The Raven Warrior

by Alice Borchardt

  Cateyrin wore blue gauze with strategically placed onyx jewelry at breast and groin.

  “I have to worry about finding another lover,” she told me. “I don’t know if Meth will be any good when he gets back on his feet. He may sicken and pine for the Fand.”

  Ilona wore silver, pure, soft silver wands woven together. They covered her torso, but didn’t hide much. She had the ripe, lush loveliness of a mature woman.

  The first order of business was to eat and drink. The Fir Blog carried dinner in big hampers. I hadn’t seen them because they followed the rest. In a few moments, they had the table spread and all manner of food on it: sliced roast, meats still warm; cold hams, big ones, thin and thick slices; soups, at least a dozen kinds, all in thick-walled, covered dishes that kept them warm.

  Tuau arrived just as the food was being put out. He half swam, half walked to the branch that connected the platform to the tree trunk. He climbed up out of the shallows, stood on the narrow branch, and shook himself two or three times until his short, tawny coat was clear of water. Then he strolled out to the platform.

  Albe was seated in a chair near me. He sat down next to her and rubbed his cheeks on her leg protectors.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “I came a different way,” he said. “Some of my kin are here, and I wanted to talk to them.” Then he began rubbing enthusiastically again.

  “Don’t make a spectacle of yourself,” Albe said.

  “I? I? Make a spectacle of myself? How dare you! The cat is the most noble and dignified being. Each move we make is a miracle of grace and power, even sick, wounded, or dying. The tiniest cat’s presence makes even the most flexible human look awkward.”

  “Not when you’re jacking off,” Albe said.

  Tuau sniffed in pure outrage. “Is this what I receive in return for my courage and fidelity? Insults from an underling? A mere courtier? We, the Felidae . . . are perfect. And you, ugly monkey things, make much too much of the operation of those things between your legs. Why, good heavens, woman, they’re not even properly covered with fur and the males have no hooks. Yea Gods, no wonder half of human females are dissatisfied with . . .”

  “I stand corrected,” Albe said. “But don’t lick your nuts.”

  “Tuau,” I broke in. “How did you get here and what did your relatives have to say? I want to know. I’m very uneasy.”

  “You have good reason, or at least, so Aunt Louise said,” he replied. He sounded haughty.

  “Last I saw,” Albe said, “Aunt Louise was threatening to eat you.”

  “She was working. That psychic garden is very valuable. She wouldn’t want to be in breach of contract. She’s not as bad when she’s off duty and in a good mood,” he added as an afterthought.

  “What did Aunt Louise have to say?” I asked.

  “She tells me that all the heads of families have been in close consultation since you arrived at the city. She says it’s seldom the great families band together to do anything. Most of the time, they are bitter rivals. But someone . . . something made them sit up and take notice when you arrived. It’s like they were warned.”

  Yes, I thought. No doubt they saw the primacy of one of their number as the worst fate they could envision. Albe or I might tip the balance of power.

  But what would they do about it?

  “How did you get here?” I repeated.

  “I have . . . claws. The reason you flat-footed creatures can’t walk in the shallows is that the bottom is covered by tiny round beads, and it’s impossible to stand on unless you can get a grip on the mesh the beads are attached to.”

  “Hobnails! Spikes!” Albe said.

  “Not allowed. Anyone seen wearing them is turned away by the first families. Besides, the tree rules the river, and if you try to defeat its intent, things can get nasty. Or so I’m told.”

  Remembering my two assailants, one boiled to death, the other frozen, I found myself in full agreement with Tuau. Albe was her usual self. She always lived very much in the moment. At present she was eating beef wrapped in flat bread and drinking a fine red wine.

  “I don’t like it either,” Ilona said. “I’m sure the cat is right. There are too many people here. But I cannot think what the first families might be planning.”

  We were, it was true, the center of attention. The concentrated effect of all the stares we were receiving was unnerving. The chain-mail dress shifted and tightened.

  “Why?” I asked. “Do you perceive a threat?”

  “Yes!”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. But I am readying myself to protect you.”

  “If fights take place here,” I asked, “where do they happen?”

  “The platform is in the center of the rapids.”

  “When does it appear?” I asked.

  “When the challenge takes place,” Nest answered.

  By now most of the various groups had finished eating. Our own Fir Blog women were dining on bread and soup left over from the magnificent spread at the center table. It was early, and the free aristocrats and commoners were still nibbling on the choicer morsels. But the slaves felt free to help themselves to the scraps left on the plates of the free and powerful.

  Very near us a platform was filled with magnificently dressed men and women. The multiple gray robes lying around marked them as commoners. A young man stepped to the fore. He carried a wedge-shaped shield, had a mail shirt and leather armor and leg protectors. There was nothing fancy about his armor; it was highly utilitarian.

  He jerked a knife from his belt and hurled it at one of the big platforms occupied by a great family, the one clad in black. A young warrior stepped forward and raised his shield. The knife thudded into it harmlessly.

  The warrior pulled the knife from the shield and, dropping to one knee, proffered it to what I took to be the head of the family, a powerful man wearing the same sort of helmet Amrun had worn when we met him on the way to the city; that is, it covered his whole face with only a T-shaped opening for the eyes and mouth. He accepted the knife and placed it on the table near his hand.

  “He has accepted the challenge,” Nest said.

  At least a half dozen armed women were sitting or reclining nearby on the black family’s platform. The leader turned and spoke a name, and a slender blond girl stepped forward. She didn’t look any match for the powerful commoner.

  Then I saw roots rise out of the water from the midst of the rapids, and they began to weave themselves together until they formed a sloping, oval platform. More roots suddenly appeared, forming a set of stepping places out to the platform.

  The little blonde was armored, wearing a fine, black filigree rather like Albe was wearing. An older woman, also in black, gave her the choice of several swords. She picked a light blade; the black hilt was set off by blue stones, as was her armor. Then she chose her helmet and shield. The helmet she chose was rather like the one worn by the family head. It covered most of her face. The shield was surprisingly small, oval black leather but with a spike in the center.

  The crowd was watching avidly now, people standing on chairs and tables or crowded to the edge of the platforms. Another set of root steps ran from the commoners’ platform to the arena. I can only call it that, because that’s what it was. The woven roots formed a large, relatively flat arena, and I was surprised to see an almost dry area where the two could fight.

  “What happens if one of them goes into the water?” Albe asked.

  “The one remaining on the platform wins by default,” Nest said. “But it’s not a good idea to jump off. The current at the center is fierce and the loser often drowns as well. She is Maja. This is her first outing.”

  “The child looks no match for that big man,” Ilona said.

  Maja was making her way across the water on the roots. I was surprised to note that though they were not level, they were dry and she ran easily, leaping from one to another. The gray warrior waited until she reached the plat
form before he took his road to join her. When he reached the platform, he paused and saluted her, I thought in a mocking sort of way.

  Then their blades clashed. She didn’t seem strong, but she was quick. To my surprise, he didn’t press her. He took his time, showing her his superior strength and skill by meeting and contemptuously casting aside all of her attempts to use her speed to get inside his guard.

  But he turned each of her attacks easily. The spike on her shield was a problem for him at first, because she used it to push his blade further aside than was safe. Twice her blade skidded on his mail.

  “That won’t last,” Albe said.

  It didn’t. He slammed his shield into the spike on hers and jerked her toward him. But she got her sword up in time to drive a thrust at his midsection. Her blade bent, but the blow in the gut was hard enough and threatening enough to send him reeling back. She jerked her shield free.

  He went after her as fast and hard as he could, forcing her back and around the platform until I could see it was taking all she had to beat him off.

  “About now!” Albe said.

  He dropped his shield, reached down, got her by the ankle, and jerked her feet from under her. She slashed at him, but hit only a glancing blow on one of his shin guards.

  “A miss as good as a mile,” Albe said as he lashed out and kicked the blonde hard in the chin, snapping her head back against the floor.

  He didn’t stop there. He tore the sword from her right hand, then kicked the shield from her left. She lay motionless, disarmed, moving only weakly, a swelling bruise on her chin.

  The cheers were long and loud. He flipped her over with his foot so that she lay on her face. He sheathed his sword, put down his shield, and reached down to pick her up.

  She came alive with terrible speed and slashed upward. I remembered Cateyrin’s ugly little knife with the hook. This one must have been even smaller, but it was long enough to cut his throat. For a second he seemed to be wearing a red bib. Then he toppled slowly into the white water rushing by. It foamed scarlet, then he was gone.

  The cheers were thunderous this time as she struggled to her feet, collected her sword and shield, and made her way back to her own people. She received a hero’s welcome.

  “Good,” Albe said. “She was good. I didn’t see her palm the knife.”

  “She did it when he kicked her over on her face. It was at her groin. He shouldn’t have taken her so lightly,” Nest said. “If he had searched her, he would have won.”

  “No fair fights here,” Albe said.

  Nest and Ilona both chuckled, a bit ruefully, I thought.

  “The arms training in the great houses is magnificent,” Ilona told me. “Whatever you have, their instructors will teach you to make the best of it.”

  “Are such tricks common?” Albe asked.

  “Yes, very common,” Ilona said.

  I heard a thud and saw another challenge had been issued, this one from the reds. (Few, I found, bothered to remember the family names.) The challenge was directed to one of the guilds, a rich one, I surmised, from the beautiful clothing of the men and women gathered on the platform and the number of Fir Blog slaves attending them.

  There were no armed men on the platform. The knife thudded into the back of an empty chair. A modestly dressed older man nodded, but didn’t assign a woman. Instead, the women gathered in a group sitting around a food-laden table and spoke among themselves. One rose. She was big, with dark hair but light skin. She wore a flame-colored shift. It was transparent. Under it were only some rubies clustered at the usual places, breasts and groin.

  She stripped naked then and there and armed herself. The chain mail was silver-white and fit like a glove. It strapped up both sides. Big hinges held the webbing in place. Over it she wore fitted dark leather at breast and groin, along with the usual shin and thigh guards.

  “She’s much bigger than the average woman,” Albe said. “She looks as though she might be the result of a mating between—”

  “Hush, dear,” Nest whispered. “And yes, she’s certainly the result of some illicit coupling.”

  “What is a licit coupling?” I asked.

  Nest drew in a deep breath. “Well . . . a young woman properly purchased for breeding may lie with any and all of her owners. A fighting woman who loses passes to the guild or family that defeated her. The head of the family may assign any or all males the right to her favors. Any two commoners unencumbered and free can join to form a household, or simply as a temporary arrangement for mutual pleasure.”

  “It sounds as though highborn women have a bad time of it,” Albe said.

  Cateyrin giggled. “A lot of hard times.”

  “Yes, they are sought after,” Nest said delicately. “But they are one and all very valuable property and any man in authority who ill-treated one would soon be assassinated by his own kin or poisoned by one of his wives. Our whole way of life depends on them. A woman talented herself or one who produces talented daughters will become a permanent member of the ruling council of the household or guild she belongs to.”

  My stomach knotted as I watched the big woman make her way to the platform among the rapids. Some sort of etiquette seemed to demand the man wait until the woman reached the platform and was ready.

  The red-armored warrior was also big and obviously a well-practiced swordsman. But the bout was inconclusive.

  “I wonder if the reds have settled on a campaign to take Elise?” Nest said to Ilona as we watched a dazzling display of swordsmanship.

  “The woman is called Elise?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Nest said. “She’s famous, but there haven’t been too many serious attempts to take her. There is a worry about her bloodlines.”

  “How is this concerted attempt usually made?” Albe asked.

  “They put constant pressure on her. Try to wound her. And when she is wounded, they give her no rest, until she is finally worn down and at last taken.”

  “Couldn’t she stay home?” Albe asked.

  “No, dear,” Nest said. “When a girl presents herself as a Woman of Wager, she has to show up. Otherwise her guild or family will find itself the target of bravos, the men forced to fight all the time.”

  I drank some wine and knew what a rabbit with a wire around its neck feels like. Albe’s eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw fear in them. I drank again, deeply, and the wine was strong and made me a little dizzy.

  The red warrior broke off the fight. Elise let him. Then he retreated to his family’s platform. She returned to her guild.

  “By the way,” I asked Nest. “What guild is that?”

  “They sell prepared food.”

  “Cooks?” I asked.

  “No, more innkeepers, I would say.”

  I glanced around. The Hall of the Tree was packed. All the platforms on the river were full, standing room only in some cases. There were buildings along the shore scattered among parklike open spaces. They were filled with spectators, faces at every window and roof. Families had gathered around picnic blankets in the open spaces among the trees, and beyond the respectable citizens there were shadowed areas where the green park trailed away slowly into the forbidden towers.

  The night gangs were gathered there. They scarred their faces or, as the Painted People did, wore tattoos. Except that among the Painted People the idea is often some sort of beauty. These masks, skin paintings, and scars had only one purpose: to make the gang look as horrific as possible. Many of them were powerfully muscled, and I saw that free, or perhaps escaped, Fir Blog accounted for most of this murderous-looking crew. There were a lot of them; I couldn’t see how many, because those crowded behind the first rank were in deep shadow.

  I glanced at Albe. She nodded.

  Ilona wasn’t eating, though almost everyone else was. In fact, it seemed that the whole crowd on the platforms on the riverbank was fortifying itself with almost indecent haste.

  Ilona looked very frightened. “We should never have
brought them here, Nest. We could have hidden them in the guild hall. We could have tried to smuggle them out.”

  “We’re going to have to fight,” Albe said, breaking in on Ilona. “And if we fight, it might as well be here as anywhere else.”

  “If luck is with you,” Ilona said, “and you can stave off defeat tonight, tomorrow I think I know a way to . . .”

  I felt the dress tighten, then loosen on my body. “Battle!”

  “Yes,” I said.

  I made myself relax. Even if I won tonight, I would be a hunted creature. I could feel the eyes of all the men and women on the great family platforms. The Faun had told me to pass through this world to the Summer Country. He didn’t warn me that once I reached here, I might never escape.

  Thud! The challenge knife pinned Ilona’s sleeve to the chair. The knife came from the black platform.

  I stood, watching octagonal stones rise from the water. The platform of roots also had vanished and the same stones rose from the riverbed to form a dueling ground for me. I glanced up at the tree. I’d almost forgotten it. I had been preoccupied with the people. But it arched overhead, green in the insect-eyed lights above. I drew my sword and saluted it.

  Then I stepped from stone to stone until I reached the platform. It was broad and magnificent, three high steps above the roaring river. I stood on its surface and found I was looking out at the entire city.

  My challenger was big, almost as big as one of the Fir Blog. But a man. He was quick; I saw that much as he leaped from stone to stone. He had the cold, self-confident look of a practiced warrior. The crowd murmured when they saw who he was. His arms and armor were practical and utilitarian rather than ornamental. When he reached the platform, he drew his sword. Mine was already drawn. He saluted me.

  “Why, you’re a lovely little virgin.” He sounded condescending.