'What for?' Naldeth returned with a handful of long bone splinters pierced with smooth holes. Risala took them from him and set to work instructing the eager bow makers.
'Snakes.' Kheda frowned. 'How do you suppose we might identify the most venomous?'
'What do you want venomous snakes for?' Naldeth asked with misgiving.
'Are you any kind of shot with a bow?' Kheda watched the stooped hunter summon a few of his particular cronies and loftily allow them to try their hand with the first bow. One hit the lizard skin, to mingled envy and admiration.
'No,' said Naldeth tartly. 'I've generally found magic more effective.'
'Then it'll just be me and Risala with poisoned arrows.' Kheda challenged the distaste on the young mage's face. 'You don't think the cave dwellers and the tree dwellers will flee all the faster from the arrows if they see their strongest hunters dropping dead when they're hit?' He saw that the savages were readily understanding Risala as she showed them how to sew the damp leather tightly around the wooden staves. Eager hands reached for the bone needles. 'I don't want to kill any more of these people than we have to, Naldeth, and the best way to ensure that is to kill off anyone we can identify as a leader as early as we can. The sooner the battle ends, the fewer will die.'
The wizard sighed. 'I suppose I'm still not used to Aldabreshin ways of waging war.'
'I told you, we wage war hard because that's the way to keep wars short.' Kheda found the disdain in Naldeth's face was rousing his anger. 'Every warlord knows that the most effective defence is relentless aggression. That doesn't mean we relish it. And we find that knowing that no quarter will be given to them does tend to discourage hotheads from starting a fight in the first place.'
'These people don't know that,' Naldeth objected.
'Then they'll learn and I imagine they'll learn fast.' Now that he had allowed himself to vent his temper, Kheda found he was disinclined to stop. 'So I'll crush the heads of this land's venomous snakes to make poisons for my arrows, and if I had time and the right herbs, I'd bury the corpses in a jar to ferment with the venoms, to make a paste ten times more deadly than the snake's own bite.
I'd show these people how to make scorpion pots to throw at their enemies, if they had clay, if I had the words to make them understand me and I knew which of this land's crawlers had the most lethal sting. When we retake the Zaise, you can have your ruby egg to work your magic and drive off the dragon while I'll take those barrels of naphtha and ground oil and that sulphur and resin and make sticky fire, just like we do in the Archipelago. That should show those tree dwellers across the river that these people are a force to be reckoned with, without a wizard to hide behind or a dragon to feed with their dead.'
'You think you have the right to show them such things?' Naldeth wasn't about to yield. 'All principles of warfare agreed in the north condemn sticky fire or any weapon like it as utterly immoral. Quite apart from anything else, such stuffs are hideously dangerous for friend and foe alike.'
'You expect me to believe that none of your barbarian war-captains has ever succumbed to temptation?' scoffed Kheda.
'There are cases recorded,' Naldeth admitted readily enough, 'mostly detailing how whoever was using the vile stuff was attacked by every other local army, including those he thought were his allies.'
Risala looked up from helping with the bow-making to interrupt the mage. 'Velindre says that's less from fear of the sticky fire and more because the only safe way to use such stuff is to have a wizard on hand. And any barbarian war-captain suspected of drawing magic into a battle can expect to have his throat slit by his own men before his enemies can reach him to do it.'
'I'd be inclined to agree that's a wise precaution,' Kheda said dryly.
'No wizard with any conscience would ever use his magic in a war.' Naldeth flushed with growing anger.
'Yet you'll give these people sticky fire to use against their enemies. What else are you thinking of? Poisoned smokes? I've heard tell of Archipelagan battles where warlords have used those and killed off half their own men.'
'The fate of friend and foe alike would be considered an omen,' Risala said tightly. 'Token of the rightness of that warlord's course or proof that he was in grievous error.'
'Do these portents absolve you of every responsibility?' cried Naldeth.
'A warlord would only ever use poisoned smokes as a very last resort, and he'd study the winds and weather carefully beforehand.' Kheda realised the wild men and women had stopped working on the sticks and leather and cord and were watching this heated exchange with bemused incomprehension. He tried for a reassuring smile to encourage them back to their labours.
'Where will this stop?' Naldeth demanded passionately. 'Where will you stop, assuming we subdue the tree dwellers and those people in the caves?'
'You're finally starting to think this through.' Kheda congratulated the mage acerbically. 'There's every chance we'll have to take the fight to whatever wild men live beyond this valley, to their wizard, and to their dragon. I hope this nexus magic you and Velindre plan on working with that ruby is going to be all you claim.'
'We'll be using that to drive off dragons, not to kill people,' Naldeth said wrathfully.
'And I'll show these people how to make a better means to do the killing that must be done, so you can keep your hands and conscience clean—' Kheda broke off as he saw the scarred spearman approaching with a couple of the oldest wild men he'd yet seen. He smiled and nodded and beckoned the three of them to approach.
The old men muttered among themselves as they came closer and settled themselves stiffly on the ground. Unfolding the hides they were carrying, they revealed lumps of shiny black stone and a surprising array of pieces of bone and wood. The oldest man, with ash-white hair, began breaking delicate flakes off the ungainly stones with a bulbous knuckle of bone. His neighbour picked one up and, peering close, knocked infinitesimal slivers from it with another stone, his tongue caught between toothless gums as he concentrated. Faster than Kheda would have expected, he held up a leaf of stone, sharp edges finely translucent in the sunlight.
The warlord tested the edge with a cautious finger to find it was as sharp as any steel. 'That will make a fine arrowhead.' He smiled at the old men and hoped his tone conveyed his approval.
'And this looks like some kind of resin to stick them to the shafts.' Risala was peering into a gourd that the scarred spearman had pressed into her hands. She looked around with a half-smile. 'If we can only persuade the best men with a sling to bring down some birds, we'll have everything we need.'
Naldeth was still brooding darkly on Kheda's forceful words. 'Where does this stop? What happens once we've driven off whatever dragon lives beyond the tree dwellers and subdued those people and their mage?'
'Initially, we wait and see if driving them offsets them fighting whoever lies beyond their far borders.' Kheda pulled both his sword and his hacking blade from his double-looped sword belt and sat down not far from the old men diligently chipping at their lumps and flakes of stone. Unsheathing the wide hacking blade, he slipped a whetstone from a little pocket sewn into the scabbard and ran it firmly down the edge.
'You want this war to spread still further?' Naldeth
wasn't giving up. 'I thought we were trying to improve the lot of these wretches.'
'In the longer term, I hope we shall.' Kheda concentrated on renewing the edge on the sturdy steel. 'In the short term, I'll settle for just not getting killed.'
Naldeth stared at the warlord. 'But where does this end?' he persisted.
Risala's gaze slid to Kheda, her expression unfathomable.
'Ultimately?' He concentrated on polishing out a shallow nick in the edge of the steel. 'I imagine we'll have peace when you've put all the dragons to flight and we've driven any remaining wizards off the edge of this island and any wild men who choose to stand against us rather than surrender are dead.'
Or when we have simply died through some mischance or fallen victim
to a mage or a dragon's malice.
'You really mean that, don't you?' The young mage was incredulous.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kheda noticed the wild men and women growing increasingly restive, concerned at the wizard's agitation.
'You talk as if we have a choice. We don't.' He strove to sound unemotional. 'Either we take the battle to the tree dwellers and their wizard and his dragon or we wait for them to attack us. I prefer to fight on my own terms. I told you - this is a war now. Wars are very difficult to stop.' It was a challenge to hide both his sympathy for Naldeth's dismay and his irritation at the youth's naivety. 'This is why we bloodthirsty Aldabreshi so rarely start wars and in fact do all we can to avoid them, whatever your barbarian storytellers may say of us. Aldabreshin philosophers liken war to wildfire in a forest. Remember, we have no mages to curb such things.' He paused to lay down the hacking blade and drew his sword. 'It won't be safe to stop until we have imposed our new order on
every last valley and cave redoubi. At least here we're dealing with just one island, even if it is larger than any in the Archipelago.' He swept the whetstone along the sword's curved edge. 'Though this whole debate will be irrelevant if you and Velindre can't keep the dragons from adding to the carnage. I suggest you concentrate on that particular task.'
Naldeth stared at him. 'How can you be so calm about this?'
Kheda shot him a stern look. 'It helps to remind myself that if battles are raging here, wild men and dragons can't be plundering the Archipelago.'
He glanced at Risala and saw that she at least understood that grim consolation.
'Is this all because you dislike magic so?' Naldeth demanded. 'Are you setting out on some quest to rid this place of wizardry, like the Archipelago?'
'Don't be a fool.' Risala's interruption was as unexpected as her scorn was withering. 'Weren't you the one decrying the perversion of magic governing the way these people live? Besides, we wouldn't even be here if you had left that skull-faced mage well alone and we'd got back to the Zaise without being dragged into these people's travails. Just remember, Naldeth, you're the one who started this.'
The mage was as shocked as if she had physically struck him. He stared at her, his face colouring beneath his tan as if he had been slapped. Jaw clenched beneath his beard, he got to his feet with all the dignity he could muster, hampered as he was by his metal leg. Without a word, he turned his back and walked away towards Velindre. She was still standing looking up at the sky, apparently wholly oblivious to the activity on every side, and to the furious row that had been echoing across the enclosure.
Risala drew her own dagger, pulling a fine finger of whetstone from a slit in the sheath. 'How long do you suppose it will take to clear this whole island of wizards and dragons?'
'I have no idea,' Kheda admitted with a qualm of his own. 'But what other choice do we have?'
Risala didn't look up. 'We could take the Zaise and sail for home and leave these people to their fate.'
'And wait for some new plague of savages and dragons to appear on our western horizon?' Kheda sighed. 'Besides, I don't believe these people deserve this life, do you? I don't think they'd be so very different from us if they could be free from the thrall of magic and dragons. Do you?'
'No, I suppose not.' Risala began sharpening her own blade. 'But why must all this be our responsibility?'
Do you want me to lie to you? Do you want me to justify bringing you into such danger with some invented portent? Forgive me, my love, but I can't do that.
'Because we're here,' Kheda said simply. 'And even if Naldeth did start this particular crisis, we all chose to come on this voyage. We all bear a measure of responsibility.'
'And everything you've ever been taught as a warlord won't let you walk away from what you see as your duty.' There was just a hint of despair in Risala's voice. 'Do you think we'll ever get home?'
'If we possibly can,' Kheda said resolutely.
They sat in silence amid the growing bustle until Kheda stood up and sheathed his newly sharpened blades. Leaving Risala still doggedly polishing her dagger, he went in search of a gourd and stick to catch snakes with.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Is every snake on this accursed isle really poisonous? I can't see how I could have mistaken that old hunter's meaning. Pointing to a snake and then falling to the ground with your tongue lolling out is surely clear enough. Ideally I'd like the venom to fester for longer than half a day and a night but it's already past noon. Let's get this fight started on our own terms before we 're attacked by the tree dwellers or their black dragon.
Kheda rubbed a curl of shaving from the gourd's woody surface and studied the image he had carved. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see two inquisitive children watching him, one girl and one boy, naked but for strings of crude beads around their bellies. Another boy was looking with avid curiosity at the stack of white-fletched arrows laid beneath Kheda's leather-wrapped bow. Glutinous bloody paste marred the glistening points of deftly shaped black stone. Kheda studied the children as he sheathed his dagger.
You 're probably about the same age as Efi and Vida, even if poor diet and a harsh life have left you both a head shorter. Are you as adept as they are at sneaking in where you 're not expected and getting your hands on what's been forbidden to you?
Snapping his fingers to make sure he had the full attention of all three children, Kheda tapped a commanding finger on the carving he had just finished. A serpent wriggled across the curved belly of the gourd, crude
mouth open to show larger-than-life fangs. Kheda pointed to the arrowheads, careful not to touch them, and grimaced with exaggerated fear. He fixed the children with a sternly questioning look and all three took a step backwards, tucking their hands behind their backs, eyes downcast. All the same, they exchanged an unreadable glance beneath their eyelashes.
'I think I had better make sure these are safely out of reach,' Kheda commented aloud. He tugged at the lizard-skin sleeve he had sewn to the pared-down neck of the gourd and carefully put the envenomed arrows into the crude quiver. As he tightened the grass cord threaded through the top of the uncured hide, he glanced up to check the position of the sun. Then he looked at the throng milling around the broad stone ring of the hearth. More wild men and women than ever were gathered around the scatter of rickety huts.
Where did they all come from? Can we possibly wage any kind of warfare with people we know so little about? Can I be sure they understand what I'm asking of them? Is Naldeth right? Is this madness? Is Risala right? Should we just fight our way through to theZaise and leave this dreadful place behind us? Could I ever sleep easily in my bed if I did? And not just because my dreams would be full of dragons and savages' boats on the western horizon. How dare Naldeth think only northern barbarians have any kind of conscience?
Kheda realised the scarred spearman was looking keenly at him. Taking the warlord's nod of acknowledgement as some kind of invitation, the wild man hurried over, holding a gourd spattered with some pale substance. Kheda swallowed the sour apprehension that he recalled always preceded a battle.
/ suppose I had better eat something. Strange, I can't decide if it's better or worse to be facing a fight with or without omens giving some prediction as to the outcome. Is it easier
to be braver with even false reassurance to cling to? What do these people have to stiffen their resolve beyond the brutal realities of their lives here?
The spearman dipped his hand into the gourd and rubbed it on his chest. He came to sit beside Kheda and set the gourd down between them, smearing more of the pallid stuff on his long legs. Kheda wiped a little from the rim and rubbed it between finger and thumb.
Pale yellow clay and grey ashes from the fire and some kind of grease.
The spearman nodded vigorously, continuing to coat himself with the ointment. It covered the darkness of his skin remarkably effectively. The savage reached for a strand of grass that had escaped the bow-making and laid it across
his slickly shining thigh. Thanks to the streaky yellow clay, his skin was now virtually the same colour. Grinning, he took Kheda's hand and thrust his fingers into the gourd, plainly urging the warlord to anoint himself.
'They had the wits to devise ways to hide themselves down in the grasses long since, it would seem.' Risala arrived, holding her own bow and arrows. Hers were the only other white-fletched shafts and she too had painted the leather of her quiver with a charcoal-black snake's head, long fangs prominent. 'That might almost be an omen.'
'It should help us tell friend from foe so we don't make pincushions of the wrong people.' Kheda scooped up a glob of the stuff and smeared it along his forearm. The spearman smiled and rose to return to the hearth where the other warriors were gathered in urgent debate. A more sizeable force than Kheda could ever have expected had gathered. The women stood a little way off, children kept close, babies strapped to their backs and bundles of necessities close at hand.
'I've just about got the measure of that bow,' Kheda
continued. 'If I'm not shooting at too great a distance. How about you?'
'I'm more likely to scare someone to death than hit them.' Risala set bow and quiver down and began spreading the concealing clay on her own arms.
'Are they ready to do this?' Kheda saw Velindre and Naldeth still deep in conversation beside the dead wild wizard's hut. 'They've been talking in that Tormalin tongue of theirs all morning. What is it they don't want me to understand?'
'Naldeth is still arguing that we don't have to attack the cave dwellers.' Risala's resigned tone nevertheless held some sympathy for the young mage. 'He says we have no quarrel with them. It's only the tree dwellers between us and the Zaise?
'We cannot leave them free to attack us from behind,' Kheda said sternly.
'I know,' Risala responded with mild rebuke. 'And so does Velindre.'
'In any case, I don't think he'd manage to convince the men here to leave the cave dwellers alone.' Kheda managed a brief smile and nodded towards a circle of wild warriors on the far side of the fire circle. Already disguised with the pale grease, they were intent on the charcoal map he had drawn on the hard-baked earth.
Western Shore ac-3 Page 45
