Chapter One

Sweat dripped off the man’s face as he strained in a rhythmic time worn motion; blade of the shovel striking earth, pressure of foot, heave of shoulders, relax. The gravedigger found this monotonous repetition soothing, it freed his mind from all but the appreciation of the dawning day. He always started early, preparing the ground long before the funeral cortege arrived, leaving the earth banked symmetrically so that the green-dyed cloth he used would mask the recently broken ground. Mourners needed no more reminders of the finality of today’s ceremony and he took pride in his work.

Adair had lived here now for what seemed a lifetime. He had arrived with the intention of losing himself and instead had found a pretty wife and loving son. Granted his boy’s infirmity caused talk around the village, but Adair rejoiced in Kalum’s happy and carefree existence. He loved the boy with all his heart. His wife though had become ugly with bitterness and self-pitying shame; they had fought again this morning and he pushed the remembered taste of her anger to the back of his mind, losing himself in his work.

The first indication of trouble came with the sound of approaching footsteps, which interrupted Adair’s peace and quiet. No-one came here, myths and stories kept the curious away and at this time of the morning those awake were tending to their animals or making their slow and steady way to the fields.

A shiver of premonition caused him to glance quickly at the small sack tossed carelessly near to his overcoat. Chastising himself, he shrugged the feeling off and continued digging, determined to maintain his sense of tranquillity for as long as possible.

“You there!” hissed an oddly sibilant voice, “We are looking for the one called Adair.”

The owner of the voice was unknown to him, but not the distinctive intonation; they had found him.

“He’s not here,” Adair responded in as surly a fashion as he could, hunching his shoulders to avoid showing his face, “said he was sick, so I’m here, doing his work for him.”

“How droll,” said another voice, one which this time Adair recognised, its cultured drawl all too distinctive.

Stabbing the spade into the ground, Adair slowly turned, his raised hands now close to the sack where it sat innocuously by the side of the half-completed grave.

“Hello brother,” he said, instantly taking in the three armoured men who had fanned out around the dug over area, “very kind of you to visit.”

“Adair, Adair,” replied the tall, skeletally thin man, “always the joker.” He brushed a loose strand of hair away from his face and looked around distastefully. “Did you think that you could hide forever?”

“I’m not hiding Lepus,” said Adair as he made to jump out of the hole, but his brother raised a hand in protest, and his men instantly gripped their weapons tightly.

“Not a good idea, brother dear,” suggested Lepus, poking a toe at the recently patched overcoat where it lay on the floor, “you really have come down in the world, haven’t you?”

“What do you want Lepus?” asked Adair flatly, his hand now lay next to the neck of the sack.

“You know,” replied his brother, “tell me where it is and this will go easier for you.”

Adair laughed derisively, “Lepus you’re going to try and kill me anyway, so what’s the point of playing games?”

“Yes, but there’s ways and then there’s ways….,” he began, then stopped, a puzzled frown on his face, “did you say try …..?”

He was already moving as realization dawned on Lepus’ face, hand snaking inside the bag and grasping the butt of the pistol concealed there. A quick tensing of his finger sent needle-like flechette rounds spraying outwards, slicing into the first of Lepus’ soldiers and sending him screaming to the floor. The other two ducked for cover as Adair fired again and he saw Lepus scurrying away, waving his arms frantically; what was he doing?

Something slammed heavily into his back and Adair tried to twist away, but it was too late. A second blow hammered into his shoulder, numbing his arm and causing him to drop his pistol. One booted foot smashed into his head and a roaring blackness enveloped him.

“My Lord?” said the huge man, offering his hand to Lepus and dragging him to his feet.

“Is he dead?” asked Lepus, brushing fastidiously at his now crumpled tunic.

“No, My Lord,” responded the man, hefting the wooden stave meaningfully in his hands, “but he easily could be. You only have to say the word.”

Lepus looked disdainfully at his henchman and sighing moved to stand over the prone figure of his brother, “No, I do not want his blood on my hands and besides we still don’t know where he has hidden it. Can you make him talk?”

“With time, My Lord,” said Karson, scratching his beard, “but time is something that we just don’t have. We’ve lost them for now, but it won’t be long before they rediscover our trail.”

“Very well,” responded Lepus,” search him quickly and then toss him and his meagre belongings in the hole he has so thoughtfully prepared for us. We know where his hovel and brat are and once we’ve lost our pursuers, we can always return.”

“And once he’s in the hole, then what?” insisted Karson.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something, dear boy,” replied Lepus, moving away and smiling mirthlessly, “I’m almost positive of it.”

*

They found the body four days later, after an extensive search of the area, having tried to complete the excavation begun by Adair. His broken and crumpled corpse was left where it was and re-covered, there was no money for anything else. A simple wooden marker was placed over his resting place and the only tears shed were by his young son, his wife refusing to demean herself.

She tugged fitfully at the boy, trying to pull him away, but gave up when she saw the others watching.

“Stay here then!” she snapped shrew-like, “See if I care! In fact I’d be better off without you!”

Adair’s son watched uncomprehendingly as his mother left; she was to be true to her word, she never returned for him and in the ensuing years he would cry himself to sleep, wondering what he had done to so offend the gods.

For now, he just wept, crying desolately for the loss of the only person in the world who had really cared for him. Sniffling to himself, he remembered his father’s parting words as he had passed his worn and curiously fashioned belt to his son that morning. The boy’s own belt had snapped, unable to cope with the constant tension of restraining his deformed and misshapen body.

“Look after this Kalum,” he had warned him, “one day it could well save your life!”

He had asked his father why, but Adair had only smiled, ruffling the boy’s long curly hair and carefully avoiding the bony stubs which it covered. Then he had left, whistling cheerfully and promising to explain everything when he returned that evening. That had been four days ago, and now he would never be coming back.

Kalum rubbed the strangely formed belt buckle between his fingers, his digits unconsciously finding and picking at seven curiously shaped holes within it. Now he would never know and would never see the bright smiling face of his father again. Wailing in semi-hysteria, he flung himself full length onto the ground as his heart broke in two.

*

Hyas sat in the control chair of his craft, scanning the viewscreens around him. A constant stream of data scrolled across them, and he watched intently until he found what he was looking for. Staring more closely, he checked and rechecked his numbers before grunting in quiet satisfaction. It had taken him many years to decipher what Lepus had been doing and particularly where he had gone, but finally he knew.

His fingers flew across the keyboards, control string after control string being entered and subsequently verified, until at last he punched a final key and his ship once more began its journey.

With a surge, space itself folded around him and his tiny craft sped onwards, hour after hour, yet he never left his chair. Each moment meant that he was closer to his goal and the task he had been given nearer to its fulfilment.

At last the big man stretched and rose to leave the room, with one last glance at the course now locked into his computer and the star flashing brightly on his screen.

*

“Where is he? Where’s that thrice damned Tauran?” asked Lepus petulantly, as he read the information on his data pad, “there has been no word of his pursuit of us for far too long. Do you think….?”

“I do indeed, my Lord,” agreed Karson, standing sloppily to attention, “it was only a matter of time before he deciphered the convoluted trail we had left. No-one ever said that Hyas was an idiot.”

“Then it’s time to go back?” Lepus asked, biting nervously at an already splintered fingernail.

“Yes, My Lord,” said Karson, “and with all the speed we can muster. It would not be in your interest for him to get there first.”

“Fine!” snapped Lepus, abruptly flinging the data pad against the wall, “Then get on with it!”

“At once, My Lord,” said Karson, backing away carefully from the indignant figure in front of him.

*

In another part of the galaxy, a brilliant blue-white star shone down on one of its favoured planets. Its rays warmed the frosty earth, already having dissipated an early morning mist. The day promised to be mild, no rain clouds scudded through the sky, only wispy trails appeared now and then, which were quickly sent on their way by an intermittent breeze. Then the peace and tranquillity of the day was shattered.

Bells rang and symbols crashed as the procession slowly wound its way up the incline towards the temple entrance. Pure voices were raised in prayer and joyous celebration as the white robed acolytes fulfilled their annual pilgrimage. Unusually the wide streets were empty of people, normally they would be filled with screaming crowds, madly waving national flags and religious banners.

Today was different, as a curfew had been instigated by the ruling House, effectively forbidding the congregation of more than three people at a time and clearly stipulating when citizens would be allowed to leave their homes.

The church orders had always been outside the law and they did not see any reason for this to change. After all, were they not celebrating His own day, in the first temple consecrated in His honour? Unfortunately, politics and religion, although usually inextricably meshed had today taken clear and separate paths.

A loud roaring was heard, the sound of engines pushed to their limits and a ground car careened onto the wide boulevard below the hill. The driving of its owner was erratic and frenzied, the car slamming into and bouncing off the low walls that lined the main thoroughfare.

Its journey was abruptly ended as a beam of energy lashed downwards, spearing through the glassed cockpit of the car. Smoke poured from the vehicle, a mute testament to the fate of those inside and an armoured aircar floated slowly downwards, stopping to hover just above a nearby grove of trees.

The acolytes continued on their way, secure in their faith and belief in the strength of their leaders. It was then the aircar, painted in House colours, opened fire.