John Marco: The Sword Of Angels

Gilwyn rode on for nearly an hour before coming upon a stand of cacti. Not knowing when more of the water-bearing plants would appear, he decided to stop and feed his drowa. Without using the tack, he led the huge beast to the plants. The drowa munched happily while Gilwyn stood aside, studying the horizon. He could still not see Ganjor, but he didn’t expect to, really. The city was large, larger by far than Jador, but it was still many miles away.

‘Tomorrow, then,’ he told himself. Staring off across the sands, he contemplated the distance to Ganjor, and how many hours of scorching heat he had left to endure. By nightfall tomorrow, he might see the city. Then, at last, he could meet Salina.

He was about to turn back to his drowa when something in the distance caught his attention, the movement of two dark shapes against the white sand. Gilwyn squinted hard, focusing against the dazzling sun. He hadn’t seen anyone since leaving Jador, and it took a moment for him to realize that, yes, these were people riding toward him.

‘Look,’ he said excitedly, wondering if Ruana had noticed them. ‘Riders.’

And riding quickly, too, Gilwyn realized. Toward him. They had seen him, no doubt, but there were not many who came across the desert these days. There had been no more Seekers since the battle with Aztar. Nor had anyone seen the remains of Aztar’s army. Still, Gilwyn had seen the likes of these riders before, and his heart froze over.

‘Raiders.’

Fear nailed him in place. His mind groped for an explanation. Aztar’s raiders had all been defeated, soundly trounced by Minikin’s magic. Aztar himself was dead, no doubt, yet these were raiders, unmistakably, Voruni fighters from Aztar’s own tribe. Their dark gakas, visible now as they drew near, flared out behind them like comet tails as they rode. Gilwyn stumbled backward, into the still-feeding drowa.

‘Ruana,’ Gilwyn called. ‘What should I do?’

Ruana was with him instantly. Get on your drowa, Gilwyn. Do it now.

Poor advice, thought Gilwyn, but he snatched the beast away from its meal and pulled himself onto its back. Mounting the drowa took effort for him, though, for his clubbed appendages slowed him. Finally able to throw over his leg, he wheeled the drowa around to face the coming riders. He could hear the powerful hooves of their drowas beating on the sand. Out-running them was impossible, and in the desert there was no place to hide.

Turn around and ride , Ruana urged, back the way you came.

Gilwyn obeyed, urging the drowa on. The beast exploded beneath him. Over his shoulder, Gilwyn saw the raiders pursuing, tucked low in their saddles. With nowhere to go, Gilwyn’s mind numbed to the possibility of capture.

‘They’ll catch us,’ he gasped.

Ruana’s voice stayed firm. Find the rass, Gilwyn , she commanded. It’s very near.

‘The rass?’

Find the rass and bring it here.

‘Yes!’

Gilwyn drove the fear from his mind, closing his eyes and summoning the gift. Behind him, he heard the shouts of the raiders urging him to surrender. They were Aztar’s men; he knew that surely now. And if they caught him they would kill him, revenge for what Minikin had done. But even this he pushed aside, thinking instead of the open desert and of the cold-blooded monster hidden in its folds. The feeling of the rass was unforgettable. He homed in on it, sensing it easily. This time he entered its brain like a knife, slicing past its primeval thoughts into its very core. The rass was near, no more than minutes away. It had sunned itself and was ready to hunt, and when Gilwyn entered its mind it reared up to spread its coloured hood.

‘I have it,’ he said. Opening his eyes, he focused both on the rass and his blurring surroundings. Soon his drowa would tire, he knew, and the blood-thirsty quartet would catch him.

Unless he called the rass.

Obey me , he said, speaking only to the serpent, drilling into its brain and seizing its thoughts. I am your master. Yield to me .

He had done it with Teku, and he had done it with kreel. But this was different, far more difficult. The serpent, confused by his commands, lifted itself up to search for him. Somehow, it knew he was coming, and though they could not yet see each other, it waited.

Down ! Gilwyn commanded. Into the sand. Hide yourself.

Time slipped quickly as the raiders sped toward him. Gilwyn forced himself to concentrate.

Enemies come , he told the rass. Hide yourself.

Remarkably, the creature understood. Though he still could not see it, Gilwyn knew its location now. Up ahead lay a cradle of rocks, blown-over with sand and studded with brush. Hidden there lay the rass, waiting for him. Gilwyn directed his mind at the creature, filling it with his presence, speaking in a language it somehow understood. As he drew near the rocks, he felt the serpent bend to his will. Its dark eyes dawned with understanding. Then, at last, it obeyed. Moving with a quickness that seemed impossible, it burrowed its long body beneath the rocks and sand, shielding itself in shadows.

And Gilwyn rode right toward it.

Trust yourself , Ruana told him.

With little choice, Gilwyn urged his drowa toward the rocks. Now the raiders were gaining again, their own mounts lathered with effort. Peering over his shoulder, Gilwyn watched the raiders draw their weapons. The rocks were only yards away. He braced himself and raced toward them.

Hear me , he commanded. The hidden rass opened its mind for him. The four are your prey.

The serpent understood. Confident, Gilwyn entered the rocks. His drowa slowed, then wheeled about at Gilwyn’s order, snorting in anger as the four raiders approached. Gilwyn drew the dagger at his belt and held it aloft. Up ahead, he could barely see the outline of the enormous rass, tucked in waiting at the base of the rocks.

‘Come, then, damn you!’ he cried. The raiders were clearly visible now, four burly Voruni with scimitars and oily beards combed to sharp, black points. The first man, a Zarturk by the looks of him, held up a hand and brought his men to a halt. Gilwyn cursed when he saw their strategy. Zarturks were leaders among the Voruni, tribal warriors who had proven themselves in battle, and this one wasn’t stupid. He looked at Gilwyn across the rocks, lowering his blade curiously and leaning back in the saddle of his drowa. Gilwyn put his thumbnail to his front teeth and flicked a vulgar gesture at them. He had not learned a lot of their language, but because the Voruni spoke a tongue similar to the Jadori he knew how to curse them.

‘Aztar moahmad!’ he shouted. The words meant ‘filth of Aztar,’ and when the Zarturk heard the insult he bristled. He barked back across the rocks, calling Gilwyn a stupid boy and ordering him to surrender. Gilwyn shook his head, refusing to budge, but he knew he could not hold the rass much longer.

‘Come and get me!’ Gilwyn cried, then turned his drowa and rode off, sure that the raiders would follow. Half his brain stayed connected to the rass. The other half turned to see two of the raiders riding to pursue. The other pair rode round the rocks, trying to reach him the long way. Gilwyn quickly reigned in his drowa. The first men were riding past the rocks. Sure that he had no choice, he shot an order to the waiting serpent.

Now!

A swale of black flesh and shaking sand burst from the rocks. The shocked riders reared back on their mounts. The great rass unfolded its leathery hood, opened its forbidding maw, and lunged. Gilwyn watched, horrified, as the nearest drowa stumbled back and spilled its rider in the monster’s shadow. His comrade, dumbstruck, barely raised his blade. The rass was on them instantly, quickly coiling round the fallen man, then bearing him up in its vise-grip tail. The head jolted forward, knocked the other rider from his mount, then reared back in leering delight before clamping its jaws around him. A moment later both men were in the air, one suffocating in the serpent’s tail, the other punctured and bloody, dangling from the creature’s fangs.