Authors: Ronan Frost
He gasped as a hand clenched his shoulder. He sat
upright, eyes wide, then relaxed as recognition dawned. "Locantar!
You made it."
The old man nodded gravely. When he spoke his
breathing was ragged, as if every breath tore at his lungs. "I got
away," he agreed.
Josian asked the question that had been bothering
him. "Did you kill the chemist?"
Locantar laughed mildly, and patted Josian on the
shoulder. "No, I would never do such a thing. No, all I did was
place my hand on his forehead, and his mind did the rest. He
obviously perceived me as one of the Church, and his guilt was so
great he forced his own mind into a twist. I would say he will
recover, but will have complete memory loss."
"You did all this with one touch?" Josian was
incredulous.
"No, the chemist did it himself. All I did was act as
a trigger."
Josian was silent, and simply closed his eyes and
felt himself slipping away, exhausted. So much had happened in
these past few hours - it was almost as bad as the first night the
Sunlords had come from the stars.
He opened one eye a crack and saw Locantar had
regained his footing, his black-clad form invisible against the
back drop of night. As he watched the old man seemed to straighten
his shoulders with new purpose.
"Where are you going?" croaked Josian.
Locantar turned, his eyes gleaming in the
starlight.
"To turn the children of Abas back to the path."
Josian was instantly alert. "You're going back?"
The blind man nodded gravely. "Now is the time when
my words will be most effective. Shata's camp is in disarray,
confidence is low. The people are beginning to wonder if they are
safe now that the illusion of solidarity is shattered."
"Illusion?"
Locantar nodded. "Shata draws them together by
confidence, they feel safe and protected in the League. Previously,
they thought nothing could touch them. Now I shall preach to them
and show them the error of their ways. The currach are not a
warlike people."
Josian slumped back, shaking his head. "I still can't
believe you're going to walk back into that swarming nest."
"You shall remain," motioned Locantar. "I need to go
alone."
Without another word the black figure had disappeared
as if sucked into thin air.
The only sounds Josian heard was the whispering of
the wind through the trees.
* * *
The light of pre-dawn cast a pale hue over the land,
lighting the plainlands and the surrounding cliff face in a soft
light. The sun had not yet broken the horizon, low clouds hugging
the mountains in the distance.
The camp moved with confused activity. Leaguesmen
gathered in groups, trying to piece together the happenings of the
night. Rumours circulated thick and fast and Shata was nowhere to
be seen. Some suggested that even Shata himself had been
killed.
Locantar stood on the lip of the cliff high above the
plainlands below, the entire camp spread out beneath his vantage
point. He leant on a branch peeled of the outer bark, the staff
giving him support.
Immobile, Locantar's form took on visibility as the
sun dawned before his white eyes and at last somebody below noticed
him. In seconds word had passed, fingers pointing upwards at the
proud old man atop the cliff. Although small with distance they
could see Locantar stood over them with authority, like a figure
head.
Four hundred pairs of eyes turned up as one to watch
him, dropping what they were carrying and stilling their
conversation. Another moment and a hushed silence settled over the
camp.
Locantar did not know, but Shata-Bera had once stood
as he did, almost on the same spot. Yet there were subtle
differences; Shata had spoken with the glowing embers of the
setting sun behind him and Locantar now faced the horizon where the
first rays of sunlight grew. The currach below looked up with awe,
deja-vu ringing through their minds as once again their attention
was held by the commanding figure atop the cliff.
"My people!" called Locantar, his voice strong. The
wind had stilled, as if nature herself was holding her breath. "Now
is the time for you to leave this place! The morning is the dawning
of consciousness, the time for you all to realise your folly. Have
you forgotten the teachings of Abas? How quickly you have all
fallen - fallen lower that the Sunlords that hunt us. You all have
dropped from the eyes of the Great One."
A ripple passed through the gathering. Angry glances
were passed, Leaguesmen muttering oaths beneath their breath.
"But there is a chance!" rang the strong voice from
above. "Leave now, and go back to your family, to your friends who
await you. And those without family are free to visit the Church
where we all shall draw from each other's courage."
Many of those below scoffed immediately, and most
turned away from the old man. Their lives had been in turmoil for
the past few weeks, and they simply had no families to return to.
They were alone in the world - that was why they had joined the
League.
Locantar sensed the crowd's reaction. "You shall all
have friends once more if you would only open your heart. I can
assure you once inside the walls of our city no harm shall come to
you."
A disgruntled muttering rippled over the Leaguesmen,
a wave of conversation quickly spreading. Most cursed angrily,
remembering the frustration they had felt when their farms, family
and lives had been stolen from under their nose. The Church hadn't
done a thing for them.
Then, from the tents at the base of the cliff,
Shata-Bera emerged. The leader unslung his rifle from his shoulder
and gripped the barrel with his strong left hand. The Leaguesmen
around silenced immediately and drew back like water beading from a
duck's back. Shata strode forward and caught sight of Locantar's
figure.
"Beason, Kalsak!" he called to his guards. "Kill that
man!"
The two Karita dropped to one knee and swung the
rifles to their eyes. Shata was the first to fire, his
semi-automatic Sunlord rifle blazing with yellow fire. Seconds
later the Karita's fire erupted, adding to the tumult of shattering
noise that echoed from the cliff. The Leaguesmen drew back, hands
held over their ears, as wild explosions cracked the stillness of
dawn.
But Locantar's form did not seem affected. He simply
raised his arms, his wooden staff held high, and spoke louder than
the fire of guns.
"I shall return," shouted the old man, his voice
ringing across the plains. A wind picked up the hem of his cloak,
making the black material billow out. "Take warning, and leave
now!"
Then he was gone, simply withdrawn back away from the
edge.
Shata cursed lividly and lowered his rifle, shouting
his frustration. He ordered his Karita officers to scale the cliff,
but in his heart he knew it was too late. He swirled, bringing the
butt of his rifle around, striking a nearby Leaguesmen across the
chin. The blow cast the unfortunate currach back, blood flying from
the jaw.
The crowd immediately drew back to give Shata room,
the gap opening before him and closing behind as he strode through
to the centre of the gathering. He held his rifle high in his left
hand, shaking it angrily at the sky.
"Close your ears to the mongrel!" he shouted once in
the middle of the now silenced crowd. "He is nothing more than a
worm! Now, return to your work - training starts now."
The Leaguesmen drew back, dispersing slowly to go
about the morning chores, faces reflecting confusion and
uncertainty, suddenly not sure if they were doing the right
thing.
Shata's hunchback adviser, Mosata, scrambled to his
side, his small eyes scrupulously scanning for any signs of
defection.
"Do you think the old fool may have gotten through to
them?"
Shata laughed and slapped Mosata on the back. "These
currach are made of sterner stuff than that. These are the people
who have narrowly escape death, and have seen the death of their
fellows. So much so they are prepared to die. No, Mosata, these
people are more firmly committed than that."
Mosata nodded uncertainly. "I hope you're right,
master."
Shata sat cross-legged before a crackling fire, the
smoke drifting gently out the smoke hole in the roof. He looked
sharply up as the flap of the tent was thrown open.
"Mosata," he greeted as the hunchback bowed in his
presence. "Come, take a seat."
Mosata did so, his beady eyes wandering about the
tent impatiently. "I can't believe it! The very nerve of that old
fool. I don't know how he escaped!"
Shata-Bera shook his head solemnly. "I entrusted his
imprisonment to you, Mosata. I hope you don't fail me again."
Mosata grumbled and twisted his hands anxiously. "I
shall not, master."
"What of the gas?" asked Shata suddenly. "Have you
failed me on that account too?"
The hunchback raised his head, a sly grin across his
face. "No, master. As you know, the chemist is nothing more than a
blithering idiot and his equipment is a shambles, but with care I
managed to find a few bottles of the stuff."
Shata's wide gemlike eyes lit up. "Where?"
Mosata opened up the inside of his cloak and withdrew
a long, narrow glass jar. The jar was crudely made and its walls
thick, but it served the purpose. A cork was jammed in the opening,
sealing the green tinged gas inside.
"This is enough to kill a thousand Sunlords in a
confined space," he grinned. "And I have five more in my tent. It
is more than enough for our purposes."
Shata grinned and took the bottle from Mosata's
hands. The glass was cool to the touch, and he held up it up look
at it through the light.
"You have done well." He noticed the way small
swirling patterns formed in the bottle as he moved, watching with
eyes hungry for revenge. "Beautiful..."
Chapter Twelve
Union of Giants.
An empire founded by war has to maintain itself by
war.
- Baron De Montesquieu.
Admiral Karthorn leant back in the padded
acceleration chair, his broad hands clasped behind his thick bull
like neck. He sat before an array of computer screens, the closest
to him lit with the visage of Avatar.
"Have you cornered the rats yet?" the Admiral
asked.
"In good time, sir," returned Avatar. The screen to
the left suddenly winked into life, showing a black and white
image, four figures distinguishable from the shadows. A white line
of code flashed on and off briefly as the Admiral watched.
"The security bug caught them at 1834 hours,"
reported Avatar.
Karthorn leant forward on the narrow desk to better
scrutinise the fuzzy image. He could make what looked like shadowy
pipes in the background, static dancing across the screen
intermittently.
"Where are they?"
"Electrical storage bay 19. They're sitting on high
voltage cables - and that's disrupting the transmission a little."
As Avatar spoke the image switched to infra-red, a humanoid life
form standing out as a red and yellow splotch amongst the shielded
pipes. Close by were small, pale blue figures moving close by, and
the Admiral knew these must be the natives. He wondered briefly why
they were so cold blooded, for even the sensitive scanners barely
detected their heat patterns.
"What are you waiting for?" growled Karthorn. "Kill
them."
"I have decided to wait," countered Avatar smoothly.
"They're in the centre of a main power complex. It could cause
difficulties if damage should come to them. Besides, they're just
sitting there. In time they will have to move, and then the sniper
droids will strike."
"They may damage the lines now," mused Karthorn,
running his fingers through short cropped hair. "I don't like
intruders just sitting contentedly on my ship."
"I'm watching them closely - as soon as they even
attempt to cut a circuit the droids will be upon them. I have
ordered the droids to wait. It will save any complications that may
arise."
"What sort of damage did they cause in the med
blocks?"
Four of the screens on the upper row flashed into
life, showing the smouldering ruins of a room from all angles. The
thick smoke had already cleared and a team of droids were already
cleaning up the mess.
"Nothing severe. Crewman 09347-222 was the only fatal
casualty, although soldier 15432-0 has suffered some sort of mental
condition. The med crews are working on him right now..." Another
previously black screen now showed a birds eyes view of a white
room, a naked Hartrias warrior upon a stretcher in the centre.
Various cords and leads lead into his exposed brain and delicate
hand like robots cut away further scalp tissue.
Karthorn brushed this aside. "Equipment losses?"
"All minor, although a full listing will be logged
for your inspection. That particular med room should be up and
running in an hour."
Admiral Karthorn nodded briskly. He swivelled on his
chair and stood quickly. A short walk and he descended some black
metal stairs, to be before the massive panel below the main
viewport. A smaller screen to the side blinked into life, and
Karthorn was again confronted by Avatar's presence.
"Dispatch a message pod to the Kingdom," ordered the
Admiral, reseating himself in the command chair. "Report all losses
and current situation."
The signal would be passed through an open jumptunnel
to reach the Kingdom flagship that lay more than fifteen light
years distant in less than five minutes. Barely had the technician
put through the message did the control board before him flash.
Avatar reacted quicker.
"Incoming ship, sir."
Karthorn immediately picked up. His narrow eyes
thinned. "Status?"