Star Axe Read online

  It took four healthy men to carry the man the few yards from the bank to the fire. Kenlahar rolled him over with some effort and caught his breath. It was Jakkem! Kenlahar bathed the face of the half drowned and half frozen man with the last of the Sweetbark. The herb and the warm fire seemed to revive the unconscious man after some time, and Jakkem’s eyes opened. They showed fear. But the furtive glances he sent about the camp seemed to reassure him, and Kenlahar thought he caught a kind of veiled slyness come over the man’s features, to disappear just as quickly.

  “Did you see any others?” Captain Jonla demanded. “Did anyone else escape?”

  Kenlahar judged that the look of terror that crossed Jakkem’s face was real. “The Qreq were waiting for us on the banks,” he said. “They dragged us off into the Tream if we came ashore and…” he shuddered, and grabbed Captain Jonla’s arm. “I heard them screaming.”

  “All of them? Were they all killed?”

  “Most of us stayed in the river, to drown rather than face that!” Jakkem coughed weakly and shut his eyes. “I was the last. Then I saw the overturned boat drifting by. That is all I remember clearly.”

  Captain Jonla continued to question him, until Kenlahar reluctantly saved him from further interrogation. “This man must mend if he is to travel with us,” he announced.

  The Healer Coron would have been truly proud of his conscientiousness, he thought, for there was one question he very much wanted to ask the man as well. Indeed, Kenlahar found it puzzling that the question had not already been asked by Captain Jonla, and just as difficult to believe that the old warrior had not seen what Kenlahar had seen. He had been certain that he had recognized the overturned boat they had pulled Jakkem from. It had been the one craft the Companions had abandoned in their escape—left securely tied and surrounded by Qreq at the portage!

  CHAPTER VI

  No other survivors appeared on the river over the next two days, though Captain Jonla never left his vigil on the shore—all of which seemed to bear out the story Jakkem had given. But the fact that no other bodies or flotsam drifted down, Kenlahar thought, justified his own suspicions as well. How had Jakkem managed to stay afloat when nothing else had? he wanted to ask.

  Most of the wounded made rapid recoveries, especially Jakkem. After just a few hours, Jakkem did not look anything like a man who had spent a half a day in the freezing water. Indeed, to Kenlahar he looked healthier than almost anyone else. This miracle also did nothing to allay Kenlahar’s fears. But he said nothing, for Jakkem had inexplicably become a favorite of Captain Jonla. Jonla was keeping the big man beside him, and over the next few days Jakkem grew bolder in his taunts. While Captain Jonla did not encourage Jakkem’s jeers, he did nothing to stop him either.

  Balor had become uncharacteristically withdrawn and sullen. Kenlahar feared that like the other warriors, Balor held him responsible for the disaster that had befallen them. Every stage of the trek seemed to be wearing down the esteem the warriors had originally held for Kenlahar as Axe-bearer. When no marvels had ensued, and Kenlahar had not even used the Star Axe to save the other Companions, the warriors of the Watch had begun to regard him almost with scorn. Balor did not join in the hostility, but he too seemed hurt by Kenlahar’s failure.

  Kenlahar was .too preoccupied with Sanra’s recovery to be sensitive to the glares. She had slept almost to the time of departure, waking occasionally to the disconcerting questions from Kenlahar. But she reassured him that she was well. With the Lashitu hovering solicitously nearby, these three stayed isolated from the others.

  Finally, the two days of the deathwatch ended and they scuttled the boat, removing all signs of their camp. For the first few days into the swamp, Captain Jonla led the troop quickly and expertly through the traps and snares of the Tream. The swamp was a mire of shifting pools and treacherous earth, death to any but the Swamp People. Even the primitive clans of the Tream rarely ventured far from the more hospitable climate of that part of the swamp that bordered the River Danjar.

  It was still early in the rainy season, and they were able to wade through most of the pools, being careful to avoid the quicksand. They quickly disregarded any attempt to keep clean or dry. They would jump from rock to rock; or from the base of one tree to the base of another; or to any spot that offered a chance of firm footing. Kenlahar and the Lashitu, who were unused to any heavy exercise, and especially Sanra, who was still very weak, were barely able to maintain the fast pace. They became a small group of stragglers. The true Companions of the Star Axe, he thought bitterly—an apprentice healer, a younger woman, and a madman!

  The blisters came first, then the aches. Kenlahar did what he could with his herbs, but the toll on their bodies seemed to accumulate much faster than his remedies. After a while, as the unceasing rain continued to pour down on them, each Companion wrapped his cloak a little tighter around himself, and withdrew into his own world, peering miserable out into the drizzle. Each Companion seemed to clutch one object, one garment, which he tried to keep dry, to remind him of what it was like to be warm and comfortable. They soon became immured to the rain, resigned that they would never escape it. Fires were all but impossible to light, and it seemed that half of the warriors load consisted of dry wood.

  Everywhere the patrol saw the giant snails that played such an important part of the Swamp People’s lives—as food, and as religious symbols. Kenlahar looked at the slow moving creatures distastefully. They smelled from yards away and were impossible to avoid.

  Captain Jonla ordered them not to harm the animals, but to set them gently aside. “The People of the Cormat may be watching us even now,” he warned, and his men looked at the barren landscape doubtfully, nervously.

  Kenlahar was feeling more and more alone and miserable as the time passed and the landscape stayed - the same. The rain was beginning to freeze, chilling them if they quit moving for even a moment. But soon, the three of them would gladly have suffered the cold if they could have stopped. Balor volunteered to be the lead scout and was ahead of the other Companions most of the time. The other warriors of the Watch made no attempt to help Kenlahar, or his two fellow stragglers. They found themselves slipping and falling constantly behind the sure-footed scouts. By mid-afternoon of the third day, Kenlahar sensed that Sanra would soon be unable to keep up with the others. Reluctantly, he approached Captain Jonla and asked for a few minutes of rest. Jonla looked at him with disdain, but his eyes carefully examined Sanra. Then he turned away and said, “We shall stop at the next island.”

  Kenlahar looked to where Jonla had indicated, and shook his head tiredly. He knew that, even at the speed with which they were moving, it would be a good hour before they reached their destination. But he would not protest again. Instead he satisfied himself by helping Sanra toward the distant island.

  They were wading through one last patch of the fen that could not be avoided—as happened more and more frequently the farther they traveled from the river—when Kenlahar felt one of his legs kicked out from under him. He fell with an astonished shout, and his arms sunk into the muck up to his elbows. He struggled to rise from the grasping mud. When he at last freed himself, with Sanra’s help, he heard a mocking laughter behind him. He turned angrily and saw Jakkem leering at him. His body filled with rage.

  With a speed that surprised them all, he tackled Jakkem, bringing the big man down hard. Kenlahar found himself in the unexpected position of crouching over the stunned warrior with his fist raised, but he was unable to rid himself of the training of a healer and could not strike the man. After warding off a few wild punches from below, he got off his enemy.

  The two men faced each other, and warriors drew in a circle around them. His opponent dwarfed Kenlahar, and Jakkem smiled with satisfaction. “You fight like a child,” he sneered. “I will show you what happens when you attack a Quarrier.”

  Despite himself, Kenlahar looked desperately around him for help. But this time Balor was nowhere to be seen, and Captain Jonla remained of
f to one side, appearing to study the path before them. Suddenly, the silence was broken as the warriors began exhorting and cheering. Kenlahar was surprised to hear more than a few encouragements for himself. Apparently Jakkem was not at all popular among his comrades. But Kenlahar realized that the man he was fighting was twice his size and trained to fight. The battle would be over quickly, and Kenlahar did not believe he could be the winner.

  So far, Jakkem had not drawn a weapon, and Kenlahar was ashamed of himself for surreptitiously feeling the blade of the Star Axe. But now Jakkem was on his feet and Kenlahar no longer felt constrained from hitting him with his fists. He remembered how Balor had fought Jakkem and he struck out with his clenched hands, but his blows were ineffectual. At the last moment he pulled back from the full force of his thrusts, for he could not relinquish the training of a lifetime. Jakkem merely grunted as the blows glanced off him and, crouching, slid under Kenlahar’s arms. He started to squeeze.

  As Kenlahar began to lose consciousness, he realized dimly that Jakkem meant to kill him. He was aware that both Sanra and the Lashitu had fallen on Jakkem’s broad back, striking the warrior wildly, to no avail. Finally, Captain Jonla stepped in, sharply ordering Jakkem to release Kenlahar. Even so, Jonla was forced to order two other warriors to help him pry Jakkem’s arms from his deadly grip around Kenlahar.

  “I will have no more fights,” he said harshly, as if he had not allowed it to happen in the first place. “It is my duty to see this man to Swamp’s End, and intend to see him there alive. I will not have him hurt!”

  Kenlahar laughed bitterly as he remembered Captain Jonla’s words. His laugh turned abruptly into a groan as Balor tied a truss around his sore chest, with the concerned advice of Sanra. Balor had returned just in time to find Kenlahar being carried unconscious the last few yards to the island, and he had hurriedly built a campfire a small distance from the fires of the Watch. “They tell me that you had him down, Kenlahar. Why did you not strike him while you had the chance?”

  “I don’t know,” Kenlahar moaned. “Next time you can be sure that I will.” Except for his first brief, surprising burst of fury, his opponent had obviously had the best of the fight. Kenlahar doubted that he had even drawn Jakkem’s blood—thus, perhaps, keeping his Atima despite his best efforts. At least Balor had decided to forgive him, it seemed, so Jakkem may have done him that much of a favor.

  “He is good in a brawl,” Balor said of Jakkem as he laid out their bedrolls. “It is probably the only thing he is good for.” He paused, and then said hurriedly, as if he were unaccustomed to apologizing, “I am sorry for not speaking to you these last few days. If I had been around, this would not have happened. I warned him to leave you alone! I will make sure that Jakkem never has a chance to come near you again.”

  “No, Balor,” Kenlahar said. “He won’t come after me again. Captain Jonla will see to that. Besides, it was I who attacked him. Let it rest.” Still, Kenlahar wondered if he should have told Balor of his suspicions about Jakkem. There was nothing substantial to tell his friend, just a few unguarded glances from Jakkem, full of hate and malice, and the boat, which could not have come free unless the Qreq had wanted it free. That these suspicions had no support in evidence would not keep the mercurial Balor from killing Jakkem if he thought the big man was a traitor. Kenlahar decided it was up to him to keep the matter from reaching that point. Later he was to realize that if he had told someone, he could have perhaps saved many other lives.

  “Sing the Song of Lahar,” he urged suddenly.

  Balor did not seem surprised at the request, for the ancient music had often sustained the two friends before. He pulled a small stringed instrument from his pack and began tuning the wet strings. Soon the first few chords of the Song of Lahar were filling the small island. He began chanting the many stanzas of the Song of Lahar in its dateless, forgotten language: Though unintelligible it did not matter—every child knew the tale.

  Then Balor began to interpret the story in his own flowery prose of the common tongue, strumming his instrument with strong, clean chords of accompaniment. His clear voice rang out with fervor, as he set forth his own prelude to the ancient tale.

  “Behold! The god Lahar!

  “On the night of his coming, the celestial sphere orchestrated even the mood of its heavenly light. The nine-score constellations of the Starborn, arrayed in splendid gallery, hearkened to his arrival. The adored Sistern joined as one to greet him. Even Bantling bowed to his coming.

  “Behold! The evil Toraq, Sorcerer King of Kernback!

  “Long did he brood in his hate. Deep did he delve the primeval depths, where foul creatures did dwell. So Toraq assailed the Starborn, with all manner of fell beasts, and hosts of men corrupted.

  “Behold! The wondrous Alcress!

  “Wrought in the hallowed armory of the Starborn, and possessed of divers shapes and powers. With his mighty Star Axe, Lahar did sunder the scepter of Toraq, and in his wrath smote the winged helm of Kernback, casting down the Sorcerer King.

  “Behold! The treacherous Raggorak!

  “Five-headed Council of Starborn, Lieutenants of Lahar—and betrayers of the Troth! They banished Lahar to the Tream to die.

  “Behold! The Song of Lahar!”

  As Balor began to sing the full song, Kenlahar realized that it had been a mistake to request the recitation. Before, the Sorcerer King had been a mythical evil, and the Warlord’s true nature had been a mercifully kept secret. Now the Star Axe hung from his neck, and the Qreq pursued him.

  Balor’s full, rich voice rose and fell with the rhythmic flow of the Song of Lahar. Buoyant and lifting in the beginning, as it told of Lahar’s coming to his world; the song grew harsh as it told of war with the tyrant Toraq; then peaceful and harmonious as it related the wise monarchy of Lahar—and finally, it became a sad, dirge-like chant as it described Lahar’s fall from power and exile to the Tream.

  The fire was dying down, and Kenlahar wished they were all asleep if only to escape the cold night air. The misting rain never seemed to stop, and by now every bit of clothing he had brought with him was soaked either by the rain or the river. Above, one of the Sistern moved imperceptibly between the outlines of two dark trees. They settled back in wet, musky blankets.

  Just as he was sure that everyone else was asleep, Kenlahar heard the low voice of Balor.

  “Let me give you some counsel, Kenlahar,” his friend said sleepily. “Don’t push Sanra and yourself so hard. Don’t let Captain Jonla wear you down. Make him go at your pace. After all, remember who you are!”

  He was surprised to hear Sanra, at his other side, also speak, “What does Captain Jonla have against Kenlahar?”

  “You don’t know?” Balor seemed surprised. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Captain Jonla believes that Kenlahar let his men die at the Statue of Kings by not using the Star Axe. He also thinks that Kenlahar is running away, that he should have stayed at the House of Lahar and faced the Warlord.”

  There was a few seconds of stunned silence, and Kenlahar reflected with some resentment that he had not asked to attempt this quest. He had not wanted to possess the Star Axe. And now he had fallen short in the eyes of Jonla and the disillusioned warriors.

  Balor then continued in a thoughtful tone, “What I think really bothers Captain Jonla is that you are finally doing what he has always wanted to do himself. Captain Jonla is a valuable man and the Elders have held him tightly to keep him from going Outside. Still, they say that he has seen more of the Tream than any other man of the House of Lahar. Do not misjudge him, Kenlahar. You are the bearer of the Star Axe and he will do what is right for you in the end.”

  It was the Lashitu’s turn to speak up and he irritably told them to shut up.

  After a while, when their breathing told him that they were all asleep, Kenlahar gently woke Balor again. “If anything happens, take care of Sanra first. Protect her, Balor! If the Star Axe cannot protect me, the quest is senseless anyway. Promise me this, Balor.”


  Balor could not think, in his groggy stage, of any situation where he would not be able to protect them both. He promised readily, “All right, Kenlahar. Get some sleep.”

  As the young healer tried once more to sleep, his thoughts began to turn back to the fight. He tried to block the thoughts out, but they kept filtering through. Finally, he quit resisting, and let his thoughts flow where they would. At last, his deep weariness proved stronger than his fear.

  The next day, Captain Jonla once again set a brisk pace. Now that Kenlahar was aware of what Jonla was trying to do to them, he resolved not to complain again. He found unexpected comfort by secretly fondling the Star Axe beneath his cloak. The blade seemed to restore some strength to his legs, enough even to enable him to help Sanra as well. Balor had chosen to stay with them for a while. He saw the effort Kenlahar was making and shook his head in exasperation. But he said nothing, merely helping them when the terrain was rough.

  Over the next few days the terrain remained difficult and the rain unrelenting. Captain Jonla was still leading the company quickly and surely, and Kenlahar and Sanra kept up as much as their sore muscles would allow. The Lashitu had proved to be tougher and wirier than Kenlahar had thought possible, but even so, it was the shaman who complained the most about the cruel pace.

  The Lashitu was as small as Kenlahar, and almost as dark—the effects of age. Kenlahar did not know how old the shaman was, but he seemed dried up with years. Sanra’s clothes were caked with mud and her face was streaked with dirt. Yet she remained willing and uncomplaining. Each night the Companions would sit apart from the others, as though they were an unneeded addition, Kenlahar thought, rather than the very reason for the mission.