With his hands cuffed behind him, Moorhen had no way to break his fall. He hit the wall and fell, to the laughter of the men. “You seem a little imbalanced,” one of them said. They got him back up. Someone turned him around abruptly and another man punched him in the stomach. Moorhen doubled over in pain, landing on his knees. For a moment, he felt nauseated.
“Can’t seem to keep on your feet,” said another.
Moorhen’s mind raced. What had Koethe meant about his family being valuable? They still had Rheggi and Sindke. Would they harm them? Kill them?
Someone kicked him from behind and Moorhen fell face first to the ground. He lay there, almost glad to be on the ground again. But soon they pulled him back up to his feet.
“You should tell them what they want to know,” said another guard.
“I can’t--” The man punch Moorhen in the face, sending him reeling backwards to the ground. A few tears escaped Moorhen. Soon, they lifted him back to his feet.
“Please!” cried Moorhen.
“What’s the matter?” asked one of the guards. “He’s crying!” They all laughed.
“We’re just getting warmed up,” said another as he hit one shin and then the other with his nightstick.
Moorhen wasn’t sure how much time passed--at least 20 minutes or more. He was exhausted by the time Koethe returned. The men stood at attention and Moorhen slumped to his knees.
Koethe towered over him.
“I’m through playing games with you, Garran,” spat Koethe. “It’s time you cooperated.”
“No,” said Moorhen stubbornly. “I don’t think so.” The beating had only served to harden him to Commander Koethe and his gang.
Koethe nodded to Captain Fauke, who disappeared from the doorway a moment.
A moment later, a young girl appeared in the doorway, still dressed in native clothes.
“Moorhen!” she exclaimed. It was Crysethe.
“Crysethe!” shouted Moorhen. She was alive!
“Why are his hands bound?” asked Crysethe. Koethe set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing to him?” she demanded, her eyes flashed.
“Your brother is angry with me,” said Koethe. “But now that you’re here, maybe we will all get along better.” Koethe smiled down at the girl. She only glared at him.
“You see,” said Koethe to Moorhen. “I’m keeping her safe for you. You do want me to continue to do that, don’t you?”
“You would threaten a child!” asked Moorhen, shaken.
“As if you are any better! I saw what you did in Hobset!”
Moorhen stared up at him in anger. “I had nothing to do with that attack!”
“You were there,” said Koethe, his eyes hard.
They stared at each other. Moorhen had no argument for that. He would have followed his father into battle. Was Moorhen no better than the Chanden? He thought back to the Chanden factory worker his clan had captured. He’d stood by while they slaughtered him and two other innocent Chanden. He should have done something. Said something.
Moorhen despaired.
“And you have my daughter!” shouted Koethe, stepping forward angrily. Koethe glanced at the other officer. “Captain Fauke, return our guest to her accommodations.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said, gently herding Crysethe out of the room. Moorhen glared at his captor.
“Now, you will tell me everything you know about this,” said Koethe, more calmly. “How can I reclaim my daughter?”
Moorhen took a long, deep breath. What else could he do?
"It cannot be reversed," said Moorhen, "not in any way that I know of. If she refuses to blend with the gods, they will drive her mad until she dies and then they will be free to merge with another."
“If we destroy the stone, then would that free her?” asked Koethe.
Moorhen hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Beat him,” said Koethe.
“No, no. Wait!” begged Moorhen, already exhausted. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think it will help.”
“But it might.”
Moorhen stared at him. “The stone no longer matters; the transfer has taken place. Asta is changed. There is nothing that you can do for Asta now."
"Nothing?" asked Koethe, his voice hard.
Moorhen felt a sense of panic. He didn't want them to harm his sister. "The Borrai lived among us for a millennia. In many ways, they were like every other man. I think that when the conflict is over, and the need for the Borrai is lessened, she will become herself again.”
"I will have my daughter back," said Koethe angrily. "Sooner, rather than later. You will tell me what to do."
"I cannot," said Moorhen. "There’s no cure, I told you! You only have to wait."
"Unacceptable," said Koethe. He nodded to the men and they pulled out their sticks, moving closer to Moorhen. One yanked him to his feet.
Moorhen groaned.
Just then, the door opened and a man hurried over to Koethe. "Sir," he said. "General Godwin requests you to come at once, sir."
"Can't it wait?" asked Koethe. "Asta's life is at stake!"
"No, sir. They need you."
Koethe swore and accompanied the man. "I'll be right back. Wait for me," said Koethe. The guards stood there, three or four of them, looming over Moorhen with their sticks. They looked like they would prefer to continue without Koethe, but still they waited. One gave Moorhen a kick for good measure.
Moorhen caught his breath and tried to ignore the pain he felt all over his body. Something had gone wrong. Were the gods taking vengeance? Would they wipe out the Chanden? Moorhen found himself wishing that they would. But if so, would they spare the Garrans that lived among them? Would innocent people die?
The guards waited patiently, sticks in hand.
CHAPTER FORTY
The winds had died down some but still blew sand fiercely across the plains. In the command tent, several officers monitored communications. First chief Richt, Koethe's right hand man, stood in the center of the room, looking at a small computerized map on a flimsy temporary table in the center of the room.
"Commander," said Richt, acknowledging Koethe as he entered the room.
"Chief Richt," Koethe responded. "What is it? I still haven't learned the location of my daughter."
"I'm afraid it's confirmed, sir. There are reports that the Garran tribes are massing in force in the Northeast. They plan to attack Rhashan near the Stony Dunes sometime in the next few days."
Koethe nodded. The natives had always objected to their settlements around the Stony Dunes. The land was sacred, they said. Koethe also knew that a hundred years ago, a major battle had been won there by the Chanden. Thousands had died there. Tens of thousands of Garrans. Surely, this held some symbolism to the natives.
But the Chanden had defeated them then and they would defeat them even more easily now. Did these natives have no sense? Surely, they realized this: it was suicide.
Already the unrest on Garran had completely disrupted all normal activities. Even in the cities, the Garran natives were becoming unmanageable--despite all the schools he'd built, and hospitals. Years of progress would be wiped out in this war.
But Koethe had little choice.
"We should mobilize our forces; position as many men as we can in Rashan and Drealea."
"I'm afraid that General Godwin has already ordered our men there," said Chief Richt, with a troubled look.
"What?" demanded Koethe. "How dare he? I haven't been notified," he sputtered, upset. He caught himself. Always show a calm face. He took a deep breath.
Since the incident at Hobset, Koethe had been out of favor with General Godwin and his officers. "I haven't been relieved of duty," threatened Koethe quietly. "He cannot take over command of my squads!"
Chief Richt nodded. Richt would back him up, if it came to a conflict. But Koethe couldn't go against a man like Godwin. He was too powerful. He was the Emperor's own cousin. Koethe scowled.
"You'll have
my full cooperation, sir," said Richt, quietly.
Koethe nodded.
"I fear they've been developing a strategy without you," said Richt. "They all left less than an hour ago. Our satellites confirm that they have traveled to Brerrn, in the Stormage Hills. He's been maneuvering his troops all over Garran."
"What is he up to?" asked Koethe.
"I believe he's targeting the Garran native clan caves, sir."
"What, you mean the tsirvaks?"
"Yes, sir," said Richt, his face grim.
"But those are mostly full of women and children. The warriors won't be there," objected Koethe.
They stared at each other.
"A few moments ago," said Richt, "I got a communication from Godwin, summoning you to Brerrn."
"Ready a ship," said Koethe. He had to stop this. If they attacked the tsirvaks, there would be no turning back. They would have to kill every Garran on the planet.
"Yes, sir," Chief Richt nodded.
Koethe turned to Captain Fauke. "Bring the boy."
The hovership took off with a small squad of two other ships; thirty men altogether. Koethe wasn't sure was Godwin was planning. And he feared that thirty men would not be enough to counter it.
Meanwhile, Koethe worried for Asta. If General Godwin struck out at the natives, he might never get her back. The Garrans could take her as a hostage and use her against them. But would Godwin care about that? Surely, he wouldn't.
Anger burned in Koethe. He'd been governing Garran for twenty years. He wouldn't let a handful of outsiders undo all that he'd done in that time--in a matter of a few days. Godwin had to be stopped. The upcoming battle would be a massacre.
It was evening, nearly dark, when they touched down near the all-Garran village of Brerrn. Fires lit the village, and they weren't hearth fires. Many of the natives homes were burning. Koethe's heart sank. He was too late. He was sure that Godwin and his men had attacked the village.
Quickly, Koethe climbed out of the transport. He had a bad feeling--this would be ugly. But such an attack could not be concealed. In fact, he was sure that Godwin intended this attack as a message to all Garrans.
"Bring the boy," he said to Captain Fauke. Fauke, wide-eyed at the destruction ahead of them, quietly complied.
They pulled the Garran from the transport, and checked to make sure his bonds were secure. Koethe motioned for them to follow. Together they set out towards the town.
There were no signs of living Garrans as they approached, only the roar of fires and the smoke from the flames.
Bodies lay strewn about the center of the village, native men still clutching their ooluks; women who looked like they were cut down while fleeing. The sight turned Koethe's stomach. Koethe's men were solemn. They knew what this attack meant, and the chaos that would ensue.
Stunned, the boy followed them through the village. Moorhen looked ill but said nothing, trying to take it all in. He stopped and looked down. At his feet, lay two children, dead.
Koethe stared down at the bodies of the dead children with almost as much surprise as Moorhen. He glanced up and for a moment their eyes locked. Koethe looked away first, ashamed.
This was not the kind of war he wanted to fight. Not this way.
Ahead, Koethe spotted the olive green and black of General Godwin and his imperial officers. Clearing his mind of all his anger, Koethe led his contingent toward them. His inclination was to punch the man, but he would not do that.
"There you are," said General Godwin as Koethe approached. Koethe had to quell his violent urges.
"General Godwin," said Koethe, his voice tight with tension. "When someone makes use of my troops, I feel I should be notified of it."
The General barely gave him a glance. "You were too preoccupied. Measures had to be taken."
Again Koethe felt a flush of anger. Was he so close to being relieved of command that the General would dare treat him like this?
On seeing the native, Moorhen, the General walked past Koethe to Moorhen.
Godwin studied the boy. "We know the location of many of the clan homes, including your own--the Sand Plain Clan--isn't it?" Godwin said to Moorhen. "The Garrans are planning a large scale attack against us. What they don't know is that not only do we have enough troops in place to handle their attack, but I've positioned a few special teams near each of the clans caves. When they attack--we will kill their remaining clan members.”
This announcement was as much for Koethe's benefit as it was to frighten Moorhen. Koethe and Chief Richt exchanged a glance. This was what he'd feared. Such a plan was vicious and cowardly.
Anger clouded Moorhen's face. He stared up at Godwin. "You can't," said Moorhen. "Your law prevents it."
"We're at war," said Godwin coldly.
“You would kill women and children?” Moorhen’s appeal was aimed just as much at Koethe as at the General. Koethe felt a pang of guilt.
“If you won’t submit to Chanden rule--we will wipe you out!” the General said darkly.
Despair showed on the boy's face as he thought of the clansmen left at home. Many of his clan had already been killed in this conflict. Koethe felt sorry for the boy.
In rage, Moorhen threw himself at the General. It was a useless gesture, as his hands were still bound behind his back. Even so, one of the General’s troops shot Moorhen with a stunner. He fell to the ground, barely consciousness.
The General towered over him. “Take him back to the bunker,” Godwin ordered. "I want to question him."
Perhaps the order was meant for Godwin's men, but Koethe would be damned if Godwin went over his head again. Moorhen was his prisoner. And his daughter's life was at stake. "Captain Fauke," ordered Koethe
Quickly, Fauke moved forward to secure the boy.
"Yes, sir," Koethe said carefully to General Godwin. Let him think that he would carry out the order. It worked. Fauke and his men picked up the boy. Together they all moved back to the transport, past the Garran corpses.
"You're going to do what he asks?" questioned Chief Richt quietly as they moved through the desolate and burning village.
"Certainly," said Koethe. "I left something there that I'll need. After that … I'll be damned if I let this fool destroy all that I've worked for here on Garran."
Both Richt and Fauke looked a little relieved. Their disapproval of this deadly attack was clear. They would support Koethe.
They loaded the unconscious boy in the back of Koethe’s hover plane. He had passed out, no doubt overwhelmed. The boy might deserve punishment for his rebellious acts, but this went beyond justice. To wipe out entire clans for the actions of their warriors--it was unacceptable.
Those that lived would never trust the Chanden again.
Koethe wouldn't have innocent blood on his hands.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Slowly, consciousness returned to Moorhen and he found himself slumped in the rear seat of the airship.
Moorhen struggled between rage and despair. The Chanden’s despicable nature repulsed him. How could they murder an entire village--including women and children? The natives at Brerrn had done nothing to warrant this attack.
Everything was spiraling out of control.
The General had said that the Chanden would go after the clan homes. That would wipe the Garrans off the planet … except for the “tame” Garrans who had learned to live in their cities and work in their factories. The Chanden would like that.
But the Garrans were not innocent either. Moorhen’s own father had slain innocent children at Hobset. His tribe had started this war. Moorhen felt nauseated.
Draypeth and the others of the Upper Steppe clan had taken to human sacrifice of Chanden in the name of their new god, Ridjoffr.
Up front, near the engine, the officers held a faint, but animated conversation. Moorhen fell into a stupor as the dark and shapeless land whirled by beneath him. Then again, he lost consciousness. Through a small window, he saw hundreds of Chanden troops mobilizing in the desert.
Row upon row of tents.
For awhile, he slept, exhausted.
Finally, Moorhen awoke and realized that they had touched down again. Several soldiers helped him out of the plane. The night was late and the moon had set. The plane had landed in the desert, near one of the other clan homes: the Desert Wind Clan. Here, the clans had amassed for the coming battle. Furiously, Moorhen tried to think why the Chanden would bring him here.
Two guards forced Moorhen out of the plane. Koethe and Chief Richt climbed out of the cockpit. Koethe looked Moorhen over with distain.
“I don’t care what you want now. I’m through helping you!” shouted Moorhen, still worried about Crysethe despite his words. What would they do with her? But he couldn't stay silent. “You’re nothing but monsters and I hope the gods wipe you off the face of our world!” His words were hot and angry, but deserved. Defiant, he stared at the Chanden, daring them to justify their own actions.
They stood silently, as if they knew their guilt.
“My men had no part in that,” Commander Koethe said quietly, referring to the massacre at the Garran village. The man seemed sincere, but that did little to calm Moorhen’s fury.
The side door to the plane opened. Captain Fauke appeared with Moorhen’s old pack. He tossed it down on the ground beside Moorhen and with it Moorhen’s bow.
Chief Richt moved over to Moorhen and used his key to release Moorhen’s hands.
Free! Moorhen fought off the urge to attack these men and strangle them with his bare hands. Such an attack would never succeed.
“There’s food and water in the pack,” said Koethe. “You have maybe a day--or less--until the battle, Garran. Use it well.”
Moorhen's head spun. They were letting him go? Why? What did they want from him?
Then Crysethe appeared in the doorway and hopped down. She ran over to Moorhen and threw her arms around him. Surprised, he hugged her back, scarcely willing to believe that they were both free.
Was this some trick? Moorhen looked up at Koethe.
“The General will target the clan homes. But you people know these hills like no one else. I trust you can find other places to hide. Warn them. Whoever rides against the Chanden tomorrow will die. Godwin won’t spare you.”
The Gods of Garran Page 21