The Sterkarm Handshake

by Susan Price

  Andrea saw the horsemen riding away at a fast trot toward the ford. They disappeared into the land’s folds. What a sight they had to report to Toorkild.

  Per’s breathing had eased, and Bryce stuffed the sock back into his mouth, then gave him a hefty slap to the face that made a dull thump and rocked his head sideways. A thin trail of blood ran out of Per’s nose.

  “Nobody touches him!” Windsor said.

  “Officer’s privilege.”

  “Right!” Windsor said, and swung back his arm to take his turn. Bryce gave Windsor an irritable shove that sent him sprawling. He scrambled up, fists clenched, to find Bryce waiting for him.

  Bryce said, “Yeah? Want to try a shot at somebody who hasn’t got their hands tied behind their back?”

  “You’ll answer for this when we get back,” Windsor said.

  Bryce grinned, “If we get back.” He tied the shoelace around Per’s head and shoved him, stumbling, in front of him.

  Per made a convulsive, repeated, sidelong movement of the head, chewing at the gag, retching and gulping for air. Andrea, wanting to put her fingers, in her ears so she didn’t have to hear the distressing sound, thought: Mistake. Big, big mistake.

  The sight of Per, bedraggled, bound, dragged along, half choking on a gag, his nose bleeding and his face marked with bruises, was not going to put Toorkild, Gobby or any of the Sterkarms in a happy, reasonable frame of mind.

  They had no choice but to go on toward the ford, tramping over the thick, wet grass that gave and bounced beneath their feet, making them stumble at almost every step. Topping a rise, they saw the ground slope down to the river, and they saw the Sterkarms.

  The horsemen sat their strong, shaggy little horses with a horribly relaxed air of business as usual, the points of their lances bristling above their heads. Here and there the greased, blackened iron of helmet and lance head dully caught the light. Behind the horsemen was a small crowd on foot. The whole tower had turned out against them.

  The Sterkarms were drawn up well back from the ford, leaving the way to it clear for them. But none of them—except, perhaps, Per—were keen to try making it to the water. Andrea knew how fast those thickset little horses could cover ground, and how practiced the riders were with the lances. She wondered how she could be so, so scared and still be standing up and breathing and thinking.

  Bryce held Per in front of him by one arm and his scruff. Per was trying to push the gag out of his mouth with his tongue, and retching, and twisting his head from side to side. Through a dazzle of tears he could see the horsemen as a wavering dark block. He knew that his father would be there, at the front, and so would Gobby, and his cousins, all watching him. It made him sweat with shame that they should see him like this, helpless and needing rescue. For his father’s sake, he should show some fight.

  He ducked his head, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder, trying to dislodge the cord that held the gag in place. If he could shout …

  Bryce took a handful of his hair and pulled his head up and back. With his throat pulled taut, Per’s retching became even more choked and desperate. “Oh, please—” Andrea said.

  Bryce shook Per’s head. “Don’t start! Tell him he gives me grief, I’ll knock him cold.” Bryce hoped the threat would be enough. He could do it; he could drop Per like a marionette whose strings had been cut, but with the Sterkarms watching, it was probably not a good idea.

  Windsor said, “E-e-er …” like someone politely trying to interrupt.

  The horsemen had started moving. Five or six of them were walking their mounts forward from the line and along the riverbank toward them. They came slowly, as if they were nothing more than idly curious, but each rider rested the butt of an eight-foot lance on the toe of one boot. Per strained toward them.

  Bryce heaved him the other way. “Right! Go. Go!”

  Some of the men realized what he meant, and scattered down the bank for the ford. Some, exhausted and battered, stood gawping at the advancing horsemen. Andrea ran, her boots flapping on her feet, her blisters painful. She was terrified that she was too fat to run and would be left behind and run down by the horses, but she splashed into the cold, shallow water together with three of the men, and one of them caught her hand to steady her against the fast current and pulled her over the river stones toward the opposite bank.

  Bryce was trying to take Per with him to the water’s edge, but Per dug his heels into the turf. He made himself heavy and sagged toward the ground, watching the horsemen pace nearer. Windsor came back up the bank and helped to heave Per upright.

  Bryce spun Per around toward him, stooped and dug his shoulder into Per’s midriff, put an arm between Per’s legs and—to Windsor’s surprise and Per’s astonishment—hoisted him off his feet and made for the river.

  Per pivoted precariously on Bryce’s shoulder. The driving of the shoulder into his belly had knocked the breath out of him, and every step Bryce took jolted him again. The gag blocked his mouth as he sucked for air, and the ground whirled by upside down. He was going to either choke or be dropped on his head to break his neck.

  The horses came on faster, the sound of their hooves louder as they struck the turf.

  Bryce struggled on with the widest stride he could manage. Per’s weight was shortening his spine. Windsor was ahead of him. Andrea and three men were clambering out on the farther bank. Bryce couldn’t look around for the others. His own feet splashed into the water.

  Every step after that was hampered not only by Per’s weight rocking on his shoulder but by the water rushing around his legs. At the middle, the water rose over his knees and the current snatched at his feet. He tottered, clutching at Per’s legs, but the water lifted one foot off the stones and he and Per both went down, thrashing and rolling in the water.

  Bryce glimpsed horses’ legs at the water’s edge and through ears bubbling with water heard shouting. He didn’t let himself pay much attention but grabbed Per under the arms and dragged him—Windsor was helping, good, they might make it—to the other bank, where more men came to help drag the prisoner up the slope. Not that the kid was putting up much fight, what between the gag and the ducking. He was choking, his eyes rolling back in his head, showing white. Bryce pulled the gag out of his mouth, bent him forward over his arm and thumped his back. When Per began to cough and wheeze and gasp, Bryce was able to look elsewhere.

  The people around him were quiet and still. There was little noise coming from across the river, though there had been some shouting while Bryce had been busy trying to revive Per. Now he saw that not all the members of their party had crossed the ford.

  A body floated in the water, and clouds of blood uncoiled from it. He could see the face as the head bobbed—the man who’d been bitten by the dog.

  Half beached on the stones of the ford lay another man. As Bryce watched, a long spear jabbed down into him, and another came from the other side. Horses wheeled away, and another horse came in, another lance drove down. Blood ran over the stones and into the water.

  It was horrible to watch, because there was nothing they could do. Some, like Andrea, couldn’t watch and turned away or hid their faces, and then felt guilty. Everyone in the 21st party knew they were just as deserving or undeserving of dying under those spears. They’d started running a little sooner, or had run faster—those were the only reasons for their being spared. They all knew that they should be doing something to help, but that if they did, they’d be killed themselves.

  The horsemen, on their dark, wheeling horses, looked across at them, and saluted them with bloodied lances, but didn’t ride into the water.

  Bryce put his hands under Per’s elbows and heaved him to his feet. Per was shaky and breathless, but alive, and it was important that his friends see he was alive.

  Per watched the lancing with professional interest and looked around at the men near him. An hour earlier that look wou
ld have earned him a kick, a cuff, an elbow in the ribs or belly, despite Bryce’s order. Now no one would even meet his eyes, and no one made any move to raise hand or foot against him. He was suddenly their talisman. While they were close to him, they were safe. The stragglers, on the other side of the river, had died because they’d been too far away from Per.

  Filling his lungs as deeply as he could, Per jerked up his head and tried to shout across the river—but could only cough.

  “Come on,” Bryce said. He and Windsor took Per’s elbows and walked him away from the ford. A little farther up the valley, in the shelter of another hill spur, was the place where the Elf-Gate opened.

  After them, walking through the river, walking up the slope, came the Sterkarms, on foot and on horse.

  Isobel, her skirts kilted up and her legs thrashing through the water, was saying to herself, over and over, “Oh Per min, min Per, min Per, Per min,” as if she didn’t even know that she was speaking.

  Toorkild was among the leading horsemen, wearing his jakke, his helmet on his head, the butt of his lance resting on the toe of his boot. He’d been so angry for so long, he was no longer aware of being angry, and admired his own calm as he watched the little party that struggled up the slope ahead. His eyes hardly shifted from the figure of his son.

  Every time one of the men on either side of Per dragged at him, Toorkild nodded. Every time Per stumbled, Toorkild nodded. He noticed the cord still tied round Per’s head, and dragging at the corners of his mouth. He noticed his son’s hands, tied behind him at the wrists. Every time Per looked over his shoulder, Toorkild glimpsed the bruises on his face and realized—with as much shock as if for the first time—that these walking turds, these sheep’s gets, these bags of cess, had so forgotten their place among the vermin of the world that they’d tied his son’s hands behind him and then hit him in the face.

  When I have him back safe, Toorkild thought, when I have him safe, when—

  He would have the Elves tied hand and foot.

  And give them to Isobel.

  The slope was steep, and the Elves panted and sweated as they climbed, their legs and lungs aching, their feet bleeding and painful. Their backs prickled with awareness of the crowd of people and horses only yards behind them.

  Windsor’s and Bryce’s fingers pressed deep into Per’s arms as they urged him on. Bryce was worried by the way Per kept looking over his shoulder. The kid was bracing himself to make a break for it, and God help them if he succeeded!

  The folds of land opened and showed them the Time Tube ahead, a bizarre and thankful sight. Andrea, pausing, allowed herself the luxury of a long, deep breath and a heartbeat’s rest before pressing on. The sight put a new energy into all of them. So little farther to go. Get there, scramble up that ramp, and they were home safe.

  The sight of the Elf-Gate startled Per from weariness. Leaning back against Bryce and Windsor, he braced his heels against the slope and stamped at their bare feet until, with the help of three of the other men, they picked him up and carried him like a long parcel. The Sterkarms heard his yell of fury.

  Horses passed them. The line of horsemen lengthened at the ends as some of them passed the Elves, riding ahead of them to the Elf-Gate.

  Bryce, looking ahead, saw the Elf-Gate go. It winked out, switched off, disappeared. The burned hillside it had blocked out reappeared.

  Bryce stopped, and that stopped everyone else. Per was dropped to the grass, where he sat among their feet.

  “They switched it off,” Bryce said. The people in the control room probably hadn’t even seen them coming. How many times had he asked for those security monitors to be repaired and resited? Typical of FUP! Spend a fortune on security cameras and monitors, and let them be maintained and sited by chimps.

  The Sterkarms, on horseback and on foot, had surrounded them, though they kept clear of the place that the Elf-Gate had filled when it had been visible.

  Andrea felt herself shaking and thought of the lances going into the men at the stream. They’d come all this way, had kept going despite everything, and they’d got here, and— Per had promised her that she would be safe, but she would still have to see the others killed, and go on living after …

  Per got to his knees and made to stand up. Bryce put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. Per said something, but the cord tied around his mouth distorted whatever it was into noise.

  Andrea could see Toorkild. He was staring at Per, and his face was white. It was Gobby who spoke, leaning forward on his saddlebow. He said, “Naw, vah vill thee?”

  “What’s he say?” Bryce asked.

  Andrea’s heart was thumping and skipping, her breath was coming fast and shallow, and she didn’t know how she could manage to think connectedly enough to answer. But she said, “Well—more or less, he says—‘Now what are you going to do?’”

  25

  16th Side: Sterkarmer Gaw i Erlf-Lant

  Pace by pace, the Sterkarms shrank the space around them.

  In Andrea’s head, a jaunty, dancing tune was singing itself with the words: We’re going to die, we’re going to die, we’re going to die—

  Among the Sterkarms, men drew long knives from their belts. Toorkild kicked his horse, and it came forward at a slow walk. Toorkild, swaying with it, brought his lance down to point at them.

  Oh God, Andrea thought. We’re going to die, we’re going to die—

  Bryce dropped to his knees behind Per, hooked his arm around Per’s neck and pulled his head back. He shouted, “I’ll break his effin’ neck!”

  Andrea flapped her arms. “Han brekker Per’s nakka!”

  The Sterkarms stopped moving. Toorkild reined in.

  Bryce got the point of Per’s jaw into the crook of his elbow and clenched the fist of that same arm in the hair at the nape of Per’s neck. With his other hand he grasped Per’s shoulder, ready to twist head and body in opposite directions.

  Per tried to move, but the nutcracker grip of the elbow on his head was too strong, and the twist on his neck was forceful enough to convince him that Bryce could and maybe would break his spine. He kept still, and waited. Eventually, Bryce would have to relax his grip.

  Toorkild slowly lowered his lance still further. From the extreme corners of his eyes, Per caught something of its movement. The point passed over Per’s shoulder and came to rest against Bryce’s chest.

  Andrea covered her face, certain that she was going to see Bryce skewered or Per’s neck wrung. She heard Toorkild speak: “You’ll be dead before he takes his last breath.”

  Bryce could feel the surprising weight of the lance head resting painfully on his collarbone, and the prick of its iron point. Every time he breathed, it stabbed at him again, scratching. His skin felt hot, and he was sure the lance had drawn blood. Keeping his grip on Per, he looked up at the face at the end of the lance. It was shadowed by the helmet, half hidden by the thick beard, making any expression hard to read, but Bryce was conscious of a steady stare. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “What’s he—?”

  Andrea, her hands still over her eyes, shouted out and told him.

  As the lance pricked again, Bryce said, “Ask—ask him, is killing me worth risking a dead son?” He tightened his grip as Per shifted.

  Andrea took her hands from her face. “I can’t say that to him!”

  “Tell him!” His collarbone ached under the lance’s weight.

  Andrea tried to find the words. When she spoke, Toorkild’s eyes moved to her, and her voice shook so much she stammered and gasped. Toorkild had been kind to her; she knew him, and knew how much he doted on Per. It was not only cruel to say such things to him, but the thought of the revenge Toorkild might take for them made her shake.

  The blood left her face at Toorkild’s answer, turning her flesh hard and cold. “He says”—she choked—“that you dare not kill Per. If you do, he says, th
ey’ll kill all of us.” Even me! she thought, despite Per’s promises. “He says, Bryce, if you harm Per, he’ll build a fire and sit you in it. He says …” Her voice failed. She didn’t even want to speak the rest of Toorkild’s threats. The thought that the kindly man she knew might carry them out created an almost supernatural fear in her.

  Bryce hadn’t time to worry about the fire. Per was moving his hands, the fingers stretching. Bryce knew what the little bastard was doing—trying to reach his balls, to give them a twist. With his hands tied in the small of his back, it was probably impossible, but Bryce shifted his grip on Per’s arm anyway, wrenching both bound arms higher up his back. The thought made him sweat, but he knew he couldn’t hold Per in the necklock for ever. “Tell him—whatever he does to me—I’ll die happier knowing his son’s dead too.” He shifted his forearm, tightening the twist on Per’s neck just a little more. Per made a choking noise.

  Toorkild’s eyes flickered at the sound, jumping to his son and back to Bryce. The lance point pressed harder as Toorkild lifted his arm, angling the lance downward for the thrust.

  Gobby dropped down from his horse and led it forward. His eyes scanned the 21st men, noting their sagging shoulders and bleeding feet, and he grinned through his beard. Taking off his helmet, he squatted down in front of Per and Bryce, his horse’s reins looped over his arm. Bryce saw a broken-nosed man with a front tooth missing, which somehow made his grin friendlier. Bright, pale eyes studied Bryce, rather kindly, from thickets of brown hair and beard.

  “Now, now,” Gobby said. “Little birds in their nests must agree.” Per knew his uncle’s voice, though his head was twisted too far around to see him. At another time, he’d have laughed, but now he kept very still, even holding his breath. To his own surprise, he found that he had greater faith in his uncle’s ability to free him than his father’s.

  “We no want our lad hurt,” Gobby said, slowly, pausing to allow Andrea to stammer through a translation. “You no want to be hurt. So. We can deal.” Gently, Gobby reached out and pushed the lance up, away from Bryce. Toorkild let him do it but continued to hold the lance above Bryce’s head.