I wondered if my holding still stood.
I had meat brought for the tarn, great chunks of tarsk, thighs and shoulders, which I had thrown before it, on the cold deck. It tore at them greedily. I had had the bones removed from the meat. If it had been bosk I would not, but the bones of the tarsk are thinner and splinter easily. Then I had water brought for the tarn, in a leather bucket, the ice broken through that coated the water like a lid. It drank.
"I am coming with you," said the boy.
In the belt of his tunic he had thrust the sword that I had had the officer give him before the battle.
I shook my head. "You are only a boy," I told him.
"No," he said, "I am a man."
I smiled at him.
"Why would you come to my holding?" I asked.
"It is to be done," he said.
"Does the girl Vina mean so much to you?" I asked.
He looked at me, and, flustered, looked down at the deck. He kicked at the deck. "She is a mere slave," he said.
"Of course," I said.
"And," said he, defiantly, "a man does not concern himself for a mere female slave."
"Of course not," I admitted.
"Even if it were not for her," he said, looking up, angrily, "I would accompany you."
"Why?" I asked.
"You are my captain," he said, puzzled.
"Remain here," I told him, gently.
He drew the sword I had had given him.
"Test me!" he demanded.
"Put away," I said, "the tools of men."
"Defend yourself!" he cried.
My blade leaped from its sheath and I parried his blow. He had come to me much more swiftly than I had expected.
Men gathered about. "It is sport," said one of them.
I moved the blade toward the boy and he parried it. I was impressed, for I had intended to touch him that time.
Then, moving about, on the pitching deck, in the sleet, we matched blades. After an Ehn or two I replaced my blade in its sheath. "At four times," I said, "I could have killed you."
He dropped his blade, and looked at me agonized.
"But," I said, "you have learned your lessons well. I have fought with warriors who were less swift than you."
He grinned. Some of the seamen pounded their left shoulders with their right fists.
The boy, Fish, was a favorite with them. How else, I asked myself, had he been able to take an oar on the longboat in the canals when I had gone to the hall of the Council of Captains, or been able to board the Dorna, or taken his place in the longboat that had ferried me to the round ship? I, too, was not unfond of the boy. I saw in him, in this boy, wearing a collar, branded, clad in the garment of a kitchen slave, as most others would not, a young Ubar.
"You may not come with me," I told him. "You are too young to die."
"At what age," asked he, "is a man ready for death?"
"To go where I am to go," I told him, "and do what I must do, is the action of a fool."
He grinned. I saw a tear in his eye.
"Yes," said he, "Captain."
"It is the action of a fool!" I told him.
"Each man," said the boy, "has the right, does he not, to perform, if he wishes, the act of a fool?"
"Yes," I said, "each man may, if he wishes, choose such acts."
"Then," said he, "Captain, the bird having rested, let us be on our way."
"Bring a woolen cloak for a young fool," I told a seaman. "And, too, bring a belt and scabbard."
"Yes, Captain," cried the man.
"Do you think you can cling," asked I, "to a knotted rope for hours?"
"Of course, Captain," said he.
In a few moments the tarn spread his wings before the black wind and, caught in the blast, was hurled before the Dorna, and began, in dizzying circles, to climb in the wind and sleet. The boy, his feet braced on a knot in the swaying rope, his hands clenched on its fibers, swung below me. Far below I saw the Dorna, lifting and falling in the troughs of the waves, and, separated from her, the ships of the fleet, round ships and tarn ships, storm sails set, oars dipping, flying before the storm.
I did not see any of the ships of Cos or Tyros.
Terence of Treve, mercenary captain of the tarnsmen, had refused to return to Port Kar before the return of the fleet. The environs of Port Kar might now be filled with tarnsmen, other mercenaries, but in the hire of the rebellious Ubars, and Claudius, regent of Henrius Sevarius. "We men of Treve are brave," had said he, "but we are not mad."
The bird was buffeted by the storm, but it was a strong bird. I did not know the width of the storm, but I hoped its front would be only a few pasangs. The bird could not fly a direct line to Port Kar, because of the wind, and we managed an oblique path, cutting away from the fleet. From time to time the bird, tiring, its wings wet, cold, coated with sleet, would drop sickeningly downward, but then again it would beat its way on the level, half driven by the wind, half flying.
The boy, Fish, cold, numb, wet, his hair and clothing iced with sleet, clung to the rope dangling beneath the bird.
Once the bird fell so low that the boy's feet and the bottom of the rope on which he stood splashed a path in the churning waters, and then the bird, responding to my fierce pressures on the one-strap, beat its way up again and again flew, but then only yards over the black, rearing waves, the roaring sea.
And then the sleet became only pelting rain, and the rain became only a cruel wind, and then the cruelty of the wind yielded to only the cold rushing air at the fringe of the storm's garment.
And Thassa beneath us was suddenly streaked with the cold sunlight of Se'Kara, and the bird was across and through the storm. In the distance we could see rocky beaches, and grass and brushland beyond, and beyond that, a woodland, with Tur and Ka-la-na trees.
We took the shuddering bird down among the trees. Fish leaped free as I let the bird hover, then alight. I unsaddled it and let it shake the water from its wings and body. Then I threw over it the admiral's cloak. The boy and I built a fire, over which we might dry our clothes and by which we might warm ourselves.
"We will return to Port Kar after the fall of darkness," I told him.
"Of course," he said.
* * * *
The boy, Fish, and I now stood in the dimly lit great hall of my house, where, the night before, had been celebrated the feast of my victory.
The only light in the huge high-roofed hall was furnished by a single brazier, whose coals, through the iron basket, now glowed redly.
Our footsteps sounded hollow on the tiles of the great hall.
We had left the tarn outside on the promenade, fronting on the lakelike courtyard.
We had encountered no tarnsmen over the city.
The city itself was much darkened.
We had flown over the city, seeing below us the darkened buildings, the reflection of the three moons of Gor flickering in the dark canals.
Then we had come to my holding and now we stood, together, side by side, in the apparently deserted, almost darkened great hall of my holding.
Our blades were unsheathed, those of an admiral of the fleet and a slave boy.
We looked about ourselves.
We had encountered no one in the passageways, or the rooms into which we had come, making our way to the great hall.
We heard a muffled noise, coming from a corner of the almost darkened hall.
There, kneeling on the tiles, back to back, their wrists bound behind their backs, by the same leather, it passing through a slave ring, holding them in place, were two girls. We saw their eyes, wild, over their gags. They shook their heads.
They wore the miserable garments of kitchen slaves.
They were the girl Vina, and Telima.
Fish would have rushed forward, but my hand restrained him.
Not speaking, I motioned that he should take his place at the side of the entryway to the great hall, where he might not be seen.
I strode irritably to
the two girls. I did not release them. They had permitted themselves to be taken, to be used as bait. Vina was very young, but Telima should have known better, and yet she, too, the proud Telima, knelt helplessly at the ring, her wrists bound behind her back, securely and expertly gagged, a young and beautiful woman, yet fastened as helplessly to a slave ring as a young girl.
I gave her head a shake. "Stupid wench," I said.
She was trying to tell me that there were men about, to attack me.
"The mouths of rence girls," I said, "are said to be as large as the delta itself."
She could make only tiny, protesting, futile noises.
I examined the gag. Heavy leather strips were bound tightly across her mouth, doubtless holding a heavy packing within, probably rep-cloth. Such a gag would not be pleasant to wear. It had been well done.
"At last," I commented, "someone has discovered a way to keep rence girls quiet."
There were tears in Telima's eyes. She squirmed in futility, in fear, in fury.
I patted her on the head condescendingly.
She looked at me in rage and exasperation.
I turned away from the girls, but stood before them.
I spoke loudly. "Now," I said, "let us release these wenches."
In that instant I heard, from down a passageway, a sharp whistle, and the sound of running feet, those of several men. I saw torches being carried.
"At him!" cried Lysias, helmeted, the helmet bearing the crest of sleen hair, marking it as that of a captain. Lysias himself, however, did not engage me.
Several men rushed forward, some of them with torches.
Perhaps forty men rushed into the room.
I met them, moving swiftly, constantly shifting my position, drawing them after me, then pressing one or another of them back. I kept, as well as I could, near the girls, that the backs of the men would be, in turn, kept toward the entryway.
I could see, as they did not, a shadow moving swiftly behind them, it, too, rapidly shifting its position, moving about amidst the frantic shadows of men, torches and confusions, but always staying in the background, like an absence of substance but one which carried a blade of steel. Then the shadow had donned a helmet, and it was almost indistinguishable from the others. Those who fell before that shadow did so unnoticed, and without great cries, for the blade had crossed their throats as unexpectedly as a whisper in the darkness.
I myself dropped nine warriors.
Then we heard more shouting, and saw more torches.
Now the room was high with light and even the beams of the hall stood forth, heavy in their ceiling.
Now, discovered, Fish fought by my side, that we might, together, protect one another.
"Now, Slave," said I to Fish, "you should have stayed with the fleet."
"Be silent," said he, adding, "—Master."
I laughed.
I saw the boy, with a lightning thrust, flash four inches of steel through a body, returning to the on-guard position before the man realized he had been struck.
In fighting as we were, one did not use a deep thrust, that the blade might be more swiftly freed.
"You have learned your lessons well," said I, "Slave."
"Thank you, Master," said he.
He dropped another man.
I dropped two others, to my right.
I heard more men coming down the passageway.
Then, from one side, from the passageway, from the door to the kitchens, a number of other men came forth, carrying torches and steel.
We are lost, I thought. Lost.
To my fury I saw that these men were led by Samos of Port Kar.
"So," I cried, "as I thought, you are in league with the enemies of Port Kar!"
But to my astonishment he engaged and dropped one of our attackers.
I saw that some of the men with him were my own, who had been left behind in the holding, to guard it. Others I did not know.
"Withdraw!" cried Lysias, wildly in the fighting.
His men backed away, fighting, and we, and those others who had come to help us, pressed them back even as they retreated through the great door to the high-roofed hall.
At the entryway we stopped and threw shut the doors, dropping the beams into place.
Samos and I, together, dropped the last beam into the heavy iron brackets.
He was sweating and the sleeve of his tunic was torn. There was a splash of blood across his face, staining the left side of his face, his short, white, cropped hair and the golden ring in his ear.
"The fleet?" he asked.
"Victory is ours," I told him.
"Good," he said. He sheathed his sword. "We are defending the keep near the delta wall," he said. "Follow me."
Near the bound girls he stopped.
"So here you are," said Samos. He turned to face me. "They sneaked away to find you."
"They were successful," I said.
I slashed the binding fiber which, tying their wrists together, had passed through the slave ring, fastening them to it. They struggled to their feet. Their wrists, though no longer tethered to the slave ring, were still fastened behind their backs. They were still gagged. Vina ran to Fish, tears in her eyes, and thrust her head against his left shoulder. He took her in his arms.
Telima approached me timidly, head down, and then, looking up, smiling with her eyes, put her head against my right shoulder. I held her to me.
"So," Fish was saying to Vina, "you sneaked away from the keep."
She looked at him, startled.
He took her by the shoulders, turned her about and started her stumbling down the kitchen passageway. Then, with a swift motion, he leaped behind her and, with the flat of his blade, dealt her a sharp, stinging blow. She sped down the passageway.
"You, too," I said to Telima, "apparently left the keep unbidden."
She backed warily away from me.
"Have you something to say to me, Rence Girl?" I asked.
"Umm—ummph," protested Telima, shaking her head.
I took a step toward her.
She shook her head. She had a don't-you-dare-you-beast-you look in her eyes.
I took another step toward her.
Telima, dignity to the winds, turned and fled down the passageway, but, before she had managed to make ten yards, she had been stung twice, and roundly, by the flat of my blade.
Twenty yards beyond, running, she stopped, and turned to look upon me. She drew herself up in her full, angry dignity.
I took another step toward her and, wildly, she wheeled and, barefoot, fled stumbling down the passageway.
The dignity of the proud Telima, I gathered, could not endure another such blow.
I laughed.
"One must know how to treat women," said the boy, Fish, gravely.
"Yes," I said, gravely.
"One must teach them who is master," said the boy.
"Quite," I agreed.
The men about us laughed and, as comrades in arms, we made our way through the passageway, and then the kitchens, and the halls to the keep.
* * * *
The next afternoon Samos and I stood together behind the parapet of the keep. Over our heads, high, between beams, was strung tarn wire. Heavy wooden mantelets, mounted on posts, were nearby, under which we might protect ourselves from crossbow fire from tarnsmen.
My large yellow bow of Ka-la-na, tipped with bosk horn and strung with hemp, whipped with silk, was at hand. It had helped to keep besiegers at their distance. There were few arrows left.
Our men were below. We were weary. We had caught what sleep we could.
Now, only Samos and I stood watch.
Before my return to the holding, Samos, with his men and mine, had withstood eleven assaults on the keep, both by tarnsmen and besieging infantry. Since I had returned yesterday evening, we had withstood another four. We now had left only thirty-five men, eighteen who had accompanied Samos to my holding, and seventeen of my own.
"Why have you com
e to defend my keep, and my holding?" I asked Samos.
"Do you not know?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"It does not matter," he said, "now."
"Had it not been for you and your men," I said, "my holding would long ago have fallen."
Samos shrugged.
We looked out over the parapet. The keep is near the delta wall of the holding. We could, from the ramparts, look out over the marsh, stretching far beyond, that vast, beautiful delta of the great Vosk, through which I had come, so long ago.
Our men, exhausted, lay below, within the keep. The Ehn of sleep they could obtain were precious to them. They, like Samos and myself, were almost overcome with weariness. The waiting, and then the fighting, and the waiting again, had been so long, so long.
Also below were four girls, Vina and Telima, and Luma, the chief accountant of my house, who had not fled, and the dancer, Sandra, who had been afraid to leave the holding. Most others, whether men or women, slave or free, had fled. Even Thurnock and Thura, and Clitus and Ula, whom I had expected to stay, had fled. I did not reproach them, even in my heart. They were wise. It was madness to stay behind. In the end, I told myself, it was I, and not they, who was truly the fool. And yet I would not have chosen, at this time, to be any place other than where I stood, on the height of my keep, in the holding I had made mine own in Port Kar.
And so Samos, and I, kept watch.
I looked at him. I did not understand the slaver. Why had he come to defend my holding? Was he so irrational, so mad, so contemptuous of the value of his life?
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