Authors: Ronan Frost
The numbers in the League had steadily diminished
after the Locantar's disappearance for many currach had been
extremely affected by the old man's preachings and left discretely
into the night. Shata found himself cursing the passive nature of
the currach race for he had lost more than half of his 'army' in
one night.
Shata was snapped from his reverie by a shout. "They
are positioned, sir!"
Looking, Shata saw another brief yellow flash on the
plainlands below. It was the signal from the Jargoon group,
striking together flint to form a spark.
"It is time," Shata breathed. "Order the drummers to
begin."
Parshan ran back to his tosutri and rummaged for a
second in the saddlebags. He returned with two pieces of heavy
rocks in each fist which he struck, letting the spark fall to a wad
of rags which had been wrapped about the head of a long pole.
Parshan held the flaming torch above his head and swung it back and
forth.
Almost immediately the loud, heavy beating of the war
drums started around them. The drummers had been placed all around
the valley, a score of huge drums manned by the Leagesmen. And now
the heavy beating fell into a rhythm, the groups of drummers
matching beats, vibrating the earth with the primitive tones. It
was hoped the sound would not only signal Priar and Criox to
release the gas but would also confuse the Sunlords. The drums were
placed such that for anyone standing in the city it would be
impossible to tell from which direction it came.
"Shata! News!"
The leader looked up, startled. He saw a messenger
emerge from the dusk, running low and fast, shouting as he ran.
"Shata, I'm from the scout group."
"What are you doing here?"
"The currach, Shata," breathed the messenger, resting
his hands upon his knees. "We found where the Sunlords are keeping
the people."
"Who, who do you mean?"
"The ones who lived in the city, Shata. We were
moving up westwards when we spotted six huge steel things. The two
of us investigated it. The things were cages holding all the
currach."
Shata-Bera swirled. "They live! Okay," he motioned
broadly with a sweep of his hand. "We'll free them as soon as the
city is secured." A blaze of light shone in his eye. "Now we shall
see the Councillors relying upon us."
Black surrounded him as he stumbled up the steep
stairs. His breath was ragged, torn, his lungs burning as he ran
upwards through the darkness, leather shoes flapping against the
stone.
At last Criox reached the top of the flight of stairs
and paused for a moment to regain his breath, waiting for his heart
to calm.
It had been close. He had barely managed to slip past
the two Sunlords who had been patrolling the base of the stairs.
Criox cursed his stupidity in mistiming his leap - a mistake which
had very nearly cost his life.
Not that it meant anything now, he thought. I'm going
to be dead soon anyway. Criox patted the inside of his vest to feel
the bulk of the canister. Still there.
He had caught his breath, so he pushed onwards once
again. He was behind schedule after his unexpected encounter so
would have to make up for lost time. Criox ran down the corridor of
the old currach building, keeping tight to the wall. A sharp right,
and he was out into the open night air once again, the stars cold
and small overhead and an icy wind in his face. He did not pause as
he ran along the parapet of the city wall.
Then he was there. He ducked low, eyes roaming. The
main gates were below where the Sunlords had set up a large
guarding force. Criox squinted into the darkness and noticed the
Sunlords had erected sheets of silver over the central city
courtyard, forming some sort of massive tent. The strange material
billowed and rippled, flashing silver. The walls were also covered
with the same fabric, forming a shelter fifty metres wide. Criox
found the changes hard to interpret. The Sunlords' tents lay in the
very place religious ceremonies for Abas were held. Criox
remembered many times in his childhood he had joined his family in
the weekly homage to Abas in the Church courtyard.
Looking closer, Criox saw through the open doorway of
the tent, noticing something was stacked in ranks like...like
hammocks. As he watched movement stirred within one of the hammocks
closest to the door.
Criox stared, incredulous with his discovery. He was
sure now. The tent was filled with sleeping Sunlords! While half of
the army guarded, the other half must be resting for the work that
lay ahead. The door to the tent lay wide open as heavily armoured
Sunlords strode in and out, their huge machine guns slung casually
over one shoulder. It seemed they were not expecting an attack.
Criox fell back. He knew that if he dropped the
canister of gas he would not only kill the guards near the gate, he
would also wipe out half the Sunlord force. He had no doubt the gas
could do that. Criox paused, confused. He should be elated - this
should be a victory. Here he was, single handedly tipping the
balance in the League's favour.
But his heart was heavy. Criox withdrew the canister
from inside his vest and turned the crudely shaped glass jar over
in his hands. He was silent, eyes half closed. Thoughts ran through
his mind, and he finally pinned down the source of his discomfort.
He couldn't bring himself to kill the Sunlords.
Stirred into action only by horrendous events
Criox now found his true nature had been exposed, the false layer
of rage pulled away to reveal the kind hearted currach interior -
the heart that had seen seasons pass slowly and contentedly,
watching children grow with soft eyes. He had come to the League
red with fury, seeking revenge for atrocities done to his family.
Now the blindness of rage had faded and he saw the stupidity of his
actions. Sure, the training had been fine. Stabbing a pile of hay,
cursing for all you were worth, but still the memory of his gaining
entrance to the city burned into the forebrain. When Criox had seen
the blood flowing from the mouth of that poor boy all thoughts of
revenge bled from his brain. That poor, stupid boy who had stood in
the shadows making it seem like he was a Sunlord...
Criox looked upon the courtyard and all too
vividly imagined the greeny red blood of the Sunlords caking on
their armoured suits, visors cracked open as the gas spilled in,
rippling their faces in blisters.
The moment was upon him, Criox knew he could not do
it. He could not kill.
Criox raised his head, wanting to look away from the
tablet of gas in his hands. He saw the Sunlords moving in and out
of their tent, saluting as they passed each other. They were alive,
breathing. If he took their lives surely he would be no better than
they.
Then he heard the beating of drums in the distance.
The signal.
Slowly, deliberately, Criox lay the canister gently
at his feet, watching it unblinkingly, a small glimmer in the
corner of his facetted eye betraying his emotions.
The black-clad currach motioned a greeting as a rider
advanced. The tosutri cantered to a halt and the rider dismounted
smoothly. The rider ran forward and it was only then that the
Jargoon group leader recognised him.
"Shata! What are you doing here?"
Shata-Bera cocked his machine gun with a click-clack.
"I'm going in with you, Forshan."
The group leader had no time for comment. Shata
strode past him, and he followed, unslinging his rifle from his
shoulder. Shata eyed the city walls. The black face was only
one-hundred metres away and from this distance individual details
could be made out.
"The gas should be starting to dissipate now."
Forshan nodded. "It is time for us to move now. The
gates should be open by the time we reach them. We've got to be
quick if we want to catch them off guard."
The Jargoon group picked itself away from the hollow
it sheltered in and moved as a tight group across the final
distance. There were almost ninety currach in the group. At the
head was Shata-Bera and the Karita - those warriors with firearms
in the lead. The main fighting force were armed with lances and
clubs, and ten archers brought up the rear, their forest longbows
standing almost as tall as themselves.
Then they were at the gate. Shata held up a fist,
signalling them to stop. He motioned for the Jargoon group
leader.
"I can't hear anything," commented Shata.
"Is that good or bad? The gas may not have reached
the Sunlords yet. Either that, or they're all dead already."
"There is no time to ponder - we'll have to take the
chance. Bring the oil."
Silently and wordlessly Forshan approached the
looming oaken doors of the city, an aide following closely. Forshan
helped the later to remove the bulky backpack he carried.
"Careful with that," Shata whispered harshly. The
backpack contained containers of oil - the fuel the currach used to
light lamps and the like. Reaching up as high as possible Forshan
and his assistant moved quickly to douse the gate liberally with
the liquid.
Shata moved his pointed finger through the group,
beckoning aside his Karita.
"The rest of you get back," he growled. Shata turned
to the five Karita at his side. "Give the fire a chance to weaken
the wood - and then blast it."
All the Karita nodded affirmative. Shata motioned to
Forshan.
"Do it."
The wall of light struck them like a physical blow.
It shocked Shata even though he had braced himself as the oil
ignited with a loud whoomp! The darkness blew away under the
assault of light and heat and the air beat with the crackle of
flame. The Karita took an involuntary step backwards, eyes
shielded. Only Shata stood his ground as the wave of heat washed
over. His finger found the trigger and he aimed the wide muzzle of
the semi-automatic at the centre of the gate.
Sparks flew as Shata's gunfire pounded into the
fire-weakened hardwood. Seconds later the heavy rattling of the
Karita's fire echoed his. Their aim wandered over the gate, washing
it with a spray of bullets. The gate buckled inwards, hesitated,
then finally gave way. The lower half of the door collapsed, smoke
billowing, splinters flying.
The Jargoon group leapt through the still-burning
gash like circus animals leaping through a loop of fire. Forshan
was the first to dive through. After an instant of searing heat the
group leader was past, hitting the ground, rolling and recovering
with sword poised. A split second later the top of his head was
cleanly removed, spinning his body around, blood splattering in a
wake behind like a burst water balloon.
Heavy gunfire tore the earth at Shata's feet as he
ran, zigzagging wildly, making for cover. His finger was planted on
the trigger, his head on the ground in front, not looking where he
was firing. He shot wildly, blazing crazily as he ran.
The others of the Jargoon group fanned out from the
opening in the gate, confused as deadly gunfire rained around them.
Companions to the right and left stumbled, cast backwards as enemy
fire found its mark.
Shata looked around, rage in his eyes. He had been
cut off from the rest. Their group had been dispersed - shattered
apart. They were under attack. There could be only one
explanation.
The gas had not worked.
The Sunlords were keeping under cover but Shata could
hear them. They shouted orders to each other in their guttural
language, their tones not mad with panic but commanding and in
control. Like an army should be.
Shata leapt from his cover and ran low across the
ground. Movement flashed ahead and he brought up his rifle and
squeezed off a round. The Sunlord fell backwards with a neat hole
in the centre of its forehead. Shata barely paused as he leapt over
the corpse, diving behind an old wagon for cover until he figured
out his situation.
Parshan sweated heavily beneath the heavy fabric of
his woollen mask. He pulled it off and threw it to the ground.
"Where's Shata?" he bawled to the Leaguesman closest
him.
The other shook his head. "Disappeared. Parshan, sir,
we can't win. The gas hasn't worked!"
Parshan slumped his back against the wall. Four other
Leaguesmen had managed to take cover alongside him, clumped
together in panic.
"We've got to get out of here," echoed the currach
archer. "We've lost each other - Abas knows what's become of the
rest of the Jargoon group. We've got to retreat!"
"Calm down," ordered Parshan wildly, his tone
wavering. He waved the muzzle of his rifle towards the shadows
behind. "Move back there. There's no chance of getting out the gate
now. We'll hole up here until we figure out what to do next."
The four Leaguesmen readily agreed. Now they knew
what to do they moved with purpose down the narrow space between a
building and the city wall. Parshan brought up the rear, guarding
their retreat with his rifle. He conserved his ammunition, waiting
for a Sunlord to show himself rather than firing wildly into the
smoke.
He was walking backwards when he bumped into the
Leaguesman before him.
"What is it now?" he cursed. "Why have we stopped?"
Parshan turned and froze, his fingers suddenly slippery with sweat,
a rush of blood filling his ears.
The Leaguesmen too had frozen. Very, very slowly
Parshan lowered his rifle to the ground. The Sunlord's voice was
mechanical and even.
"Drop your weapons."
The other Leaguesmen did so. Maces and knives fell to
the cobblestones with a clatter. Parshan found himself unable to
take his eyes from the huge bull-like figure of the Sunlord. It
held its rifle lowered threateningly, aimed directly at Parshan's
midsection.
"Move back into the courtyard," demanded the Sunlord
warrior.
The Leaguesmen stumbled backwards. The foremost of
them couldn't move quickly enough as he scrambled away from the
advancing Sunlord. In moments they had backed into the courtyard,
hands held high above their heads in the universal gesture of
surrender.