The Towers Of Melnon rb-15

by Джеффри Лорд

  «How-how is my brother?» asked the warrior. His voice was low but clear. It seemed that he was putting all of his fading strength into making it so.

  «He is wounded, but he will live to rule in the Tower of the Serpent.»

  «Good. I hope so. You-must find-Nris-Pol. There is a room-in the Work Chambers-«

  Blade's insides turned to ice. Had Nris-Pol found the great wands? He wanted to ask that question. But he found his dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

  Kir-Noz answered the unasked question. «He says-a new weapon-there. Will kill-everybody against him. You first-he hates you like he does-Mir-Kasa.»

  «How is Mir-Kasa?» asked Blade urgently.

  «Took-poison,» murmured Kir-Noz. «She-is-dead.» Kir-Noz's head lolled sideways, and in a moment he, too, was dead.

  Chapter TWENTY

  Blade stepped back from the dead warrior and made the formal hand gestures of respect for one of the honored dead. He sighed. If Bryg-Noz in fact came to rule in the Tower of the Serpent, he would rule as a very lonely man. His brother, Mir-Kasa, Kun-Rala-they were all dead. Blade took another step back from the body, and turned back toward his men, to watch them dragging the prisoners to their feet and piling the bodies out of the way.

  That extra step saved Blade's life. As he took it, there was a sudden hiss and crackle of disturbed air behind him. He spun around, in time to see one of the men farther down the corridor vanish in a cloud of red mist that stained the floor where he had been standing. Instantly Blade leaped into the alcove where Kir-Noz's body was and flattened himself against the wall. As he did that, the air crackled again, and another man became a red cloud in the heavy air of the corridor.

  As he struggled to get his own great wand out of its bag and into action, Blade's mind was working furiously. How many men with great wands had Nris-Pol brought up into action? And was Nris-Pol himself among them? Blade very much hoped so.

  A third crackle, and a third stain on the floor. And then the men in the corridor broke, abandoning the prisoners, abandoning Blade, abandoning the ground they had won, to vanish in a mad panicky flight. They could face three times their own number of enemy warriors with courage, but not the great wands.

  As his men clattered off down the corridor, Blade could take comfort from at least two things. There seemed to be only one man with a great wand, and the great wand could fire only in a straight line. Blade's opponent could not fire at him without giving Blade some chance to return the fire. With luck, Blade had only to stay where he was, and wait for curiosity or blood-lust to tempt his enemy out into view. He let his breath out slowly, trying to relax as much as possible without losing any of his alertness.

  A minute went by. Then two minutes, then three. The corridor-in fact, the whole level-seemed as silent as a tomb. As far as Blade's ears could tell, there was no other living thing on the level or in the corridor with him.

  It must have been close to ten minutes before he heard the unmistakable sound of a footstep-a single slow, cautious footstep. After an interval that seemed like hours, it was followed by a second. Now they came in more rapid succession, approaching down the corridor. Blade could not keep from holding his breath. Then he let it out in a soundless gasp, as Nris-Pol himself came into view around the bend of the corridor.

  Blade stepped out into the open, his great wand rising into position as he did so. Before Nris-Pol's widening eyes could meet his, his finger squeezed down on the firing bar. And it squeezed in vain, as the bar jammed fast.

  Before Nris-Pol could even realize Blade's situation, let alone gloat over it, Blade had reacted. It was his habit to learn every possible way of using any weapon he might be given, however unlikely he might be to need it. He had practiced throwing the great wands-and also using them butt-first. They weighed fifteen pound, and coming down hard, butt-end first, they could do their share of damage.

  So as Nris-Pol's wand rose to aim at Blade and Nris-Pol's finger tightened on his own firing bar, Blade sprang at the other man. He lifted his wand, then brought it down. By pure reflex Nris-Pol jerked his wand up enough to spoil Blade's stroke at his head. The two wands met with a clang of metal and ajar that nearly knocked Blade's out of his hands. But it did knock Nris-Pol's wand out of his. The wand crashed to the floor, and Blade closed, raising his own wand for a finishing stroke to cave Nris-Pol's skull in.

  That stroke came down on empty air. Nris-Pol's skull was no longer where Blade had expected it to be. Fast on his feet, the warrior sprang away from Blade, turned, and ran. Blade followed him. He had little doubt where Nris-Pol was headed. He had even less doubt that thousands of lives might depend on stopping him. If the man had brought out the great wands, had he noticed Kun-Rala's little trap? Perhaps. And perhaps he was now heading that way, determined that if he could not rule in the Tower of the Serpent, no one should.

  Blade ran fast, but he had been fighting since early morning. Nris-Pol ran faster. Blade saw the warrior's fleeting shape dart through the door of one of the shafts, then he saw the light go on as the shaft car plunged downward. Without stopping or even swearing, Blade continued on around the corridor to the next shaft car. By miraculous good fortune the car was only a few levels above; a push of the button brought it down to him within seconds. He sprang in, and another push of the button sent it plunging downward. But he was almost a minute behind Nris-Pol, and a few seconds would be more than enough for the desperate warrior.

  Blade found it hard to keep from holding his breath as the car shot downward. He found it even harder to worry about there being hostile warriors in or around the work chambers. He would fight his way through them, or around them-somehow. He would get to Nris-Pol — somehow. He realized that he was not thinking quite rationally, and took deep breaths to calm himself. He had just managed to do so when the car stopped and the shaft door opened.

  Blade knew the way to the work chambers, so he had no need to look around him. He came out of the shaft car at a dead run, bowling over two masters armed with administering wands as though he were an avalanche. They sprawled on the floor, staring after him as he pounded down the corridor.

  Blade had dropped his useless great wand on the floor of the shaft car so that he could run unhampered. But Nris-Pol still managed to keep ahead of him. Blade could hear the pounding feet ahead, and could hear them slowly getting louder as he carved away Nris-Pol's lead. But he could not come up with Nris-Pol before the man ducked into the chamber where the store of great wands lay. And he did not dare charge straight into the chamber on Nris-Pol's heels. The man could easily get himself another great wand and be ready to blast Blade into a red mist if he came charging in. So once more Blade flattened himself against a wall, then peered cautiously around the edge of the doorway into the chamber.

  The door in the wall gaped blackly open, and Nris-Pol was on his knees on the floor. He was holding the bunch of power tubes in one hand, and doing something to the wires with the other. Or trying to do something, at least. Blade could hear Nris-Pol's frustrated, half-hysterical cursing, and let his own breath out in a sigh of relief. Somehow something had gone wrong with the wiring of Kun-Rala's boobytrap. At any other time that might have been a disaster, but now it was salvation for the Tower of the Serpent. Nris-Pol had found the great wands too late, and been too afraid of handing them out to his men. Now he was going to pay for both mistakes. Blade stepped out into the middle of the doorway and launched himself into the chamber.

  He had made a mistake of his own, however. Only a small one, but still a mistake. He had thought Nris-Pol a hysterical, half-helpless madman. But as Blade charged, Nris-Pol spun around, snatched up a heavy metal tool from the floor, and hurled it straight at Blade. Blade leaped high, but the tool smashed into the side of his right knee. Pain knifed through his leg, and he nearly fell to the floor as he came down. He raised both swords, though, and took an agonized, lurching step forward.

  Nris-Pol could have killed Blade in that moment. But the sight of Blade coming at him w
as too much for his overstrained nerves. This time they did snap, and he gave a wild animal's scream. Then he dashed for the door, brushing past Blade and under Blade's sword-slashes, and out of the chamber.

  Blade turned and followed him. Somewhere he came up with the strength to run, in spite of the pain in his knee and his weariness from the fighting. Not only to run, but to run fast. He was only a few steps behind the fleeing Nris-Pol as they sprinted out of the work chambers into the corridor leading to the shafts.

  As they reached the doors of the shafts, a tremendous rumble echoed down the corridor. Floors and walls and ceiling all heaved and shook, sprinkling the running men with bits of debris. All the indicator lights over the shaft doors went out, and some of them exploded, spraying bits of glass on to the floor.

  Blade did not need Nris-Pol's howl of fury to tell him what had happened. Somewhere, high above or far below, somebody had violently cut off the power to the shafts. They would need stairs to get up and down the tower for the rest of the battle.

  Nris-Pol was heading for the door to the nearest stairway before the echoes of the power cut-off had stopped rolling through the corridor. He plunged through the door and on down the stairs still a few steps ahead of Blade. If he had stopped to fight, he might have been able to beat Blade off, or perhaps hold him long enough for others of his own men to come up. But there was no more reasoning left in him than there was in a mad dog. All he could think of was to get away from the towering blood-stained figure pounding along after him, swords drawn and gleaming.

  They went down the stairs at a dead run. Blade's breath was beginning to be a white-hot rasping in his lungs. His legs felt as though they were made of rubber, and his knee sent pains stabbing up into his brain each time his right foot slammed down on a step. Once he nearly stumbled and went headlong down the stairs on top of the fugitive ahead. Several times he heard scrabbling feet and panicky whimpers that suggested Nris-Pol also had nearly fallen. But the man was always able to stay on his feet, somehow, and even keep his distance.

  Nris-Pol was still out in the lead when the five-hundred foot stairway ended, and the two men dashed out into a corridor on the level of the balcony. Nris-Pol threw a wild-eyed glance over his shoulder at Blade, and lurched away in the direction of the balcony itself. Blade followed him. He noticed some of Bryg-Noz's warriors and armed Low People passing by. Part of his mind told him he should call out to them, tell them to seize Nris-Pol. But the other part told him that this was between him and Nris-Pol, and that it should stay that way.

  Then they were out on the balcony itself, and Nris-Pol was heading for the railing without slowing down. He did not slow down as he reached the railing and slammed hard up against it-and then went over. Nor did he scream as he went over. He plunged the two hundred feet down to the ground in silence.

  That silence was not broken until he landed. Blade had just reached the railing when that happened. On the ground far below a searing burst of purple flame shot up, rising upward and outward in all directions like a huge and hideous flower. Then it faded, and a thick cloud of greasy black smoke puffed up, hiding a wide patch of ground. After a few moments the light breeze cleared away the smoke, and Blade could get a clear view of the scene below. Where Nris-Pol had struck there was now a crater a good ten feet wide and five feet deep, with charred earth banked up around its edges. Several bodies were lying on the ground around the crater. Farther away, people were lying on the ground and moving feebly, or sitting up slowly and rubbing their heads. The fall of Nris-Pol did not immediately lead to the fall of the Tower of the Serpent. But it certainly eased things considerably, as the defenders discovered that their leader was dead. They also discovered that the Low People were roaming about the tower with pikes in their hands, sticking those pikes into any of the High People they found. The defenders' morale fell, and so did their swords. Well before the dinner hour, all resistance had ceased. Within an hour after that, Bryg-Noz's men and their Low People allies had occupied the whole tower and had even managed to get the shafts operating again.

  Blade took over the First Warrior's chambers as his own personal command post. From its windows he watched the sun go down over Melnon, the towers to the west looming black and huge against the glow of the sunset. There were many more night-lights on the other towers than usual. This did not surprise him at all. They would certainly be spending a sleepless night tonight. Nor would this be the last one, either. But both the Tower of the Leopard and the Tower of the Serpent had alert guards posted. They would not be surprised and destroyed, tonight or any other night. And because they would not be destroyed, the old way in Melnon was gone forever.

  Blade had just reached the point of realizing that he was horribly hungry when a Leopard warrior he knew came into the chambers. He bore a message from Ye-Jaza, on her perfumed stationery. To Blade, the perfume seemed grotesquely out of place, considering that he had been smelling nothing but blood and sweat all day. But he opened the letter, and a sour smile curled his lips as he read it. Then he threw it on the floor.

  «What is it, honored Blade-Liza?» asked the warrior.

  «Ye-Jaza wants to come over and join me-tonight-here in the Tower of the Serpent. She wants to see what has been done, she says.»

  «She wants an easy thrill,» said the warrior sourly. His armor was slashed and there was blood on his legs. He had fought his fair share that day, and had the same opinion of thrill-seeking spectators as Blade did.

  «She's asking the impossible,» said Blade. «I'll have to tell her that.»

  The warrior shook his head wearily. «I would not call that wise, Blade-Liza. Ye-Jaza is of the type to be jealous-madly jealous. If you do not let her come over, she will think you are with another woman. And then-«the warrior shrugged.

  Blade sighed. He would have cursed, if he had felt strong enough to do it. «I know. She will do her best to get the alliance of the two towers broken up.»

  «Yes. And perhaps she might even try to have you killed. That would be a terrible tragedy for Melnon, if I may say so, what you have done-not just today, but-«

  «I know, I know. We'll talk about that later. I suppose I had better let her come over. You can tell her that. But be sure to pick a few reliable warriors to escort her over. I'm damned if I want her run through with a pike by some roving Low Person who doesn't recognize her.»

  The warrior nodded and left without another word. Blade leaned wearily back in his chair. Why not? he thought. Mir-Kasa was dead, and so was Kun-Rala. There was no other woman in Melnon now for him except Ye-Jaza. It would be comparatively easy to keep her happy, and the alliance intact. And she was far from bad company, when all was said and done, particularly now that thirty years of obstinate virginity had been swept away and dumped on the garbage heap.

  There was another knock on the door. «Come in,» he called absently. The door opened, and four warriors half-pushed, half-pulled the First Surgeon of the Tower of the Serpent into the room.

  Blade rose, his mouth starting to fall open in surprise before he caught himself. «This is-unexpected,» he managed to say. «I expected that you would be killed.»

  «Well, I was not.» The First Surgeon seemed much more in control of himself than he had been, the day Blade saw him trembling at Mir-Kasa's coming. «Nor were many of the other surgeons and scribes and workers. We managed to lock ourselves away in our chambers. But we will come out if you can offer us safety from the Low People. In fact-«the Surgeon hesitated «-we will even work for you, and Bryg-Noz, if you will treat us well.»

  Fatigue made Blade too foggy-minded to completely grasp what the surgeon meant at first. Then realization hit him. «Why?» he snapped suddenly.

  The Surgeon flinched, but did not back away. «What you have done today-in the Tower of the Serpent-it cannot be undone. Many have already died. More will die if nothing is done. What is the sense of that?» The surgeon shrugged. «We are defeated. The surgeons and scribes at least have the wit to know that.» He sagged into a chair, as th
ough his knees would no longer keep him on his feet.

  Blade remained standing, his mind turning in slow circles. Cooperation from any of the High People was the last thing that either he or Bryg-Noz had expected. But if it was going to be forthcoming, if the First Surgeon was speaking for others besides himself-well, Bryg-Noz's job was going to be a damned sight easier! Blade flexed his shoulders to get some of the kinks out of them, then nodded slowly. «Very well. I accept your offer. Warriors, take this man to Bryg-Noz. It is proper that he have the final word.» The escort moved in to hustle the surgeon out, but as they did the man raised a warning hand.

  «Wait, I have something else for you!»

  «Yes?»

  «A message from Queen Mir-Kasa.»

  Blade sat down again abruptly. «Queen Mir-Kasa? But she is dead!»

  The surgeon smiled rather nervously and shook his head. «It was only a drug that produces a sleep so deep one can easily mistake it for death. I gave it to her this morning, when the battle started, so that Nris-Pol would not seek her out and kill her. She is waking now, and wants to see you.» Then the warriors hustled the surgeon out, before he could say anything more.

  Blade also could not say anything more for a while. Then he said «Damn!» in a loud voice. He was not exactly sorry that Mir-Kasa was alive, but it was going to complicate things rather horribly. Could he send another message to Ye-Jaza, telling her not to come? Possibly, but what good would that do? And how much harm might it not do?

  No, he would just have to take the shaft back up to the Queen's Chambers, and explain the situation to Mir-Kasa. She was older, more experienced. Perhaps she was wiser, and just conceivably she might be more tolerant of this kind of situation. That wouldn't help things in the long run, but it might keep him out of trouble tonight-unless of course Ye-Jaza wanted love-making that he was far too exhausted to give. And she probably would want just that.