“Young Steg, what mischief are you up to now? I know, I have been told your challenge was necessary, but perhaps some of the circumstances could have been avoided. Unless—” He peered at the major. “Yes, I see. Very well. Steg, my young friend, I’ve been waiting for a suitable occasion for this.” He reached for the black sword carried by one of his assistants and handed it to Steg.
“Here. Ebony is yours. Take it. Honor it. I’m a frail old man and will not use it again. The sword is now keyed to you, to your DNA.”
Steg was surprised at the unexpected gift. Almost reluctantly he accepted the proffered sword. Brioude appeared to falter and sway, and his two assistants rushed to steady him. Steg momentarily was speechless, his throat tight. The words of the Swordmaster stunned him. The Acolytes had re-keyed Ebony; all the hilt-hidden bio-nanite and micronic protective technology was now focused, not on the Swordmaster, but on him, Steg de Coeur. As he held the sword in both hands, he understood the presentation portended more than a need to defeat his Imperial opponent.
“But Swordmaster, I cannot—” he began, as questions raced through his mind.
“Nonsense. We have been waiting for the opportunity. I have been the custodian—you are of the right line to wield it as intended. I repeat—take it, use it with honor. I’ll wait and watch from over here.” He moved away with the help of his assistants.
Steg unsheathed the weapon. His Homeworld audience watched in silence. All knew of the general history of the sword, although few had indeed been privileged to wield the weapon itself. According to rumor it had been constructed for the First Earl and used by him in battle against star pirates and invaders. Steg, with the Swordmaster’s consent, had previously examined the etched patterns along the blade, and had translated the coded patterns into a graphic and detailed dramatic history of the weapon and its owners over the centuries, validating most of the rumors.
Now he gripped the black hilt and felt a sudden flow of power. His head throbbed, his vision blurred; for a moment he was unable to see anything at all. Then his head cleared, his vision returned. He relaxed. Ebony was his. He was ready.
“Gentlemen.” The drill sergeant’s firm voice drew the attention of the small groups of onlookers. “Ten minutes have passed. Are you ready?”
Thpmas looked first at Steg, who nodded. He then turned to the Imperial visitor. “And you, sir?”
Marius also nodded.
The drill sergeant again withdrew from the marked drill square. Steg noted the small stunner in his hand.
“The rules are known to you both. I will repeat the important points, which I will enforce. At first blood you will separate. If honor has been satisfied the duel is over. The challenger has the right to make that determination. If honor has not been satisfied the duel will continue. Quarter will be given at the cry. Any infringement of these rules will result in arrest of the defaulter. You now may proceed.”
“Ready for your lesson, barbarian?”
Steg hung his head in parody of a formal bow. “You honor me, oh champion.”
The visitor executed the formal engagement salute with polished ease. Steg acknowledged to himself that he faced an experienced and capable foe. He recalled the traditional challenge of the Cazanae, aliens who had visited Homeworld and had shared their skills and techniques. The Cazanae were swordmasters, one and all, and even the Master Brioude acknowledged their abilities far surpassed his own. Steg spun and cartwheeled across the square, duplicating the Cazanae challenge, Ebony’s black blade flashing counter to each spin and wheel. With each action he increased the height of his leap until at the finale he was six feet above the floor, the circle of flashing steel forming an impenetrable barrier. He landed with perfect balance, facing his opponent who had watched the ceremonial display with a disdainful expression. Steg did not hear the soft ripple of applause from the watching Homeworlders.
“Come now, is that the best you can do?”
Steg ignored the jibe. He had intended to unsettle his opponent and thought he may have succeeded. They stood facing each other with swords raised, and began their dance of steel. Each move, each feint, each thrust and parry, was a component of a formal and structured dance intended to seek out the weaknesses of the other. Steg maintained a solid wall of steel beyond which his opponent could not reach. Suddenly Steg moved out, changing both style and strategy. Attack instead of defense. Marius countered. The two swords clashed and rang out their songs of battle. Steg felt a wave of exhilaration as adrenalin flowed. Power surged. He pressed forward, spinning Ebony furiously against the now defensive Marius. A flash of concern touched the visitor’s face.
Marius disengaged and stepped back and the two combatants paused in their furious exchange.
“You have potential, barbarian.” His breathing was labored.
“If you need a rest, I’m sure it can be arranged.”
Steg defended against the savage response and instead of retreating, pressed forward. Marius feinted and stepped sideways, his blade thrusting as he detected an unguarded opportunity. However, Steg had turned away and utilizing another Cazanae maneuver, leapt high, spinning up and over his opponent, still maintaining his wall of steel. At the apex of the leap, he used the hilt of his sword to touch Marius on the head. The maneuver was a calculated insult. Marius lashed out as Steg hit the floor, but he parried the blow with ease. They circled, continuing to assess and re-assess each other. The two swords were never still. The fight was a dazzling display of pyrotechnic energy from spinning and clashing blades. They were wielded by two well-trained and expert swordsmen, each seeking the slightest sign of weakness in the other. Steg was exceptionally fit and his confidence increased as he detected the beginning of his opponent’s exhaustion.
Marius spun, feinting and striking at his opponent’s body. Steg saw the play and accepted the challenge. The sequence was too rapid for the audience to follow. Steg spun Ebony and for a moment it appeared to leave his hands. Marius misread the maneuver and attacked. Steg stood back, blood dripping from a fine line drawn down his cheek. The visitors cheered.
Then Marius dropped his sword, a shocked and savage expression spreading over his face. He clasped his right shoulder. His right arm hung limply down his side. Blood seeped through his fingers and started to flow down his arm. Steg stood still, head bowed, Ebony at rest. His cheek cut was superficial.
The drill sergeant stepped forward into the drill square.
“Gentlemen, I declare honor has been satisfied.” He caught Marius as he sagged. “Do you wish our medic or your own to attend?”
“My own, damn you,” came the response through pale and clenched lips. The drill sergeant signaled the visitors to assist Marius. One of the Imperials stopped near Steg.
“Be aware, barbarian—be wary of dark nights. Marius or his family will seek revenge. And we’ll help him. Hide yourself well.”
The offworlder moved on before Steg could respond. He shrugged and turned to Master Brioude who had joined the group of concerned Homeworlders now surrounding Steg.
“Your sword, Master.” He proffered Ebony, almost reluctantly.
“No, no. Ebony is yours, now. You’ve earned it with honor. And your medic is here, to attend to your cut.”
Steg nodded and turned to the waiting medic. Waves of exhaustion washed through him as the cut began to smart. His system was descending from its adrenalin and possibly Ebony-induced high. He clung possessively to the weapon as the medic applied first aid.
“It’s not a deep cut, no scar this time,” the medic smiled as she applied a small dressing.
“Thanks for your help,” Steg acknowledged.
The major stepped closer. “A good win, Steg, although I think you’ve earned an enemy for yourself.” The major held up his hand for silence as he listened to his comunit. He acknowledged the message and addressed Steg and his companions. “It’s started already. They reacted very quickly. A formal protest has been delivered to the Castle Commandant by the Imperials, demanding yo
ur arrest for malicious assault and illegal wounding of one Marius, of the House of Aluta. No mention of a properly challenged duel. Just as well our monitor cams were running—we can deliver video in rebuttal. In the meantime, the Commandant suggests all of you take some well-deserved leave—think of it as an order rather than a suggestion. Go to your homes, even further, if you wish. I don’t want to see any of you here for the next tenday. If you remain, you will be exposed to action by the Imperials—they don’t like losing face, and accidents may happen. Don’t worry; you’ll get news of your postings, wherever you are. Now go.” He watched as the group dispersed.
“Thomas, you’re relieved from duty here. And Steg, you have a tenday or more before you need to return to your shuttle duties. Take yourselves off for a long hike. Thomas, I suggest you both take one of the air-vs and travel along the White Cliffs. Ensure the flight path stays in radar shadow where possible. Program the autopilot to stop a number of times along the route, both outbound and return. That way, no one will know where you dropped off. Stay out for a tenday—the visitors should have departed well before then. Go—I’ll authorize transport. Thirty minutes to the pad for liftoff. Steg, leave your sword, I‘ll get it to Brioude for you.”
******
Chapter 2
The air-v was armed and armored, a fusion-powered flying tank capable of low terrain hedgehopping, although in this instance the air-v was cliff hopping. Steg had the command seat and was part flying, part monitoring the autopilot program. The craft was skirting the White Cliffs, a geographic feature of this section of the coast that ran for hundreds of kays. The cliffs provided a substantial radar shadow that would hide them even from the advanced electronics available to their Imperial visitors. They would be detectable to Castlehome g-sats, although Steg doubted that the Imperials could penetrate their security. The air-v would return to Castlehome on autopilot alone, slowing, stopping and accelerating randomly in order to provide additional confusion to anyone who was able to monitor or trace its flight path.
In the meantime, Steg and Thomas planned to hike away from the coastline, deeper into the forest. Steg was confident that searchers even equipped with heat seekers would not be able to identify them under the thick canopy; they would be indistinguishable from wild animals that roamed freely on Homeworld. Steg enjoyed his forays into the forest; typically they isolated him from the formal strictures of Castlehome and gave him an opportunity to test his tracking and hunting skills. This time however, he was torn between the attractions of a forest trek and growing apprehension about taking his departure from Castlehome, even if was only for a tenday.
“I feel as though I am running away from something,” he complained.
“Well, those Imperials were hunting blood although they showed bad judgment. Now they really will be after blood—yours, for revenge, not honor. I am not sure the Empire’s goodwill is really something we need.”
“They are after something,” mused Steg. “I cannot think what. Recruits for some war they are planning? Perhaps they have heard stories about Homeworld?”
Thomas snorted. “The Empire has always had suspicions about the wealth of Homeworld, even though we do not flaunt it. Also, they need us as a barrier against whatever is out there.” He pointed upwards without real direction. “And most of all, the Empire wants subservient territories, which they can then pillage to their heart’s content.”
Steg agreed. “The First Earl decreed that we should disguise our wealth to avoid attacks and raids by pirates and other predators. I think our visitors are predators.”
“Our defense system is always armed—we could hold off the Empire’s Third Fleet, if we needed.”
“Well, for a short while, “ agreed Steg. “Maybe it’s just reconnaissance. An Imperial officer was trailing the Castle guards at morning watch changeover. Their intelligence reports would be very interesting reading. We could learn what our weaknesses are if we could get a copy.”
“If they file it or transmit it, we will see it,” affirmed Thomas. “The Acolytes will make certain of that. I daresay they are already searching for any report the Imperials produce about Homeworld. Knowing the Acolytes, they probably have penetrated Imperial ship security—probably dumped a copy of all the ship’s records into our memory glasses.”
Steg checked the instruments. “Our evac point is coming up. We need to drop and get into the forest as quickly as possible.”
Steg thumped his bedroll in a futile attempt to smooth out its lumps. They were half way through the tenday and the ground was not getting any softer. They were camped in a small clearing, still confident of little risk of detection. The night was exceptionally clear and the stars stood out against their black backdrop. This was Homeworld at its most relaxing, thought Steg. Five days of solid marching through the forest along barely identifiable trails had tested his stamina and he was enjoying this opportunity to rest. Then distant rumblings silenced the night sounds of the forest and roused him from his reverie. He raised his head and listened carefully. The sounds continued. He turned towards Thomas. Or at least towards his sleeping bag.
“Thunder, explosions or cannon fire?”
“Not thunder. Both explosions and cannon,” came the soft response. A barely discernible tremor of concern was evident in the drill sergeant’s voice. “And I was listening to routine traffic on the ComNet and suddenly it cut out—nothing now except heavy static.”
“Accident or attack?”
“Unlikely to be an accident.” Thomas paused, unable to immediately voice his suspicions. “Everything cut out almost simultaneously. That would be a strange accident. The ComNet has multiple stations and satellites. It would take a strange accident to take out the core, just like that. Now, a coordinated attack—that could stop everything at once. A report earlier mentioned a second Imperial destroyer landing at Castlehome port—an unscheduled visit apparently. But that is barely thinkable—”
“Is it? They have got the men, weapons, and probably the inclination. The difficulty would be overcoming our defense system—how could they penetrate that?”
“Traitors?” The drill sergeant reluctantly suggested. They both fell silent. Thomas continued to listen to his comunit.
“Steg, listen up,” he instructed. “Condition red is being broadcast on DefNet. And also someone is transmitting a general order for all military personnel and auxiliaries to report immediately to Castlehome.”
Steg grabbed his comunit. “That’s contrary to Standing Orders,” he commented as he plugged the earpiece into his ear. “They—whoever—are giving themselves away. Anything severe enough both to bring down ComNet and to cause a condition red alert on DefNet requires just the opposite—all military units to disperse and prepare for guerilla defense. This means Homeworld has been invaded, and Castlehome captured. The Castle in enemy hands—” His voice broke. “This is disastrous.”
Thomas sounded horrified at the possibilities. “What has happened? Have the Imperials really somehow attacked and neutralized our defense system?” His pragmatism came to the fore. “No such thing as an impregnable fortress. We need to find out what has happened.”
“I agree,” urged Steg. “We have a long trek in front of us. While we cannot use ComNet either to make contact or to report, we must discover what disaster has befallen Homeworld. We will be needed to help arrange a counterstrike. Come on.”
Thomas agreed with Steg’s air of urgency and they quickly broke camp, repacking for a forced march. Thomas paused to listen again to the broadcasts.
“Instructions to report are still being broadcast. We are supposed to acknowledge.” Thomas’s tone was wry.
“And if anyone transmits, they’ll have a trace and they’ll be prisoners before morning,” responded Steg.
Thomas continued to listen, “Well, someone is thinking. A second transmission is reminding Homeworld listeners to follow Standing Orders. I think the Imperials are going to encounter major issues if they try to round up Homeworld military.”
They set out, the drill sergeant leading. Steg soon realized Thomas was setting a pace that made the trek of the last five days a picnic by comparison. He would need to draw on all his inner resources, to keep up. The drill sergeant was an old and seasoned campaigner and could maintain his distance-consuming pace for hours, and when circumstances demanded, for days. Steg just hoped Thomas would remember to stop and rest occasionally.
The night remained clear and whenever they moved out from the forest canopy, the stars were sharp and bright. Distant rumblings had faded and eventually stopped. The silence was broken occasionally by the sleepy protest of a disturbed animal as they passed by, or by the querulous chirp of a bird awakened before dawn. The chill seeping into Steg’s bones had nothing to do with the temperature of the night. Castlehome was his home, his life, and he dared not think about the possible fate of his family, of his parents and two older brothers. He could only carry on in the hope that all were safe and unharmed. He could not dwell on the alternatives.
Thomas paused twice, each time to check the map and their heading. Steg was tired. Now the early morning glow of false dawn was softening the darkness of the night as the drill sergeant halted and dropped his packs. Steg quickly followed suit.
“We can rest here for a while, Steg. The forest breaks into a clearing just ahead. Set out some intruder sensors and then settle in behind these fallen tree trunks. That way we both can get some sleep. Food first, and then sleep—five hours. If we can keep up this pace, by mid-day tomorrow we will reach a small farm village just on the edge of the forest.”
Steg set out the sensors from his weapons pack and then heated up his field rations. He was asleep minutes after he finished his breakfast. He did not dream.
The forest came to an abrupt end, as tall trees gave way to the openness of cultivated farmland. They both paused under the shaded coolness and checked the fields for movement. A small group of farm buildings centering the cultivation was quiet and without signs of life. Steg discerned a feeling of forlorn loneliness about the low stone-built complex and the afternoon shadows emphasized its emptiness.
Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) Page 2