Quest For Earth Read Online Free PDF Page A

skin, his muscles shook with exhaustion and his soul shrivelled at the scene of carnage. The stench of spilled blood tainted the air like poisonous fumes.
    He noticed how tightly he gripped his weapons. Noticed the smears of blood and tissue on his limbs and torso. He swallowed over the acid distaste burning his throat. It was always the same, but each time he emerged from a fight, he found it harder and harder to restrain his blood lust.
    How soon before the blackness consumed what remained of honesty, humility and honour? When he allowed his guard to drop and he was bitten but not dead. The day when he became as one with the Half-dead.
    Soulless.
    Pitiless.
    The pleading of the wounded crept through the dust-thick air. The Freebers, weeping and moaning, disbanded from their huddle to search the fallen for comrades and friends who might still live.
    Shaking off his grim thoughts he stalked about collecting discarded weapons. He constantly scanned the horizon, keeping a close watch while sadness and guilt twisted his gut at those who remained among the living sporting horrific injuries. Hands and feet bitten off, long ropes of intestines hanging from open wounds, broken limbs … There was little he could do to help them.
    Junta limped towards him. Maaka tossed a poleaxe and sword onto the small pile of unbroken weapons. He saw in his friend’s gaunt face and exhausted gait the familiar toll the constant killing exacted.
    â€˜A close won victory,’ said Maaka. The stained weapon in his friend’s hand reminded him he had yet to see to his own weapon. He strode over and grabbed some tufts of grass and wiped the filth from his weapons before inspecting both blade and axe. The edges were jagged and blunt. They would need to be re-sharpened and soon. He hooked them onto the wide leather belt around his hips and asked, ‘How many men did we lose? I noticed the creatures broke through on the left flank. Besan and his men held that area. What news of them?’
    â€˜I’ve sent a recovery team for Besan and his squad.’
    A recovery team, not a rescue mission. Another friend lost.
    They exchanged grim glances.
    â€˜And the others?’ Maaka winced at the harshness in his voice.
    â€˜Five dead and at least ten are injured.’ Junta gave a heavy sigh. ‘Some will not last the night.’
    â€˜If only we had the knowledge to heal such wounds.’ Maaka glared into the distance, looking north. North to the Central Fortress. North where there was such technology. North where there was medicine for those considered worthy. For the pure, or the Purideans as they called themselves. Where the Corporation ruled, an iron chokehold cloaked in a silken robe.
    Another land of myth and half-truths where the murderer of his family resided in decadent comfort.
    â€˜Their time will come,’ he vowed. He fingered his jaw, aware that it pulsed with an insidious ache, vaguely recalling a collision with a Half-dead’s fist. ‘I noticed at least half their number held back and did not attack. Why did they retreat?’
    Junta shrugged.
    Maaka rubbed the back of his neck. Time to worry over his enemy’s strange strategy later. There was still work to be done. ‘Burn the creatures’ corpses. You know what to do with our men and the Freebers.’
    Maaka gestured to the head farmer. ‘Gather the injured onto the carts. We will help gather the remaining wheat and gammas. We must be ready to leave here within the hour and well within your hills before night fall.’
    He called two of his men over. Together they hauled the bodies of the Half-dead into a pile on a stony patch of ground well away from the ploughed field. There was no need for him to issue orders, they had all performed these tasks too many times before.
    When the appointed hour was up, the pile of corpses, ripe with the stench of partly rotted flesh, was ignited. Maaka turned hastily away from the noxious smell and