by Джеффри Лорд
«I’ll do my best, but in this sort of battle…» He shrugged. He could hardly explain that unless he took the lead, he’d have no chance of reaching Tressana ahead of the Elstani.
Blade rose to his hands and knees and looked to either side. That was the signal for the men behind him to stand up and move forward in a deliberately ragged formation. In Jaghdi armor and wearing Jaghdi helmets, they would deceive the sentries for at least a few vital seconds. Blade and Daimarz waited until the first twenty men passed the bush, then fell in behind them.
The raiders were halfway to the sentry fires when the first challenge came. «Who goes there?»
«You’re Jaghdi?» Blade shouted back.
«What?»
«Are you Jaghdi? We’ve come all the way from the Kettle-«
«Hey, Varosh! Get Siharma out of the queen’s bed and tell her we’ve got some new-«He broke off suddenly as he got a clear view of the size of the band advancing toward him. «Just a minute, there. Hold up, while I-«
«Archers!» Blade and Daimarz shouted together. They and all the men ahead of them went flat on the ground. Behind them twenty archers threw aside the Jaghdi cloaks hiding their Elstani bows, raised their weapons, and shot. At this range an Elstani crossbow could put a bolt clear through a man. The Jaghdi sentries went down as if they’d been machine-gunned. One of them fell into the fire. The sickening smell of burning flesh was in Blade’s nostrils again as he dashed past the fire. He caught up with the leaders, Daimarz on his heels, then went out in front. Blade and Daimarz were the first of the raiders to get in among the tents.
Manro heard the shouts and the running feet, and whimpered in fear. The anger of the gods was here, Dark Jollya was gone, and he was still chained.
The whimper turned into a scream. A woman came in and struck at him with the butt of her spear. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. He grabbed the spear with both hands. The woman looked at him in a way he didn’t understand, then pulled the spear out of his hands and stepped away from him.
None of the other women got close to him after that.
The raiders were only supposed to divide into two groups. One would go with Blade and Daimarz to kill the queen, the other would go with the Living Fire to stampede the rolghas. In the confusion the two groups quickly became four or five.
Blade killed a man with a downcut, then lost his sword as it stuck in the dead man’s skull. Three of the guardswomen charged out of a tent at him. Blade snatched up the dead man’s lance and used it as a quarterstaff. He smashed one woman’s knee, broke another’s arm, then thrust at the third woman’s face. She chopped off the lance shaft with her sword, but the stump caught her in the forehead. She reeled, Blade jabbed her in the stomach, then chopped her across the side of the neck with one hand. She fell on top of the other two women, unconscious but still breathing.
During the fight with the women, he’d lost Daimarz. He picked up his sword and started to move on, then saw a shadowy figure inside the tent and heard a whimpering cry. He stepped into the tent and stopped abruptly.
King Manro was kneeling in the middle of the tent, frantically tugging at the chain on his ankle. Blade saw the padlock on the king’s leg iron, and the heavy post driven into the ground with the other end of the chain stapled to it. He saw no keys, but there was an ax in the corner.
Blade dropped his sword and snatched up the ax. Before he did anything else, he was going to release poor King Manro and see about getting him away. The Elstani didn’t have any quarrel with him, and he’d be safer in their hands than he would be within reach of Queen Tressana.
Blade attacked the post as if it were his deadliest enemy. Splinters flew, the wood around the staples rapidly vanished, and King Manro stared up in silent confusion at the furious giant. At last Blade was able to drop the ax, grip the chain, and jerk it loose.
He turned to help Manro to his feet, but the king jumped up as if he’d sat on a snake. Grabbing the chain, he charged out the door, screaming at the top of his lungs. He nearly impaled himself on the spears of two men running up to see what was going on in the tent. They jumped aside, not sure what they should do to whom. Before they could make up their minds, King Manro was out of sight, not at all slowed down by the chain he was carrying. Then Blade was upon them, working off his anger at Manro’s foolishness. He thrust one in the throat and put the other down with a slash to the thigh, then leaped over them and started after the king.
He’d only gone a few steps before he realized that there was no longer much hope of getting Manro away. Even if he could track him through the dark camp, the Jaghdi would have time to rally and prevent escape. It would also keep him too busy to lift a finger to save Tressana.
From somewhere off in the darkness, he heard the screams and neighs of panic-stricken rolghas. The men with the Living Fire must be going to work, although the tents as well as the darkness blocked his view. Blade wiped his sword on one of the dead bodies and started looking at the tents around him. The largest one should be the queen’s.
Tressana saw that even in the chilly tent Jollya was sweating. Good. She was afraid. She ought to be. Tressana stepped back and examined the ropes tying Jollya’s wrists and ankles to the tent pole. They looked tight enough to hold, perhaps even tight enough to be uncomfortable. She hoped they were.
The shouting outside had penetrated the wine fumes some time ago. As long as no one came to tell her what was going on or ask her for orders, she was going to assume she wasn’t needed. She could at least start Jollya’s punishment tonight, and that was important. When people saw how Jollya had been punished, they would be too afraid of her to disobey. Then she would have no trouble in finding a way of putting an end to Manro.
Then the rolghas started screaming. That sounded like something she couldn’t ignore. Were the Elstani attacking? It was hard to believe that any of the people from the burned-out farms in the area would have the courage and weapons to attack five hundred Jaghdi. But after the Kettle of the Winds she wasn’t going to say that anything was impossible.
Jollya would have to wait. If it was Elstani, they could do too much damage. They also might give her a great opportunity. A slash across Manro’s throat with an Elstani dagger, and a couple of Elstani bodies sprawled beside his-yes, that promised well.
In spite of the wine, Tressana’s fingers were steady as she sheathed her knife and sword, pulled on her helmet, and started doing up her cloak. She was turning toward the door when one of the Men’s Guard burst in.
«Lady! Your Grace! Elstani in the camp! They’re-«
«Yes, I know. You’ll have the honor of-«
A monstrous figure appeared in the door. It was King Manro, coated with mud where he wasn’t bleeding from cuts and bruises, one eye closed, nearly naked, and holding the chain on his leg in one hand. Tressana let out a gasp of pure horror.
Manro spoke. Human speech from this figure was nightmarish, but the words were unmistakable. «You’re hurting Jollya. Bad Tressana. Bad!»
The soldier moved toward Manro but the king moved faster. The chain whirled and smashed into the soldier’s face. It became a red ruin. He collapsed, screaming horribly. Tressana broke out of her paralysis and thrust at Manro. Her sword sank deep between his ribs, but he twisted so violently that she lost her grip on it. She jumped back, but not far enough to escape the chain. It caught her around the left leg and she felt the bone snap as she went down. She rolled to the right, but the chain pulled her back. Manro was on his knees now, coughing blood but groping for something outside her field of vision.
He came up with it in both hands. A footstool, of heavy dark wood. He swung it, and when it caught her knee there was more pain than she’d thought there could be in the whole world. Then he swung it again, and she didn’t know where it hit or where the pain was. He swung it a third time, and she saw it coming at her head.
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she tried to open them again she couldn’t see anything except darkness. Then the darkn
ess got even darker, although she didn’t understand how that could be. She did know that she couldn’t see anything at all, but since there wasn’t any pain either it balanced out.
By the time Blade thought he knew which tent might be Tressana’s, he knew he wasn’t going to reach it. He didn’t even see much chance of getting out of the camp alive. The forty surviving Elstani were in the middle of a group of Jaghdi who already outnumbered them two to one, with more coming every minute. On foot the Jaghdi were fighting as poorly as ever, but they would soon be able to win by sheer weight of numbers. Blade set about the grim, unrewarding task of taking as many enemies with him as he could.
He killed five men at least, perhaps others, certainly enough to clear a circle around him. No Jaghdi wanted to get within reach of that deadly sword. Blade wiped the blood out of his eyes and started to shout a challenge. He knew what was going to happen next-Jaghdi archers filling him with arrows from out of reach of his sword. He made up his mind not to let that happen and got ready to charge.
Before he could take the first step there was a sudden outburst of shouting among the Jaghdi. Unmistakably, someone was yelling, «Treachery! Treachery! Sikkurad’s guards-!» before his voice was cut off. By then the damage was already done. The Jaghdi in front of Blade broke up and scattered like dead leaves whirled away by the wind. Blade stopped bellowing challenges to the Jaghdi and started calling to rally the Elstani. They hurried toward him, most of them showing wounds. Daimarz was among the wounded, one arm bloody but still useful.
«We’ve got to search the tents before they rally!» Daimarz shouted. Before Blade could stop him, he shifted his sword to his left hand and dashed into the nearest tent. Blade was following at a walk when he heard a strangled, «Oh, gods!» He ran the rest of the way, then stopped at the tent door.
Jollya stood against the tent pole, bound hand and foot to it, wide eyes staring down at the three bodies on the floor. One was a Jaghdi soldier, his face red pulp. The second was King Manro, lying in a pool of blood and filth with a sword between his ribs.
The third body was Queen Tressana. Her left leg was bent unnaturally, one side of her head was a spongy mess, and the blue eyes were blank and lifeless.
Blade started to back out hastily, in search of fresh air. Daimarz hurried forward and started slashing with his dagger at the ropes holding Jollya. As she slumped half-fainting onto him, a sudden commotion outside made Blade turn. Sikkurad, Keeper of the Animals, came tramping through the crowd, a dozen of his guards around him. All looked grim, all were armed to the teeth, even the Keeper. He was pale, sweating, and seemed afraid to look anyone in the face. He still held a short sword in a very steady right hand.
Blade looked from the Keeper to the men around the tent door, counted the Jaghdi, counted the Elstani, saw that everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to take the lead. Then he looked at the bodies on the floor and back to the Keeper.
«Sikkurad, how would you like to be King of Jaghd?» At last Sikkurad’s fingers lost their grip on the sword.
Chapter 24
Two days before, it had been very cold. Today the weather was hot and sticky, more like summer than autumn. In the southwest a wall of black clouds was building up, which promised at least thunderstorms and possibly hail or even tornadoes. Although autumn in Elstan was notorious for changeable weather, this was something beyond the normal. Men were saying that the gods themselves were confused by all the strange events since the Jaghdi marched into Elstan, and did not know what to do.
If the gods were still confused, Blade thought as he walked toward his rolgha, men were beginning to sort things out. It took some fast talking on the night of Tressana’s death and for several days afterward, but Sikkurad had now been hailed as King of Jaghd by all the survivors of Jaghd’s armies. This included not only the battered cavalry force, but also the infantry who’d sailed up the Adrim. They’d come in a few days before, after a march south from the river under Elstani guard. They would be going home through the forest of Binaark.
In return for letting the Jaghdi go home and recognizing Sikkurad as king, the Elstani were exacting a stiff price. They were taking three thousand amulets and the formula for the synthetic scent. They were also taking home a thousand rolghas, including three hundred mares of proven fertility, and as many draft animals. This would start rebuilding Elstan’s slaughtered herds, and within a few years also produce an Elstani cavalry. Then it would hardly matter if Sikkurad was overthrown, or that the hang gliders were no longer a secret. Elstan and Jaghd would be able to meet in battle on equal terms if they met at all.
Blade rather hoped they wouldn’t, although it was too soon to be completely optimistic. He also doubted that he’d be in this Dimension enough longer to know much more than he did now. He did know, however, that for every leader who swore eternal bitterness and bloody vengeance there was another who saw the war as the beginning of a new day for both peoples. Blade’s vision of the union of Elstan and Jaghd wasn’t popular, but it already had some friends. Haima was one in Elstan, Sikkurad was another in Jaghd.
As Blade mounted, Daimarz and Jollya walked up. They were only just restraining themselves from walking hand in hand, and Blade smiled down at them. What was growing between the amazon and the woodcutter was one of the reasons for Blade’s optimism. Even though her father would soon be ruling Jaghd, Jollya still wanted to get out from under his thumb as much as possible. In Jaghd that meant getting married, and for Jollya no man except Blade or an Elstani would really do. Since Blade was already betrothed to Chaia, that meant an Elstani. The most eligible Elstani for the daughter of the new king was clearly Daimarz.
It might start out as a state marriage, of course. Blade suspected that it would warm up quickly enough in the bedroom.
If it did, Sikkurad’s grandson and the heir to the throne of Jaghd would be half-Elstani. That would be a step toward uniting the two peoples which would be hard to reverse.
All around the herd of rolghas and draft animals, horns were beginning to sound as the herdsmen took their position. Most of them were on foot. Only a handful of Elstani had learned to ride in the last few weeks, and not many Jaghdi were being allowed to join the march. Even they wouldn’t have been allowed without Blade and Daimarz arguing hard for it.
«We want to bring the herd home safe!» snapped the woodcutter. «Is it so shameful to admit that the Jaghdi can help us do that? Or are we still so afraid of them that a dozen Jaghdi herd riders make us wet our pants?» He spat on the ground for emphasis.
Jollya untied a pouch from her belt and handed it to Blade. «If you don’t think they’re unlucky, they should go home to Elstan.» Inside the pouch were the Queen’s Jewels.
Blade shook his head. «I don’t think they’re unlucky. But don’t you think you’ve got a better right to wear them than Chaia?»
In spite of herself, Jollya looked toward a solitary wagon draped in silver-gray, the Jaghdi color of mourning. Tressana and Manro lay in it, embalmed for the trip home. «I hope Tresana won’t be forgotten completely,» she said quietly. «She did much good, even though she ended by doing evil. But for now, I think my wearing the Queen’s Jewels would keep awake memories better left to sleep for a few years.»
Blade had to agree. He thought particularly of the memory of Tressana’s gruesome death. He didn’t like to think about it, even though he supposed it could be called a rough justice-Tressana killed by the husband whose mind she’d destroyed. He nodded, and dropped the jewels into his pack on top of the amulets, the dried meat, and the wire garrote. «I don’t know how soon I’ll be able to visit you in Jaghd. If I set a foot out of Elstan before I’ve got Chaia with child, Haima will probably not only find another husband for her daughter but geld me as well.»
Jollya looked very serious. «That would be a disaster.» Daimarz carefully looked everywhere but at Jollya.
«Come on, Lorma,» said Blade. The cat stood up, rubbed against Jollya one final time, then leaped into her riding position beh
ind Blade. Blade pulled his rolgha around and trotted off toward the front of the herd. The last thing he saw as he looked back was Daimarz slipping his good arm around Jollya’s waist. He was too short to reach her shoulders comfortably.
The thunderstorm broke an hour after the herd set out. Blade was certain by then that more Jaghdi riders would be needed to get the animals safely to Elstan. The rolgha stallions and the bulls were being particularly troublesome. If there’d been more of them the herd might already have been disintegrating. Blade hoped it wouldn’t take a stampede to convince the Elstani they needed more help.
The first flash of lightning and thunderclap broke over the herd like an artillery shell. Blade heard bellowings, neighings, and furiously blown herdsman’s horns. He put the spurs to his rolgha, cutting toward the front of the herd and shouting for the Jaghdi riders as he went. He’d have to get all of them in front of the herd and try to head off a possible stampede, while the Elstani kept clear. The men on foot couldn’t possibly survive around the herd, while even the mounted ones couldn’t be trusted to handle their frantic rolghas except under ideal conditions.
The second flash and thunderclap sent a ripple of fear through the whole herd. Blade was out in front when the third explosion turned the ripple into a full-scale stampede. Then the dark skies started pouring down rain so that in a single moment the visibility shrank from five hundred yards to fifty feet. In another moment the ground underfoot was slick with the rain, and as Blade turned his rolgha, the animal bucked and kicked and went down.
He and Lorma fell clear, but before he could get up his rolgha lurched to its feet and galloped off. Blade stood up, aware of pains in his right wrist and head, and shouted to Lorma.
«Run! Get out of here! Go, Lorma, go!»
She didn’t move. Instead she crouched facing the oncoming herd, mouth open, her snarl inaudible over the rain, the thunder, and the swelling rumble of thousands of hooves. She was going to stay and die with him.
