I was awed at her speed, but evaded the blow and swept my own blade a thousand times in the air in a series of continuous movements. Zala countered each sword-strike with a speed that impressed me, for we were both fighting faster than the beatings of a baro bird’s wings.
But I was stronger, and the next time she leaped in the air I leaped high too and clutched at her face with my fingers and plucked out one of her eyes.
We both landed, swords held upright and clashed steel once again. Blood dribbled out of her empty eye-hole. Her face was a cold mask of hate. I felt a surge of joy; this was glorious combat.
Then her blade went through my heart and I exulted, and with my dagger I sliced off her hand at the wrist and stepped back. I grunted in pain, and also in delight. For her severed hand and blade were now trapped in my chest, with the tip of her sword protruding from my back. But my second heart was easily able to sustain my body. And now the alien was fighting swordless and one handed, with scarlet blood gushing from the bloody stump of her right arm.
But Zala just laughed and drew her second sword, and I lunged again and she dodged and stabbed my leg and so I butted her face and swung my own weapon in a rolling pattern of cuts that shook sparks from her blade. Then with my left hand I stabbed once more with my dagger and slashed at her throat so powerfully it severed her head, and the head fell off her body and bounced on to the sands.
And I paused, and for a moment allowed myself to relax; but her head continued to laugh.
I was shocked at this; then I realised that the head must have its own blood supply. And, too, the headless torso was still holding its sword and was undeterred by the loss of its head; with speed and bravado it leaped at me and carried on fighting, blind yet unerringly accurate in its sword strikes.
I was on the defensive now; the headless torso had renewed strength and was able to somehow perceive where my body was and even anticipate my moves in ways I could not fathom. And all the while the head on the sand laughed, as its body fought me; and I forced myself to ignore the absurdity of it all and lost myself in battle-lust until my blade swept down and rent the warrior’s body in two.
The two halves of the alien warrior’s torso twitched on the sand, blood gushing, organs spilling out. The battle was over; or so I thought.
But then the right half of the warrior lifted its sword again, and tried to stand up. And the left half of the warrior drew a knife and rolled in the sands, trying to get upright with only one foot.
The warrior was still not dead. Still not dead!
I brought my sword down and split the head into two halves. Blood splashed, and I could see the grey folds of the creature’s brain. Her tongue was split in two, but her two separated eyes were staring at me and still she was laughing, even though it was a gurgle and not a real laugh.
“Die you devilish fucker-of-evil monster!” I screamed.
The two halves of the head spluttered with delight.
I lowered my sword. I was defeated; no matter what I did, I could never kill this creature.
“What will happen now?” I asked. But the sundered head could no longer speak. And there was, I felt, sadness in her remaining eyes.
And at that point, Zala’s head started to shimmer before me, and I realised I could see through her face and sundered smile to the sands behind. Then her head slowly vanished, and her body too, like mist dissipating in the morning heat.
I marvelled at this magic. What powers did these creatures have? And what utter, taunting, disgusting malice. This was not war, it was mockery.
I looked around.
The alien battle ship had not returned. And in the distance, a false bright red dawn on the horizon revealed that the city itself was ablaze.
And I saw that the sky above me was now black with single-Maxolu fighting craft; but they weren’t fighting, they were just spiralling aimlessly. There was no battle being fought, merely the sad savouring of abject defeat. I had a sinking feeling of despair.
The ground below me shook again. But these weren’t bombs exploding in the distance; this was an earthquake.
And I realised that the sand beneath me was hot; my feet were seared with heat through my boots. I cleaned the blood off my sword and dagger, then sheathed them.
The ground shook again. I braced myself.
Then the ground erupted. The sand was scattered into the air and the rock below was exposed, and it split before my eyes, and red liquid lava poured out of the rents. The earth’s hot crust was erupting out of the ground directly beneath me.
And at the same time lightning once more ripped across the sky, vast forked bolts that stabbed the air and made it scream.
And a loud roaring sound filled my ears, and then a wind sprang up from nowhere and knocked me off my feet. I staggered upright and saw hot volcano-spew rolling towards me like tides in a raging ocean. The sky was empty now, all the Maxolu craft had been obliterated by the savage winds. The air itself shimmered with heat, as if it were ablaze; and hail rained down on me and burned my face.
I knew now that my world was dying and there was nothing I could do to save it.
A river of lava flowed fast towards me, and engulfed my knees and thighs, and burned off my trousers and boots and the flesh of my legs and arse beneath, and I tasted ash and my own blood as I accidentally bit my tongue. My skin was hot and my body hair was sparking, and waves of heat oppressed me like a pillow used to suffocate a convicted coward.
I howled in despair. I could not run, or move in any way. My legs were ablaze, the flesh was turning molten.
Then the red-hot volcano-spew engulfed me, up to the chest, then up almost to my neck. I thought about my wife, Malisha, and my baby girl, Sharil. And I mourned their deaths, as my tough flesh began to burn, and my bones were seared with heat, and my eyes stung with ash that turned my tears into hailstones.
Sharrock defeated? I wondered.
Never! I vowed. But in my heart I knew I was doomed.
BOOK 2
Jak
My name is Jak. I was, once, a Trader.
And this is my story.
The green-hided soldiers led Cantrell and myself through dark moist corridors of rock until we emerged into the FanTang Council Chamber.
The Chamber was high-ceilinged and awesome; it was a huge hall set within a cavern hewn out of a mountain. Its white marble walls were inlaid richly with gold and silver and precious stones, and the pillars and pilasters were decorated with bas-reliefs carved with remarkable delicacy and beauty, notwithstanding their brutal content.
The air was toxic, a blend of oxygen and gaseous cyanide, and I breathed in deep draughts, savouring the thrill of inhaling certain death with no actual peril. Cantrell stared at me sourly.
“Let me do the talking,” I said.
“Here they come,” said Cantrell.
The FanTang leader stepped up before us. He was at least a basal taller and broader than the other FanTangs we had met. His green porcupine hide was ridged with spikes, and he had glittering eyes on every part of his body except his head.
“Ears?” I whispered.
“That was covered in the briefing,” snarled Cantrell.
“I wasn’t listening. Ears?”
Cantrell sighed. “Where your girlfriend’s nipples are, those are its ears.”
And so I stared at the monster’s nipples; they were as sharp as a dagger’s point. I counted six of them; and I wondered, idly, if this creature’s aural organs could also lactate.
Then I lowered my head, and scraped my right foot on the ground five times, the FanTang ritual for greeting.
“You did hear some of the briefing then,” Cantrell hissed. I cast him a brief but brilliant smile; then looked at the FanTang leader, lowered my head, and scraped my foot on the ground five times once more. Hello, again.