by Джеффри Лорд
Blade was moved, but tried to strike a light note. «I suppose the woodcutters were the most determined about flying with burning fuses?»
«Of course,» said Daimarz. «We have our pride.»
«You should have some sense as well,» said Haima. «We can’t let the woodcutters kill themselves off proving their courage. It will be years before the Jaghdi give us enough amulets so that we can do without the woodcutters and the work they do.»
«Years?» snorted Daimarz. «Never, more likely.»
Haima shook her head. «I think perhaps the Jaghdi will see reason after their defeat. Not at once, perhaps, but before you and I are too old to get some good from it. I have always felt that when the killer plants are gone, the Jaghdi and the Elstani will start growing toward each other.»
«Like a rosebush and a killer plant!» growled Daimarz, shaking his head.
Blade was glad to see that at least Haima realized what might come out of this war for civilization in this Dimension. He wondered if he should tell her about Sikkurad and Jollya, then decided against it. There was no point in raising false hopes by revealing that the Jahdi keeper and his daughter were sympathetic to the Elstani cause. Besides, there was no telling what had happened to Sikkurad and Jollya. Blade just hoped that the two of them had heeded his advice and kept their mouths shut.
Haima and Daimarz seemed to be settling down for a long argument, so Blade turned away to watch the gliding practice. Two sites were in use, one a hillside for beginners, the other a vertical cliff for the more advanced pilots. The cliff was about three hundred feet high, more than enough to make carelessness fatal.
Eight gliders went off the top of the cliff while Blade was walking toward it. Some of them made rough landings, and Blade sighed wearily. The Elstani were much more interested in how to start a flight than in how to finish it. They also refused to wear heavy protective clothing, saying that the lighter their clothing, the more Living Fire they could carry on the day of battle.
A bunch of damned kamikaze pilots! thought Blade with a mixture of admiration and exasperation.
As he stopped at the foot of the cliff, he saw a ninth glider go off the top. The wing was bright blue, and he knew who the pilot was. Kima, Borokku’s sister, had managed to persuade the weavers to use a dyed cloth for her Rogallo wing. There was enough of it left over to make her an extremely brief bikini that she used as her flying clothes. She said she liked the feeling of the wind on her bare skin.
Kima went over the edge at a sharper angle than Blade liked to see. She was a good pilot, but he didn’t entirely trust the light cloth she’d used for her wing. She seemed to be straightening out, then suddenly her wing ripped across. She seemed to hang in the air for a moment, as if the cry of horror from the spectators on the ground was holding her up. Then her wing tipped up on one side and plummeted, flapping wildly.
Blade was the first to reach Kima after she landed. She was lying on her side, one arm moving feebly but her legs horribly twisted and one side of her skull caved in. Blade knelt beside her and rested his hand on her unhurt cheek until she died. As he rose, Borokku ran up.
«She’s gone before us?»
Blade sighed. «If she could only have fallen in battle…» He knelt and drew a fragment of Kima’s glider over her face.
Someone pushed through the circle of people standing around Blade, Borokku, and the dead woman. Blade saw that he wore the sleeveless tunic and boots of a message runner. The Elstani didn’t use riding animals, but their strong-legged messengers could relay word from one end of Elstan to the other in four days.
The messenger pulled a scroll out of his belt pouch and handed it to Blade. Blade read it three times, while the others tried to pretend they weren’t dying of curiosity.
Blade rolled up the scroll, handed it to Borokku, then turned to his audience. «It seems that the first Jaghdi scouts have entered Elstan,» he said. Then he looked down at Kima and drew his sword. «She will not have to wait long to be avenged.»
Everyone around Blade started cheering and waving weapons. He wished he could have been promising long life and riches for all of them, instead of certain death for many.
Chapter 19
The cloud of dust from thousands of hooves rose to mix with the smoke from burning Elstani farms as the main Jaghdi army marched eastward. They had been out of the forest for a day now and were invading the valleys of Elstan, taking prisoners and setting fires to the farms. Some of the Elstani had managed to flee and had set fires to their own storage buildings to prevent the Jaghdi from eating their food and taking their supplies, but many more of the Elstani were being captured. Now the army was preparing to ride farther into the valley, taking more prisoners as they went, and making their camp near the towering cliffs.
Tressana sat on her rolgha, the Women’s Guard around her, watching Efroin of the Red Band approach.
He reined in and took off his helmet. «We’re well enough started, Your Grace. When will you be joining us?»
Tressana studied Efroin’s dusty, sun-reddened face. It was hard to tell if he was questioning her courage, and she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. «As soon as the rest of the wagons come up. The Elstani have burned too much for us to risk losing the food in the wagons. Even that won’t be enough if you don’t keep your men in hand.»
«I’ll do my best, Your Grace. It would be easier if we had you with us.»
«We’ve talked of that before, Efroin. You will obey.»
«Yes, Your Grace.»
Seeing the queen’s mood, Efroin put his helmet back on and rode back toward his men. Tressana watched him go with the first doubts about her plan she’d felt in quite a while.
Dividing her army still made sense. Eight thousand men would ride on into Elstan, led by Efroin. Two thousand would stay behind under the queen, to gather food from Elstan’s remaining farms and protect the slow wagons as they crept out of the forest of Binaark. The Elstani would be too busy with Efroin to attack her.
There also would be no sharp-eyed men around to suspect her plans for King Manro. There was Jollya, and she would have to be replaced if necessary. There were two other women ready to lead the Women’s Guard and, Tressana hoped, able to do the work as well. Sikkurad would no doubt suspect the queen after Manro was dead, but he was harmless. He now seemed only to be interested in studying Elstani livestock and all the specimens he’d brought out of the forest of Binaark. It seemed that nothing much short of the end of the world would get his attention, and whatever suspicions Tressana had felt about the Keeper now seemed unnecessary.
In fact, there was no serious danger from anybody with her now. Efroin perhaps would have been another matter. He was both sharp-eyed and honest. Now he would be too busy to think of anything else. She could hope this would last until Manro was dead. If the Elstani were defeated by then, even Efroin wouldn’t gain anything by suspecting her. She was safe enough, given enough time and only a little luck. For the hundredth time she wished Richard Blade were still alive. If he were, she wouldn’t have needed the luck.
Manro stood by the tail of the wagon, chained by one ankle to the rear axle. He watched the rolghas trot past, kicking up clouds of dust. It made him cough. The women guarding him were also looking at the riders, not at him. He wondered why the women had put a heavy chain around his ankle. The men who guarded him hadn’t done that. But at least the women were gentle. They never pushed him or said unkind things to him.
Dark Jollya must have told them to be gentle with him. That was good. It proved she really was his friend, which was even better. He would need a friend to save him from Tressana and whatever punishment the gods would give her. That punishment must be very close now, because all the men were riding away into the new land and leaving Tressana behind. They did not want to be near her when the gods’ punishment came.
Manro wished the men had taken him with them. He didn’t want to be around Tressana either. But maybe Dark Jollya would be enough. She was only a woman, bu
t a woman could be very strong.
«-by the Soul of the Land, by the Heart of the Steel, and by the Highest Powers of my own land of England, this I swear.»
Everyone standing around the fire cheered the ritual four times. Daimarz tossed a small cup of Living Fire onto the blazing logs. The whooosh of blue flame nearly singed Blade’s eyebrows, and he was afraid Chaia’s long red hair would catch fire. He hastily pulled her back, then she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him.
He found himself kissing her back. Either Haima’s daughter had been acquiring experience behind her mother’s back, or she had a good deal of natural talent. It didn’t help either that she looked closer to eighteen than fourteen, a slimmer version of her mother. Blade finally reminded himself that she was only fourteen, and that this was only the betrothal, not the marriage.
The kiss lasted so long that everyone was laughing by the time Chaia stepped out of Blade’s arms. Haima was laughing the loudest. «Do you still think our women are like those of England, girls until they are sixteen?»
«I may change my mind. I guess I’ll know for sure after tomorrow.»
«Ah. Yes.» The mention of tomorrow sobered her.
Blade looked away from the fire. When his night vision returned he saw a steady procession of shadowy figures passing. Some of them seemed to be weird four-legged animals, with long thin bodies and no heads. Those were bearers, each pair of men carrying a rolled-up hang glider. Other bearers carried the pots of Living Fire in reed baskets on their backs. The glider pilots themselves were traveling light. They would have plenty of work to do tomorrow.
A pilot broke out of the procession and hurried toward Blade. He wore an elaborately tooled green leather belt.
As he came into the firelight, Blade recognized Fador’n. So did Daimarz.
«What are you doing here?» the woodcutter leader growled. He seemed to be doing a lot of growling lately. The strain was telling on all of them, except perhaps Haima.
«I want to ask Blade something,» said Fador’n firmly.
«I’ll give you something-«began Daimarz, clapping his hand to his sword.
Blade raised his hand for silence. «What is it that you want?»
Fador’n swallowed, and Blade saw that he was sweating. «Blade, I have been wrong in the way I saw you, the man who may save Elstan tomorrow. For this I have been called a fool. I may be that. I have also been called a coward, and I cannot bear that.»
«I have never called you a coward,» said Blade.
«No, but… Blade, let me be the first man to leap from the cliff tomorrow and throw the Living Fire on the Jaghdi. I beg you-let me prove that at least I am not a coward!»
Blade considered this. The first man off didn’t have to be a leader, but he did have to be a better than average pilot. The men following him would have to make much of their judgment of the wind from the way his glider behaved.
«I have never seen Fador’n fly,» Blade admitted. «Daimarz, have you?»
The woodcutter seemed reluctant to answer until Haima gently elbowed him in the ribs. «Come on, lad. The man’s asked a question. He wants an honest answer.»
Daimarz sighed. «Fador’n is a very good flyer. He has sometimes made a complete circle before he lands.»
Anybody who could make a 360-degree turn in a three-hundred foot drop was lucky, but he was also good. He wouldn’t have all his bones intact otherwise.
«All right, Fador’n. You can be the first.»
Fador’n didn’t say anything, and he shook all over. Blade was afraid the man was going to kneel to him. Instead he turned and ran back into the procession and the darkness.
Blade and the others around the fire watched in silence until the last of the procession was past. Two thousand men and women were marching off into the hills to a perch on the cliffs above the Kettle of the Winds. Five hundred were the glider pilots, the rest bearers and guards. When the last of the pilots had flown, the rest would come down the hills and take a position to the northwest of the Kettle. There they would stand between the retreating Jaghdi and the main valleys of Elstan.
The glider pilots who survived would join a small army of men on the far side of the river from the Kettle. Five hundred of the army were woodcutters and weavers. The rest were hardly more than a mob, but a well-armed one and very determined. They were the refugees who’d fled before the Jaghdi advance. They didn’t have to wait to get word from Masters to fight. They’d seen their houses burned, their livestock driven off, their crops looted. Many had kin to avenge. Tomorrow they would take that vengeance, if the work of the gliders gave them half a chance.
Five thousand men to fight half again that many. It won’t be easy, but it won’t be impossible. The Jaghdi are all cavalry, and if they suddenly lose their rolghas…
Blade would have been less optimistic if the Jaghdi had brought infantry to guard the camp. But all the enemy’s infantry was in the valley of the Adrim, making faces at the Elstani holding the pass above them. The Elstani made faces back, and occasionally rolled rocks down the hills. Perhaps the guilds who’d refused to believe Blade in time to send men south to help him would do some good after all, now that they saw how the war was progressing.
Now it was time to stop worrying and get some sleep.
Blade didn’t get to sleep for quite a while, because Haima insisted on making love with almost desperate eagerness. Blade found himself responding in the same way. Either Chaia’s kisses had roused him even more than he’d suspected, or he had the sense that this might be the last time he would hold a woman.
The thought made Blade sit up straight. He wondered if he was getting old. A few years ago he wouldn’t have been thinking anything of the kind on the eve of a battle. Or was it that his preference for being alone was finally beginning to weaken? Was it possible that he needed companionship more than he ever had before? That was an even more interesting thought.
He lay back under the furs, and fell asleep listening to Haima’s breathing and Lorma’s purring.
Chapter 20
The dawn air seemed chillier than usual at the Kettle of the Winds. Blade wondered if this was just his own anticipation of the coming battle, or if the weather was really getting colder. Probably both. He’d talked the Elstani into staking their whole future not only on one battle but very nearly on one weapon. And the year was getting on toward autumn.
Daimarz crawled up beside him, barefoot in order to move silently but otherwise wearing his woodcutter’s clothing. Together they looked down the precipitous cliff at the Jaghdi camp, where men and rolghas appeared no bigger than dots. The cooks were hard at work on breakfast, judging from the strings of smoke from the fire pits. One of the night patrols was riding back in with more Elstani prisoners. The day patrols were assembling by the ford, ready to head up the valleys. The patrols looked like insects swarming below.
«Still no sign of the royal banners,» said Daimarz. «Curse it! I want Tressana dead.»
Blade said nothing. The Elstani desire for vengeance on Tressana made sense from their point of view. The more chaos in Jaghd, the better. But would it be a step forward for civilization in this Dimension? Blade doubted it.
Tressana’s not being here left Efroin of the Red Band in command. Blade was certain that after Curim’s death, Tressana would have appointed Efroin as captain of the men, and that he would prove a dangerously good battle leader. Certainly he’d done well so far, keeping his men together and sending out patrols. No one could be sure how many Elstani prisoners were in the camp, but there might be more than a thousand already. Blade knew that the Elstani wanted their people safe, and they wanted them safe now.
Heavy breathing and feet scraping on stone made Blade turn around. Fador’n was approaching, followed by Borokku, seven more glider pilots, and bearers carrying nine fully assembled gliders. The gliders were flapping precariously in the dawn breeze, and Blade hoped nothing had been broken carrying them up the cliff. Looking beyond the new arrivals, Blade could see a proce
ssion of more gliders, bearers, and pilots winding its way toward him. From a distance the bearers looked like ants carrying leaves.
«Since the gliders are going to be all ready when they come up here,» began Daimarz, «do I have to-?»
«Yes,» said Blade. They’d argued the point before. Daimarz badly wanted to be among the first gliders to go. A man who’d be obeyed would be needed on top of the cliffs right through the battle, so Blade wanted him to be among the last. Daimarz agreed, and then tried all week to find a way out of the agreement.
Daimarz sighed. «Blade, you’re asking a lot in return for just saving my life.»
«No doubt.»
During this exchange Fador’n was tightening his green belt, and both he and Borokku were checking their gliders. They stood side by side as the bearers strapped the pots of Living Fire onto the carrying straps. Then the two men made their final adjustments and stepped forward to the rock that marked the start of the takeoff run. Blade suddenly found himself more sympathetic to Daimarz. He wished he were on his way too.
Then both pilots were running down the hill. The sound of their boots on stone faded with distance, then died away suddenly as the gliders lifted. They slipped over the lip of the cliff with yards to spare, and swept out into the sky over the Jaghdi camp. Blade let out the breath he’d been holding.
Efroin finished his breakfast of hard biscuits and sour wine, buckled on his sword, and walked out of his tent unattended. Like Tressana, he disliked taking men away from useful work merely to let a chief make a show.
He walked toward the wall of piled stones that separated the rolghas from the men. Nothing more was necessary here, with the cliffs behind and the steep banks of the river everywhere else. The men who got out of his path looked cheerful enough, although short rations were beginning to thin their unshaven faces. He hoped Tressana would come up soon. That would mean more food for both men and rolghas. It would also mean doing something about all those Elstani prisoners. He didn’t dare let them go, he didn’t want to just kill them, but he’d be cursed if he wanted to go on feeding them much longer. Every bite they ate meant one less for…
