by GARY DARBY
The young warrior bowed his head and brought both palms to his chest in crossed fashion, the traditional greeting of a novice warrior to a Sha’anay elder.
“And who is this?” Tor’al asked.
The youngster hesitated, not only awed to be in the presence of Tor’al of the Seventh Sword but that Tor’al had actually spoken to him.
“Speak, novice,” A’kan commanded. “Or did you forget to bring your tongue with you?”
“I greet Tor’al,” the young Sha’anay answered. “Esteemed elder of the House of Tor’al, Sha’anay warrior, Son of the Seventh Sword. I am El’am, Sha’anay novice of Na’thic’s House, he who is of the Sixth Sword.”
“Na’thic!” Tor’al rumbled. “I had not heard he had planeted with us.” His laugh came from deep in his throat and was meant to be an affectionate offering as befitted an old friend. “So that old swayback still tries to train a novice.”
He reached a hand up and used A’kan’s outstretched arm to leverage himself to his feet. Swaying on unsteady legs, Tor’al straightened himself before he turned toward El’am.
“If you learn to be half as great a warrior as my old and good friend Na’thic, you will make your mentor and the Sha’anay proud.”
With a puzzled expression, he turned to A’kan. “But if the novice is here, where is the master?”
A’kan took in a deep breath and bowed his head. “Elder Tor’al,” he began in a mournful rumble, “the Remembrance Song has been sung, and our swords have rung out three times for Elder Na’thic.”
Tor’al sucked in a deep breath, his eyes turning sad and mournful. He brought out his two swords, crossed them in front of his large chest, and rang them together three times in salute and tribute to Na’thic.
He turned to El’am. “I sorrow for your—our loss, novice. Never forget your good and honorable teacher. He was an indomitable warrior, noble leader among the Sha’anay, and faithful friend to my House and to me.”
Tor’al sighed before saying, “Life goes on, and so must we.”
He returned his swords to their casings and said, “A’kan, Mo’sar, do you have communications with Som’al?”
Both shook their heads before Mo’sar said, “Not since a few hours before sunrise. It is as we have seen before; it may be the work of the lifeless ones.”
“That is unfortunate,” Tor’al responded, “for I have news for her. The three that escaped are dead.”
A’kan stepped closer to Tor’al. “That is both good and bad news, elder. How?”
With swiftness, Tor’al recounted Dason’s story and then said, “In your search for me, perchance did you come across any more of these aliens that call themselves human?”
“No,” A’kan answered, before saying, “we have only seen the ones taken to the A’Gesi.”
Tor’al’s mouth turned downward, and his shoulders sagged. “That is unfortunate,” he let out a long breath, “I had hoped . . .”
He stood silent before saying, “Let us go, we have spent too much time talking, and there is work to do.”
A’kan turned to Tor’al and said, “Elder, do you intend to make for the A’Gesi?”
“Where else?” Tor’al grunted.
A’kan glanced over at Mo’sar before saying, “With your permission, Mo’sar and I would go in another direction.”
Tor’al cocked his head to one side. “And why is that?” he asked.
A’kan raised a hand in the rising sun’s direction, his eyes as bright as the glowing orb. “Because we may have located the downed Mongan warship.”
In an instant, Tor’al’s eyes widened and he asked eagerly, “Do you know of a surety where it lies? Is it the one damaged in the battle?”
“Its precise location, no,” A’kan replied. “But we have seen several Mongan wolf packs pass through this area,” he turned to point, “and they always come from a particular direction.”
Tor’al rumbled deep in his chest. “And they would no doubt take the shortest route from their ship’s lair to their hunting grounds and back.”
“Yes, that is our thought, too,” A’kan replied.
Tor’al frowned while saying, “You stated that we still have not been able to repair a Rau’ver sky craft. How soon until one is available for flight?”
“I do not know for sure,” A’kan replied. “The one that worked for a short time is still not operating. At last word Ki’mi Som’al was trying to cannibalize from those craft that were more damaged.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Too much was destroyed in the crash so the work goes very slow.”
“So we would have to trail-walk,” Tor’al mused aloud. “I wonder, just how far does this possible Mongan ship lie?”
A’kan paused while his eyes glanced down at the crumbled leaves and swirls in the soft dirt. Tor’al noted the warrior’s hesitation, recognized the expression on the younger warrior’s face.
Sharply, he voiced, “A’kan, I can hold my own. I am hurt, not dead.”
A’kan snapped his head up. “My apologies, elder. If our trail pace were fast and hard, a day, perhaps two, if we did not encounter significant obstacles.”
“And would we be the only ones searching for this ship?”
“No,” A’kan answered. “The other party that was sent to search for you will also look for the ship, but they are farther away; we are the closest to where we believe it sits.”
“And I take it we have not had word from the other search party, either?” Tor’al asked.
A’kan shook his head. “We have not heard from them since just after sunset, yesterday.”
His eyes grew hard. “It well could be communications. Or,” he said, turning and gesturing at the carcasses, “their work.”
Tor’al turned his own hard eyes on the dead canines before saying, “Then let us pray we do not meet the same fate.”
He motioned to the others and instructed, “We will search for the Mongan ship. Since my communicator is unreliable, continue to try to raise Som’al with yours.
“Make her aware of our intentions and that if she can get a sky craft up and working, we would be obliged for it to pick us up. If not,” he shrugged, “then it is a good thing we have sturdy boots, yes?”
Tor’al glanced around and asked, “So, A’kan in which direction do we set our faces?”
A’kan gestured toward the rising sun. “There, for now,” he replied.
“Good,” Tor’al replied. “Then an early morning stroll it shall be.”
He started to take a step and a wave of dizziness swept over him while he swayed on his feet. A’kan put out a furred hand to steady him. Tor’al brushed the hand away and growled, “Let me be; it will pass.”
Meeting A’kan’s eyes, he said, “I see that look, A’kan.” He paused. “And you are right, I am still weak from my injuries. But I will not be left behind.”
A low rumble accompanied his words as he gestured with one big hand toward the two warriors. “You and Mo’sar push ahead. The cub will stay with me. Leave trail markers to guide us.”
He paused again and then said, “And since we are to be trail mates, we will dispense with clan formalities.” He waved a hand at A’kan and Mo’sar and said, “To you, I am Tor’al.”
He looked at El’am and said, “And when you have proven yourself, you may call me Tor’al, but for now, it is elder or Elder Tor’al to you.”
All three bowed their heads in respectful agreement as Tor’al went on and said in a stern tone to A’kan and Mo’sar, “If you locate the Mongan ship, and it is truly on the ground, it may well be that you will try to board and capture.”
The growl in this throat was almost a snarl. “But do not be so hasty that you lose tactical surprise. If Som’al cannot reinforce you, then wait for the cub and me. Do you understand?”
Both gave sharp nods in quick concurrence. “Good,” Tor’al acknowledged. “Now, do either of you have a spare ta-gun for me?”
“No,” A’kan replied for the two of them. “T
he crash destroyed too many, and there were no spares to be had before we set out.”
Tor’al shrugged and turned to El’am. “Then cub, we will have to make do with just yours.”
He jutted his chin outward in the direction of their travels. “A’kan and Mo’sar, lead out; we will follow.”
A’kan and Mo’sar pivoted and in a weaving jog, made their way around the thick grove’s periphery. The dense layer of purplish leaves muffled their steps. The shafts of light from the rising sun spotlighted their forms as they moved from shadow to dusky sunshine.
Tor’al turned his head to El’am. “Let us go, cub,” he directed in a low, husky voice, “And may the shadows of death stay off our path that we may again sit at the clan fire.”
The two paced off through the forest, following the two warriors.
Tor’al asked El’am, “What rations do you carry? Two days without food causes my body to ache more.”
Reaching into his side pack, El’am held up a small, reddish brown slice of gritty flesh. “Just a few trail rations, elder,” he replied.
“Ki’mi Som’al gave what little of the shipboard rations were left after the fire to the wounded and ordered us to find what food we could on the march.”
Tor’al reached for the offering and worried at it before he worked off a small piece. With some distaste, he chewed on the meat and acknowledged, “She was correct, the wounded cannot do as we and hunt for our own meals.”
He eyed the remaining portion and muttered as he slipped it into a side pack, “But, bony, dehydrated Sturfish does little to ease hunger pangs.”
El’am wrinkled his nose and replied, “Aye elder, it is but little more than bones and fins. No meat.”
“True, but real hunger makes even a single piece a rich stew.” Tor’al lowered his voice. “We speak too much. Trail quiet youngster, and keep your sword hand ready. There are dangers enough on this planet.”
He gave El’am a thin smile. “Hopefully the sounds of my growling stomach won’t alert a nearby enemy.”
Following the trail markers left by A’kan and Mo’sar, Tor’al and the cub made their cautious way through the forest. By early afternoon, the groves thinned and a line of hills appeared ahead.
Keeping a wary eye out, the two skirted a thicket of amber-colored bushes interspersed with tall, willowy trees with bulbous coral-colored pods that hung almost to the ground.
Without a sound, Tor’al whipped a hand around to stop El’am in his tracks.
He pulled the youngster down into a clump of bushes. He cupped a hand around one of his pointed ears. El’am’s eyebrows rose and he nodded. He too heard the plaintive bleating that came from just beyond the tree line.
Motioning for El’am to stay low and quiet, Tor’al edged forward until he knelt behind an earthen berm crowned by several thin trees. He gestured for the cub to join him.
He and El’am eased their heads up to peer over the embankment. A small field, covered in stubby yellowish grass lay just beyond. However, it was the animal that wobbled in the field’s middle that riveted their attention.
A deer fawn mottled in dark and light straw-colored patches attempted to stand, only to fall forward into the grass.
The creature tried to raise itself on broken and split hind legs, and sounded a plaintiff wail. Congealed blood on the splintered bones had turned its camouflaged covering into dark stains that stood out in the saffron-tinted grass.
“Meat,” El’am whispered and started to draw a sword.
Tor’al reached out and pushed the cub’s hand away from his scabbard. He made the sign for quiet. He then took a finger and drew four symbols in the berm’s soft, crumbling earth.
Look
Listen
Learn
Live
These were the first injunctions given to a novice warrior from the Sha’anay Code of Battle and which their sword masters ingrained into their training and mentality from the very beginning.
El’am nodded that he understood. For several minutes, the two watched the little animal try to stand, only to fall again. Then at the meadow’s far end, Tor’al spotted a small movement and pointed it out to El’am.
Moments later, a larger deer creature took one cautious step after another into the meadow, its nose raised into the air, trying to catch the scents carried on a little breeze.
Tor’al whispered, “The mother.”
The female deer placed one cautious hoof at a time into the meadow, natural wariness overcoming its desire to run to the stricken fawn’s aid. The baby deer must have caught the other animal’s movement for it turned with an awkward stumble toward the female.
The doe took several more steps toward her fawn and was almost nose to nose when the vicious attack came without warning.
Chapter Three
Star date: 2443.065
The Alpha Prime Planet, the Helix Nebula
Gripping El’am by the arm, Tor’al pulled him away from the gruesome scene. The plaintive, terrified bleating stopped, replaced by a rattling, gurgling death sound.
Crouching, and with soft steps, the two jogged up a small ravine that appeared to lead toward a pass through the hills. They stayed silent and on the move until they reached a sharp rise that marked the climb’s beginning through the peaks.
His breath coming fast and hard from the exertion, Tor’al slowed to a walk and glanced back down the trail but saw no movement.
“I do not believe they follow,” El’am said in a quiet voice and turned to scan their upward route, which led through a series of rounded knolls that rose in height until they melded into a sharp ridgeline high above their heads.
Tor’al nodded in agreement. “No, they are too busy feeding.”
“Elder,” El’am asked, “how did you know? How did you know it was a trap set by the devil dogs?”
Tor’al did not answer right away but kept walking until he found a suitable place to stop. A line of craggy boulders and stubby golden bushes offered a measure of cover. Weary, he lowered himself to the rock and eased himself into a comfortable position.
“I had but recently finished my novice time, gone through the new warrior rite, when I planeted with several of my clan warriors on an uninhabited world that had drawn the Mongans’ attention.
“I became separated from my clansmen but then I heard shouting some distance away. I ran toward the sounds.
“When I crested a small hill, I saw Ul’ru, a new warrior such as me, lying in the open. He was trying to raise himself, but his legs were mangled and would not bear his weight.”
Tor’al took a deep breath and continued in a low voice. “I started to shout that I was coming when Gor’na, our leader, came into view. He ran to Ul’ru and tried to lift Ul’ru to his feet or perhaps to carry him.”
His voice became hard. “That was when the wolf fiends attacked.”
Tor’al kicked at several smooth stones that littered the ground and sent them spinning and rolling down the ravine.
“I sprinted as fast as I could, firing my weapon. Other warriors heard too and joined in the fight, but we were too late for both Gor’na and Ul’ru.”
El’am was quiet for some time before he said, “I don’t understand, elder. These are mere animals, how are they able to do such things?”
“Animals only in a certain way,” Tor’al grunted. “And remember who created them, who trains them, and who are their masters.
“That is why you must never underestimate the dogs or what they are capable of doing. If you do, then it may be you who next lies gravely wounded in the center of a meadow.”
Tor’al rose. “Come, we must go. The sun lowers and we must make at least the crest of the pass before nightfall.”
The Sha’anay warrior marched forward, wincing in pain with every step, but resolute in his determination to find the Mongan ship.
He had survived the fall but at a cost to muscle and bone. His head still throbbed and his insides felt as if his whole clan had jumped on his mi
d section, but to find such a treasure as a Mongan vessel would be worth every painful step, every grating breath.
Still, he was not able to maintain his normal pace, and he knew the young cub chafed at having to move so slowly. Still, it was a good lesson in patience for the novice warrior, though Tor’al doubted the youngster saw it that way.
The upward grade through the pass became steeper and Tor’al could feel his already weak legs grow even more so. He stopped to catch his breath and rest, when El’am approached and held out a head-high stout branch.
Tor’al stared at the offering with pinched lips. Respectfully, El’am stated, “To make the going easier.”
“Humph,” Tor’al growled. “I suppose the next thing you offer me will be a push-seat that you will stand behind to shove me the rest of the way?”
“Oh no, elder,” El’am replied in a dutiful tone. “It would not be one for me to push; I would at least find one that was powered. Perhaps one that you could operate yourself. With suitable training, of course.”
Tor’al peered at the young warrior whose bright eyes held just a hint of humor. Tor’al couldn’t help himself and his stern manner gave way to a hearty laugh.
He grabbed at the tree limb. “Give me that!” he barked, and in playfulness shook the stick at the cub.
“And if you do find a motorized push-seat, make sure it has plush pads, climate control, and a meat holder with nothing but the choicest cuts!”
“As you wish, elder,” El’am laughed in return.
Tor’al gave the youth a rough slap on the back and started the wearying slog upward again.
After some time, with the sun lowering in the sky, El’am came close to Tor’al and asked, “Elder, are you all right? You seem preoccupied. You did not see the furred creature that watched us from the heights above.”
“Eh,” Tor’al said and glanced around. “What creature? I see nothing.”
“It has gone, but watched us for several minutes,” El’am explained. “I do not think it is dangerous, merely curious because it turned and ran in the opposite direction.”
Tor’al let out a breath. “You are right, I was deep in thought and not paying attention. It is well that you have good eyes and ears for the two of us. Let us rest for a few minutes.”
