Terrible Swift Sword

by William R. Forstchen

  "Why did you assume that?" Andrew finally ventured.

  "He still understood you, better than you him."

  "God damn it, that's why I need you."

  "I know."

  Andrew came to his feet.

  "Just who the hell are you?" Andrew shouted. "Why the hell did you come back?"

  Andrew slammed his fist on the table.

  He heard Maddie stir upstairs, a thin cry echoing at being thus disturbed. He listened as Kathleen walked across the room, and the crying died away.

  There was a pained look in Yuri's eyes as he looked up to the ceiling, listening.

  "A pleasant sound," he whispered. "The cry of an infant at night, quieting down in its mother's embrace."

  He quickly reached over and poured another drink, closing his eyes as he drained the cup again

  Andrew watched him. Something had surfaced for a moment, he could sense that, a flicker of emotion behind the outer mask that was devoid of all feeling, as if the warmth of life had momentarily pulsed back into the cold body of a corpse.

  "I would dare say that part of his plan was to catc h not only the army but you as well," Yuri finally said, looking straight back into Andrew's eyes.

  "Why?"

  "Standard Merki approach to war. Cut the head off even as you dig out the heart. In action against the Bantag, they assign a regiment of a thousand the sole task of searching for the Qar Qarth to bring him down."

  "That seems logical enough," Andrew replied. It was anathema to his own military thinking. He realized it was an illogical bit of European tradition regarding warfare, for after all, kings and dukes realized that to use such a policy would mean they would be hunted as well. Gentlemen have better things to do than shoot at each other, Wellington had once said. Yet somehow it had always struck him as a bit illogical.

  "Remember, war is tradition to the Merki, every action prescribed by their laws, from which direction to piss, to who will scoop first at the beginning of the moon feast."

  "I assume you fought the Vushka on your right."

  "How did you know?"

  Yuri smiled.

  "The Vushka are accorded the right of first entry into a war. They are the oldest of the clans of the Merki, and guard that distinction with jealousy."

  "They were chewed up—we estimate we got two-thirds of them. Foolish to waste your elite for an opening move."

  "Not foolish to them. The only drawback is that when their spirits were swept up by Bugghaal, there was nothing to boast of."

  "Who?" Andrew interrupted.

  "Bugghaal, goddess of the dead, the spirit who rides the night, sweeping up the souls of the slain Into her quiver, bearing them to the everlasting sky. The problem was that when she rode past, none would be able to boast of their kills to gain her attention first."

  "Because we are cattle."

  Yuri nodded.

  "The shamans puzzled hard over that one," Yuri said with a chuckle. "They declared that since it is obvious that all of you have been driven into some madness, the death was honorable, since they were lighting against evil spirits who had possessed the cattle."

  "So they think we are evil spirits," Andrew said softly.

  Yuri chuckled, his head bobbing up and down.

  "Weak cattle-spirits though. The world is full of spirits, good and evil. The Merki find protection in that realm through the intercession of their ancestors, who ride the everlasting sky above them."

  "If our spirits are so weak, how then did we defeat the Tugars?"

  "Tugars. They were viewed as being foolish, too prideful. Though all were appalled, inside they rejoiced, for they saw it as a vengeance for the battle of Orki when the Tugars shattered the Merki Horde."

  "The Tugars are reported to have two umens with the Merki," Andrew said.

  "Your intelligence is good."

  "We have several hundred refugees a day coming out of Cartha. We get daily reports from Hamilcar.

  "I'd be careful."

  "Why?"

  "Another standard Merki trick. To somehow infiltrate the enemy. There is a story how, several circlings back, a pet was traded to a Bantag Qarth. The pet poisoned his master."

  "Why?"

  "He was promised that if he succeeded lis family would be spared the moon feast."

  Andrew nodded, looking at Yuri sharply.

  Yuri laughed, looking down and rubbing the ring on his finger.

  "Now, I might have told you that information as a demonstration of my loyalty, though in fact I truly have been sent to spare someone still in their camp after all. A game within a game."

  "I've already heard the story. Hamilcar repeated it to me the night you were brought in."

  "With advice to cut out my tongue, jam it back into my mouth, then crucify me on the walls of the city—the traditional punishment for an eater of flesh here in Rus."

  Andrew said nothing.

  "As we were saying, the Tugars ride with the Merki. I made a bracelet for Muzta Qar Qarth. I stood in his yurt when it was presented."

  "Muzta."

  "You know him?"

  "We met once."

  "Perhaps we will meet again, one called Keane," Muzta had said. He had spared Kathleen and Vincent, a strange chivalrous act. Out of character for all Andrew thought the Horde to be.

  "I'm surprised they let him live after his defeat," Andrew said.

  "There's almost a tone of affection in your voice," Villi replied.

  "Let us say that, in spite of everything, he did me favor once."

  Andrew listened for a moment. She was asleep, most likely with Maddie back in her cradle. She was title, at least for the moment.

  "I heard about that. A sign of weakness, some said. Curious that his own people have not slain him. He must still somehow hold power over them."

  "It is hard to kill a Qar Qarth, even among the more barbaric Tugars."

  Andrew detected the slightest note of superiority in Yuri's voice—again, the identification with his old masters.

  "Does a Qar Qarth ride at the lead in battle?" Andrew asked.

  "Rarely. He is the planner, the center of thought, the master hand pulling the strings of battle.

  "You noticed the flags."

  Andrew nodded.

  "We assumed they were for signaling."

  "Incredible. Blue flags for marking the line of march. Red for battle information. A message can fly miles in a matter of minutes, and is not tied to your wires that clatter. All goes back to him.

  "The Vushka are at the point of the first attack. The Qar Qarth usually remains at the center, so that neither horn is beyond his quick reach. The Zan Qarth is expected to range forward to gain blood and training."

  "Vuka?"

  Yuri nodded.

  "I heard he was the reason for the riot in Roum."

  "Hotheaded. Prone to be rash, yet down deep perhaps a coward. The opposite of his father, who is cautious, thinks out his plans, calculates his moves, and has the courage worthy of his office. It is something Jubadi learned when his father was killed at Orki, a lesson he has never forgotten. That is why, whatever tricks you have, he has already thought out the response. He expects to be surprised, and thus the surprise is lessened. His campaign against you last summer was designed for a victory, but it was also to probe you, so that even if he lost he would better know your thinking."

  Andrew leaned back in his chair, his right hand resting absently on the stump of his left arm.

  "He knows that you will fight to the last, that is assumed. It is hoped, though, that if you are soundly defeated here in Rus, the Roum will accept the offer of surrender and a return to the old order. That, when your situation is hopeless, you will surrender as well, under blood oath that you will not be slain."

  "He doesn't know us very well, then."

  "You see defeat as almost inevitable. You might change your mind before this is finished."

  If we are wiped out, Andrew thought, Marcus would be a fool not to accept the offer. At
least there would be a small hope, rather than the inevitability of annihilation.

  "And Vuka would rush in headlong."

  "Not himself, but he would send others in, and without the guile of Jubadi. Down deep I think he fears you. You are outside his understanding, again beyond the confines of tradition. He is far too unpredictable—sly, but lacking some of the calcula tion of Jubadi and his shield-bearer Tamuka, whom I served."

  Andrew stood up and walked over to the window. Not more than a week and a half ago they had danced out on the green. Tonight it was empty.

  Completely empty, as if already all of them were ghosts.

  Jubadi. He was the enemy. He had thought too much of them as the faceless Horde. He had to focus more. He was the enemy to be defeated.

  He thought for a moment of the package that still rested in the cabinet in the corner of the room. This was the time, but he had to be sure before he asked.

  He looked back at Yuri.

  "You saw Jubadi often."

  "Every day, my lord, since I was of the yurt of Tamuka. Where the bronze shield of Tamuka was, usually there was Vuka and Jubadi."

  Andrew nodded again, feeling a cold sense of calculation.

  "Why did you come back to us?"

  "My own reason," Yuri whispered.

  He paused again, his eyes distant, and then he looked back up to the ceiling.

  "How old is the baby?"

  "Why?" Andrew asked, his voice soft and very cold.

  "Just curious. Interesting, that you've had me over here several times and never have I met your child."

  Andrew felt an inward chill. He found repulsive the thought of the hands of a cannibal, one who had eaten at the table of the Merki, holding his child.

  Yuri smiled and shook his head.

  "I understand."

  Andrew, feeling embarrassed, looked away. Irrational. The man had been forced into it. He'd had to survive, everyone had wanted to survive, even when in the pit of Hell.

  Prejudice. I thought I was above it, he thought. Yet he felt his skin crawl at the thought of Yuri holding Maddie, his hands stained with the flesh of how many children?

  He looked back at Yuri.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Down deep, I know you're not."

  Yuri held up his hand.

  "It's all right, don't apologize. The winter before I was taken I saw the Tugars winter in Suzdal."

  He looked far off, again with that serene, detached look.

  "I was almost taken by them for the pits, the feast. I took my gold, the things I had fashioned, out of hiding. I groveled, presenting them. One of their women laughed, and with the flick of a finger pointed me away from the pit. I was set to work fashioning a necklace for her, for her old pet had died. She was going to take me as her new pet, but she died during the winter and I hid then till spring.

  "I saw those who traveled with the Tugars, tens of thousands of pets, I saw them grovel as I did. I saw them eat the leavings of the pots as well, struggling for a morsel while their masters laughed. I loathed them.

  "They loathed themselves," he whispered. "None would gaze into my eye, they were the damned. When alone with them, I spat in their faces if one dared to look at me. I reviled them, called them traitors, asked them why they did not draw a dagger in the night and at least slay one, for there were no families or villages which could then be taken in vengeance. They crawled away, whispering that I did not understand.

  "Now I understand, even as you do not."

  Andrew sat in silence, not looking at him but watching the pendulum of the clock ticking off the seconds of time.

  "I hate them for it," he sighed. "I hate myself. I even hate you, for never knowing what you could finally be reduced to the way I now know."

  His features did not change as he spoke. Still, there was the slightest of smiles, as if he understood some vast secret that Andrew could never fathom.

  'I want my vengeance," Yuri whispered. "In that, our paths have crossed."

  Andrew reached the point of decision, feeling a slight qualm of guilt, for after all this was different Bom what he had believed war should be. But this was survival. Yuri had finally reached the point he had been quietly maneuvering him to since they had first met.

  "I shall help you have it," Andrew replied. Standing, he went over to a cabinet in the corner of the loom, opened it, and pointed within.

  "You'll do it with this."

  "It's dangerous to go further," Hulagar said, pushing his mount in front of Jubadi's, and the Qar Qarth nodded in agreement. A grin of satisfaction lit his features as he looked through the scattering of trees to the flowing river beyond. In the middle an ironclad rode at anchor, its guns pointing toward the woods. A spattering of skirmish fire puffed along either bank, punctuated by the deeper blast of artillery.

  "Well, we've finally come back, my friend," Jubadi announced.

  Hulagar, his features breaking into a smile, motioned for a guard who had been waiting for them to come forward. The warrior bowed low, offering up a leather-wrapped case. Jubadi tore the covering off, and grinned as his hand gripped the hilt of the sword.

  "I marked where you threw it in the river," Hulagar said. "This warrior was with the advance guard of the Darg Umen that deployed before Suzdal. He dove in the river under fire, until he retrieved th blade."

  Jubadi looked down at the warrior, nodded his thanks, and then climbed down from his mount.

  "A gift should be matched in kind," Jubadi said, pointing to his horse.

  The warrior backed up, hands extended.

  "My Qar Qarth, I cannot."

  "Take it, and ride well," Jubadi said with a smile.

  Grinning, the warrior leaped into the saddle.

  "Now go back and kill cattle."

  With a shout of joy the warrior reared the hors< up then galloped off through the woods.

  "A generous mood, my Qar Qarth."

  "Reward loyalty and bravery," Jubadi said. He motioned for Hulagar to follow, as he walked down closer to the river's edge.

  A minie ball flickered through the branches above his head, the shot hissing with a cold cry.

  Hulagar stepped in front of Jubadi and motioned for him to stand behind one of the trees.

  "And yet I never reward you," Jubadi said, doing as Hulagar had requested.

  "I am your shield-bearer. It is not for me to be rewarded with trinkets or horses."

  "Well said," Jubadi said softly. "Loyalty of the shield-bearer is his lifeblood, as guided by his tu."

  "Something is troubling you," Hulagar said.

  "Tamuka."

  Hulagar said nothing, knowing that this had been coming.

  "In battle he left the side of my son to seek blood, and I see the hatred that simmers between the two. This is not as it should be between shield-bearer and Qarth."

  "No, my Qarth," Hulagar replied, unable to say anything else.

  "Why is this?"

  "What do you think, my lord?" Jubadi laughed softly.

  "Turn the question back to me, since you believe I might know the answer already." Hulagar nodded.

  "Because he despises Vuka, believing that Vuka murdered his brother."

  "Your words, not mine," Hulagar said cautiously. "Somewhere along this accursed river," Jubadi said quietly, and despite Hulagar's protest he stepped out from behind the tree to look at the Neiper flowing past, the ironclad not a hundred yards away.

  "Do you believe that Vuka did this thing?"

  "It is not my place to say," Hulagar replied cautiously. "Hulagar, yes or no."

  "Yes, my Qar Qarth."

  Jubadi held Hulagar's gaze, the shield-bearer not turning away. "I see," Jubadi sighed.

  "If I should fall in this campaign, would he be fit to lead my people to victory?"

  "His ka is strong," Hulagar replied.

  "Too strong."

  Hulagar nodded.

  "He went into the charge against my orders and then he held back at the last moment, at least tha
t is what I heard."

  "That is what I heard as well, my lord."

  Another shot whistled past, but he ignored it.

  Turning, he slammed his fist against the tree.

  "Why was it not Mantu who lived?" he gasped.

  "Bugglaah called his name," Hulagar said. "Fate is fate."

  "Now Vuka is the only son of the bloodline left to

  me," Jubadi said, looking straight into Hulagar's eyes. "When I die, he will be the Qar Qarth."

  "Speak not of your death, Jubadi," Hulagar cautioned, "for the ancestors might heed it as a wish."

  "Tamuka must swear to protect him, to guide him."

  "He shall."

  "There is no one who can replace Vuka."

  Hulagar was silent.

  "No one!" Jubadi roared, grabbing hold of Hulagar.

  "I have served you, my Qarth, for more than a circling, but I am not the shield-bearer of the Zan."

  "And if Tamuka should decide differently?"

  "My lord, only the father may order the death of the son, only the council of my clan may order the death of a Qar Qarth. It is not Tamuka's to decide."

  "I know that," Jubadi whispered.

  Hulagar looked down at Jubadi's hands, and almost apologetically the Qar Qarth let go and stepped back. Another shot hummed in, slapping into the tree above Hulagar's head.

  "To lose a shield-bearer to this type of shooting is one thing," Hulagar said, forcing a laugh, "but quite ignoble for the Qar Qarth."

  Jubadi stepped back behind the tree, and Hulagar breathed easier.

  "I know that Tamuka does not agree with how I fight this war," Jubadi said, leaning back against the trunk and taking the flask of fermented horse milk offered by his shield-bearer.

  "He speaks from his tu, and that is how it guides him."

  "I still do not understand it. We fight the cattle to preserve our way of life, the way of our ancestors, and yet he wishes to destroy that in the end. Granted, the Rus will most likely be destroyed, per-

  Imps the Roum will live on as pets—they have been loo infected with this thing—but to slaughter all cat-lie around the world? And the hatred that burns in his heart, it is not something I understand, especially from a shield-bearer. There is a cold calculation there, not born of hot blood but rather out of the icy, rational mind of your order. Yet if we kill all cattle, then in the end we starve."