Apparently Kwasin did not hear him. Smiling, he shouted back, “I am yours, Lalila! You will have the greatest man of the empire as your lover!”
“He is indeed mad!” Lalila said, and she groaned.
Hadon said, “He can’t hold you to that, though I doubt that even he can overcome all those soldiers. He won’t be back.”
“Let him sacrifice himself,” Paga said. “We must go on!”
They bent to their paddles, with Hadon looking behind him at every sixth stroke. When he saw Kwasin leap aboard the lead boat, he did not stop to see what would happen. Instead he dug in, and the boat continued northwest, toward the peninsula of Terisiwuketh. It terminated in two extensions which suggested the gaping jaws of a snake, hence its name of Python’s Head. Hadon wanted to land near the base of the lower jaw and continue across it to the northern shore. From there they could go along the shore until they came to a part of the city that was comparatively free of fires. They would go inland and into the mountains north of Khowot.
Hadon’s last sight of Kwasin was his smoke-and-ash-blurred figure swinging lustily with his ax while the boat sank under his weight and soldiers fell into the water.
Hadon’s group stopped paddling while they laid about them with paddles and swords, beating back the screaming people trying to get onto their boat. Then they were free. Hadon changed his mind and ordered them to go straight north. Though the city ahead was flaming, he had decided to chance crossing the peninsula much farther to the east. His crew was too exhausted to make the base of the lower extension.
At last they inched onto the shore, Paga and Hadon the only ones able to lift their paddles. They scrambled ashore and got out of the way of a number of women, children, and men fighting for their boat. Hadon led them down a street of mean tenements, the white plaster overcoats of which were black with smoke. Once he looked behind him and saw dim figures. Were they the soldiers on the second boat?
As fast as they could go, which was only a swift walk, they proceeded down the street. When they came to intersections, they ran across to get by the heat striking at them. The fires had advanced within six blocks of their route and were coming swiftly.
They made it to the other shore of the peninsula, though they were now black, not gray, and their lungs seemed seared. They walked along the street that paralleled the shore until Hadon saw that an advance guard of the flame-storm was going to cut them off. He led them into water waist-deep, and they continued along the shore. They had to submerge now and then to coat themselves with water as insulation. The wind, built up by the roaring inferno, pushed them inward into the shore. They resisted successfully, but their pace was considerably slowed. Hadon took the child from Hinokly and told her to cling tightly to his back.
They had gone perhaps a mile when he thought it safe to venture ashore again. They staggered coughing along the street in a steady northeastward direction. Finally, when Awineth and Kebiwabes could not go another step, they halted. All except Hadon lay on the ground. He eased the child down and walked back a few blocks. Seeing no sign of the soldiers, he returned.
After a fit of coughing, he said, “We must go on. If we don’t, we’ll choke to death on the gases.”
They struggled groaning to their feet and followed him. From time to time they waded into the water and soaked their kilts to hold over their noses. After another mile the gases became only a faint odor. The fires were advancing toward them, but at a slower rate. And then came blessed rain, though the wind howled around them and lightning flashed in the distance.
Soon they were past the walls of the Outer City and on a dirt road running by farmlands. Many of these had been burned to the ground by the soldiers of Minruth. Those citizens who would not renounce Kho or those suspected of falsely swearing renunciation had been slain, their houses and barns burned down, and their arümals seized.
The houses that remained were dark and silent. Either their occupants had fled, fearing the volcano, or they were hiding trembling inside their walls, hoping that doom would pass by them. Kebiwabes suggested that they take refuge in a house and rest there. They could continue in the morning. Hadon said they would not stop until they had at least come to the bases of the mountains. When they came to a road running inland, he led them down that. At dawn they were trudging along, Hadon holding the sleeping child in his arms. After passing several farmhouses Hadon turned into a dirt road leading to a house set far back from the main road. It was a bad choice; two huge dogs rushed growling at him. He barely had enough time to place Abeth on the ground and draw his sword. One dog stopped; the other leaped at him. Hadon took off its head in midair and ran at the second dog. It ran away, but stopped when Hadon quit chasing it. A wooden shutter of the lower story of the log cabin swung out, and a dark face appeared.
Hadon said, “Call off your dog, or I’ll kill it too. We don’t mean you any harm. We are just refugees from the wrath of Kho who need food and rest. That is all we ask.”
“Go away!” the farmer said. “Or my sons and I will kill you!”
Awineth stepped forward and said, “Would you turn your queen away!”
Hadon cursed under his breath and said softly, “You should not have done that, Awineth! Now the word will be out!”
The farmer scowled and said, “You look like a bunch of tramps to me. Do not try to fool me, woman. I may be a rube, but I am not stupid.”
Hadon looked at the tall totem pole near the road. He said, “Kebiwabes, you are a member of the Green Parrot people. Appeal to this man to help one of his own totem.”
The bard, filthy, naked, and shaking with fatigue and hunger, called out in a weak voice, “I ask for your hospitality in the name of our tutelary bird, farmer! And in the name of the law that requires that you give a wandering bard food and drink and a place under your roof!”
“When the deities quarrel among themselves, there is no law for mortals!” the farmer shouted. “Anyway, how do I know you are not lying?”
“I, your queen and high priestess, demand that you welcome us as guests!” Awineth said. “Do you want to call down the wrath of Kho on your heads?”
“Big talk!” the farmer said. “You are lying! Besides, even if you were queen, what are you doing here? Resu rules the land now, and you are the slave of Minruth! Perhaps, if I held you for him, he would reward me!”
“I was afraid of that,” Hadon said. “Let’s go on before they get the idea of holding you for money and glory.”
“They would not dare touch me!” Awineth said. “I am the chief priestess! My person is sacred!”
“You’re also worth a vast sum,” Hadon said. “And the fact that you’re a refugee shows that you have no power. To him, he’ll be safe under the aegis of Resu and Minruth. Let’s take one of his goats for food and go on.”
“I will not be insulted!” Awineth cried.
“You can punish him when you’re in a position to do so,” Hadon said. “Face reality.”
The door to the house swung open on its bronze hinges. The farmer and six men followed him out onto the bare earth. He was a short but powerful man of about fifty. Four youths who looked like they must be his sons ranged themselves beside him. The other two were tall thin men who were, Hadon supposed, his hired help. All were holding small round wooden shields covered with bullhide, and short heavy leaf-shaped swords.
The farmer said, “We call on you to surrender in the name of Resu and the king of kings!”
“You are seven men to four men and two women and a child,” Hadon said. “But I am a numatenu, and I do not need these others to help me fight against only seven bumpkins.”
That was a lie. Hadon had not been officially initiated into the numatenu class, but the name of numatenu must surely terrify these peasants.
There was only one way to find out. Hadon summoned a loud cry from a parched throat and strength from his weary muscles. He charged, holding the sword before him with both hands. The peasants stopped, their eyes wide, and the two servants fl
ed toward the rear of the house. Why should they face what seemed to them a certain death for a family which had overworked and underfed them?
Whatever their original spirit, that of the father and sons was shaken by the desertion of their servants and by a man who looked as if he intended to rage among them as a leopard among sheep. They turned and fled into the house, or at least they tried to. The doorway was not wide enough for two to get through at once. They coagulated there in a shouting, clawing frenzy that would have been comical under other circumstances. Hadon could have cut off the heads of most of them if he had wished, but he was weary of bloodshed. He laughed and walked away, saying, “To the barn!”
There they took some freshly laid duck eggs and a kid on a leash and proceeded up the road. Awineth, raging, demanded that the house be burned down and the peasants slaughtered as they ran out.
“We shouldn’t leave any witnesses!”
Hadon agreed with her on the latter point but did not say so. Though the farmer could tell the king’s men which direction they had gone, they would be in the mountain forests by then, perhaps over the mountain.
With the frequent halts, they walked until noon. By a clear running mountain stream they slaughtered and cooked the kid and sucked out the contents of the eggs. They also stuffed themselves with berries Abeth had found on a bush nearby. All but Hadon then fell asleep.
An hour passed. Hadon fought heavy eyelids. The sun was hot, but the breeze was cool in the shade of the grove in which they were hiding. He was thinking of rousing Hinokly to replace him as the guard when he saw Lalila sit up. She yawned, looked gravely at him, and rose. She said, “Is it all right if I get a drink of water?”
“There’s no one in sight,” he said. “Go ahead.”
She walked down the steep grass-covered hill to the brook flowing at its foot. He watched her while she drank and then washed off the dust and mud. Her long yellow hair and her shape were indeed beautiful, and she had a gentle yet strong soul to match their beauty, he thought. The bruises on her face angered him. Should he ask her about them, or did she prefer not to speak of them?
After a while she returned, her skin glowing, her large violet eyes wondrous. She sat down by him, saying, “I need much more sleep. But I don’t think I can sleep. I am too troubled.”
“What is it that troubles you?”
“Minruth disturbs me in my dreams.”
“He will pay for that someday.”
“That will not undo the horror or heal these bruises, though the marks will go away in time. But not the bruises inside.”
“You cannot expect such a man to be gentle,” he said. “He takes a woman as a bull takes a cow.”
“He did not get much satisfaction. I did not fight, which I think he expected and perhaps hoped for. I lay as if I were dead. After he had spent his lust twice on me, he cursed me and said I was no better than a statue carved from soap. He would give me to one of his Klemqaba slaves. I said nothing, and that made him even angrier. It was then that he struck me three times on the face. I still did not cry out; I just looked at him as if he were the most vile creature on earth. Finally, swearing, he left me. I wanted to kill myself, not because of what he did but because of what he might yet do. But I could not leave Abeth motherless, and I would not kill her. Perhaps, no matter what, I might escape. Or perhaps Sahhindar might come to this land and rescue me.”
“He is not here,” Hadon said. “But I am.”
She smiled and touched his hand. “I know. I also know that you are in love with me.”
“And what about you?”
“Time will have to tell me.”
“Then there is…”
He stopped and held his hand up in the air as if he would catch something. He rose, listening, scrambled up a tree, and then came quickly down.
“Soldiers! They have dogs with them! And the farmer’s sons!”
They woke the others, explained the situation, and went on up the hill. This led to another even higher; beyond that were more hills, with the mountain waiting behind them. Their progress was slow and arduous. They were tired and had to push through heavy brush and thorny berry bushes. Nor could they see how close their pursuers were.
Finally, panting, bleeding from thorns, they came to the mountain itself. Before them was a very steep slope on which grass grew in patches and lone trees clung. They toiled on up, with frequent looks behind them. After a while Hadon heard the dogs. Looking back he saw them burst out of a heavy patch of forest. After them came five men hanging onto their leashes, and thirty soldiers, the sun shining on bronze helmets and cuirasses and spear points. Behind them were the farmer’s sons.
He turned back in time to see Lalila, crying out, fall back down a rocky slope, sliding in a cloud of dust as she grabbed for a hold she could not find.
He ran as swiftly as he could to her. Her face was twisted, and her hands were grasping her right ankle.
“I’ve sprained it!”
Hadon told the others to go on. He sheathed his sword, stooped, and hoisted her up. Carrying her in his arms, he climbed up, though his legs turned to water. When he reached a narrow rocky pass with high walls, he let her down. The others were waiting for him, their faces pale where their sweat had washed off the grime.
After he had caught his breath, he said, “You all go on ahead. I will help her walk.”
He lifted her up but had not gone more than six steps when he knew that it was useless. She could travel only if carried, which meant that they could never keep ahead of their pursuers.
He let her down again and said, “There is only one thing to do.”
“And what is that, Hadon?” Awineth said.
“This pass has room for no more than one person at a time. I will stand here, in the narrowest part, and hold them off as long as I can. The rest of you must get away as swiftly as you can. Hinokly, you carry the child.”
Lalila cried out, which caused Abeth to run crying to her mother’s arms.
Awineth said, “You will die here for Lalila?”
“For all of you,” Hadon said. “I can hold them here long enough to give you a head start. Don’t argue! They are getting closer every second. This must be done, and I am the only one who can do it.”
“If you stay here with her,” Awineth said, “you are deserting me. Your duty is to protect your queen and high priestess.”
“That is exactly what I am doing,” Hadon said. “They must be held up long enough for you to get far ahead of them.”
“You can hold them off for a long while, perhaps,” Paga said. “But some will eventually climb up the slopes outside the pass and come at you from behind.”
“I know that,” Hadon said.
“I order you to leave the woman, who will die in any event, and accompany me!” Awineth said.
“No,” Hadon said. “She will not be left to die alone.”
“You do love her!” Awineth cried. “Yes.”
Awineth screamed and jerked her dagger out of its sheath. She ran at Lalila, but Hadon caught her wrists and twisted, and Awineth, with a sharp cry, dropped the dagger.
“If she dies now, there is no reason for you to stay!” she shouted.
“Awineth,” he said hoarsely, “if you had the sprained ankle, I would do the same for you.”
“But I love you! You can’t leave me for her!”
Hadon said, “Kebiwabes, take her away.”
The bard picked up the dagger, put it back in its sheath, and drew her, weeping, away. Hadon took the child from Lalila’s arms and gave her to Hinokly. Abeth, crying and struggling, was dragged away.
Hadon watched them until they had disappeared. Then he said, “I’ll help you up to the narrow way. And we will both rest there until we can rest no more.”
When he had eased her down behind a rock, he looked down the pass. Far below, the dogs bayed, and the men toiled upward.
“It will be a good fight,” he said. “I can feel my strength flowing back. It is too bad, how
ever, that Kebiwabes is not here to see this. He could fashion from it a fitting climax to his song. If he lives to sing it, that is. If he does, he will have to depend on his imagination. Which means that the fight will be even more glorious than it will be in reality.”
“I hope that my child will be all right,” Lalila said.
“Is she the only one you think of?”
“The main one. I am not eager to die, and I do not wish you to stay here with me, though I am grateful to you. But if you would kill me, so that those men will not be able to harm me, I would be even more grateful. Awineth is right. You should go with them. Then my child will have a protector.”
“Paga will protect her, and Hinokly and Kebiwabes will help take care of her. They are all good men with good hearts.”
“But you are sacrificing yourself in vain!” she said. “And you are giving up all chances of becoming the ruler of Khokarsa.”
“Let’s save our breath,” he said. “I, at least, will need it.”
He sat down by her side and picked up her hand. Presently she kissed him long and warmly, though the tears still ran.
“I think I could forget Wi,” she said. “Oh, I don’t mean that I’ll ever forget him. But love is for the living.”
Hadon broke into tears then. When he had wiped them away, he said, “I wish I could have heard those words while we were still in the Wild Lands. We would have had much time to love each other then. Perhaps, when we go down into the realm of Sisisken, we can love there. The priestesses say that some men and women are selected to go to a bright garden where they live happily, even if they are phantoms. Surely we will be chosen to go there. If there is such a place. Sometimes I have been guilty of doubts about what the priestesses say. Do we really have a life after death? Or do we just become dust, and that is our end except in the memories of those who won’t forget us because they love us?”
“I do not know,” she said.
He kissed her again and then arose.
Huge clouds of smoke still rose from Khowot. At its foot lay a blotch that was ruined Khokarsa. Nearby, a bird sang sweetly. A mouse ran out onto a shelf of rock from its hole and twittered at him.
Hadon of Ancient Opar Page 22