The Gods of Garran (24 page)

But they would go back and warn their
tsirvaks
. Some had left from nearly every tribe except the Sand Plain Clan.

“Wait, wait,” said Draypeth to those who were leaving, but they didn’t heed him. Angry, he turned to the crowd. “We cannot give in to those who will weaken us.” He nodded at two of the guards. They rushed forward and grabbed Moorhen. “Tie his hands.”

Moorhen fought them, but they overwhelmed him and tied his hands together. Then, they fastened the rope to one of the clawed poles which held the other Chanden.

“If you love the Chanden so much … then die with them. Traitor!” said Draypeth. With a wave of his hand, the drums began to beat once more.

“We will spill your blood along with the murderers!” he said. Someone put a red tunic over Moorhen’s head. “This will please the God of War!”

“No!” shouted Moorhen. “Please!” He looked up at Channik who watched with wide eyes, his face a cloud of concern. "Channik?" But if his brother thought to object, he didn’t do it.

"The
tsirvak
has to be warned!" shouted Moorhen. None of his clansmen had left the gathering. If Moorhen died, then no one would warn their clan. "Mirrhia? Derish?"

None of them made a move. Moorhen despaired.

The crowd had grown solemn. All eyes were on Draypeth and Moorhen. Then there was movement in the crowd. Jarvaine slowly walked down to the lower dais and came to stop in front of Moorhen. He drew his sword.

“I think that
you
are wrong,” said Jarvaine.

Uselessly, Moorhen struggled but his bonds were too tight to break. Jarvaine swung his sword near Moorhen’s face and he flinched but the sword didn’t hit. Instead, he hands came free. Jarvaine had cut the rope holding him to the pole.

Jarvaine sheathed his sword and continued several paces before he turned back around. “But I know that
this
is wrong.” With a sweeping gesture, he indicated Moorhen, the pole and the sacrifices. “I also will not stand idly by. Come on, we’re going home.” He turned and walked towards the exit. Some people began to follow him.

Draypeth gave a shriek of anger. “Stop!” He drew his own sword.

Two seconds later, Mirrhia stood by Moorhen’s side, bow drawn; an arrow aimed at Draypeth’s heart. “Don’t!” she cried in warning. Immediately, Crysethe came to guard Moorhen’s other side against the approaching executioners.

The drums continued to beat.

“Derish!” she called.

There was a moment’s hesitation, but then Derish drew his sword and ran out to defend Moorhen, as did Missa and Keilah, his sisters.

“We’re going,” said Mirrhia curtly.

“But … what about--?” Moorhen nodded at the Chanden.

“We're going," repeated Mirrhia. "Bring him,” she commanded. Derish and Missa each grabbed one of Moorhen’s arms and dragged him with them towards the exit.

More followed them, from all the tribes. Eleven in all from the Sand Plain Clan. But Channik and Pellan along with many of the others stayed. Channik’s eyes looked haunted.

The executioners moved forward to the rhythm of the drums. Moorhen looked back at the last second, and saw the flash of the blades as the tribesmen cut the Chanden’s throats wide open.

Moorhen paused to stare a moment.

“Come on!” snapped Mirrhia. They pulled Moorhen from the cave, back to the camp.

Numbly, Moorhen followed them.

Back at the camp, Derish cut the rope from Moorhen’s hand. “I’m sorry, Moorhen,” said Mirrhia. “But, if you’re right, then we’ll have to ride hard to get back to the
tsirvak
.”

The clan home. The Chanden would send their men there. Moorhen had almost forgot. “I know.”

The others grabbed supplies and Moorhen and Crysethe got the
yithhe
ready to ride.

“It’s nearly a four days ride home,” said Moorhen, his face ashen. “We’ll never make it.”

“We’ll ride fast,” said Missa.

“It won’t be enough,” said Moorhen.

“We’ll ride through the night,” said Missa, determined.

He nodded. “Yes.” What else could they do? They mounted up on the
yithhe
and rode hard.

Commander Koethe stood on the tower balcony of Anik with Becnand, Fauke, and Captain Bashan. Once, they had been able to see the Stony Dunes from the tower. Now, it was obscured by dust clouds.

Chief Richt entered the balcony. "I can't raise anyone. The storm has impaired all communications. And it's only getting worse."

Koethe nodded. He left the balcony and went inside the tower. The others followed. "I'm going to have to go down there," he said.

Maive Bashan stared at him. "In this storm? Are you crazy?"

"My men are down there," said Koethe. "I'm not going to abandon them."

She put a hand on his arm to stop him. "I thought you were on the run from General Godwin?"

"I am," he said. He pushed past her. "I'll just say that our mechanical failure is fixed and we made it to his base. He's preoccupied right now anyway."

"He's no fool," said Maive.

"What do you want me to do?" said Koethe. "Hide out here like a coward?" He looked at his men. "Let's go."

Maive followed them to the door. "Your airship may not even make it the few miles down to the base."

"Chance we'll have to take," said Koethe sternly. None of the others objected. They joined Koethe as he went out into the storm.

Their airship was parked next to the small Garran rock fortress. The winds were terrible, even the short distance they had to walk. And the storm hadn't really hit yet. Koethe cursed. Things would only get worse.

They took off without difficulty. They had to pilot the airship blind because none of the radar or satellites were working.

The distance wasn't far--just perilous. In the end, they made it--barely. They landed halfway from Drealea to Rhashan, where the General had made a temporary base-camp. Thousands of tents stretched out for miles.

Koethe and the others made their way to the headquarters--an old bunker, built a hundred years ago. The small cement bunker was barely tall enough to stand in, maybe 30 feet in diameter and currently full of supplies and equipment deemed too valuable to store in tents outside, due to the storm. Two cells had been built in the back for prisoners.

General Godwin and his two officers stood there, over a small electronic version of a map, showing Rhashan and the Stony Dunes.

"Decided to show up, did you?" asked Godwin.

"Had trouble with our airship," lied Koethe. "The sand plays havoc with the systems." That much was true.

"While you've been playing around, we've set up our troops for attack. Everything is in place." Godwin stood there in his black and olive uniform, with his gloves on, ready to walk into an impossible situation. His second, Chief Nyan and his second, Chief Montani, stood behind him.

Koethe took a deep breath. "You can't do this," he said.

"Can't I?" countered Godwin.

"The storm is too dangerous. We have to withdraw."

"I'm not a coward like you," said Godwin.

"You are condemning all those men to death," said Koethe.

"Some of them are women," Montani smoothly corrected.

"Even more reason!" snapped Koethe.

Godwin picked up a small paper readout. "This is yours, I believe," he said, holding it up. "An order from you to disregard my commands?"

Koethe quelled the sense of panic that ran through his body. Godwin knew. Someone under him had betrayed him.

"Those militia are under
my
command, not
yours
," said Koethe.

"Not anymore," said the General. "You are relieved of command. And I'm putting you under temporary arrest."

Arrest. The thing Koethe feared. General Godwin had that power. It was over. Twenty years of command rendered useless--whether the battle was won or lost.

Koethe stared at Godwin. That he would use that power at a time like this, on a world that he didn't understand, was madness.

"Chief Montani will lead your militia," said Godwin. "She, at least, has the balls for an operation such as this."

Montani gave Koethe a look of satisfaction.

"Chief Nyan, you will man the command center and guard
them
," he nodded at Koethe and his men, as though they were some sort of disease. "And once the battle starts, give the signal to attack the clan homes."

Nyan nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."

With one last glance at Koethe, General Godwin left. Montani followed. The bunker held seven soldiers to Koethe and his three men. Possibly, they could take them, but an attack on an officer such as Chief Nyan would be unforgivable. It would be an executable offense. There was nothing to be done.

Chief Nyan took a few steps towards Koethe. The soldiers in the room drew their guns--as did Nyan. "I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your weapons, sir."

Simultaneously, Richt, Becnand and Fauke drew their guns and aimed them at the soldiers in a standoff.

Nyan was younger than Koethe by a decade. Koethe was sure that he'd seen more combat than the young soldier. Perhaps he could take him, but it would be a useless gesture.

"Do as he says," Koethe commanded his men. Carefully, he unhooked his own gun from his belt and dropped it on the ground near Nyan. With some hesitation, the others also complied. Dropping their weapons.

"Thank you," said Nyan, sincerely. Koethe liked Nyan. He was a sensible man and Koethe didn't blame him for Godwin's mad plan. He was only following orders. "Secure them," he told his men. "And put them in the cells."

Koethe watched silently as his men were rounded up and handcuffed. The soldiers led them to the cells.

"You may stay," said Nyan to Koethe, putting his gun away.

"Thank you," murmured Koethe, turning his attention to the map on the table. It showed a satellite map of the area around Rhashan and troops positions. Even now, the sandstorm blurred some of the map and shorted the whole thing out for a few seconds at regular intervals.

"The attack has begun," said a communications officer with a headset.

Nyan nodded.

"I'm getting a lot of interference," said the man.

"It's the sandstorm," said Koethe. "You have no idea how deadly they can be here."

Nyan spared a glance at Koethe but said nothing.

"Can you really carry out orders to attack their clan homes?" pressed Koethe. "Will you have the blood of innocent women and children on your head?"

"The orders come from General Godwin. I don't make such decisions." So precise. Following orders to the letter.

"It's wrong and you know it," said Koethe. Nyan turned away, as if not listening. Koethe scowled in consternation.

Moorhen and his clan sisters and brothers crossed through the Graench Peak and on to Burnt Forest Pass. Not daring even to rest, they continued through the night, finally stopping at dawn. By then the storm had begun. Winds began to tear at them and their beasts.

Missa jumped off her
yithhe
and helped Crysethe down. Moorhen had been riding with Derish all night. Their
yithhe
looked near exhaustion.

“We have to rest,” said Mirrhia. “The animals can’t take this pace.”

“But what about the home clan--what about the children?” asked Moorhen, sitting down. All he could think of the past 20 hours was soldiers breaking into the
tsirvak
and shooting the children. Their dead bodies littered around the floor, left to rot. He stood and paced.

“Crysethe,” said Derish. “Help out my eyes.”

The girl ran over to her uncle and peered out at the plains below. Dawn was here. The sun would rise soon. And they were still a day and a half away from home.

“Over there?” asked Crysethe.

“Yes, that cloud,” said Derish.

She nodded. “Yes, it is a sandstorm. A huge one. And it’s headed straight for us.”

Everyone looked solemn. They’d hoped they could outrun the sandstorm. Once it hit, they would be stuck here for at least a day, maybe longer. It would make travel impossible.

Moorhen stared at the horizon a moment. Then he put his pack back on and headed for Derish’s
yithhe
. “I’ll keep going, perhaps I can outrun it.”

He was ready to mount the
yithhe
but Derish stopped him. “You can’t, Moorhen.”

“I can. I’ll ride hard. We still have hours ‘til the storm hits.”

“You won’t make it,” argued Keilah. “It’s too late.”

“I can try,” said Moorhen, but Derish put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“No, not on this
yithhe
. The beast is spent.” Moorhen looked down at the panting animal. “You’ll kill it and you’ll end up alone in the desert. No, Moorhen stay here.”

Derish stared solemnly at Moorhen.

“But … the troops … what about our home?”

“I don’t know,” said Derish. “But there’s nothing we can do now. They may have been there already.”

Moorhen tried to dispel the image of his family wounded and near death at the hands of General Godwin’s marksmen. He closed his eyes.

“You’ve been through a lot, Moorhen. You’ve done well,” said Derish.

Moorhen shook his head. “But, it may not be enough.”

They searched for a firecave for shelter and found one at the base of the next ridge. It wasn’t large but it was deep enough to get them out of the sandstorm and had two entrances, in case one got buried.