The Dragons of Sara Sara (12 page)

The Trader had strapped on his swords. A huge broadsword on his hip with its tip almost trailing in the dust. A long thin sword with a slight curve to the blade was strapped to his back, its hilt showing above his right shoulder. The Trader was skilled with both. They had kept him alive on many an occasion. The emblem of the crane standing on one foot that was engraved on the scabbards and blade of both told all that Annan Hamar was a blade master of the old school. Using the long sword at his waist with its blade as wide as a man's hand he could hew his way through an enemy shield wall – and often had. A line of men with shields locked together and spears held in front was a formidable sight, and even hardened warriors would think twice about attacking such a party. In battle and defence both, Annan had faced such odds and simply attacked head on, roaring with rage and battle madness, his long hair streaming with sweat and the metal of his armoured coat clanking as he rushed at the locked shields, the men forming the walls as often as not broke and ran at such a sight. Those who stood and tried to parry with their spears were brushed aside or cut down.

Daga himself had seen such men in battle long ago, and eyed the Trader with some admiration. In close fighting the long curved sword on his back was used, and its razor sharp blade would have a man's head off and leave him still standing, or spill his entrails over the ground as he died screaming in pain and terror. Only the very foolish attacked a Trader, especially one like Annan Hamar.

The village boys, and not a few of the men as well looked at the Trader in awe. With such a man to lead them, and their own warriors taking the battle to the coming raiders out on the plain they would surely be victorious.

By the end of the day the fortifications of the village were in place. The trees and bushes had been cleared in a wide circle around the whole village, and the barricades were complete. Just outside the barricades were row upon row of logs with one end buried into the ground. The logs were buried at an angle that allowed their sharpened ends to point outward, at just about chest height. So close together that all but the children had to turn sideways to get past them. There was hardly a tree left standing in the immediate area. Just inside the stockade a trench had been dug. Some two paces wide and a man's height deep, it would be difficult to jump and impossible to get out of if fallen into. Sharpened spikes were planted solidly into its floor like a small forest. At regular intervals along its edge were placed casks of oil. These would be poured into the trench and fired should the stockade and the barricades be breached.

Small boys ran back and forth filling hide canisters with arrows from the fletchers working by the barn. Every man in the district owned a bow and could use it. In hard times it was often all that kept his family fed as he ranged far out on the plains and into the small forests hunting for game.

No one had any illusions about the Tharsians though. They had been raiding across the Star Field Plain for as long as anyone could remember and many a hunter had cause to value his skill with the bow. Those cursed monsters were the spawn of the Dark Lord, showing up it was said at the end of the last age of darkness in an attempt by the Dark Lord to avoid capture and imprisonment. It had not helped him. He was held fast in Sara Sara. The Tharsians were beaten back from the plains after many years and were now invincible in their Great Forest retreat. They were implacable fighters on the open plain. If they came to the village in numbers it may take more than the current fortifications to stop them.

By now every roof top had a collection of older children, boys and girls alike. The girls had tied their skirts up with belts and scarfs or twine and scrambled to the roof tops along with the boys. More than one of the older boys almost lost his balance as some of the girls their own age clambered up to sit beside them, white ankles and even knees flashing in the afternoon sun. Their attention was soon returned to the distant smoke smudges though. It was nearing time for the riders who had left in the early morning to be returning. There was only about another hours sunshine left before full dark. Out on these plains the twilight was short. From sunset to full darkness was only around half an hour.

Everyone was thankful that the farmers had all come into the relative safety of the village, but a lot were shedding quiet tears at the loss of farms and possessions. The storm was gathering and the people of the village and the farmers of the plain could now only wait for the battle they were sure was coming. The rumblings that had upset the district could only have come from Sara Sara and the prison of the Dark Lord as he struggled for freedom. He had no doubt ordered his nightmare forces to gather and would soon know that the Seal of the Creator had been found, if he didn't know already. Then he would send his forces full against the tiny village where it was being held. The people of the village hoped silently that the Wind Reader and her small party could retrieve the Key that would again lock the prison wheel of the Dark Lord and hold him fast in Sara Sara.

The sun was going down on the second day. It stood on the horizon , a fiery ball that seemed reluctant to part with the day. The jagged peaks of the distant Dragon Spine mountains seemed to be drawn up into the glowing red ball as if it would suck the very land up into its molten depths. The black smudge across its face was as everyone knew, from the distant peak of Sara Sara.

A watch was set at regular intervals around the village perimeter, and the children called down from the roof. The wives and mothers of the outriders, as yet unreturned, sat in a small silent group on the steps of the inn. Annan Hamar paced around the common. Restless and unsure of what would happen next, and worried that those men had not yet returned. The last of the light turned a sickly orange as the smoke from the distant fires filtered it across the landscape. The village held its breath and waited. Torch light flicked along the barricades as men made last minute inspections of the work before dousing the burning brands. Men facing battle in the darkness need eyes accustomed to the darkness.

Annan peered into the gloom, searching for signs of movement out on the plain. There was no moon as yet, only star light and although there was little in the way of cover out there, there was enough shadow to hide marauding bands.

There was sudden shouting from the building on the very eastern edge of the village. A hissing trail of sparks arched up into the night sky, exploding into a brilliant white ball that began to drift slowly down to earth. It drifted out over the plain on the steady breeze that swept the region every evening.

Annan jumped to the ground and sped to the barricades. Lit up and exposed on the plain were hundreds of the monstrous Tharsians running straight at the village defences. Who had sent up the firework? Annan didn't have time to find out now. He thought he was the only one who knew of such things. The men along the inner ramparts let loose a withering hail of arrows at the horde. Most of the front rank fell and those that didn't ran straight onto the spikes of the outer barricade. Their screams of pain and rage curdled the blood of the villagers. Their fellows showed callous disregard for their fallen comrades. Even amid the rain of arrows, spears and even stones the living picked up the dead and wounded and pitched them onto the spikes. Still they came, running out of the night. Annan could see that it would not be long before the dead formed a bridge over which the others would be able to run. They could not be allowed to confront the villagers directly. Where were the warriors of the Asha and Mare Altan? They must be engaged out on the plain or they would have been here to help. Annan ran from point to point, his sword dripping blood and slime as he hacked into attacker after attacker who made it across the outer barricade. Still they came. He had not seen so many in one place in all his life. He began to fear that their position would be overrun. He called over a village youth who acted as messenger.

“Run to each of the other defence positions. Tell them they must stay on their barricades at all cost. They are not to move away to help others. Leaving their position exposed will give the Tharsians entry.”

The boy sped off, his eyes wide with fear. His feet felt as though they had wings. As he had stood listening to the Traders shouted words, the Trader had been calmly dispatching Tharsians as though it were all in a day's work. The boy was mightily impressed and would remember this day all his life.

The Trader strode up and down his line encouraging defenders and taunting the enemy, drawing them to himself. Brave men were using long poles to dislodge the dead from the spikes. The line was holding, but only just.

The Trader could see Tomas the blacksmith rolling barrels from a wagon and emptying them into the pit that had been dug along the inner perimeter.

What was he doing? A smell of raw oil filled the air moments before a roaring fire leapt out of the pit along its entire length. The blacksmith had poured his entire stock of quenching oil into the pit and set it alight. The hotter the oil became the higher the flames roared. Orange flame and thick smoke was billowing into the night sky. The impenetrable wall of fire stopped the Tharsians in their tracks. It gave the villagers time to catch their breath and gather their strength, and weapons. The fire would die down and the Tharsians would come again. A cheer went up for Tomas. He was much embarrassed but took it with a grin. He knew the men were as much relieved as grateful for the short break he had given them. Already the flames were beginning to die down. The yelling and shouting of the Tharsians told that they too had noticed. Some even now ignoring the flames to race over the fallen on the barricades and leap through the wall of fire. Oblivious to burnt hide they were never the less immediately cut down.

Annan climbed up onto a wagon bed to see if he could spot a leader in the Tharsian lines. He peered into the gloom across the distance, the flames from the oil casting a sickly orange glow into the thin tree line along the river's edge in the distance. There was no leader it seemed. The Tharsians simply flung themselves into battle with no plan or order – just sheer numbers. He was about to climb down again when the seal went ice cold against his chest.

Annan looked out into the darkness again. Somewhere out there was one of the Dark Lords Chosen Ones. The Tharsians had a leader after all. The Trader peered into the distant tree line. There – just on the edge of his eyesight! A figure shrouded in a black cloak. Blacker even than the night. It was this deeper shadow that had drawn Annan's sight. The person didn't move, but Annan was aware that the person had sensed him. Suddenly it came to Annan that he could end this carnage now. He raised his massive arm and pointed directly at the dark figure out in the trees.

“My name is Annan Hamar, I am the Keeper of the Seal” he shouted.

In an instant a bar of pure blue light streaked from his fingers. The sudden scream that rent through the sound of battle cut off like a door slamming as the Chosen One exploded in a shower of particles that lit up the whole countryside.

The Tharsians seemed to lose all direction. Those still on the cleared ground ran off in all directions or turned on each other. Those engaged in battle on the walls simply stood still, arms at their sides looking around. The villagers quickly dispatched them all. Within moments all was quiet apart from the moans of the wounded, and the sounds of a girl on a roof top somewhere crying her heart out.

The Trader was still standing up on the wagon, his arm outstretched and a look of shock on his normally expressionless face.

He had no idea that his call to the Seal would be answered so swiftly and with such force. He knew now that he would be able to protect the village against all comers. He only needed to find the leaders of an attack and destroy him. He wondered at the cost to the village, but it had to be better than the alternative.

Antonin awoke with a start, blinking in the gloom. Luan was bending over him.

“It is time for your watch young one.” Said Luan and turned to where he had a blanket spread on the stone floor. His saddle he used as a head rest.

Antonin grunted and got to his feet. The others were all asleep around the small fire that burned in the centre of the room. Just a few small flames flickering in the coals. Antonin added a few twigs from the little pile that they had gathered earlier on. He saw no need to worry about time. He was completely rested. Luan had let him sleep longer than arranged he was sure. It was hard to tell though. The fire looked like it had been burning for some time. White ash thick around the edges. The air in the vast room was very still, and a haze of smoke had collected in a blanket up by the ceiling of the room.

Antonin prowled around the room at first, his soft leather boots making no sound on the stone floor. The night sky was a glittering blanket of starts now and the light was enough to filter thinly into the room. To Antonin's night accustomed eyes the street outside appeared to be softly lit by lamps.

Peering into corners, down passageways into the gloom Antonin continued his investigations. The sound of water trickling came from somewhere by the cistern but he could not find the source of the sound. He glanced out of the windows and the doors. Nothing moved. There was not even a breath of air stirring. The horses were moving a bit. Blowing air and stamping, they seemed a little restless. Antonin decided he must be making them nervous and squatted down by the door. His back against the door frame, peering into the night.

Antonin didn't know this place. He thought he had ridden all over the Star Field Plain, but he had not been here before. The buildings were unlike any he had ever seen for a start. Not like the fairly crude freestone dwellings of the farms and villages. In fact now that he looked closely, he could see that all the buildings were made of smooth faced dressed stone, and all were neatly interlocked together. They were very strong buildings indeed. Antonin could see that the buildings were in orderly rows along wide paved streets. Even from where he squatted he could see across streets in the distance. The buildings continuing along these as far as he could see.