord by questioning his physic abilities.

  Shuul seemed genuinely puzzled by Luminor's claim, but chagrin flickered in his eyes as they met that disconcerting, Gaian gaze.

  “I mean . . . they should not be here. The horde passed through here, weeks ago. There would be nothing left here for them to hunt. Even wild game is rare in these parts now. There were towns full of their favourite Morvian quarry much further west. Of course, many of those people are now running for their lives, but Zorgs enjoy the frenzy of the chase. I do not understand . . .” A Cymbian mind was as quick as any.

  “Unless . . .” Shuul grinned widely.

  Luminor nodded in agreement.

  “There are Morvians on the run nearby!” Shuul's expression reflected the horror of realisation, cursing in Cymbian.

  “And so it begins . . .” said Luminor quietly, turning to Xandor and his captains. “Send two warriors to find the Morvians, and ready the men for battle!”

  As they left, he spoke to Shuul, whose men had gathered around for direction, unsure at this point whether that would come from their chief or the Gaian sorceror.

  “Shuul, you and your men know what is to be done. It is time to make good use of your skills. We shall all do what we can to confuse the enemy, draw them away from their quarry. Then, get clear yourselves – quickly! I will use my power only on the enemy. Do you have questions?”

  There were none. All Shuul's men knew the plan; it was bound to be the Gaian's call. They were surprised how easy it was to accept his order to move, considering how afraid of the giants they were. Even Shuul, though reluctant, found himself placing trust in the promise of Gaian mental powers, to help confound the enemy and keep his men safe. Was that mind-magic too?

  Whatever it was, Shuul was clever enough to know that right now was not the time to risk going against the plan. At least they had back-up.

  Shaking his head with a grim smile, Shuul gestured to his men to apply makeshift cloth boots to their samblars hooves. This would enable them to get close enough to continue on foot, invisible.

  The Cymbians mounted up and moved off the road into the forest, padding along briskly in silence for several minutes. Shuul found himself having second thoughts, that this might be a good time to make a run for it, after all. One word from him and they could be galloping in a different direction. But uncertainty wrenched in his gut. Even if they could outrun Gaian fliers – even running all day on the backs of fast samblars – they would only be back where they were more than a fortnight ago . . . still in this forsaken land, swarming with monsters and the Impossible Mountains ahead of them, this time without a guide!

  At that moment, as strange as it seemed, to believe in the Gaian's promises meant much more. Staying true to his own word also seemed to gain importance, as the attraction of running faded. They were almost at the edge of the forest when he signalled a halt and dismounted quickly; his actions were followed by the others, each double-tying his samblar firmly to a tree ready for a quick get away.

  As they moved away towards their goal, they could only hope the animals were still there when they came back in dire need of them.

  Peering out from the cover of the woodland, they were fearfully close.

  Less than running distance away, the monsters advanced, still on Morvian scent. The ground shook with their ponderous march. Each Zorg was five or six men tall, as wide as three, with legs and arms like tree trunks. Slung over their shoulders were huge mace-and-chain contraptions. In their hands, each carried either club or spear. They were slow but relentless hunters, following a spoor day and night, until their victims could run no more. Then they would down their exhausted quarry with spears, falling upon them with hands and teeth. Shuul cringed at the memory of their eating habits. How is it . . . they seem even bigger than before? He felt a stab of fear.

  Once he and his men committed, there would be no going back. Their Cymbian talent had landed them here, but hopefully would also get them out. Danger was not new to their clan. Shuul had experienced much in his life of thievery and precarious survival, but not until now, had he felt truly brave! Bemused, he smiled, drawing puzzled looks from his men, but they were loyal, ready as ever to follow his lead and on his signal, they assumed camouflage. They had made no attempt to disguise their own scent. Strangely, even invisible, their steps were no easier, moving upwind into open ground . . . to taunt an army of scent-crazed giants!

  The keen noses of those at the front picked up a whiff of closer prey; a few stopped in their tracks, bewildered because it was nowhere in sight. The others slowed behind them, scanning the open ground on every side. Hidden in the nearby treetops, several air-benders were changing the direction of the scent-laden breeze and others were adding a heavy sprinkling of confusion into the mix.

  Playing a dangerous game of 'tag', the Cymbians dashed back and forth right under the giants' noses, then away in various directions. Stirred up, some of the enemy began swinging their weapons indiscriminately. One of Shuul's men was too close, killed in an instant by the blow and becoming visible, was fallen upon by half a dozen Zorgs, torn apart and devoured with relish. Horrified, Shuul looked skyward, anticipating the signal to get out and make a run for their samblars.

  In that moment, Xandor and twenty airborne archers swooped down as planned, to take over from the Cymbians, who took off running as fast as they could for the trees.

  The Gaians continued the attack from above, giving Shuul and his men time to get away; they flew around the Zorgs' heads just outside the reach of mace-and-chain, raining arrows as they went.

  As expected, the shafts provided no more than an annoyance to the thick-skinned giants. Only one went down after taking a dozen arrows. Others fell to their neighbour's mace or spear and a similar gory fate to the unlucky Cymbian. It was well-known they were not averse to eating their own kind. For the Gaians it was perilous avoiding spears, but they were quick and the giants were so confused that their aim was hopeless.

  Held on open ground by chaos and cannibalism, the writhing mass was oblivious to the fliers' departure from the field, after the Morvians had reached safety.

  Ji and the other riders waited, not far into the woodland, ready to join the fray if needed. When the order came to withdraw, they were relieved more than disappointed, turning their mounts at full gallop away from the carnage.

  For the younger soldiers, it was the most horrible thing they had ever seen, never to be forgotten. Grateful to be given reprieve, for now, they fully expected another chance for action, the next time they encountered Zorgs. Then, there could well be many more than a hundred to deal with!

  Even veterans of other campaigns had witnessed little to compare to the scene before them. And all except Gaian warriors, who had seen action at the Battle of the Fires, could only imagine what it meant next in the plan – for Lord Luminor to take the field.

  The Baramese force assembled on high ground a safe distance away. The twenty Gaians, whose task it was, continued to stir up confusion, but were approaching the limit of their energy.

  Many in the ranks were impressed by the success of the plan so far. If the chaos continued, it certainly looked like the giants would tear each other to pieces. To the more hardened soldiers, it seemed almost too easy. All watched, tense with anticipation, as they waited for Luminor to finish things quickly.

  After the previous excitement, time seemed to slow as the seconds ticked by; slower still, when a deafening roar came from the centre of the feeding frenzy. All murderous activity stopped. Zorgs covered in each other's blood fell to their knees facing a much larger, similarly bloody specimen, standing in their midst. The only sound was the breathless snorting of individuals after the exertion, apparently called to their senses by the dominant one, as the Gaian influence wore off despite all efforts to regain it.

  The Elite, knew their mind-magic was
finished until they were able to rest. They were as exhausted as if they had been in hand-to-hand combat.

  Nevertheless, Xandor regrouped the Gaian archers for another possible attack on the enemy, and Stolis ordered the mounted contingent to stand ready. Through the ranks, apprehension deepened.

  From their vantage point, the Baramese could see the enemy mob, but it was impossible to tell in the melee of carcasses, body parts and those now kneeling amongst it, how many remained. The dominant Zorg towered over all the others who were now prone in submission; it turned slowly, nostrils sniffing up to the breeze.

  Gaians deliberately eddied the wind; they were puzzled how the monster had any hope of detecting a scent other than the nauseating coppery stench of blood. Perplexed by a total lack of emotion in the Zorg mind, the percipient warriors could only see the mind of a predator.

  Danger!

  The giant stopped sniffing, bellowed and raised a meaty finger to point . . . directly at their position.

  Xandor hurried towards his friends and the three shared a worried look.

  “What now, brothers? Something has gone wrong!” They had to act. Even he could feel success wavering in the breeze; the twist of uncertainty in his gut brought to mind the Battle of the Fires, when they had doubted victory.

  “Where, in all the hells, is Lord Luminor?”

  Dak and Sumar exchanged glances. That neither could sense him at such a time was nothing new: it was his habit to go off alone to summon his energy before battle, but his timing was always perfect. There was something wrong. Both were already poised to take flight before Sumar replied.