From: Clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk (Clive May)
Subject: Re: A story we can all create..
Date: Mon, 12 Nov 01 18:53:24 GMT

Prak, watching Jo being taken away, shoved off his misgivings about the
girl's fate, and, made a formal bow to the Lord.  He addressed the seated
being.  "Grand Sire, Lord of the Great Vale, Protector of the High Desert
Lands, I have fulfilled my part of our bargain.  Will you now honour our
agreement."

In answer, the great stone figure signed with a finger.  From behind the
throne, an elfin young woman in ragged remains of once fine clothing was
hustled forth by two priests.  Her pretty face was smeared by tear tracks,
and the skin of her arms showed the marks of ropes.  Her long dark hair
straggled over her shoulders in a matted tangle.  Even in her present
woebegone state, it was obvious that here was a Princess.

When she saw Prak, she gave a little half-hearted cry of joy.  With an oddly
stiff gait, she moved into his waiting arms.  Prak hugged her a moment then
looked up at the snarling snout of the Lord of the Vale.  He made another
formal bow and was on the point of leading the Princess to his mount, when
the voice of thunder stopped him dead in his tracks.

"You are not dismissed, Trickster.  I see deceit in your heart.  I would know
the nature of your perfidy - you will remove the helmet!"

Prak's insides turned to jelly.  His face pale with fear, he turned slowly to
meet the stony gaze of the Lord of the Vale.  The Overworlder, Cain, had
given him the helmet, before waving him off, with the firm instructions never
to remove it in the presence of the Lord.  Indeed, Cain had been most
insistent on that.  Prak had suspected his benefactor of some ulterior
motive; but just then, with his Princess held hostage by the Lord to ensure
his compliance in the snatching of a Temple Priestess, what choice did he
have?  Failure would mean his lovely Soolisa would be "converted" to be a spy
for the Lord in the lands that encircled his domains.

Prak wondered if the bullet strike had damaged the helmet's screening
mechanism?  He hoped not.  If the Lord once got a sight of the things Prak
knew, then he would die a very unpleasant death.  Licking suddenly dry lips,
he spoke.

"With respect, Great Lord, that was not part of our bargain;" he said with a
touch of defiance he really did not feel.

The blank eyes considered Prak for a long, suspicious moment, then it nodded
in doubtful acknowledgement.  The Lord spoke once more in his voice of
thunder.  "That is so, Trickster.  Never shall it be said of the Lord of the
Vale that he no longer has honour, even in his reduced circumstances." A
great grey arm lifted and swept out, indicating the encircling desolation of
the fallen buildings, half submerged by the smothering Jungle.  Then the
creature leaned forward in its throne and fixed Prak and his princess with a
stony glare.

"But be warned, Skyborne, if the aura of villainy that enwraps your soul has
truth, and I discover that truth?  Come nevermore to the Vale, or it shall go
ill for you."

Prak gave the Lord no time to change his mind.  It was not going to take the
monster long to worm his way into the deeper levels of the girl's mind, and
discover that she was not a Temple Adept - he wanted a lot of miles between
himself and the Lord well before that moment.

Quickly, he hustled Soolisa to Windstrider, and helped her to mount.  She
seemed oddly stiff in her movements; but he was so desperate to get away that
he thought nothing more about it just then.  Hastily setting the lift- pack
built into the saddle to full power, to assist Windstrider with the added
weight, he swung up, and ordered the bird aloft.  He guided Windstrider out
over the river, turned his head into the west, and climbed the bird to around
two hundred feet.

Airborne once more, Prak began to relax.  He tightened arms around his
strangely silent and unresponsive mate, hugging her to him.  Soolisa remained
rigid in his arms.  Her tangle of hair was fluttering over his shoulder,
while she stared stiffly ahead.  There was an almost imperceptible greenish
sheen glistening in her staring eyes.

As the bird moved out of earshot, the Lord began a laugh that rolled like
thunder.  He was quite, quite mad, and fully aware of the fact.  It bothered
him not at all.  It might be supposed that knowledge of the state precluded
its presence.  Be that as it may, the Lord remained quite mad, and knew it.

He had never been entirely sane, even in the beginning, when the city thrived
and he was its unquestioned ruler.  It had not helped his state of mind when
the Overworlders had come out of the sky and nailed him on his throne with
some Overworld wizardry.  He had been forced to sit here, impotent, watching
his city dying around him.  That, and the fact that he knew not why he was
being so persecuted, had not helped his state of mind.

At first, his priests had gone into an orgy of human sacrifice.  All the
people knifed to death across his alter had not helped one bit to set him
free; but he had enjoyed the screaming and the spurting fountains of scarlet
which had drenched his alter stone.  Yes, if he could not be free, then there
had been some compensations; but even that pleasure had paled over time; and,
still, he remained nailed to the stone seat.

For centuries, he had been compelled to sit, in all weathers, on the temple
platform, watching his magnificent city being devoured by the encroaching
green.  His people, those who had escaped the knives of his priests, had fled
away, until all there was left to him was a small following of loyal priests.
In is isolation, the endless turning over and over of his plans for vengeance
upon the Overworlders had consumed his soul.

But now!  Now his deliverance was at hand.  Prak's attempted deceit had put
into his hands a far more useful tool than just another spy in the Skyborne
city which he had intended.  Prak, all unknowingly, had gifted him the means
of his deliverance.  Eagerly, he studied the information revealed as the
deeper levels of Jo's mind were exposed by the conversion process as it
peeled back layer after layer.  Soon, she would be his totally obedient
slave.  With another part of his vast mind, the Lord issued an order to his
"convert" Soolisa.

"Destroy the Skyborn Trickster!"


It galled Babydoll to have to ride in the dust at the back of the column.
Though the Servii already granted her more respect than they did their own
females, she remained a woman, and that could not be easily changed.  The
murderous efficiency with which she despatched opponents had gained her a
grudging latitude; but she'd already pushed it way beyond 'sensible'.  Cain
was getting worried.

"You stupid crucking bitch," he'd stormed at her.  "One more male Servii dead
like that and the whole crucking operation's down the tubes!"

Babydoll's lips pulled into a humorless grin under the bandana.  Yes.  Cain
was worried.  He seldom showed it when he was angry; and he'd never sworn at
her before.

The raiding party, trailing its plume of dust, rode in among the shacks and
corals that clustered like a leprous mould about the walls of the fortress
city of Serviion.  They had not build the place, but had appropriated it
during the disasters; and no one had so far been able to dislodge them from
the stronghold.

Babydoll slid to the churned ground under the shadow of the mighty walls.
She tossed the reins to a Bird Rider slave and stripped off the bandana.  She
slapped it against her shapely thigh to beat some dust from the scrap of
cloth, before tucking it away in a concealed pouch in her suit.  She drew the
machine pistol.  With an efficiency born of familiarity, she checked the
mechanism.  The bloody sand got in everywhere!  The thought of the gun
jamming at a crucial moment caused her some concern.  She re-holstered the
weapon, checked the knife, and strode off among the bustling confusion of
Servii, Gurvuks and scurrying slaves.  Moving like a lion among leopards, she
followed the wall until she came to one of the gigantic double mazed gates.
With head held high, she returned the hostile stares of the gate guards.  The
hulking brutes fingered their weapons and showed long fangs at such insolence
from a female; but they did not detain her.  They had strict orders, she
knew; but if this operation went down in flames, then they'd make it a point
of honour to seek her out an teach her some proper respect.

She fondled the hand-grip of the machine pistol.  Just let them try and
they'd get the same treatment several others had got before the
"accommodation" had been arrived at.

Inside the gate, Babydoll ran lightly up the worn steps to the walkways which
ran along the walls.  The whole fortress city complex was a system of
interlocking courts.  Her training told her that it would be an absolute
bastard to take by any kind of assault she could dream up, and she knew a
trick or two about creating mayhem.

The sporadic sound of gunfire came to her.  She changed direction at the next
intersection to look down into an adjoining court.  Let Cain wait, she
thought savagely.  Give the bastard a bit more rope and he'd be sure to hang
himself.  She never set no store in all that guff about his people not being
moved in that way; and the next time she caught the Thing draped all over
him, there was going to be real trouble.

From the sound of the guns, Babydoll could tell that the Servii were trying
out some of the new weapons with rifled barrels.  Not that they needed the
improved range and accuracy, the Servii, with that third eye arrangement,
were the best shots she'd run across, in a long while of rubbing shoulders
with mercenaries, renegades, cut throats and the like.

Down in the court, a Bird Warrior was dashing from various lumps of rock and
stone strewn about to provide some cover while he tried to make his way to
the steps in a far corner.  The Servii had a fine sporting sense of honour.
If the warrior survived his dash for the steps, honour dictated that he be
set free in the desert beyond the walls to take his chances with the
carnivores which ranged there.

Some made it; most did not.

Babydoll leaned on the parapet to watch the man's flight for his life, with
that familiar tightness in her belly.  The Skyborn almost made it.  Three
paces short of the steps, one of the watching War Chiefs grunted with
annoyance, as the poor shooting of his men threatened to bring dishonour upon
his position as War Chief.  He casually threw up his rifle and loosed off a
single shot.  The Bird man's head exploded into a spray of bone shards, blood
and brains.

Even though she was ready for it, Babydoll caught her breath at the shiver of
excitement which thrilled inside her.  For a few seconds, she leaned on the
worn stone work, regaining her composure.  Then she walked away, nursing the
little spurt of shame that always came treading on the heels of such moments.