"I'm for it," Rohan declared. He handed Weyse to her and loosened his sword in its scabbard. Then he turned to Tusser. "I'll face them alone if I have to, but it would go better with an ally."
Tusser stared at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "We two not alone. I have men also."
"I thought you had. Better call them."
With Tusser and a half dozen of his warriors close behind, Rohan approached the scene that Weyse had described to Granddam Zaz. He could immediately see that it was even worse than he had thought.
They were on the outskirts of the ruined city of Galinth, a place Rohan had visited before in the company of Zazar, Ashen, and Gaurin. Now four men clad in nondescript clothing seemed bent on burning what was left of it. No wonder
Weyse, whose home this was, had come running to Zazar for aid.
Tusser gave a hand signal, and his followers crouched down, eyeing the scene as warily as did he and Rohan. "Make fire on water," Tusser observed. "I hear about this once before."
"When?"
"When still just spear man for Joal. Father," he explained as Rohan looked at him quizzically. "They go after Outlander girl once one of us, find more
Outlanders. Take away. They burn water."
Rohan thought a moment. "Ashen," he said.
"Yes, Ashen." Then Tusser turned to stare at Rohan. "You know Ashen?"
"She married my father," Rohan said, wondering how to explain the tangled circumstances to somebody as untutored as the Bog-man. "She is my foster-mother."
Tusser nodded. Apparently the notion of fostering was not an unfamiliar one to the Bog-people. "She Outlander demon spawn, Joal say. She lives?"
Rohan decided not to give any more details than necessary. "Yes."
"Not want kill Ashen. Once maybe, when she make me want woman. Forbidden. Not kill now, though. Maybe later. We attack now?" He indicated the four men out in the open.
"I think this is just a small part of them. Look there."
To the west, a plume of black, oily smoke was rising. Another began to boil upward just a little way east. The crackle of dry, cold trees and underbrush filled the air. Tusser made another signal and one of his warriors silently fell back and vanished the way they had come.
Going for aid, Rohan thought. It seemed a good idea under the circumstances.
The ones Rohan and Tusser were observing had finished opening bags and spreading what these bags contained over both land and water. One of the men held a container Rohan recognized as the kind used to carry live coals, and he was now trying to light a twig from it.
"Better be ready to pole for our lives once I get it going," one of them said.
"This stuff goes quicker than the old powder. Burns on land as well as water, too. Don't get any on you."
A quick, disciplined rush, Rohan thought, and we'll have a good ground from which to fight the rest, when they come. Before the soldier could get his flame going, Tusser erupted from his place of concealment and, followed by his warriors, began a wild attack. His and his followers' war-cries filled the air.
"No, wait—" But there was no turning back. Rohan jumped to his feet and leapt forward.
The Outlanders' surprise was complete. They stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the ones who seemed to have dropped out of nowhere. With swift, brutal efficiency the Bog-warriors cut down the Outlanders. It was all over in an instant, and Rohan looked at Tusser with new respect.
"You are a worthy fighter," he said. "It will be good to have you as my ally, when the real fighting comes."
Tusser nodded his thanks, but didn't loosen his grip on his shell-tipped spear.
"More Outlanders come, I think. This place cursed, but maybe good for fight. Can hide until more of my people get here."
"Then let's get to a high ground, where we can see what is happening."
The two men, with three of Tusser's warriors behind them, picked their way over the rubble. Behind them, Rohan heard splashing and chose not to look at how the
Bog-men were disposing of the bodies of their enemies.
He would remember the way to the chamber where he and Granddam Zazar had held their meeting and she had discovered the true identity of the one known variously as the Magician and the Sorceress, depending on which guise she had decided to assume, but was reluctant to take them there. Instead, he chose a spot where a portion of the city wall was still more or less intact. From that sheltered vantage point, they had a good view of the surrounding territory.
They didn't have long to wait. Tusser pointed in the direction of the big plume of smoke rising in the west. "They come," he said.
"I hope your fellows make it in time, or it will be an even shorter fight than the last one," Rohan observed.
Tusser grinned. "They make it in time. I hear both."
By straining his ears, Rohan could just discern the quiet sounds of poles pushing the Bog boats in their direction. These were almost drowned out by the noise the Outlanders were making as they headed for the ruins. Also, the interlopers were talking, obviously not thinking there was anyone to hear them.
"What's got into Morrice and his men?" one of them was saying. "We should have been seeing their smoke a long time ago."
"Maybe they found a Bog-woman to take their minds off their jobs," another voice said, laughing.
"The Dowager won't be pleased to hear it," the first voice rejoined, and Rohan jumped a little despite himself.
Was she the one behind this attempt to burn the Bog? He could scarcely believe that even Ysa could be so blind as to commit such a foolhardy act, and yet the men had used her title. What could be her reason? He didn't have time to ask more questions before the men were upon them.
He took a tighter grip on his sword, the Rinbell weapon that was his father's legacy, and, with Tusser, swarmed over the low wall, taking the battle to the enemy.
In a moment the air was full of yells and the clash of weapon against weapon, punctuated with an occasional cry of pain.
The man Rohan found himself facing had pulled a sack out of his belt, and had it open.
"Throw the powderl" another man, obviously the leader, yelled above the din.
Obediently, the soldier flung the contents of the sack into the air, aiming it at Rohan. He leaped back, and most of it missed him. But some clung to his left sleeve. The smell was reminiscent of oil sometimes used in lamps when the candle supply grew low. He didn't have time to brush away the substance. He made short work of the man in front of him and then sought the one who had given the command.
As he fought, he could see out of the corner of his eye that these new attackers had managed, by accident or by design, to set light to the powder, and the flames were beginning to leap skyward. Intent on his opponent, it wasn't until he had dispatched his enemy that he realized his peril. The powder, which clung to his mail, was ablaze. He managed to strip off the metal shirt only to find that the sleeve beneath it was also on fire. Hastily, he began to beat out the flames, trying to keep himself from panicking. The conflagration did not yield at once to his attempts to extinguish it.
A woman's scream. "Rohan!"
Beyond all belief, Anamara was running toward him from the direction of the center of the city. She barreled straight into him, pushed him down and rolled him onto his side, smothering the flames. Despite her efforts, they blazed up anew and without hesitation she ripped off a piece of her skirt, wrapping it around his arm until the fire was well and truly extinguished. "Oh, Rohan!
You're hurt!" she cried.
"Not so bad," he managed to say. He looked up at her, fearful of what he would find, but her eyes were clear and her own.
"Where have you been?" she said. "Where have I been? I remember only a little.
There was an old woman—"
"Later, my darling girl," Rohan said. "Later. Right now—" His arm was beginning to throb horribly. He was afraid to remove the covering and see the injury he had sustained. "The old woman—that is Granddam Zazar. Tusser—"
"Tusser here." The warrior knelt beside Rohan. Dimly he was aware that the
Bog-warrior was tucking some items into the lupperskin shirt he wore. "You hurt."
"Yes."
Tusser started to shove Anamara aside roughly, and Rohan grasped his arm with his uninjured hand.
"Please. This lady—she is my lady. You understand? Please. Get us—both of us—to
Zazar. I beg you."
Tusser frowned, staring first at Rohan and then at Anamara. Dirty and disheveled, her clothing in tatters, she looked anything but a suitable person for Rohan to claim as his own. She could have been mistaken for a wild creature of the Bog herself, had it not been for her skin, pale beneath the grime, and her light-colored hair. Rohan gritted his teeth, his world spinning around him.
He wondered at the strength of the newly made alliance between him and the
Bog-man leader, and whether it would stand this strain.
"Zazar have much power," Tusser said finally. "I take. Let her deal with you and
Outlander woman."
"Thank you," Rohan said. Finally he was relieved enough to feel the pain of his burned arm, and he fainted dead away.
When Rohan returned to his senses, he found himself in the familiar surroundings of Zazar's hut. He was surprised by how little his injury pained him. He smelled one of Zazar's concoctions and, examining his arm, he discovered that the pungent earthy odor was coming from under the clean cloth that wrapped it. His burned clothing had been removed and he wore a shirt of lupper skin, similar to the ones that the Bog-men wore. The lacings holding the left sleeve to the rest of the garment had been removed, to make tending to his arm easier. He did not see his armor or his sword, but knew that Zazar would have seen to it that they had been cleaned and laid aside for safekeeping.
He didn't think he had stirred much, but Zazar noticed his waking anyway. "Oh, so you're back with us, are you?" she said. "It's a wonder you didn't get yourself burned to a crisp, and your precious Anamara with you."
He noticed that she had not referred to Anamara as "Lady Lackwit" and reasoned that Zazar had noticed her return to reality as well. Therefore, it was not a dream engendered by his need to have it so.
"Tusser and his fellows brought you in on a litter, with Anamara trailing behind," Zazar continued. "You must have impressed him quite a bit during the battle. They don't do that for their own, but make them walk if they're able."
Zazar's words triggered a memory. "They're burning the Bog," Rohan said urgently. "Ysa's men—"
"Don't worry. I'm taking care of things." Zazar indicated a pile of smoldering ashes on a flat stone.
A tiny flame sprang up and she turned away from Rohan instantly. Crooning a song that had no real words, she made curious gestures over the bit of fire and then spat on it. At that moment, Rohan became aware that the sound of light rain on the roof intensified. The little flame died at once.
"There," the Wysen-wyf said, satisfied. "That should be the last of it. We'd have had a warm time of it if they'd been able to complete their task. That powder was very hard to deal with. It won't come off, but burns itself out where it sticks."
"I know. I had gotten some on my sleeve. I take it that our defense was successful."
"Apparently, the Outlanders didn't expect any resistance. There are a few
Bog-men in the deep pools, but more Outlanders. The rest ran away as fast as they could, with no stomach to carry on someone else's fight. Tusser is so proud of himself with what he's calling his trophies of war that he's called for a general talk-fire with the headmen of all the other villages. I think he fancies setting himself up as headman over all of them and he gives you most of the credit. You stand in very high regard with him. Joal is in a black fit of rage, but he's toothless by now." Zazar's face split in an unexpected smile. "Really toothless. Not a fang left in his mouth. A headman or one who once was a headman gets first shares of the harvesting. His wives have to chop his food very, very fine or he would go as hungry as the rest of us."
Rohan had to smile.
"I said it was someone else's fight. You muttered the Dowager Ysa's name while I was working on you, and then when you awoke you said it again," Zazar continued.
Her light tone vanished, and her expression grew serious. "Do you think she was responsible for this?"
"I believe so. They wore no livery or uniforms, but I heard the men talking before the righting began. Can I sit up now?"
"You might as well. But don't try to stand, not yet. You'll be all right. It's deep blisters mainly, and those are the most painful. But you'll come out of it with only a few scars as souvenirs. The powder hadn't touched your skin, or you'd be dead by now. You were lucky."
"My lady saved me. Where is she?"
"Here," Anamara said. She entered his field of vision, balancing a bowl of noodles in broth and a chunk of bread on one of Zazar's platters. She, too, wore lupperskin garments— tunic and breeches. "Here. You need something to eat after your ordeal."
"Are you all right?" he said.
"I am now."
"But how?" He looked from Anamara to Zazar, who shrugged and began stirring the ashes to uncover any sign of a new flame. "You were—confused for so long."
"I don't know how it happened. I think Madame Zazar worked over me, in a place where I had my own bed, and a warm little creature called Weyse stayed close by."
"That was the Oakenkeep. I was there, too, at times."
"Weyse was with me when I was hiding in the Bog. In fact, she found me and took me to a room—"
"Yes, I know that place."
"She fed me and showed me where fresh water came from a pipe. She gave me mats to sleep on, and to keep me warm. She saved my life."
Rohan set his bowl aside. "She saved us all, for she was the one who alerted us to the danger. Where is she? Did she escape from the fire?"
"Of course she did," Zazar said, a little crossly. "She is no fool. Until you began to stir, she was curled up beside you."
"I'm glad she's safe," Rohan said, relieved. He dipped the bread into the last of the broth, to soak up every drop.
"Perhaps it was seeing you in danger that took the last of the veil from my sight," Anamara said. She was now sitting beside him, and as she spoke she clasped her hands and looked down at them with her old shy manner. Rohan's heart turned over.
"I want to marry you," he blurted suddenly and felt himself go warm in a way that no flames could have done. "I mean—"
"I know," she said. "Yes."
"Y-yes?"
"Of course she said 'yes' you ninny," Granddam Zaz said, her voice sharp. "As soon as you're fit to travel, you'll go back to the Oakenkeep, tell Ashen and
Gaurin what you've accomplished in the Bog, marry the girl, and then off you'll go to war, riding in a Sea-Rover ship. That is what I have seen, and I'm never wrong."
"Oh, no, not to war," Anamara said. Her eyes began to fill with tears.
"If Granddam Zaz is correct—and she always is," he added quickly, to forestall
Zazar's retort, "we will have fighting, one way or another. The only question is, whether it is between the Dowager's men and the people of the Bog, or if she comes to her senses and we unite against the common foe from the north."
"We will have to rely on Gaurin's good sense in that regard," Zazar said. Her tone had softened a little. "And, I must suppose, yours as well."
"There has obviously been much happening at Rendel-sham while I was at New Void with Grandfather Snolli, or making alliance with Tusser, or searching for my lady."
"Well, the world wagged on without your guidance," Za-zar said. But the corners of her mouth softened just a little, and Rohan knew she was not seriously annoyed with him. "I am of half a mind to go with you to the Oakenkeep. With
Weyse. The Bog has become an inhospitable spot, with the Dowager being stupid enough to try to burn it down."
"I know Ashen will be glad for your company," Rohan said. "She has always worried about
you. But will the Bog itself be safe, with you gone?"
"I'll set wards," Zazar said. "And, if what Tusser told me is true, the survivors of the battle will take a tale back to Ysa that will make her disinclined to repeat her folly. Also, I will ask Gaurin to post sentries at the river."
"Then we are safe," Rohan said. His eyelids drooped. He was growing very sleepy.
"For the time being."
Two
Less than a week later, Rohan, with Anamara and Zazar, set out on foot for the
Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 3 - A Crown Disowned Page 2
