Blade Of Fire (Book 2)

by Stuart Hill

  He burst through some low thorn scrub and into a sort of clearing, and there before him was Commander Tigazi, standing over her fallen zebra with sword in hand, and facing a pack of truly hideous creatures. They were huge, almost as big as a zebra, and their most striking feature was their faces. They had short, blunt snouts which seemed to be crammed with a hideous array of yellow teeth, but worse by far were their eyes. They were blank and black, without pupil or any spark of light, and Sharley was sharply reminded of his sister Medea.

  The creatures didn’t actually seem fully animal at all. There was something almost human about the way they constantly called and signalled to each other as they deliberately circled the Commander and her fallen zebra. And when one of them turned its head in his direction, Sharley could see the face of a person, hideously twisted and deformed, staring out from the animal features.

  Almost without thinking, Sharley called out a challenge, lowered his lance and charged. Suleiman screamed and leaped forward. The creatures turned to face them and rose up on their hind legs, screeching with laughter as he bore down on them. Sharley’s spear hit one of them squarely in the chest and it fell to the ground, its claws gripping the shaft of the lance and giggling horribly. Now the others closed in, their blank eyes unwavering and empty.

  It felt like fighting the Greyling bear all over again. Suleiman circled, snorting fiercely and watching as many of the creatures as he could. But now some truly enormous specimens were coming in and he was in danger of being overwhelmed.

  “Over here, Charlemagne. Stand with me!” a voice called. He suddenly remembered Tigazi. She stood with her back to the thicket of thorn scrub – a good defensive position.

  He galloped over, and soon realised there was no hope of them both riding away on Suleiman; the Laughing Ones would easily outpace an overburdened horse. He dismounted and drew his scimitar, but before either could say anything more the horrible beasts were upon them. The two stood shoulder to shoulder and slashed at the animals with their razor-sharp blades, while Suleiman reared and struck out with his hooves. The fight raged on in a welter of striking claws, deafening snarls, neighing and war cries.

  Suddenly the first wave of the attack fell back and others took their place, rearing up on their hind legs and hopping along in a grotesque shuffling run. Sharley struck straight-armed and his blade sank into one of the creature’s faces, driven deep by the animal’s own strength and momentum. It pulled back with a shriek of agony and Sharley thought his arm would be wrenched from its socket, but then the scimitar came free and he whirled and struck at the neck of a second beast, and blood spurted. Suleiman turned and lashed out with his powerful hind legs, sending one of the creatures flying through the air and injuring many others. But more and more were crowding in on them. They’d soon be overwhelmed.

  Sharley felt his strength ebbing away, and his weak leg throbbed painfully, but then a tingling sensation thrilled through his frame and the fighting blood of the Lindenshield clan began to roar through his veins. He drew breath and out crashed the war cry of the Icemark:

  “The enemy are upon us! They kill our children and burn our homes! Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

  One of the creatures leaped at him, and he smashed his shield with its lethal foot-long spike into its chest. Then he threw himself into the attack again, standing with Tigazi who fought with lethal control and precision. But the odds were impossible; they were being outnumbered and it could only be a matter of minutes before they were killed.

  Just then, the brassy braying of a war-trumpet sounded and the combined cavalry of Lusu and Desert People crashed into the clearing. Lances and swords flashed in a deadly display of fighting power, and after a ferocious and bloody few minutes, the hideous beasts were driven off.

  For a few moments all was completely silent, and Sharley drew a deep steadying breath.

  “Well, that was busy, wasn’t it?” he said brightly.

  Commander Tigazi looked at him for a second, then laughed. “Yes, it was busy, very busy indeed!”

  Sharley looked at the dead Laughing Ones that lay around them. This had been his first real battle experience! This had been the culmination of all of the years and months of long, long struggle to be allowed to take up what he saw as his true role as a warrior Prince. But now that the moment had come, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt. He’d used his newly learned battle skills and had found himself able to confront the enemy and fight back against its power and aggression. But he’d taken lives – an obvious fact of warfare that somehow hadn’t occurred to him. He was elated and horrified; he was happy and sad. But most of all he was totally confused.

  The sound of an approaching horse interrupted his thoughts, and he set them aside with relief as he looked up. It was Mekhmet, trotting over with a face of thunder and relief. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. All of us, I think, apart from the Commander’s zebra. Just a few bruises otherwise.”

  “Good. And now that I know you’re safe, I can tell you exactly what I think. How bloody stupid can you get? Riding off like that without backup was just asking for trouble. I suppose you can be forgiven to a certain extent, Sharley – you don’t know the land. But, Commander, you have no such excuse. If you were under my authority I’d recommend a severe reprimand at the very least! What were you thinking of?”

  “The scouts I sent out earlier spotted a large party of Laughing Ones. I just wanted to make sure our way was clear. Unfortunately it wasn’t.”

  “Obviously. And yet, knowing the danger, you thought it would be a good idea to ride out alone and look for them?”

  “Just a minute,” Sharley interrupted. “I’d like someone to explain exactly what these creatures are! I mean, are they animal, or human, or what?”

  “Both,” Tigazi answered. “They’re part human and part hyena.”

  “And what, precisely, is a hyena?” asked Sharley, at last feeling himself to be on familiar territory. After all, the Wolf-folk were just such a hybrid of human and beast.

  “They’re a large hunting animal, of neither the dog nor the cat family, but ferocious and ruthless, as you’ve discovered,” Tigazi explained.

  “I see,” said Sharley, thinking things through. “But they seemed more beast than human.”

  “I suppose so,” said the Commander. “But they seem to take the worst parts of both. From humanity they’ve inherited a calculating sense of evil: they seem to actually enjoy being foul. And from the hyena they’ve taken a completely brutal and unfeeling trait: they lack all sense of pity or remorse.”

  “And even though you know this, you still rode out alone?” said Mekhmet angrily.

  Sharley felt as if he and Tigazi were being treated like naughty children. And, as usual when faced with the disapproval of authority, he began to giggle softly and guiltily, but then stopped. The sound reminded him too sharply of the hideous Laughing Ones.

  They resumed their journey, Tigazi taking a zebra from one of the other troopers, who then rode pillion with a comrade. They had no more problems with the Laughing Ones and Sharley began to relax. At least now he’d earned the right to wear his armour. He might not have fought any human warriors yet, but the huge creatures were easily the equivalent of three of the best-armed soldiers. His training with the Desert People had obviously paid off; between them, he and Commander Tigazi had kept at bay some of the fiercest and strongest beasts in the whole of Lusuland.

  In less than half a day they were on the hills overlooking the city and Royal Kraal of Swahati. It was huge, sprawling over a wide valley with no apparent sense of plan or design. They could clearly see a wide enclosure in the centre of the city, in which stood what Sharley could only describe to himself as a “grass palace”. In form, most of it was similar to the huts that made up the majority of the city, but it was huge, consisting of hundreds of individual buildings all connected to a tall central core that rose up several storeys.

  “Behold Pirhama Palace. Seat of gover
nment and power, and home to Her Mightiness Queen Ketshaka III, Great She-Lion and Mother of the Nation. It is there that you will present your credentials and hear her mighty judgement,” said Commander Tigazi.

  Mekhmet nodded. “Good. Let us ride on.”

  Soon they were approaching the nearest gate of the city, and as an armed escort of foreign soldiers they were stopped by the guards. Tigazi gave the password and they were soon let through. The streets were packed with market-day crowds, but Sharley was riding bareheaded and most people reacted to him in exactly the same way as the Commander had first done. A great cry went up that a dead man was riding amongst them with hair of fire, and miraculously the streets cleared.

  It took them less than half an hour to reach the palace complex, the cries of warning flowing ahead of them and emptying the streets as the people ran in mortal dread. The soldiers on guard duty had already heard the terrible rumours, and were visibly trembling as Mekhmet and Sharley’s group approached the huge gates into the Royal Kraal.

  Tigazi rode forward and addressed the soldiers. “These people are envoys from the Desert Kingdom, and from the Icemark, the kingdom far to the north that defeated Scipio Bellorum and his hordes when he invaded their land. They require access to Her Mightiness Queen Ketshaka, that they may have discussion on matters too lofty for your concern. Open the gates and allow us through.”

  The soldiers levelled their spears, and though their voices trembled they stood firm. “That we cannot do, Commander Tigazi. We are ordered to protect Her Mightiness from all threats and enemies. And, indeed, we will defy even Death Himself rather than allow the Great She-Lion to be harmed!”

  “Very commendable, I’m sure. But there are no enemies here, only ambassadors on diplomatic business. Now step aside and open the gates!”

  The soldiers stubbornly shook their heads and stood their ground. “With all due respect, Commander, no one will pass, and least of all him,” they said, pointing their spears at Sharley. “First, he will have to take our miserable lives.”

  At first, Sharley had found his role as Death Himself quite amusing, but now it was getting in the way of his mission. Impatiently he searched his meagre vocabulary of Lusu words and painfully constructed a simple phrase in his mind. Muttering the words to himself, he urged Suleiman forward and blurted: “Let me in!”

  His accent was appalling, and his startling green eyes, colourless skin and hair of fire almost caused the guards to run screaming in terror. But still they refused access, though one fell to his knees. “No, My Lord Death. Not even you will enter the Royal Kraal without permission of the Queen herself.”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous! He isn’t Death. He’s a living human being like you and me! His name is Prince Charlemagne Athelstan Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, known as Shadow of the Storm,” Tigazi said with annoyance, conveniently forgetting her own first reaction to Sharley’s appearance. “Now let us through. You have performed your duties admirably and I will personally see to it that you are commended.”

  “You could easily be bewitched,” said the soldier on his knees. “Death could be controlling you and making you use words that will allow him into the Royal Kraal.”

  “Well, I’m not bewitched, and neither is anyone controlling my words!” said Tigazi, struggling to control her temper. “But as an officer in the army of Lusuland, I have right of access to the Royal Presence. Therefore I will go now to the Mother of the Nation and tell of her guards’ stupidity. Step aside!”

  She strode through the gate and disappeared from view, and Mekhmet, Sharley and their escort had no choice but to wait. A thick, almost tangible silence fell, broken only by the buzzing of flies and the chattering of the guards’ teeth. For once, Sharley hadn’t the slightest desire to giggle; he was too impatient to move things on as fast as he could. For all he knew, Frostmarris could be under siege already and his family fighting for their lives.

  Another fifteen minutes of near-perfect silence passed before a rumble began to insinuate itself into the quietness. Suleiman’s ears pricked towards the sound, and he began to sidle and snort. Sharley looked up hopefully, but shivered as he felt the usual shyness and fear spasm through his stomach. Was this the Queen? Would he make a good impression? And, most importantly, could he persuade her to send soldiers to the war?

  The noise grew to the recognisable sound of beating drums. Nearer and nearer they came, and intermingled with the rattle and rhythm were human voices: a great babble of words that swelled and grew until all the surrounding streets seemed to be awash with laughing and crying, singing and chanting. Music, too, filled the air: pipes fluted, stringed instruments sawed and strummed, cymbals clashed and gongs boomed, following, more or less, the rhythm of the drums. And all of this great cacophony rolled and weaved itself into a banner of such stupendous sound that their senses were almost overwhelmed. Sharley turned to Mekhmet in amazement, but the Crown Prince merely shrugged and smiled encouragingly. Then, abruptly, the music stopped and there was total silence once again.

  Suddenly, the huge double gates before them groaned and rattled as they were seized from within and thrown open. And there, framed in the entrance, stood a truly amazing figure.

  The woman stood well over six foot tall. She had a huge head, and a face that glared at the world around it with an expression that should have been carved from granite with giant rusty chisels.

  “Who is it that stands at my gate demanding entrance? Death Himself, I am told. If so, let him come in and I will wrestle with him to see if I am ready to enter his dark kingdom!”

  As though drawn by some invisible force, Sharley urged Suleiman forward and sat gazing in wonder at the giantess. The Queen turned to regard him, and her bushy eyebrows shot up.

  “Hah, you are colourless indeed! Not even the paleness of the Desert People could have prepared me for your faded look. But Death you most certainly are not. A boy you seem to me, and one young enough to still miss his mother, though old enough not to admit it! Am I right, boy? Speak up!”

  The Queen had spoken in the tongue of the Desert People, so Sharley was able to nod and croak, “Yes.”

  She threw back her enormous head and laughed loud and long. “Then be comforted! I am The Mother of the Nation, and I have love enough to give to all, including a colourless boy who is far from his home!”

  The entire party including horses was taken into the palace and then into a cavernous audience chamber. Sharley looked about him in awe. Not even the Great Hall of Frostmarris was as huge as this massive space. It was constructed entirely of woven rush matting, thatch and mud brick anchored by a wooden frame that soared into the air. All of the walls were lined with gigantic and beautiful paintings and tapestries showing scenes of battle and wild landscapes populated with herds of animals, many of which Sharley recognised from his journey to the city. Other exquisitely painted scenes he guessed must show incidents from Lusu mythology, and he marvelled at their artistic brilliance.

  In the centre of the chamber stood the Queen’s throne, carved from black wood into the likeness of an elephant’s head; the seat was fashioned from its raised trunk, and the arms from tusks that Sharley suspected were real, not just made from white wood.

  Ketshaka leaped lightly up the steps of the dais and sat perfectly upright on her throne, frowning on the massive crowd of courtiers that continued to pour through the doors.

  “Welcome! Welcome one and all to my Royal Kraal! And know you now, my people, that Prince Charlemagne is not Death Himself, and neither is he the victim of some terrible disease. I am reliably informed that the Greatest Spirit in Its Mysterious Wisdom has chosen to create Its children of the northern realms in the form that you see before you.” The Queen glared round at her courtiers, who lowered their eyes and murmured amongst themselves. “Know you, also, that Prince Charlemagne is sufficiently burdened with his appearance and does not need to have his ugliness made apparent by any unguarded words or unseemly stares. He will be treated as though completely
normal! Do my words cause confusion, or do they garner understanding amongst my people?”

  Once again the murmur sounded amongst the courtiers and Ketshaka nodded, as though satisfied. She then turned to Sharley and Mekhmet and her face broke into a great beaming smile. Striding forward from her throne, she hugged Sharley, lifted him from Suleiman’s back and swung him round before setting him on his feet before her. “Welcome Charlemagne Athelstan Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Shadow of the Storm. Welcome to my Royal Kraal. Welcome to the heart of Lusuland!”

  “Thank you,” Sharley answered quietly.

  “And welcome, welcome to my Guest Friend Crown Prince Mekhmet Nasrid, Sword of the Desert, Beloved of the One. I see you have grown since your last visit, and now wear the beard of manhood. Nevertheless, no matter how mature a man becomes, a son remains a child to his mother, so get off that horse and give me a hug,” and with that she seized Mekhmet in a rib-cracking embrace and covered his face with kisses. “Now to business.” With the wave of a hand, an army of scribes and officials appeared from the shadows. “These scholars are the Royal archivists, and they will transcribe all of our discussions so that they may be preserved for posterity.”

  “Do they record every word?” Sharley asked, suddenly nervous that he might say something ridiculous or foolish and have to suffer the mortification of knowing it would last forever in the archives.

  “Yes indeed, they are writing even as we speak, and from these master copies many others will be faithfully reproduced and sent to every library and place of learning throughout the land.”

  “I see,” said Sharley, watching the quills busily scratching at the rolls of parchment. Once again, he felt like a barbarian lout in the presence of sophisticates.

  Ketshaka smiled at him kindly. “My son, we are an ancient people who have walked these lands for many ages. Our society has been stable and strong, protected as it is by our mighty impis, so we have had the time and security in which to develop the gentler arts of learning and of art. True, we have fought many wars, but our civilisation has never been threatened with destruction, and from this certainty and continuity has sprung our great learning.”