Stones Of Power - The Complete Chronicles Of The Jerusalem Man Part 69

She dropped to her knees with head bent, golden hair falling over her face.

'I cannot tell you how wondrous it is to be once more in your presence, Lord.'

The King swung round and smiled broadly ."Your flattery is well timed,' he said, 'for I am not best pleased with you.' She looked up into his handsome face, seeing the sunlight glisten on his freshly curled golden beard and the warm, humorous - almost gentle - look in his eyes. Fear rose. She was not fooled by his easy manner, nor the apparent lightness of his mood.

'In what way have I earned your displeasure, Great One?' she whispered, averting her eyes and staring at the ornate rug on which she knelt.

'Your attack on the barbarian village - it was badly timed, and appallingly led. I took you for a woman with a mind, Sharazad. Yet you only attacked from one direction, allowing the enemy room to flee. Where you should have delivered a crushing blow, you merely drove them into the woods to the south, there to plan and prepare a defence.'

'But they cannot defend against us, Great One. They are merely barbarians; they have no organisation, few weapons and little skill.'

'That may be so,' he agreed. 'But if you are so bereft of ideas, strategies and skills, why should I allow you to command?'

'I am not bereft of ideas, Lord, but it was my first engagement. All generals must learn. I will learn; I will do anything to please you.'

He chuckled and stood. He was tall and well-built, his movements easy and graceful as he raised her to her feet. 'I know that you will. You always have. That is why I allow you your... small pleasures. Before I make love to you, Sharazad, I want you to see something.

It may help you to understand.'

He lifted a Sipstra.s.si Stone from a gold-embroidered pouch at his belt and held it in the air. The far wall vanished and she found herself gazing down on the Dagger encampment; their low, flat leather tents were bunched together on a rocky slope by a stream. There were guards posted all around the camp, and two sentries on the rocky escarpment above.

'I see nothing amiss,' she said.

'I know. Watch ... and listen.' The wind sighed across the hillside and the whisper of bats'

wings could be heard. Then she caught the sound of lowing cattle; there was nothing else.

'You still cannot sense it, can you?' said the King, laying his hand on her shoulder and unbuckling the straps of her golden breastplate.

'No. They are natural sounds of the night, are they not?'

'They are not,' he said, lifting her breastplate clear and removing the belted dagger at her waist. 'One of them is out of place.'

The cattle?'

'Yes. They rarely move at night, Sharazad, therefore they are being driven. And they are moving towards the Daggers. A gift, do you think? A peace offering?'

She could see the herd now - a dark, shirting ma.s.s moving slowly across the plain towards the camp. Several of the sentries stopped their pacing to watch them approach. Suddenly a shot sounded from behind the herd and a series of hair-raising screams followed. The cattle broke into a run, thundering towards the camp. Sharazad watched with growing horror as the sentries opened fire on the lead beasts; she saw the bulls fall, but the herd ploughed on. Daggers slithered from their tents and ran, diving into the stream or sprinting up the scree-covered slope. Then the stampeding cattle swept through the camp and were gone. As the dust settled, Sharazad gazed down on the ruins where some thirty bodies lay crushed and torn.

The King's hands moved to her silk tunic, untying the laces and sliding the garment down over her shoulders, but she could not tear her eyes from the carnage.

'Look and learn, Sharazad,' he whispered, his fingers sliding over the skin of her hips. The scene shifted to a gulley some three hundred paces from the camp where a man was sitting on a tall, black horse. The rider leaned back in the saddle and removed his hat. Under the moonlight she could see his features clearly, and remembered the man who had bowed to her in the Traveller's Rest.

'One man, Sharazad, one special man. His name is Shan-now. He is respected and feared among these barbarians; they call him the Jerusalem Man, for he seeks a mythical city.

One man?

'The camp is nothing,' she said. 'And thirty Daggers can be replaced.'

'Still you do not see. Why did he stampede those cattle? Petty revenge? That man is above that.'

'What other reason could there be?'

'You have patrols out?'

'Of course.'

'Where are they now?'

She scanned the plain. The three patrols, each with twenty warriors, were hurrying back towards the ruined camp. Once more the scene shimmered and she found herself looking at the town.

'Of course you searched the town and destroyed anything that might be of use to the enemy?'

'No. I... did not...'

'You did not think, Sharazad - that is your great crime.' She saw the men at work, loading wagons with food, tools, spare rifles from the gunsmith's store and other weapons still lying beside the dead Daggers. The King moved away from her, but she did not notice, for she saw the man Shannow riding slowly along the main street, watched him dismount before the gunsmith's store. Hatred surged through her blood like a fever.

'Can I have the Hunters?' she asked. 'I want that man.'

'You can have anything you want,' said the King, 'for I love you.'

His whip snaked out, lashing across her b.u.t.tocks. She screamed once, but did not move.

And the long day of pain began.

The King gazed down on Sharazad's sleeping form as she lay face down on the white silken sheets with her long legs drawn up to her body. She looked like a babe, all innocence and purity, thought the King. He had whipped her until she had collapsed, the blood flowing to stain the rug beneath her feet. Then he had healed her.

'Foolish, foolish woman,' he said. A tremor shook the city, but the power of the Sipstra.s.si Motherstone beneath the temple cut in, repairing cracks in the masonry and shielding the inhabitants from the quakes that rippled across the surrounding countryside.

The King wandered to the window. Below me palace, beyond the tall marble walls the people of Ad were moving about their business. Six hundred thousand souls born in the greatest nation the earth had ever seen - or ever would see, he thought. Through the power of the Stone from Heaven the King had conquered all the civilised world and opened gates to wonders beyond imagination.

Fresh conquests meant little to him now. All that mattered was that his name would ring like a clashing shield down through the ages of history. He smiled. Why should it not?

With Sipstra.s.si he was immortal and therefore would be ever present when his continuing story was sung by the bards.

A second tremor struck. They were beginning to worry him, they had increased so much of late. Clutching his Stone, he closed his eyes.

And disappeared ...

He opened them to find himself standing in the same room overlooking an identical view.

There were the marble walls, beyond them the city, and the docks silent and waiting. It was perhaps his greatest artistic achievement: he had created an exact replica of Ad in a world unpeopled by Man. Here there were no earthquakes, only an abundance of deer, elk and all the other wondrous creatures of nature.

Soon he would transfer the inhabitants here and build a new Atlantis where no enemies could ever conquer them, for there would be no other nations.

He returned to his room and considered waking Sharazad for an hour of love-making, then dismissed the thought, still angry at her stupidity. He did not mind the deaths of the Daggers; the reptiles were merely tools and, as Sharazad so rightly pointed out, could be replaced with ease. But he hated undisciplined thought, he loathed those who could not see or understand the simplest strategies. Many of his generals dismayed him. They could not comprehend that the object of war was to win, not merely to engage in huge and costly battles with a plethora of heroics on either side. Defeat the enemy from within. First convince him of the hopelessness of his cause and then strike him down while he sits demoralised. But in victory, be magnanimous, for a defeated and humiliated enemy will live only for the day when he can be revenged. Blame the war on the defeated leaders and court the people. But did the generals understand?

Now a new dawn was beginning for Atlantis. The King had seen a world of flying machines and great wonders. So far the links had been tentative, but soon he would open the gateway wider and send out scouts to learn of the new enemy.

His thoughts returned to Sharazad. The world she had discovered was not worthy of their attention - save for the weapons known as guns. But now they had seen them, they could duplicate them - improve on them. There was nothing there of interest. Yet he would allow Sharazad to play out her game to the end; there was the faintest glimmer of hope that she would learn something of value. And if she did not, there was always the whip and her deliciously satisfying screams.

The man Shannow, at least, was of transient interest. The Hunters would kill him, of course, but not before he had provided great sport. How many to send? Five would ensure success. One would give Shannow a chance. Then let it be three, thought the King. But which three?

Magellas must be one; haughty and proud, he needed a tough task. Lindian? Cold, that one, and lethal - not a man to allow into your presence with a weapon of any kind. Yes, Lindian. And to complete the mixture, Rhodaeul. He and Magellas hated one another, constantly vying for supremacy. It should be a fascinating mission for them. They had mastered the new guns with rare brilliance.

Now it was time to see if they could use them to good purpose against an enemy of great skill.

The King lifted his Stone and concentrated on Shan-now's face. The air rippled before him and he saw the Jerusalem Man heaving a sack across the back of his saddle.

'You are in great danger, Jon Shannow,' said the King. 'Best to be on your guard!'

Shannow swung as the eerie voice filled his mind. His gun swept up, but there was no target in sight.

The sound of mocking laughter drifted away into echoes.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

The withdrawal took place just after dawn. The Parson and twenty of the men moved out to flank the straggling column as it headed across the valley towards the great gash the quake had ripped into the ancient Wall. The Parson carried a short-barrelled rifle, his pistols jutting from the belt of his black ca.s.sock. The rescued wagons carried some of the children, but most of the three hundred survivors of the raid - reinforced by farmers and settlers from outlying regions - walked in silence, casting nervous glances around them.

Everyone expected the reptiles to attack, and the Parson had been hard pressed to convince the refugees of the need to move from the seeming sanctuary of the woods.

Edric Scayse had returned in the night with two wagons loaded with food and spare guns.

He had volunteered with thirty others to man the defensive trench in the woods.

'This is partly my fault,' he had told the Parson before the column moved out. 'Those demons are carrying guns I supplied, may G.o.d forgive me.'

'He has a habit of forgiving people,' the Parson a.s.sured him.

As he walked, the Parson prayed earnestly. 'Lord, as you saw your chosen people from the clutches of the Egyptians, so be with us now as we walk across the valley of the shadow.

And be with us when we enter the realm of the Great Wh.o.r.e, who, with your blessing, I will cut down and destroy, with all the beasts of h.e.l.l over whom she reigns.'

The wagons were raising dust and the Parson ran back to the column, organising children to scatter water around the wheels. In the distance the Wall loomed, but if they were found here there would be no defence. He loped back to the flanking men.

'You see anything?' he asked Bull.

'Not a movement, Parson. But I feel like I'm sitting on the anvil with the hammer over me - know what I mean? If it ain't the reptiles, we've still got to walk into the land of the Lion- men.'

'G.o.d will be with us,' said the Parson, forcing sincerity into his voice.

'Hope so,' muttered the man. 'Surely do need some edge. Look there! More survivors.'

The Parson followed his gaze and saw a wagon moving down to join them. He recognised Beth McAdam at the reins, a black-bearded man beside her. Waving them into the column, he strode across.

'I am pleased to see you are well, Beth,' he said.

'This ain't well, Parson. I just built my G.o.d-d.a.m.ned house, and now I'm being run out by a bunch of lizards. What's worse, I got a sick man in the back and this b.u.mping around is doing him no good at all.'

'Within a couple of hours, G.o.d willing, we should be behind the Wall. Then we can defend ourselves.'

'Yeah, against the reptiles. What about the other beasts?'

The Parson shrugged. 'As G.o.d wishes. Will you introduce me to your friend?'

'This is Nu, Parson. He healed the convoy; he's another man of G.o.d - getting to be so I feel hip-deep in them.'

Nu climbed down from the wagon and stretched. The Parson offered his hand, which Nu shook, and the two men strolled together.

'Are you new to this country, Meneer?' the Parson asked.

'Yes and no,' replied Nu. 'I was here ... a long time ago. Much has changed.'

'Do you know of the lands Beyond the Wall?'

'Not much, I am afraid. There is a city there - a very old city. It used to be called Ad. There are temples and palaces.'

'It is inhabited now by beasts of the Devil,' said the Parson. 'Their evil keeps the Sword of G.o.d trapped in the sky. It is my dream to destroy their evil and release the Sword.'

Nu said nothing. He had seen the city in his spirit-search, but there were no signs of beasts or demons. The two men walked together with the flanking gunmen and soon the Parson, tiring of the silence, moved away. Nu strode on, lost in thought. How, he wondered, could a man who professed to believe in the supreme power of G.o.d be so convinced that such an awesome power would need his help? Trapped in the sky? What kind of petty creature did this man believe G.o.d to be?

The convoy moved slowly across the landscape.

A horseman came galloping across the valley. The Parson and his flankers ran to intercept him; the man was one of Scayse's riders.

'Better move fast, Parson,' he said, leaning over the saddle of his lathered mount. 'There's two groups of the creatures. One is moving on Meneer Scayse in the woods, the second and largest is coming to intercept you. They're not far behind.'

The Parson swung to gauge the distance to the Wall - it was over a mile. 'Ride in and get the wagons moving at speed. Tell everyone to run.' The horseman dug his heels into the flanks of his weary horse and cantered down to the leading wagons. Whips cracked and the oxen strained into the traces.

The Parson gathered his men. 'We can't hold them,' he said, 'but we'll keep together at the rear of the convoy. When we see them, we can at least slow their advance. Let's go.'

The morning sun blazed down on them as they ran into the dust-cloud left by the fleeing convoy.

As the mocking laughter faded, Shannow stepped into the saddle. He cast his eyes around the silent street! There in the dust by the Traveller's Rest lay Mason, his body riddled with bullet holes. Some yards to the left was Boris Haimut, who would now never find the answers to his questions. The crippled hostler lay in the street by the livery stable with an old shotgun in his hands. Elsewhere were the bodies of men, women and children Shannow had never known in life. Yet all must have nurtured their own dreams and ambitions. He turned the stallion's head and rode out into the valley.

He had been lucky at the gunsmith's store. As he had hoped, Groves had made more of the h.e.l.lborn sh.e.l.ls, obviously planning on larger orders from Scayse. Shannow now had more than a hundred bullets. He had also gathered a short rifle, three sacks of black powder and sundry other items from the debris of the general store.

As he rode, he thought back to the voice that had whispered in his mind: Be on your guard? When in the last two decades had he not been on his guard, or hi peril? Neither the voice nor the implied threat worried him unduly. A man lived, a man died. What could frighten a man who understood these truths?