By late-afternoon hunters were continuing to stream in and by the time the sun dropped below the horizon there were too many to be counted. In this whole wide world he could not have imagined so many Egris in one place.
“Ilon!” It was Horhon who raced up the slope to greet him. Seizing him by the waist she hauled him into the air and screamed excitedly. “You are here! Alive! You look well fed too. Say something.”
He smiled as he smoothed his hand against her face, and felt her tremble with happiness. “Once we were separated by the Iranha, driven apart. No longer. Now we are joined together to fight them.”
Horhon looked below at the hunters’ swelling ranks, amazed by the sight of so many. “You did this?”
“I wanted this. What made you come here?”
“To find you,” she grinned. “In my dreams you were alive in the desert.”
“Why that is what brought us out here too,” he said, surprised.
“Three days ago we left with trods Targasesk and Sandisand. As we traveled we met more and more hunters. Others told me that some of the trods have trekked for ten days. Then I could only wonder why so many were coming this way. Now I understand.”
Ilon was thinking out loud to himself. “She must have done all this. Planned everything so that it would happen exactly this way.”
“Who?”
“It no longer matters. What matters most is that we are all here together. Now we must act before these hunters break apart and leave for good.”
Horhon knew exactly what needed to be done. “You must speak to them, and everyone will listen.”
“I am afraid of that,” Ilon confessed.
“You shouldn’t be. It is exactly as I foresaw. I have dreamed and longed for this moment since your birth. These hunters will follow you.” There was satisfaction in her voice. “But first you must convince them, make them want to fight.”
He hesitated, yet this was his one chance, his only chance, he knew, for an opportunity such as this would never come again. “The Iranha have attacked them, chased them, killed many. They are afraid. To make them fight, they will need to see that we can do to the Iranha what they did to us. Your gun. Let me have it.”
By the time he was ready to speak it was dark and the first moon was just beginning to appear. Yet even as he climbed to the top of the hill and peered over the sprawling mass of bodies, he had grave doubts about the outcome. So he lifted his gun and squeezed the firing mechanism, knowing the grim fate awaiting them all if he should fail.
The thunderous sound and bright light was an instant attention getter, and those who were in the outer circle now pressed forward to see what they could learn of this strange and terrifying noise stick.
“Hunters!” Ilon shouted. “The time has come for us to put aside our fears and mistrust. Today you must think of only one thing: the Iranha. There is not one among you here who has not suffered because of them. Had they remained on their world the peace you had always known would have continued unbroken, and you would still be living as you remembered, never knowing that these poisonous creatures ever existed. But the Iranha are here, to hunt us and kill us, to infest our world with their poisonous garbage and stinking cities, to destroy here what they have already destroyed there. What we need to do is fight them. So you ask how we fight this kind of creature, a creature who seems impossible to kill. Do not think them so powerful. They can be killed. Look at me, the weakest among you, and still I have killed Iranha.”
His bold words elicited a rumble of disbelief, though it gradually subsided when many of his supporters in the crowd assured the onlookers that this was in fact true. Yet Ilon had to seize the moment while there was still time, as many of his converts were just barely convinced.
Just then another blue arc of light screamed overtop of the hunters’ heads, and those who turned to see where it went saw the huge crater where it impacted, then felt the ground shake. Shocked gasps circulated throughout the crowd. Many of the onlookers were still recovering when a second explosion, then a third, rocked the screaming audience.
“This is a thing of mass destruction, a weapon of unimaginable killing power which we stole from the Iranha and now possess. Do not fear it. What was once theirs is now ours. We can kill as they kill, destroy as they destroy. But that is still not enough. What we need are hunters who will fight with us, and who will keep on fighting until these Iranha are defeated and destroyed. Some of you are thinking no. Do not think these Iranha will forget you. For those of you who walk away today, I promise they will kill you tomorrow. Your cowardice is defeat for every one of us.”
He could not impress upon them enough the importance of that, and so he spoke about the impending battle, describing concepts and strategies which for most were difficult to grasp. But slowly and carefully he worked his audience, until everyone could see in their minds exactly what he wanted them to see. A long blank of silence followed after he was finished; everyone was thinking. Finally the crowd began to stir and the first shouts that he heard soon became a groundswell of support as thousands joined in. They were going to fight!
“You have done it!” Horhon cheered. “We will fight the Iranha and win, destroy their cities, drive them away from here for good. When do we go?”
“Immediately,” Ilon said as he held out his riding harness.
She stepped backwards and flatly refused to take it from him. “No. There is someone else more suited for this honor, and he is waiting below.” As she gave the signal the crowd parted and let this single hunter through. With some shouted directions from Horhon he found his way to top of the dune and halted before them.
Ilon smiled. “Krugjon.”
“Yes, it is I,” he grinned. “It pleases me to hear your voice again, Ilon.”
“I see you are eating well. How goes the hunting?”
“Badly. I have sorely missed your eyes.”
“And I have missed your teeth, great hunter. So you have found me and now we must never be separated again. Here.” He gave him his riding harness and Krugjon slipped it on.
“I want to kill Iranha.”
“Soon,” Ilon said. “Very soon.”
It was just after daybreak when the first in the procession started to move. There was a pale glow over the eastern horizon. Raising his hand Ilon gave the order to depart. Krugjon snapped his big tail and took off into the air as the great line surged and rippled behind him. That first step had started the journey back. Now they were heading for home, straight for the Iranha city.
For city Anaxerxes.
Chapter Forty
“I bring a message from Nolum Gar, who is head jailer of the city correctional facility.”
The low ranking dreg had carefully memorized her master’s exact words, had repeated the message over and over in its entirety until it was perfect. But now as she stamped forward into Pulima Cos’s domineering presence, she felt her throat constricting and hoped she would not forget a single word.
“Borobos, who is her prisoner, refuses to cooperate. Nolum Gar deeply regrets that she is unable to make this treasonous creature talk and sends her apologies. Regrettably the information that you wished for is not forthcoming.”
Though Pulima Cos had leaned back in her wet chair the messenger could feel the intensity of her anger and started to tremble with fear. Should she continue and risk a possible beating, or wait until she was commanded to speak further?
“That is because Nolum Gar is too soft on her charge. Obviously she has no stomach for torture. Very well.” Her aides surrounded her as she gestured, and each in turn bowed before her and hurried away. In the end only she and the dreg remained in her office. “You will instruct your slack master that I wish her to send the prisoner here to me. Immediately. Now leave me.”
That was her final command. Bowing her head in lowly servitude the dreg about-faced and marched hurriedly through the doorway.
Now Pulima Cos was alone with her thoughts. Borobos’s reluctance to speak was an irritating
annoyance, albeit an inconvenience which she would surely and swiftly correct. Were Midlothian still alive she would have dealt appropriately with Borobos. Not like that weakling Nolum Gar, who grew squeamish at the very thought of inflicting pain. But it would be done. After all, everything she planned and worked for was contingent on Poxiciti’s capture. So far, since her efforts to capture him had failed she was now more determined than ever to find him and rid herself of him. For as long as he was free he would continue to stir up the people against her, to cause all sorts of trouble as he had done in the past. She cursed him and his kind. Environmentalists were like trees that needed to be burnt down and plowed under. Only then would she be able to plant what she wanted. What she really wanted was to see the both of them dead, Poxiciti and Borobos together. That day, she was sure, was coming closer.
Later four heavily armed guards hauled Borobos into Pulima Cos’s chamber. She was chained and manacled though she managed a dignified entrance, standing defiant and straight whenever the guards pushed her on. Aside from the ugly bruising on her face she was otherwise in good appearance and had held up reasonably well since her capture. However, as Borobos faced her old nemesis again she knew this was all suddenly about to change.
Pulima Cos acknowledged her presence then reinforced her own position as the dominant authority. “So—you still refuse to confess your crimes. Nevertheless I know that it was you who murdered Midlothian, leader of the city, and you also who deliberately released dangerous animals on our citizens. For these and all of your other crimes you certainly deserve to die. But before I issue your death warrant do you have anything to say?” Borobos stood solid and silent, her eyes burning into Pulima Cos like a blowtorch. “No matter, I will soon have what I want. Every co-conspirator will eventually be captured, tried, and executed. Your environmental movement is all but extinct.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Borobos sneered. “Only someone as stupid and arrogant as you might believe that. For every one of us you imprison ten more will rail against you. The harder you try to stamp us out the stronger we become.”
Hearing this Pulima Cos fought to control her emotions; her fists were clenched and she was shaking with blind rage. “You will tell me exactly what I want to know. You will tell me where Poxiciti is. Why because if you don’t . . .” Pressing the control panel on her desk the door slid open and a tall, muscular female stepped through. She stopped directly in front of Borobos and awaited her orders.
“Meet Maranastis,” Pulima Cos smiled wickedly. “She is an expert at encouraging information from difficult cases like yourself, Borobos. She has assured me that if you haven’t talked by the time she is finished you will not be alive. Perhaps you would like to say something before she begins.”
Borobos’s eyes were cold with hatred as she turned her back to her, and waited.
The first blow wasn’t too painful, nor was the second. Nolum Gar’s guards had inflicted worse beatings, had beaten her unconscious and left her to wake up in her own blood. So what could this hired thug do to her which she had not already endured? After all she was well accustomed to pain and had spent some of her harshest years in Midlothian’s jails. However as the beating wore on, Borobos began to realize this brutal creature was indeed going to kill her, regardless if she talked or not. Maybe, she half-hoped, her death would come with the next blow.
Pulima Cos nodded approvingly, was enjoying the sight of her opponent sprawled on the floor, battered and bloodied. Something splashed onto her purple gown. Blood. “Be careful,” she complained. “You’re getting too much blood on my furniture.” Her primary concern was her expensive segathar rugs, and so before Maranastis struck again she quickly ordered her attendants to remove them at once.
The beating continued uninterrupted yet Borobos remained silent. She was in incredible pain when Pulima Cos finally intervened and ordered her assailant to cease.
“You see, Borobos? I can make her stop. I can end this for good. Just tell me where Poxiciti is. Tell me where he is and you will live.”
All she heard from her was a gurgle of response; Borobos made a rasping noise as she breathed with great difficulty. Dried blood clotted her mouth, thickly caked her skin. Obviously Pulima Cos would get nothing from her in this state. Motioning to one her attendants who was standing nearby she issued orders.
“Bring her some water.” She pointed at Borobos, then to the floor. “And clean up this mess.”
The delay had given Borobos enough time to catch her breath. Her skin pulsated as it hissed hoarsely for air. After shaking the stinging blood from her eyes, she saw the attendant staring at her. “What do you want?” she demanded harshly.
A thin male wearing the black band of servitude around his neck stepped forward hesitantly. “Something to drink?” He held forward a flask of clear cool water which Borobos pushed back with her manacled hands.
“No.”
“But you must be thirsty. Here. Drink some,” he insisted. This time when he held up the flask to her he made a subtle hand motion which only Borobos saw, and understood.
In all likelihood her torturer would eventually make her talk. Too much was at stake to risk that, for with the information she possessed Pulima Cos could destroy them all. So she had to die. She would die so that everyone else would live. Unknowingly her body trembled with the enormity of her decision. Yet there was no other possibility, no way out, and reluctantly Borobos accepted this fate as her only alternative. She looked deep into his eyes.
“Yes, give me some water.” Draining the flask she handed it back and watched as he hurried out of the room. It would not be long now.
“Shall I order Maranastis to continue?” Pulima Cos asked her. “Or would you prefer to tell me where Poxiciti is?”
With as much sarcasm as she could muster Borobos faced her enemy and said, “Who is that?”
Grunting angrily Pulima Cos stepped out of the way as the big female closed in with her fists, picking up exactly where she had left off. Borobos must have taken a dozen body blows before she began to stagger, and then collapsed.
Maranastis bent over her and touched her neck. “She is dead.”
“So soon?” Pulima Cos scowled as she glanced at Borobos’s lifeless corpse. “How unfortunate that the information she possessed died with her. Perhaps you killed her too hastily.”
“Not I,” she replied firmly. “Killed by poison.”
Despite her shock Pulima Cos forced herself to push through the surprise and anger of this news. “Poisoned? How?”
“Self-administered. I suspect abarlaq. Easy to conceal, hard to detect. And only a medical examination will confirm its presence. The tiniest quantity can be deadly. It would’ve had to have been taken orally, probably within the last few moments prior to death. She must have been carrying it with her.”
Of the four guards the one who was in charge stomped forward and vehemently disputed her unfounded accusation. “Impossible! I guarantee that she was thoroughly and properly searched. Twice. Make no mistake about that. She could not have obtained this or any other poisonous substance while in my custody.”
“Then someone in this room gave it to her,” Maranastis deduced.
That same thought must have been with Pulima Cos too, because one of her advisors leaned forward and whispered something that made her look suddenly at her coterie of servants.
“Where is he?” Pulima Cos demanded. It was soon obvious to those in her entourage that whoever she was searching for was no longer in the room. There was more whispering, some exchanges with her other advisors, then her guards were summoned and given their orders. “Have him found and brought to me at once. Alive.”
Walking over to Borobos’s dead bulk she kicked her as hard as she could, furious that she had been deprived of the opportunity to see her die decently. “Very clever. Had I suspected one of my own servants of collusion he would be dead just as surely as you. Will be dead,” she corrected herself as she signaled the closest of her attendants. “See tha
t this ugly thing is properly disposed of. May Poxiciti soon join her.”
Chapter Forty One
“Is that the city you spoke of?”
Ilon stood perfectly still as he looked out across the shimmering, dust-filled plain. The daytime sun had reached its zenith in the sky. Overhead small clouds drifted by, while further away their moving shadows ran up the walls of the faraway city.
“It is. It crawls with Iranha. They are in there right now.”
His newest acolyte trembled with excitement as she sniffed the air and sensed their invisible yet ominous presence. “I have never been this close to an Iranha city before. When do we attack them?”
“Tonight,” Ilon replied. “At dusk. Although we cannot hope to conceal so many hunters, until we reach the city the cover of darkness will be to our advantage.”
“And what then?”
“Kill Iranha,” he said simply. “As many as you can.”
While he talked his audience became more and more confident and could see exactly how this would happen. His strategy was simple. Once they were inside the city the hunters were free to attack and kill as they pleased—just so long as they continued until there were no Iranha left.
Ilon looked at their eager faces and knew they were ready for battle. Even if he was to die at this very moment they would carry on without him. His will had brought them all here, but their hatred of the Iranha would take them on to the city. Gangahar had told him that even now thousands of new arrivals were coming in off the field to join them to fight against their brutal oppressor. Thousands. They were an unstoppable killing power that soon every Iranha would come to fear. Once when that had seemed so impossible, when instead it was the Iranha who invoked fear and death, they were the scared ones. No more! Now this and everything else had suddenly changed to favor them. Indeed, all those years they endured and suffered well prepared them for what was certainly and inevitably coming. Even now he saw a glimmer of victory, and as he turned about and strode confidently back into the forest, those who trailed behind him felt for the first time since the beginning there was hope again.
The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter) Page 29