King Of Zunga rb-12

by Джеффри Лорд

  They had better than half a mile to cover, but it was level ground, open and hard, and the Zungans were running as Blade had never seen them run before. How they found breath to shout was a mystery to him, but they screamed threats and curses at the Kandans as they ran. Blade saw the Kandan army clumping itself to meet the charge. He grinned. The fools were expecting a frontal attack, and not extending their flank to their left at all. Time for the end run.

  Blade found the breath to shout an order, heard it relayed by Nayung, and saw the entire mass of running men swerve hard to the right. They passed along the front of the Kandan army so close that Blade could see the pale, drawn faces of the enemy soldiers. They were clutching their swords like drowning men clutching branches, and there was fear in their eyes as they listened to the curses and war yells of the Zungans.

  Before the slow-moving Kandans could block their path, the Zungans were clear around the flank of the Kandan army. Looking along the enemy’s rear, Blade saw the little cluster of figures around the two banners less than another five hundred yards away. He took deeper breaths and lengthened his stride.

  He did not expect the enemy to simply sit and wait while a thousand Zungans charged their commanders. He knew that his thousand might get in without help, but they could never get out without it. But he was certain that surprise and speed and their own fighting skill would give the Zungans the edge over any defense the enemy could improvise for his generals. Enough of an edge to bring down those generals, Blade hoped. Again he lengthened his stride.

  The Kandan army seemed paralyzed by the spectacle of the Zungans tearing down along their rear. Not so the Rulami. Blade heard the trumpet calls rise, and saw soldiers pouring out of the second Rulami division to form a circle around the two banners. He saw them begin to move back, and if he could have lengthened his stride still more, he would have. But his strength and his wind had reached their limits, and he could move no faster. But neither did he slow down. He was still moving at full speed as he led his thousand men into the ranks of the Rulami soldiers. Again there was a terrible noise of metal and screaming men as the two formations clashed. The Rulami had thrown a circle six ranks deep around their king, but the Zungans nearly broke straight through it by sheer impact. A section manned by more than a hundred men was hurled violently backward by the Zungan charge. The two outer ranks simply vanished, stamped out of existence under the Zungans’ feet or smashed down by whirling spears. Rulami and Zungan bodies piled up in a hideous bloodstained shrieking tangle. With Nayung beside him, Blade charged the inner ranks of the Rulami.

  He was a terrifying spectacle as he lunged and thrust and swung with his spear, eyes blazing, mouth open to shout savage war yells, splattered with the blood from the smashed skulls and the crushed chests of his victims. A Rulami officer ran at Blade, thrusting with his sword. Blade leaped aside, swinging the weighted butt of his spear down across the man’s lunging arm. Bone cracked and the sword fell. Blade’s spear butt flashed up and took the man under the jaw, again smashing bone. The officer’s mouth spewed blood and fragments of teeth and he fell back, opening a gap in the third rank. Blade plunged into it.

  He parried a downcut from the left and thrust the soldier in the throat, jerking the spear free in time to ram the butt into another’s armored chest. This blow did not kill, but it stunned and slowed. The spearhead came over and did the killing as it drove into the man’s open mouth. Another rank penetrated.

  Now it was Nayung’s turn to move into the lead, and he cleared two more men out of the way with swift strokes. Not as quickly as Blade, for the two men were better opponents. But they both went down. The gap they made let Blade through into the last rank of the circle, spear whirling like a machine, the head and butt both dripping red by now.

  A windmill slash outreached a soldier’s sword and laid his face open, cheeks and nose gaping red above his screaming mouth. The swinging spearhead smashed into the side of another man’s helmet, not doing any direct harm but knocking him off balance. Nayung took advantage of that to smash the man’s thigh, then stamp on his face as he went down into the welter of bodies on the ground.

  By now Blade and Nayung were only the tip of a wedge. It was a wedge of darting Zungan spears wielded by shrieking Zungan warriors. The pressure of a thousand fierce men was driving the wedge into the protective circle. The circle was beginning to sag, crumble, and collapse. Over a third of its men were down now, and the Zungans were killing the Rulami faster than they could reinforce their circle. And then Blade and Nayung burst through the last of the six ranks and into the center, where Kleptor and the High Priest stood.

  If either of the two men had vanished into the Rulami ranks before Blade charged in, they would certainly have escaped. But Blade entered the center before they realized the nearness of their danger, with Nayung hard on his heels. Both dashed for the far side of the circle, to get behind the two enemy leaders. The two attackers reached the far side, then turned on Kleptor and the High Priest.

  The two leaders stood for a moment, frozen by surprise. Between them and their only line of retreat stood Blade and Nayung, even bloodier, even more terrifying than before. On all other sides the circle was steadily crumpling under the Zungan attack, and nothing but certain death awaited them. Even as they stared, three soldiers of the inner rank gave way before a dozen Zungans. The Zungans poured through the gap and hurled themselves on the handful of guards and attendants that stood close around the two fat men and their standards.

  Then Blade and Nayung attacked. For the moment they did not worry about guarding their backs, though an entire division of Rulami soldiers stood behind them. Their entire world was the two men in magnificent robes, standing like carved images as the battle swirled around them.

  Blade and Nayung thrust together at the first soldier to charge them, smashing his sword out of his hand. Brave or mad, he charged Blade barehanded, got under his spear, grappled with him. But Blade did not have to drop his spear. Nayung’s spear butt flashed in an arc and smashed the back of the soldier’s neck. Blade shoved the sagging body away from him savagely and moved on. He had to block a downcut so strong that it took both hands to hold the spear. Then he slammed the spear shaft forward across the swordsman’s throat, splintering the larynx. He felt a man behind him, aimed a backward thrust by sound alone, and was rewarded by a thud and a gasp.

  But the Rulami were breaking out of their division’s ranks and moving up behind Blade. Nayung did not wait to be asked. He spun about and leaped across until he was behind Blade, facing the main body of the Rulami, guarding Blade’s back as the Englishman plunged on into the ranks of the bodyguards. The two men he was after still did not move. Were they paralyzed with fear? Or did they still hope their guards could beat off both Blade and the Zungans?

  Blade didn’t know and he didn’t care. As he broke through the bodyguards at last, he saw the High Priest turn pale. The man turned to flee, then raised his hands to heaven when he realized there was no place to flee to. But Kleptor was made of braver material, for all his grossness. He drew a sword five feet long and came at Blade, swinging it in both hands.

  The first swing of that sword smashed into Blade’s spear and all but smashed it out of his hands. Blade wanted to jump back, for here was a weapon against which he might not be able to defend himself. But there was no room. He and Kleptor were like the proverbial two scorpions in a bottle. So he moved forward as fast as he could, driving in under the sword, risking everything on his speed. If that speed could take him in under the sword before it came down…

  His spear rose high, held crossways in both hands. The sword came down, again jarring Blade to the marrow of his bones as it struck the spear shaft. But he held onto the spear, and slammed the tough wood of the shaft down across Kleptor’s forehead. The king wore no helmet. The sledgehammer blow made him reel. The sword rose again, but it was wavering now. Blade swung up his spear butt, knocking the sword away, then thrust down. There was a thick layer of fat over Kleptor’s
ribs, but the downstabbing spear point got through the fat, between the ribs, and into the king’s heart. The wide-set eyes rolled up in the fleshy face, the pudgy hands came up and clawed at the beard. The mouth opened and blood spurted out all over the beard, over Blade. Then the king fell.

  Blade turned to the High Priest, spear flashing up again. The High Priest still stood. But as Blade’s sweat-dimmed eyes focused on the man, he saw that the High Priest still stood only because he was supported by half a dozen Zungan spears thrust into his body. A seventh Zungan warrior strode over to the High Priest’s banner and shoved it over. It fell down with a silent-thud, lost in the roar of the battle all around. Blade did the same with Kleptor’s banner.

  Whether that alone was what brought victory, no one could tell later. In the exact moment that the banners fell, the Great D’bor commanding the Zungan right ordered his whole division forward at the charge. The commander of the remaining two thousand shock troops followed. Blade could not see the seven thousand Zungans hurling themselves at the Kandan army, but he heard it when they struck. And he saw the results. The entire Kandan army lurched backward, nearly trampling Blade’s force to death by sheer numbers. But the Kandans’ morale had gone, and they were only interested in reaching safety by the shortest route.

  By chance and the skill of the Zungan charge, that route lay through the ranks of the Rulami. The panic-stricken Kandans smashed into the ranks of their allies, breaking them apart, dying on Rulami swords, communicating their own panic to the Rulami. As word of Kleptor’s fall spread through the Rulami, their second division began to waver and leak stragglers. Then it broke, and before Blade’s eyes the entire center of the Rulami army dissolved into a mob of scattering fugitives.

  Blade neither joined in the pursuit that Nayung led, nor held his men back from following Nayung. He watched the warriors he had led to victory go tearing out across the plain after the fleeing Rulami, and then turned toward the Zungan center. He had seen and heard nothing of what might be happening there, since he had led his warriors out for their charge. He badly wanted to fund out what had happened to Afuno.

  He had to wait a while longer, because the stouthearted soldiers of the Rulami first division did not break and flee. The Great D’bor of the Zungan left had to finally lead his division around and encircle the Rulami. Even then the sound of clashing weapons and dying men rose into the air for the better part of half an hour. When it faded, another third of the army of Rulam lay dead. The Zungans took no prisoners.

  Blade was finally able to rise and walk toward where he had last seen Afuno. If he had wanted to, he could have walked every foot of the way without touching the ground. The bodies lay that densely, both Rulami and Zungan.

  He was approaching a circle of Zungan warriors standing in the middle of a particularly thick patch of bodies when two things happened. A blinding pain stabbed through his head, making everything go black in front of him for a second. The computer had lunged like a spear at him across the dimensions. It had missed this time, but the next time would come soon. He would be on his way back to Home Dimension soon. But there was still more that he had to do here, damn it!

  He was still shaking his head, trying to clear the spots from in front of his eyes, when the Great D’bor who had commanded the center division came up to him. The Zungan’s left arm dangled limply, slashed open for much of its length and roughly bound up in blood-caked cloth. But his voice was steady and urgent as he spoke.

  «Blade, King Afuno has been wounded.»

  Blade swallowed. «Badly?»

  The Great D’bor nodded. «The Sky Father has laid his hand on him and will take him soon. He wants to speak with you before then.»

  Blade nodded and followed the Zungan. The circle of warriors opened to make a path for them, then closed behind them as Blade knelt beside the king. The Sky Father’s hand was indeed on Afuno. His mahogany face had paled, and the piercing black eyes had softened. Looking down at him, Blade could see why. Any one of the gashes that crisscrossed Afuno’s belly and thighs would have been sufficient to kill. That he was still alive now was a miracle. And that he was able to speak was a still greater one.

  But he did speak.

  «Blade, will you obey me?»

  «You know that I will, Your Majesty.»

  «Good. Soon-soon you will not have to obey anyone at all-anyone except Aumara,» The king managed a faint smile. «Even kings must bow to their wives at times. But you-will be king in Zunga.» He beckoned the Great D’bor to him. «Swear by the Sky Father.»

  «I swear.»

  «You are-witness. Witness according to the-laws of the Sky Father.» Afuno’s voice gained strength, and for the last time it came out as the voice of a king as he said the ritual words. «I, Afuno, King of Zunga, find Richard Blade of the English, Great D’bor of Zunga, most worthy as consort and king with Princess Aumara. Say you yea or nay?»

  «I say yea, oh, King,» said the Great D’bor.

  «Good.» Afuno’s voice faded. «The Sky Father keep you, Blade.» The last effort had exhausted him. Presently his eyes closed, then his breathing stopped. The Great D’bor knelt beside him and spread a cloth over his face, then remained kneeling, tears running openly down his cheeks.

  Blade was not far from doing the same himself. But, he knew there remained still more to do before he could accept calmly the computer’s snatching him home. He turned to a warrior. «Go quickly, and summon the Great D’bor Nayung and the Princess Aumara. I must speak to them.» The tension must have showed in his voice, because the warrior stared at him.

  «Is the hand of the Sky Father on you, King Blade?»

  Blade started at being addressed as king. «Not yet, but it may be soon. The Sky Father deals in strange ways with those of the English. Go quickly!»

  «There is no need to summon me,» said a familiar voice from behind him, and he whirled to see Aumara standing there. She held out her hands. «Zunga is ours, Blade. Or rather, it is yours. You have broken all our enemies and offered them up to the Sky Father. This is the greatest victory in all the history of our people. And my father-did he. ?»

  «He lived long enough to see it, Aumara. And he found me most worthy to be king after him. Will you have me?»

  She came into his arms. «When I bear your child within me? How could it be otherwise, even if I wanted it?» Tears began to trickle down her face, cutting paths in the dust that caked it. Blade lifted her face to his and kissed her on the lips. They stood for a time in each other’s arms. Then Blade stepped back to arm’s length and spoke quickly.

  «Aumara, I must tell you this now. The hand of the Sky Father may be upon me also. If it is, I want you to choose the Great D’bor Nayung as your next consort. He is a wise man and a good one. He will do well for Zunga, and justly for our child.»

  Aumara nodded, reluctantly. «He is what you say. But the Sky Father will not lay his hand on you, Blade. Not you and my father both. He has no thought for Zunga if he does so!»

  Blade shook his head-then stiffened as another tentative pain struck through it. «No, Aumara, I am the Sky Father’s creature. I have come from him, and I must go to him when he calls. He is calling me now, Aumara.» He reached out his hands and took Aumara’s, clutching them hard as another stronger pain hit him.

  Then Aumara screamed, and the scream seemed to echo endlessly and terribly in a great hollow chamber. Blade saw Aumara blur and waver as if he was seeing her through a sheet of water. Her face was turned toward him. Her staring eyes were gleaming as they had done that first night on the plain. They kept on gleaming as the rest of her faded away into a blur, kept on gleaming as the field and the strewn bodies were swallowed up, kept on gleaming-gleaming. Then they winked out like fading skyrockets, and darkness slammed down over Blade.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The cocktail party was beginning to warm up, and Richard Blade was hoping the girl beside him would do so too before long. It would be a pity if she didn’t-she was a strikingly handsome brunette, wi
th a fashion model’s graceful, economical figure. Unfortunately she was also a rather aggressive feminist, and little inclined to talk about anything else.

  Suddenly the crash of glass broke through the chatter of conversation. Blade whirled, dropping almost by instinct into a defensive stance, hands raised. One of the male guests was holding an aluminum clothespole and staring sheepishly down at the rug. Fragments of glass littered the plush red carpet, and, looking up, Blade saw the chandelier swaying violently, minus rather more than half its glass.

  The hostess came bustling through the crowd, «Freddy, what on earth are you doing?»

  «I was just showing these chaps a little quarterstaff work,» the man with the clothespole said plaintively. The four men around him nodded vigorously.

  «Well, you’ve certainly done a fine job on the chandelier,» said the hostess sarcastically. «Perhaps you’d like to start working on the windows? Or even better, go outside and do your demonstrations there?» Freddy nodded sheepishly and led his audience out through the French windows. Blade stared after him, his mind racing back to the last time he had seen quarterstaves used. They had been smashing more than chandeliers then. They had been smashing down Kandan and Rulami soldiers, winning the day for Zunga.

  The girl noticed the expression on his face. «What’s so interesting about that, Mr. Blade? I call it a typically adolescent piece of male fooling around. So eager to show off the skill he thinks he ought to have that he won’t admit the possibility that he doesn’t have it.»

  Blade nodded. «He certainly isn’t very good with that pole. But then it’s not right for quarterstaff work in any case. It’s much too light and not at all well balanced.»