Ganne


25 - Ambush.


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Varsh wiped the lenses of the far-seeing tubes and put them to his eyes.
The far side of the shallow valley leapt close.  Dimly seen through the
curtains of rain, he could make out a line of riders emerging from the
tree line opposite.  He uttered a strong oath, and adjusted the focus.  It
did not help much; but the improvement in visibility was enough to confirm
that it was a party of women.

His lips, hidden by his ragged beard, curled into a thin smile.  The women
had to be Ganne; although, how they had managed to penetrate this far, and
still be sane, he could not fathom.  The Curse should have laid them low
long since.

"Gannes!" he exclaimed.  He took the device from his eyes, and grinned
down at the short, muscular man standing at his shoulder.  The non-com
wore the regulation issue black leather armour of the Vardenai Imperial
Army.  A heavy mid blue riding cloak hung limply from his broad shoulders.
Water dripped from the hem.

Sergeant Savak grinned back up at his superior.  "By the Gods!" he burst
out; "they say that Lucky is your middle name, Sir.  I'm half minded to
believe it.  When we drew this duty, I was half minded to desert."

Varsh put the far seeing tubes into a leather holder.  He tipped back his
helmet, and looked to the weeping grey clouds scudding by low overhead.
"I was half minded to join you, sergeant," the officer confessed; "another
stint down here on the North Point Road with pickings as lean as a whore's
sincerity...  I tell you, Savak, I was sorely tempted."

"I hope there's a few pretty ones among 'em," Savak said, leering.  "I'm
getting tired of them worn out old hags her Ladyship keeps pushing up the
South Road for us.  A nice tender young skirt with big tits...  I like 'em
with big tits."

"You're an animal, sergeant," Varsh said.

Savak gripped his ragged beard, squeezing the water from it, while he
mulled over his officer's observation.  He shrugged and said, "the Wizard
up at Starnford don't much care how we knock 'em about.  And we gotta have
some fun, stuck out here in the arse end of nowhere for months on end.  He
don't give a shit how they arrive - just so long as they're still
breathing when we get 'em there." The sergeant fell silent a moment,
studying the line of riders through the rain.  "I wonder what they're
doing out here," he mused.  "We've had no word of a shipment?"

Varsh shook his head.  "None that I know of," he confirmed.  He became
brisk and business like.  "Get back to the men.  Set the trap in the place
we picked.  Tell the men to be careful.  I know we have that device the
Wizard gave us to draw the fangs of those bitches; but I want no mistakes
this time.  Remember Gorash?..."

Savak was not likely to forget.  The big veteran soldier had been cut into
dog meat by a thin slip of a thing, screaming like a Banshee and wielding
that deadly knife.  Most of the women possessed by the Ganne, particularly
the Aristos, even without that fearful power at their command, were still
quite a handful to deal with.  In the end, Varsh had cut his losses, and
shot the girl down with a crossbow.  Pity about that, Savak thought, she'd
had really nice tits.  He'd quite liked to have enjoyed her, not to
mention the money they had lost, and of course three of their own men
dead.

"I'll tell 'em to be careful, Sir," he assured Varsh.  He moved back under
the trees to his horse, and swung into the saddle.  Spurring the big brown
animal into motion, he directed it back further under the pines.  The
sound of his horse's hooves, muffled by the thick carpet of pine needles,
died away quickly into the rushing of the rain.

Varsh stood for a while longer watching the line of women as they came
down the far slope.  In the valley bottom, they filed across a bridge over
a stream, and started up the long curve of roadway climbing the scrubby
hillside below where Varsh waited in the tree-line.

He counted them carefully now that they could be seen clearly.  There were
thirteen of them.  Four laden pack horses plodded at the rear of the
column.  For some reason, the number thirteen made a shiver of foreboding
run through his lean frame.

"Thirteen?" he mused aloud.  There was something about that number - what
was it?  As nothing came immediately to mind, he set the quest of thought
aside for the moment; it did not matter.  There was silver to be earned.
He turned, and walked quickly to the horse under the trees.

An hour later, a couple of miles into the forest, Varsh checked his cross
bow for the last time.  He fingered the strange orange amulet that subdued
the Ganne power, and closed the trap by stepping into the middle of the
forest track.

The lead horse was about fifty yards away.  Varsh waited, the cross bow
held negligently.  The troop of horse came on steadily, none of the women
giving any sign that they had even noticed his presence.  Varsh's nagging
feeling of unease from earlier returned to trouble him.

Ten yards short of where Varsh stood, the woman heading the cavalcade
finally signalled a halt.  She looked down at him from under the cowl of
her cloak.  In the bosky light, Varsh could not see her face, but he felt
the power of that scrutiny raising goose flesh.  After a good ten seconds,
she dropped the reins and pushed back the hood to reveal an old peasant
face.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, authority crackling in her
voice.  "I am Guara Chair of the Ganne Council....  And I require no
escort of common soldiery.  Stand aside!"

Behind her, all the women now held drawn Bayonnes.  The blades gleamed a
dull grey in the forest gloom.  The women holding them sat the saddle
without any sign of unease.  Their confidence had always unnerved Varsh,
even though he knew that it was just an affectation.  In this encounter
especially, it was misplaced.  All the power lay with himself and the
small amulet.  He could feel its power, warm against his palm, throbbing
in tune to the vast pool of Ganne energy gathered before him.

Varsh said nothing.  He was considering his options.  Thirteen Gannes was
a bit of a handful.  He had only fifty men encircling the group.  This
could get a bit hairy.  Men could be killed.  More important than that, it
might be necessary to slaughter half these women before things were tied
down.  That would be a pity.  Although he was not over fussy about the
condition of the merchandise, the Wizard would only pay silver for living
flesh.

However, there was a tried and trusted stratagem for these situations.
The old baggage in charge would not be worth much, either for his men's
sport, or sold to the Wizard...  And, there was too much power in that
one.  Best if she were removed right at the outset.  The sudden shock of
shooting the old baggage down could well make the difference between a
dangerous free for all and a nice tidy conclusion with maximum profit.

Suiting action to thought, he swept up the primed bow, and loosed the iron
shaft.  The range was so close there was no need to aim.  The black bolt
sped up towards the old woman, who, amazingly, managed to throw herself
aside.  The bolt passed under her out-flung arm, sliced through the
leather cloak, and sped on.

An instant later, it hammered home in Beruth's face.  The foot long spike
slammed through the bridge of her nose, tearing flesh, punching through
the bones of the skull, and slicing into the brain.  The force of the
impact sent Beruth backwards from the saddle.  She was dead before she hit
the road.  She landed on her back in the mud, blood spurting from the ruin
of her face.

There was a stunned silence.

Varsh grinned.  It never failed to shock.  Pity about the plump one
though, he had marked her down for Savak's fun; his sergeant liked them
well fleshed.

A soul searing scream rent the stillness asunder.

Raw Ganne erupted like a bolt of orange lightning.  The detonation was
thunderous.

Before the echoes of her scream had died, Karrellanne screamed again,
voicing her grief and fury.  The air became super-charged with the
released Ganne energies.

Like a magnet, Angela sucked up the loose power.  She flashed into a
shining golden statue, radiating a painfully bright glow.  Her long hair
lifted, became a crown of dancing flames.  Her clothes roared into a
momentary inferno, and were gone, leaving the girl naked in the saddle.

A deep humming began in the Viper's throat.  The brilliant glow enfolding
the girl painted the form of a great dragon on the underside of the trees.
Diaphanous wings spread wide, lifted, and swept down in a mighty down
stroke...

And the world went mad.

Varsh erupted into a pillar of flame.  A second later, the forest for
hundreds of yards about roared into hellish flames.  The trees made a
thunderous crumping as they exploded into pillars of fire.  Great volumes
of smoke poured into the air.  In moments, everything was wreathed in a
bitter orange fog.

The horses screamed.  Rearing and plunging, they unseated their riders.
Then the terrified animals stampeded in a frenzy of pounding hooves and
plunging bodies.  Guara's horse trampled over the flaming corpse of Varsh,
and vanished into the gloom.

Unseated, Guara hit the ground hard.  All the breath was jarred out of
her.  She rolled aside, desperately seeking sanctuary from the effects of
the Viper's fury.  A hoof pounded into the mud inches from Guara's face.
She closed her eyes and prayed.  There was nothing else that could be
done.  Only if the Goddess so willed, would she survive this pandemonium.

Angela, flung from the saddle, landed on her feet.  Hovering over her was
the shimmering golden Ganne Dragon, like some dreadful curse recalled from
the ancient times by the enraged Viper.  Raw Ganne pulsed and flared about
the glowing girl.  Everywhere her gaze fell, fire exploded.  Men ran
screaming in terror, only to burst into flames as the girl's eyes came to
them.  Several of the braver men stood their ground, loosing bolts; but
the speeding missiles melted in mid air yards from the girl with a brief
explosion of light.

The ground groaned in torment.  The solid earth beneath Guara heaved and
twisted.  Steam and smoke boiled off the tortured soil, thickening the
lurid fog.  Blazing trees swayed and lurched as the ground rippled under
them.  It was as if even the trees were so terrified by the Viper's fury
that they were dragging up roots in an attempt to flee.

Where the torrenting rain touched the manifestation of the Ganne Dragon,
it hissed like a pit of vipers, boiling into steam.  Beneath the spread
wings, the flickering figures of the panicking Gannes stumbled to and fro,
lurching like the trees.  Some were burning, smoke and flame pouring from
clothing, their hair blazing like torches.  Rocks, stones, and flaming
branches torn from the swaying trees whirled in a maelstrom of fury.

Through the chaos cut the insistent humming of the enraged Viper.  The
girl, a translucent statue in molten gold, stood in the calm centre of the
storm.  She seemed oblivious to the howling insanity crashing and
exploding all about.

Guara struggled to her knees.  Angela had to be stopped.  Some how the
roused Viper must be stopped.  She tried to get to her feet.  She could
not, there was no strength in her body.  The Viper was sucking all the
Ganne energy into herself.  It pulsed and rippled in rainbow waves,
swirling away into the golden statue of the Viper, from whence it burst
forth again, redoubled to rip and tear into the fabric of the world.

Karrellanne was oblivious to the madness.  She knelt by the body of
Beruth.  She was clutching the dead hand to her lips, and rocking back and
forth in the depth of her grief.  The leaping light of the flaming forest
made the bloody ruin of Beruth's face writhe in an obscene parody of
agony; but it was an illusion; Beruth was quite dead.  Her spilled blood
stained her dress, the roadway, and Karrellanne's hands.

Guara dragged her attention from the grief stricken woman.  That would
have to be dealt with just as soon as she stopped Angela.  Guara made
another effort to rise,and gained her knees.

There was a silent blaze of Ganne energy.  In that moment, the insanity
stopped abruptly.  Guara watched as the shining statue of Angela dimmed to
normal flesh tones.  The girl pitched forward into the mud.  Behind the
toppling form stood Marleena.  Her eyes were wide in a trance of fear.
She dropped the half melted rock she had used to smash in the back of
Angela's head.  The glowing boulder thudded to the earth.  Marleena
clutched her burned hands to her chest.  She swayed, and pitched to the
ground in a dead faint beside the body of Angela.

It was the bravest thing Guara had ever witnessed.

At last, Guara gained her feet.  So, one danger, the main one, had been
dealt with.  That left Karrellanne.  Guara knew she would have to kill the
woman.  There would be no reasoning with the High Ganne after this.  It
had to be done, or the woman would destroy them all in her unreasoning
grief.

It had to be done.

Guara gathered up a fallen crossbow, and checked to make certain it was
cocked.  There were two bolts in the slides.  She took aim at Karrellanne.
Even in the depth of her sorrow, the protective instinct of one truly
Strong in the Ganne had warned her of danger.  The distraught woman was
standing facing Guara, her face a mask of hatred.

"I'm sorry.  I'm truly sorry," Guara murmured.  She loosed the top bolt.
The black shaft flew, striking Karrellanne in the middle of her chest...
And passed right through.  The bolt hissed away through the reeking air to
smash into a blazing tree trunk several yards behind the woman.

Guara swore.  She spun about, seeking the woman.  Multiple images of
Karrellanne darted in and out among the burning trees.  Guara cursed
again, chose a target at random, and loosed the second bolt.  It passed
harmlessly through the image.

Guara dropped the bow.  That was that then.  The game was over.  There was
nothing more she could do.  The fate of the world was no longer in her
hands - Karrellanne's grief and madness would see to that.  There remained
now only the personal pain and disasters to contend with.  She went to
check if Marleena's magnificent bravery had finally righted the wrong that
had been done all those years gone by on the road from Shining Lake to the
Shennon Vale.  If Angela was dead, then Guara knew she would not se
nightfall.

She did not care any more.

Several hundred yards off, beyond the edge of the flaming circle of
devastation, Karrellanne plunged on through the sodden darkness, splitting
off images to left and right.  After a long time, she slowed as the orange
light of the fire dimmed with distance.  Suddenly, a dark shape blocked
her path.

Karrellanne stumbled to a halt.  The horse was trembling with terror.
Drawn to the familiar scent of a human, it came forward hesitantly.  The
beast nuzzled Karrellanne, seeking reassurance.  Karrellanne was in the
saddle in a single motion.  She turned the beast away from the track, and
with sharp commands, she urged it away through the trees.  A mixture of
tears and rain washed Beruth's blood from her face.

The world would be made to pay for Beruth, her beautiful lovely Beruth.

She dragged out her Bayonne.  Holding it aloft, she screamed, "BERUTH!
BERUTH!  They will pay, my darling, they will pay and pay and pay..."


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