Honored Enemy

by Raymond E. Feist

  The men still leaning into the rope nodded. Asayaga slowly motioned with his hands and a few feet were surrendered. Then he barked a command and those pushing on the root-end gained a bit of ground. The log suddenly stopped and Dennis could see where one of the slings had slipped backwards several feet.

  Asayaga saw it as well and cursed under his breath.

  ‘Cut the supports for the hoist,’ Dennis said, ‘As it pitches forward run the log out.’

  Asayaga looked over at Dennis with an icy glare. ‘I’m running this.’

  Dennis was ready to flare back but saw that all around the men were watching them, the tension ready to explode. He sensed that if the log tumbled over and went into the river a blood-bath would ensue.

  He slowly extended his hands. ‘You are the engineer, Asayaga, but if we are to save those children we have to do this now.’

  Asayaga looked at the children manning the ropes and then back at the sling. He quickly stepped up to the edge, studied the log and the hoist, then stepped back. ‘Get off from up there!’ he shouted, and the man with the butter threw the bucket aside and slipped back down.

  ‘All right, Hartraft, but if it all goes over the edge it’s your decision.’

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  ‘Our decision, Tsurani.’

  Dennis picked up an axe and went to one side of the hoist, Asayaga doing the same at the other side. Both ends of the hoist were resting on the bridge. If they cut them loose at the same time, he reasoned, the entire affair should pitch forward, dropping the log on the far side.

  ‘Get ready,’ Asayaga cried and raised his axe. ‘When it starts to let go, you men on the log push forward. On the ropes, let go when you can’t hold it any longer and don’t get tangled.’

  He looked over at Hartraft, then nodded and brought his axe down.

  Dennis struck at nearly the same instant and the ropes snapped free, parting with an audible crack. Groaning, the hoist began to pitch forward, slowly at first and then in an instant crashing over.

  The men on the end of the log shouted and ran forward, throwing their weight in.

  Dennis looked up and saw the far end of the log slam down on the opposite span, bounce, hold precariously and then roll, as if about to go over the edge. A groan rose up even as the men on the root-end continued to strain, driving forward. The log snagged against the side railing of the bridge, barely a foot of its length secured to the other side.

  No one moved for a moment, as if all feared that an errant step, even a word spoken, would cause the log to roll and fall. The hoist, like a crudely-fashioned necklace hung to either side.

  ‘We need a man across there,’ Asayaga hissed. ‘Someone light. Get Osami.’

  The boy stepped forward, nodding as Asayaga explained what had to be done. He pulled off his cloak and tunic, looked at the log, then sat down and yanked off his boots as well. Barefoot, he took a long coil of rope and slung it over his shoulder while Asayaga tied another rope around his waist. Asayaga grasped the boy by the shoulders, then let him go.

  The boy stepped up onto the log and everyone fell silent. He swallowed hard and looked over at Dennis. ‘I save Richard friends,’

  he said calmly, and then he was out over the chasm, walking slowly, upright, arms extended.

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  No one spoke as he placed one foot in front of another. The log sagged in the middle and it shifted slightly and a gasp went up as the boy seemed to sway, then regained his footing. Reaching the middle, he climbed over the ends of the hoist, advanced half a dozen feet then stopped. The rope trailing behind him had snagged on the hoist. Gingerly he reached down and started to untie the rope around his waist.

  ‘Go back and unsnag it, Osami!’

  Osami shook his head, untied the safety line and let it drop.

  Dennis looked over at Asayaga and could see the tension in him

  – not just for what had to be done, but for the boy. Loosened from the tether, Osami started up the final length, the angle of his climb steepening so that he had to lean forward. Again he almost lost his footing and this time a cry went up from everyone watching.

  Regaining his balance, he scrambled up the last six feet and flung himself onto the far side.

  A wild cheer went up, and Dennis looked back to see more than one of his men slapping a Tsurani on the back, exclaiming over the bravery of the boy.

  Osami did not hesitate. He deftly wrapped an end of rope over the log, moved back a way and flung it around a stone abutment, then ran the rope back, weaving half a dozen lengths back and forth, throwing what little weight he had into each weave then finally tying it off. Then he slid back down the log and grabbed hold of the end of the rope snagged on the hoist. Turning, he started back up, the men cheering him on.

  He started to look back, smiling, and his feet slipped out from under him. Before Dennis could even react the boy plummeted, swinging in a long arc downward, desperately trying to hold on to the rope.

  Asayaga braced himself, holding the other end, coiling it up over his shoulders and stepping back, screaming for Osami to hang on.

  Still holding the rope, the boy swung down like a pendulum, arcing under the stone span until the rope snapped taut, nearly dragging Asayaga over the side. Dennis leapt on top of Asayaga as he lost his footing on the icy pavement and the two of them crashed down together, Dennis grabbing the rope as well.

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  He heard the sickening thump of the boy hitting the rocky slope under the bridge and then Osami swung back into view.

  Half a dozen men were now on top of the two commanders, grabbing hold, helping to pull the boy up, and at last Dennis was able to reach over the side and grab Osami under the armpits even as the boy started to lose his grip. Other hands reached out, pulling Osami up over the side, a couple of men nearly plunging over into the precipice in their eagerness to help.

  Eventually, the group collapsed back from the edge and Asayaga reached out and cradled Osami.

  Gasping the boy looked up and smiled. ‘I did it,’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes you did.’

  Dennis could see he didn’t have long to live. His face was a bloody pulp, his skull was fractured, blood pouring from his ears, and one shoulder was caved in. How the boy had managed to hang on was beyond him. He knelt down, fumbling in his haversack, and pulled out a piece of cloth to wipe the boy’s face clean.

  Osami’s eyes were already going dark. He looked up again at Dennis and smiled. ‘Saved friend, yes?’

  ‘Yes boy, you saved us,’ Dennis whispered, and then Osami was gone.

  Dennis sat back as Asayaga held the boy, struggling to control himself. Then he stood up. Eyes distant he looked across the span.

  ‘Another volunteer, take the rope across,’ he said. ‘Once secure, I want twenty men over to help haul the second log across: that should give us good enough footing.’

  Another Tsurani already had the rope which Osami had clung to, and tying it around his waist he leapt up on to the log and started across.

  Asayaga turned away. Going over to the railing, he looked over the side.

  Dennis went up to join him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘He was my elder sister’s boy. Joined us just before we set out on this insanity. It was his first mission.’

  Stunned, Dennis said nothing. This was the same boy that Asayaga had been willing to kill back in the retreat long ago, the boy that 298

  Richard had insisted on saving, and who the cursed Corwin had helped as well.

  Dennis put a hand on Asayaga’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘There was no reason to tell you. In our way, we are all of the same family, all who serve our house, so his ties to me gained him no favouritism. Even Sugama would not have thought to go after the boy to strike at me.’

  ‘Sugama?’

  ‘Don’t you understand, don’t you see anything? Haven’t you learned anything of us in all this time? Sugama was my enemy, as much as you are. His clan seeks to destroy my cla
n; he was sent here as much to spy on me as to replace the Tondora officer who had died.’

  ‘But you were willing to defend him back at Wolfgar’s.’

  ‘To preserve my command. I could not let you kill him like a wounded pig when he was already dying. All of us would have lost face.’

  Dennis turned away and saw that the volunteer was already across, securing the second rope as a handrail for the next man to follow, and that another Tsurani was already up on the log and stepping out.

  ‘I never could thank your Richard for what he did in the way I wanted to, as an uncle and not just as Osami’s commander. I wish I had.’

  ‘He knows that now.’

  Asayaga looked back to the open span. ‘Once the second log is across we move the children and women, then the men. We should be across within the hour.’ His face an impenetrable mask, he looked at Dennis.

  ‘Asayaga, we still must settle what is between us, but I am truly sorry for Osami. He was a brave lad. I think Richard must be greeting him now in Lims-Kragma’s Halls.’

  ‘Remember, Hartraft, we go to different places when we die. I don’t think your gods let Tsurani into their Hall of Judgment.’

  ‘Still, I think Richard would want to greet him,’ Dennis said. He hesitated, his voice dropping. ‘And Jurgen would be there, too.’

  Asayaga sighed, finally nodding his thanks.

  ‘Dennis!’

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  He looked up and was stunned to see Gregory approaching, cradling his right hand, a bloody bandage wrapped around it.

  He felt a momentary panic. So damn close and now the damned moredhel were closing in.

  He looked past Gregory. Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers were circling in behind the Natalese scout, but where was Tinuva? But even before Gregory spoke to tell him what had happened he knew what the eledhel was doing: he was sacrificing himself in order to buy them time.

  As he heard Gregory’s words a terrible rage began to build in him.

  So much of his anger had been shifting over the last month. For so long it had been aimed at the Tsurani, at those who had murdered his family, at the war, and in the end at Corwin. But now at last he understood and it was as if a curtain that had covered his soul across the years had been torn away.

  He could see the same fire in Asayaga as well, for the elf had been the one who had always walked between the two sides, respected by all, trusted by all.

  He saw Roxanne and Alyssa standing at the edge of the circle and the fire was in their eyes as well, for the one that Tinuva now faced had destroyed their home, and murdered their father as well.

  He caught Roxanne’s eye. She studied his face and something in her eyes told him she knew what he must do. A mixture of fear, regret, and faint hope played across her face in seconds, then she returned to her implacable expression.

  ‘Figure out a way to get the children and women across,’ he said to her. Without waiting for a response he looked over at Asayaga.

  ‘Are you with me?’ he asked.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘We go back and fight. I’m finished with running.’

  A curtain of snow drifted down from an overhanging branch. It seemed to hover before him, each flake clearly defined in his mind, each one alive for an eternity, flowing with the gentle wind, cloaking him, touching his brow, cooling the fever of his rage.

  Tinuva slipped away from the tree, moving low, almost one with the snow on the ground. He rolled in behind a fallen log that rose like 300

  a white hump-backed beast from the forest floor. Bracing himself, he grabbed hold of the arrow sticking out of his thigh and snapped the end off, chanting inwardly to block the pain. He knew he should push it through but there was no time and doing so might sever an artery.

  Time enough later. He dared a glance up over the side of the log, ducked, rolled, then came back up, bow drawn, arrow winging on its way. The distant shadow moved and collapsed and for a second he felt a disquieting thrill; and then there came a laugh.

  ‘Well sent, brother, well sent.’

  Tinuva reached around to his quiver, drew another arrow, started up, then rolled backwards and dodged off in the other direction, racing through a thicket of saplings. He caught a glimpse of others standing silent, arms folded, watching intently, backing away at his approach. There were faces there that he recognized – for how could he not recognize cousins, comrades of hunts from long ago, those with whom he had once laughed, and whom he had once fought alongside, slaying their enemies together?

  A few even nodded gravely, for even though he was apostate and an abomination, they remembered hunting and going to war with Morvai.

  He turned away from the outer edge of the circle, an instinct telling him to suddenly drop, an arrow singing past his ear, kicking up a plume of snow as it struck the ground by his side.

  Sitting up, he drew, aimed, shot again and Bovai dodged back behind an ancient pine, the bolt tearing off a spray of bark.

  Tinuva was back up and running, but the pain was registering, each step a flood of agony that would have caused a human to fall, screaming, but he pressed on. He spared a quick glance to the south-east. Though the storm continued, still he could sense the face of the sun beyond the clouds, far above the white mantle, hovering in a fierce blue sky. It had risen to mid-zenith; the duel had consumed hours. He could hear angry mutterings from beyond the next hill, the impatient cries of goblins, the hoarse voices of men in protest, but all the moredhels’ attention was focused on this duel, a duel which Tinuva knew they would see as a hunt that would be spoken of into eternity, the hunt of brother against brother. Each knew the tricks of the other, the subtle movements, the way of thinking, the 301

  scent of the other on the wind, the feel of one’s gaze upon the other even with the back turned.

  He knew Bovai was breaking to the right, racing to cut across in front, rather than following the trail of blood dripping into the snow.

  He dodged behind a tree, a perfect position with a fallen log leaning against it, forming a small tunnel underneath. Crouching down, he drew and waited. Then he saw him.

  He felt the brush of the fletching against his check and sighted down the shaft. The clouds parted for a second sending a gauzy shimmer of light racing across the clearing, highlighting Bovai, telling him as well that time was passing slowly, and that far away men were still labouring to escape.

  Bovai slowed, as if his own inner voice was shouting a warning.

  He looked straight at Tinuva, eyes widening. Tinuva shifted ever so slightly and then released the arrow.

  The bolt sang through the woods, spinning between trees and branches, and tore across Bovai’s side, scraping his ribs. Bovai staggered, falling backwards, rolling for cover. A growl rose up from those circling the two, for though not all could see, they could hear and knew the sounds, were able to identify who had shot and who had fallen.

  ‘Tinuva.’

  It was the inner voice, a whisper.

  ‘Brother?’

  ‘You had me, didn’t you?’

  ‘No brother, I shot to kill.’

  ‘You lie. You had me. Why?’

  ‘It is not yet time, brother.’

  There was a moment of silence.

  ‘I have her, you know, brother,’ Bovai’s voice whispered.

  Tinuva lowered his head, body trembling. He knew this was a ploy to goad him into rage and error. After a moment, Tinuva whispered, knowing his thoughts would carry on the wind, ‘You have never had her. She will always be mine.’

  ‘Silence!’ Bovai’s angry reply, a scream of rage, was loud enough for all the onlookers to hear.

  Tinuva stood up, shooting blindly at the source of the scream, 302

  and was greeted by a taunting laugh. ‘Waste of a good bolt, brother.’

  Tinuva reached back to his quiver and felt that there were only half a dozen arrows left, but he did not care. It would only take one more to kill Bovai, just one more.

  ‘Come for me brothe
r, out in the open, blade to blade.’

  Bovai stood up. ‘Look into my eyes brother, come closer, look into the eyes that look into hers every night.’

  ‘Damn you,’ Tinuva hissed.

  ‘Yes brother, we are all damned are we not?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are. You abandoned your blood. That shame can be erased only in blood. Let me send you to the far shore, brother. There you can see the Mothers and Fathers, if they will have you.’

  Another flicker of sunlight dashed across the woods and clearing.

  He wasn’t sure how long had passed now, for together the two of them were drifting in another world, a world that only those of the eledhel and moredhel truly understood, where a second could stretch to eternity, or a hundred years could be but a flicker of an eye.

  ‘Come to me, brother. One of us is fated to die this day, let his brother look into his eyes and be the last he shall ever see of this realm.’

  Tinuva slowly let his bow drop; then reaching to his belt, he drew out his dagger and stepped into the clearing.

  ‘Move it, keep moving!’ Dennis cried. Stepping to the side of the road, he looked back.

  The column was strung out, the rear of it barely visible in the drifting snow which came down in a hard squall, then in seconds lifted to a few flurries, then closed in again.

  Men were gasping, staggering, legs pumping, all semblance of formation gone, the strongest to the fore, the weaker to the rear.

  No scouts were forward, all caution abandoned in this headlong rush, the column rushing along like a torrent of rage unleashed.

  No longer were they the hunted: now they stormed forward as the hunters.

  Dennis turned to look up the road. How much further he wasn’t sure, for the ride down this path with Roxanne had been in the dark.

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  Gregory had ridden forward, promising to wait at the turn-off into the woods and to give warning if the moredhel were advancing.

  ‘How much further, Hartraft?’

  Asayaga staggered up to his side, breathing hard, sword drawn, the blade catching a glint of sunlight when the sun showed through the clouds for an instant.