Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  “This day I will crack your bones to suck their marrow!”

  The wailing abruptly stopped and the pack raced in.

  Arrow drawn until the triple-bladed broadhead nearly kissed wood, Jeff sighted on the leader and twitched his fingers free of the bowstring. He immediately nocked a second arrow without looking at the flight of the first.

  True to its aim, the arrow struck the lead hyena squarely and disappeared into the animal’s chest. Emitting a piercing squeal, it gave a tremendous leap and collapsed to thrash on the ground as the second arrow transfixed another’s throat. The rest of the pack seemed confused by the sudden deaths and turned away to mill about again. They wailed like tormented children, the effect doubled by a gibbering quality that inspired horror.

  While he was tempted to get off a few more arrows, Jeff didn’t want to get caught without a weapon for close-in work. His hand caressed the butt of the Colt for only a moment. That was a weapon of last resort and five rounds might not be enough. Jeff extracted the saber from in front of the saddle in spite of Cynic’s plunging about. Exhausted or not, he was after blood. The creatures came on with a rush.

  Darting in and out, attacking in twos and threes, they swirled around man and horse. Jeff put his back to the creek, broke into Valholm’s war song, and attacked. One hyena underestimated the length of the saber and a two-handed stroke decapitated him. Whirling, Jeff backhanded the sword in an upward curve that cleaved halfway through another’s body. He had barely recovered when two hyenas launched themselves at the same time.

  Ramming the saber into the chest of one of them, he released the haft and grabbed the second animal’s neck with both hands as it landed on him. Forced backward, he fell into the stream with the hyena straddling his body. Fangs snapped shut just inches from his face as he rolled the hyena under the surface. The animal weighed as much as he did and fought clear of the water.

  Getting his knees under the animal’s chest, Jeff somehow kept the fangs from his throat with one hand and desperately groped for the survival knife with the other. Yanking it out, he rammed the knife between ribs and twisted. Shrieking and contorting his body, the hyena thrashed the water to red foam. Pulling the knife free, Jeff splashed out of the creek and made a dive for his sword.

  Close by, the rest of the pack darted in and out at Cynic. In constant motion, he whirled around with legs plunging and striking out in lightning-quick kicks. A hyena dashed in going for the hamstrings only to catch both hooves as Cynic ducked his head and lashed out. Such was the force of his kick that the hyena was lofted high into the air gibbering insanely. It fell onto some boulders with an audible crunch and lay still.

  The hyenas were so intent on pulling Cynic down that they didn’t take note of Jeff until he leaped up behind. Shoulder muscles bulging with the effort, he threw everything into a two-handed cut that whistled down behind the ears of one of them. The severed head went one way, flopping body another.

  Retreating to circle and snap, the remaining hyenas whined frustration but were reluctant to get in close. The bow lay nearby and Jeff picked off another. All the heart gone out of them, the hyenas turned tail and ran.

  It was after dark before the arrows were reclaimed and Cynic walked until cooled off. Before turning Cynic loose to drink, Jeff plucked handfuls of grass and rubbed him down. Donning gloves, Jeff dragged hyena carcasses well out onto the prairie and set up camp deep inside the rocky defile. The campsite was protected on two sides by cliffs, and by the creek on the third.

  Jeff eventually started a fire with brush growing along the creek and prepared a simple meal but a big pot of coffee. While there was little sleep to be had that night as a result, he really could not have cared less.

  The following morning Jeff declared a lay day. He figured Cynic needed at least that much time before being saddled again, and a full week of short days and a slow pace to recover. His decision was greeted with enthusiasm.

  “Truly it is time to rest and roll in the grass!”

  Stripping to the buff, Jeff splashed in the creek’s clear waters for some time. Since it was a make and mend sort of day, he dug out dirty clothes for a thorough washing. Spreading a shirt on a flat rock, Jeff kneaded dirt out of the fabric with the help of lye soap.

  Nearby, Cynic lay with his legs straight up in the air groaning with pleasure as he rubbed his back. It was amusing to see no more than four legs sticking out of the grass kicking back and forth.

  Laying out his clothing to dry, Jeff decided to shave off his beard. Dressed in a pair of shorts, floppy hat and boots, he picked up the bow and set out on foot to see what he could see.

  “I will be walking in the hills until the sun is low. Be aware that scavengers may well come to feed on the dead. If they appear and pose a danger, come to me.”

  Late afternoon he crested one of the hills. Jeff stopped to catch his breath and followed the range’s eastern flank as it undulated to the southern horizon.

  “These are impressive hills. They can’t be anything but the escarpment Ethbar mentioned, and that means we’re maybe two-thirds of the way to Khorgan.”

  Warmed by the sun and caressed by a gentle breeze redolent with grassland smells, Jeff found a nice overlook with a sweeping view to the east and settled in. Sitting cross-legged with hat cocked to one side, he plucked a stem to chew on and watched clouds play shadows across the grassland ocean far below. In the middle distance, three raptors endlessly spiraled up and down coursing the prairie.

  “The sun grows tired. All is well?”

  Loath to break the spell of silence that embraced him, Jeff stretched mightily and wandered toward camp.

  “I come.”

  Properly chastised upon his return by a revitalized Cynic, Jeff spent some time playing tag with him. Later, Jeff reflected on the changes that had taken place in Cynic since leaving Rugen. While still given to biting comments, he had matured beyond the coltish intransigence that on earlier occasion had proven so infuriating and embarrassing. His run was nothing short of magnificent, Jeff reflected. Thank God his lungs weren’t destroyed. Jeff hugged Cynic’s neck.

  “You are a mighty horse and friend.”

  Cynic nuzzled Jeff’s shoulder, horse and man standing in tableau as dusk faded to darkness.

  Chapter Ten

  Do or Die

  Over ensuing days Jeff skirted the escarpment’s eastern flanks. Occasionally he moved higher into the hills looking for evidence of an army on the move such as a large dust cloud. He spotted nothing the least suspicious. When the escarpment took a bend to the west, Jeff angled Cynic off on a southeast tangent.

  One blistering-hot morning they cut what appeared to be a major east-west road and turned east at a fast canter. Jeff figured the road might be a trade route between Khorgan and points west. He hoped to join up with a caravan in order to soak up local jargon before being put to the test at Khorgan’s gate.

  Day after day they encountered no traffic, raising doubt that caravans used the road. A dust cloud some miles ahead supplied the first hint that he might have guessed right. As they drew closer toward evening, Jeff was able to see a plodding line of pack animals. There were only three outriders.

  “I’m in luck, and about time. They might be willing to take on an extra hand.” Jeff’s face split into a dust-caked grin. “Damn. An honest-to-god caravan!”

  One of the outriders spotted him, circled back onto the road and waited. Urging Cynic to be alert, Jeff exchanged a careful appraisal with the guard. Short, swarthy and incredibly dirty was his first impression.

  Black greasy hair hanging in ringlets was topped with a steel-banded, leather pot helmet. The man was armed with a bow, short sword and the inevitable dagger belted over a chain mail vest. Jeff raised his hand palm out in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture.

  “Greetings. I am destined for Khorgan and seek employment. The guard on yon caravan seems slight.”

  It seemed the man understood at least part of what he had heard, but was silent. Appa
rently arriving at a decision, he indicated that Jeff was to remain put and wheeled his horse. The caravan had stopped allowing the dust cloud to blow away. Jeff counted ten packhorses in the caravan, plus eight or so ungainly creatures that might result from crossing an elk with a camel.

  “Maybe twenty people on foot,” he muttered, “plus the three on horseback. Easy pickings for bandits.”

  The same guard trotted back and motioned Jeff ahead. As they traversed the line of animals and humans, he was struck by their ragtag appearance. One man had his arm in a sling and another was using a staff to walk. Without exception they all looked tired. Jeff concluded they had been on the road a long time and run into trouble somewhere along the way.

  The guard stopped by a freight wagon at the head of the column. The man driving it was of average height, wiry, and neither old or young. Salt and pepper hair fluffed around his head, setting off a bushy mustache and close-cropped beard that still had some black in it. Beady eyes sparkling with suspicion, the driver scrutinized Jeff and his gear.

  “What is your experience?”

  “I am combat trained and travel to Khorgan seeking employment. It appears you are shorthanded.”

  The man stroked his beard in contemplation. “We are ten days from the city. For that period I will pay you twenty linta, your employment to cease at the west gate.”

  While he knew nothing of Chaldesian currency, Jeff did know a tightwad when he saw one.

  “Forty linta, and you have a deal.”

  The chaffering continued until they settled on thirty linta and supplies for him and Cynic. The leader’s name was Belstan. He instructed Jeff on his duties, and the caravan resumed its plodding pace toward Khorgan.

  Over subsequent days Jeff earned his pay and more. The caravan was still short several guards. Riding night patrol and providing his share of daytime protection left little time to sleep. It wasn’t long before he began to question his sanity for signing on. Cynic had no doubts at all. The other guards had two or three spare horses, but he was stuck with the full load. Still, he didn’t complain. The thought of Jeff riding another horse did not sit well.

  After several attempts to become acquainted with the mounted guards, Jeff quite trying. They were a clannish bunch and did not reciprocate the effort. That was fine with Jeff. What he really needed was information, and that was easy to come by when tongues loosened around evening campfires.

  He learned the caravan was carrying a load of spices from Lugsburg, a city near the western border of Chaldesia on the trade route to Al Harad in Zomar. Three days out, bandits had hit them. The attack was driven off, but they lost two guards and one of the packhorses. Jeff couldn’t escape the conclusion that Belstan mourned the horse more than the guards.

  Four days from Khorgan and stopped for the night it was time to relax. Farmland was only a day away and bandit attacks were rare. The evening became really mellow when a clay pot of brew that reminded Jeff of rye whiskey was handed around. One swallow proved enough. Downing a long drink of water to quench the fire in his stomach, he volunteered to take first watch.

  The party was still going strong when Cynic, then Jeff, grew uneasy.

  “What do you sense, my friend? I sense threat, but not its nature.”

  Cynic tested the air from side to side. “I am also unable to locate it. Perhaps to the south.”

  “Let us search in that direction.”

  As Cynic eased across the road, Jeff nocked an arrow. He considered rousing the camp but decided not to until he had more to go on. It was a good party and long overdue. They found concealment inside a stand of scruffy trees that was barely illuminated by a moon about to rise.

  Man and horse remained motionless, Cynic’s nostrils never ceasing to work the night air. Music and laughter drifted to their ears from camp, but the prairie was silent and nothing moved. Cynic was puzzled.

  “This nose has never failed of its task. Perhaps it has gone astray on this occasion.”

  A flicker of movement in a brushy area off to his right brought Jeff to attention. “It has not.”

  The moon was about to show itself, and Jeff picked out seven or eight people crouching through the scrub. He selected a target.

  “Hold firm while I school them in our presence and warn our companions.”

  He waited until the last minute to get as much light as possible and let fly an arrow. The shaft flew true to its aim, striking a bandit above the hip. Screaming in shock, he fell spinning to flail about in the dirt. His comrades stood up to look around and a second arrow found its target, sending another to the ground with a cry.

  Lanterns flared high in camp followed by Belstan’s distinctive voice bellowing orders. Jeff dropped the bow over his shoulder and pulled the saber. Roaring a war cry at the top of his lungs, he put Cynic at the remaining bandits.

  Jeff leaned over Cynic’s neck with saber extended and impaled the first man they encountered, only to have it jerked out of his hand. Without the wrist thong he would have lost the saber then and there.

  The bandits had enough presence of mind to form a circle when they saw that Jeff was alone. Both moons were over the horizon and bathed the land in a silvery sheen of almost light. Wondering where the other guards were, Jeff wheeled Cynic and crashed into the circle of bandits.

  A flurry of sword strokes felled another bandit. Throwing down their weapons, they raced helter-skelter through the brush away from camp. Not until that moment was Jeff able to hear the battle cries, clash of weapons and screams of pain from the other side of camp.

  “Oh, shit! They split up!”

  Cynic heard the commotion at the same instant and sprinted toward the caravan. With no time to circle around, they blew through a herd of bucking packhorses. Jeff spotted the three guards at once. They were on foot fighting back to back with five bandits a short distance from the caravan. A quick glance at the caravan revealed two men on horseback and three or four on foot attacking the packers.

  His appraisal required only an instant and Jeff guided Cynic’s headlong rush toward the ring of five with a shout. His abrupt appearance took them by surprise. They were slow to respond and one bandit lost his head, the saber sweeping it from his shoulders as Cynic thundered by.

  Taking heart, the embattled guards went on the attack. Cynic knew where the action was and slid to a haunch-dragging stop. He swapped ends and took off at a dead run toward the two horsemen charging directly at them.

  Selecting the rider to his left, Jeff again leaned forward with saber extended. As they closed with a rush, the bandit whipped his sword up for an overhand blow. An instant later the saber sliced along the man’s ribs opening his chest to the night air, and he toppled from the saddle with a wailing cry. The stirrup trapped one of his boots and he was dragged bouncing and tumbling into the night.

  Cynic leaned hard into a turn but had not straightened out when the second bandit’s horse slammed into him. He was knocked back onto his haunches and nearly bowled over. Cynic struggled wildly to find his feet but the bandit’s horse kept plowing ahead and he could not. Half out of the saddle, Jeff clumsily parried a whistling stroke that ripped off most of one shirtsleeve. Cynic was about to fall when Jeff vaulted from the saddle and sprinted off.

  “I will draw them away! Regain your feet and come for me!”

  The bandit savagely reined his horse away from Cynic and dug in spurs. Jeff stood balanced on his toes and leaped to the side in a diving roll as the bandit thundered by. The sword whispered close enough to nick one of Jeff’s boots. Jumping to his feet, he heard a furious scream and Cynic slid to a plunging halt by his side.

  “Mount quickly! I will have revenge!”

  Jeff was no more than settled when Cynic bolted. The bandit had his horse turned when Cynic cannoned into them with an impact that nearly unseated both riders. Curses flew and the horses squared off. Cynic was beside himself with anger and flew at the other horse with hooves and teeth.

  Although he still found it awkward to fight o
n horseback, Jeff’s encounter with Morgat paid off. He handily parried a two-handed blow aimed at his head and lashed out with a backhand cut that drew sparks from his opponent’s sword as they clashed together. Holding nothing back, both riders tried for a quick kill. Slashing, thrusting attacks almost driving home, but not quite.

  “Damn this guy’s good,” Jeff grunted between clenched teeth as he turned a cut aimed at his neck and counter-thrust.

  Sweat running from his face to sting his eyes, Jeff realized he was dealing with a professional. Not only was the man a superb swordsman, he might be more than a match. Unwilling to accept such a possibility, Jeff attacked with renewed fury.

  Cynic also had his work cut out for him. The horse he had squared off with was a big stallion and partially armored. Neither gave an inch and hammered away, adding their screams of fury to the ring of swords.

  The duel surged back and forth indecisively for some time before Jeff picked up on the bandit’s style of swordplay. He landed a vicious blow that glanced off the bandit’s helmet, sending him to the ground with a crash of light armor. The chinstrap broke and the helmet went flying.

  The bandit lay stunned for a moment before standing up. Long black hair cascaded into view to frame finely chiseled features. Moonlight revealed an hourglass figure and a way of moving that could not be mistaken.

  “Oh, shit. That’s a woman!”

  She saw that Jeff was holding back and leisurely worked the kinks out before sauntering over to pick up her sword. On the way she gave the helmet a kick. Pointing the sword at Jeff, she laughed derisively.

  “Come, my warrior. Do you fear to try your skill against a woman? Let us meet on the ground so I may know your true mettle. You have killed the man, but now must face the harder part.”

  The bandit advanced on foot, teeth bared and gleaming white. Dancing Cynic sidewise to avoid engaging, Jeff cursed in agonized frustration.

  Leaping forward, she slashed at Jeff’s leg. The blow missed but nicked Cynic’s flank. Infuriated by what he saw as an attack on Cynic, Jeff leaped from the saddle.