Grey Eagle
by D. L. Stroupe
For my children, and His.
Father, let not my liberties
confuse the children; rather,
let the light of Your love shine
through the dust of these pages.
As in all things, Thy will be done.
In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.
Copyright D. L. Stroupe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
Part One
"And he laid hold on the dragon,
that old serpent, which is the
Devil, and Satan, and bound him
a thousand years."
(Revelations 20:2)
Chapter One
“Arion, you see them?”
“I see them,” he answered softly, his senses rocketing into high alert as they verified the signature of the venators. One carrier and two fighters were just leaving Lenis, a small moon orbiting the planet Kinoshi. “We may well have found the source of the-“ He broke off and didn’t bother to tell Corbin they had been spotted themselves; it was apparent enough as the two fighters broke away from the carrier, angling towards their Peregrines to attack.
They met just outside the atmosphere. Like a slow motion nightmare they circled each other for the advantage. The Cedrychads slid their Peregrines nearer to the moon, trying to draw the venators into the atmosphere. It would give the Peregrines footing to maneuver, and with their lower firepower, it was there that their greatest advantage lay.
The venators, however, would have none of it. Instead of following, they hung back, placing shots. The Peregrines dodged with agonizing slowness, followed by complicated counter moves just to maintain position. As if on ice, straightforward motion was fast and simple, but turns were hard to direct and difficult to control.
A shot here, another there, near misses traveling on into emptiness. A hit - and one of the venators lost control. Drawn in by gravity, grinding against the atmosphere, the ship burst into a flare of sparks like magician's flash paper. A whoop of victory ringing in the silence, and the dance continued.
Then, a thud, and Arion knew he had been grazed. Blast! His stomach knotted as he wondered how much damage had been done. He still had control, but he seemed to be losing power. Cautiously, he allowed the remaining venator to move in on him, playing decoy.
Corbin recognized the skit with ease. He succeeded in his role, and destroyed the fighter. There was no whoop of victory this time as they immediately began assessing Arion's damage. "What can you see?"
"It went in just behind the tragen port."
"Went in?" Arion's voice was incredulous. "What are they shooting with? If it went in, I shouldn't even be here!"
"Well it went in anyway. Tidy little hole the size of your fist. Looks like it may have come in near the diapol housing."
"Probably hit it," Arion said gloomily. "I'm losing power. How do my solar shields look?"
"They're fine. All you have out here is that little hole. But you'd probably be safer on the ground. We're too far out. They'll catch up to you."
"I know," he answered, already moving into the atmosphere. "Gonna use 'em for drag. I'm losing power too fast. Won't have enough power to get down with, so I need something to help me slow down... Save all the power I can for... for brakes, and... Blast!" His voice was tight.
Corbin said nothing, watching helplessly as the severity of his wingmate’s predicament sank in. The Peregrine slid like a bobsled, picking up speed. "Arion, you're moving too fast. The shields won't give drag; they'll just tear off. Can you slow down at all?"
"Soon. Soon. Gotta conserve power. A bit of brakes, then the shields..."
"You're the expert on crashing."
Arion laughed in spite of himself. "I told you before. I'm not crashing. I've been shot down. Again! There is a difference!" They were silent then as the heat of descent disrupted communication. Arion studied the analysis readout, trying to judge how much longer the power would last.
"Okay dear heart," he whispered, "let's slow down a little." He flipped brake switches one by one, pausing between each. Little by little, she slowed, the power dropping alarmingly with each one. Below him, the surface hid beneath a hazy blanket of white.
"Looking good hot shot," said Corbin from above, his voice fuzzy with static, but audible now.
"Naturally," said Arion with a weak smile. "Okay. Here goes nothing..." He keyed the solar shields and held his breath. Designed for deep space, their bulk had the initial effect of a parachute, and the Peregrine jerked like a puppet on strings. Arion was thrown to one side, hitting hard within the confines of the cockpit.
One of the shields broke free, jolting the ship again. She started wallowing side to side, and Arion fought to steady her before she flipped. After several eternal seconds she stabilized. The remaining shields held.
It was then that he discovered that the landing gear would not come down. He keyed them again. The analysis readout flickered: RETRACT SOLAR SHIELDS. Crud! "Yehiel..." he said aloud.
"What is it?"
"Trees. Whole blasted forest!" He threw the remaining brake switches. Creation became a chaos of noise, jolts, and flashing branches...
"...Arion! Arion!" Corbin's voice was far away... "Arion! Hang in there buddy, I'm coming down."
This last chased the remaining cobwebs out of his head. "It's okay, Corbin. I'm… I'm okay."
"...You sure?"
He laughed weakly. "Uh, yeah. Shook my marbles pretty good there, but yeah. I'm okay."
"How's the Peregrine?"
He sighed. "Seems she's one falcon that doesn't like trees. You'll have to go back and send me something to ride home in."
"Really, Arion," chided Corbin, smiling. "You'd better quit smashing ships or the Ealdred's going to put you on ground crew!"
"A hot pilot like me? Nah. But Brian might!"
Corbin chuckled. "That's Brian's Malise? Oh brother, are you going to get it! ...Well, if you're that stuck, I'd better go now. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," he sighed, wishing they had their Starphires and feeling less fortunate than he knew he was. "I'll set charges here and get a move on."
"All right. Walk with God, my friend."
"I'll do that," he answered, smiling. "And you fly with Him!" He heard static then and knew that Corbin had left. It didn’t take him long to set the explosives, destroying what was left of the Peregrine. He began walking then, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the crash site before nightfall. When dusk fell, he found a likely tree and climbed it, settling himself for the night.
As the darkness gathered, a flickering of light caught his eye and he tensed. The venators wouldn’t be afraid of being caught here; they could afford to light a fire. If they were already here though, his own retrieval would be more complicated. He climbed down silently and crept towards the camp.
He spotted one sentry and skirted around, avoiding him. As he peered through the bushes, however, surprised relief washed over him like a splash of cool, refreshing water. Humans! He rose and stepped out, grinning. “Boy, am I glad to see you!” he said warmly to the man who stood up from the fire.
His head hurt... badly. Where..?
Trees...
Where?
Trees, the strange planet... The humans...
What happened? He reached up to hold his head, and discovered chains on his wrists. He woke more quickly now, and sat up, his head throbbing and dizzy. What in creation had happened?
His hands were in front of him, joined by a length of chain. In the center of this chain, another was attached. That one looped around a massive tree, securely fastened. All very simple, all very solid. Depressingly effective.
His hand laser and sack were gone. He checked his pockets. They'd taken everything. Even his ring. He gritted his teeth against his fear, but it was obvious he’d been taken by the venats. No one else would have chained him.
But why, then, was he still alive? He looked around. He could see the clearing where the camp had been. Was. They were still there, but the fire was out and motionless lumps were strewn about. Oh, Aviel! Was I followed after all, bringing them down on these people?
He shook his head. Cut it out, he told himself sternly. The venators could have seen the campfire as easily as he had. On the other hand, he had been careless enough to let himself get whacked on the head. Jerk!
He thought back, trying to remember what he might have missed... He had been careful, blast it. He had circled around, avoiding the sentry and getting closer to the campfire. Then when he'd seen they were humans...
His mind returned to the fire. He had a pocket match in his snack sack, but had avoided a fire for safety's sake. That they were confident enough to light a fire themselves had seemed a sign of all's well. He'd stepped out...
Nothing. He couldn’t even remember going down.
The current situation didn't make sense either. The venators wouldn't have left them behind, wouldn't have left him alive. ...Sportsmen? His mind shied from the possibility. Sportsmen were rare groups of venators who killed, not for food, but for the sheer vengeance of killing. Something else then, his mind insisted. Something native to the planet. Moon, he amended absently. Something he knew nothing about.
Oh Aviel, what have I gotten myself into this time?
The sentry. He had assumed it was a sentry, but now he wondered. If it hadn't been part of the camp, it could have been a venator, watching the humans. The figure had been heavily shadowed, more silhouette and movement than any real features.
He sighed. The motionless camp filled him with dread, guilt, and confusion. It had all the earmarks of sportsmen, but what of himself? Could they have left him here to rub his nose in what they'd done? He wondered suddenly if they were ever coming back.
And where had these humans come from anyway? He and Corbin had been on deep reconnaissance, well past any known settlements. Who were they, and what were they doing clear out here?
His thoughts circled, repeating without answer. He explored his chains, the tree. No answers, no escape. Survival told him he should sleep while he could, fear told him he could not. But as time passed unchanging, weariness took over and he dozed. He woke several times to doze again.
He woke suddenly at the sound of movement. He rose quickly, his eyes searching the darkness, but the noise retreated and was gone. He sagged against the tree, sweating and shaking. Probably just an animal, frightened away by his sudden movement. Not as frightened as he had been! He wondered then what kind of animals there were here. If they weren't coming back... He did not sleep again.
The dawn had not fully arrived as Arion watched in shocked fascination. The camp was stirring. What he had taken to be the dead rose from their slumbers to start their day, tending fires, fixing breakfast, and scolding children. It was a much larger camp than he had first realized. The reality was unfathomable, but his situation was clearly far less serious than he had imagined.
"Hey! ...Hey! Give me a hand here!" Arion raised his hands, displaying the chains. An old woman looked up from her fire and scowled at him. A few others glanced his way, startled, then ignored him. Arion lowered his hands, stunned and confused. Didn't they understand? "Hey!" he called again. "What kind of crazy joke is this? Come on! Turn me loose!" But this time no one even looked at him.
He gave a short, angry laugh, disconcerted. What was wrong with these people? He slumped to the ground, sitting, knees pulled up, arms resting on his knees. They were human. That meant they were friends, pure and simple. So what was going on? If they thought this was funny... And who had hit him? That was going way too far... Another short laugh, and he tried to release some of his anger.
From the time he was five years old, he had wanted to be a Cedrychad. Respected and admired wherever they went, Arion had craved such ready acceptance. He had learned, however, that it also meant being the butt of a wide variety of pranks. He had worked hard for his position, but he didn't need to be a snob. Just because he was Cedrychad didn't mean... But it wasn't funny. They had gone too far, and his head hurt.
They were a ragged but well assorted group, like a small village on the move. Dismally, he remembered the carrier from the day before, and wondered how devastating the venators had been. Did they blame him for allowing the carrier to escape? Pretty strong reaction, but grief is powerful. Yet surely they had to understand there was nothing he could do once the carrier was aloft.
He wondered again who they could be, and what they were doing so far from any known settlement. That would have to be his first question. He watched them eat their breakfast, waiting expectantly for a share. But no one came. Never in his life had he seen an entire group of people act so strangely. It had to be a joke. It couldn’t possibly be anything else.
Eventually, four men approached. Arion stood, trying to decide just how angry he should be. They were not large men, rather slight of build, clean-shaven and pale hair cropped unusually close, almost bald. That seemed to be a local fashion for even the women wore their hair extremely short.
Arion eyed the men, uneasy, for their attitude was menacing. One carried what looked like a padded bat sheathed in leather. They couldn't possibly be serious, yet every instinct said they were. He held still, silent, the hair on his neck prickling as they ringed about him. The tallest stood before him. "Down," he growled.
"Down?" Arion echoed, baffled by the single, nonsensical word. In answer, the man with the bat stepped up and knocked him to the ground. Arion stared up at him, shocked beyond any coherent emotion, seeking some physical sign that these were not actually humans. It would have made as much sense if Corbin had attacked him.
"I don't play games," the man informed him. "What is your name?"
"Arion Dorios,” he answered readily, looking from one to the next.
"Who are your friends?"
The question made no sense, and he rolled to his knees as he tried to think of an appropriate answer. "I'm from the Arlemagen," he said, naming the Hammerstar on which he was stationed.
The tall man frowned, then nodded to the other with the bat. Arion tried to duck, but already on the ground, he had nowhere to go and the bat thudded heavily against his ribs. "Your friends," the man repeated. "Who are your friends?"
Far more than the pain, it was their willingness to hit him that hurt and frightened him. Comprehension came slowly, unanswered questions still swirling in confusion. "We're humans," he said, turning to the only explanation he could imagine. He didn’t know what these people were, but apparently they knew he was something else. What did they see that let them know he was different?
The man snarled and the bat came down once, twice, three times. "No games," he growled. "Answer me now before I hurt you. Who are your friends?"
Arion's mouth moved silently. He had no wind to speak with, and he was now thoroughly bewildered. The man waited for him to get his breath back, stoic. They looked so human, but they couldn’t be. It was impossible. What they were doing was impossible but they were doing it anyway. When he could breathe, he said, "My friends... are on the... the Hammerstar Arlemagen."
The man frowned and shook his head. "Who are your enemies?" he asked with disgust.
He hesitated, the new question sparking unexpected anger. You are, he thought, but looking up at them again, he curbed his hurt. Whoever they were, surely they would have common ground here. "The Venatorista," he answered, reminding them of the proper direction their anger should take.
The man looked away with annoyance, then studied him, his irritation visible. "What is your worth?" he demanded.
Arion frowned, somewhat encouraged that he hadn’t been hit this time, but still uncertain of their meaning. Worth? Maybe it was just a language problem. "I'm a Cedrychad."
The bat caught him in the shoulder, numbing his arm. "What is your worth?" repeated the first.
Arion closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know what you mean." He was learning to expect it, so it was less of a surprise when the bat came down again.
"What is your worth?"
Worth. What could they possibly mean? "I... I'm Cedrychad,” he said, citing the only answer he could find. And an answer of some sort was clearly necessary. “...A pilot. I fly a Starphire. ...Or Peregrines. I..." He shook his head. "I'm a Cedrychad."
"You are most curious," the man said without friendliness. He paused. "What is your worth?"
Hopeless frustration returned to anger. None but the venators had ever shown such vicious disregard and they were placing themselves in the same category. Whatever they were, they couldn’t be human. He doubted they were even family. "And just who in creation are you? What are you?" The bat came down, heavy and merciless. Arion rolled over and moaned.
The man gripped his hair, pulling his head up and studying his face. "I think maybe you are worth a great deal. Or maybe you are worth nothing. What is your worth?"
"Drop dead.”
His grip tightened, but then he shrugged and stood, releasing him. "Your radio. It is tuned to your friends?" But Arion glared at the ground, silent. A soft snort, a nod, and they left.
Time passed. Arion sat, leaning gingerly against the tree, his knees pulled up, arms resting on top. His thinking was clearer now, but from a distance, as if detached from himself. His fear had given way to a numb acceptance, accompanied by a dull hatred.
Several scruffy children came to stare, silent and cautious, standing well beyond the chain's length. Arion stared back. He would not have hurt a child, and their distrust only further illustrated a general lack of decency in the group as a whole. Whatever they were, they weren't human. They weren’t anything he had ever seen before.
The group had eaten lunch before anyone returned to his tree. He remembered not to stand, and the three did not speak as they unlocked his chain from the tree. He rose smoothly then and allowed himself to be led through the camp to a large wagon. It reminded him of the large carnival wagons on Sherythe, except this one was unpainted. They stopped, and one of the men went inside. People within the camp gazed at him in curiosity, some whispering to each other. The man returned and motioned to the other two to bring him in.
Various minor electronics lined the wagon, as if hoarded here like salvage. Most commanding was a videcom - Arion automatically dipped his head in salute. "Ealdred," he said, greeting his commander, his surprise and relief fringed with shame. His failure had placed the Arlemagen in jeopardy, forcing her to come in closer to danger, the extent of which was still unknown. He knew they would not forsake him, just as he also knew they would not blame him. Nevertheless, he blamed himself.
"Arion. It's good to see you safe..." said the Ealdred. "But I don't understand," he continued, eyeing the shackles.
"He is whole," said the tall man, apparently the camp leader. "What is his worth?"
"Worth?" asked the Ealdred. "What seems to be the problem here?" Arion, who knew him so well, could see that he was deeply offended, but he controlled it well.
The leader, however, flushed with anger. "Do you desire the return of this man?" he demanded.
"Yes, of course, but... Arion, can you explain?"
Arion started to raise his arms in sympathetic bafflement, but the chain prevented him from completing the gesture, so he shrugged his shoulders. "Not human?" he offered.
"Silence!" barked one the men, backhanding Arion across the mouth. Arion took it in stride now, but the Ealdred would have leapt through the screen from the look on his face.
"Liam is already on his way," he said to Arion, his voice tight with anger. "And you," he growled, turning to the camp leader.
"So be it," he interrupted, snapping off the videcom. "Remove him." Arion was only mildly surprised, and it didn't much matter. Friends were on the way, more than a match for this handful of... whatever they were. They returned him to his tree.
The three returned almost right away, and Arion purposely stood as they approached. They ignored his gesture and took him to the wagon as before. They must have reconsidered their position. Wise choice. As he entered, he looked up at the screen expectantly - and almost fainted.
On the screen was a venator. Its lynx-like face and ears were beautiful in their way, even its yellow eyes with their vertically slitted pupils held a wild grace. Its facial features were more blunted than a lynx, and its body was largely humanoid in shape. The venators came in a variety of colors; this one’s fur was a soft gray, adding to the similarity with a lynx. Like humans, venators wore clothes, though theory stated it was for protection rather than modesty.
"Here is the man," stated the leader.
"I am impressed, Tomlik," said the venator, speaking Homonic with a heavy accent. "He is indeed Cedrychad. How did you manage to capture him?"
"It was not a difficult matter," said Tomlik, far more subdued than when he had spoken with the Ealdred. "He came into the camp as if one of our own. Brock hit him from behind." Arion was staring at Tomlik, dizzy, unable to believe even now that they would hand him over to venators, but understanding that this was exactly what was about to happen. Arion noted with some small hope that Tomlik was scared.
The venator laughed, exposing its deadly predatory fangs. "Of course!" It laughed again and Arion's stomach rolled. "Of course he would! Well, well, Cedrychad," it said, turning to Arion with great amusement. "How does it feel to be betrayed by your own kind?"
Arion was silent, his thoughts cascading despite his shock. Whatever these people were, the venator knew them well. And it was amused that he had mistaken them for humans. So. They were allies. Tomlik and his people were subservient, but allies just the same.
"Tomlik," it said then, growing serious, "you'd better watch this one. They are more determined than you are used to. I want this one, and any like him. He is worth three tributes to you, and if you lose him you will pay double."
"Yes, m'lord," said Tomlik, paling.
"A carrier will be sent to you immediately. When his people arrive, tell them he escaped. They won't take kindly to the notion that you sold him to us." It smiled at Arion again. "We might even manage to collect a few more. I do hope Liam wasn't too good a friend of yours." It was still laughing when it switched off the videcom. Tomlik looked at Arion strangely, almost with fear.
"It doesn't have to be this way," said Arion, grasping straws.
"We give them a different name," said Tomlik, shaking his head. "It was you who claimed them for your enemies. That was a foolish thing."
"They were my only enemies until you!" Arion snapped. "Call my friends back," he continued, calming. "We'll help you."
Tomlik shook his head. "No. The Gurions cannot be trifled with. It is already done," he said, accepting what he was doing.
"Why do you think they want me so badly?" he tried. "We can help you."
"No." He turned to the others. "Take him. And see to it he does not escape, or you shall pay the added tribute." He looked at Arion again, sympathetic, but resolute. "My regrets." Arion spat at him, but missed. Tomlik merely nodded and turned away.
Halfway to the tree, Arion made up his mind. He kicked sideways, to his right, catching the escort in the knee. The man went down instantly, and as the other two froze at his scream, Arion kicked to the other side, catching that one in the knee as well. The third recovered from his surprise and pulled on the leash, bringing Arion forward to kick him in the chin, knocking him down.
Arion already had the chain in his hands to protect his wrists, and from the ground he yanked hard to bring the man closer again, then punched upwards, hitting him in the groin. Arion scrambled to his feet as the third went down. By now another from the camp had arrived. Arion gripped the chain, swinging it, lashing it like a whip as the man approached. The fellow staggered, but did not go down, grabbing the chain as it slid off of him. They stood now, at opposite ends, studying each other for an opening.
Then, a paralyzing fire struck Arion in the small of the back. He gasped in pain and surprised frustration as his legs went out from under him. He couldn't see properly, looking up at Tomlik who was now standing over him. Spots flew here and there, dissipating as the darkness became complete...