The Worlds of the Sheaf

Fechlon - Part 3

     He's enjoying this! Thomas realised, studying the priest. He recognised the glow in his eyes as he put his helmet back on his head. This is what he's been waiting for ever since boarding the Jules Verne. The realisation made him wonder whether it had been wise to wait here, in this building, instead of trying to slip away. There was no doubt that having a good defensive position was important, but had that been the priest's real reason for making them stay put? Or had he feared that they might lose their pursuers and be cheated out of his fight?

     He'd almost been killed during the original attack on the Ship of Space, Thomas remembered. Does he want revenge on the people of this world? But no, the wizard told himself firmly. That can't be. This is a priest of Samnos, after all. The God of War does not grant His favours to those acting on such shallow motives. Drenn made us stay here because he believes that this is our best chance for survival. There had definitely been a glow of excited expectation in the priest's eyes, though, and Thomas guessed that this was a case of what was best for Drenn also being what was best for all of them. Lucky him, thought Thomas, watching the back of his head thoughtfully.

     Then all speculation regarding Drenn's motives was dashed from his head by the sound of furtive footsteps coming up the stairs. Drenn put a finger to his lips for silence and the Tharians held their breaths as the natives drew closer. Thomas saw Matthew's fingers going white on the hilt of his sword, the tip of which was shaking ever so slightly where he held it out in front of him.

     The two junior soldiers weren't having quite so much success in remaining calm, though, and Jop Sonno's breath was coming in harsh gasps. Drenn tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention and repeated the finger to his lips gesture. The cavalryman nodded and made an effort to breathe more quietly.

     Then the first enemy came into view through the doorway, and Thomas gave a start of surprise. From what the others had told him, he'd been expecting barbarians, similar to the Kimmats of the Underworld, or even the Duhraks of the Southern Continent, but the man who froze at the sight of them a bare eight yards away across the dusty floor was a soldier, as sophisticated in his dress and weaponry as Matthew and his men.

     He was wearing a uniform of polished steel and cured leather, and the sword he was carrying was the equal in workmanship to anything possessed by the Beltharan army. He didn't look evil either. Instead, he gave the impression of fear and painful caution, and Thomas found himself feeling a strange connection with him, having been in similar situations himself.

     He was fully human. Young and handsome but bearing a scar on his face testifying to a not too recent battle that he'd only just survived. Young, but an experienced veteran nonetheless. No doubt a dangerous adversary. He saw the soldiers reaching the same conclusion, raising their weapons and bracing themselves for battle.

     "Are these the people who attacked you?" asked Thomas as the first soldier was joined by two others, then by a fourth. They just didn't strike him as the aggressive type. Could there have been a terrible misunderstanding?

     "Yes," replied Drenn. "They jumped us without warning. If not for my training we would all have been killed."

     "Are you sure they were trying to kill you? Perhaps they just wanted to take you into custody, for questioning. Did they say anything...?"

     "They were trying to kill us, Tom," said Matthew, his eyes on the growing number of enemies gathering in the next room. "There was no mistake."

     "Maybe they're at war with someone. Maybe they mistook us for their enemies."

     "Then that is a mistake they will pay for," said Drenn grimly.