Isle of Woman (Geodyssey)

by Piers Anthony

  Then he donned his short fur cape, mounted his gelding, and rode out to join his assembled clan. The horse hesitated, until Stone spoke reassuringly to him. “Yes, I know I feel like a stranger, with all this metal on my body. But how can a man argue with a woman?” The horse shook his head as if in agreement, so that his long mane flung out before settling to rest against his forelegs and knees.

  Stone saw his father’s tent. On impulse he guided his horse to it. Blaze came out to meet him, his forehead mark ruddy in the cold air of the morning. “On your way, son?”

  “On my way,” Stone agreed. “But my wife is not easy about this mission, and has me loaded with bronze.” He tapped his belly, making the plate under his clothing sound.

  “Your wife is a good woman,” Blaze remarked.

  “I feel like a fool.”

  “Women do make fools of men. But humor her. She has uncanny instincts.”

  “This mission bothers me,” Stone said.

  “Our leaders have a notion what they are doing. Humor them too. Get on your way, lest you be late.”

  Somehow that helped reassure him. Blaze evidently knew something about the matter, and felt confident, and Seed’s caution evidently didn’t concern him. There was nothing to do except get on with the mission.

  Stone was the last to make the formation, because of the delay occasioned by his peculiar additions. The horde commander frowned, but let it pass; Stone had done good work for him and other leaders. Allowance had to be made for those who were not top fighters. Stone would have been glad to have been left out of this whole march, and the military folk knew that. In fact he would have been happier yet to be back on the steppe, not involved in any of the eternal quarreling over the Silk Road. But when his Hsiung-Nu Horde had come here to ally with Chung, Stone and his family had had to come along. He did not pretend to like the politics of the day; the horde had been promised good booty from the Silk Road, so had come.

  They rode to join Chung’s minions. These were impressive with their large horses towering over the horde’s big-headed, short-legged, bushy-tailed animals, and their spears and swords. Of course a nomad warrior on a small horse could put an arrow through a spearman from a distance, no matter how big the other’s horse. The hordes were matchless in open territory. Their composite reinforced war bows were especially effective on horseback, because their arms were of different lengths. The long arm was up, and the short one down, so as not to interfere with the horse. Specialists crafted them, and bowmakers were highly regarded; good bows were handed down the family lines as heirlooms. Blaze had one, which would in time be passed on to Tree, because Stone would not care to try to use it. But much of the local fighting was in or near towns, with narrow streets inhibiting the animals, and houses getting in the way of arrows. No nomad liked fighting in a town. That was almost as degrading as this dirty business of surrendering. Whatever had possessed Chung to give up the fight, when he had such an effective fighting force remaining? Even Stone was disgusted by a quitter.

  An officer rode out to meet the horde commander. Stone thought it was only to clarify the position the horde was to take in the formation, but it turned out to be far more serious. “As most of you already know, we are not going into Kashgar to make submission, but to feign it,” the commander announced after a moment. “We will have a banquet, and make our presentations. Then, when the enemy has been lulled, we will turn on him and destroy him.”

  Now, this was different! A cheer rose from the ranks. No nomad liked the idea of surrendering. Instead there would be mayhem and plunder. Perhaps only Stone was not enthusiastic. He was troubled by several things. What of the honor of the horde? It was part of a deal for surrender; was it right to change that to treachery? And this meant there would be fighting, for even when caught by surprise, the Chinese forces could be tough campaigners. Especially in the cramped confines of the town. Much blood would flow. No, Stone did not like this development at all. It would have been better to meet the Chinese in good, honest battle out in the countryside. Even a loss would have been honorable, then.

  He was also bothered by the discovery that just about every man here except himself had been told ahead of time about the true nature of the mission. They were all armed for battle, while he was only haphazardly prepared, thanks mainly to his wife’s premonition. Why hadn’t he been told?

  He had a suspicion about that: because they knew how readily his wife fathomed every nuance of his emotion. If he had known the plan, she would have divined it too. In fact she had just about done so, when he hadn’t known. So their caution was justified, aggravating as it was. He wished he could get far away from here, for personal shame as well as his disgust at the treachery of the plan.

  But he had no choice. He had to do as his horde did. At least, as a metalsmith, he might not have to participate in the slaughter. Even if he did have to contribute to the deception.

  They rode to the city. The warriors were well armed, their bows sheathed from their belts in front of their left thighs, their quivers of arrows across their backs, ready to be brought out rapidly from the right. Most wore sheep’s-leather armor, with some of the leaders having scale armor of bone or metal. Stone himself had metal armor, of a sort, thanks to his wife’s concern. It would never do in a battle, but might help if a stray missile hit him. Her premonition had been good to this extent: there was danger. The best place for a noncombatant to be was as far from a battle as possible, lest someone make a mistake.

  They entered the town. If the Chinese were concerned about the size of the party, with its bows, swords and lassos, they gave no evidence; the gate was open. Perhaps the Chinese general was happy to have the bulk of his enemy’s forces here, so that he knew there were not others waiting in ambush outside. Trust was seldom complete, and Pan Ch’ao had proved to be one of the most cunning and ruthless officers the Chinese had sent out to the steppes. He had been more than a match for the local kingdoms. Now, with nomad allies, perhaps it would be different for Chung. If only the advantage didn’t have to be gained by treachery!

  Kashgar was dominated by a great stone tower, the place for rendezvous of caravans. Today instead of traders and goods there were armies. The Chinese had pitched a large open tent in a central square, and had set up a great banquet. Tables were loaded with food, and young women were bringing more. This was to be a real celebration. Stone could well believe that the Chinese were eager to have peace; the fighting had continued for decades, disrupting the trading caravans and therefore interfering with the wealth they generated. Now he almost felt sorry for the enemy; they had opened the town in good faith, and were to pay a brutal price for their naivete.

  General Pan Ch’ao was there with his Chinese guard force. Chung dismounted and went with his top officers to make his false submission. After the banquet, the warriors would quietly go to their steeds and mount; then the lancers would charge the Chinese and destroy them in one efficient action. After that it would be just a matter of mopping up the leaderless forces of the enemy, and the town would be theirs. Stone realized that the deception was hardly necessary; there were fewer Chinese than expected. Their forces must have been depleted by the recent campaign, so that they depended increasingly on their allies, the Wu-Sun. The Wu-Sun were not a match for the Hsiung-Nu in the open, but could be formidable in restricted territory. Yet there weren’t many Wu-Sun here either. They were fairly readily identifiable by their fair skin and bright eyes, contrasting with the complexions of the Chinese. This town was far less effectively defended than they had realized.

  Chung dismounted with his officers and approached the general. The two groups met in the open tent, and Chung kneeled, making his submission. He gave up his sword. Pan Ch’ao accepted it and nodded graciously; their words could not be heard from beyond the tent.

  Then Chung signaled Stone. Stone dismounted and walked to the tent, carrying some of his offerings. He gave a beautiful gold cup he had crafted to Chung, who in turn gave it to Pan Ch’ao. The general
turned to Stone. “Your work?” he inquired in accented Hsiung-Nu. “It is very nice. In China we appreciate fine workmanship. You will work for me hereafter.” He made a signal, and a man approached, carrying a package.

  “As you wish, General,” Stone said, bowing. He felt the large plate in his shirt. Was it time to take it out, so that it could be presented?

  “And as a token of our association,” the general continued, “here is my gift for you: a silk robe for your lovely wife.”

  Stone was startled. “You know of my wife?”

  “By reputation. She is said to be among the most beautiful women of any age. You are a fortunate man.”

  “Uh, yes,” Stone said, disgruntled. It was said that the general’s spies kept him constantly informed, but Stone had never imagined that they gleaned information like that.

  “But first the wine,” the general said affably. He raised a hand, and immediately several girls brought wineskins and goblets. They poured each goblet full, gave it to each man present, and quietly retreated.

  Soon all of them were drinking. Then, as they turned to approach the banquet tables, the general made a small signal with one hand. It was only chance that Stone saw it; he had been looking for some way to return to his horse, because he felt distinctly out of place in this exalted company.

  Two Chinese took hold of Chung by the arms. His wine slopped from the goblet. “What—?” he started to ask.

  Then a third man drew his sword and swung it at Chung’s neck. The two at his arms ducked out of the way. The sword passed through Chung’s neck, and his head fell off his upright body. The men let go of his blood-spouting body and let it drop.

  Suddenly there was mayhem. Stone was struck in the belly. It clanged. He looked down to see a Chinese sword glancing away from it. The man had tried to kill him! The sword had passed right through the package with the silk gown Stone was holding. So much for the general’s offer of employment.

  The gown was spilling out of the package like a collection of entrails. The man evidently did not yet realize that the thrust had not been effective; he was already turning away, ready to stab the next victim. Stone grabbed the silk, strung it out between his hands, and flung it over the soldier’s head. He crossed his arms, drawing it tight, a garrote. The soldier’s eyes grew large as he struggled for breath. His sword dropped to the ground.

  The soldier sagged. Stone reached down to take the fallen sword. All around him Chinese were slaughtering Chung’s men. More Chinese were pouring from hidden places, and, Stone realized, mounted Wu-Sun were charging the Hsiung-Nu from the side, lancing them before they could get oriented.

  Stone ducked down and fled the tent. In the melee no one noticed. He ran to his horse, which was being ignored because it was riderless, and fairly leaped to its back. If he could ride away before anyone realized—

  A lasso caught him from behind. Before he could react, it drew tight and yanked him off the back of his horse. The horse bolted and Stone took a hard fall on his back, gasping. He was amidst a pile of slaughtered brethren. Only his stiff collar had saved him from being throttled.

  The Wu-Sun who had lassoed him charged across, his lance coming down to skewer him through the chest. The point shied across the hidden plate, delivering a rib-crushing blow but not killing him.

  “What is this?” the rider grunted, surprised. But then he spied another Hsiung-Nu trying to flee, and quickly reoriented to catch that one. He jerked the lasso free and galloped on.

  Stone realized that any effort to escape at this point was futile; it was the escapees the Wu-Sun were after. So he tried to play dead, hoping that there would be a later change in the situation. He got a handful of warm blood from the nearest corpse and smeared it across his face and chest, then lay still. If this didn’t work, they would kill him anyway, but it was his best chance. He settled into as still a position as he could manage, trying to look safely deceased. Unable to do anything else, he thought about his situation.

  The carnage continued. There were many more Chinese and Wu-Sun than there had seemed to be; now it was clear that they had been in hiding. It was also clear that General Pan Ch’ao had not been fooled by Chung’s pretense of submission; he had simply struck first, reversing the ploy. So it was Chung who was finished, and the Chinese would remain in power in Kashgar and the region, controlling the silk trade. Somehow it seemed fitting. The art of politics was the art of betrayal, and the general had proved to be better at it than the nomads.

  He thought of Seed, his lovely wife. What effrontery the general had had, to spy out the fact of her existence and compliment him on her, all in the effort to lull Chung into a false sense of security! Did Pan Ch’ao intend to capture her and make her serve him? She would never do that. She had confessed, once, to having an eye for another man, before she married Stone, but she had never since strayed. Stone had come to realize that that other man had done him a strange kind of favor, because all that she had learned from him she had used to make Stone happy. She had been his constant love and support, and he knew that much of what he was he owed to her. The rest he owed to his father, Blaze, and his mother. A man who did not like to fight was not normally respected among the nomads, but they had made Stone be respected for his artistry with bronze and iron. Because of them, he had had the best of lives.

  Oh, how he longed to return to Seed! To take her deep into the hinterland with their horses, sheep and children, and just exist among their own kind, far from the barbarities of the civilized folk. And if he managed to escape alive, that was exactly what he would do. They would bring up their son on the wonderful steppes, and Tree could marry a good steppe woman. As Stone had married Seed.

  Actually Seed had come from one of the towns of the Silk Road, and been taken by Blaze in a routine raid. Recognizing her beauty and worth, Blaze had brought her home for Stone. Oh, she had indeed been silken from the outset! She had long since lost the desire to return to the town life, and had become a full nomad. But perhaps her support for his metalwork stemmed in part from her town experience; she appreciated nice things, especially the ones he made for her. He was sorry he couldn’t bring the general’s gift of silk back to her; she would have loved it.

  His attention returned to the activity nearby. Some Hsiung-Nu had remained mounted, and some had managed to recover their horses. These were putting up a desperate fight despite their poor order. Outnumbered and in a bad position, they did what they could, beating a slow retreat toward the town gate.

  Which was now closed and guarded. Stone heard the cries of consternation as troops of Chinese archers ambushed the horsemen. Escape was illusory; Pan Ch’ao had closed his trap.

  But it did mean that the action had moved elsewhere. No one seemed to be watching the corpses near the tent. Cautiously, Stone lifted his head and looked around. Then he took the sword of one of the corpses and got to his feet. Maybe he would be able to take out one more enemy man before he himself was killed.

  Where could he go? The town was hostile territory, and the gate was closed. He could neither hide nor flee. Had his emulation of death merely postponed the reality?

  Then Wu-Sun cavalrymen returned. Apparently the mopping up had been completed, and now they were coming to rob the bodies. Stone threw himself down among the corpses again, having no other recourse. This might buy him a bit more time before the end.

  The Wu-Sun rode up. They shouted orders. Now slaves came out from the houses. They would do the dirty work of stripping the bodies for their masters.

  Stone realized that his case was hopeless. If he remained here, he would be discovered when they stripped him. If he tried to flee, they would see him and kill him. All he could do was wait for the inevitable.

  A wagon came up. Already the slaves were throwing the stripped bodies onto it, proceeding efficiently. The victors didn’t want the town to stink of corpses. Stone happened to be in the first area they were processing, perhaps because it was central. Otherwise he might have been able to wait until nigh
t, and sneak away in the darkness. On such erratic fortune his life depended, ironically.

  The bodies apart from him were done, and then the ones near him. Stone watched through slitted eyes. It was almost as if this were happening to someone else. He could observe objectively because he had no hope. He saw to his surprise that the slaves were naked, both male and female. Then he realized that this was because the masters feared the slaves would steal some of the booty. Naked, they could hide nothing of any consequence on their bodies, so did not have to be closely watched. Indeed, the supervisors were not watching; they were sampling the feast on the banquet tables, drinking the wine and joking among themselves. The slaves were simply ripping open the clothing of the bodies, checking for valuables, and piling the booty by the side, under a corner of the tent. This must be the general’s territory for plunder; everything taken near the tent went to Pan Ch’ao, not to the warriors who had made the kills. So there was no greedy attention; it was just a chore.

  This meant that another possible break for Stone had been eliminated. Wu-Sun warriors might have taken occasional breaks from the job, or quarreled among themselves about the division of spoils, or gone in a group to eat, so that no one of them would be left to steal from the others. But the slaves would work right through, not having the options of resting or quarreling or eating.

  Now it was his turn. A young woman took hold of his robe and tore it open. There lay the bronze plate. Surprised, she lifted it out, admiring it. Then she set it aside and undid the belt, so as to check for whatever might be hidden in his lower clothing. In so doing, she touched his belly. She paused.