- Chapter 11 -

Previously...

"My name is Mararen", the warrior began when he and the captain and passengers of the Succubus were installed in the confidential surroundings of the captain's dining room. "I am a member of an order dedicated to the eradication of a great and terrible menace - a race of creatures who make slaves of what the deem lesser creatures by way of a foul venom..."

"Spare me the stories", snapped Sshraada. "I know what you are - you are a hunter of the Revered Ones! A murderer of the great winged lords of the stars! I will not share a table with the likes of you!"

Mararen sighed. "The moment I saw there would be a Naagian among you, I knew I would be faced with such ill-informed loathing", he said. "Please, you must understand - when you know the truth, you may even feel inclined to join us..."

"Never!", roared Sshraada, her claws digging into the dining table's varnished and polished surface.

"Even if some of the 'Revered Ones' themselves brought my order into being?", queried the pale-haired swordsman.

"Lies!", hissed the Naagian bodyguard, throwing back her chair as she stood, the edge of her hood starting to show at the sides of her neck. Raven knew what this signified, and intervened before Sshraada could spit out a spray of her highly potent venom.

"He does not lie", she assured the serpent-woman. "I would know it if he did. I feel no deceit or falsehood when he speaks."

"If he gives me the slightest reason, I will kill him", growled Sshraada, and she returned to her seat.

Mararen had shown next to no sign of being concerned about Sshraada's threats, and was ready to speak the moment she was seated again, and no longer posing an immediate threat. "To all but the Naagians, the 'Revered Ones' - they call themselves the Dravwyrn - are merely legend, creatures imagined with the aid of drink, or conjured up by overactive imaginations from the great dust and vapour clouds of open space", he continued. "They are, however, quite real. Two distinct species exist - the Bright Dravwyrn, who seek knowledge, enlightenment and beauty, and the Dark Dravwyrn, who are motivated by greed, self-interest and the desire to dominate those they feel are inferior.

"Normally, the two exist in balance, tolerating each other in the knowledge that balance is the way of all things, but some of the Dark Dravwyrn are so depraved, and so willing to enslave others, than the Bright Dravwyrn could no longer tolerate them. Such monsters endanger the psychic purity of the peoples of The Realm, and it is from those peoples that the Waeribane come.

"These foulest of the Dark Dravwyrn are more than willing to use a dreadful weapon others would rather flee from battle rather than use - a venom which induces a terrible transformation in its victims. A short period after being bitten, the victim changes, becoming part man, part Dark Dravwyrn, whilst as a whole remaining neither. These are the Dravwaeri, and it is these poor recipients of the 'Dark Breed's Curse' that we primarily seek out, and destroy."

Mararen paused briefly, and glanced across the table at Sshraada. The snake-woman appeared attentive, but did not make it glaringly obvious that the swordsman had secured her attention.

"If the opportunity presents itself, we are willing to go into battle against the architects of such foulness, the Dark Dravwyrn themselves", he said, gazing into the colourless jewel that, enclosed in a cage of golden wire, formed the pommel of his sword. "They go out of their way to conceal themselves, and when they move, they do so with incredible stealth. Only when they are careless do we ever track them down - a ship sights one, or a poorly-disguised trail leads us to them."

"And you think one of these monsters dwells on Jaglundar's Rock?", asked Marishanna, clearly fascinated.

"I believe so, but others in the order are unwilling to act on my instincts", answered the warrior. "They need hard evidence before they are prepared to commit any significant force. That is why I am here alone."

Mararen directed an inquiring gaze towards Raven, and she knew what he wanted. "Not once have I sensed anything but truth", she told the others.

The warrior's gaze shifted to Sshraada. "There is nothing in the Words of The Ancestors about these...these 'Dark Dravwyrn'", stated the Naagian. "I must see one for myself, before I am prepared to believe - and even then, it will take more than your words to make me raise my blade against one."

"A sensible way to look at all things", said Mararen. "Legends can be dangerous, especially if one accepts them without question. It is better to die at the hands of something you know is real than live shackled by terrors that are myth, and nothing more."

"That better not be a slur against the Words of The Ancestors, mammal", Sshraada snarled.

"I mean no disrespect" replied the swordsman, "but I have learned - the hard way - that blind faith lies along a rocky and treacherous path, laden with pitfalls waiting for those who stray. There is no greater betrayal for a man to endure than to be cast aside by everything he believed in..."

Raven saw an argument brewing, one which could very easily end with blood being spilled. Once again she intervened, this time to seek an answer to a question brought up by what Mararen had said earlier. "You said that the victims of the venom of these creatures change after a short time", she said, resting her arms on the table. "What length of time might that be?"

"It depends on the race of the unfortunate soul that sustained the poisoned bite", Mararen replied. "For Shaelin, or Dyals, it can take days, for Hu'Men, as little as half a day, if they are weak in body and spirit...for Murgands, it does not happen at all, for the venom is always deadly poisonous to them."

"So you're saying that we could be facing a whole army of these Dravwaeri when we arrive?", asked Marishanna, growing noticeably more concerned.

"Maybe, but the Dark Breed and their spawn need food, too", said the Waeribane warrior. "The founder of the brood will most likely pick the best candidates, and the rest will be eaten. If we are lucky, the survivors either have not been infected, or will be too weak from the transformation to fight effectively."

"Do powers of the mind have any effect on the time taken for transformation?", Raven enquired. "The one I seek to rescue has well-developed psychic abilities..."

"Perhaps", said the warrior, "but you must be prepared for the worst. If your friend has been bitten, the fever the venom induces may rob them of their memories. If they has changed, all they once were will no longer matter, and one who was once a friend will be nothing more than food."

Mararen leaned over the table, and looked Raven right in the eye. "If that is the case, then you will have no choice but to kill her. There will be no other way."

"All monitoring stations and vessels in Sector Blue 90, this is Brilliant Future, repeat Brilliant Future", Nadel Bresquet said for around the hundredth time as he crouched over the small, battery-powered transmitting device, an instrument salvaged from the world before The Ancient Rage and painstakingly restored by the Reclamationists. "We are Reclamationist vessel two-five-six, on special manoeuvres in the vicinity of Jaglundar's Rock. Our power-sails are gone, and we are under intermittent attack by hostile forces. We either require your assistance, or that you relay this message immediately to your nearest Reclamationist office or representative. Your diligence will be richly rewarded. Please respond..."

"Give it up, man", snorted Captain Lemmesk, lying nearby with his shirt and tunic dark with his own blood, from a wicked wound in his shoulder. "No-one can hear us. The sails are gone, so how can we possibly project a signal to the nearest port?"

"We have a growing network of monitoring stations", said the Reclamationist, his riding outfit also stained, but to his relief not as yet with his own blood, "and this device doesn't need a power-sail to focus its transmission. They'll hear us...they have to..."

"We are lost, little man", sighed Wiseman Tollen, staring into his bloody lap as he had been doing since word first reached him of his people's second disastrous encounter with the new rulers of Jaglundar's Rock. "Save your strength. Preserve your breath for singing prayers to the gods, so that they might make our passing...less difficult to bear..."

"Ah, shut up old man!", spat one of the survivors from Falcon Squad that had found his way back to the ship. "If your kind hadn't been such cowards, we wouldn't be here now, about to get our asses chewed off...!"

The creatures chose that moment to attack again, and for once, the survivors of the Brilliant Future were glad of it. Once again, the cargo hold hatch was ripped open, and a long scaly arm, tipped with wicked claws, shot in, grabbed the soldier by the head and dragged him out into space. He screamed for a few seconds, then there was a sticky crunching sound, followed by silence.

In that silence, Bresquet could only just hear a voice calling out from the radio device. "Two-Five-Six, Two-Five-Six, this is Outpost 27", the voice squeaked, almost inaudible through the static. "Your situation report has been logged. Word has been relayed to the Sector Operations Advisor, and a ship will shortly be dispatched to assist. Can you confirm your current crew and vessel status?"

Bresquet juggled with the controls, nearly losing the signal twice, but he eventually managed to tune out a lot of the interference. "Outpost 27 - crew compliment currently stands at...", Bresquet paused as he looked around the hold, the only compartment left intact in the whole ship. "Uh, I guess about thirty - thirty-one a minute ago. Ship is on emergency power only. Sails and primary power relays are all down, as far as we can tell."

A different voice replied, one Bresquet knew, and whose owner he had been conditioned to respect without question. "Two-Five-Six, this is Vice-Director Malashet", announced a cold, deep voice, the voice of one of the highest-ranking executives of the Reclamationist Foundation. "You are advised to make the best possible repairs to your vessel, and move to a safe distance from Jaglundar's Rock. I have consulted with our Tactical Advisors, and they have recommended we go with The Great Mother. Jaglundar's Rock must be secured at all costs. The Great Mother is expected at your location in one point six standard cycles. Message ends...oh, and good luck, Bresquet."

"'The Great Mother?'", exclaimed Lemmesk, incredulously. "What in all the skies is that, then? One of your fancy pre-Rage ships?"

The colour had all but gone from Bresquet's face when he turned to face the captain of the now not-so-brilliant Brilliant Future. "Pre-Rage, yes. A ship? No, not exactly", he replied grimly. "It's a bomb. An explosive device like an old hull-splitter, but instead of just blowing up, it releases a special form of energy that can penetrate anything...even solid stone. It kills any and every living thing that comes into contact with it, but leaves buildings, ships and equipment undamaged. We found a cache of them on a desolate, lifeless planet...and when one of them was accidentally detonated, we learned why the planet was lifeless. We lost over sixty men on the ground, and the crews of three ships in orbit. One was at an altitude of nearly a thousand miles..."

"But...but we're barely a mile from the Rock", said Lemmesk, his booming voice now little more than a whisper.

"Yes", said Bresquet. "And that means that if we don't get the ship working again, we, and anyone left on Jaglundar's Rock, are all going to die, and the Directors won't think twice about letting it happen."

 This page hosted by - Get your own Free Home Page