by Jane Baskin
“Look, it made sense. I was at Lord Vel’s keep, and I did manage to sabotage his weapons dump. I was getting away, when the girl just … appeared. Running toward the explosion, some kind of weapon in her hand. I ducked behind a tree, but then I thought … she’d make a fine hostage.”
“What by all the gods made you think that? She could have been a servant.”
“Not a chance, Nayan. She was dressed richly, as you see. Although a month or so of road wear have tarnished her a bit. Plus … I recognized her as Lord Vel’s daughter. The red hair, everyone knows about that.”
Another sigh. “What were you thinking, you fool?”
“I was thinking that in addition to crippling their war machine, as we planned, having an important hostage would make them think twice about raiding this year.”
Nayan, moving to a window. Quiet for a while. Knowing the girl was just on the other side of the wall. Wanting to look through that little hole in the masonry. Why? A sudden image coming into his mind: his hands around her throat. Big hands, a delicate throat. One way to make the problem disappear. Shaking his head to evict the thought.
“Noar, how the hell did you do it? Lord Vel’s daughter is known to be a warrior herself. How did you subdue her, and keep her subdued all the way here?”
“You think I can’t outfight a woman?” Noar’s tone, highly insulted. Anger, rising.
“Women fight differently, you know that. They’re fast, sneaky, and evasive. Many men – some of our best – have been beaten by women. Our own women fight off raiders.”
“Well this one didn’t beat me. I beat her!”
“How?”
“I – I had a flask of gell.”
“What?!”
“I had some gell powder. I thought it might come in handy. Our mission – was dangerous.”
“What – gods alive, Noar! What could you possibly have done with gell? Hypnotise a weapons dump?”
Noar, stiffening. “It’s useful in hand-to-hand, you know that. If you throw it in an opponent’s face … ”
“Since when do you need help in hand-to-hand combat?”
“Since we decided to sneak into the South, just the two of us, and blow every weapons dump we could find! Exactly when they were gearing up for war!”
Nayan, suddenly getting it. His brother … had been afraid.
Made sense, that. It was a wild idea. Was scary, if you thought about it. Why hadn’t he?
Poor Noar.
“So you subdued the girl with gell, and kept her that way all the way from Lord Vel’s keep to Cha-Ning.”
“Pretty much.”
“What do you mean, ‘pretty much?’”
“Well she had to wake up sometimes. I had her strapped to a litter I made and lashed behind my gantha. I woke her up to feed her and give her water.”
“Which I suppose she accepted graciously.”
Finally. Noar’s posture, relaxing. A little. “Uh, not really. She fought me like a Cha-Ning lion. Kicked like a gantha. Got me in the ribs once. Might’ve broken something. See, here? Almost got me in the nuts once. But her hands were tied. I had the advantage.”
“Did she eat?”
“Not much. But she took water.”
“Didn’t she have to piss now and then?”
“I told you, I kept her hands tied. I helped her with her pants.”
“Gods alive, she must hate you.”
“I believe she does.”
Nayan, shaking his head. One heavy exhalation. Then: “Noar, you’ve done enough. As an act of mercy, don’t let the girl see you. I’ll see she’s tended to.”
Calling maids, older women, to feed and bathe the hostage. To supply her with warm clothing. (Her own Southern garb: far too inadequate for the approaching Cha-Ning winter.) At first, she: fighting, spitting. But the patience, wisdom of the maids, finally prevailing.
“See here, young one. You’re a prisoner, like it or not. You may as well be a clean, warm prisoner.”
Finally allowed herself to be bathed, her hair washed and combed. Dressed in practical Northern clothes: long sleeved, knee length tunic, pants, boots. All lined with combed off seldig fur: light, silky. A hearty meal brought to her. Braised meat, roasted vegetables, warm ale. Her bed warmed and turned down. Soon enough, the ale doing its work. The exhausted hostage, into night clothes, then into the bed, asleep.
One of the maids, whistling as they left, locking the heavy door. “I tell you, he that lays hold of her, will be a lucky man.”
Nayan, looking through the hole in the stone wall, one last time. Couldn’t see the girl fully. Just the red sea of hair, hanging over the bed edge. I shouldn’t feel such murder. It’s not her fault. It’s not our way. But … I could strangle her with that rope of hair. Then: ashamed. At how much he enjoyed the thought.
Sighed. Looked at the pail in his hand. Took out the mortar, plugged the hole.
While Noar sulked in his rooms. Drank his ale spitefully. Swore that one day, he’d make his brother treat him with respect.
What now? Had word even been sent to Lord Vel? Maybe he thought she had been killed in the explosion that destroyed his ability to fight for months to come. Long months; at the end of which the gell would have been harvested. Would have been processed. Would have been hidden.
And after long months, everyone would be well. The fevers gone; able to defend their territory.
Our parents will be home soon. What do I tell them? They’ll be furious.
But what’s done is done. Right?
Almost at the end of the thought: the unmistakable sound of a small convoy. His parents’ carriage, the entourage of soldiers.
There. His father, Lord Dar-agan. Lord of the Clan Chani. Headman of the village at Cha-Ning Castle. Riding up to the head of the line, dismounting his gantha in a jump. Right behind him: Lady Ilia-te. Lady of Clan Chani. Riding her infamous black gantha, that always seemed to be trying to kill her … but which she loved greatly, nonetheless. Dismounting, petting the animal’s neck. Rewarded with a bite to her gloved hand. Backhanded his snout, absently. Mother and her gantha … so well suited.
Nayan, watching from a courtyard balcony. Amused … his parents hated to travel by carriage. Both expert riders, them. Preferred the stiff muscles of days on gantha-back to the bump and sway of a carriage. Wild Mother and her wild gantha … but … then who was in the carriage?
Watching, as two other couples emerged. Oh. There. Lord Gan and Lady Jiren-te of Clan Aurast. Lord Augan and Lady Kir-ye, also of Clan Chani, Lord and Lady of the Rhymney Province. Nayan, whistling quietly. An admirable company. These three couples, the titular leaders of all the Northern lands.
Understanding now: his parents had gone to meet with the other lords. What other reason could there be, but to discuss this year’s perilous position? How he had hoped to surprise them with news of a daring raid deep into Southern territory, and dozens of weapons dumps destroyed! How he had wanted to earn their respect!
For his and his brother’s courage, cunning. For their daring. For the success of what appeared to be such a crazy mission. Blessed with success, would not look so crazy in retrospect.
Except for Noar’s bizarre transgression. Except for that.
Now … no respect. He would earn their rage. Their scorn.
Noar – how could you have cocked things up so badly?
Why are we getting involved in this local intrigue? It’s not of our business.
The gene is our business. It has to be managed.
God Itself! You’re suggesting we get involved in the politics, in the personal affairs of an undeveloped planet?
I’m not suggesting it. I’m doing it.
2. Uh Oh. Caught.
“What did you say?” His father’s weird almost golden eyes, narrowing. The big jaw, setting stiff. The words, sliding out between his teeth.
“I said, Noar stole a woman. Uh … took a hostage. A hostage.”
Dar-agan, about to explode. Nayan had seen it before. No
t too often, thankfully. But now … yes. The ruddy skin, turning redder. The teeth, clenched. Fists, too. The lion-like mane of hair, seeming to lift into the air without wind. The lion’s golden eyes, narrowing. Nayan readied himself.
Suddenly a gloved hand, on Dar-agan’s sleeve. “Wait.” The voice, a lyrical contralto. Famous for hypnotizing people of all types and dispositions, not just her husband. Nayan, hoping she could calm him.
Ilia-te: “If she’s a hostage, she must be of some importance. Who is this woman?”
Nayan, dumbfounded at his mother’s response. Was certain she, of the two, would be the more enraged. But … what? – she was trying to soothe her husband. Find out more information. Considering. Wait.
“Mother, she’s … she’s … ”
“Come now, Nayan. Spit it out. Who is she?”
“Lord Vel’s daughter.”
Silence. Quiet enough to hear a fly fart across the great hall.
Then Dar-agan: “Not the youngest one. The one with the red hair.”
“Uh … yes. That one.”
Dar-agan, yanking his arm away from his wife’s touch. Blood draining from his face, now. “What!? What in all the gods are you telling me? That you and Noar carried off the most favored child of the most powerful man on the planet!?”
“I just found out myself.”
“When!?”
“Yesterday evening, when I got home.”
A sudden jerking move from Dar-agan toward his son. Nayan, bracing to meet him. I will not evade this punishment. I deserve it. Standing taller, a bigger target.
But Lady Ilia-te, moving between them like a quick thought. Sideways, a hand on each puffed out chest. Pushing them apart. “Not now. Yes, my love; it sounds insane. But … we may yet make something of it.”
Dar-agan: “Are you as crazy as they are?!”
“Possibly.”
The other clan leaders, observing carefully. Then Lord Augan: “Calm down, brother. She makes sense. Maybe it’s not what we would have planned, but there are sometimes … happy accidents.”
Dar-agan, still fuming. “Tell me then, brother, how you plan to make this disaster into a ‘happy accident.’”
Lord Augan, to Nayan: “Go. Get your brother. And bring the girl. We’ll speak to her.”
Nayan: “She … may not be amenable.”
Mother, in that voice: “I should think not. Captured by a Northern raider, dragged all the way into the North, imprisoned … yes, I’ll bet her mood is most foul. Um … Noar didn’t harm her, did he?”
“By all the gods, Mother! He’s an idiot, not a savage!”
“Just checking. Seduction is Noar’s game. She’s known to be quite lovely. Pretty red hair, I’ve heard.”
Nayan, wanting to spit at the thought. Turning abruptly, striding off to get Noar. And … her. Shaking his head. Trying to forget the image of that long red hair, wrapped around her throat, tightening … her pretty eyes, bulging, then closing.
Nayan, not usually a hateful man. But this time … he knew. Another one of his weird knowings. That peculiar ability to sense the future. That he told no one about. Especially Mother (who probably knew anyway). Only Che, his best friend, who could sometimes read his thoughts. This thing … that made him look at his gell mug with suspicion, often.
All they had done to cripple the raiders, now would be as nothing. Lord Vel would want his daughter back. Vengeance for her abduction. Or vengeance for her death. It would be like trying to hold back the tides. No way to win.
Then: there, in the hall. Noar, standing behind the girl, looking at the cold stone floor.
Mother, trying to soothe. “Tell me, child, are they treating you well?”
The hostage, suddenly fighting like a beast. Barely held in check by leather bonds and Noar. At one point, smacked her head back into his nose. Noar, letting go of her with a howl, blood pouring down his face.
Oh, hell. Suddenly Mother and Father, both chuckling. The other leaders, the same. While Nayan tried to catch her; while soldiers chased. Nayan pulling back, letting the soldiers handle it. Afraid of what he might do if he actually got his hands on her.
Got a rag from a servant, went to his brother. Really felt sorry for all the blood. Blows to the nose: especially painful. “How in all the heavens and hells did you put up with that wild animal for over a month?”
Through his bloody nose, Noar, trying to answer. Nayan might have laughed, under other circumstances. “It wasn’t easy.”
“I can see that. She’s a raving bitch.”
“Agreed.” The word, dribbling out through blood bubbles and spit. Sounded funny. Nayan, trying to hide his smile. But then Noar, starting to laugh himself. Suddenly the brothers, nearly doubling over.
Uh oh. Father, starting to fume again. “You think this is funny?”
“Easy, my love.” Mother again, calming. To her sons: “Maybe, Noar, my dear son who thinks himself a precious accessory to all ladies of the planet … has bitten off a bit more than he can chew.”
“Well I got her here.” Still snuffling and blowing red bubbles out of his nose.
Now the other leaders laughing too. Finally, Father, laughing as well. Noar, smart enough not to be insulted. This: one of his greatest talaents. The ability to play the fool, joke and trick his way out of the predicaments he so often created for himself.
House staff and soldiers, now laughing too. Everyone.
All except for her. The water in her eyes … different.
Like a beast about to be slaughtered. Standing in the middle of the hall, two burly guards on either side, her hands bound, helpless. Hopeless. No escape; this, she understood.
Mother, getting it at once. Shushing the onlookers. Approaching the cornered hostage. “Please excuse the joke. We’re laughing at my idiot son, not at you. I imagine … he deserved that whack in the nose you just gave him.”
“He … yes. He did.”
Nayan, oddly amazed that she could talk. That she had a human voice. That she sounded scared. Would have been moved to a small margin of pity … until he looked back at his brother. Rage, returning.
His brother: always the funny, charming idiot. The kind of merry fool who got into trouble and out of it at nearly the same moment. Until … her. Now, he may have gotten himself into trouble that would never end. Or would end so badly … Nayan would not think about that. Pushed his bizarre knowing back with a mighty mental shove.
Yes, she was a captive. Perhaps that was not her fault. But all that was about to come, that would be her fault. Her fault, all of it.
If he lost his brother, it would be her fault.
“What in all the heavens and hells are we going to do with her?” Father, making a gesture of futility. Throwing his hands up. Had barely touched his food.
The girl: had been put away. Noar: to his rooms. Nayan, sitting with the leaders. Answering for his brother.
Although … what to say? Nayan had had no knowledge of Noar’s plan. Noar himself had had no knowledge. A purely impulsive act. Before sent to his rooms, Noar had only a simple shrug of explanation. “I don’t know, Father. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
So now, a discussion of the merits – the possibility – of having a hostage. Of dealing with the dreaded Lord Vel. Such a thing: even possible?
Debate, back and forth. Nayan, starting to disconnect. The intricacies of politics … interested him only to a point. Still young, still a man of action. Sitting at the table, hearing and not hearing the discussion. His mind, drifting off. Back to the mission. That one hiccup that kissed disaster right on the mouth … then sped off before it could strike.
He and Noar, skirting endless bands of hunters. All, desperate to catch whomever was blowing up or burning down weapons caches throughout six powerful provinces. But the brothers: too clever for them. Too quick. Zig sagging across territories, driving their ganthas almost to death. Had to be like that. Blow a weapons dump in a southeastern locale, then a factory in a northwestern area. Just wh
en enemy troops closed in on one location, at another. Better mounted than the enemy. (Clan Chani: some of the best gantha breeders and riders on the planet)
But that one stronghold east of Lord Vel’s keep: uh oh. Maybe one too many. Southern lords: now expecting raids on their war machines. Ready for them. This storage facility: belonged to a coalition of clans in the territory of Gans. This one: would make a difference. Had to have it.
Really?
Suddenly: the riders of Gans: bearing down on them from surrounding woods just as they set the charges. Dozens of them. (Most likely astonished to see only two raiders) Gansmen: whooping and hollering, mad for blood. Nayan, tripping the charges. Praying to all the gods he could remember, that the sequential set of charges would help them get away.
Pausing only to wonder: I bet I could make those ganthas fall with my thoughts … But, no. That would be evil, wouldn’t it? Mother made me promise … Forget forget forget
Almost got away clean. But one rider, charging out of the brush straight at Noar. Not two feet from his gantha’s nose. The animals, crashing into each other in a storm of squeals and hooves and dust. Both riders, into the dirt.
Okay, hand-to-hand. But the Southern rider: a giant. Even Noar’s fabulous skill at hand-to-hand combat … maybe not enough. The enemy, wearing him down. Noar, stumbling, falling; rolling several times. Now the giant, racing after him; now standing over him, some horrifying weapon about to strike downward.
Noar, staying down. Rolling, trying to clip the giant’s legs as he spun in the dirt. But the giant, too stocky to drop. Noar, tired.
Nayan, seeing this as he drove his gantha through the brush toward the river. Seeing the fearsome axe about to drop onto his brother’s head. No time to think. Wheeled his gantha around, charged the scene.
Which of course attracted the notice of the other enemy defenders. Now, fully exposed.
Defenders, regrouping and charging.
Nayan, knowing he could not stop. No matter what. Driving toward the giant at top speed, his crossbow raised.
The giant, turning at the noise just for a split second …