“That is none of your concern, soldier.” The creature dropped to all sixes and waddled inside. “Who was it who was here before?”
The man looked confused as if she were asking a question she should know the answer to. “Five Keltar were here yesterday from the keep at Chalimar, headed for Gort. They are expecting some sort of disturbance there.” He added, “You were not aware of this, Keltar?”
“Of course I am aware. That is why I am journeying there now. I will rest here during the midday period. I require re-supply.”
“Of course, Keltar. I will see to it at once.” The soldier’s gaze took in the figure of Boxx next to her. His brow furrowed, and he seemed about to say something, then thought better of it and left.
Five Keltar. If I don’t get there first, they won’t stand a chance.
~
The fortress of Gort rose above the desert sands, exuding an air of pure malevolence. Its walls were constructed of huge stones, with dark gaps like eye sockets. Battlements and pointed iron stakes were a crown of sharp horns. Massive doors of wood and iron stood open like a mouth stretched wide, its appetite insatiable.
It was a chained beast, devoid of all mercy and compassion, a symbol of tyranny and oppression.
Shann looked up at it, and a shiver ran down her spine. Lyall was silent. Even Alondo seemed to have been robbed of his usual ready humour.
Finally, Lyall broke the mood. “Come on.” He turned and walked back to their makeshift camp. The others followed in sombre moods. Light from Ail-Gan was waning in the east.
The camp lay in a sand hollow, out of sight of the road. The two morgren stood patiently in the gathering gloom. Lyall rummaged in a pack and started building a small fire, talking as he did so.
“All right, let’s discuss the plan. The tributes are sequestered in a compound outside the fortress to the south. There are no more than half a dozen soldiers on guard there at any one time. I suppose they conclude that the desert is an effective deterrent against escape.”
“How do you know all of that?” Shann interjected.
“I…was there once before. Anyway, in order to set them free, we are going to need their help. It will be a coordinated assault from within and without. Timing will be vital. That is where you come in, Shann.”
“Me?”
“That’s right. We need someone on the inside, someone to tell the tributes about the plan to free them, but above all, to convince them to do their part.”
The import of what Lyall was saying was slowly penetrating her consciousness. She frowned. “You want me to go in there?”
Lyall fixed her with his intense blue eyes. “I realise that what I am asking you to do is difficult. You will have to become one of them.”
“You mean become a tribute?”
“That’s right, Shann. And you will be on your own. But if the plan works, then it will be for no more than a day.”
Alondo’s face was drawn with concern. This is the first he’s hearing about it, she realised. “Lyall, are you sure about this?” he asked.
Lyall was still looking into Shann’s eyes as he replied to his friend. “You and I will be occupied with neutralizing the guards at the front. No-one else knows how to use that infernal contraption of yours. Besides,” he grinned, “you look too well fed to pass as a tribute.
“Shann, you are the only one who can pull this off. If we manage it, the tributes will be free, and we will have cut off the Prophet’s supply of lodestones. It will be the beginning of the end of the tyranny.”
Shaan thought of the tributes, wrested from their homes and families and condemned to toil and die in this terrible place. She could help set them free. And all it would cost would be to live as they were forced to, for a single day. It was a small enough price to pay. This is why I am here. To free my father and mother and bring them home.
She raised her chin and met Lyall’s steady gaze. “What do you need me to do?”
Lyall relaxed slightly. “First of all, you will need to pass as tribute. That means you will need to bear the mark.”
Alondo’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”
Lyall’s voice was low and firm. “She has to be capable of passing inspection. If she is found to be an interloper, then they will kill her and the plan will be lost.”
“By the Three, Lyall, you are talking about branding the girl. She will bear the mark for life.”
“It’s all right, Alondo,” Shann interjected, “I want to do it.” Alondo looked visibly upset, but he said nothing.
Lyall got up. “Shann, take a seat here by the fire. I will try and make this as quick and pain free as possible.” He went to one of the morgren and retrieved tools from one of the packs. He returned to the fire, and knelt beside it. The firelight gave his face a ruddy appearance. He fanned the core of the fire until it glowed hot. Then he placed an iron at its heart, until it glowed with the same radiance. He extracted the iron and pressed it to the olive skin at her neck. There was a brief hissing sound. She winced and Alondo looked away. Lyall pulled the iron away immediately and pressed a damp cloth to the wound. She knew that she was now marked forever with the flame; the symbol of the Prophet.
It’s a small enough price to pay.
~
Shann dumped the lodestone into the ore cart, sinking to her knees as she did so. The three suns blazed down with unremitting brutality. She was already almost swooning with heat and exertion.
Inducting her into the tribute gang had proved to be simple enough. There was only a single guard overseeing the ore gang, no doubt due to his having lost a bet the previous evening. Lyall located a surface lodestone, and had Shann walk to the ore cart from behind the cover of a dune, as if she had just found it. She was clad in the same rough brown smock as the other tributes. The bored guard was only interested in counting stones, not people.
As she got to her feet, a thin young man with sandy hair came up behind her. Checking that the guard was looking the other way, he breathed into her ear, “Who are you?”
Shann turned to look at him and was immediately struck by the fact that he looked like a younger version of Lyall. His mouth was straighter and his cheeks were hollowed out, but there were the same piercing blue eyes.
“My name is Shann,” she whispered. “There are others with me. We have a plan to free the tributes. Will you help us?”
“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “This is Gort, in the middle of the desert. There’s no escape from here.”
“We have a plan to get you out,” Shann insisted, “but you have to help. Will you listen to what I have to say?”
The boy checked that the guard was still looking the other way and bent his head again. “All right. You see the dune over there?” Shann nodded imperceptibly. “Head for the dip side. I will follow in a few moments.”
Without a word, she headed off in the direction he indicated. Soon she was out of sight of the guard. She turned and saw the boy she had talked to accompanied by an older man. The man had thinning grey hair and looked little more than a skeleton, skin stretched taut over his bony frame. It was he who spoke. He sounded terse. “What’s this all about?”
“I need to speak to Leskin. Do you know if he’s here?”
The skeleton man looked confused. “I am Leskin; who are you?”
“I have a message for you from Lyall. He says old man Ennas is well. He would like to see you again, but his sight isn’t too good since Persillan.”
“By the Three,” the old man gasped. “Lyall? He’s here? You must tell him to leave at once. It’s too dangerous.”
“He said you would say that,” Shann observed. “I am to ask why you think he would do that, when he didn’t have the sense to leave eleven turns ago?”
“It is Lyall.” The older man turned to the youth. “It is the one I told you of.” His brow furrowed as he addressed Shann. “But who are you? How–”
“There is no time now,” she broke in. “Can you spread
the word among the others? They need to be ready tomorrow, just before dawn.”
“Very well.” He gave a single nod, like a small bow. “I will do as you ask.” He turned to leave, but she called over his shoulder.
“One more thing. Lyall asked whether you had seen Aune.”
“I’m sorry,” Leskin said. “She is not here. I don’t know where she is.”
“I see. Thank you. I will meet you at the compound later.” She walked off in the opposite direction. As she rounded the side of the dune she reached into her pocket and took out a red bandanna, tying it about her head. It was the prearranged signal to Lyall and Alondo that the plan had been agreed to.
Wherever they were, she hoped that they would be cheered by the sight.
Everything was in place. Shann dared to hope.
We can actually do this.
~
Keris strode through Gort’s massive wood and iron gates, long dark hair and ebon cloak stirring in the breeze. Beside her trotted Boxx. The guard acknowledged the Keltar, and then gave the Chandara an odd look. This is going to be a problem, she thought.
“I would speak with your commander,” she declared. The soldier pointed out the casemate, his eyes straying towards Boxx as he did so. However, he was apparently discreet enough not to begin asking a Keltar awkward questions. She doubted whether others would be so circumspect.
She could not leave the creature out in the desert to fend for itself. Yet she had vital business to take care of here in the fortress. That left only one alternative. She headed across the mustering yard in the direction of the stables.
Individuals pointed and whispered, viewing the strange beast with a mixture of curiosity and repugnance.
“Keris?” The Chandara addressed her.
“Quiet!” She hissed.
The stables were a rough wooden construction adjacent to the outer wall. The pens were mostly occupied by morgren. Keris asked the stableman to point out a vacant pen and led Boxx there.
She got down on her haunches to be on its level. “Wait here till I return.”
“Yes, Keris.” It lay down on the straw, its legs tucked beneath its body. Keris got up and turned to leave.
“Keris?” it asked again in its odd accent.
“What is it?”
“Your People. Kelanni. They Do Not Like Me.”
“It’s not that exactly…” She struggled to find the words. “People are sometimes afraid of things that are unfamiliar, things that they do not understand.”
There was a pause as if Boxx were digesting this. He added, “Does Keris Like Me?”
She found herself unexpectedly flustered. “I will be back as soon as I can.” For the first time in as long as she could remember, Keris retreated.
~
Ferenek, the garrison commander, was reviewing a set of plans tossed casually across a large wooden table as Keris entered the casemate. Soldiers came and went, and there seemed little privacy. He looked up as the Keltar entered. “Thank you, Virdin, that will be all for now.”
The soldier standing next to him nodded. “Commander.” Then he strode away.
“Keris, isn’t it?” Ferenek began. “We were told you were coming. Mordal has instructed me to give you every assistance in the matter of tracking down the impostor and his accomplices…interesting creature you brought with you. I would like to hear about it some time.”
The man obviously had an efficient network of informants at the fortress. There seemed to be very little that went on here that escaped his notice, although it was probably difficult to keep anything secret for long in a place this size.
Keris got to the point. “I would like to review the defensive measures that have been taken at the compound.”
“Certainly, although I am sure you will find them adequate.” He shuffled the papers on the table and selected a ground plan. “Security has been stepped up on Mordal’s order.” He pointed a slender index finger at the relevant parts of the plan. “We have one detachment of soldiers, headed by a Keltar, at the guardhouse here, with a further four detachments and four more Keltar inside the compound, here. I am told that there are only a few hostiles, perhaps three. In any case, the compound has been put on high alert. I am confident that we can deal with any problems.”
Keris pretended to study the plan in detail. “Yes, I see… Very good, Commander. I shall see to it that Mordal hears of your diligence.”
“You are too kind, Keltar,” Ferenek bowed slightly. “Shall I arrange accommodations for you here at the fortress?”
“Yes, please do,” she replied. That is one bed I will not be sleeping in. “Now please excuse me; I have preparations to make.”
“Of course, Keltar.” Ferenek bowed once more.
Keris headed out of the casemate and crossed the courtyard towards the stables. The impostor and his party would make their move soon. She would have to be ready. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a disturbance. It was coming from the direction of the pens. She quickened her pace, and as she turned the corner, she saw a small group of youths yelping and throwing stones. Keris looked between them and abruptly saw the object of their assault. A shell, rolled up into a ball. Boxx.
“Hey there!” Keris shouted, and began running towards them. The youngsters looked up at the sight of a Keltar in a black cape bearing down on them. Panic was etched on their faces. They bolted in all directions.
Keris reached the Chandara. It was not moving. She dropped to her knees and touched its shell. “Boxx,” she cried. “Boxx, answer me.”
The shell unfurled, and a round head with small dark eyes popped out. The creature was shivering slightly. “Yes, Keris?”
“Boxx, are you all right?”
“I Am All Right.”
Keris felt a surge of relief, followed by another of deep shame. The words of Annata, the woman from the past were ringing in her mind. “They are taking an enormous risk by helping us. We owe them a great debt.”
She got to her feet. “We need to get out of here now. Can you move?”
“Yes, Keris.”
They headed together for the fortress gates. A few people watched them, but did not approach.
As they walked, she heard herself say, “Boxx, I’m so sorry.”
“I Too Am Sorry, Keris.” Boxx replied. Then as if to reassure her, it added, “Kelanni Fear Things That They Do Not Understand.”
~
Dawn was fast approaching. Overhead, a large meteor shower sent scintillating streaks arcing across the sky. Beside the compound, the forbidding walls of Gort rose up like a gigantic sentry. Lyall and Alondo lay flat against the sand, watching the enclosure. A collection of low wooden buildings, bounded by a rectangular wooden palisade, its single gate was dominated by a guardhouse. There were lights in the guardhouse, but the other blocks were dark, casting rhomboid shadows over the scarlet-tinged earth.
“All right,” Lyall whispered. “Once we get to the guardhouse, I kick the door open, then you let fly with the vortex arm. I will take care of anyone who isn’t immediately stunned by the blast. The tributes should deal with any remaining opposition within the compound. We distribute their weapons, take out the guards on the fortress gate as quietly as possible and then make for the armoury. Clear?”
“Sounds too easy.” Alondo smiled in the darkness. “Shouldn’t we give them more of a sporting chance?”
“Very funny,” Lyall responded dryly. “Are you ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then let’s go.”
Both men rose up from the sand and started down the dune’s windward side. Crouching low, they moved rapidly toward the guardhouse. They reached the foot of the dune and crossed the short distance to the gate. Lyall was already adjusting the cloak’s control to feel for the push of lodestone. He leapt and cleared the palisade, landing inside the compound. As he turned toward the guardhouse, Lyall thought he saw a dark shape move at the side of the building. He looked directly at the place but
there was nothing. Was it just my imagination? No matter. They were committed now.
Lyall went to the gate, and unbolted it. He pulled one side open just enough to admit Alondo. The gate creaked slightly and he winced, looking round but the silence descended once again. He motioned Alondo forward and they crept over to the guardhouse door.
Alondo had the vortex arm in the ready position. Lyall prepared to charge the door. Before he could do so, he heard a succession of muffled thuds and muted cries coming from inside. He held up his hand and listened. After a few moments, the sounds died and silence descended once again like a blanket. Lyall waited for long moments, straining his ears, but there was nothing. Finally, he reached back and kicked in the door. The door flew back on its hinges with a thump.
Bodies lay slumped on the floor, against walls and over tables. Unmoving. Lyall counted six…no, seven, including one cloaked figure, a Keltar. A lone figure stood over them in a terrible tableau. Another Keltar–a woman with sharp features and long dark hair. He could see white blood staining the diamond blades of the staff she held. Lyall stepped forward, raising his own staff on impulse.
The stranger raised a hand. “Hold.” Lyall stopped in his tracks. The woman continued, “I know who you are and why you have come. You must get out of here.”
Lyall was still holding his staff in a defensive posture. “If you know why we are here, then you know we are not going to leave. The tributes must be freed.”
“You do not understand.” The woman’s eyes blazed. “They know of your plan. They are ready for you. There are another two dozen soldiers and four Keltar within the compound. They do not intend for you to leave here alive.”
“But how–?” Lyall stammered.
“It doesn’t matter how. You cannot free them. If you want to live, you must leave. Now.”
“Who are you?” Alondo demanded.
“I am…I was a Keltar. You must go. Collect your morgren and take the road east. I will catch up with you.”
Lyall looked around at the scattered bodies. “You are not coming?”
“No, I…have some things to take care of first.”
Lyall felt as if he were in shock. There was nothing he could do. He turned to leave through the door. Behind him, he heard Alondo’s voice.
“We owe you our lives, stranger. May I know your name?”
“Keris,” the woman replied. “I am called Keris.”