From: Clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk (Clive May)
Subject: Desert Of Fear new installment. 2/2
Date: Sat, 23 Nov 2002 22:25:55 +0000 (UTC)
Hi
Desert Of Fear - new instalment - 2/2.
This section has been compiled from passages by Ken Young and Clive May.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: "Ken Young"
Subject: Next bit
Date: 07 November 2002 16:57
Servii City main temple.
[ The Priest looked up from a stone tablet he was reading as the
Acolyte entered. ]
Priest " Acolyte Borad, you have been prompt. "
Borad " I do my best, Holiness . "
Priest " Borad , the signs say the Spellcaster has returned. This is
both a peril and a chance to reclaim the Vale. "
Borad " Peril, Holiness? "
Priest " The Prophecies say that he would return to fulfil his
obligation, which means that there is a chance Snout Face can get
free. Anyway the seers say he has landed in the High Desert, you are
to go with a patrol and contact him. "
Borad " I am honoured, Holiness. "
Priest " It is hardly an honour. You are the only person senior
enough to know the full story of the binding and fit enough to keep up
with a warrior patrol. You are to guide the Spellcaster to the Vale
avoiding this city if at all possible. Remember the Spellcaster's
contract is with the Land not the Servii. "
Borad " Yes, Holiness. "
Priest " Now go your patrol awaits. "
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Clive May.
Date: 21 November 2002.
The half seen host came on in silence, throwing out wings left and right,
threatening to encircle the small knot of Servii and Skyborn. As it moved
through the dappling of sunlight, coarse fur flared golden.
"Ape vermin," Jaskah growled.
At some silent command, the apes halted twenty yards away. The creatures
formed an ill-disciplined line, three ranks deep. They stretched in a semi
circle, barring the way north to the Edge of the World. Usually noisy and
quarrelsome, their silence was unsettling.
To the south, the jungle remained empty of the creatures; but that was one
road Ghorlok would leifer not have to tread, for it meant moving nearer to
the Lord's rotting city. Every step in that direction increased the peril to
Xel, and through her, the very existence of the world.
All the Servii drew sabres. They moved apart, giving themselves room to
swing their long cavalry weapons. Only one had clung onto a firearm during
the flight from the avalanche. His name was War Captain Shizaan. He was a
shorter than average specimen, standing at the far left of the line. The
flintlock pistol remained stuck through his sword belt; he disdained to use
his one shot on such an unworthy target as a Golden Ape.
The Apes fingered their crude weapons. They bared impressive fangs at the
Servii, who, not to be out-done, returned the compliment with an equally
impressive array.
Marduk rose from where he had crouched beside Geta, and moved over to stand
with the Servii. He positioned himself beside Ghorlok at the centre, and
drew the dagger from the boot sheath.
Ghorlok grinned down at the smaller man. "Ho! Skyborn!" he rumbled, amused
despite the desperate situation. "This be fighting hand to hand, and fang to
fang, as we Groundhogs fight. There be no cowardly soaring in safety on-high
upon the backs of thy great birds. Here thou fightest toe to toe, with the
reek of thy enemies scorching in thy nostrils. There be no wings to bear
thee to safety when the enemy presses hard. Here thou must stand...Ay...And
fall beneath thy enemy's clubs and fangs if thy skill and strength be not
equal to the endeavour. Hast thou truly, Skyborn, the stomach for such
uncouth brawling as shalt be our joy erelong?"
Marduk flipped his useless pistol, and caught it by the barrel. He examined
the wall of apes with a cool scrutiny. "Just you take care to stay out of my
way when the fighting gets hot, Groundhog! Give me room, and observe how a
Skyborn fights - toe to toe and fang to fang."
"Well said, Skyborn," Ghorlok said, nodding his head approvingly. "Thy fangs
be blunt, and thy knife but a toothpick for a Servii cubling. Yet, by these
things be thy courage shown the greater. Stay close and protect my flank,
warrior!"
Marduk knew the Servii mind well enough to know what a signal honour he was
being accorded. Even Jaskah grinned, and shot him a side-long glance in
recognition.
The War Chief nodded his satisfaction. He turned away to scan the gloom far
back under the trees. He was growing more worried by the moment. They had
to be there; and if they did not reveal themselves soon, then this desperate
business moved from merely hopeless, to certain disaster. Suddenly, he
caught a tell-tale splash of red.
Making their way through the trunks on spindly Harvuks were two red robed
Priests of the Lord. They reined in behind their phalanx of guards. One
urged his mount forward a few yards. His bald head resembled a pale plum
from which all the juice had been sucked. Green fire blazed in the bulging
eyes. He lifted a hand, and pointed at the War Chief. Ghorlok felt the
touch of slimy fingers prying for an entry into his mind; but he knew well
that the Lord's influence upon the Servii kind was only possible face-to-face
where the Lord could bring his power to bear directly. Even knowing this,
Ghorlok still felt his skin crawl as claws of ice pried ineffectually at the
portals of his mind. The Priest turned his attention to Xel. Instantly, the
girl began thrashing wildly in Geta's embrace.
Ghorlok glanced back. The woman was holding her knife ready. Her face was
troubled.
Geta was fretting over what Ghorlok had told her of this frail-seeming child.
In her heart, she knew the beast man had spoken truthfully. Watching the
girl's writhing features, Geta found herself convinced that she did indeed
hold the future of her world in her hands.
If the matter was as dire as Ghorlok had insisted, then why had he left such
a life and death decision to her? She was a lowly Recon Scout. She wondered
whether she could do it? and what the consequences would be if she could
not? Goddess! She didn't want responsibility like this.
Looking up, Geta met Ghorlok's alien regard. She felt immediately comforted
by the trust she discovered there. It gave her new confidence in herself,
and steeled her resolve.
Not for nothing was War Chief Ghorlok a leader among the Servii.
The Priest dropped his hand and spoke. The voice issuing from the scrawny
throat had surprising power. "Surrender the Embodiment...And you may go
free."
Ghorlok turned from his scrutiny of Geta. He growled and signed to Shizaan
at the far left. The short Servii drew the pistol and fired. The crash of
the shot reverberated among the trunks. A jet of blue powder smoke fogged
the humid air; and the red priest went over backwards with a tiny cry.
Even before the figure had tumbled from the Harvuk, bedlam broke out. The
front rank of apes, about a hundred strong, let out a savage growling. They
surged towards the trapped Servii, gnashing teeth and raising their crude
weapons on high. The war cries of Ghorlok and his chief men shook the nearby
trees as they readied themselves to meet the charge.
The two sides came together in a snarling slashing frenzy of blades, clubs
and fangs. Blood spurted. Severed limbs and ape heads flew in all
directions as the Servii forged through the rank, intent on downing the
remaining Priest - for in that endeavour lay their only hope of salvaging
some honour from this perilous situation.
Observing through his Priest, the Lord of the Vale found himself in somewhat
of a dilemma. If he committed too many of his Priest's personal guard to
snatching the Embodiment, the Priest would be pulled down; and control of the
situation would be lost. At the same time, the Lord was desperate to secure
the Embodiment, now that it was almost within his grasp. Already, he was
summoning as many of his slaves in the immediate neighbourhood to encircle
the battleground.
There were also other considerations weighing heavily on his mind, diluting
his influence. Prime among these was the return of the Spellcaster, whose
arrival had been heralded by thunder and fire in the sky. The Time Lord who
was at that moment causing trouble somewhere below was only a marginally more
immediate problem. By an effort of will, he screened out these other
considerations, and concentrated on netting the Embodiment. He ordered a
sizeable detachment forward to surround and capture the Embodiment.
In the midst of the melee under the World's Edge, the Servii warriors
struggled on against the overwhelming odds, trying to fight their way to the
Priest. The press of bodies made progress difficult; but, conversely, it
prevented the apes from mounting a really effective defence, as they jostled
and shoved each other in their Lord inspired eagerness to get at the Servii.
A few yards from the savage fighting, Geta suddenly found herself the target
of a dozen apes, who were moving to snatch her and Xel. She was paralysed
with fear. Some sixth sense warning them of the danger, Marduk and Jaskah
fell back from the attack on the Priest. They interposed themselves between
the apes and Geta.
Jaskah let out a mighty bellow, and decapitated the first ape to come within
range. Two moved to come at him from either side. Marduk stepped in and
drove the knife into the throat of one whilst fending off the jaws with the
pistol. While Jaskah engaged the other, a third scuttled around and grabbed
Geta by her hair. It dragged her away from between her two protectors, and
raised its club to brain her. The attack broke Geta's thrall of terror.
Acting in a blind panic, she grabbed up a rock from the leaf litter. With a
yell, she smashed it into the gnashing jaws. The ape released her and
staggered back, blood pumping from its ruined mouth. It collided with
Jaskah, throwing him off balance. Staggered by the force of the collision,
Jaskah went down on one knee. As the ape reeled away, another leapt in to
finish Jaskah, club raised on high. From his kneeling position, Jaskah
struck upwards with the sabre into its belly. He ripped the blade down.
Blood and blue viscera spilled from the hideous wound. The ape's feet
tangled in its own entrails. Screaming in agony, it fell to all fours.
Marduk, on recovery from his assault on the other ape which had attacked
Jaskah, brained the fearfully wounded creature with the but of the pistol.
In the thick of the fighting around the Priest, Ghorlok and Shizaan hacked
down the Harvuk. Ghorlok took the scrawny priest about the neck, shortened
his grip on the sabre, and ran the struggling man through his chest.
Immediately, the directed fury of the apes evaporated. Now they pushed back,
more intent on staying clear of the Servii blades, than pressing home the
attack.
Ghorlok, using the dead priest as a shield, backed away from the aimlessly
milling creatures. He paused a moment to assess the situation. He saw in an
instant how hard pressed Jaskah and Marduk were. Pitching the dead priest at
the nearest apes, he hurled himself upon the creatures surrounding the
desperately battling trio.
"Victory to the Sacred Land," he bellowed, and cleanly decapitated an ape.
He shouldered the still standing body into another ape, blocking its attempt
to swing its club. Already, his bloody sword was through the body of
another. The apes were swiftly losing purpose without the scourge of the
Lord's will whipping them on.
"FLEE SKYBORN!" Ghorlok bellowed. "Hasten hence and carry to safety the
Mascot. Mine shall tarry here a-while and discourage these vermin. afore we
hasten in thy wake."
More apes closed in, goaded on now by the scent of blood, rather than the
Lord's will. They approached the ring of sabres about Geta with more
circumspection, snarling and chattering with rage.
White faced with terror, Geta obeyed Ghorlok's command in a blind panic. The
close up encounter with hand to hand combat had completely overthrown her
spirit. Clutching Xel, Geta went away through the trees like a gazelle.
Hard on her heels raced Marduk and Jaskah. As the Servii over took Geta, he
deftly took charge of her burden, and sped on ahead.
Relieved of their concern for the safety of their Mascot, Ghorlok and Shizaan
launched a furious assault. The pair waded in among the screaming creatures
who fell back from them. For half a minute, they cut and hacked at the apes
with gusto. Some vestige of the Lords purpose must have remained in the
creature's minds, for a large contingent broke away from the fight to shamble
in pursuit of the fleeing party.
Seeing this, Ghorlok disengaged. He took off in an earth shuddering sprint
to over take the group. Shizaan paused to take the head cleanly from an over
adventurous ape, before he too turned and dashed after his War Chief. Left
in possession of the field of battle, the apes roared in triumph. They began
to dismember the two Servii who had fallen in the fight.
Like a thunderbolt, Ghorlok and Shizaan struck the rear of the pursuing
group. The apes scattered, shrieking in panic, from the whirlwind of
slashing steel. The two Servii ran on to catch the others. They thundered
past the two Skyborn, who were rapidly falling behind Jaskah.
In moments, Ghorlok and Shizaan caught up to Jaskah. There was a brief
exchange of words, and all three Servii began curving to the east in an
attempt to circle around the main group of apes and win back to the Edge of
the World. Although Ghorlok was not certain what good that would do, as the
path they had descended was destroyed. The next path up the Edge was twenty
miles to the east. Doubtless, it would be heavily guarded. Still, they
would tackle that problem if and when it became necessary.
None of the Servii noticed when Geta, staggering with weariness, sank to the
forest floor; but the pursuing apes did. Hefting their clubs, they closed in
on the Skyborn woman, one thought consuming their savage minds - eat!
Marduk ran on for several dozen yards before he realised that Geta was no
longer at his shoulder. He pulled up short, kicking up a spray of detritus
from the jungle floor. He spun to see Geta's imminent peril, and knew that
he could not get there in time to help. He let out a despairing cry which
brought the attention of the Servii to the danger. The three Servii, almost
out of sight among the trees ahead, paused to see what was wrong. Marduk was
already running to Geta's aid, and so did not see the brief, but furious
argument which broke out between the three Servii, the outcome of which
opened a new chapter in the history of the centuries-old Skyborn Servii war.
Screaming incoherently , Marduk dashed to Geta's aid. He hurled the useless
pistol; but an ape swatted it aside. The apes hesitated for only a moment,
then they raised their clubs to brain the prone woman.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: "Ken Young"
Subject: Next bit
Date: 07 November 2002 16:57
High Desert
[Magnus and Varne stood outside the Assault Boat as the combots filed
out.]
Varne " Lord, why here? "
Magnus " Two reasons, first unless things have changed greatly nobody
lives on the surface here. Second, I was wondering if any trace of the
Kumin was left and do not call me.."
Varne " Lord, Sir. There is nothing bigger than a lizard in my
detection range. "
Magnus " A pity, I would have liked to meet people who could scare
Old Stony. "
[ Magnus turned to the Boat where Boris and Igor were carrying a
large box down the ramp . ]
Magnus " Careful you mechanical morons. If you drop that I will have
your diodes for garters. Load that aboard, Arachnid one. "
Varne " Why the drive exciter Lord? "
Magnus " If all else fails it will send the area inside the boarder
circuits into sub space. Of course placing the circuits may present
problems and before you ask, bypassing the safety circuits will
probably wreck the unit. It would take a drive engineer to do it. "
Varne " This all seems more complicated than usual, Lord."
Magnus " Blame the ecological damage clauses in the contract. If I
had a free hand I would have dropped a large asteroid on the Vale. The
problem is that to get rid of Old Stony would take a dinosaur killer
which would breach the constraints. "
[ Magnus turned to look at the combots. Everything seemed ready. ]
Magnus " Boat, security setting Alpha, combat readiness Amber.
Passwords Ashur, Thebes and Jerusalem.. "
[ The boat ramp withdrew and the hatch closed. The weapons turrets
hummed softly as the blaster powered up. ]
Magnus " Time to go, Varne. "
[ Magnus mounted one of the Arachnids while Varne blurred and then a
Red Kite took to the sky. The party started South towards the Vale. ]
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Clive May.
Date: 21 November 2002.
Siharral had a problem. He was in possession of information vital to the
safety of his beloved city. The trouble was that he knew no one he could go
to with this information. Since his difficulties with Shanneril, he was
aware that if he took this to the Council, it would be put down to jealousy
and bitterness at his disgrace. There would be many who would say that he
had fabricated the evidence.
If only he could reach Her Highness directly with this? She, at least, would
not disbelieve the evidence of her eyes; but access to her was denied him.
No one would be willing to help him get an audience, for fear that some of
his disgrace would rub off on them.
It was a thorny problem. However, despite his present predicament, he was a
resourceful man. One did not rise to command (even in the nepotistic
environs of Avis) without some ability. And he was determined that no
Overworlder whore was going to wreck his beloved city.
He reached out a hand to the recording device on the table. He pressed a
button on the small black case. The screen on the wall across the table lit
up with a view of the Overworlders bed chamber. Dimly seen on the bed, two
bodies moved together in a passionate embrace. He watched the scene for a
moment, not really seeing it, while his mind raced around and around the
problem. At last he flipped off the device, ejected the disk and slipped it
into a pocket of his jacket.
What he needed was someone who could not be affected by his disgrace, and who
had connections to Shanneril's Elite Temple Guards - and he knew just such a
person. The fact that Vanir had vowed to castrate him, skin him alive with a
blunt knife, and roast him slowly over a fire if she ever laid hands on him,
did nothing to blunt his resolve to seek her out.
He would need to change into rags, and go into the bowels of the city. For
one of his cast (and former position), it was a hideously dangerous
enterprise - especially as he was no longer permitted a blaster; but like
resourcefulness, bravery was also an absolute requirement for a Commander of
the Elite Temple Guard. One did not leave behind one's courage along with
the badges of rank, when one was force to step down to private citizen.
Most likely he was going to his death; but all the while he breathed, he
would be fighting for the survival of his beloved Avis. There was one thing,
though, which might give him an edge with Vanir.
Rising, Siharral went to a hexagonal panel set in one wall. He pressed his
palm to the ident plate. The lock clicked. Siharral opened the panel and
lifted out a small box of dark wood. It was about three inches, by two, by
one deep. Inlaid on the lid was the half-disk of a rising sun, throwing out
exuberant rays. Siharral opened the box. Inside, cushioned on a pad of dark
blue velvet, was a silver medallion with the same rising sun motif.
He stood regarding it for a long time, ambushed by the keenness of the
emotions it inspired. They warred openly upon his face, before he got them
under some sort of control. Then he sighed deeply, shut the box, and tucked
it out of sight. "I had no choice," he said to the ghost of regret lingering
in the empty room. "It was my duty." Even to himself, it sounded like the
justification of a weak man. The emptyness of the chamber accused.
Abruptly, he exited his spartan apartments, leaving the grey rooms to the
loneliness which pervaded every nook and cranny.
An hour later found him making his way down the metal rungs of a vertical
ladder, leading into a reeking darkness. Cancerous encrustations came away
under his hands; and more than once, a run snapped under his bare foot with a
loud bang, and a heart stopping jolt.
He reached the bottom, and stepped out into a dim-lit passage. Cautiously,
he picked his way along the filth strewn corridor . At the end was another
hatchway. He stepped inside.
The large shadowy room had a tangle of gargantuan pipe work taking up most of
the space. Siharral paused a long moment, listening to the hum of the city.
The air was stale, cloyed with a mixture of chemical stink and rank humanity.
As he stood there, summoning his courage, a gnome stepped from among the pipe
work.
The withered creature was dressed in rags, too tattered to be called a dress.
It was some seconds before Siharral correctly identified the spindly being as
a little girl of perhaps ten or so. Large, dark eyes dominated her pale
face. A tangle of rats tails hung from her grey scalp, sprouting from amid
weeping sores. The girl put a thumb in her mouth and began to suck on it
noisily whiles she regarded the slender Guard Commander with curiosity.
Siharral squatted slowly and smiled at the bare-foot waif. "Hello," he
essayed tentatively. Unusually for a Skyborn of his cast, Siharral had made
no Formal Joining, and had no easy manner with children. "What's your name?"
The girl put her head on one side and considered this, before taking the
thumb from her mouth. "My name's Brat..." she said with solemn dignity.
"...What's yours?"
Siharral held out a hand to the girl. "I'm Siharral. Do your folks live
nearby?"
The girl nodded, tottered forward on stick limbs, and put her grubby hand
into his. The hand was sticky with saliva. Siharral suppressed a grimace of
distaste. He asked: "Can we go and find your folks. I have to speak to
them."
Brat nodded. "This way," she said, pulling on his hand. Siharral rose, and
allowed the waif to lead him among the pipes. Beyond was a large hallway
choked down each side with a sprawl of ramshackle hovels. All sorts of
panels, broken beams, sheets of plastic and oddments of rubbish had been
cobble together to form the town of one room shacks which leaned one upon the
other. It looked as though one good shove would crumple up the entire
village. In the cleared space down the centre of the hall, cooking fires had
been lit, casting an uncertain light over the scene. The air was bitter with
the smoke. It clouded the high ceiling, filtering out through small vents.
As Siharral moved between the hovels, a skeletal host in ragged clothing rose
from around the fires. The leprous multitude turned to watch his progress
with dull-eyed curiosity. Then he saw recognition dawn upon a gaunt faced
woman. She said something to the man at her side. His face, disfigured by
an ugly scar on the right cheek, hardened with hatred.
"Aristo!" he snarled, drawing a knife, and moving towards Siharral with
deadly intent.
A susurration of anger rustled through the people like a hot wind through a
forest. As a single entity, the ragged multitude began to drift in closer.
Make-shift weapons were drawn. Eyes burned with hatred in starved faces.
Siharral did not hesitate, for he knew to do so would mean death. His only
chance of survival lay in reaching the alcove in the far wall where two
figures crouched passing a bottle back and forth. He walked on steadily.
With a snarl of "scum!" Brat was snatched from him by a half naked woman.
The skin over her chest was mottled with an advanced case of Cellar Rash.
Strands of lank black hair lay across her bare shoulders. She spat at him.
The spittle hit his cheek. Siharral ignored it, and walked on, his eyes set
firmly on his goal.
Men and women began shoving him, snarling dire threats as he passed. Knives
were waved in his face. Thrown excrement splattered down his leg. Behind
his back, he could hear the people closing in. At every step, he expected a
knife in the back. He pressed on grimly through the sea of angry faces
towards the alcove. As he drew near, the two figures rose.
One was a short man in a ragged, grey coverall. Close dark curls capped his
head. Beady eyes glinted in his rat snouted face as he looked Siharral up
and down. "Well now? Whatav wee got 'ere?" he inquired. "What d'yer
reckon, Vanir? He look to you like he's got friends who'd be willing' to
cough up for his fancy hide? Or do you reckon it's the soup pot for him?
Reckon a nice plump fella like that'd make a real decent stew?"
He glanced at his companion. She was a rangy woman, wearing a badly stained
sky- blue linen shirt under a red sleeveless flying jacket. There were pale
marks on the jacket where rank badges had been torn off. On her feet, she
wore black scuffed calf-length flying boots. About her middle, she wore a
ragged kilt of blue leather, pulled tight over a stomach swollen with new
life. Her dark brown hair hung down each side of her face. Even in her
disheveled state, it was painfully clear that here was a "classic" beauty.
Her colourless eyes shone palely in the firelight, while a nasty smile
lingered on her perfect face, revealing even white teeth.
In one hand, she clutched a long slab of metal. The bar had been honed to a
razor edge, and had rag wrapped about one end to form a grip. She brought up
the makeshift sword, and tested the edge with a thumb.
"Damnation!...Too sharp!" she muttered. "Too bloody sharp by half...Oh
Well..." She shrugged, and spoke to her shorter companion. "Stoke up the
fire, Snile...Stoke it up real high."
"Soup it is then," said the rat faced man. He rubbed his hans together in
gleeful anticipation.
Vanir shook her head. "No, not soup. This one is pure poison. He is not
just any Aristo..."
"Really?" Snile said. Lifting an inquiring eyebrow, he inspected Siharral
closely. "So. Who is this cunie, then?"
"This cunie is...Was...the Commander of the Temple Guard, the former Arse
Licker in Chief of Her Holiness, no less. Only he has just royally screwed
up." She fixed Siharral with a sneer. "Haven't you, my love! Beast Men in
the heart of the Sacred City, I hear?" Vanir shook her head in mock dismay.
"Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear."
"So the cunie's not worth nuthin'?" Snile spat in disgust.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. The Council will be pleased to offer us generous
terms if we undertake to slit his throat and flush him down the shit chute
with the other sewage...But as for paying to have him back in one piece? No.
they would not offer so much as a rotten egg. But that is no matter, because
I have some personal business to settle with this particular cunie, haven't
I, my love?"
She jabbed the make-shift sword at his groin. Siharral did not flinch.
"You were properly found guilty of 'Treasonable Conduct' Vanie," Siharral
said evenly.
"Only because you fixed the Tribunal."
"You got a fair trial."
"Fair! How could it be fair? You were my Commanding Officer - and you spoke
against me."
"Vanie," said Siharral wearily, I had a duty to tell the truth."
"The truth as you saw it!"
"No, Vanie. The truth as it was. We have been through this over and over.
You were wilfully spreading seditious libels about the Queen among your Wing.
I warned you again and again about it; but you refused to listen. You always
did have a reputation for sailing close to the wind. It was only ever going
to be a matter of time before Security took an active interest in you. And I
had my position to consider."
"Your position!" Vanir cried, trembling with sudden anger. "It was always
your crucking "position' wasn't it! You never really loved me, did you? I
was just a bit of dazzle to hang on your arm at Her Holiness's little
soirees. Good enough to flaunt before the Council Members; but not good
enough for a Formal Joining! And, and you took great pleasure in sticking it
to me at the first opportunity."
Siharral winced, for there was more than a grain of truth in that. "I took
no pleasure at all in reporting your breach of duty, Vanie," he countered.
"Really?"
"Yes. Really. And you were given every chance to state your case."
"What good was that to me? a lowly Wing Officer from a Fourth Tower Clan.
And you the Commander of the Elite Temple Guard. What chance did I have of
them believing me? Because of you, they busted me right out of the Military.
Because of that, I lost my rights as a member of a Tower Clan. I lost
everything. My birds, my status, my family, my home, all my lovely treasures
- every thing I cared about...And got shovelled down into this stinking
sewer. All because you were worried about losing your job as Her Holiness's
Chief Arse Licker! You betrayed me, your own Amorata, for ambition. Now.
It's pay back time!"
"It could have been worse," Siharral said.
"HOW!" Vanir screamed.
He said: After all those despicable lies you were spreading about the Queen,
it was only..." Siharral broke off to wave a hand, indicating her advanced
state of pregnancy. "...That which stopped them marching you straight to the
Rim - and throwing you off."
Vanir's beauty was suddenly crippled by fury. She flung out a hand at the
squalor surrounding them. "HOW!" she shrieked. "HOW the cruck could a nice
clean execution in the Skyborn way be worse than living in this shithole!
All my nice things...Gone! All my lovely treasures...Gone! And it's all
your fault."
"Vanie, how could it have been my fault? You were the one spreading those
lies..."
Vanir's throat worked, releasing an inarticulate gurgle of rage. Spittle
flecked her perfect lips.
"...However," Siharral ploughed on, ignoring her rising fury, "there is a
chance for you to redeem yourself. You can leave all this behind..."
"And just what makes you think I'd ever want to come crawling back to your
kind for anything?" Vanir asked in a voice now dangerously quiet. "I would
much prefer to be raped by a dozen Beast Men, than accept anything, anything
at all from your hand!"
"Pride was never your vice, Vanie," Siharral observed. "But you always had a
grand passion for the 'finer things' in life. So I find it hard to credit
that you could prefer to remain crawling around down here in all this filth,
rather than returning to the Towers...And in such low company, too." He
inclined his head at Snile.
The man growled, and drew a knife. He moved forward, the blade held
threateningly.
"Wait, Snile!" Vanir snapped.
Snile halted; but he made it clear that he was on a hair trigger.
Vanir raised her blade, and put the point to Siharral's throat. The razor
edged piece of metal was quivering in her grasp. She leaned in close and
glared into his carefully impassive gaze. Her features were rigid with fury,
her lips a thin, colourless line. "There's nothing, nothing you can say,"
she hissed through clenched teeth, "nothing that could possibly make me want
to accept anything from you - ever again...Nothing!"
Into the solid, spittle flecked silence that descended, Siharral dropped two
words.
"Silver Sunrise."
Had he just won her back? or had he just committed suicide? Siharral did
not know.
For a long moment, it hung in the balance. Vanir's rage drained from her
face. Her hand trembled so violently that the sword-point nicked the skin of
his throat. In her eyes, Siharral watched the unfolding terror, as she
realised that he knew, that he must have always known. He noted with an
almost light headed detachment, the instant when she succumbed to that fear.
He watched her tense for the killing thrust, saw her hand become steady, and
knew that he was going to die.
"Silver Sunrise?" Snile exclaimed. He glanced between the two, his suspicion
aroused by Vanir's violent reaction to the words. "'ere, Vanir, You aint
been cosying up to that bunch of loony Aristo cultists, 'ave yer girl?" His
grip on the knife tightened; his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Them's
bad news girl! Real bad news for us what lives down 'ere!"
Vanir's deadly intent was stalled by the small man's sudden suspicion. The
moment when she would have done murder slipped away. A degree of calculation
entered her colourless eyes. Abruptly, she lowered the sword.
"Come with me," she commanded. She pushed open a hatch in the back of the
alcove, and stepped through into darkness.
Siharral did not like the idea of entering a private darkness with a person
for whom his immediate death was probably now an over mastering
consideration; but what choice did he have? He took a last look around at
the smoky hall. A sea of savage faces hemmed him in. Snile was regarding
him through eyes slitted with deep suspicion.
Siharral stepped into the dark.
The moment he was over the threshold, the door was slammed behind him. The
next several seconds were thee very worst that Siharral ever lived through.
There came a slight sound to his left. Light flooded the small chamber from
a panel in the ceiling. Siharral barely noticed the table, or the chairs set
to either side, nor did he see the bottle of home-brewed rot gut and glass on
the table, all his attention was riveted on the sword at his throat, and the
face of Vanir, inches from his own, ugly with fear.
"Tell me," she hissed, "exactly what you know about Silver Sunrise? The
truth, mind. Because slitting your throat right now seems to me to be the
most expeditious way of ensuring my own safety."
Siharral slowly drew the box from his pocket. He flipped open the lid with
the sunrise motif. Angling the box so that the light glinted off the
medallion set in the velvet, he said: "I found your Cult Totem. I know
everything. And Security always knew everything - right from the founding of
your rabid little cult, two hundred and fifty years ago. Half the members
inducted at the ceremonies for this Midsummer were Security...You, Vanie,
were one of those spying for Security."
"No," Vanir denied in a tiny, weak voice. "I am a true believer in the
Second Coming of the Spellcaster."
"I don't doubt it , Vanie. But you were also a double agent for Security. I
could never find out what hold they had over you; but it was probably
something to do with Jallow's death?"
"I am loyal to the ideals of Silver Sunrise," Vanir affirmed with conviction.
Siharral nodded. "I know. That was why, when you finally overstepped the
mark, and were brought before the Tribunal, they were so hard on you...Why
you ended up in this sewer. What do you suppose those people out there are
likely to do when they find out that you are not only a heretical Silver
Sunriser, but a spy for the Council as well. The first they may forgive, but
the other... "
"They are not going to get the chance to find out. I am going to kill you
right now!"
"The people out there will be suspicious - especially that Snile. He looks
like nobody's fool to me. He is bound to make inquiries, put two and two
together, and come up with five. Besides, Vanie, I do not imagine your
la-de-da manners of speech and posh Tower accents exactly endear you to these
unfortunate people in the first place. You'll be torn to pieces the moment
they even suspect your involvement with Security."
Vanir drew in a deep breath. "You know, I don't think I care any more. At
least I'll have the satisfaction of gutting you first."
"Vanie...There is no need for anyone to die," Siharral said urgently. "I
have a little task that only you, with your unique contacts, can perform.
And what is more, I can assure you, Vanie, that it will be furthering the
cause of the Silver Sunrise. Do this- and name your reward."
"That important, is it?"
"More than I can say."
"And I can name my own reward?"
"Do this - and it will be granted."
"You are not in a position to be granting rewards, Citizen Siharral," she
pointed out, sneering.
"Do this - and I will be again. You can have your old life back entire -
with or without me. Think of it, Vanie - all your treasures, those silk
dresses, your jewellery, all the fine things you once had. I have kept them
all safe. You can even fly with the Wings again. But more than that, you
will be acclaimed a Hero of Avis - decorated by Her Highness Shanneril
personally." Siharral disliked appealing to her base nature; but he must win
her over, somehow? He added: "Do not do this, and there may very well not be
an Avis City."
Vanir was tempted, Siharral could see that much. She still held the sword to
his throat; but the madness in her eyes had been replaced by a look of hunger
for her trinkets. "I don't know," she said doubtfully. "My jewels?..."
"Yes - all your jewels."
"I don't know?...You spoke against me at the Tribunal. You
betrayed me, your Amorata. I could never forgive you for that."
"You would not be doing this for me, Vanie, but for the survival of our
beloved Avis. Go on hating me if you have to, but please do this!"
"Avis is a shit hole run by cowardly grasping Elites, who looked on
sniggering when I was sent down. . I don't think I want to do anything for
that scum either."
"For our baby then?" Siharral prompted in some desperation. This was a
subject he knew ought never to have been broached; but he was running out of
ideas. "You surely cannot wish it to be born into all this squalor? Not
when it could enjoy all the advantages of a Tower upbringing?"
Vanir considered this for only a moment, before dismissing it as unimportant;
then, with an unwonted hesitancy in her voice, she asked: The Cyrenian silks?
Do you still have them?"
"I still have them...They are waiting for you at home," Siharral told her
with an almost euphoric sense of relief. He had her!
Suddenly decisive, Vanir nodded. She lowered the sword, and lay it upon the
table. Waving to a chair, she commanded: "Sit!" Siharral sat.
Vanir took the other chair, and poured a shot of the rotgut. She drank it
off in one. Siharral was not offered any.
"So?" she said. "What do I have to do to win all my things back?"
Siharral took the disk from his rags, and placed it on the table. "All you
have to do is to get this to your Security contact - without it being known
that it comes from me. Better still, if you could have it put into
Shanneril's hand directly? Can you do that?"
"Perhaps?"
"I assume Security still keeps you on a short rein?"
Vanir nodded. She picked up the disk and toyed with it. "Those scum in
Security have still got their claws in my back. It will take some setting up
but...Yes, I can get this to Security, and maybe even the Bitch herself.
Wait here. Help yourself to refreshment. This might take some time."
Vanir heaved her ungainly body to her feet, and left. The door was locked.
Siharral poured a shot of the rotgut, sniffed it, and set it down untouched.
He permitted himself a hopeful smile. He wriggled himself into a more
comfortable position on the hard chair, and awaited events.
It was over an hour before Siharral was alerted by the sound of the door
being unlocked. It swung in to reveal the business end of a blaster. At the
other end was Rhanda, thinly disguised in a tattered coverall. She stepped
into the room, and kicked the panel closed with a booted foot. All the while
the blaster remained trained on Siharral's chest.
Rhanda flipped her other hand. A small silver recorder disk clicked onto the
table, skidded against the bottle and ricocheted to a stop by Siharral's left
hand.
"You never did formally take a partner did you?" Rhanda said. "I always
wondered about that? Is this how you get your Jollies? Spying on people?"
Siharral picked up the disk. He held it up between them. It shone dully in
the pale illumination. "Is this how you betray your people, Rhanda?"
Siharral bit back bitterly. "Wantonly indulging your unnatural lusts with a
dangerous enemy of our people?"
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