by Джеффри Лорд
Blade asked Truja about that when he returned to the scout camp. She shrugged. «Out here in the westlands the Laws of Mother Kina are not always followed strictly. There is much hard work in running a farm, and for much of it a man is stronger and cheaper than a draught animal. So not all of the Senar taken by the hunting parties end up on spits. Some end up on westland farms, and good coin or perhaps wine ends up in the hands of the huntresses.»
After the fifth day, the farms became larger and there was less unused land between them. That meant more care was necessary in traveling, even by night, and much more care in choosing and concealing campsites. Here, barely forty miles from the city, the patrols still roamed fairly often. At least once a day the guards watching the nearest road would see a cloud of dust approaching. Shortly there would materialize under that dust cloud a score or so of heavily armed women, tramping along with dust-caked faces set and grim.
«There still aren't nearly as many as there would be if things were normal,» said Truja. «The city is pulling in its horns. Rilgon will be able to take his men to within three days of the city with nothing but rumors running ahead of him.» She looked grim.
To take Truja's mind off her forebodings of disaster, Blade changed the subject. «Shall we start looking for a point where the women fleeing from the city can meet? We ought to pick somewhere large enough to hold all the women but small enough to defend against attack. We'll have to deal with the women of the city and perhaps some of Rilgon's Senar if we can't get clear before they arrive.»
Truja nodded wearily. «I know. But you're asking a lot. A plantation house would be the best. But even the abandoned ones are too close to the city to be very safe. And most of them are still in use. I doubt if we can find what you're looking for. We may have to find some forest and camp in the open.»
But Truja's pessimism proved a poor guide. Blade and Nugun went out on patrol, and three days later they returned with broad smiles and a report of their find.
«It's a big, tall, sprawling thing, with five wings, built out of shiny black stone. Or at least it must have been shiny once,» Blade added. «It's badly weathered and overgrown, but still sound inside.»
«You went-inside?» said Truja, her mouth falling open so wide that Blade could barely understand her last word.
«Yes. Why not?»
«Black stone-that is-a War House of the people before the disaster. It is full of violence, evil, disease.» She shuddered and sat down abruptly. «No. We will not use it.»
«We shall indeed use it,» said Blade. «I don't care what your city superstitions say. I know from my own land that the worst evil of such a war would have passed away many generations ago. That War House will be perfectly safe. It-«
«But the violence left a curse, the men's-«
«Damn the violence and damn the curses and damn you for a superstitious idiot if you believe in either one!» Blade snapped. Some of the other scouts turned and stared at him. He reached down, seized Truja by the wrist, dragged her to her feet, then dragged her stumbling and protesting out of earshot of the rest of the scouts. He sat her down in the ferns and stood over her. There was an edge in his voice as he continued.
«The disaster was at least a thousand years ago. There is no way that War House can possibly still be dangerous. No diseases, nothing can survive that long. I know. I have seen such lingering deaths fade away in a single generation.»
Truja nodded numbly, stunned into silence by his anger.
«And as for the rest-curses are something I didn't expect you to believe in. Not even curses from the disaster. I-«
«But the curse is from the violence of the men. They-«
«Balls! They weren't any more violent than the people today, men or women. Look at what's ripping the city apart. That silly quarrel that still has everybody so furious they won't cooperate in the face of an invasion. And the hunting parties' treatment of the Senar! Is that gentle, is that anything but violent? Curses!» Blade spat. «You women are just as bloody as the men from before the disaster. But if you believe in curses, you're a damned sight less civilized!» Blade turned angrily on his heel and strode away, to lean against a tree where he could quietly watch Truja.
She sat cross-legged on the grass for some time, her shoulders heaving with her indignant breathing. She was obviously deeply moved, and Blade could not help wondering if he had gone too far. But he knew that what he had said needed saying, whether gently or not.
Eventually Truja stopped holding her head stiffly erect, and let it sag down until her chin was on her chest. Blade noticed the sparkle of tears in the corner of dark eyes suddenly gone blank. He was tempted to go over to her and comfort her, but decided against it. She would have to work herself out of this mood and into whatever decision she would make without help from him.
It was hot even in the shade of the little grove, and Blade felt sweat starting out on his forehead and arms. Insects whined around his face, and he batted them away. The sound of cattle mooing reached him, carried on the breeze from far away.
Finally Truja sighed and stood up, turning toward Blade. She shook her head wearily. «Blade, I suppose you are right.» Silence. «No, you must be right. I wish you were wrong. We have believed so much about the men, their violence….» Her voice broke for a moment. «We were blind to our own. I almost wish I were still blind. It-it does not feel very good.»
Blade shrugged. «I did not say what I did because I wanted to hurt you.»
«I know. But-I think you had better lead us now. I–I do not really know what is right and what is wrong any more. And that is not a state of mind for a leader,» she ended, with a flash of her old spirit.
«All right,» said Blade slowly. «If you want me to-«
«I do. Very much.» For a moment her hand reached out and groped blindly, then found his. Her fingers closed on his with a firm, hard pressure. Then her hand dropped to her side.
«Come on, let's go back to the others. They will be thinking we're making love on the grass.»
Blade raised an eyebrow, and Truja shook her head hastily, laughing. «No, Blade. Not now, not for a time. Perhaps… But then there is Himgar.» She shook her head and turned away.
With Truja's doubts resolved, the scouting party broke camp that night when the light was barely out of the sky. Driving hard through the darkness, they reached the War House well before dawn. They saw it looming out of the forest, towering a hundred feet high and spreading five times that wide, vast, black, and sinister. Even the Purple River scouts, less aware of the legends of the disaster, hung back at first.
Blade and Truja set the doubts more or less at rest by walking into the house side by side and then out again half an hour later. They were dusty but unharmed. Assembling everyone in the gloom of the ground floor, Truja handed over her leadership to Blade. The cheers that rose into the darkness made it obvious that Blade was a more than acceptable choice.
That was well and good, but there was much more that needed to be done before the old War House was a fit refuge. A certain number of rooms had to be cleared of dust, mold, spider webs, bird's nests, and the remains of long-dead animals. A nearby spring had to be found. A regular roster of guards had to be set, and much else.
The house was a good ten miles from the nearest farm, so they could do much of this by daylight. Before darkness fell again, the scouts were as settled in as they could be. Blade and Truja went out into the twilight and sat down to plan the next move.
«The women who are going to the city must leave soon,» said Truja. «There is no time to waste in getting them out of the way of Rilgon. He may march any day.»
Blade nodded. «The rest of us will keep our heads down until the women start coming out from the city. It won't help if the patrols find out that we're here.»
Truja laughed. «That's putting it mildly. But there is one thing you can do. I don't know if there's any game in this forest, so it might be wise to take a look at the local farms. I know some of them around here have fishpond
s and poultry runs, where a few people could snatch a good bit of meat.»
Blade nodded. «But what about guards?»
«The farms this close to the city are seldom well guarded. What do they have to fear? Or at least-what did they have to fear?»
The idea of a little quiet chicken stealing was a good one. Or at least it might have been a good one, if Truja had been right about the guards at the farms. But there were supposed to be a number of escaped slaves roaming the area, so the farmers had taken precautions. And when Blade and Nugun came slipping up to a farm in the darkness, they ran into those precautions.
When dawn broke the next day, neither Blade nor Nugun had returned to the camp in the War House, Truja paced up and down, face grim, wondering what could have happened to them, fearing the worst.
She was almost right. Blade and Nugun were both lying on the bottom of a deadfall pit at the edge of the nearest farm. There were no stakes in the bottom of the pit, so neither had impaled himself like a fowl on a spit. But both were bruised, battered, and in no shape at all to fight the score or so of armed women who ringed the edges of the pit. The women stared down and occasionally brandished their scythes, hoes, and clubs. Blade stared back up at them and occasionally made a rude gesture.
He felt rather disgusted with himself.
Chapter 13
Blade felt even more disgusted with the women than he did with himself. But he kept his mouth shut.
Nugun didn't, however. He beat his chest and jumped up and down. He bellowed and roared and cursed and screamed. He even snatched up clods of earth from the sides of the pit and hurled them up at the women standing around the edge. One clod hit hard. The woman clapped a hand to her arm and swore back at Nugun. The women on either side of her raised their scythes and glared down.
Blade realized that Nugun's rage was likely to get both of them killed outright.
«Nugun!»
The Senar spun around, with another clod raised in one massive hand.
«Blade?»
«Nugun, stop that at once!»
«But women, they-«
«I said stop it!»
Nugun grunted a reluctant agreement and let the clod drop. Blade could see the women above relax.
A thick rope snaked down over the edge of the pit. Blade walked over to it and found that it would hold his weight. Slowly he began to climb, hand over hand, looking up occasionally. If the women above were just a little careless when he reached the top…
But as he crawled out on the edge of the pit, the women stepped back, holding their tools in front of them. As Blade rose to his feet, three of them ran forward, carrying a tight-meshed net of heavy rope, with stones tied around its edges. The net soared into the air and came down on top of him, weighing him down until he could barely lift his arms.
A bellow from below told of another burst of rage from Nugun. Blade turned and saw the Senar swarming up the rope like a maddened ape. As his massive head burst over the edge of the pit, one of the women stepped close to Blade and thrust a knife against his ribs. Then she shouted over her shoulder to Nugun:
«You fight-he dies.»
The knife pricked Blade's ribs. He felt blood ooze out and trickle down. He held his breath, half mad with rage and helpless frustration. He wasn't quite sure that he wanted Nugun to stop.
But again Nugun grunted agreement, climbed out onto the edge of the pit, and stood up, arms at his sides. He stood there tamely as another net was thrown over him. His expression did not change even when one of the women stepped behind him with a stout club and brought it down full force on his head. Blade let out a roar of fury, but Nugun simply sagged down, dragging the three women off their feet. Blade could not help laughing at their struggles to untangle themselves from the net. He was still laughing when the other women led him away.
As the women marched Blade to the farmhouse, it was obvious that they weren't quite sure what to make of him. He could not possibly be an escaped Senar slave-he wasn't hairy or brawny enough. Breeding Males never left the House of Fertility-the guardians saw to that. And Blade couldn't possibly be female. So what was he?
When they reached the house, the women led Blade around to a shed out in back and locked him in. The last words he heard from his captors as they drifted away was a suggestion to ask the patrol the next time it came by.
Alone in the smelly and bug-ridden darkness, Blade considered his situation. There was a piece of good news in the women's words. They had no idea that people from the mountains might be prowling in the plains. So Blade wouldn't have to answer questions on the subject-or undergo torture for refusing to answer them.
But where was Nugun, and what had they done with him? Had they killed the Senar outright, or were they going to make him another farm slave? Blade suspected that Nugun would rather die than be a woman's slave. And left to himself, Nugun would certainly be able to goad the women into killing him sooner or later. Blade knew that the only thing he could do for the Senar was to escape before the patrol arrived and release Nugun.
But there was no hope of escaping during the remaining daylight hours. Blade went over to the door and tested the lock. The rattle made the woman on guard outside turn and glower at him through the narrow slit in the heavy wood. He thumbed his nose at her and stepped back. The lock couldn't be broken, but the guard might be persuaded to open it. When darkness fell…
In the meantime, get some sleep. Blade lay down on the floor and made himself as comfortable as the hard dirt permitted. The lowing of cattle in a nearby corral was the last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep.
Blade awoke to see that it was night outside, but not dark. Several torches sent flickering light through the cracks in the walls and the slit in the door. Blade could hear the sound of footsteps all around the hut and numerous voices, chattering like a whole cageful of birds.
Blade's eyes wandered across the floor of the hut. He started as he saw Nugun lying there, feet bound and hands tied behind his back. A massive crust of blood marred one side of his huge head.
Blade rose to his feet and was starting toward the Senar when the door of the hut opened with a rattle of chains and bolts. Blade spun around with a momentary notion of jumping the first woman who came through the door and snatching her weapons. Then he realized that even if he escaped now, he could only do so by abandoning Nugun. He would not do that. There would be other times.
The first four women to step through the door were all warriors in patrol uniforms. Two had drawn swords thrust out in front of them; the others carried strung bows with arrows nocked to them. The archers moved into opposite corners of the hunt, their arrows pointed at Blade. The swordswomen took positions on either side of the door. Then the patrol leader stepped into the hut.
Blade could not keep his jaw from falling open for a second in sheer astonishment. The patrol leader was the leader of the hunting party Blade had attacked in the forest! He got his mouth closed as soon as she recognized him, and her mouth opened in turn.
After a moment she grinned, white teeth snapping together. «Ah, the strange man of the forest. I have been wondering who you were and where you might have gone. Well, there is only one place you are going now. The arena of the city will have such a spectacle as never before, when you die there.» Then she turned on her heel, walked outside, and began shouting orders to the rest of the patrol and cursing the farm women for their slowness.
Lashed on by the tall woman's orders, the farm women pushed and shoved Blade out of the hut. They tied his hands and forced him into the back of a heavy wagon drawn by six of the blue-gray cattle. Then they brought Nugun out, still unconscious. They carried him up to the wagon and threw him into the straw in the bottom like a sack of grain. Blade glared down at the women, but they merely glared back and made obscene gestures at him.
The patrol leader climbed up on the seat of the wagon beside the driver and snapped out an order. With whip-crackings and shouts from the driver, the cart began to move, and the patrol fell
in on either side of it. Sitting beside Nugun, helpless to do anything for him, Blade watched the farm recede into the darkness.
The wagon and its escort kept moving until the sky began to turn gray. Then the tall woman ordered a halt and let her fighters scatter into the fields. Some simply sagged down onto the ground and took off their boots and helmets; others broke out cheese and coarse bread and nibbled at that. The tall leader climbed down from the wagon and walked around and around it. She neither ate nor drank, and her dust-caked face was as set and expressionless as if it had been made of iron.
Half an hour later the leader lined up her women, and the squeal and grind of the wagon wheels began again. This time it kept on all day. By the time the sun was low in the sky, all the women looked like dusty ghosts as they plodded along, putting one aching foot painfully in front of the other. Their eyes were sullen as they stared at their leader, riding almost in comfort beside the wagon driver. But Blade could see the leader's face better than the others. Something was twisting it from within, something even beyond fatigue. Blade did not like being in the power of such a driven woman.
Before the sun dropped completely below the horizon, the wagon turned aside into a flat, hard field rimmed by a line of squat, bushy trees. There was not a breath of wind to move a leaf on the trees or a blade of the long brown-green grass. With the sweat drying on his body, Blade watched the women pitch heavy leather tents and dig fire pits.
Beside Blade, Nugun also watched the women bustling about. The Senar had regained consciousness just before noon. But he had said nothing, either to Blade or to the women. Blade hoped Nugun was simply pretending to submit, following his master's apparent lead.