by Джеффри Лорд
The very next night the Master launched his offensive. He used his wits and the skill of his men, but more than either he used the sheer brute strength and ferocity of the assarani, the great black reptiles. He brought them up under cover of a misty day, and that night he sent them in against the stockade. How many he sent no one ever knew, but they seemed endless to those who had to face them coming out of the night.
They came hissing and roaring, hurling themselves into the ditch, screaming as they impaled themselves on the stakes. They piled up in the ditch until it was filled with writhing scaled flesh. Then the survivors climbed over the dead and dying and hurled themselves like battering rams against the stockade itself.
The stockade held just long enough for some of the refugees to run up the trail toward the hospital. Then it collapsed in four places at once, the assarani swarmed in, and the Hashomi swarmed in after them. Fifty of Blade’s fighting men and more than half the refugees died in a few minutes, under the teeth and claws of the monsters and the swords and knives of the Hashomi. More than four hundred refugees survived to be taken prisoner.
Blade didn’t have time to worry about them, because he was too busy with other Hashomi. At every place the cliffs offered any hope, they swarmed up toward the trail, some of them holding their knives in their teeth to leave both hands free. These Hashomi climbed with eerie howls that made the toughest of Blade’s men shudder.
Some of the climbing Hashomi missed hand or footholds and fell. Some were picked off by arrows or knocked loose by hurled stones. Some reached the trail and ran wild among the guards and the fleeing refugees. They were all killed in the end, but so were a good many of the guards and refugees. The Hashomi seemed to take a special delight in slaughtering the valley people. If they had time, they castrated the men and mutilated the women just as obscenely. Blade and most of his men would have vomited at the sight of what the Hashomi left behind them, if they’d had anything in their stomachs.
Eventually dawn came and with it the end of the Hashomi attack. Blade was able to add up the night’s score. It was a bloody one, on both sides.
He’d lost a hundred killed or wounded, about a third of what he had left. The refugees had been slaughtered or captured wholesale. The House of Free Men was gone, and so was the whole trail down into the valley. Blade could no longer hold anything below the tunnel and the gap.
On the other hand, the Hashomi had lost more than a hundred more fighting men, besides the assarani. The huge reptiles would no longer be nearly so great a menace to the Baran’s army.
The Hashomi had paid heavily for their victory, but Blade had lost more than he could afford. He could still hurt the enemy if he was prepared to fight to the last man, and he himself was. He also knew that it was easy for a general to decide to fight to the last man and even plan for it, but not so easy to get even the best soldiers to obey him.
In any case, the initiative now lay with the Master of the Hashomi. Much depended on whether he could think up any more new schemes in the next few days.
Sooner or later, the Baran’s army had to arrive!
The morning of the second day after the attack, Giraz woke Blade from a restless, hunger-ridden sleep.
«The Hashomi have gathered in the valley, Blade.»
«Within catapult range?»
«Yes. But they’ve got more than a hundred prisoners with them. The refugees won’t let the catapult crew open fire.»
Blade sprang out of bed and pulled on his clothes. Giraz led him to the edge of the cliff and pointed. Barely two hundred yards from the base of the cliff the Hashomi were gathered around several piles of wood. They were guarding a mass of prisoners. Blade could see that all the prisoners were naked, with their hands bound behind their backs.
Then the Hashomi began setting the piles of wood on fire. When the wood was blazing high, they picked up six of the prisoners. They swung them back and forth, then heaved them onto the blazing wood.
The screams reached the top of the cliff, and after a while so did the smell of burning human flesh.
The Hashomi went on burning their prisoners alive all day, until more than three-quarters of them were gone. Blade’s men went about their business with faces even paler and more drawn than usual. Blade was also aware of sullen, fearful looks from many of the surviving refugees. A few of them, maddened by recognizing relatives among the day’s victims, had hurled themselves off the ledge.
The next morning the Master pushed his psychological siege a step further. Blade was called to the mouth of the tunnel, to look across the gap and see the Master standing there. Around him was a force of Hashomi, both archers and swordsmen, escorting two prisoners completely concealed in blankets.
«Blade!» shouted the Master. «Yesterday the prisoners died by fire. A clean death, and almost a quick one. Today they will die like this one-!» pointing at one of the two blanket-covered prisoners.
The Hashomi stripped off the blanket, exposing the prisoner to Blade’s stare. He was a man of about forty, as far as Blade could tell. It was hard to tell, since the man hardly looked human any more. He’d been beaten, cut, flogged, and burned until hardly an inch of his skin was still intact. One eye had been gouged out, both ears cut off, several fingers and toes had been cut off, and he’d been castrated.
Blade had just time to get a good look at the man. Then two of the Hashomi seized him and heaved him off the cliff. Blade’s eyes followed the falling man all the way down, until he hit the ground in a puff of dust. By the time he turned back to the Master, the blanket was off the second prisoner.
Blade stared again. The second prisoner was Mirna, stark naked, showing a few bruises but otherwise unharmed. Her eyes were wide but clear. She hadn’t been drugged, and when they started on her she would feel everything.
The Master threw back his head and laughed shrilly. «She will be next, Blade. After her, all the others. Only can you stop us-only you. Bring your men down from where they are, give up your fight, and the prisoners will live. Otherwise-«he jerked a thumb downward.
Blade heard a confused growling and muttering from both the Hashomi and the soldiers and refugees behind him. After a moment he shut it out of his awareness. His mind never worked better or faster than when he faced a total crisis that called for a split-second decision. This was one of those crises.
With dramatic suddenness Blade straightened up, and made an obscene gesture at the Master of the Hashomi. «Coward!» he shouted. He repeated the gesture. «Lover of small boys! Eater of dung!»
The Master stiffened, and the Hashomi around him gripped their weapons and stared at Blade. Blade waited just long enough to be sure that the Hashomi’s archers weren’t going to let fly, and repeated his gesture a third time.
«Coward, I say,» he went on, more softly. «You are only able to fight old men, women, and children. You cannot fight men, such as myself or those who follow me. Your followers at least have tried-and failed. They have died-but it is you who have sent them to their deaths. The death you cannot face yourself. Master of the Hashomi? I call you unworthy to be the master of dogs who feed on carrion!»
The Master of the Hashomi was now as erect as his own staff, and pale as milk except for his eyes, which blazed red. He seemed to be struggling for words. Blade did not give him a chance to speak, but threw out his challenge.
«Master of the Hashomi, do you dare to meet a man? Then tomorrow at this time I will face you, here on the bridge. I will come to you, naked as I was born, with only my hands. You shall bear your staff, equipped as you see fit. We shall meet thus, on the bridge, and fight to the death. If the death is mine, then no man may call you coward again. What say you, Master of the Hashomi? Have you the courage to earn your name and rank?»
There was more muttering among the Hashomi. Blade could see them looking at each other, then at the master. He noticed that some of the sharpest looks were from those who wore bandages on their heads or arms. The Master’s control over his people stood on thin ice after so m
any defeats and so many losses. It might not survive a refusal of Blade’s challenge-or so the Master would think.
Blade would have prayed, if he’d thought that would affect the Master’s decision.
Then the Master swallowed, and raised one hand in salute. «Blade, it shall be as you say. Here on the bridge, at this time tomorrow, you naked, me as I am now, with my staff. Let all present hear us!»
«We hear!» shouted the Hashomi, and Blade thought he detected a note of relief in some of the shouts. He raised his arms in a signal to his own people, and they repeated the shout.
«We hear!»
Then Blade lowered his arms and whispered sharply,
«Now let’s get out of here!»
He could not remember taking a single breath until they were all safely behind the barricade in the tunnel.
Chapter 25
Giraz glowered at Blade the moment the two were alone.
«Blade, have you gone mad?»
«Everybody seems very ready to call me a madman,» said Blade sharply. «First Esseta, now you. This makes more sense than anything else I could have done. I’ll even explain it if you give me a chance.»
Giraz sighed: «You would go ahead and do it anyway, wouldn’t you?»
Blade nodded. «The Master couldn’t refuse a challenge like the one I made. His people have been taking too much punishment to be willing any more to follow him blindly. They hope he’ll kill me easily, and then you and the others at the hospital will surrender.»
«I take it we’re not supposed to?»
«Great Junah, no!» exploded Blade. «Why do you think I made him so angry before challenging him? I made him angry, so he’d forget to insist that my people promise to surrender if I was killed. He did forget, and now I don’t think he’ll risk changing the conditions of the fight. By all means-if I die tomorrow, you’re in charge. Go on fighting as long as you can.»
«That may not be very long, Blade. There is the food shortage, and the refugees won’t be happy about seeing their friends and families tortured to death.»
Blade shrugged. «You’ll just have to do the best you can. The Baran’s army will come, sooner or later. This challenge gains us a good twenty-four hours without lifting a finger. Also, the Hashomi may not be so interested in going to work on the prisoners after the Master is dead.»
«You’re sure of winning, then?» said Giraz.
Blade shook his head. «I’m sure the Master of the Hashomi will die tomorrow, whether I live or not. That’s all I can promise.»
Blade found it easy to sleep that night, in spite of the knowledge that he might be going to sleep for the last time in his life. He’d meant what he said to Giraz. Unless the Master were both fantastically skilled and fantastically lucky, he would not be able to kill Blade without getting killed himself. The determination of the Hashomi had been shaken by the collapse of the Master’s plans, and might very well collapse with his death. Blade’s men would go on fighting whether he was there or not. Once again, Richard Blade found himself expendable in a good cause.
The morning dawned clear, with the promise of staying that way. With no rain, the planks of the bridge would be dry once the night’s dew was gone. That would reduce the risk of slipping. Blade was glad of that he didn’t want to have to worry about accidents. This fight would be enough of a challenge as it was.
The Master had seen Blade fight, but Blade hadn’t seen him. The Master would know many of Blade’s strengths and weaknesses, while Blade could only guess at most of the Master’s. Blade did know that he was stronger than the Master, and suspected that he was at least as fast. He also knew some tactics for dealing with quarterstaves that the Master wouldn’t be expecting. They depended on Blade’s longer reach and outright brute strength, so he hadn’t bothered teaching them to the smaller and lighter Hashomi.
Blade was at his end of the bridge before the Master arrived. With Blade were Giraz and a guard of archers and swordsmen. He’d also strengthened the guards at the barricade in the tunnel, and placed all his fighting men on alert. Blade wanted to make sure the Hashomi wouldn’t be tempted to try anything if the battle took any unexpected turns.
When the Master appeared, he was carrying his great staff, with the silver ball that contained the various drug-laden needles. He wore only trousers and sandals. The hair on his chest was as gray as the hair of his beard, but nothing else about him showed his age. He was all whipcord muscle, sinew, and bone. It would be possible for Blade to pull the Master limb from limb if he got a good hold on the man, but it wouldn’t be easy for him to get that hold in the first place.
With the Master were three Treases and twelve regular Hashomi. He’d also brought Mirna with him, naked, chained, and showing fresh bruises and welts. Blade was glad to see her, and whispered to Giraz, «If I go down alone with the Master, see that one of our archers puts an arrow into her. She deserves a clean death.»
«And if you do not go down, Blade?»
«Then Mirna may outlive us all.» Their eyes met in clear understanding of Blade’s meaning.
Now Blade stepped forward, arms crossed on his bare chest, eyes fixed on the Master. The Master raised his staff and held it crossways, looking back at Blade. The escorts of each duelist moved forward to close off the ends of the bridge.
«Ha, Blade!» cried the Master. His hands moved along his staff. A green needle slid out of the silver ball. «Blade, look upon your death. The Ephraimini have made this so that your death will be worse than that of any man before. You will be screaming for death three days before it will come, and you will not even have the strength to kill yourself.»
Blade turned slightly, and again his eyes met Girazs in mutual understanding. The Master’s desire for an elaborate vengeance on Blade had led him into a mistake. He’d now given Blade a possible reason to be careless of his own life, if he could be sure the Master died with him. The moment he was scratched by the needle, Blade would become ten times as dangerous as before. Did the Master realize this?
Blade turned back to the Master, dropped into fighting stance, and stepped forward onto the bridge.
The bridge was only five feet wide, so there was no room for circling or complicated footwork. The two men advanced straight toward each other. As the Master came within striking range, his staff darted out, the green needle aimed at Blade’s chest.
Blade twisted sharply aside and his arms swung down in a savage one-two sequence of karate blows. The staff was beaten down so hard that the silver ball struck the planking of the bridge with a bell-like chinnnngggg. The Master jerked the staff clear before Blade could follow through to pin it down with his feet.
Three more times in rapid succession, the Master thrust at Blade. Each time Blade’s hands or feet smashed it down or aside before the needle came dangerously close. Each time the Master snatched the staff out of Blade’s reach before the Englishman could do anything more.
A brief pause, then another flurry of thrusts, coming in so fast and from so many different directions that Blade no longer tried to count or keep track of them. The staff was a dancing blur, moving almost faster than his eyes could follow it, and his own arms and legs darted at the same furious pace to meet it. He always succeeded in blocking the staff, although he picked up a new bruise almost every time. He never succeeded in getting a grip on it, and after a while he gave up trying. He’d expected this to be a long fight, so this did not worry him or even particularly surprise him. The Master’s speed alone would make him a difficult opponent.
Eventually the Master gave up trying to drive the needle past Blade’s guard and drew back. The two men stood facing each other. Blade’s breath was coming a trifle quicker than usual and a fine film of sweat covered his tanned skin in spite of the coolness of the morning. His forearms and ankles were red, and a trickle of blood showed where the skin had been split on one shin. Otherwise he looked as if he could go on fighting all day, and indeed felt quite ready to do so.
The Master had taken no punishment at
all, but his narrow chest was heaving. The years had not taken away his speed, but they had inevitably taken away some of his endurance. He could not fight this way indefinitely. The moment he started losing speed, Blade would have a chance to immobilize, break, or even take away the staff. He would have to shift his tactics to something slower, steadier, and with a more solid grip on the staff. Otherwise he might be the one to spend three days screaming for the mercy of death.
The Master was no longer able to keep his face expressionless. Too much was at stake. Blade was able to guess at the Master’s plans and decisions from the play of emotions on the thin features, and with an effort kept from smiling. He’d won his first victory. If the Master wound up shortening his thrusts, Blade would be in less danger from the needle. That meant he could take a few more chances to get in close and dish out a little punishment. A dozen good blows would do much to slow down the Master and prepare him for the final stroke.
The two men approached each other again. The Master once more held the staff crossways, and now he struck out with either end. His hands shifted up and down the staff so quickly that Blade had no time to take advantage of the shifts to close in. Nor could Blade predict which end of the staff would come at him, the wooden upper end or the deadly needle. He had to avoid both, and it took all his speed and attention to do so. Again the Master’s staff became a blur, and again Blade found himself avoiding it more by instinct and reflex than by plan.
The Master of the Hashomi had certainly learned his quarterstaff well, and was using everything he’d learned. Blade realized that as long as the Master’s speed held, he was going to have to keep his distance. One split second error in timing, one missed step, and he’d be purchasing his victory over the Master at the price of his own life.
The duel went on. Gradually Blade stopped taking punishment. Now he could avoid the Master by pure footwork, without having to use his hands and arms to block the staff. Perhaps he was beginning to have an edge in speed-but even if he did, it wasn’t a big enough edge. He didn’t expect to get such an edge, either, without giving the Master a good hammering. If he let this duel go on until it was decided by pure endurance, it could last for hours. He didn’t want that. If gave too much of a chance for accidents, or treachery by the other Hashomi.
