Sword Destiny

by Robert Leader

  Zela saw her opportunity and risked all on a swift lunge. Raven twisted as he fell but failed to effectively block or parry. The point of Zela’s blade penetrated deep under his right shoulder, crippling his sword arm. Zela drew back and restored her balance as her blade swept up. Her face was a picture of unnatural, savage delight and she swung the downward stroke.

  “No!”

  Raven was helpless. Blood poured from the wound underneath his arm and he could no longer lift his blade. But another sword met the blow as Maryam leapt between them.

  Zela staggered back as Maryam surged forward. For a moment she could only defend, to block and parry the fresh fury of Maryam’s sudden attack. Then her supremacy with the blade took control again and she forced Maryam to retreat in turn. They exchanged a wild flurry of blows before a neat twist from Zela’s iron wrist sent Maryam’s sword spinning from her hand.

  For a heartbeat of time they glared hot-eyed at each other, their breasts heaving as they sucked in air. Maryam crouched back, protecting Raven’s body with her own, drawing her knife from her waistbelt as she clawed her long black hair out of her eyes. Zela hesitated, her sword still ready.

  Kananda rushed in to seize Zela by her sword arm.

  “He slew my brother,” Zela sobbed in fury.

  “Would you kill my sister?” Kananda cried in equal anguish.

  For a moment they struggled together. Then Zela stared into the blood-soaked mask that was his face, uttered another choking sob of despair and sagged limp in his arms.

  Kananda pulled her back. “He is the last Gheddan. The only one left of his race. You and Kyle and Laurya are all that is left of Alpha. Have we all learned nothing?”

  Zela had no words to answer, but finally she threw down her sword. She shook herself free of his faltering grip and walked blindly away.

  Kananda looked helplessly at Maryam, who still knelt protectively over the wounded Raven. The fallen sword lord had transferred his blade to his left hand and had succeeded in raising himself to one knee. He was losing blood fast and with it his strength had drained away. He expected no mercy and waited without expression for the sword death he had always expected, for he knew that this time he was beaten.

  Kananda turned and ran after the women he loved.

  High above on the astral plane, Kaseem still hovered and watched. The chains of the old body that had contained him for so long were severed and this time there could be no return, but he spared the empty husk barely a glance. He searched and saw that the boy he had sent as a runner to stop the Juahar had arrived in time. Then he had watched anxiously as Kyle and his two Hindu friends had returned to their chariot and continued their interrupted walk into the city. There, Gujar had sought out Sahani in the courtyard of Indra’s temple.

  Kaseem had spoken a soft prayer of thanks. He had taught the young priest all he knew of the healing arts and herbal remedies. Sahani had a healer’s soul and a gentle instinct. Laurya could not be in better hands. After a short conference, Sahani climbed into the back of the chariot and they continued to the house of Gandhar where Gujar called his female servants to carry Laurya inside and find her a bed. He and Kasim then waited outside by the tinkling fountains of the central courtyard with Kyle, while the priest and the ladies of Gujar’s house tended to their patient.

  Kaseem found himself feeling a strong bond of sympathy for Kyle. They shared the same love and now there was no longer any jealousy or resentment for the young Alphan in his heart. All that had evaporated when he had realized that all of the four young people below were in the path of Tuluq’s chariots. In this life it was ordained that Laurya was to be Kyle’s wife and the Alphan loved and cherished her as much as Kharga who was now Kaseem.

  He waited and waited, and then knew that Laurya was still alive, and that it was not yet her time to die. He wished that he could tell Kyle what he instinctively understood, but there was no direct link between the astral and the earthly worlds. Kaseem closed his eyes to the physical world below and allowed his spirit to be drawn slowly up through the higher astral planes to the everlasting light, where there was only spiritual eternity, spiritual unity and spiritual peace.

  He knew that he had passed through another earthly learning experience. All physical life spans were only brief and in due course of time Laurya would come to join him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Weeks passed. The mass funerals and all the individual funerals for the fallen lords and kings and champions were all completed. The prayers were recited, the lamentations sung, the tears wept, the sacrifices made. The broken spears and lances, the wrecked chariots and the vast log rafts cleared from the Mahanadi were all used to build the funeral pyres, but at last the sweet smoke palls diminished and dispersed. The sky above the plain became blue and clear again. Eventually the grass grew once more on the trampled earth, at first in small pale patches, but then an all over carpet, richer, sweeter and greener than it had ever grown before. Bright green shoots sprang up among the hewn tree stumps on the edge of the forest, and the darker green of vines and other foliage began to strangle and conceal the black steel of the crashed Tri-thruster.

  Work began to rebuild the bridge and the walls. The Mahanadi flowed clear and sweet, and boats appeared again, hauling upstream from the cities by the sea with cargoes of food, oil and wine. Envoys from Kanju and Bahdra came bearing gifts and recompense and seeking new bonds of unity.

  Under the watchful care of the priest Sahani, Raven’s wound slowly healed. The herbal salves that were applied daily prevented infection and helped the edges of the wound to knit together, leaving scar tissue and a stiffened shoulder. The sometimes foul-tasting potions Sahani concocted, together with careful nutrition, all helped to rebuild the Sword Lord’s strength.

  The day came when Raven was at last able to ride out of the city with Maryam beside him and a dozen others who had chosen to accompany them into a self-imposed exile. One was Gujar, the others were almost equally divided between soldiers of Maryam’s personal palace guard and warriors of the House of Gandhar who had elected to follow their young Lord.

  Kananda and Kasim rode with them for the first hour, following the bank of the river past the city and then heading due south. They rode in heavy silence until at last Kananda decided that the evil moment could not be put off any longer. He called a halt, and then embraced his sister and said their farewells.

  Kasim and Gujar also embraced and wished each other good fortune.

  Kananda gripped Gujar by the hand. He did not understand why the Lord of Gandhar had chosen this course of action and only knew that he was loathe to lose both a trusted sword and a loyal friend. It was almost as difficult as saying goodbye to Maryam.

  “Why?” he asked again, the perplexity still showing in his eyes.

  “On the last day of battle, the blue lord saved my life.” Gujar gave the same answer as before. “And the Princess Maryam needs more than one true sword for protection.” He would not add that he could not live in the same city as the Prince Rajar. Now that peace had returned and Kananda ruled Karakhor, Gujar could not rock that unsteady equilibrium by accusing and challenging the new king’s brother. The only answer was that he must leave and this was his perfect opportunity. He had extracted a promise from Kasim that in his absence Kasim would watch the new king’s back and be alert for any new treachery from Rajar.

  Kananda turned at last to Raven and after a moment’s hesitation again held out his hand. Raven accepted the handclasp. “Where will you go?” Kananda asked.

  Raven shrugged. “From space we saw other parts of this planet that might be the beginnings of small civilizations. There is a fertile crescent to the west that looked inhabited. Or even further west, across the great ocean, the tight-waisted continent there showed a few small stone mountains that might have been built by men. Or to the south, there was another continent at the planet’s pole. Any direction will do. Perhaps somewhere I can carve a new Sword Empire.”

  Kananda was doubtful. “I to
o have seen our planet from space. There is much empty land, great deserts and untamed forests, and the waters are vast. There will be many dangers.”

  Raven smiled briefly. “Everything that ever was has been built by a man and his sword. Nothing changes. We will ride out and see what our future holds.”

  Kananda nodded. “May the gods go with you.”

  “There are no gods.” Raven was still defiant. “Only the sword.”

  They parted. Raven rode away without looking back. Maryam waved a last farewell before she spurred her horse to ride at his side. Gujar and the others made their parting salutes and followed.

  Kananda watched them ride out of sight and then he and Kasim turned away. They rode slowly back to golden Karakhor, where a black steel spire still rose from the cluster of sandstone temples. The encircling river ran silver-blue and tiny white and yellow flowers had begun to speckle the fresh green of the plain.

  Kananda thought about the God behind All Gods and wondered. He was sure that Raven was wrong and he knew now that the Hindu pantheon of Indra, Varuna and Agni could not explain it all. Had Alpha even begun to understand?

  About the Author

  To learn more about Robert Leader please send an email to robertcharlesrleader@talktalk.net

  Look for these titles by Robert Leader

  Now Available:

  The Sword Lord

  Sword Empire

  From the exotic mists of Vedic mythology to the harsh and barbaric Gheddan Empire, the Law of the Sword is carried godlessly into the space age.

  Book 2 of THE FIFTH PLANET

  Sword Empire

  © 2007 Robert Leader

  The first mission to control the Third Planet has failed, and the Sword Lord of Ghedda, Raven, has been driven out of the ancient Hindu Kingdom of Karakhor and forced to return to the planet Dooma. He takes with him Maryam, princess of Karakhor, who sees him as her lover and a possible savior in the coming battle against the might of Maghalla.

  They are pursued by Kananda, First Prince of Karakhor, drawn by love for his star goddess, Zela, and his determination to find the sister he believes has been taken by force.

  On the Fifth Planet they are all hurled into a terrible arms race between two warring continents. A planetary cataclysm looms as Kananda and Zela undertake a desperate mission into the heart of the Sword Empire.

  For Zela, it is a race against time to save her world. For Kananda, it is a matter of love and honor to find Maryam.

  And both seek vengeance against the Sword Lord.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Sword Empire:

  Radd was light and fast, moving quickly on the toes and balls of his feet. He came at Raven in an attacking whirlwind of blurred steel, to the accompaniment of loud cheers of encouragement from the crowd. A lesser swordsman than Raven would have died in those first few furious minutes, but Raven’s blade matched the speed of his opponent's and held Radd at sword’s length as they fought back and forth across the raised dueling ground.

  Some of the cheering began to falter, and Raven smiled into Radd’s ice-cold eyes. He knew now what they had all expected. He had spent almost eight weeks in deep space and they had assumed that he would still be stiff from lack of exercise. But even in the confines of the ship he had worked daily to keep himself loose and supple, and to maintain the strength of his sword arm and wrist.

  Radd bared his teeth in an answering smile, and for a split second, his pressure eased. Raven smashed forward an attack that drove the younger man backward and now the cheering all but died away.

  Despite his slightness of build, Radd had the strength of coiled steel. He suddenly leaped high and whirled sideways. It was a neat trick, well practised and perfectly executed, but Raven had seen similar before. He whirled on his heel and his blade was there, defending as Radd attacked again. Raven was forced to give ground, and again there were cheers from Radd’s supporters.

  Raven had the measure of his man now. Radd’s swordplay was brilliant, and he was without doubt the most dangerous opponent Raven had ever faced, but Radd had his weakness.

  Raven knew that he was being pushed back to the very edge of the dueling platform. The uncertain cheers for Radd became louder, and then triumphant. Raven’s heels were inches from the edge, and he risked all on flicking his gaze to the right as though checking the fighting room that was still available. It was the second Radd had waited for— the glacial eyes hardened, and his right shoulder hunched fractionally upward.

  Raven saw the tell-tale sign from the corner of his left eye. He pivoted instantly on his left heel, dropping his upper body forward to keep his balance as he sucked his belly back. Radd’s thrust lunged through suddenly empty air between Raven’s chest and his knees, the disemboweling twist did no more than scratch the golden chain mail of his cod piece.

  Radd recovered too late. Raven’s blade flashed up and cut down again in a vicious back slash. The cut took Radd in the side of the neck and the force of the blow severed his head from his body. The dead man’s trunk reeled sideways, pumping blood in a bright crimson fountain, and then crashed to the floor. The detached head rolled over to the foot of the table where the Council of Twelve sat and gaped.

  There was a stunned silence. Raven slowly straightened and flexed his shoulders. He looked for the chalk-white face of Maryam and gave her a reassuring smile. Then he rested the flat of his bloodied blade briefly in the palm of his free hand as his sardonic gaze passed over the remaining spectators.

  Taron, Garl and Landis found their breath, filled their lungs, and gave a great mutual roar of approval.

  Raven smiled back at them and waited for the applause to fade. Then his smile disappeared as he returned his full attention to the Council of Twelve.

  He walked back to his former position where he had stood to address them, and casually leaned forward to spike Radd’s head, sliding the point of his blade into the severed windpipe. He held his grim trophy aloft.

  “Swordmaster Radd was very good,” he said conversationally. “But he relied too much on his fancy tricks.”

  He flicked the head disdainfully away, watching it roll off the edge of the platform. Then he took a pace forward, his hard gaze fixed on Doran. The old Sword Lord stared back at him without flinching, although Doran knew he was staring death in the face. The entire room was hushed, knowing that Raven now had full right to challenge Doran to the sword.

  Raven’s eyes flickered to the right, to the face of Karn. He raised one eyebrow in silent question.

  Karn’s face was another frozen mask. Nothing cracked, but almost imperceptibly he moved his head.

  Raven was surprised. Both his eyebrows lifted, seeking confirmation.

  Again Karn made the silent, negative motion of his head.

  Raven returned his direct, thoughtful gaze to Doran. For some reason Karn did not want him to re-issue the sword challenge and kill his enemy.

  She has to decide if she’s a hero…or just a killer after all.

  Death of Heroes

  © 2008 Saje Williams

  Morrigan, immortal assassin and notorious party girl, is itching for a challenge to test her skills and the powers of her new agency—anything that’ll get her mind off Byron. Her interest in the young vampire goes a lot farther than professional regard, and she pulled every string she could reach to get him on her team. Thanks to his annoying code of ethics, though, he spurns her advances at every turn.

  Bryon’s ideals won’t let him do anything the easy way, something in which Morrigan specializes. Where she’s concerned, fascination wars with suspicion and, generally, suspicion wins. He can trust her to do her job in the most ruthless way imaginable. Trust her with his heart and soul? Not going to happen.

  Now Morrigan’s got what she wanted, the most challenging mission she’s ever undertaken. A war between human and superhuman factions has destroyed one of the variant Earths, and ArchAngel is sending her and a team back in time to change the outcome.

  But to succeed, she
’ll have to make the greatest moral choice of her life—do the job as she knows must be done, or risk the outcome to finally gain Bryon’s trust and acceptance.

  It’s not the first time Morrigan’s ridden the edge of the knife. But this time one slip could cost everything that truly matters to her.

  Warning—this title contains violence, adult language, ethical and moral dilemmas.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Death of Heroes:

  He was on his way back to his office, enjoying the brief moment of peace, when Raven stepped out the shadows along his route. “Hey, Justice…we need to talk.”

  ArchAngel shook his head as the vampire fell into step beside him. Though he looked older and larger than when he’d known him in his previous life, he still considered Raven to be one of his best friends. He trusted him like he trusted few others, and the vampire had yet to let him down. He’d done what no vampire should have been able to do—age. But, of course, that had been the unintended side effect of an evil weapon the immortal Odin had used on him. He’d gone from the apparent age of fifteen, the age he’d been when he’d been turned, to an adult in a matter of seconds. Where he’d once seemed but a callow youth, now he had all the bearing and sheer masculine beauty of a vid actor from back on old Earth.

  As odd as ArchAngel’s own life had been, he still found the change unsettling. He’d known Raven for years back on Earth, and the vampire had never changed even slightly. Now he was a completely different person. To look at, at least. Inside, he seemed to be the man ArchAngel remembered. That was a good thing.