Sunlord (21 page)

Orlin was silent for a moment. Finally he
whispered:

"Where did you come from, and what are you? Once a
Currach, like myself? Yet something has twisted you, making you
bitter, reverting you into savagery...How can a member of the great
race of the Currach fall so low."

Shata moved quickly, so quickly that the next Orlin
saw of him was a split second later, holding the Councillor's neck
in a vice-like grip.

"I did not come here to be insulted," the forester
growled. "Send for the messengers and rally a congregation at the
Council stairs. Do this now, or your city dies."

Orlin struggled for breath. "Do as you wish!" The
thought raced through his mind, panicky as this wild man crushed
the wind from his lungs. He would let the savage talk to the
people, and the people will decide for themselves. Like in the old
stories, it would be a test of faith to root out of the
unbelievers. After the passing of this madman only those true to
the cause of peace would remain.

"You may talk," gasped Orlin. "Your pleas may fall on
deaf ears, for the people of my city do not fall to the dark path
easily. But be warned, your welcome lasts only until dawn tomorrow.
By sunrise I wish to see only your disappearing back."

Shata released the man, nodded in acceptance.

"It is good you see sense. Now, send for the
messengers."

* * *

Shata-Bera stood upon the cliff face that overlooked
the splendour of Vorsh Peaks and the plainlands that surrounded
them. From his vantage point the disfigured Currach warrior could
make out the tiny figure of a farmer as he tended his field in the
distance. Mosata appeared at his side, bowing low.

"Sir, the people are gathered below and are awaiting
your presence."

Shata swirled, his bearskin cape billowing
impressively, to catch the small Currach in his gaze. Mosata was a
loyal and capable subject, although his stature was horribly bent.
Shata had first come across the hunchback two weeks ago in
Loabarian, a city one hundred kilometres south. Mosata had lived on
scraps and refuge ever since the Sunlords had killed his master,
and had taken to Shata like a loyal hound.

"How do they look?" barked Shata.

"Impressive, sir. Some look angry, waving pitchforks
and the like, just waiting for a chance to skewer some Sunlord. But
others are silent, gathering together in bands. They will be the
ones who will fight true, even after the loudmouths are exhausted,
their quiet rage will drive them further."

As Shata strode down the rocky terrain the babble of
raised voices grew. "You read the crowd well, my friend."

Mosata grinned lopsidedly, like a wolf. "I have
several of my men mixing with the crowd and reporting anything they
discover."

Shata nodded. He had been impressed with Mosata's
ability at governing the secret backbone force of his army. It was
comprised of men Shata knew personally, and who he could trust.
Shata knew that its ranks would need filling if his army was to
grow, for he needed some sort of disciplinary force to keep them in
order. Perhaps some of those awaiting below may prove themselves
worthy.

Shata closed his eyes in brief thought, envisioning a
great army at his command. He saw himself leading it and training
it, watching it grow in numbers as word spread across the nation.
Then he would call for them to strike, and drive the Sunlords from
the earth. It would be a terrible clash, and the blood of many
would be spilled on the soil they fought for. Shata's eyes gleamed,
his cold heart thirsting for that moment of truth.

Mosata lead Shata to a rocky precipice, the setting
sun a fitting backdrop as it bathed the land in blood red light.
Twenty metres below a massive congregation gathered, hundreds of
men and women alike standing with upturned faces.

Shata raised his rifle above his head, bellowing a
cry that drew everyone's attention.

"My people," he began. "The time is upon us to
fight!"

Shata-Bera let his words sink in, waiting for the
rippling murmur to quieten.

"You have come here for revenge! I can promise you
that here you shall find it. I shall lead each and every one of you
to victory against the burning enemy from the Sun! For five weeks
now have the Sunlords threatened the existence of our race, and
with every day it grows worse. A countless number of farms have
been destroyed, taken over by huge machines that rape our crops,
taking our food as if they had a right to them.. But now it is time
to stop this stupidity. We must rally against them and fight.

They are not invincible, and they can be killed. With
training, my army will be able to best the Sunlords!"

Somebody far below in the crowd spat. "You will die
in the attempt."

"We shall use their weapons of fire against them,"
countered Shata in a much louder voice.

The man did not stop. "We are being foolish, and all
the fools will die. It is folly to even try oppose the
Sunlords."

It was obviously someone sent by the Councillors,
designed to upset Shata's meeting and disturb the villagers with
doubt that would send them sulking home. Shata would have none of
it.

"Shall you burn!" he cried, casting an accusing
forefinger at the offender. "Unbelievers have no place in this
gathering of salvation." Shata's rough voice rose to a bawl. "Cast
him out!"

The crowd shrank away from the unfortunate individual
like water falling away from an island. He spun about wildly,
feeling suddenly very exposed.

Shata's words were powerful, driving the crowd until
it had a mind of its own. "Cast the unbeliever out!"

Someone in the unruly ranks threw a stone at the
isolated man, and it hit him lightly in the leg.

A hushed silence followed, hundreds of people frozen
in mid-stride, unsure of what they were about to do. Shata's voice
bawled louder than ever.

"Kill the unbeliever who would stop us from
protecting our home!"

In a sudden roar the crowd moved and surged forward.
An unholy hail of rocks flew towards the condemned man, hitting
from all angles. He fell to his knees as heavy shards tossed him
about. The crowd closed in upon the man, stones passed from hand to
hand until they reached the front, where they were cast at the
huddled man.

Blood flowed from a tearing wound as rock struck
squarely against the man's head. He fell lifelessly to the ground,
the pelting rocks producing steady twacks as they connected with
flesh.

Nobody in the crowd paused to consider, or even
think. Months of tension of being abused, overworked and mistreated
by the Sunlords came to the fore. There was suddenly a release
valve, something away from the authority of the Council and the
Church, somebody they could rally against.

The rag-doll form of the man was enclosed by the
jostling crowd, to suddenly reappear as the Currach farmers lifted
the body above their heads. The blood caked body was passed
overhead, through the crowd, until it reached the base of the cliff
Shata spoke from. The man's broken body hit the rocks in a position
only the dead can assume.

Shata grinned, the burnt rippled flesh pulling back
to reveal white teeth. His voice rang with the echo of lunacy.

"We shall fight!"

* * *

Shadows danced upon the flagstone floor and walls,
etching thick shadows between the stones. Built of priceless slabs
of marble, the walls towered over five metres high, topped by a
wooden roof. Moonlight shone in from the high window and down upon
the long table at the centre of the room.

Councillor Orlin nodded in the direction of the Grand
Councillor who sat the head of the table. The later returned an
absent waving gesture indicating he should speak.

Orlin pushed back his heavy oak chair to address the
twelve other Councillors.

"We have been deliberating all night, and still have
not come to a decision. It seems to me that the choice is
obvious...We've got to put a stop to this heartless devilry before
ruin takes us all."

The Grand Councillor nodded sagely, his wide face
wrinkled and parched and his eyes deep and full of knowledge.
People of the race of the Currach have no facial hair apart from
the light crop atop their heads, yet the age-old wisdom of this
Currach would be perfectly enhanced if he wore a large grey bushy
beard.

"This terrible uprising is nothing short of
disastrous," continued Orlin. "Never since the days of the Second
Josaci has our country seen pure men revert to primitiveness."

Councillor Norlon spoke. "I was against the rumour
mongering from the start. It wasn't my idea to let that creature
Shata-Bera roam our streets..." He trailed off meaningfully,
casting an icy gaze at Orlin.

"I had no idea it would come to this," breathed
Orlin, exasperated.

The Grand Councillor nodded. "Nobody expected it.
More that a sixth of our population has deserted our city. No, not
only our city, but they have deserted the Faith of Abas. Many shops
are closed, the streets are becoming dirtier, and families are left
fatherless."

"It is the Sunlords," breathed other Councillor
wearily, rubbing his eyes to clear them of sleep. "We should have
listened to the farmers' protests."

"But we can still do nothing to retaliate. If it is
Abas' will, we shall endure until He sees fit to remove us of our
burden."

A small rousing murmur of agreement arose from those
of the table. The Grand Councillor continued.

"The only course of action I can see open is to try
and break apart this army of evil...this army they call the League
of Steel. If we are unsuccessful, many of the children of Abas will
be lost."

"Not only that," put in Norlon. "Their actions will
stir up the hornet's nest and bring chaos to all the free cities of
the country. Somehow I think the Sunlords will not be impressed
with the League's actions."

The Grand Councillor nodded firmly. "We cannot allow
harm to befall the remaining children in our care."

Councillor Orlin had been listening silently as a
sense of deja-vu grew in his gut. He remembered the Grand Vizier
speaking almost the same words three months ago at the odium, just
days before he departed on his mission to seek out the Eloprin.

The Grand Councillor was continuing.

"...flush out the rebels and return them to Abas'
cause. All in favour?"

Councillor Orlin raised his voice to join the chorus
of "Ayes" issuing from the Councillors.

"Then it is decided." The Grand Councillor moved
aside a large wad of papers and picked up a small silver bell. Upon
ringing it, a servant entered the huge, cold room, bowing low.

"Yes, sir."

"Bring Locantar in."

The servant disappeared, and a moment later a tall
figure entered the room. His long flowing robes reached the floor,
the fabric embroidered with symbols designating him to be one of
the Church. In his left hand he carried a heavy staff, held for
prestige rather than support. As he stepped forward he threw back
the heavy hood of his robes, revealing a deeply lined face and deep
shadows under white eyes.

As he stepped closer some of the Councillors gasped
as they realised the old man was blind, his eyes bleached of all
colour, wide and unblinking.

"Locantar, take a seat," said the Grand Councillor.
Locantar responded quickly, to move silkily to an unoccupied chair.
As if guided by a sixth sense, the old man sat confidently.

Norlon's words escaped his mouth before he had time
to consider them. "But you're blind...?"

The Grand Councillor chuckled an old man's chuckle,
deep and throaty. "Some say Locantar is guided by the hand of God.
Ever since his sight was taken from him, Abas has cared for and
shepherded Locantar."

"I see through the eyes of Abas," returned Locantar,
his white pupil-less eyes centred in space as if seeing something
the others could not.

"You can help us?" asked Orlin, forgetting all forms
of protocol in his excitement.

"I can seek out these unholy ones, yes. It is my
ultimate goal to revert them back to the true path."

"How do you intend to do this?" asked another
Councillor.

"A small group of devotees and I shall trek to where
they lay, and we shall spread our word that Abas is willing to
forgive them. Then, if all goes well, we shall lead them back to
the cities and avert the catastrophe of battle."

The Grand Councillor nodded in agreement, then
realising Locantar could not see, voiced his sentiments.

"I agree. All in favour that Locantar should embark
upon this mission?"

All twelve Councillors on the table agreed
wholeheartedly.

The decision was unanimous.

Chapter Nine

Behind Enemy Lines.

For when his legs were smitten off,

He fought upon his stumps.

- Richard Sheale.

The desolate wind picked up, sending blinding mites
of dust into Capac's eyes. His mouth shielded with a piece of fur
clothing, he crawled forward and out of the cover of the trees.

Shaun Lowry appeared beside him. "This is it. This is
the dropsite."

"What has happened here?" Capac coughed as he looked
out over the desert that lay before him.

"It has been blasted," Shaun explained. "The Sunlords
use explosives to clear it of foliage so that they can build upon
it."

Capac looked up at the sky. It was a fury of red dust
clouds, sculptured into sharp, rapidly changing shapes as the wind
blew overhead. A thick fog of dirty cloud boiled overhead high in
the sky, blanketing the midday sun into a reddish gloom. The
surrounds appeared faded and ghostly, the vegetation scarce. Their
journey had taken them five days of intense travel, using Shaun
instrument to guide them. They had travelled through many miles of
thick jungle, passing through many clan's territories yet never at
one time seeing another Eloprin. Capac feared that they shared the
same fate as the rest of his own tribe had suffered.