Blood River Down

by Lionel Fenn

  Illklor snatched her out of the air by the neck, laughed, and shook her until feathers began to fly.

  Gideon picked up the bat.

  The guards began to murmur.

  Vorden pushed himself to his feet and reached out to stop him from doing anything foolish.

  Gideon looked down at him, and the woodsman backed away.

  Ivy gurgled a protest; Tuesday tried to beat the man to death with her wings.

  Glorian said something rapidly, but Gideon couldn't hear it. There was a rush in his ears, stormy surf trapped in a shell, and he felt no compunctions at all about bringing the bat across the man's back. He yelled and dropped Ivy and Tuesday, and turned just in time to receive a forward thrust just below his sternum. There was no air left for another yell, so he simply gargled a bit and pointed to the guards.

  Gideon brought him to his knees with a light tap to his skull, to his face with a not-so-light tap on the back of his thick neck.

  Red growled then and lumbered to his feet.

  Glorian ran to the limp, gasping duck and gathered it up in her arms while Tag, glowering at Illklor's unconscious body, put his arms around Ivy and held her close.

  Gideon saw none of it.

  He advanced on the door, hesitated only a few seconds, then began flailing at the first face he saw, and the second when the first disintegrated, and the third when the second split into two others. He only had time for a glance to his left, where Vorden was doing his best to nail garks into the floor with one of the benches, before he strode boldly, and somewhat precipitously, into the hallway, the bat little more than a green, hissing blur. He barely felt the blows he received in turn—the pricks on his legs from garks' needled beaks, the stings on his back from Moglar's swords and stickers, the bruises raised on his arms when pikes and planks were thrown to stop him, at the headache he was getting because he couldn't move fast enough, couldn't swing hard enough to vent the rage that drove him forward.

  Alarms were raised.

  Screams filled the hall.

  Vorden forsook the bench for a sword snatched from a fallen Moglar; Tag grabbed up a sword with a ball of spikes on the end; Whale found a crescent dagger; Ivy found a two-headed pike hinged in the middle; Red used his hooves, his horns, and his teeth.

  Illklor, his eyes slightly crossed, staggered to his feet, to the doorway, and shouted instructions to his guards.

  Ivy kicked him between the legs and blew him a kiss when he screeched and fell backward. Then she slammed the door and locked it, and headed for the fight. Returned, unlocked the door, and waited with a disgusted look for Glorian and the duck to hurry out. Then she kicked Illklor again and relocked the door, fought her way through a mass of indecisive garks and decidedly unhappy giant dwarves until she was at Gideon's side. She said nothing because the dark look on his face told her he wouldn't be listening.

  Whale and the others saw it, too, and could only do their best to make sure he hacked the fastest way toward the exit.

  Within minutes they were in the center square, citizens scattering at the carnage, a few leaning out of windows and calling bets to four men on a scaffolding hastily scribbling in steno notebooks while a fifth stood behind them chalking the odds on a blackboard.

  Within minutes more, they were at the door to Bela's kitchens and once inside slammed it shut and piled tables against it. Then Vorden turned to his son, pointed a finger, and said, "Not a word, boy. Not a single word or you're dessert."

  Bela nodded unhappily.

  Ivy dropped her pike and grabbed a pot of water from a stove, clambered onto a table, and dumped its contents on Gideon's head.

  Gideon, who was busily battling a butcher's block to the death, stiffened, blinked, and slowly holstered the bat. Ivy jumped down to his side and put an arm around his waist, bracing him while he regained his breath, his composure, and a better clarity of vision. When it was done, he could hear the shrill alarms still sounding throughout Umbrel, the footsteps outside, the pounding and scratching on the door.

  "We have to leave."

  "Where to?" Ivy said.

  "When we get there we'll know. But we can't stay here."

  "Good idea," Bela seconded.

  Vorden grumbled at him.

  "Well, it is," his son said defiantly. "What are you going to do when they break in, saute them to death? This kitchen is not big enough for all of us."

  Gideon stopped Vorden's murderous advance with a word, then took the duck from Glorian and stroked its neck. With a quack-like purring, it nuzzled its head against his side, then suggested that the sooner they leave Umbrel, the sooner pursuit would stop. While Houte Illklor was one of Wamchu's minions, he was also aware that he couldn't be expected to hold off an army for two days, until Wamchu arrived. Therefore, it made sense, and a perverted kind of logic, that once into the ashen woods, Houte would send word to Rayn that the duck had flown the coop, the prisoners were on the loose, and what with the Ceremony to prepare for and all, what was a lieutenant to do?

  Ivy mentioned rather sarcastically that once the duck was gone, there would be no Ceremony, Wamchu would hold Illklor responsible, and it would be worth considerably more than the man's life to see to it that the duck was returned.

  "The duck has a name," the duck said grimly.

  "You're all missing the point," Glorian said.

  Ivy examined her hinged pike closely.

  "I forgot something, you see."

  "Forgot what?" Whale asked fearfully.

  "The army."

  "How can I forget it, I can hear it right outside the door."

  "Not that army, the one in Rayn."

  Gideon slowly turned his head.

  "The one," Glorian said in a small voice, "Wamchu is going to send against the Upper Ground when the Ceremony begins."

  He saw it then—why Wamchu wasn't here, why Houte had so many guards for a lousy summer palace, why his sister had been here instead of in Rayn. There were still a few unanswered questions—such as what the hell was he doing here in the first place—but they would have to wait.

  Meanwhile, Ivy said to Glorian, "Nice of you to tell us now."

  "I forgot."

  "You forgot?"

  "Well, there was a bit of excitement, you know. I can't be expected to remember everything."

  "But who started all this in—"

  Gideon, beginning to feel the effects of the weapons, teeth, fists, feet, nails, hands, and hips used against him, shut them up with a mirthless smile and sent them to the exit. When they were gone in a flurry that belied their casual arguing, he turned to Bela.

  "Are you going to be all right?"

  The young man guessed he would be, as long as no one connected him with any of the raiders.

  Gideon considered the problem and solved it to his own satisfaction by putting his sister down, walking over to the chef, shaking his hand, and giving him two black eyes and a slightly cracked jaw. If that doesn't convince them, he thought, let him stew in his own juices.

  Then he rushed to the elevator stairwell just as the kitchen door burst in and the room flooded with troops.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  It was relatively easy to escape the surface city, considering the leaderless forces ranging below them. Red skewered five garks, Ivy decapitated one, and the rest scattered for reasons best known to them and their instinct to survive in a hostile environment. The worst part was pushing through the crowds of decidedly unsavory people who were beginning to arrive for the end of the world. Long caravans, large groups, the occasional carriage of trollops and gamblers all conspired in some way to prevent them from taking full flight. But when they reached the side of the road, they were able to race over the grey, dusty plain to the nearest slope. Climbing was not difficult once they got the hang of slipping back two paces for every four forged ahead, yet they were thoroughly exhausted by the time they reached the safety of the dismal forest atop the hill and had reached the campsite they had used before their foray into the heart
of the enemy.

  They dropped to the ground, gasping, thirsty, suddenly aware of all the injuries they had taken during battle. Whale did his best to spell the wounds away, and though his efforts were weak and somewhat confused, the results were sufficient to ease much of the pain and staunch the worst of the bleeding.

  An hour later they moved on, goaded by the knowledge that though the duck was with them, they had not yet completed their onerous task.

  By nightfall, however, there was no sense in taking another step. Their legs were stiff, their lungs burning, their heads aching from the unwholesome atmosphere of the woodland that pressed ominously close about them. Agreeing that carrying on would do them more harm than good, they stopped to build a fire and collapsed into puddles less animated than the branches above, dancing in a wind tainted with the stench of nightmares.

  Finally, when the horrid roars of prowling ants prevented their sleep, they huddled around the fire and watched the sparks reach for stars that never shone in this part of the world.

  Gideon kept an arm around Tuesday, every so often scratching her neck and stroking her back to remind himself that she was indeed real—or as real as anything could be in a world where his best friend was a red-haired giant goat.

  "I'm glad you came," she said at last, her words slightly clipped because of her bill's action. "I was getting tired of all that luxury."

  An eyebrow lifted. "Luxury?"

  "Hey, don't knock it. I was treated like a queen, you know."

  "They were going to pluck you, then serve you for dinner."

  A wing shifted in a shrug. "You want perfection, go to heaven."

  "I'll settle for my living room, thank you very much."

  "And I," said a shamelessly eavesdropping Ivy, "will settle for knowing what we're going to do next."

  "That's easy," said Glorian. "We go home."

  Ivy, in spite of herself, nodded agreement.

  "Why?" Tag asked in disappointment.

  "Because Gideon has done what we've asked him to. He found the duck, he found me, and now I can proceed with stopping Wamchu on the Upper Ground."

  "You?" Ivy leaned away from her. "I think you're right that Gideon has done more than his share, give or take, and we can't in good conscience ask him to do more. But where do you get off saying you'll proceed?"

  "Well I am who I am, after all."

  Ivy mouthed a word that brought a blush to Glorian's cheek and a cough to Whale's throat. "Ladies," he admonished gently. "As much as I know you hold your country's best interests at heart, I should like to know how you propose to stop Wamchu from taking over."

  "Well, that's easy," Ivy said quickly. "We station men at the edge of Chey and push them off the ladders when they climb up."

  "Lots of ladders," Whale suggested.

  "Nonsense," Glorian said sweetly. "We raise the armies, fortify the villages, boobytrap the Scarred Mountains, and beat them to a pulp in a war of attrition."

  "Waste of manpower," Ivy said.

  "I think that's all wrong," Tag interrupted, and looked startled when everyone turned to listen. "I mean, don't you think we ought to go right now to Rayn? We can lay down a siege or something. Or we can attack it the way we did Umbrel, knock it all to the ground, hang Wamchu in the square, and torture the guards until we find out the secret way down to Choy. Then we go get the wives and hang them." He smiled. "That's a lot easier than going back up home, and a lot more fun. I mean, have you counted the ladders we have to climb? I did on the way down. It's a lot, I can tell you. We'll be so tired when we get there, we won't be able to kill a single one of them."

  Ivy waved the suggestion away with a limp hand and turned to Vorden. "You do a lot of fighting and stealing, right? What do you think?"

  "I think," Vorden said sadly, face cupped in his palms, "I am a miserable excuse of a man who has just lost the only son he's ever had. And to think..." A hand shifted to his brow. "A cook. The man's a cook."

  Gideon tried twice to break in and was twice shouted down with the reminder that they were only trying to spare him further danger, heartache, and injury, and if he didn't appreciate what they were doing for him, he could take his silly little bat and go home.

  Even Whale, though he felt obligated to come to his defense, did so in such a halfhearted manner that Gideon could only push himself back into the shadows, where he tried, for one more time than he could count, to understand these people. He realized he was, essentially, an alien and could therefore not be expected to fully grasp their mental, cultural, and psychological aspects; nor could he be expected to be understood himself because of his unique, to them, character and background. But surely there had to be some common ground, some midpoint of compromise, some logical median along which they might travel as one instead of as a mob.

  Tuesday waddled back after several minutes and sat down in front of him. "Would you mind telling me how you got into this in the first place?"

  He told her, as simply and quickly as he could. When he was finished, he discovered an ache in a curious space between his lungs.

  "Well, I personally think," she said judiciously, "we ought to go home. God knows I could get a Bridge fast enough, if all it takes is desire and need. You really don't owe them, you know, big brother; not when you get right down to it. They dragged you into this—for which, I must say, I am very grateful—and like they say, you've done your bit."

  "I suppose."

  "I should also like to add that I am not pleased with the reference to my preserves. They were much sought after in my time, in case you've forgotten."

  "Yeah, I know. Aunt Beth used them on flypaper."

  "That," Tuesday said with a toss of her head, "is a damned lie, Gideon Sunday."

  "And Uncle Howard waxed his cello with them."

  "God, you are cruel." She spread her wings and covered her eyes, sobbing a bit before peering through the feathers to see him grinning. "You're a creep, too. And if my misery, which you see displayed before you, its bill toward your hand, isn't enough to move you to tears, I might also add that I'd kill for a good steak about now. And the only way I'm going to get it is by going home."

  "Right."

  "Home, Gideon. Remember that?"

  She left him with that thought and returned to the campfire to mediate the growing acrimony between Ivy and Glorian, Tag and Ivy, Whale and Glorian, and to tell Vorden some jokes that did not brighten his dismal mood in the least.

  The fire burned down.

  Whale announced that clearer heads in the morning would better solve the dilemma, whereupon he curled up next to the embers and fell asleep, snoring. After much positioning, the others did the same, and Gideon was left to stare at the dying sparks.

  —|—

  An hour passed, and Glorian crawled over to him and put her arms around his neck. "I need your help," she whispered silkily into his ear. "They won't listen to reason."

  "What can I say that you haven't mentioned already?" he said, tensing against the attempts of her tongue to wash his lobe.

  "You could tell them you're the hero and you think I'm right."

  "What if I don't?" he said, tensing against the attempts of her left hand to memorize his chest.

  "I could break your jaw," she said with a laugh. "But I won't, because you will."

  He said nothing and let out a muffled groan when she finally crawled back to her place. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Red sniggering behind him.

  —|—

  He dozed and was awakened sometime later by a hand that insinuated itself into his shirt and began scratching his stomach lightly.

  "Ivy," he whispered harshly, "cut it out."

  "But I only wanted you to wake up so I could tell you what to do tomorrow."

  "I'm awake."

  Her fingers stopped; her thumb moved on. "Then you'll help me?"

  "Do what?"

  "Do what? Where have you been, Gideon? Get the others back home where they belong, of course. We can't begin to do anyth
ing down here and you know it."

  "It does seem more practical," he said, wondering just how long that damned thumb was.

  "Then we can dump Glorian and I can show you my scars."

  His eyes closed.

  "I can also show you how to summon a Bridge."

  "That's a lie," he said.

  "Sure it is. But desperate times demand desperate measures, don't you think?"

  Gideon wriggled as politely as he could out of her grasp and reach, and promised he would sleep seriously and without delay on it and talk to her in the morning. She did not like not having an answer and told him so in a husky whisper, but when her hand closed sensuously over Red's hoof instead of his knee, she grumbled something about sacrifices and tribulations and crawled back to her place.

  Gideon mopped his face with a sleeve.

  —|—

  An hour later Tuesday flapped over and snapped at his nose until he woke up. When he reached for his bat, she hissed at him and nipped the back of his hand. He groaned. She cackled.

  "Just remember, brother," she said, a too familiar voice, though somewhat hoarse, floating out of the dark, "I want a goddamned steak."

  When she left, Gideon lay back, closed his eyes, opened them again, and said, "Damn."

  —|—

  After ten minutes of trying, he managed to coax a feeble bluelight from his bat and sat morosely in front of Red's head. The lorra's eyes were barely open, and what they saw they didn't like.

  "Listen, old pal," he said, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard, "this is dumb. The way things are now, they can't take on Wamchu alone, and they can't take him on back up there, and they can't go down to Choy and take on the three weird wives, either. They're dreaming, Red, and they don't even know it."

  The lorra grunted.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, but, knowing there was nothing else he could do: "I think, if it's all right with you, that I'd better do something now, or we aren't going to be alive long enough to enjoy whatever it is we're going to live long enough to enjoy if we live long enough, if you catch my drift."

  The lorra grunted.