Escana (75 page)

She opened her eyes and realised
she was speaking, it was the sound of her own voice coming unbidden
that alerted her to the words.

'He tied me down and fucked me
into unconsciousness then when I woke he would repeat it until I
could not walk. He told me not to leave the room in his absence, that
he would know and punish me upon his return. I had to come here
though, I had to tell you. I don't know what he's going to do to me
and I'm scared.'

Alissandra petted her gently,
almost cautiously. As if she was a delicate bird that may startle and
fly away should she attempt to smother it with affection.

'I will do everything in my power
to prevent you from coming to harm, I shall go to the Emperor himself
and petition that he do something about this beast once and for all.
In the meantime you will stay with me so that you need never see him
again, his actions dictate that he will have planted his seed in you.
I vow to try my hardest to eradicate the child, though we know little
of your physiology.'

She felt like retching but
instead her body grew still in realisation of what the other woman's
words portended. She was pregnant with this monster's child.

A
number of
survivors had gathered to help him, only after Gadtor had convinced
him to accept their aid. He knew that hobbled as they were they had
no chance in lifting the dead weight of the body, it seemed that Thom
knew that too but stubbornness prevented him from admitting it.

There was plenty of kindling from
the destroyed tents to construct a pyre with and the flames sprung up
quickly in the desert heat, engulfing the body of the former smith
and cooking the flesh in short order. Some of the men gagged at the
smell, others seemed too accustomed to it for Gadtor's liking. He
fought down the roiling in his own stomach and watched as the body of
Thom's closest friend was reduced to ash.

The man had insisted to Gadtor
that it was merely a body now and that there was no sense in burying
it given that the desert would dispose of it soon enough anyway. He
had swung Thom around based on the effect it would have on the morale
of the army to leave their latest General to rot before their forward
march. It had been a long and bitter argument but Thom had agreed
eventually if with great reluctance. Now that the pyre was ablaze he
seemed determined to watch every flicker, as if waiting for something
to happen.

Perhaps the burning body of his
only friend had hit him harder than he let on, he seemed the type to
keep everything buried and Gadtor could empathise with that all too
well. He stayed stock still until the flames had died down, waiting
patiently for Thom to make the first move.

They remained staring at the
ashes for some time, oblivious to the men milling around them trying
to aid the wounded and clear the destruction that had been wrought
from the passage of the lizard force.

Gadtor didn't pretend to
understand the orders, did the Imperial liaison not realise that a
number of the lizard force had passed through the canyons and out of
the main desert? Was he powerless to report back to his Emperor and
request new orders? The creatures had technically crossed the border
into the Empire now and the capitulation of those resisting them was
a death-knell for the war effort. How could the Emperor be so
short-sighted in demanding the remnants press forward into certain
death? Gadtor wondered grimly what would finish them first, the
lizards or that from which they seemed to be fleeing.

Thom's posture straightened up, a
keen light entering his eyes as if he finally knew how to carry out
this impossible task.

'So it ends, we have but one more
duty ahead of us. If this accursed block were not attached to me I
would stride out now and meet my destiny with any that choose to
follow.' He looked around the camp, as if noticing the devastation
for the first time. 'Where's the boy? The runner boy.'

'Inglewood?' Gadtor supplied.

'Yes, him. I need a message
relayed to those fit enough to continue the fight.'

They didn't need to look long,
the boy was snapping tent poles and handing the make-shift splints to
those who needed them.

'Inglewood,' Thom said, the
authority in his tone sending the boy into furious attention.

'Yes General!' he cried.

'Go through what's left of the
camp, have every able-bodied man come back here. Our final assault is
at hand.'

With a sharp salute the boy was
off at an enthusiastic sprint. Gadtor felt if he had only had a dozen
Inglewoods in the Black Quail he would have taken Urial with ease.

'I only hope that enough of the
rest are as stupid as he is,' Thom said. 'They're not going to like
what happens next.'

It took some time before those
who could stand were assembled before Thom. Due to the direct course
of the lizard's flight the outlying parts of the camp not situated
inside the canyon had remained unscathed. Though that boded well for
the numbers they were largely men of a rank no greater than
Inglewood, the more decorated the man the further inside the canyon
he pitched his tent. The rampage had struck at the very heart of
their most experienced members, the resulting damage caused to their
paltry command structure could not have been greater had the lizards
planned it. The few that Thom had detailed their orders to previously
showed that.

Gadtor watched as Thom surveyed
the scene, he was genuinely interested in hearing what the new
General would say to his troops. How exactly do you break news to an
army that they're all going to die? From the haunted looks in their
eyes Gadtor suspected that some of them had already been told.

Thom stood on an elevated piece
of wreckage, a fine bit of symbolism albeit one that the practical
man didn't deliberately attempt. The extra height gave him a clear
view over the hundreds left in attendance after the day's disaster.

'I'm not much for speeches,' he
began, his voice carrying clearly in the dry air. 'You've seen what
we're up against, most of you have already watched them rip your
colleagues and friends limb from limb. Today they fucked us over
again without even meaning to.' A murmur of confusion from the crowd
then. 'That's right, you heard me. The creatures weren't attacking us
at all, they were fleeing from whatever was out there in the desert.'

Silence.

'There's something out there
that's killing off these lizards and doing our job for us. We have no
idea what it is and we don't know its intentions, as of tomorrow we
are going to try and find out.'

This brought a few open protests,
Thom addressed them.

'If you don't want to do that you
can fuck off down the canyon and pray that the lizards don't come
back.' A number of men detached from the group and started to make
their way for the canyon hesitantly, as if waiting for Thom to react.
'You can go, we won't hunt you down, the monsters might when they get
hungry but we won't. What I'm asking of you is nothing short of
suicide on behalf of the Empire and I know many of you aren't here by
choice. You can leave and take your chances with those beasts, if you
can make it out of there alive you've earned your freedom.'

Gadtor could tell that he wasn't
really trying to dissuade the men from leaving the camp, simply
whittling down those in the force that would crack under the pressure
of what they were about to do.

'Those of you who choose to stay
will be marching out with us tomorrow morning so come prepared. We
shall be travelling as one rather than in smaller forces like before,
should we encounter whatever is out there I want it met with our full
strength if necessary.'

A rumbling sound came from behind
them, the lizards were returning and at some speed.

'To arms!' roared Thom, nearly
deafening Gadtor in the process. 'Meet them head on!'

They were at the very front this
time, somehow he knew there was going to be no surviving this even if
they hadn't been joined together in a fashion that crippled their
mobility.

Another rumbling came from the
opposite side of the canyon, a second lizard assault on their rear.
Gadtor found it very hard to believe that this was coincidence.

Death awaited them like an old
enemy paying an unwanted visit, this time Gadtor knew there was no
retreating to the canyon walls, they stood tall and gripped their
weapons at the forefront of a massacre and awaited their fate.

H
e took a
step back in retreat as Yalem eyed him up, there had to be a way to
avoid this particular confrontation while the man was awake. The
quiet man had been chosen as Dyson's bodyguard for a reason and Hern
wasn't too keen on finding out why.

As if noticing his hesitant
steps, Yalem eased his hand into his belt and pulled out a wicked
looking throwing dagger. Check and mate, no escape. If he tried to
dash the way he came he'd have steel in his back. It was a slim
chance at best to avoid the throw and even if he did the guards he
had heard would hunt him down in short order. He had to fight the man
one on one as if they were in some silent arena mock-up rather than a
duel to the death.

He let out a sigh and
acknowledged the movement with a nod of his head, Yalem returned the
nod with a knowing smile and started to advance. Hern could already
tell from the way the man held his blade that he was an expert. They
had taught Hern close combat in his earlier years but only to be used
as a last resort. It was seen as a brutish and uncivilised way of
dispatching targets and more of a defensive skill that few claimed
mastery over. He somewhat doubted that the man approaching him had
been taught the same lessons, now was not the time to concern himself
with speculation on his target's capabilities, only factual
observation would aid him now.

He shut his wandering mind off,
focusing his senses and thoughts entirely on Yalem as he advanced in
turn with both his blades at the ready.

Yalem's grip on the blade as he
came closer was unconventional but practised, it would generate a lot
of power but also require a great deal of stamina to keep up an
assault. This hinted that the initial attack may be an attempt to
overpower Hern's defences, if he avoided the blade long enough it
could turn into a war of attrition. It wasn't an ideal situation as a
single mistake would be lethal but ultimately less fatal than trying
to outfight the man.

The first swipe of Yalem's sword
was a testing strike and one that Hern easily avoided in spite of
their close quarters. He could feel the hot air being cut open along
the groove of the blade and knew that there was a suitable degree of
power behind the slash.

His riposte was swatted away by
Yalem's blade rather than evaded. The man was silently trying to
intimidate him with the forcefulness of each action, the blow had
left the steel ringing and had nearly dislodged the blade from Hern's
hand. He didn't panic, that emotional side of him had been discarded
as soon as he had raised his sword.

Yalem came forward again, as
unsubtle as before with broad strokes that cleaved the space in which
Hern once stood. He ducked and weaved away from the menacing weapon
without attempting to block or force a counter. The longer he could
goad Yalem into doing this the sooner the man would tire and an error
would reveal itself, one he intended to exploit mercilessly.

His opponent seemed to sense
this, his attacks becoming increasingly sporadic but more accurate
and finally forcing Hern to block with one of his blades.

Yalem pushed the blade down and
Hern made no effort to stop him, any strength he devoted toward
opposing such a big man would be wasted. Instead he struck out with
his second blade and forced Yalem into a retreat.

If the man was angered at having
to give ground he didn't show it, he pushed forward and yet again
Hern was forced to block with steel. He kicked up at the ground as
their blades met and Hern shut his eyes just as the sand hit his
face.

He had been wary of this, it was
a common tactic in Je'dara for those wanting to end a fight quickly.
Opening his eyes at a squint he saw Yalem confidently slice down
aiming to cleave him in half, Hern threw up both his swords at the
last moment and caught the blade. The force of doing so brought him
down to one knee but it was worth it to trap his enemy's offence. Now
he'd be able to determine whether the man had enough...

Yalem tore both blades from
Hern's hands with a side swipe from the flat of the blade that sent
the assassin tumbling to the floor, the man had monstrous strength
the likes of which he'd rarely come across.

Scrambling to his feet Hern found
himself unarmed. He heard Yalem kicking one of his blades away, the
other had fortunately landed nearby, testing this man's strength had
nearly cost him his life.

There was no attempt to rush
forward as Hern went to retrieve his weapon, he was clearly meant to
have been reduced to a single blade which suggested his opponent was
more comfortable with fighting against that style. That did not bode
well, the last thing Hern wanted to see was a confident Yalem at his
best and in his element.