Sunlord

by Ronan Frost

  Almost immediately the loud, heavy beating of the war drums started around them. The drummers had been placed all around the valley, a score of huge drums manned by the Leagesmen. And now the heavy beating fell into a rhythm, the groups of drummers matching beats, vibrating the earth with the primitive tones. It was hoped the sound would not only signal Priar and Criox to release the gas but would also confuse the Sunlords. The drums were placed such that for anyone standing in the city it would be impossible to tell from which direction it came.

  "Shata! News!"

  The leader looked up, startled. He saw a messenger emerge from the dusk, running low and fast, shouting as he ran. "Shata, I'm from the scout group."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "The currach, Shata," breathed the messenger, resting his hands upon his knees. "We found where the Sunlords are keeping the people."

  "Who, who do you mean?"

  "The ones who lived in the city, Shata. We were moving up westwards when we spotted six huge steel things. The two of us investigated it. The things were cages holding all the currach."

  Shata-Bera swirled. "They live! Okay," he motioned broadly with a sweep of his hand. "We'll free them as soon as the city is secured." A blaze of light shone in his eye. "Now we shall see the Councillors relying upon us."

  Black surrounded him as he stumbled up the steep stairs. His breath was ragged, torn, his lungs burning as he ran upwards through the darkness, leather shoes flapping against the stone.

  At last Criox reached the top of the flight of stairs and paused for a moment to regain his breath, waiting for his heart to calm.

  It had been close. He had barely managed to slip past the two Sunlords who had been patrolling the base of the stairs. Criox cursed his stupidity in mistiming his leap - a mistake which had very nearly cost his life.

  Not that it meant anything now, he thought. I'm going to be dead soon anyway. Criox patted the inside of his vest to feel the bulk of the canister. Still there.

  He had caught his breath, so he pushed onwards once again. He was behind schedule after his unexpected encounter so would have to make up for lost time. Criox ran down the corridor of the old currach building, keeping tight to the wall. A sharp right, and he was out into the open night air once again, the stars cold and small overhead and an icy wind in his face. He did not pause as he ran along the parapet of the city wall.

  Then he was there. He ducked low, eyes roaming. The main gates were below where the Sunlords had set up a large guarding force. Criox squinted into the darkness and noticed the Sunlords had erected sheets of silver over the central city courtyard, forming some sort of massive tent. The strange material billowed and rippled, flashing silver. The walls were also covered with the same fabric, forming a shelter fifty metres wide. Criox found the changes hard to interpret. The Sunlords' tents lay in the very place religious ceremonies for Abas were held. Criox remembered many times in his childhood he had joined his family in the weekly homage to Abas in the Church courtyard.

  Looking closer, Criox saw through the open doorway of the tent, noticing something was stacked in ranks like...like hammocks. As he watched movement stirred within one of the hammocks closest to the door.

  Criox stared, incredulous with his discovery. He was sure now. The tent was filled with sleeping Sunlords! While half of the army guarded, the other half must be resting for the work that lay ahead. The door to the tent lay wide open as heavily armoured Sunlords strode in and out, their huge machine guns slung casually over one shoulder. It seemed they were not expecting an attack.

  Criox fell back. He knew that if he dropped the canister of gas he would not only kill the guards near the gate, he would also wipe out half the Sunlord force. He had no doubt the gas could do that. Criox paused, confused. He should be elated - this should be a victory. Here he was, single handedly tipping the balance in the League's favour.

  But his heart was heavy. Criox withdrew the canister from inside his vest and turned the crudely shaped glass jar over in his hands. He was silent, eyes half closed. Thoughts ran through his mind, and he finally pinned down the source of his discomfort. He couldn't bring himself to kill the Sunlords.

  Stirred into action only by horrendous events Criox now found his true nature had been exposed, the false layer of rage pulled away to reveal the kind hearted currach interior - the heart that had seen seasons pass slowly and contentedly, watching children grow with soft eyes. He had come to the League red with fury, seeking revenge for atrocities done to his family. Now the blindness of rage had faded and he saw the stupidity of his actions. Sure, the training had been fine. Stabbing a pile of hay, cursing for all you were worth, but still the memory of his gaining entrance to the city burned into the forebrain. When Criox had seen the blood flowing from the mouth of that poor boy all thoughts of revenge bled from his brain. That poor, stupid boy who had stood in the shadows making it seem like he was a Sunlord...

  Criox looked upon the courtyard and all too vividly imagined the greeny red blood of the Sunlords caking on their armoured suits, visors cracked open as the gas spilled in, rippling their faces in blisters.

  The moment was upon him, Criox knew he could not do it. He could not kill.

  Criox raised his head, wanting to look away from the tablet of gas in his hands. He saw the Sunlords moving in and out of their tent, saluting as they passed each other. They were alive, breathing. If he took their lives surely he would be no better than they.

  Then he heard the beating of drums in the distance. The signal.

  Slowly, deliberately, Criox lay the canister gently at his feet, watching it unblinkingly, a small glimmer in the corner of his facetted eye betraying his emotions.

  The black-clad currach motioned a greeting as a rider advanced. The tosutri cantered to a halt and the rider dismounted smoothly. The rider ran forward and it was only then that the Jargoon group leader recognised him.

  "Shata! What are you doing here?"

  Shata-Bera cocked his machine gun with a click-clack. "I'm going in with you, Forshan."

  The group leader had no time for comment. Shata strode past him, and he followed, unslinging his rifle from his shoulder. Shata eyed the city walls. The black face was only one-hundred metres away and from this distance individual details could be made out.

  "The gas should be starting to dissipate now."

  Forshan nodded. "It is time for us to move now. The gates should be open by the time we reach them. We've got to be quick if we want to catch them off guard."

  The Jargoon group picked itself away from the hollow it sheltered in and moved as a tight group across the final distance. There were almost ninety currach in the group. At the head was Shata-Bera and the Karita - those warriors with firearms in the lead. The main fighting force were armed with lances and clubs, and ten archers brought up the rear, their forest longbows standing almost as tall as themselves.

  Then they were at the gate. Shata held up a fist, signalling them to stop. He motioned for the Jargoon group leader.

  "I can't hear anything," commented Shata.

  "Is that good or bad? The gas may not have reached the Sunlords yet. Either that, or they're all dead already."

  "There is no time to ponder - we'll have to take the chance. Bring the oil."

  Silently and wordlessly Forshan approached the looming oaken doors of the city, an aide following closely. Forshan helped the later to remove the bulky backpack he carried.

  "Careful with that," Shata whispered harshly. The backpack contained containers of oil - the fuel the currach used to light lamps and the like. Reaching up as high as possible Forshan and his assistant moved quickly to douse the gate liberally with the liquid.

  Shata moved his pointed finger through the group, beckoning aside his Karita.

  "The rest of you get back," he growled. Shata turned to the five Karita at his side. "Give the fire a chance to weaken the wood - and then blast it."

  All the Karita nodded affirmative. Shata motioned to Forshan.<
br />
  "Do it."

  The wall of light struck them like a physical blow. It shocked Shata even though he had braced himself as the oil ignited with a loud whoomp! The darkness blew away under the assault of light and heat and the air beat with the crackle of flame. The Karita took an involuntary step backwards, eyes shielded. Only Shata stood his ground as the wave of heat washed over. His finger found the trigger and he aimed the wide muzzle of the semi-automatic at the centre of the gate.

  Sparks flew as Shata's gunfire pounded into the fire-weakened hardwood. Seconds later the heavy rattling of the Karita's fire echoed his. Their aim wandered over the gate, washing it with a spray of bullets. The gate buckled inwards, hesitated, then finally gave way. The lower half of the door collapsed, smoke billowing, splinters flying.

  The Jargoon group leapt through the still-burning gash like circus animals leaping through a loop of fire. Forshan was the first to dive through. After an instant of searing heat the group leader was past, hitting the ground, rolling and recovering with sword poised. A split second later the top of his head was cleanly removed, spinning his body around, blood splattering in a wake behind like a burst water balloon.

  Heavy gunfire tore the earth at Shata's feet as he ran, zigzagging wildly, making for cover. His finger was planted on the trigger, his head on the ground in front, not looking where he was firing. He shot wildly, blazing crazily as he ran.

  The others of the Jargoon group fanned out from the opening in the gate, confused as deadly gunfire rained around them. Companions to the right and left stumbled, cast backwards as enemy fire found its mark.

  Shata looked around, rage in his eyes. He had been cut off from the rest. Their group had been dispersed - shattered apart. They were under attack. There could be only one explanation.

  The gas had not worked.

  The Sunlords were keeping under cover but Shata could hear them. They shouted orders to each other in their guttural language, their tones not mad with panic but commanding and in control. Like an army should be.

  Shata leapt from his cover and ran low across the ground. Movement flashed ahead and he brought up his rifle and squeezed off a round. The Sunlord fell backwards with a neat hole in the centre of its forehead. Shata barely paused as he leapt over the corpse, diving behind an old wagon for cover until he figured out his situation.

  Parshan sweated heavily beneath the heavy fabric of his woollen mask. He pulled it off and threw it to the ground.

  "Where's Shata?" he bawled to the Leaguesman closest him.

  The other shook his head. "Disappeared. Parshan, sir, we can't win. The gas hasn't worked!"

  Parshan slumped his back against the wall. Four other Leaguesmen had managed to take cover alongside him, clumped together in panic.

  "We've got to get out of here," echoed the currach archer. "We've lost each other - Abas knows what's become of the rest of the Jargoon group. We've got to retreat!"

  "Calm down," ordered Parshan wildly, his tone wavering. He waved the muzzle of his rifle towards the shadows behind. "Move back there. There's no chance of getting out the gate now. We'll hole up here until we figure out what to do next."

  The four Leaguesmen readily agreed. Now they knew what to do they moved with purpose down the narrow space between a building and the city wall. Parshan brought up the rear, guarding their retreat with his rifle. He conserved his ammunition, waiting for a Sunlord to show himself rather than firing wildly into the smoke.

  He was walking backwards when he bumped into the Leaguesman before him.

  "What is it now?" he cursed. "Why have we stopped?" Parshan turned and froze, his fingers suddenly slippery with sweat, a rush of blood filling his ears.

  The Leaguesmen too had frozen. Very, very slowly Parshan lowered his rifle to the ground. The Sunlord's voice was mechanical and even.

  "Drop your weapons."

  The other Leaguesmen did so. Maces and knives fell to the cobblestones with a clatter. Parshan found himself unable to take his eyes from the huge bull-like figure of the Sunlord. It held its rifle lowered threateningly, aimed directly at Parshan's midsection.

  "Move back into the courtyard," demanded the Sunlord warrior.

  The Leaguesmen stumbled backwards. The foremost of them couldn't move quickly enough as he scrambled away from the advancing Sunlord. In moments they had backed into the courtyard, hands held high above their heads in the universal gesture of surrender.

  Shata watched from his hidden vantage as his soldiers emerged from the smoky shadows, weaponless and pliable. His eyes were cold. It is in the nature of the currach to submit and to give in, he reflected bitterly. Only in a few individuals have the power to keep pushing on, and Shata was one such person. With a wild cry he emerged, firing his rifle in a 180-degree arc as he bolted forward.

  He caught two Sunlords across the belly as he charged. They fell back as he rushed forward, his fire unceasing as he burrowed deeper in their midst. Half of his face was twisted with fury, the other half twisted with scar tissue. His attempts had failed. The League had given in!

  His bullets found the marks of three further Sunlords and wounded several more before he finally ran out of ammunition. It took a second for him to interpret what had happened - why the rifle was no longer responding to his urgings. He cast aside the rifle - no time to reload. He doubled and withdrew a double-edged blade from his boot, clenching it tight in the palm of one hand. Shata-Bera slashed at a figure that leapt from the chaos to his left. The blade embedded itself through the joints in the Sunlord's armour, wedging tight. Shata pushed with all his might.

  Then the world spun wildly. His head rocketed with immense pain as a blow caught him across the forehead. The next moment he was on the ground, hand probing at his wound and bringing it away bloody. He screamed a savage cry of rebellion as the Sunlord trooper stepped closer. The star warrior fired a single shot and the cry silenced immediately.

  * * *

  Pools of darkness and light shadowed the room, vibrant red shades and the strangely beautiful curved projections from the floor giving it a surrealistic feel. A deep humming pervaded the air, a sound so deep and resonating it seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth, reaching the back of the mind like a primeval growling.

  A thin veil of mist hung just above the polished floor, the wispy smoke billowing gently with the minor air currents. The far end of the room was not visible, the darkness was complete away from the small circle of red light.

  A figure moved, resettling himself into the folds of the large cushioned chair. He steepled his broad six fingered hands, staring at some point in the darkness beyond the light.

  "Why wasn't I notified of this before?"

  The dome-like shapes that surrounded Admiral Karthorn seemed to glow as a soft but omnipresent voice spoke.

  "I am sorry, Admiral," boomed Avatar, its voice seemingly coming from nowhere and filling every-where at once. "A large portion of my resources have been pooled into that area, and I did not want to trouble you further. As soon as it was realised as a problem you were notified."

  Admiral Karthorn nodded dismissively. He looked around, chewing on his lower lip with thoughts milling through his mind. This was the mind of the Urisa, the very living, beating heart of the ship. Here was housed the gigantic mainframe that was Avatar, although this room revealed only a small portion of the computer, like the tip of an iceberg, many tight and airless cubic metres of machinery and equipment filled the deck below, circuits integrated into a huge multifaceted intelligent being.

  "I thought you said those native infiltrators had been killed," questioned Karthorn.

  The room was silent, as if Avatar was drawing in a breath. When it spoke it's words came with clinical precision.

  "Reports at the time indicated this was the case, but it seems two survived what I had previously determined a fatal explosion."

  "This was duct 331, I presume."

  "Yes sir. The heat scanners and motion detectors traced their path throug
h link 5a-2t, and I ordered an ambush."

  The Admiral's brows raised. "Ambush?"

  "Nine armoured droids were to close in from either side of the passageway, blocking off any escape and terminating the two intruders."

  Admiral Karthorn ran his fingers through the short crop of hair atop his head, the hard almost scaly skin on the back of his hand glinting in the light.

  "And the outcome?"

  "The ambush failed, sir. They fought their way through the barriers and moved off quickly. Cameras in the tubes identified one of the two infiltrators as prisoner 4380-C3a, who was due for meltdown in the gene labs before his escape six days ago."

  The Admiral became interested at this last remark. "This escaped prisoner has returned? Of his own free will?"

  "He was recaptured and brought back, and held in the med bays under medium security. He also escaped from there."

  "This is beginning to sound like an interesting character...where was he originally picked up?"

  "Sij-pole sector, after a battle with Federation ships."

  "The Sij-pole..." mused Karthorn. "I remember that battle. As I recall, the Federation was defending a moon radar base but their forces were crushed by our ships. That was a long time ago, but he seems to have prepared himself well." He looked up, his eyes glinting with coolness. "Avatar, I want this human destroyed. I don't care about the gene labs wanting their look in - it's too late for that now. I want to see his body flushed into space."

  "It will be done, sir, " came the deep voice of Avatar. "They have been tracked closely through the ducts and this time they won't escape."

  The Admiral bowed his head in thought. "Who else is with the prisoner?"

  "A native from the planet."

  Karthorn looked up in surprise. "But the psyche files reported the aborigines to the planet were pacifists. You said we could expect no opposition from them, yet now you're telling me some primitive tribesman has taken revenge into his tiny head?"