Sunlord (31 page)

"You found the traitor?" The hunchback's words were
slimy and grovelling. "I knew you would, master. I told you my
sources are never wrong!"

Shata nodded briskly to his adviser. "You have proven
yourself once again, Mosata. Now leave us, I must talk with the old
man."

Mosata seemed obviously hurt, but did not disobey
Shata's command. He stepped backwards into an adjoining tent and
let the leather flap fall behind him.

Shata walked around and sat upon a pile of furs,
dipping a cup into a pot of boiling stew as he passed.

"Some soup?" he asked in a bitter tone. He moved
quickly to flick his wrist, casting the contents of the cup towards
Locantar's kneeing form.

Locantar moved with supernatural grace and easiness.
He seemed to second-guess Shata's move and was already holding up a
shielding forearm as the scolding soup hit, splashing upon the
thick material and spreading a wet stain across it. Locantar
lowered his arm nonchalantly, as if unaware that if he not have
raised his arm boiling water would have surely scolded his
face.

Shata tossed away the cup and was silent for a time.
He simply sat cross-legged and tried to match the blind man's empty
gaze.

"You have the power of premonition," he muttered.

Locantar shook his head. "No. My actions are guided
by Abas."

"Don't give me that drusk dung! I have lived long
enough to know no such entity watches over us."

"You must open your heart," came the soft reply.

"Hold your stinking tongue or I will order it to be
chopped off! No God of mine stands by and watches his 'children'
fall like flies before the Sunlords. And that is why I have my
army. For the people. And you stand to oppose it - why?" Shata did
not wait for an answer. "You should have thought twice before
trying to break apart the League with your corrupt ways."

Shata-Bera leapt forward suddenly and grabbed
Locantar in the powerful grip of his left hand.

"Are there others?" he growled low in his throat

Locantar simply shook his head. "I am sorry, I cannot
tell you."

"You can't lie, can you?" snapped Shata with disgust.
"It goes against your teachings."

"Deceit is a sin."

"Then tell me, what others seek to disrupt my
force?"

Locantar's answer was simple. "No."

Shata pushed the old man back. "You will tell me soon
enough. You will learn a lesson more important than your stupid
teachings. Mosata, bring in the guards to take him away."

The hunchback Mosata must have been eavesdropping for
he entered immediately. Following him Locantar heard the clanking
of steel on steel as the two armoured guards stepped forward. They
hauled the old man to his feet.

"I shall make a demonstration before the entire
League of what happens to betrayers!" Shata bawled. "I hope you
rest uneasily tonight, for tomorrow lies your death."

Locantar's wide, unemotional face infuriated Shata.
It seemed his threat had no effect on the old man.

With a growl of anger he motioned the guards away
where they would chain him to the cliff face.

Shata-Bera sat back down, contemplating the soup bowl
that steamed over the small fire. He remembered how Locantar had
outwitted being burnt, as if the blind man knew exactly what the
future held. Then the memories of his near-death came back, when he
had been covered in the Sunlord's fire glue that had stuck to him
and burned until he thought he would simply dissolve into a knot of
pain. Shata lurched forward and kicked savagely at the pot of soup,
overturning its contents in anger.

He bowed his head and thought of what pain he could
inflict on the blind man that would properly demonstrate his
loathing of traitors to his cause.

* * *

He heard a faint creaking of leather before the
guards did, his sharpened hearing far superior to that of a sighted
person. He cocked an ear and tried to distinguish its origin.

Locantar stood in the darkness, his wrists bound by
tight rope that chafed at his flesh when he moved. The rope was
tied to a metal stake which had been driven into the cliff-face
behind him, so that his arms hung above his head. The bonds were
too small to allow him to sit, so he stood, face impassive.

Although blind he knew where he lay in relation to
the rest of the camp - he could hear the main bonfire crackle in
the distance, around which came the heavy breathing of the sleeping
Leaguesmen. Close by were two guards ordered to watch over him.
Locantar guessed by the strange dead clinking noises that the
guard's had at least one of the hallowed Sunlord guns. Only
Shata-Bera and two of the Karita possessed one of the stolen
weapons, although that would soon change. Operation of the guns was
simple and it would not be long before the entire army were
proficient fighters.

He paused as the creak of leather came again, a
little louder this time. Whoever the sneaker was, he was getting
closer. He heard the sound creep closer, the guards still
oblivious, and could at last disconcertion from where it came. It
was above his head, on the shear cliff face pockmarked only by
small impressions and irregular cracks. Someone was climbing down
near fifty metres in order to sneak past the guards - an impressive
feat.

The sound of leather pressing softly against rock
stopped abruptly, and Locantar found himself holding his breath.
Was it his imagination, or could he hear the shallow rasping
breathing above?

When the noise did not come again for long minutes
Locantar realised the climber must be waiting for night to set in,
resting until the two watchmen lowered their guard a little. The
climber was still high above them, his black clad form unmoving and
invisible upon a narrow ledge, waiting as still and as patiently as
a thief in the shadows.

* * *

Locantar roused himself as he almost fell into a
slumber. The bonfire had collapsed into smouldering ashes, the
sounds of the army quiet. As consciousness returned he felt a
burning pain in his arms as muscles cramped painfully. Precious
little blood flowed through the limbs held above his head and it
was no wonder they were beginning to ache. He held his breath for a
second and heard the steady breathing of the two guards - they were
bored, but awake. He also heard the incessant chirping of crickets
and the sounds of night.

The blind man almost jumped when something brushed
his shoulder. Quickly controlling his reactions he remained silent
and unmoving in order not to alert the guards.

The climber was good! Even Locantar had not heard him
descend those last few metres. The next moment the bonds holding
his wrists fell, broken by a sharp blade. Locantar winced as blood
flowed through his arms as they fell to his sides, pins and needles
coursing uncomfortably along his flesh. His rescuer's word was soft
it was almost part of the wind.

"Follow."

Locantar pivoted and his hands met with a dangling
length of cord. He did not hear the climber's breath and surmised
he must have already drawn back up the cliff face. The old man
moved slowly and inexorably to twist the rope into a knot about his
waist, every movement as slow as the unfolding of flowers. More
than once he paused as he heard one of the guards stir and grumble
some sort of comment to his fellow. The other chuckled ruefully, as
if they had just shared a quiet joke. They faced outwards from the
old man, their eyes turned to the plains. They did not expect
rescue to come from above.

Then it was done, the rope knotted tight at his chest
after looping below his arms. He tugged the rope uncertainly,
unsure of what sort of signal to give his rescuer.

Evidently he must have understood, for immediately
pressure was applied and he felt his weight leave his feet. Another
moment he was off the ground, spinning lazily, as he ascended the
cliff. He aided the climber by gripping edges of rock where he
could, pushing upward to keep his full weight off the rope.

It wasn't long before he had reached his rescuer on a
ledge so narrow it was really just a lip. A quick motion and the
stranger pulled the black woollen balaclava from his head, his
tasselled red hair spilling out. Teeth gleaming white in a broad
grin his thin hand extended to haul Locantar the rest of the
way.

"Good day, old timer."

"Josian," whispered Locantar with relief as his keen
ears recognised the voice. It was the currach who had been talking
to him earlier that evening before his capture. "You take too much
of a risk."

Josian's voice was soft - the guard's lay barely five
metres below. "We've work before us, Holy One. The Church needs
you."

Locantar nodded slowly and shook Josian's hand
firmly. "Thank you. But how are we going to get up here?"

Josian looked upwards. Over forty metres of cliff
face towered overhead.

"I shall climb first," he said. "I'll have to stop
and brace myself every so often to pull you up. If I go any further
the weight of the rope will be too much."

"Very well, let's go."

The agile thin man donned his balaclava once more,
flexed his fingers, then set about the task. Locantar waited
patiently as he heard faint sounds of Josian's leather shoes
scraping against the granite face and below the guards moved
restlessly from one buttock to the other as the chill night air
began to seep into their bones.

A tautening of the rope about his chest pulled his
attention back to the fore as he found himself rising. This time
the ledge was not as wide as the previous and he had to brace
himself in a fissure in the rock while Josian climbed further. The
old man's muscles were aching by the time the rope was taken taut
again and he was pulled higher.

It had seemed like hours had passed, but Locantar
guessed that the whole operation would have taken less than forty
minutes. With a final heave Josian pulled the rope, bringing
Locantar to the lip of the cliff face, whereupon they both sprawled
out in relief. Locantar reflected as they lay back in the night air
getting their breath back.

"Where did you learn to climb and move so quietly?"
he asked.

Josian laughed softly. "I have always loved climbing
- when I was a child my mother scolded me for scrambling up onto
the roof of our house. Since then I have practiced in my leisure
time on the cliffs to the south of the city. Of course, that was
before the Sunlords' arrival."

"And the stealth? Surely you didn't learn the art of
thievery in Religion classes."

"No, not quite. Let's just say in my youth I came
home late often, and the only way to avoid my mother's wrath was to
sneak in through my bedroom window."

Locantar laughed mirthfully without fear of being
overhead - the guards and the camp were far below. "I am indebted
to your skills," said the blind man. "Remind me to thank your
mother later for making you develop them."

Josian did not join the laughter. "Mother and father
were at the farm when the Sunlords came...They just
disappeared."

The old man lowered his milky eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Josian murmured. "I'm just trying to
forget about it until all this is over."

They were silent for a time. Locantar had a
thought.

"Josian, have you heard any more of the plans to
develop the gas?"

"Yes, I discovered soon after you were captured a
little more of its effects. They say it blisters your skin and
makes you vomit - and just minutes after exposure you die as your
flesh blackens. Morbid, I know. I shudder to even think of it. They
say it production is simple, but the chemist making it refuses to
give to formula to Shata."

"He may have a small shred of decency after all."

"Yes, he will only make a certain amount for Shata -
just enough for his purposes. The chemist must be mad."

"And feeling guilty, I suspect," mused Locantar. "He
has the weight of hundreds of lives on his shoulders. Is that all
you know?"

"One more thing. They keep the chemical apparatus in
Shata's tent, next to the chemist's sleeping quarters. Production
will start at dawn."

Locantar's white eyes glistened in thought. "We're
going to have to leave the camp now that I've been discovered,
right?"

"Yes," answered Josian, uncertain where this was
leading.

"So we must act now - this very night. We need to get
into that tent and stop the gas from being made. Our only chance is
to save this fool's army using their evil gas which will probably
end up killing more currach than Sunlords."

"Are you kidding? Shata's tent is heavily
guarded-"

"You have more than proven yourself in stealth, my
boy. But hold a minute, and listen to the stars. Can you not hear
Abas calling out to you to put an end to the weapon that could
spell ruin for the currach. Can you imagine clouds of this terrible
gas spilling over living beings, crushing the life from them? It
must be stopped."

"How?"

Locantar's face was grave. "The night is but young.
We can get into Shata's tent and destroy the gas before production
even starts."

Josian was silent. "You speak confidently,
Locantar."

"You are not obliged to join me," he returned.

"No, you do not understand. I am obligated. I have
vowed myself to the Church, and have been around long enough to
know that when you speak it is wise to listen."

"Save your praise until this night is over. Tell me,
what's happened to our confederates? Have the others of the Church
been discovered?"

"No, I don't think so. Ever since they saw your
capture though they drew back and did not attempt a meeting with
me. They must have been afraid Shata was suspicious of them,
too."

Locantar nodded agreeably. "It is in the nature of a
currach to stay in the background and watch things pass. I cannot
blame them for being afraid."