Neq the Sword

by Piers Anthony

  "I thought you were sick. In the cab."

  "I was. Emotionally. Let's forget it."

  They climbed back into the truck, but he didn't forget

  it. He kept trying to coincide that ripe breast with her

  advanced age. What secret did the crazies have, to pre-

  serve a woman so?

  And her knife. That motion had been swift and sure.

  She had run wild once; such talents were not readily

  come by, and a woman did not carry a weapon unless she

  knew how to use it.

  Dr. Jones had said that many crazies including himself

  had once been nomads. This was one such.

  They stopped and had a supper heated on the engine

  —that saved -time and fuel—before he brought himself to

  the point. "Why did you come with me?"

  "The real reason? As opposed to the one I claimed?"

  He nodded.

  "I suppose I still crave what I can't have. A way of life,

  a—a freedom from responsibility. A—a man."

  A half-pleasant chill went through him. "There are

  crazy men."

  "A man," she said with emphasis. "Like you."

  "Are—are you asking for my bracelet?"

  Even in the dusk he could see the flush rise to her face,

  and he hoped his own cheeks were not betraying him as

  mercilessly. "A woman doesn't ask."

  His heart was beating, and suddenly he desired her

  intensely despite her age and her crazy ways. She had

  asked, in her fashion, and she was more approachable

  than the women he had encountered before. Perhaps be-

  cause of the very things that had seemed to put her be-

  yond any such connection. A literate, knife-bearing,

  twenty-eight year old crazy!

  He had come to know her as a person before seriously

  considering her as a potential sex object, and that made a

  considerable difference. Three days . . . and that was

  longer than he had known any other woman this inti-

  mately ... except Nemi.

  "I never gave my bracelet—even for a night."

  "I know. But I don't know why."

  "I—was afraid of being refused." He had never spoken

  this truth before. "Or that it wouldn't work."

  "Would that be so bad? To—fail?" Now he could see

  her pulse actually making the clothing quiver rhythmi-

  cally. She was as wrought up about this conversation as

  he was. That helped, in a way . . . and hurt, in another

  way.

  "I don't know." It made no sense, intellectually, for he

  could face defeat in the circle without such shame. But

  with a woman, his fear seemed insurmountable.

  "You are handsome enough, strong enough," she said.

  "I don't think I've seen a more comely nomad. And you

  sing beautifully. I don't think you would be refused."

  He studied her yet again, comprehending her meaning.

  It was darker now, but his night vision illuminated her

  more clearly than ever. He was shivering With tension

  and incredulous passion. Slowly he reached his right hand

  over to his left wrist, touching the gold band there.

  She did not move. Her eyes were on his hands.

  He grasped the bracelet, twisting. It slid about his

  wrist but did not come away. He would have to spring it

  out a little, for that. But his hand would not cooperate.

  Miss Smith watched him, the flush remaining on her

  face. It enhanced her beauty.

  Neq forced his fingers apart as though he were strain-

  ing at hand-wrestling and hooked them into the open

  section of the band. Slowly he applied pressure. Sweat

  trickled down his neck. His arm jerked nervously.

  At last he got the metal off. His wrist felt naked, cold.

  He lifted the bracelet, seeing the sweat marks on it. He

  wiped it ineffectively on his shirt, trying to make it clean.

  Then, inch by inch, he carried it toward her.

  Miss Smith raised her left hand. Unsteadily their two

  arms came together. The gold touched her wrist.

  And she snatched her arm away. "No—no—I can'tl"

  she cried.

  Neq was left with his bracelet extended, refused. It

  was the very thing he had feared, all these years.

  "Oh Neq, I'm sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean it like

  that. I didn't know this would happen."

  Neq remained with the bracelet extended, his eyes

  fixed on it. He didn't know how he felt.

  "It isn't what you think," she said. "I—I'll take it. The

  first shock . . ." She raised her wrist again . . . and

  dropped it. "I can'tl"

  Slowly Neq brought the band back to his own arm,

  and clasped it there.

  "I'm ashamed," she said. "I never thought—please,

  don't be angry."

  "I'm not angry," he said around a thick tongue.

  "I mean—don't feel rejected. It's me, not you. I never

  —I—I'm worse than you. Oh, that sounds awful!"

  "You never had a man?" Neq discovered that analyzing

  her problem was much easier than doing something about

  his own.

  "Never." She forced a laugh. "If I had been a normal

  nomad, I'd be a grandmother by now."

  Not far from the truth. "Not even this Sos?"

  "I don't think he was ever really aware of me. He had

  some nomad woman on his mind; that's why he came to

  the school."

  "I guess it's all right," he said after a pause.

  "I don't understand." She spoke more freely now that

  the crisis had passed.

  "I didn't really want to give you my bracelet. I Just

  wanted to see if I could do. it. So that I wouldn't have to

  see myself as a coward."

  "Oh."

  He saw that he had been cruel. And it had been a lie.

  "I don't mean that I don't want you. It's the—the princi-

  ple." Now he sounded like a crazy himself, and it was still

  a lie. "It's that you're old—older than I am. And a crazy."

  "Yes." Yet she was not a crazy, not exactly. And had

  she been a full nomad, he would not have been able even

  to proffer his bracelet, ironically.

  And her simple agreement to his lies and his half-lies

  made it worse. "You don't look old. If you hadn't told

  me—"

  "Can't we let it drop?"

  He should have been silent from the start. It would

  have spared her needless shame and improved his own

  image. He had failed—not in proffering the bracelet, but

  in trying to talk about it.

  So the matter dropped—but not very far.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Next day it rained steadily. They tried to keep driving,

  but the trail became so mushy that the wheels were in

  obvious peril. If they became mired here today, they

  might not get out tomorrow. Miss Smith pulled up on the

  crest of a low hill and parked.

  "We have a long wait," she said. "It will take at least a

  day for those ruts to firm up again."

  Neq stared out at the steady rain and shrugged. It was

  not that rain-bothered him, but it was an inconvenience

  generally and a hindrance to this mission. He might have

  gone foraging in the forest and checked out the local lay

  of the land, but he couldn't leave Miss Smith
here alone.

  Her knife would not help much if outlaws attacked the

  truck again.

  "Well," she said with a certain artificial brightness.

  "Shall we try it again?"

  Neq looked at her, uncertain of her meaning.

  "We're stuck here together for some time," she ex-

  plained. "We both need the experience. Yesterday was

  bad, but I think I'm stronger now. If we keep trying,

  maybe—"

  Oh, the bracelet! "Right now? Here?"

  "Maybe day is better than night. Fewer spooks. Have

  you anything better to do? Or did you mean it, about

  not—"

  "No!" To both questions.

  "Maybe if we do it quickly, we won't balk."

  Suddenly the idea appealed to him. He was sorry for

  the way he had insulted her before, and she was giving

  him a chance to make it right. She carried no grudge. His

  sweat was only beginning; if he treated the matter like

  circle combat, acting automatically, he might do his part

  before-she could work up too much fear to do hers.

  He clapped his hand on his bracelet, jerked it off, thrust

  it at her. She met him halfway.

  Their wrists banged. The bracelet fell to the floor.

  "Oh, damn" she cried, using the crazy expletive. "I'll

  get it. She reached down just as Neq did. Their heads

  bumped.

  .Embarrassed, he began to laugh.

  "It's not funny," she said. "I'm trying to find the—"

  Impulsively he caught her by slim shoulders and hauled

  her upright. He brought her face to his and kissed her.

  There was no magic in it. Her lips, taken by surprise,

  were mushy. The bracelet dangled from her fingers.

  "Put it on," he said. "I think we'll make it."

  She looked at the gold, then back at him.

  Something struck the cab on her side.

  "Down!" Neq barked. He was already in motion, duck-

  ing, flinging open the door, tumbling to the muck near

  the wheel. Sword in hand, he crouched by the truck,

  watching for the enemy.

  He had recognized the striking arrow by the sound.

  That meant outlaw attack. Probably not well organized,

  because they had parked randomly, but no matter to be

  taken lightly.

  He was right. Through the rain he heard two men

  talking. They were debating whether to approach the

  vehicle now, or try more arrows first. They had not seen

  the door open.

  They decided to charge. "Those crazies can't fight," one

  said. "Just yank it open and haul them out."

  They came up, touched the driver's door—and Neq

  charged them from the side. The battle was brief. In a

  moment two bodies lay in the mud,

  "Let's go," he called to her.

  "Go?" She pushed open her door. "We can't move

  the—"

  "Not the truck. Us. Where there are two, more may be

  on the way. We can't stay in the obvious target."

  She jumped down, one foot striking one of the corpses.

  She moved away quickly.

  They were not dressed for the rain, but did not tarry.

  He led her into the forest, away from the truck. Neither

  spoke.

  Neq found a gnarly yellow birch and climbed it, search-

  ing out a suitable perch that would be hidden from the

  ground. Miss Smith followed, and he put her astride one

  fat round limb. He took another. Water poured down their

  backs, but this was a good defensive situation just in sight

  of the truck.

  They waited that way for three hours.

  A man came—an ugly clubber. He passed about thirty

  feet from their tree, evidently searching for someone.

  He discovered the truck, and what lay beside it. He

  ran back. He was alone. Neq jumped down. "Hey, out-

  law!"

  The man swung to face him, club lifted.

  "I killed them," Neq said. "As I shall kill you, if you

  don't—"

  The clubber was no coward. He charged Neq, swinging

  viciously. That was all Neq needed to know. A true nomad

  would have protested the designation of "outlaw" and de-

  manded satisfaction in the circle. He would not have at-

  tacked like this.

  Neq ducked the blow and slashed in return. He wanted

  this one alive. There was information he needed.

  The clubber swung again. This time Neq parried, sliding

  his blade down along the shaft of the club until it nipped

  the man's hand. Not a serious wound, but enough to con-

  vince the man he was overmatched. As, indeed, he was.

  "Tell me what I want to know, and I let you go."

  The clubber nodded. Neq backed off, and the matt

  relaxed. Miss Smith remained hidden in the tree, wisely;

  it was best that the outlaw not know of her presence.

  "If you lie to me, I will take up your trail and kill you,"

  Neq said. "But I would not take the trouble—except for

  vengeance."

  The clubber nodded again. Vengeance was something

  even outlaws understood well. The man might betray

  Neq if he had the chance, but he would be exceedingly

  careful about it. He would certainly answer questions

  honestly.

  "How many in your tribe?"

  "Twelve. Ten, now. And their women."

  "All outlaw?"

  "No. We're a regular tribe. But we take what offers."

  "And if a crazy truck comes, you take it too?"

  "Not before this. That must've been Sog's idea. If he

  saw it stopped, mired—"

  "And your chief doesn't care?"

  "He has to eat too. The hostels don't stock any—"

  "Because the trucks are being raided!" Neq said. 'The

  crazies can't stock the hostels when their trucks are hi-

  jacked."

  "I can't help that," the clubber said sullenly.

  Neq turned away in disgust, hoping the man would

  strike at him from behind and justify a killing return

  thrust. But the clubber stayed honest, perhaps aware of

  the trap.

  "Go tell your chief to stay away from this truck," Neq

  said finally. "I'll kill anyone who comes near."

  The man left.

  Neq made sure he was gone before returning to the

  tree. "Do you think that will work?" Miss Smith asked

  him. She .was shivering, but that would be from the wet

  chill.

  "Depends on the chief. If he's a full outlaw, he'll try to

  swamp us. If he's halfway nomad, he'll let us be."

  "Then why did you let that man go? Now the tribe will

  know where we are."

  "I want to know what's really stopping those trucks.

  This is one way to find out."

  She climbed down stiffly. Her garment was clinging to

  her torso and she was blue with the cold. "I wish there

 
  "There isn't. If I hadn't stopped him, he would have

  brought the tribe to the truck anyway. If I had killed

  him, the others would have come looking. No tribe can

  let its members just disappear. It was better to give them

  warning."

  "This could happen any time any truck stops," she said.

  "Are all the nomads outlaws now?"

  "No. I'm not. But if only one man in five is, no truck />
  will get through."

  "They're so quick to turn against their benefactors!"

  Neq shrugged. "As the club said: they have to eat."

  "I didn't think it would be like this."

  "We'll go back to the truck."

  "But that's where they'll attack, if—"

  "That's why we have to be there, now. I'll set some

  traps and keep watch; you can sleep."

  "I can't sleep, waiting for them to come!"

  "Then I'll sleep while you keep watch," he said, head-

  ing back to the vehicle.

  He hauled the men away from the side and left them

  near the yellow birch as a reminder to approaching tribes-

  men. Then he checked the cab. "Where's my bracelet?"

  She flushed. "I—" She poked her arm out of the sodden

  cloth. The bracelet was on it, far back because of the much

  smaller girth of her forearm, but there.

  "You put it on!" he said, amazed.