Sunlord

by Ronan Frost

  As they moved through the camp the ground underfoot became progressively rockier. Bedrock started appearing through the hard-packed soil, pieces of strewn rubble making footing difficult. Locantar knew they were approaching the side of the cliff face where the ancient ruins lay. Shata had chosen to set his main tent almost on top of the crumbling foundations of the ancient building. Nobody knew much about the creators of the buildings, but it was gathered that the prehistoric race must have existed many thousands of years ago.

  Locantar was carried further into the ruins and a short time later was thrown at the foot of a large tent, his grip loosening on his staff as he fell. He heard it clatter away, and was just rising to his knees to search for it when Shata-Bera flung aside the animal hide tent flap.

  "So you are the deceiver," he cried in mock surprise. "So good of you to join me, please come inside where we may talk."

  Locantar upturned his blind eyes, sensing instead of seeing the horribly disfigured man, his face rippled along the cheek and his right arm twisted uselessly to his chest.

  Locantar flung back the hood of his cape in a quick gesture, his milky white eyes meeting with Shata's blazing gaze. It was only then that Shata realised Locantar was blind. He felt the old man's stare bore a hole through his head, as if the other could see something of great importance in the space where he saw nothing. He shook off the feeling and grabbed his prisoner by the scruff of the neck.

  Locantar was surprised at Shata's strength, for he had used only his left arm to propel the man inwards. Without his staff Locantar seemed to be missing a part of himself for it had backed his confidence and authority.

  A small, bent figure strode from the shadows, barely a metre tall and hunched over in shadows punctuated by two beady eyes gleaming from the hood of the robe.

  "You found the traitor?" The hunchback's words were slimy and grovelling. "I knew you would, master. I told you my sources are never wrong!"

  Shata nodded briskly to his adviser. "You have proven yourself once again, Mosata. Now leave us, I must talk with the old man."

  Mosata seemed obviously hurt, but did not disobey Shata's command. He stepped backwards into an adjoining tent and let the leather flap fall behind him.

  Shata walked around and sat upon a pile of furs, dipping a cup into a pot of boiling stew as he passed.

  "Some soup?" he asked in a bitter tone. He moved quickly to flick his wrist, casting the contents of the cup towards Locantar's kneeing form.

  Locantar moved with supernatural grace and easiness. He seemed to second-guess Shata's move and was already holding up a shielding forearm as the scolding soup hit, splashing upon the thick material and spreading a wet stain across it. Locantar lowered his arm nonchalantly, as if unaware that if he not have raised his arm boiling water would have surely scolded his face.

  Shata tossed away the cup and was silent for a time. He simply sat cross-legged and tried to match the blind man's empty gaze.

  "You have the power of premonition," he muttered.

  Locantar shook his head. "No. My actions are guided by Abas."

  "Don't give me that drusk dung! I have lived long enough to know no such entity watches over us."

  "You must open your heart," came the soft reply.

  "Hold your stinking tongue or I will order it to be chopped off! No God of mine stands by and watches his 'children' fall like flies before the Sunlords. And that is why I have my army. For the people. And you stand to oppose it - why?" Shata did not wait for an answer. "You should have thought twice before trying to break apart the League with your corrupt ways."

  Shata-Bera leapt forward suddenly and grabbed Locantar in the powerful grip of his left hand.

  "Are there others?" he growled low in his throat

  Locantar simply shook his head. "I am sorry, I cannot tell you."

  "You can't lie, can you?" snapped Shata with disgust. "It goes against your teachings."

  "Deceit is a sin."

  "Then tell me, what others seek to disrupt my force?"

  Locantar's answer was simple. "No."

  Shata pushed the old man back. "You will tell me soon enough. You will learn a lesson more important than your stupid teachings. Mosata, bring in the guards to take him away."

  The hunchback Mosata must have been eavesdropping for he entered immediately. Following him Locantar heard the clanking of steel on steel as the two armoured guards stepped forward. They hauled the old man to his feet.

  "I shall make a demonstration before the entire League of what happens to betrayers!" Shata bawled. "I hope you rest uneasily tonight, for tomorrow lies your death."

  Locantar's wide, unemotional face infuriated Shata. It seemed his threat had no effect on the old man.

  With a growl of anger he motioned the guards away where they would chain him to the cliff face.

  Shata-Bera sat back down, contemplating the soup bowl that steamed over the small fire. He remembered how Locantar had outwitted being burnt, as if the blind man knew exactly what the future held. Then the memories of his near-death came back, when he had been covered in the Sunlord's fire glue that had stuck to him and burned until he thought he would simply dissolve into a knot of pain. Shata lurched forward and kicked savagely at the pot of soup, overturning its contents in anger.

  He bowed his head and thought of what pain he could inflict on the blind man that would properly demonstrate his loathing of traitors to his cause.

  * * *

  He heard a faint creaking of leather before the guards did, his sharpened hearing far superior to that of a sighted person. He cocked an ear and tried to distinguish its origin.

  Locantar stood in the darkness, his wrists bound by tight rope that chafed at his flesh when he moved. The rope was tied to a metal stake which had been driven into the cliff-face behind him, so that his arms hung above his head. The bonds were too small to allow him to sit, so he stood, face impassive.

  Although blind he knew where he lay in relation to the rest of the camp - he could hear the main bonfire crackle in the distance, around which came the heavy breathing of the sleeping Leaguesmen. Close by were two guards ordered to watch over him. Locantar guessed by the strange dead clinking noises that the guard's had at least one of the hallowed Sunlord guns. Only Shata-Bera and two of the Karita possessed one of the stolen weapons, although that would soon change. Operation of the guns was simple and it would not be long before the entire army were proficient fighters.

  He paused as the creak of leather came again, a little louder this time. Whoever the sneaker was, he was getting closer. He heard the sound creep closer, the guards still oblivious, and could at last disconcertion from where it came. It was above his head, on the shear cliff face pockmarked only by small impressions and irregular cracks. Someone was climbing down near fifty metres in order to sneak past the guards - an impressive feat.

  The sound of leather pressing softly against rock stopped abruptly, and Locantar found himself holding his breath. Was it his imagination, or could he hear the shallow rasping breathing above?

  When the noise did not come again for long minutes Locantar realised the climber must be waiting for night to set in, resting until the two watchmen lowered their guard a little. The climber was still high above them, his black clad form unmoving and invisible upon a narrow ledge, waiting as still and as patiently as a thief in the shadows.

  * * *

  Locantar roused himself as he almost fell into a slumber. The bonfire had collapsed into smouldering ashes, the sounds of the army quiet. As consciousness returned he felt a burning pain in his arms as muscles cramped painfully. Precious little blood flowed through the limbs held above his head and it was no wonder they were beginning to ache. He held his breath for a second and heard the steady breathing of the two guards - they were bored, but awake. He also heard the incessant chirping of crickets and the sounds of night.

  The blind man almost jumped when something brushed his shoulder. Quickly controlling his reactions he remained silent
and unmoving in order not to alert the guards.

  The climber was good! Even Locantar had not heard him descend those last few metres. The next moment the bonds holding his wrists fell, broken by a sharp blade. Locantar winced as blood flowed through his arms as they fell to his sides, pins and needles coursing uncomfortably along his flesh. His rescuer's word was soft it was almost part of the wind.

  "Follow."

  Locantar pivoted and his hands met with a dangling length of cord. He did not hear the climber's breath and surmised he must have already drawn back up the cliff face. The old man moved slowly and inexorably to twist the rope into a knot about his waist, every movement as slow as the unfolding of flowers. More than once he paused as he heard one of the guards stir and grumble some sort of comment to his fellow. The other chuckled ruefully, as if they had just shared a quiet joke. They faced outwards from the old man, their eyes turned to the plains. They did not expect rescue to come from above.

  Then it was done, the rope knotted tight at his chest after looping below his arms. He tugged the rope uncertainly, unsure of what sort of signal to give his rescuer.

  Evidently he must have understood, for immediately pressure was applied and he felt his weight leave his feet. Another moment he was off the ground, spinning lazily, as he ascended the cliff. He aided the climber by gripping edges of rock where he could, pushing upward to keep his full weight off the rope.

  It wasn't long before he had reached his rescuer on a ledge so narrow it was really just a lip. A quick motion and the stranger pulled the black woollen balaclava from his head, his tasselled red hair spilling out. Teeth gleaming white in a broad grin his thin hand extended to haul Locantar the rest of the way.

  "Good day, old timer."

  "Josian," whispered Locantar with relief as his keen ears recognised the voice. It was the currach who had been talking to him earlier that evening before his capture. "You take too much of a risk."

  Josian's voice was soft - the guard's lay barely five metres below. "We've work before us, Holy One. The Church needs you."

  Locantar nodded slowly and shook Josian's hand firmly. "Thank you. But how are we going to get up here?"

  Josian looked upwards. Over forty metres of cliff face towered overhead.

  "I shall climb first," he said. "I'll have to stop and brace myself every so often to pull you up. If I go any further the weight of the rope will be too much."

  "Very well, let's go."

  The agile thin man donned his balaclava once more, flexed his fingers, then set about the task. Locantar waited patiently as he heard faint sounds of Josian's leather shoes scraping against the granite face and below the guards moved restlessly from one buttock to the other as the chill night air began to seep into their bones.

  A tautening of the rope about his chest pulled his attention back to the fore as he found himself rising. This time the ledge was not as wide as the previous and he had to brace himself in a fissure in the rock while Josian climbed further. The old man's muscles were aching by the time the rope was taken taut again and he was pulled higher.

  It had seemed like hours had passed, but Locantar guessed that the whole operation would have taken less than forty minutes. With a final heave Josian pulled the rope, bringing Locantar to the lip of the cliff face, whereupon they both sprawled out in relief. Locantar reflected as they lay back in the night air getting their breath back.

  "Where did you learn to climb and move so quietly?" he asked.

  Josian laughed softly. "I have always loved climbing - when I was a child my mother scolded me for scrambling up onto the roof of our house. Since then I have practiced in my leisure time on the cliffs to the south of the city. Of course, that was before the Sunlords' arrival."

  "And the stealth? Surely you didn't learn the art of thievery in Religion classes."

  "No, not quite. Let's just say in my youth I came home late often, and the only way to avoid my mother's wrath was to sneak in through my bedroom window."

  Locantar laughed mirthfully without fear of being overhead - the guards and the camp were far below. "I am indebted to your skills," said the blind man. "Remind me to thank your mother later for making you develop them."

  Josian did not join the laughter. "Mother and father were at the farm when the Sunlords came...They just disappeared."

  The old man lowered his milky eyes. "I'm sorry."

  "It's okay," Josian murmured. "I'm just trying to forget about it until all this is over."

  They were silent for a time. Locantar had a thought.

  "Josian, have you heard any more of the plans to develop the gas?"

  "Yes, I discovered soon after you were captured a little more of its effects. They say it blisters your skin and makes you vomit - and just minutes after exposure you die as your flesh blackens. Morbid, I know. I shudder to even think of it. They say it production is simple, but the chemist making it refuses to give to formula to Shata."

  "He may have a small shred of decency after all."

  "Yes, he will only make a certain amount for Shata - just enough for his purposes. The chemist must be mad."

  "And feeling guilty, I suspect," mused Locantar. "He has the weight of hundreds of lives on his shoulders. Is that all you know?"

  "One more thing. They keep the chemical apparatus in Shata's tent, next to the chemist's sleeping quarters. Production will start at dawn."

  Locantar's white eyes glistened in thought. "We're going to have to leave the camp now that I've been discovered, right?"

  "Yes," answered Josian, uncertain where this was leading.

  "So we must act now - this very night. We need to get into that tent and stop the gas from being made. Our only chance is to save this fool's army using their evil gas which will probably end up killing more currach than Sunlords."

  "Are you kidding? Shata's tent is heavily guarded-"

  "You have more than proven yourself in stealth, my boy. But hold a minute, and listen to the stars. Can you not hear Abas calling out to you to put an end to the weapon that could spell ruin for the currach. Can you imagine clouds of this terrible gas spilling over living beings, crushing the life from them? It must be stopped."

  "How?"

  Locantar's face was grave. "The night is but young. We can get into Shata's tent and destroy the gas before production even starts."

  Josian was silent. "You speak confidently, Locantar."

  "You are not obliged to join me," he returned.

  "No, you do not understand. I am obligated. I have vowed myself to the Church, and have been around long enough to know that when you speak it is wise to listen."

  "Save your praise until this night is over. Tell me, what's happened to our confederates? Have the others of the Church been discovered?"

  "No, I don't think so. Ever since they saw your capture though they drew back and did not attempt a meeting with me. They must have been afraid Shata was suspicious of them, too."

  Locantar nodded agreeably. "It is in the nature of a currach to stay in the background and watch things pass. I cannot blame them for being afraid."

  "I'd say they would be preparing to head back home," continued Josian. "Leave at first light and rejoin their families now that they think you're dead."

  "But you stayed...to help me?"

  Josian laughed. "Perhaps some would call me foolish."

  "I truly thank you for it, and you will be rewarded by Abas." Locantar heaved himself to his feet, still feeling part-naked without his staff. "So we are alone."

  The other stood too and gazed down upon the sleeping camp. The numerous campfires spotted about the makeshift tents winked in the darkness. Here and there Josian caught a glimpse of movement as the night watchmen strolled about their duty. From this vantage the crumbled ruins which Shata had set his tent upon took on another dimension, the shadows seemingly giving the mounds of rock definition. Josian imagined he could see the outline of what may have been an ancient castle, the wall laid and pulverised with the passing of t
ime.

  Locantar breathed the air heavily, holding it into his lungs as he thought. "There is a narrow path to our right, leading down to the camp."

  "Yes, that is how I climbed up here in the first place, although I would call it a goat trail rather than a path."

  Locantar's white eyes stared at some distant unseen object. "The trail curves about and reaches the bottom near Shata's tent." It was a statement, not a question.

  "That is true, but we'd have to get around the guard's," Josian mused, scratching his chin in thought. "We could keep our backs to the cliff and circle around...yes, that would bring us around the back of the chemist's tent. I have a knife, so we could easily slice through the back of it."

  "Then it is set."

  Josian nodded affirmatively. He started to help Locantar, but then realised that the old man had an advantage in the dark - he was used to walking sightless. Josian found himself following Locantar's weaving shadow moving easily and confidently through the rubble covering the top of the cliff, his black robe ripped and dirty yet conveying an impression of authority.

  The trail was much easier travel than the part of the cliff they had just climbed, for here the land flattened out a little as it banked away down to the plainlands below. After a few minutes both reached the ground, treading carefully now as they were once again in the heart of the camp. To their right a camp fire blazed and some currach spoke among themselves in quiet tones, individual words lost on the wind. From the left came the gentle cracking of canvas snapping in the breeze. Looking that way, Josian saw the dark shadow of Shata's tent silhouetted against the night sky.

  They crouched behind a finger of rock, sitting in deep shadows and trying not to crack twigs and leaves at their feet. Josian finished surveying the area and put his mouth to Locantar's ear.

  "I can see Shata's tent. The chemist's is on the other side of it. But I can't see any guards."

  Locantar shook his head. His voice was a harsh whisper. "I hear movement from outside the tent. I'd say at least four guards stand by the door."