Reap the Whirlwind

by C. J. Cherryh

  "Correct," Jegrai replied, plainly wondering what she was getting at. They didn't fight at night because fighting on horseback when the horses couldn't see was worse than stupid, it was courting suicide.

  But fighting wasn't what she had in mind. "So, figure the Talchai are all bedded down for the night—not asleep yet, but settled in. Suddenly the skies fill with thunder and fire, and weirdly colored lightning, and when it passes, their attention is directed to the ridge beneath where the lightnings were. Because up on the ridge directly above the camp there's a flash of light. When they can see again, there are half-a-dozen Vredai riders with the Running Horse banner—and they're all glowing. What would they think?"

  "That ghosts had come to haunt them," Northwind replied positively.

  "Then the skies open up again, and there's another flash of light, and the riders are gone. Say this gets repeated, at irregular intervals." She grinned. "Like overcast nights, or nights with no moon, but I'd bet they don't make the connection."

  "Sen would probably be able to convince them that these were demons, which would make them certain that they were in the right, but that would not keep them from being terrified," Northwind observed shrewdly. "We have too many tales where the demons are the ones who win. You can do all this?"

  She shrugged. I need to take a pain-potion, and I need to stay awake. Gods, what a choice. Guess I'll stay awake. "It's fairly easy, actually. We already have the fireworks, we use them at festivals. The phosphor is easy enough to get. Slimy stuff, but glows very nicely after dark. Getting the riders in place without being seen is not any kind of a problem—cover them with blankets and move them in while the sky is lighting up, reverse the process when you're ready. We could even supply some fairly weird noises, but I personally think that silence would be more effective."

  Jegrai grinned ferally. "This will destroy their will," he said positively, "and Sen will be able to do nothing. So; where do we actually meet them?"

  "Well, now, that depends on you, Khene," Felaras said slowly. "It depends on whether or not you want them to have the option of escape."

  "How so?"

  Felaras looked over to Ardun, who cleared his throat to get their attention. "Well, we can meet them either on the other side of the river, or just below the Teeth. If we hold them on the Azgun side, there's a good chance that once we get Sen—that is the plan, isn't it? Take out their Khene?"

  "Yes," Jegrai replied. "Without him they will have no will to fight"

  "All right, then; once we do that, they'll likely turn tail and run rather than surrender. After what they did to you folks, they aren't going to be expecting any kind of mercy out of you. But if we hold them at the Teeth, the river will be behind them and they won't have that option."

  "Which means that they will fight like any cornered thing," Northwind observed. "This could be very bad for us, for we could sustain many losses. Yet—"

  "Yet there is no small number of you who feel like Yuchai," Ardun replied dryly. "You want them destroyed, root and branch."

  "Jegrai, I'm going to ask you to do something that would be hard even for one of my people, trained as they are in logical thinking," Felaras said wearily. "Certainly it's beyond Zorsha at the moment, and you and he are of an age—but I think you can do this. Look at the situation logically, and analyze it. Think of it as a problem in tactics, and not as if your heart were involved in it."

  Jegrai did not look happy—but he did look thoughtful, which was a good sign.

  "What is it you really want to do here?" Ardun asked. "Define your goals. Do you just want Vredai safe? Do you want Vredai safe and Talchai so demoralized they'll be out of the politics of the steppes for your lifetime? Do you want that, and to follow up on the gap they're going to leave behind? Or do you have another goal altogether?"

  "If I were to have all my wishes?" Jegrai asked, face puzzled, and a little confused.

  "Exactly; Khene Jegrai, assume that you know that the Wind Lords themselves have just luck-wished you. What do you plan to do with all that good fortune?"

  He studied the map; if gazes had held power, he'd have burned holes in the paper.

  "It is not the Talchai," he said slowly, each word falling like a stone into the silence. "It is not even Sen who is the root of our troubles. It is the Suno. They began it. Until they meddled, it was a rare thing for one of the people to spill so much as a drop of a brother's blood."

  Northwind nodded, but said nothing.

  "If Sen were gone—if we were to let loose upon the warriors your fire-throwers, or even that terrible Sabirn-fire of which you have spoken, the Talchai would run, if they could. If they ran, they would carry back to the steppes the word that Vredai has the powers of gods—or demons, it truly does not matter which. They would hide themselves, lick their wounds, I think—and I hope reflect on how none of this would have occurred had they not given ear to their Khene and his dishonorable plans to war against the helpless."

  "Fine, to a point," Northwind said. "And Vredai is then safe. But there are those who would miss their half-breed warhound, eh?"

  "The Suno." Jegrai took his eyes off the map and looked over at his advisor. "Which means—" He paused, and shook his head. "I do not know what it means. I cannot say what they will do."

  "I can think of things they might," Northwind said, leaning his weight on his arms so that the desk creaked a little. "They might look to the Clans for another half-breed wardog, or even breed another themselves. They might try to simply corrupt another Khene. Certainly they will not act upon this themselves, sending an army out to find Vredai. But that does not mean they will leave the Clans in peace. They will do no such thing. We are too much of a threat to them."

  "All wishes granted, Jegrai," Felaras prompted. "Think in the long term."

  "I should like—to unite the Clans, as Sen tried," he said, eyes shining as he looked into his own dreams and picked out the best of what lay there. "But in honor, under true alliance and pledges to be trusted. And allowing those who would not come to go their own path. Then—I should like to take this war the Suno began upon us back to their own hearth."

  "I think you've just answered the question about where we meet them," Ardun said, standing up with a sigh and stretching his back. They could all hear his back pop, so quiet was the study.

  "Huh. Indeed. On the other side of the river, and let as many escape as we may, once Sen is no more." Jegrai looked across to Felaras, doubt shadowing his face. "Can we do this, Master? Even your folk and mine together?"

  "We can try," she shrugged. "It's no more foolish a plan than Khene Sen's, and one with a great deal more concern for the well-being of everyone involved. My only question is, can you persuade your people to the first step?"

  "Letting the Talchai go? I think so," he replied. "I must point out to them that to serve them as they served us is no less without honor—and to send them back with their tails tucked in will show every Clan on the steppes that Vredai will not be trifled with." He quirked one corner of his mouth in a half-smile. "Between maintaining honor, and being able to send the Talchai running in fear, I think I can persuade them to the task."

  Felaras was considering what to say next, when the room shook with a roar that was not thunder.

  "What in—" Ardun shouted, startled.

  Felaras knew there was only thing that could be—and given the ill-wishing going on and how close he was to her—

  "Gods!" She threw her cane aside and ran, limping, for the door, urgency overriding pain. "Oh, gods! Zorsha!"

  * * *

  The calm of the warm night splintered.

  Halun had just reached the side of his tent when the roar of the explosion at the top of the mountain destroyed the peace of the night. He jumped a foot, and grabbed a rope tent-support for balance as his eyes went immediately to the crack between the peaks where the invisible Fortress sat beside the road through the Pass. A tower of yellow-gold flame rose from there, reaching upward like a demon's arm in the silence that
followed the explosion for one breath—two—

  Then it collapsed back down, leaving only an ugly red blotch reflecting against the rocks of the peak above the Fortress to show that the fire still burned.

  Halun's heart lurched into his throat and stayed there, and he clutched the tent-rope so hard it cut into his palm.

  Gods—did I do—oh, gods, I must have!

  He turned and ran back the way he had come, only thinking I have to get back up there! He reached the stabling area and stumbled for the picketed line of horses, arriving in time to see Teo and Mai tearing off up the road to the Pass on their own beasts. One of the Vredai—Thank the gods—had already anticipated him; incredible as it seemed, his horse was saddled and bridled and waiting with a young herder-girl holding the reins. He scrambled into the saddle somehow—she handed him the reins—and then he, too, spurred off into the smoke-tainted dark, following the others.

  * * *

  "Not water, you fools," Felaras shouted at the top of her lungs, limping toward the scene of the disaster. "Sand! That's Sabirn-fire!"

  The fire crews were black blots against the red and yellow of the flames; unidentifiable. Those carrying buckets of water literally dropped them. Someone, bless his or her quick mind, ran like a thin shadow up to where the sand barrels were kept on the top of the wall against siege fires, and began rolling them right off the edge of the walkway to crash and break open at the feet of the fire-fighters. The fire crew stooped and scrambled after their dropped containers; the empty buckets were refilled with sand, and the fire-fighting continued with scarcely a pause.

  Felaras clutched at Jegrai's shoulder, scarcely aware that she was doing so, and moaned. The little tower was wrecked; reduced to a heap of tumbled stones. The fire-fighters were getting the pockets of flame under control but—somewhere under that pile of rubble was Zorsha.

  Or what—oh, gods—is left of him.

  "Zorsha!" screamed a young voice behind them, and Yuchai darted out of the door in the wall and past them, heading straight for the wreckage.

  Jegrai slid out from under Felaras's hand and sprinted like a champion foot-racer, reaching the boy before he even got close to the carnage, and tackling him.

  They went down in a tangled heap of long limbs on the packed dirt of the courtyard; Yuchai tried to squirm away, but Jegrai kept a tight hold on him, shouting at him in their own tongue. All at once the boy capitulated, collapsing in Jegrai's arms and breaking into terrified sobbing.

  The Khene got slowly to his feet and drew the boy up after him, holding him closely, then leading him back past Felaras.

  "We can do nothing," he said as he passed her. "I will get the boy back to his bed; we will wait for word."

  She nodded absently; the fire crew was doing a good job of smothering the blaze and even the thick smoke was being dispersed. Now most of the light in the back courtyard was coming from the torches and lanterns, not the fire itself.

  Kasha came to take Jegrai's place as her support; her body was rigid beneath Felaras's hand, and she trembled. For that matter, Felaras herself was shaking from head to toe.

  Oh gods, we should have thought of Zorsha—we should have thought and brought him under the protection too. But I was sure I'd taught him enough to deflect properly—and surely he realized that he'd have to keep a shield up when working with the fire!

  Ardun strode past to take charge of the rescue crew—who were mostly Watchers, anyway. "Get those damned stones moved!" he was shouting. "No not those, those! No, no, you fool! Don't touch that support, you'll just start another fall of stone! Get the blocks off it first!"

  There was nothing they could do but stand and watch—and hope.

  Two horses galloped into the back court, followed by a third. The very first rider was Teo, easily identifiable because of his size; he flung himself out of the saddle, peeled off his tunic, and threw himself into the work crew all in one movement. His powerful young body made an immediate difference; he was able to get into places only big enough for a single man, and lift things from there that only a couple of the others would have been able to tackle. Tiny Mai was the second rider, had to be. The asexual shadow leapt from the horse and went straight to the bucket crew, taking the place of someone larger who was thus freed to join the rescuers.

  Halun was the third rider, pulling his horse up beside Felaras and sliding off untidily.

  "Who—" he panted.

  "Zorsha," Felaras choked out. "He—he was working with Sabirn-fire."

  Halun moaned and made as if to join one of the two crews. Kasha caught his sleeve and held him back.

  "Not you, old man," she said in a dead, calm voice. "You're too old and out of shape. You'll only get in the way, or get yourself hurt."

  As if to underscore her statement, Teo uncovered a pocket of the smoldering fire, which blazed up in his face. He jumped back in time to avoid more than a touch of the flames, and stood out of the way while a fire crew dealt with it.

  When the flames were out he went right back in before the blocks of stone even had a chance to cool.

  Boitan joined them, his arms and Shenshu's laden with supplies. "Is it only Zorsha?" he asked quietly.

  "So far as I know," Felaras replied around her fear, ignoring Halun's groan. "He wouldn't let anyone else work with him; said it was too dangerous."

  "What was he doing in there?" Halun demanded wildly; Felaras glanced over and saw that his face was contorted with fear, grief, and something she couldn't properly identify. "Felaras, what in hell did you set him to? What insanity possessed you to put him on Sabirn-fire?"

  "Set him to?" Kasha choked. "Great good gods, Halun, she couldn't have stopped him if she'd tried! You've been living down there with those folk, haven't you even heard one story about what happened to them when the Talchai took their camp?"

  Halun shook his head dumbly.

  Kasha stared at him in profoundest amazement. "Zorsha got it all in the face from young Yuchai—and since then, all he's been interested in is a way to decimate the Talchai as badly as they did Jegrai's folk. That's why the Sabirn-fire, he was trying to work out a way to seal it into mortar-canisters—"

  She was interrupted by a hoarse shout from Teo. "Here! I found him! He's under here!"

  They surged forward in a body. Of them all, only Felaras had seen victims of Sabirn-fire; that had been long, long ago, when she was a bare novice.

  She was dreading what Teo was likely to uncover.

  Teo tore huge blocks from the pile by himself, flinging them to the side with frenzied strength. His face was contorted, and tears made runnels through the crust of ashes on his cheeks; his chest was smeared with ash and shining with sweat, and he looked like something out of the lowest hells.

  In moments he had the little coffin-shaped area in which Zorsha was lying cleared of rubble. Felaras only got the barest glimpse of something dark and twisted—and it was moaning.

  "Move, dammit!" Boitan snarled, shoving his way between the rescuers; Shenshu and Kasha behind him, carrying a board from the wreckage. "Here—gently—roll him over onto this—"

  The moans spiraled up into harsh screams, and Felaras looked away. Into Halun's eyes. And she recognized what she saw there.

  Guilt. Terrible, soul-searing guilt. But why?

  She had no time to wonder about that, for the rescuers had gotten Zorsha out of the tumble of stone and down onto the courtyard, laying him practically at her feet. She went to her knees beside him, as someone brought Boitan a lantern in response to a snarled demand for light.

  It was as bad as she'd feared.

  He'd taken the raw fire-blast right in his face; his eyes were—gone. Just a charred swath where they had been. From head to waist, he looked like nothing so much as badly charred meat; his tunic had burned right away, and bits of it flaked off every time he moved. His hands didn't bear thinking about. There was bone showing.

  She looked at Boitan, who caught her eye, and shook his head slowly.

  Oh, gods—H
er throat closed; she couldn't breathe. All she wanted to do was howl in agony.

  A harsh whisper caught her attention, forced her to look back down at the thing at her feet that had been the handsomest lad in the Order.

  "—aras—" the lips whispered again.

  "I'm here," she said, leaning down, but not touching him. "I'm here, lad. So's Halun."

  "—alun? Ah—" What was left of his face spasmed in pain, as Halun joined her, kneeling beside her, looking as if he wanted to gather the boy to his breast.

  The mouth moved again. Gasping half-words through pain that must have been unbearable. "—alun.—elp—elaras. Got to. Help—elaras. Boy. Jegrai.—redai. Swear! "The charred travesties of hands pawed at the front of Halun's tunic. "Swear! Swear!"

  Halun was sobbing as Felaras had never seen him weep in her life. "I promise. Oh, gods, Zorsha, I swear it, I swear—"

  The lips almost seemed to smile. "I—love—you—all," he said, clearly, and carefully. Then, just as clearly, but cracking with anguish, "Help—me—go."

  Boitan caught her eyes again; his face was wet, but the hands holding the long, thin mercy-blade were steady.

  She looked briefly down—and as if he had sensed her eyes on him, Zorsha whispered. One word. "Please."

  She choked, and nodded. Boitan moved so quickly she almost didn't see it happen. Zorsha surely was in such pain he never felt the keen-edged blade slip between his ribs and find his heart.

  He just sighed once—then—he was gone.

  Halun flung himself across the body and broke into hysterical, punishing sobs of grief.

  Felaras unashamedly did the same.

  * * *

  The potion Boitan had given her had numbed her physical pain, and had put some distance between her and her sorrow. But the grief was still there, a constant that filled her throat with tears and would not let her sleep. She gave up tossing on her bed after too many hours of staring at the ceiling, and lit a candle to stare at instead.

  Now the candle was guttering out, and birds were hailing the dawn just outside the window. And the air still stank of ashes and burning.