Blood River Down

by Lionel Fenn

  Gideon stroked the animal's muzzle and the flat, silken hair between its eyes. "So what I'm going to do is, I'm going to head out for Rayn now. They'll never catch me in time, I don't think, and when I get there I'll... do something."

  Red lifted his great head and stared down.

  "No," Gideon said. "You can't go. They need you here."

  Red grunted.

  "You've convinced me, you can go. But I really would be grateful if you'd let me ride, okay? And it might be better if we went as fast as you can go. If, that is, you don't mind."

  Red shook himself to his feet and nodded.

  "You're a hell of a pal," Gideon said as he swung onto the animal's back.

  And you, he said to himself, are a goddamned idiot.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  It didn't take long for Gideon to change his mind, but by that time Red had gotten into the spirit of the thing and wasn't about to stop for anyone.

  They had eased out of camp without waking anyone, Gideon not getting aboard the lorra until he was positive they were out of earshot. Once on the animal's back, he took a good grip of the hair on its neck and asked for speed.

  That's when he changed his mind.

  Red, with a snort, a growl, and a flamboyant toss of his horns, leapt forward and didn't seem to come down for at least twenty yards. And when he did, he was running, the long legs sweeping them through the night not quite as silently as the wind. There were grunts when they collided with trees, a groan now and then when a branch gouged a side, but none of it deterred the lorra from making as much haste as his great strength could manage.

  Gideon finally had to lie cheek down on the animal's back and close his eyes, praying that Red knew the way back, while he attempted to figure a way to turn him around. This was ridiculous. This was suicidal. This was less an end run than a power play straight up the middle, where, the odds dictated gleefully, he would sooner or later be pulverized.

  And to make matters worse, he was unable to decipher his own reasoning. If the group of seven (eight, if he counted the duck) would be incapable of taking on such a powerful tyrant, why should a group of one (two, if he counted the goat) do any better? Logic would assume just the opposite, in fact.

  Red veered sharply around an unseen obstacle. Gideon held on more tightly and held his breath as well.

  Maybe, he thought, I'm just punishing myself for my perceived but not necessarily accurate succession of failures; maybe I think I must prove myself to those who have depended upon me and my talents for so long, through so many perils; maybe I'm showing off for Ivy.

  He sat up suddenly.

  Now why, he said to himself, did I say Ivy and not Glorian?

  A branch missed taking off his head by mere inches.

  He lay down again and sneezed when some of the lorra's soft hair tickled his nose.

  In point of fact, both women were attractive in their own idiosyncratic ways, and the notion that he might be playing the foolish prancing male for either of them was remarkably disturbing, under the circumstances. Could it be that his ego was such that he would threaten the safety and existence of an entire world just to display his better qualities to a couple of women, one of whom had a boxing fixation and the other so clearly disdainful of him that she pretended moments of affection simply in order to humiliate him later?

  Red raced on, muscles stretched and corded, neck and head bobbing, missing all threats to balance now as his vision adjusted to the dark around him.

  They reached the perilous mist-land of the zeds, and Gideon was positive a few were trampled in their zeal to attack the intruders.

  By dawn they were within sight of the Blood River, and Red unerringly swung right to the stone bridge that led across the silent water.

  There was only the sound of his hooves, nothing more.

  Through a blur of time later they were into greenery again, and Red slowed to take a few swipes at the leaves hanging in front of him, nourishing himself before he regained speed.

  Gideon didn't realize where he was, in fact, until the first pure lance of sunlight warmed the back of his neck. He blinked, was shocked to realize that he had actually fallen asleep, and, when he cautiously lifted his head, was further shocked to realize that they were not far from the plain outside Rayn. In fact, at the rate they were going, he thought they would be there shortly after sunrise the following day.

  "My god, Red!" he said in naked admiration.

  What had taken almost six days to traverse on foot, the lorra would manage to cover in less than three.

  With that thought in mind, he asked Red to stop, please, so that he might attend to several base and necessary functions, not the least of which was getting himself something to eat. The lorra stopped. Gideon picked himself up off the ground and suggested strongly that stopping meant stopping, not stopping. Red didn't understand. Gideon brushed himself off and was soon seated at the roots of a berry bush, gorging himself and not caring, while he considered a plan of action.

  He also hoped the others wouldn't be too angry with him. Most likely they were rushing after him now, cursing the loss of Red, extinguishing a few zeds, and generally thinking of ways to pay him back for his thoughtlessness.

  He belched.

  He fell asleep.

  He awoke when Red cuddled next to him in the moonlight, and he listened to the nightbirds stirring in the foliage, to the night creatures rustling in the brush, to the sound of his own heart.

  Jaw tight, then, he waited for the homesickness to come.

  When it didn't, he fell asleep again, frowning.

  —|—

  They emerged from the woods just before noon.

  The sun was high, the sky a deep blue unsullied by clouds.

  And the moment their shadows fell upon the grass, the birds ceased their singing, the breeze retreated, and in a distant farmyard a dog began a mournful howling.

  Gideon reviewed the several dozen reasons why he should turn back and wait for his friends, and he discarded them all. He didn't care if this was showing off, he didn't care if this was only pride, and he didn't care if this was extremely stupid. All previous attempts at forcing logic and reason into this world had failed, and there was no reason to think it would work now.

  What counted, when all else was considered and found wanting, was how he felt.

  And he felt this had to be done, and it had to be done alone.

  A squeeze of his legs, and Red began walking across the field.

  The dog still howled.

  The sun climbed and grew warm.

  The walls and rooftops of Rayn broke the horizon.

  Red's hooves clumped loudly on the hardened soil, his occasional snort and growl gunshot sharp.

  And halfway to the city, atop a low rise, Gideon whispered the lorra to a halt and took out his bat.

  There, on the flatland ahead, stood Lu Wamchu.

  He was alone, though Gideon could see much activity along the walls—hundreds of concerned citizens anxious to learn the outcome of this final confrontation.

  Red backed away nervously.

  Gideon slid off his back and took a deep breath.

  He hoped luck was with him, that Glorian was right when she said that the three wives had been returned to Choy. If not, he was going to die. Out here. No less alone than he had been back home.

  Wamchu raised a hand in greeting, his flaxen hair catching the sun brightly, his black silks absorbing the light, his red beard flaring as if it were afire, his slanted eyes narrowed in satisfied anticipation.

  "Please stay, Red," Gideon said when the lorra moved to stand beside him. Red seemed perplexed, and his eyes darkened briefly. He purred, and Gideon patted his neck, stroked his nose, pulled playfully at an ear. "Just stay, Red. Just stay."

  He started down the slope slowly, the bat loose in his right hand. His boots were as loud as hooves, the crinkle of his jeans the husk of a wind that remained hidden in the forest. He did not think. He did not plan. He neither slowed
down nor sped up when Wamchu advanced at the same steady pace.

  They were fifty yards apart when Wamchu stopped and put his hands on his hips.

  "You have arrived," he said, his voice as clear as if they were standing nose to nose. "You know I am annoyed."

  "I know the Blood will not rise," Gideon told him.

  "I have other ways, my friend; don't doubt it for a minute."

  "I don't. That's why I'm here."

  Wamchu laughed, thunder that rolled across the grass beneath the clear blue sky.

  Then his hands disappeared into the folds at his chest, reappeared with the glint of hard silver surrounding them. Gideon stared, and almost stared too long when the arms drew back and snapped forward. He leapt to one side just in time and gaped at the four knives that embedded themselves hilt deep into the ground where he had stood.

  Wamchu laughed.

  The thunder rolled.

  He pulled two sabers from the folds at his hips and sent them lightning swift, sun-blindingly off their razored blades. Gideon leapt to his left, and they sank into the ground and vanished.

  Wamchu laughed.

  He gave Gideon a mocking bow of appreciation, turned his back, and looked for a full minute at Rayn, at the crowds on and in front of the walls. He waved to them. They waved back. He turned around swiftly and sent a dozen spiked spheres humming through the air. Gideon threw himself forward, flat on the grass, as the missiles landed in a perfect ovoid pattern, which would, had he moved to either side, caught him perfectly, and lethally.

  Thunder rolled.

  Wamchu laughed.

  Gideon raised his head and saw a rock, pulled it from the ground, and stood. Hefted it. Noted the imperfections of its surface, its weight, how it fit into his hand. He dropped the bat and put the rock in his right hand. He drew back his arm, and he threw it as hard as he could.

  Wamchu blinked, his jaw dropped, and he turned slowly as the missile sailed over his head to smash into the wall. There was a mild explosion of stone dust and a slow spectator.

  "Just a warning," Gideon said while he swore at himself. "Don't toy with me, Wamchu. You won't get away."

  Wamchu nodded once and began to advance.

  Gideon picked up the bat and matched him, step for step.

  At forty yards they stopped again.

  "I don't suppose," Wamchu said, "you would be at all interested in a negotiation?"

  "You mean a deal?"

  "No. I cheat. I mean a negotiation. I'll spare your life if you'll go back where you came from."

  It was temptingly immoral. "And what about my friends?"

  "If they survive the journey back, they will not survive the journey home." He spread his hands. "I am not a complete idiot, you know. I do have my standards."

  "Such as?"

  Wamchu reached into his belt and in a motion too fast to follow sent several short but deadly silver spears toward Gideon's heart. Gideon sidestepped with an angry hiss, reached for another rock, and sent it straight at Wamchu's head, which turned in admiration as the missile screamed into the city wall and created a gate for the lower and shorter forms of life. Then he snapped back with a brace of iron platters studded with spikes, which sizzled past Gideon, one slicing a lock of hair from above his left ear. Gideon touched his scalp gingerly, then scrambled for another stone, threw it, and followed it with another before the Wamchu could watch the first take out a cart and horse on its way to market. The second fell short of the city, and the citizens cheered.

  "Enough," Wamchu said venomously. "My neck is getting sore."

  Gideon felt the sweat creeping down his cheeks, his forehead, the length of his spine. He held the bat more tightly now and watched in dismay as Wamchu pulled from yet another fold a four-edged broadsword, which, amazingly, he held in one hand and whipped around in tight circles so rapidly a wind began to rise and his figure became a wavering blur.

  He stepped forward, and Gideon did as well, turning his head slightly from the high-pitched whine the spinning sword emitted, trying to keep his eyes from watering, telling himself the man was not lifting off the ground.

  Wamchu laughed.

  Thunder rolled.

  Red bellowed at the cloudless sky and reared to kick at the air.

  Gideon felt a rush of heat as the spinning sword began to glow, yet he brought the bat to his shoulder and continued to move.

  Wamchu seemed puzzled when his opponent refused to back away, then glared, hissed, and finally lunged.

  Gideon swung Whale's bat.

  The weapons collided with the sound of ripping sheet metal, the flash of an explosion that threw both men to the ground. The sword flared into slivers that showered on the grass, the bat burst into splinters that burned to cinders in the air.

  "Sonofabitch," Gideon said, shaking his head and hands, wiggling his arms to banish the electric tingling.

  Wamchu only stared, then scrambled to his feet and began sprinting for the city. Gideon watched dumbly for a moment, then took off in pursuit, keeping his eye on the man's arms in case they had something else up their sleeves. And it took only fifteen yards before he launched himself into the air and wrapped his hands around the man's legs. He then rolled aside and jumped onto his back as soon as they were grounded again. An arm slipped around his throat and drew his head back. Wamchu's eyes widened, his tongue protruded between his lips, and his face went as pale as the moon above Choy.

  "Mercy," Wamchu gasped.

  Gideon drew back his lips, but not in a smile.

  "Mercy!" Wamchu begged.

  Gideon pulled back a bit more.

  "Please!" Wamchu pleaded.

  Gideon tossed a mental coin.

  Two out of three, he asked himself, and shook his head angrily. Weapons were one thing; hand-to-hand murder something else. He would regret it in the morning, but it was still afternoon.

  Quickly, he released his hold and grabbed a handful of the man's luxurious hair, dragged him to his feet, and pinned his left arm behind his back. Then he walked Wamchu to the city, to the citizenry's jeers and sneers, into the Hold through the back door, where the Moglar were packing.

  "You have a way to get back," Gideon said harshly. "Show it to me."

  Wamchu did not resist. He guided them through a door into a hallway, into a large chamber whose floor was centered by a large grating. Gideon threw the man down, lifted the grating, and saw a cart and bald lorra waiting underneath. The driver, a scrawny man in a frock coat and top hat, looked up and said, "There's room for one more."

  Gideon turned, grabbed Wamchu's ankles, and tossed him bodily down.

  And the last thing he saw was Wamchu rubbing his neck thoughtfully, his arm painfully, his hair soothingly, his stomach needlessly.

  "You haven't seen the last of me!" was the voice he heard as the cart pulled away. "I'll get you for this, Sunday! I won't rest until you're dead! I swear it! I swear—"

  Then the driver said, "Duck!" Wamchu cursed, and Gideon heard the sound of a skull striking a stone beam.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The Moglar paid no attention to him when he returned to the back hall. They only hurried their packing, bid each other good-bye, and rushed out to catch the last coach to the forest.

  Incredible, he thought; and, what the hell? when he saw Red coming down the street toward him, Ivy and the others trailing behind. A flurry of greetings, hugs, kisses, and laughter forestalled his attempts to discover how they had managed to get here so fast. And when he did, he turned on Whale.

  "I thought you weren't spelling properly anymore."

  Whale smiled sheepishly, his neck beginning to turn red. "Off and on, my friend, off and on."

  Then Gideon explained with as much modesty as he could muster how he'd managed to send Lu Wamchu back where he belonged. They were pleased, and they were solemn when he told them of the warning. It was done, but not over, and for the rest of the day they wandered about the city, curiously unhappy until, that night at their camp in the field
outside Rayn's walls, the realization of their predicament finally struck home.

  Gideon was out beyond the campfire, watching the lights of the city glow, listening to the celebrations, and smiling to himself. A footstep behind him made him turn. It was Glorian.

  "I'm leaving tomorrow," she said softly, slipped her hands around his waist, nestling her head beneath his chin. "You'll come with me, I hope."

  "To be honest, I don't know."

  "It'll be wonderful, I promise you. I'm going to start up Kori again, bigger and better than ever, and this time they'll listen to me when I tell them what needs to be done." She giggled and pressed closer. "It's going to be a grand place, the best in all the Upper Ground." A tilt of her head, an examining eye, and she kissed him soundly, hard, making sure he was tactilely aware of what waited beneath the gown that wasn't quite silk. "You could be my lieutenant."

  "Maybe," he said.

  "Men," she said, pulling away. "Give 'em an inch, for god's sake, they want the whole goddamned kingdom."

  He looked up at the stars; they were still unfamiliar.

  A footstep behind him; it was Whale.

  "Well?" the former fat man said.

  "I don't know."

  "Home is never easy," the armorer said.

  "You know?" he said, surprised and pleased.

  Whale nodded toward Rayn. "They want me to stick around. I think they think I would make a decent mayor."

  "You would, you know, as long as you didn't try to make it rain."

  Whale frowned, then laughed. "My heavens, Gideon, you've made another joke. If only I could do the same, I'd die happy and sane."

  "No one dies happy, Whale," he said. "They just die."

  "That's not a joke," Whale said, patted his shoulder, and walked off.

  Gideon watched the moon; it was full and had no face.

  A footstep behind him; he sighed and wondered if someone was handing out numbers.

  "I need your help," Ivy said, holding his hand but not squeezing.

  He waited, watching her and the play of golden hair unbraided on her shoulders.

  "You remember Shelt and the others?"

  He did; he said so.

  "I want to beat the shit out of them for what they did to us, me and Tag and Whale. I want them to remember Kori." Her hands were fists, her eyes dark and squinting. "They don't deserve getting away with it, you know. I don't want them to sleep at night for fear of retribution."