Grey Eagle - Chapter 1

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

His head hurt... badly. Where..? Trees... Where? Trees, the strange planet... The humans. What 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. And who were they?

He looked about him. He could see the clearing where the camp had been. Was. The fire was out. Motionless lumps were strewn about. Oh, Aviel! Venats? 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. It didn't make sense.

The current situation didn't make sense either. The venators would have taken the people, not killed them and left them behind. ...Sportsmen? His mind shied from the possibility. Something else then. 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...

Someone would be coming, he reassured himself. If Soren had been shot down too, now that would have been a fix! But someone would be coming soon. The question was, could they find him, now that his radio was gone? They would try.

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... Venators weren't the only animals willing to eat people. He did not sleep again.

The dawn had not fully arrived as Arion watched in shocked fascination. The camp was stirring. People rose from their slumbers and began their day, tending fires, fixing breakfast, scolding children... It was a much larger camp than he had first realized.

"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. 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. He and Soren had managed to destroy its escort, but that didn't do these people any good. How many humans had been taken? Did they blame him for allowing the carrier to escape? Pretty strong reaction, but grief is powerful, and it could explain how a joke got carried too far. At least sort of...

He watched them eat their breakfast, waiting expectantly for a share. No one came.

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.

Arion eyed them, suddenly 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.

"I don't play games," the man informed him. "What is your name?"

"Arion Dorios."

"Who are your friends?"

The question seemed dangerously irrelevant, 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 coldly. "Who are your friends?"

Comprehension came slowly, unanswered questions still swirling in confusion. "We're humans," he said clearly, relieved that he at least understood the question if nothing else. What did they see that let them know he was different? Did he smell wrong?

The man snarled and the bat came down once, twice, three times. "No games," he growled viciously. "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 stoically for him to get his breath back. When he could breathe, he said, "My.. my wingmate. Soren. He's.. he's gone back. To get me a ride. I got shot down. My friends are on 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 bitterly, but looking up at them again, he curbed his hurt. It had to be some sort of bizarre misunderstanding. "The Venatorista," he said firmly, reminding them of the direction their anger should properly take.

The man looked away with annoyance, then studied him, his irritation clearly visible. "What is your worth?" he demanded.

Arion frowned, encouraged by their improved behavior, but still uncertain of their meaning. "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 deeply. "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what you mean." The bat came down as he now expected it to.

"What is your worth?"

"I.. I'm Cedrychad. ..A pilot. I fly a Starphire. ..Or Peregrines. I..." He shook his head. "I'm a Cedrychad."

"You are most curious," said the man, without friendliness. He paused. "What is your worth?"

Hopeless frustration returned to anger. "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 silently, cautiously standing well beyond the chain's length. Arion stared back, equally silent. 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.

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 Sherythe was so famous for, except this one was unpainted.

They stopped, and one of the men went inside. People within the camp gazed curiously at him, some whispering to each other. The man returned and motioned to the other two to bring him in.

Various minor electronics lined the wagon, out of context with the rest of the camp. Most commanding was a videcom - Arion automatically dipped his head in salute. "Ealdred," he said, 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 not known. 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..." began the Ealdred, growing doubtful as he spoke. "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 hands in sympathetic bafflement, but the chain prevented him from completing the gesture, so he shrugged his shoulders. "Not human?" he offered.

"Silence!" barked one of 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 began, 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 immediately, and Arion purposely stood as they approached. At home, standing showed respect, but it was obviously not so here. They ignored his gesture and took him to the wagon as before. Apparently they had reconsidered their position. Wise choice. As he entered, he looked up at the screen expectantly - and quite nearly fainted.

"Here is the man," stated the leader.

"I am impressed, Tomlik," said the venator, speaking Homonic with a heavy accent. "He is indeed Cedrychad. However did you manage to capture him?"

"It was not a difficult matter," said Tomlik, clearly uncomfortable. "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 willingly hand him over to venators, but understanding that this was exactly what was about to happen. He noted with some small hope that Tomlik was scared.

He should be. Bipedal and surprisingly similar to man, the venators were hauntingly feline. The lynx-like face was round, framed by a thin ruff that deaccentuated the expressive cats' ears and concluded beneath the chin, creating a thick goatee. The muzzle was blunted, but present, filled within by the teeth of a carnivore.

The venator laughed. "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.

"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 softly, 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!" snapped Arion angrily. "Call my friends back," he continued more calmly. "We'll help you."

Tomlik shook his head. "No. The Gurions cannot be trifled with. It is already done," he said, clearly 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 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 briefly for an opening.

A paralyzing fire struck Arion in the small of the back. He gasped in pain and 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...