The Last Guardian

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nu-Khasisatra reached the old stone circle an hour before dawn. He waited, hidden in the trees, searching for any guards who might be patrolling here, but there were none that he could see.

Under the bright moonlight he studied the words on the parchment, memorising them. Then, Stone in hand, he ran from the trees on to the open ground before the circle.

At once there was a diin, piercing whistle. Shadows darted for him and a woman's voice cried out: 'Alive! Take him alive!'

Nu sprinted for the stone circle, its tall grey slabs promising sanctuary. A reptilean figure in black armour ran into his path but Nu swung his huge fist into the creature's face, dashing him to the grass. Hurdling the falling body, he made it to the shadows of the stones. Once there, he swung to see more Daggers closing on him.

He lifted his hand. 'Barak naizi tor lemmesr he shouted. Lightning flashed across his eyes, blinding him, and his mind was filled with whirling colours. All sense of weight and strength left him, and he tumbled like a wind-blown feather into a storm. Widi a sickening lurch he felt the ground under his feet, stumbled and fell. His eyes opened, but at first he could see nodiing save flickering lights. Then his vision cleared and he found himself in a small clearing. Close by was a dead man, his face hideously burnt. Nu got to his feet and moved to the body. The man was wearing strange apparel and he studied it; the clothing was unlike anydiing he had encountered.

He walked out of the clearing and stared at the surrounding landscape. There was no city of Balacris, no view of a distant ocean. Grasslands drifted to a blurred horizon where jagged mountains soared to meet the sky.

Returning to the clearing, Nu sat and examined his Stone. The black veins in the gold had swelled. He had no way of knowing how much power the journey had sucked from the Sipstrassi.

Moving to his knees, Nu-Khasisatra began to pray. For some time he gave thanks for his deliverance from the hands of Sharazad and her Daggers; then he asked for his family to be protected. Finally he sought the silerice in which the voice of God could be heard.

The wind whispered about him, but he heard no words within it. Sunlight bathed his face, but no visions came. At last he stood. It would be safer, he knew, if his clothing matched that of the people of this land. The Stone glowed warm in his hand, and his robes and cloak shimmered and changed. Now he was wearing trousers and boots, shirt and long jacket identical to those of the dead man.

'Be careful, Nu,' he warned himself. 'Do not waste the power.'

He recalled the words of Bali: 'Seek the Sword of God.' He had no idea in which direction to travel, but looking down at the ground he saw the tracks of a horse, heading towards the mountains. With no other omen to guide him, Nu-Khasisatra followed them.

Sharazad sat at an ornate table, her ice-blue eyes locked to the face of Pashad, wife of the traitor Nu-Khasisatra.

'You denounced your husband yesterday. Why?'

'I discovered he was plotting against the King,' she answered, averting her eyes and gazing at the surface of the desk on which lay a curious white-handled ornament of silver.

'With whom was he plotting?'

'The merchant, Bali, Highness. He was the only one I knew.'

'You know that the family of a traitor shares his sentence?' whispered the golden-haired inquisitor and Pashad nodded.

'Yet he had not been declared a traitor when I denounced him, Highness. Also, I am no longer of his family, for after denouncing him I divorced him.'

'So you did. Where is he hiding?'

'I do not know, Highness. The list of our property was taken this morning. There are only five houses, and three store buildings by the dock. Other than that, I cannot help you.'

Sharazad smiled. Then reaching into the pocket of her pearl-embroidered tunic, she drew out a red-gold stone and placed it upon the desk. Three words of power she uttered. 'Place your hand over the stone,' she told the slim, dark-haired girl before her. Pashad did so.

'Now I will ask you some more questions, but I want you to be aware that if you lie the stone will kill you instantly. Do you understand this?'

Pashad nodded, but her eyes showed her fear.

'Do you know the whereabouts of the man, Nu-Khasisatra?'

'I do not.'

'Do you know the names of any of his friends who may have been involved in the plot?'

'That is difficult to answer,' said Pashad, sweat glistening on her brow. 'I know some of his…

friends, but I would have no way of knowing whether they shared his treason.'

'Do you share his treason?'

'No. I do not understand any of it. How can I tell if the King is a god? My life has been spent in making my husband happy and raising his children. What should it matter to us whether the King is a god or not?'

'If you did know the whereabouts of the man, Nu-Khasis-atra, would you tell me?'

'Yes,' answered Pashad. 'Instantly.'

Sharazad's surprise was genuine. Lifting Pashad's hand, she took the stone and replaced it in her pocket.

'You are free to go,' she said. 'If you hear any news of the traitor, then make sure I know of it.'

'I will, Highness.'

Sharazad watched the woman leave and then leaned back in her chair. A curtain by the left wall parted and a young man stepped through — tall and wide-shouldered, yet slim of hip. He grinned and sat down in a nearby chair, lifting his booted foot to rest on the table.

'You owe me,' he said. 'I told you she would know nothing.'

'Always so smug, Rhddaeul?' she snapped. 'But I am somewhat taken aback. From all I have hear'd of this shipbuilder, he adored his wife. I would have expected him to have taken her into his confidence.'

'He's a careful man. Have you any idea where he has gone?'

'Yes,' she said, smiling, 'as a matter of fact, I have. You see, the Circle has been linked to the world we discovered two months ago. Nu-Khasisatra thought he was escaping, but instead he has travelled to our latest field of conquest. It is the land that has brought us these strange weapons.'

She lifted the pistol from the desk-top and tossed it to Rhodaeul; it was silver-plated, with grips of carved white bone. 'The King wishes you to become proficient with these… these guns.'

'Will he equip the army with them?'

'No. The King believes them to be vulgar. But my Dag- gers will prove their potency in war.'

Rhodaeul nodded. 'And Nu-Khasisatra?'

'He is stranded in that strange land. He does not speak the language, nor does he know a way back. I will find him.'

'So sure of yourself, Sharazad? Beware!'

'Do not mock me, Rhodaeul. If I am arrogant, it is with good cause. The King knows my talents.'

'We all know your talents, dear Sharazad. Some of us have even enjoyed them. But the King is right. These weapons are vulgar beyond description; there is no honour in despatching an enemy with such a monstrosity.'

'You fool! You think there is more honour in an arrow, or a lance? They are merely weapons of death.'

'A clever man can dodge an arrow, Sharazad, or sidestep a lance. But with these, death strikes a man unawares. And their mastery takes no skill.' He walked to the window and stepped out into the courtyard beyond. Two prisoners were tied to stakes; wood had been piled around their feet and legs.

'Where is the skill?' asked Rhodaeul, cocking the pistol smoothly. Two shots rang out and the victims at the stakes sagged against their ropes. 'All a man needs is a good eye and a swift hand.

But with the sword, there are over forty different variations on the classic block and riposte, sixty if you count the sabre. But — if it is the King's wish — I will learn how to handle the thing.'

'It is the King's wish, Rhodaeul. Perhaps you will be able to polish your skills in my new world.

There are men there who are legends because of their skill with such weapons. I will hunt them down for you, and have them brought back for your… education.'

'How sweet of you, Sharazad. I will look forward to it. Can you give me a name to disturb my dreams?'

'There are several. Johnson is one, Crowe another. Then there is Daniel Cade. But above them all, there is a man called Jon Shannow. They say he seeks a mythical city and they call him the Jerusalem Man.'

'Bring them all, Sharazad. Since our conquests in the north, we have been sadly lacking in good sport.'