Iron master, p.44
Iron Master, page 44
His reported sighting of five people dressed in the colours of slaves lurking near the four remaining flying-horses was rapidly conveyed to Lord Min-Orota. He and Yama-Shita shared the sense of shock and bewilderment that gripped those around them, but while fear might have loosened their bowels, their brains had not turned to jelly. Both men reached the same conclusion at almost the same instant. What had happened was the result of a revolt by the slave-workers at the Heron Pool! It was a stupendous act of folly for which they, and countless others, would pay dearly.
Since his own men were, at that moment, falling back in disarray, he called upon Lord Yama-Shita to dispatch some of his mounted samurai to investigate. The domain-lord had just passed this order down the chain of command when a single white-clad figure was sighted advancing across the field towards them. Neither man could fathom what this slim solitary figure hoped to achieve, but the slave’s appearance was an intolerable act of defiance that had to be crushed. Immediately!
Rising to his feet, Yama-Shita aimed his lacquered staff at the offending slave and screamed an order to his samurai bodyguard. Lord Min-Orota promptly followed suit. Leaving ten of their number to shield their masters, both sets of samurai – some sixty in all – left their positions around the canopied box and ran down on to the field. Some drew their long-swords, the others pulled arrows from the quivers on their back. Fitting them to their bows, they began a slow, deliberate advance upon the intruders.
Yama-Shita sent a second hurried order to the troop of horsemen who were preparing to move off. They were to ignore this white-clad individual and proceed along the northern stone-walled edge of the field before cutting across to the four flying horses.
As he spoke, his brain was chilled by an unearthly cry – the piercing ululation of a Mute summoner.
*
Kelso, who had been roped in to help load the trays, almost dropped the two rockets he was carrying. ‘What the fu –?’
‘Keep going, keep going!’ shouted Steve. He and Cadillac had already got two rockets fitted in the ring clamps under all four machines. But two were not enough. He had talked about going on three, but what they really needed was a full load. They didn’t need four planes, but with their escape now hanging in the balance they had to keep all options open.
Jodi, who had been crouching by the grass-covered bank to guard against a sneak attack from the rear, decided to lend a hand. Holstering her pistol, she ran towards the cart. Halfway across, the ground shuddered violently, throwing her against one of the wheels. Looking up, she saw that the tremor had caused several of the rockets to slide partly out of the racks. She hauled herself up and caught one just before it toppled to the ground. Clearwater, her feet now planted firmly astride and with her arms raised to form the letter X, felt Talisman’s power flow into her from the earth and sky. To those watching in the crowded grandstand, her body seemed to be surrounded by a shimmering veil of light. With a swift movement she brought her arms down and her fingertips together, sighting at Yama-Shita through the V made by her thumbs.
There was another sudden rumble of earth-thunder. A jet of smoke burst from the ground in front of her, then it split apart, becoming a ragged fissure that raced away across the field towards the centre of the grandstand. The earth heaved, throwing the advancing samurai to the ground, then, an instant later, the quake struck the packed stand, causing the tiers to fall in on each other as the supporting structure collapsed.
The detachment of mounted samurai who had started to gallop along the northern edge of the field hauled on their reins and milled about in confusion. Drawing his sword, their leader wheeled his horse around on its rear legs, shouting at his men to rally and attack the white-clad figure.
Clearwater flung her left arm out sideways towards the stone wall, then slowly swept her outstretched fingers upwards. The wall shivered as it responded to her call. It rippled along its length like a grey-brown snake stirring from sleep. It cracked and rattled as the stones worked themselves loose and then flew into the air like fallen leaves swept up in a whirlwind. And with her right hand, she summoned the wall behind the pavilion to come to her aid.
… The eagles shall be his golden arrows,
the stones of the earth his hammer
and a nation shall be forged from the fires of War.
The Plainfolk shall be as a bright sword
in the hands of Talisman, their Saviour!
Man and horse were utterly overwhelmed by the airborne avalanche. But the stones continued to fly, further and faster and in ever greater numbers, raining down from both sides upon the rest of Yama-Shita’s troops, into the wreckage of the grandstand, and on to the access road beyond where Min-Orota’s line-officers were making another attempt to marshal their demoralised troops.
On the field in front of the stand, the shaken samurai rose on unsteady feet and summoned up their courage. Several warriors had been felled by stones from the wall. More were flying in their direction. Men were going down on all sides, but they could not retreat. Drawing their bows, the surviving archers loosed several flights of arrows at the she-devil – for they were now close enough to see her long hair flowing in the wind like dark wings on either side of her chalk-white face.
Once again Clearwater brought her outstretched hands together level with her shoulders, drawing the shifting vaporous planes of light around her into a vertical wedge whose point lay beyond her fingertips.
As the speeding arrows reached her, they were deflected to either side of her body. Hhawww! The archers fired another volley. And again they bounced off in all directions! It was as if she was protected by an invisible wall! Throwing aside their bows, the samurai – now reduced by the hail of stones to a third of their number – pressed forward cautiously, brandishing their swords and calling on Ameratsu-Omikami to aid them.
Clearwater turned her outstretched palms towards the ground and splayed her fingers as the tips of her thumbs came together. A second chilling cry burst from her lips, more frightening than the first. The advancing samurai found themselves rooted to the spot. The ground under their feet trembled, making their bodies quiver and their teeth rattle. Their swords fell from their twitching fingers. Their stomachs churned, their hearts pounded faster and faster and their heads felt as if they were about to burst. The weak-walled blood vessels – the fatal legacy of their defective gene structure – gave way as they were struck down by massive multiple haemorrhages. Veins split open, causing their faces and hands to turn greyish purple. Blood oozed from their eyes and noses as major arteries ruptured, flooding their brains and plunging them into a dark bottomless pit.
All were dead before they hit the ground.
Lord Yama-Shita, his rich clothes bloodied and torn, stumbled from the wrecked grandstand in time to see the white-faced figure step over the bodies of his fallen samurai. With a sudden flash of awareness he realised whose face lay behind the mask.
The Consul-General’s long-dog whore! The gutter-bitch whose hairy body he had secretly observed with a mixture of loathing and fascination. The non-person he had so cruelly mocked had defied his power, wreaked havoc on his family and brought him to the edge of ruin! It was beyond belief, but the proof lay all around him. A curse on her! A curse on all women!
Drawing his sword, he tossed the scabbard aside and looked around for support. About a dozen members of his own family had clawed their way out of the wreckage; others were still struggling to free themselves. He called upon those who could to come to his aid. With his sword held out in front of him, both hands gripping the hilt, he limped towards Clearwater. No one followed. So be it. He would show them the kind of courage it took to become the most powerful domain-lord in Ne-Issan.
Clearwater waited silently as he approached, her arms still outstretched, fingertips together, pointing at Yama-Shita’s face. The domain-lord stopped a blade’s length away and assumed the splay-footed stance that preceded the killing stroke. His eyes met hers, saw them glow like ice crystals pierced by the sun. The ground trembled under his feet. His leg muscles quivered. His brain urged him to strike before it was too late, but his arms did not respond and he could no longer deflect his gaze from her eyes.
Clearwater slowly interlocked finger and thumb and clenched her hands together. Those watching with bated breath saw Yama-Shita reverse his grip on the sword hilt then slowly raise his arms to bring the angled tip of the blade in line with his belly. And they saw the white-faced witch – for that was what she must be – flex her arms, then thrust her clenched hands towards the domain-lord.
Yama-Shita knew the power that flooded through his arms and drove the point of his sword through his body was not his own, but it was impossible to resist. Nor could he resist the silent command to withdraw the sword and plunge it in again. And again! The first two thrusts had numbed his brain and frozen his tongue, but now the accumulated pain swiftly took hold and he screamed with agony as the sword made its third passage through his body.
The weaker members of his family who had lacked the courage to follow him watched in horrified disbelief as he thrust the sword through his body for a fourth time. And again he screamed. But did not fall. A fifth thrust reduced him to a gibbering wretch, swaying unsteadily on blood-soaked feet, alternately shrieking and sobbing as he begged for mercy. But the white witch was unmoved.
Only when he had pierced his body for the eighth time did Clearwater let Yama-Shita sink to his knees in a pool of his own blood. And she did not move until he toppled forward, still clutching the hilt of his buried sword, and came to rest with his lifeless face kissing the grass at her feet.
Clearwater stretched her arms upwards in triumph and the earth responded with a dying peal of earth-thunder. Those before her who were still on their feet backed away, then turned and ran for their lives.
Steve, who had managed to catch the reins of one of several runaway horses, rode up behind her. When their eyes met, he saw in her gaze a look that sent a chill down his spine. If the eyes, as Mr Snow had said, were the window of the soul, then there was a stranger lurking in the room beyond.
‘So perish all enemies of the Plainfolk…’ Her hushed voice was drained of all emotion.
Steve helped her up on to the horse. Her body seemed incredibly light and fragile, like a dry corn husk. She clasped her arms round his waist. ‘Hold tight,’ he said. He held on to her wrists as he turned the horse and galloped towards the waiting planes.
Three were now lined up with their noses into wind. Cadillac was already aboard the first. He reached over and helped lift Clearwater into the front seat. The Mute was bright-eyed and raring to go. Steve eyed him. Yeah. Of course. That was his hang-up: what made him run. Cadillac always wanted to be on the winning side.
Steve blew a kiss to Clearwater, then slapped the outside of the cockpit. ‘Okay, move it! We’ll be right behind you!’ He stepped back as Cadillac fired the booster and watched the machine speed away from the grass. Six seconds into the burn, Cadillac fired two tubes instead of one, then jettisoned the trolley.
Kelso watched over Steve’s shoulder as the plane went up in an almost vertical climb. ‘Should you have let them go together?’
‘Did you want to ride with her?’
‘Not after what I just saw, but–’
‘Don’t worry. These four planes are wired to blow just like the others. And I’ve still got the transmitter.’
Kelso gave a quick laugh. ‘In that case I’d better watch my step.’
‘Hey! Cut the jokes!’ cried Jodi. ‘I think there’s some guys coming round back of us!’
Steve heard the tell-tale drumming of hoofbeats as he followed her pointing finger. ‘You’re right! Go on two – like Cadillac did!’ He pushed Jodi and Kelso towards the nearest plane and ran to the next in line. Jodi still had one leg outside the cockpit when Kelso fired the boosters. Steve reached out and yanked the firing handle as the first wave of horsemen crashed through the bushes and galloped on to the field.
Shwaa-paa-POWW! The plane started to roll forward.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!
The trolley rapidly picked up speed, but not fast enough to out-distance the leading horseman. The samurai galloped out to the right to avoid the smoke trail from the booster rockets and drew level with the wing, his bow arched. At that distance he couldn’t miss, but Mo-Town must have been rooting for Steve. The arrow hit one of the upright spruce struts, splitting it as it punched through, and buried its point in Steve’s thigh. Ahhghh, Christo!
The samurai didn’t get a chance for a second shot. As he reached over his shoulder for another arrow, Steve aimed his arm over the side and blew him out of the saddle with a triple volley.
As Kelso and Jodi soared into the air ahead of him, Steve saw why Cadillac had fired two tubes and fired them early. The field ahead was littered with stones and bodies. Gritting his teeth against the pain that lanced through his right leg, he triggered one and five and followed the two Trackers up into the sky in a steep climbing turn to the west.
Beyond the line of crimson forested hills lay the Hudson. And if Skull-Face had meant what he had said, there’d be a field like the one marked on the map that had been left in his shack, with a white hollow square in it. But first, there was one last piece of business to attend to.
Steve dropped his left wing and looked down at the tiny figures swarming around the plane they’d left behind. With the help of Jodi, Kelso and Cadillac, he had hauled the two rocket carts close in on either side of the plane, then tossed nearly all their remaining grenades into the cockpit. He took out the transmitter and selected the appropriate button. ‘Adios, amigos.’
There were two, almost simultaneous flashes. First the plastic explosive aboard the plane with its extra topping of grenades, then the two rocket carts. The smoke ballooned onwards, then rolled back in on itself and rose into the sky, leaving the ground beneath ablaze. Most of the tiny figures had stopped moving.
Steve let his gaze roam further afield. There was little sign of movement anywhere. The Heron Pool had been devastated, the swaggering Iron Masters had been dealt a blow they would long remember. But what of the cost? How many had died in the crossfire while he, Clearwater, the Shogun – and maybe his Herald – had been settling their personal accounts? How many more would suffer for what he had done? He quickly killed the rising feelings of remorse. These things had to be done.
Best not to think about it too much…
At 3,000 feet the air was noticeably colder. But no doubt things would soon start to warm up. He joined the others, slipping between them to take the lead as they drifted westwards, rising on a gentle updraft. Clearwater waved, Cadillac gave him a thumbs-up sign. Jodi and Kelso punched the air with their fists; the exultant victory sign used by Trail-Blazers.
Steve responded instinctively. YO!
They’d been lucky. Everyone had pulled their weight, but it was Clearwater who had saved the day. He’d been lucky too. If the arrow hadn’t hit the strut first it could have gone right through his thigh. Sweet Mother! It was really hurting. Still, there wasn’t too much blood. He would survive. And getting it out wouldn’t be as bad as when Cadillac had pulled that crossbow bolt through his arm.
But apart from that – all in all – quite a reasonable start to the day…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clearwater’s revenge upon Lord Yama-Shita and his companions was, in a sense, a hollow victory. Despite being buried in the wreckage, Lord Kiyo Min-Orota was found to be alive when his body was uncovered. His escape, with only minor injuries, was viewed by his rescuers as miraculous. Shigamitsu, the Heron Pool commander, who was only inches away when the freak earthquake had hit the stand, had been crushed to death.
The samurai was fortunate to have been granted so swift a demise; had he lived, Lord Min-Orota would have had him cruelly tortured. Despite his rank, he would not have been allowed to commit seppuku. He would, instead, have been treated like a common criminal, forced to endure in public the grossest indignities that could have been devised.
Even in death he did not escape Min-Orota’s vengeful wrath. His mangled body was beheaded and then quartered. The pieces were hung from the tiled lintel above the gates to the Heron Pool and his head impaled on a wooden pole by the entrance, with a placard denouncing his criminal incompetence. His wife, whose sole crime was her marital status, was ordered to kill their two children and then herself, and their bodies were hung alongside his.
In Min-Orota’s eyes, the blame for what had happened lay entirely with the staff of the Heron Pool. Had they been more vigilant, the long-dogs and their Mute accomplice could not have staged this unprecedented revolt. He preferred to ignore his own involvement in the affair, and refused to face the implications of the terrifying display of demonic powers that had climaxed the long-dogs’ assault.
All surviving members of the Heron Pool staff, the Tracker renegades who had spent the day confined to their quarters, and the Mute slaves who had done their cleaning and cooking, were assembled in the compound under heavy guard. Lined up with them were the soldiers from the parade detachment. In Min-Orota’s eyes they were as guilty as the rest. It was their cowardly behaviour which had allowed the perpetrators of this outrage to escape.
When their wrists and feet had been shackled, they were marched out on to the road by their whip-toting escort and led in single file towards Bo-sona. Ahead of them, several parties of Mutes were digging post-holes by the roadside. The holes were set 100 paces apart. Each time a hole was reached, the column was halted. The leading man or woman was then forced to take a post from the loaded cart ahead of them and help plant it firmly in the ground before being tied to it and left to die an agonising death.
