It was a matter of a very short time indeed now. The Humans knew it and the Beasts knew it. There was a lull in the firing as the Humans—now absolutely sure of their position—waited.
David Starbird climbed the stairs slowly, the fingers of his left hand supporting him as they slid along the guardrail on the stairway. He reached the third floor and stepped clear of the stairs to a position immediately behind the men who kept Stormwind and his men pinned in the corridors.
“Stormwind!” he called.
There was no answer.
“Are you there, Lord Stormwind of Sabella?” called Starbird. “Or is the Beast lord numbered among the dead?”
“I still live,” said Stormwind sourly.
“It is you I want, Stormwind, not the men with you. There is no reason why they should be killed defending you. If you will fight me, alone, then your men can go back to their ships alive.”
Stormwind looked round at the Ursides crouched with him and in the room across the corridor. There were only four; the rest were scattered all through the maze of corridors. Two of them looked steadfastly away, but the other two glanced at him, sympathizing with his position. The glances were not expectant, not even requesting. Stormwind felt the power of his words very suddenly. He could condemn these men to death and they would do as he said. They would not even resent his decision.
“And if I kill you?” asked Stormwind drily.
Starbird laughed. It was a dry, characterless laugh; but Stormwind construed it as mockery nevertheless. “It will be over for now,” replied the high lord. “You can go too. But there will be another time, and another after that. The Lord Starflare will take his turn, and the Lord Rainstar as well. You will have to kill us all eventually, having killed the one.”
Stormwind felt a pang of regret about having sent Black-star’s hands to his brother. It had not only been childish, it had given away the fact that he too was one-handed. He wondered whether Starbird would have been as free with his challenge if the high lord would have had to face the good right hand of the greatest warrior in the galaxy. Sending his own hand had been tantamount to an open challenge to the Human. He had brought on this single-minded attack and vicious trap himself.
“All right,” said Stormwind. “Let my men go. I’ll fight you.” He stepped out of the room whose doorway provided cover for the riflemen crouched by his side. He himself was unarmed save for the sword at his side. The Ursides followed silently, cradling their rifles in their arms, and with dignity in their manner.
Every one of them looked with hatred at the waiting Humans—hatred carefully planted and nurtured by Eagle-heart and unwittingly brought into full flower by Richard Stormwind.
MEANWHILE
It was a trying moment for Ralph Eagleheart. He had been forced back to the Beast ships mainly because of the wretched spread-eagling of his men over miles of steppes rather than by the efficiency of the Human tactics or the fired steppes. Now he had to reach a decision about what to do next.
Judson Deathdancer had given his account of what had happened loudly and clearly to anyone who cared to listen. Richard Stormwind lived, somewhere out on the moors, separated from his fellows by the accuracy of the Human charge. Was anyone going to help him?
Eagleheart hesitated. He did not know whether it was worthwhile to exchange a Stormwind whose conscience might still cause trouble for a dead hero whose value as a symbol was inestimable, while a glorious rescue mission to save him might generate a tide of triumph which could carry the Beasts all the way to the House of Stars.
Chaos was quite definite. Stormwind was worth more dead than alive, or would be eventually, and he would not be an easy man to kill. It was better to let him die now.
Deathdancer was equally adamant, and a good deal louder. His opinions were not secret, like those of Mark Chaos. Stormwind’s ships had saved the Beasts. Stormwind had led the Beasts to a great victory. Stormwind was the slayer of Alexander Blackstar. It was time for the Beasts to reply with their assistance, to protect their own.
The lord of Chrysocyon swayed. Even the hesitation cost him dearly in Deathdancer’s eyes. Finally he decided that it was not worth the risk to rescue Stormwind. He was strong enough to take the easier course.
He spoke to the assembled Beasts who awaited a decision outside his ship. He told them that there was no way of knowing where Stormwind was, and that if the entire Beast army went marching into enemy country they would be too vulnerable. He stressed that Richard Stormwind would not wish the Beasts to expose themselves, to risk everything, for a man who might already be dead. He talked cautiously of the courage and determination of Stormwind, pointing out in reassurance that if anyone could evade the scattered Humans and emerge alive, it was Stormwind of Sabella.
Had he spoken to the entire fleet, it was doubtful that he could have convinced them. But he spoke only to the Beast lords and a handful of men, and most of the Beast lords had not the same love for Stormwind as the common men. Jealousy was reprehensible to all the Beasts, but it was not unknown nevertheless. Daniel Skywolf of Sula, John Redmask of Nager, Stephen Warlock of Andola, and even Cain Rayshade of Aurita, were willing to listen to Eagleheart’s advice.
Judson Deathdancer of Falcor and Robert Hornwing of Ligia were not so ready to take the easy way out. Death-dancer spoke with anger and disgust in his voice.
“What kind of gratitude is this?” he stormed at the calm Beast lords. “What kind of reward for bravery and achievement? I have followed Stormwind into battle after battle, and I know that he is the greatest fighter that I have ever seen, the bravest man that I have ever known. What kind of glory has this man won if he has not earned the comradeship of his fellow warriors? What kind of men are you to cast him off so readily? Do you even understand what he has done, what he has given to us? Can we deny him the same?”
“He denied us his help once,” said Redmask of Nager.
“He sent it to us when we needed it.”
“He took it away when we needed it. He sent it back but did not come himself. Saul Slavesdream died in his place.”
“He had his doubts,” said Deathdancer. “He overcame them. He is to be respected and admired for the fact that he returned, not held to account for the fact that he withdrew. It is Stormwind now that we must judge, not the Stormwind of several days ago. Measure his accomplishments today.”
Cain Rayshade laughed. “His accomplishments were not on our account. He fought for himself, not for the honor of the Beasts. He killed Blackstar for his own vengeance, not for Skywolf’s cause.”
Deathdancer could find no immediate reply to that.
Robert Hornwing stepped forward, his face also lined with anger. “Stormwind did not withdraw out of cowardice. He withdrew because of a matter of personal conscience. It should not be held against him now. He returned for the same reason that he withdrew: because of a matter of conscience and honor. It is useless to talk of fighting for his reasons rather than ours. We are all free men; we all fight for our own reasons. But we fight within the code, for the cause of Daniel Skywolf. Nothing Storm-wind has done is contrary to that code or outside the cause.
“He has fought with more courage, determination, and skill than any man here could show. Stormwind of Sabella is a great man. He must not be thrown away because of tactics or expediency. If Eagleheart will not go out into the steppes to find him, then I must. And I must go now, because there is no time to be lost.”
“I go with him,” stated Deathdancer, with a glowering sweep of his eyes which took in all the other Beast lords.
Only Shellblade of Chalcys followed them. The Phocides, and what remained of Deathdancer’s once-massive Field force, moved slowly out of the camp.
The smoke still hung low over the moorland; but the fires had gone out, and the air was slowly clearing. Deathdancer led both forces rapidly towards the valley where they had been ambushed, and they set out beyond, following the trail of the Humans who had pursued Stormwind. But they were already too late.
CLIMAX
In the litter-strewn, overgrown square in the center of the cluster of buildings, with the grotesque metal rails slanting away into the sky behind them, Starbird and Stormwind faced one another. They each held a sword in their left hand. Starbird had wrapped his cloak over his right forearm, hiding the black glove which contained the ruins of his hand. There was not enough left of Storm wind’s right forearm to enable him to do the same, and he wore no cloak in any case.
Both men were of similar build, although Stormwind was a little taller. Both carried similar swords: long bladed and light—weapons which relied rather on delicacy than on strength.
Around the edges of the square, seated on the steps of the mine buildings or leaning against the walls, were the Humans. The eager-eyed group of Ursides watched from the door of the makeshift fortess they had failed to hold.
Starbird raised the point of his blade, and stabbed forward, only half-seriously. Stormwind caught the tip with his own weapon, and the duel began in earnest.
Starbird had been fighting left-handed for several days, and had been careful to make himself reasonably proficient. He was far more comfortable than Stormwind, who had given himself no such opportunity. The Beast had by far the greater skill, but was awkward as he wielded his weapon in the wrong hand.
As the blades flashed quickly—Starbird attacking and Stormwind retreating—it became obvious that although Stormwind was quicker and lighter on his feet, Starbird held a distinct advantage with the blade itself. Although Stormwind’s balance on his feet was as perfect as ever, the balance of the sword in his hand was awkward and his movements inept. The whole aspect of his body was altered by the left-handed stance, and he was completely disoriented. Starbird, too, was a little slower than he might have been with his right hand, but he knew what he was doing. He had gone through the motions of left-handed thrusting and parrying a thousand times, and his adaptability had given him back a lot of his skill. And he knew that he was, for the moment at least, the better man. He was driven by a more immediate and dramatic anger than Stormwind, whose simmering fury had turned cold within his heart.
Stormwind moved quickly away from the searching point of Starbird’s weapon, content to let his opponent take a temporary initiative. Meanwhile, he studied the other’s action and tried to improve his own. He noticed that Star-bird was exerting himself far more than he: the Human was putting real force into blows that had no chance of being effective, expending a lot of energy in his eagerness to force the pace. Since the Human was by no means the stronger of the two, that would eventually count against him. Stormwind had no doubt that he would be able to avoid trouble, for as long as he wanted to, by footwork alone. Perhaps he overestimated himself just a little.
The Beast lord tried to turn the tide of the battle for an exploratory attack, but the lack of coordination between the lightning movement of his feet and the slow lick of the sword made the attempt useless, and if any momentary advantage was gained, then it was by Starbird and not he.
Starbird noticed the mistake and began to try and draw Stormwind forward again. He slowed himself and allowed his guard to become a little more flexible. But Stormwind was not deluded and kept his distance. But the change of tactics and tempo had made Starbird relax slightly, and he moved much more easily and tired himself far less.
The high lord began to think more as well, instead of giving himself up to his anger and his reflexes. He tried to make use of the cloak wrapped round his right arm as a weapon of offense as well as defense. He had a material advantage of a few inches of flesh and bone, and it was wasteful not to make better use of it. He allowed the cloak to loosen a little so that a trailing edge hung down. He began to flap this piece of cloth deliberately at Stormwind’s face.
Without a right hand or forearm to engage the cloth, Stormwind found himself inconvenienced by the flapping cloak. He dared not use his sword to try and dispossess the Human of the garment, so had to put up with the annoyance until he could gain the time to make a definite move.
He was forced back and back; a tugging at his ankles warned him that Starbird was driving him into the longer grass to make his footing difficult and reduce the advantage his skill gave him. He tried to move sideways and circle the Human, but Starbird punched through a series of short stabs which limited his movement without giving him a real chance to retaliate.
While he shuffled defensively, Starbird’s hopes were fulfilled. His foot caught on a thorny stem and, although he wrenched it free immediately, he was off balance long enough for Starbird to open a cut on his face. He felt blood run into the angle of nose and cheek and drip from his upper lip. But his eye was quite safe—Starbird had failed by a fraction to make the wound a damaging one.
As the bramble came free of his foot, the sharp tug along the stem wrenched loose clumps of grass for some distance to either side; there was only a thin layer of soil on a solid stone floor. Stormwind leapt suddenly backwards, caught one of the loosened tussocks beneath his toe and flicked it neatly up into Starbird’s face.
The Human was fractionally too slow in getting his cloak up to protect himself from the missile and had to jerk his head away from the cloud of fine soil and dust.
Stormwind instantly jumped forward again, but not quite far enough to compensate for Starbird’s backward movement. He swept the Human’s sword out in a wide arc to expose Starbird’s body and planted a light kick that turned out to be little more than a push in the Human’s midriff.
Starbird stepped further back but did not stagger. Storm-wind’s sword whipped across from its long outward sweep, while momentum still carried Starbird’s blade away, and slashed straight across Starbird’s neck.
As before, Stormwind was betrayed by the fact that he carried the sword in his left hand. It had not quite been balanced correctly; the point had dipped, and the long line of blood which seeped from the cut was too low. The Human’s windpipe and jugular veins were untouched as the blade scored both collarbones.
But Starbird was still recovering, and too slow. The Human was trying desperately to circle round, either unaware or uncaring that it took him into the long grass and tangled stems into which he had pushed Stormwind. The high lord parried a vicious thrust from Stormwind’s blade, and the Human recovered himself and moved back more smoothly. Stormwind followed eagerly.
Unjustly, it was Stormwind who caught his feet for the second time. While Starbird got clear, wiping his eyes, Stormwind was forced to dance frantically to extricate himself from the thorns.
For a moment, they were well apart, and as that moment died and they began to think about combat again, they heard the gunfire. Starbird, caught himself just as he was about to lunge again, paused and stood still, lowering his blade a fraction. Stormwind let his fall as well.
“It is the Beasts,” he said.
“It’s too late now,” replied Starbird. “You know that.”
“It’s something to know that they came.”
“Show a white flag!” he called loudly, without turning. “There’s no need of a rescue. Tell them Stormwind has already agreed terms of truce.”
“There are only a few,” called back someone from high up in one of the buildings.
“Stop the firing!” insisted Starbird. He stood still, watching Stormwind, until the gunfire died away.
“It’s over,” said Stormwind, quietly again.
Starbird nodded, and Stormwind moved forward again. The Human lunged forward with a surprising burst of speed. The precipitousness of his attack almost resulted in his being spitted on Stormwind’s blade as Stormwind parried hurriedly and Starbird tripped. Instead, there was a moment of confusion as Starbird struggled for safety and Stormwind moved to stab with a nonexistent blade held by a nonexistent right arm. The sword he actually carried hung free for a moment, and the flailing edge of Star-bird’s cloak caught it by the point and whipped it aside as Starbird crashed to his knees.
Recovering his balance and Iris wits with surprising
suddenness, Starbird wrenched the cloak quickly and slashed with his sword from a kneeling position. Stormwind also reacted quickly after his bad mistake. He wasted no time in trying to dislodge his trapped sword but leapt up high into the air clean over Starbird’s scything blade and urged his body forward in midair. He landed with a foot on each of Starbird’s shoulders, but his own center of gravity was too far back. Starbird was launched head over heels from his kneeling position but fell heavily himself, twisting desperately to take the impact with his pelvis rather than the base of his spine.
Stormwind lost his grip on his sword, and Starbird snatched it eagerly out of reach. As he swung the cloak hard, the sword disengaged itself and flew away to land several feet to his right. Stormwind immediately bounced to his feet, but Starbird scrambled into a position between him and the sword and he had no chance of reaching it. Instead, he stamped hard on the blade of Starbird’s sword and pinned it to the ground. He poised for a kick at the Human’s face, but Starbird guarded himself with the cloak-wrapped forearm.
There was a momentary impasse and Stormwind’s eyes met suddenly with those of his enemy. He felt an odd, sickening shock as he suddenly saw Astarte’s face in Starbird’s. The second son of Starcastle bore a startling resemblance to his elder sister.
Starbird saw the expression crossing the Beast lord’s face: an expression almost of horror. But the pressure of Storm-wind’s boot on his sword did not relax. Neither of the combatants could reach Stormwind’s blade without releasing the other. Neither cared to take the risk. Stormwind could not move his other foot without throwing himself off balance and giving his opponent the chance to get free. Starbird was too busy watching Stormwind’s empty left hand to commit himself to action.
The Days of Glory Page 19
