Killer Plants Of Binaark rb-33

by Джеффри Лорд

  This time Curim admitted that Blade was the winner without the queen’s prompting, and even with a faint smile on his face. Blade didn’t trust that smile. He would rather have seen the guard captain in a blazing rage. The smile indicated that whatever plots against Blade might be hatching today, they were mostly Curim’s.

  All right, what could the guard captain be planning for the third fight? Blade thought about this as he sat on the grass drinking lukewarm, mint-flavored water from a leather bottle. The fight would be out in the same open field as the first two. If there’d been any snares or pitfalls prepared, he or one of his opponents would almost certainly have already stumbled into them. So the trick would probably involve striking from a distance, and that meant archery.

  Would one of the guards shoot because he «thought Blade was trying to escape?» Possibly. Or would some friend of Blade’s third opponent «go mad» and shoot? That wasn’t at all impossible. The man who did the shooting would be doomed, of course. If Curim didn’t have to kill him to show how clean his hands were, the queen would do the job. So the archer would have to be a good shot but not very intelligent. How likely was it that there was such a man among the guards today?

  Quite likely. Blade had few illusions about the ability of most people to believe what they wanted to believe, rather than what made sense. He’d been called a cynic for this attitude, but he preferred to call it common sense, at least in his profession. Certainly it had saved his life a good many times, whatever you cared to call it.

  The best way to deal with this sort of trick would be to win suddenly, catching Curim and the archer by surprise. It would also help if he could win while he was so close to his opponent that the archer would be afraid of hitting his comrade if he shot. That should delay things until the fight was over, and then it would be too late for Curim to do anything today. Blade knew he would have to go on watching his back all the time he was in this Dimension, or at least in Jaghd, but he was used to that.

  Blade ate some biscuits and fruit, then drank more water. He didn’t want to risk a stomachache by eating a heavy meal, but he badly needed the water. Normally he was as nearly immune to heat as anyone not born in the tropics could be, but he wanted to take no chances. Today the temperature must be close to a hundred, the dampness along the river made it worse, and there wasn’t a breath of wind. Even Tressana and Jollya were beginning to wilt, and Sikkurad looked as if he’d sell his soul for a bath and a cold drink.

  Blade was glad he’d been careful when he saw his third opponent. The man was the biggest of the thirteen guardsmen, taller than Blade and just as heavily built. He looked almost too big for his rolgha to carry through the fight without tiring. On the other hand his rolgha was starting fresh, while Blade’s mount had already carried him through two fights. As far as Blade could see, he and his latest opponent would be a nearly perfect match. If the man had any weaknesses, it would take time to discover them, and time was the one thing Blade knew he couldn’t rely on having.

  Oh well, anyone who thinks hand-to-hand combat can be neat and tidy doesn’t live long enough to learn otherwise.

  Blade mounted and rode out into the field at a walk, to spare his mount. His opponent followed at a trot, with Curim and several of his comrades cheering him on.

  Blade reined in when they reached the circle of trampled grass, but the guardsman simply pulled his rolgha around in a circle without stopping. Then he dropped his lance into striking position and spurred his rolgha up to a canter. Blade rode to meet him, and they came together so hard that both lances were smashed into splinters.

  Both shields were still intact, however, and neither man was the worse for the shock. So one of Jollya’s guardswomen rode out with fresh lances for both men, and they came at each other again. This time Blade’s thrust was better placed. His lance tip caught in a split in the leather covering of his opponent’s shield, jerked the shield out of position, and nearly pulled the man out of his saddle. For a moment the guardsman was completely unprotected. If Blade could have drawn his sword he could have ended the fight then and there, but the man went by too fast.

  On the third pass with lance and shield, the guardsman’s rolgha was only trotting, and the rider hardly tried to thrust at Blade. He crouched behind his shield, holding it so firmly that Blade’s lance broke again and for a moment his right arm went numb all the way to the shoulder. He felt as if he’d thrust at a stone wall.

  As the guardsman drew his sword, Blade trotted his rolgha around in circles, desperately flexing his arm to get it back into fighting shape. He was annoyed to realize that he hadn’t got back all the strength he’d lost in the jungle and the prison, and the fighting had taken more out of him than he’d expected. It was too bad that he not only had to win this fight but also had to make a good show for the judges, and also guard against Curim’s treachery.

  Blade decided to make his move at the first decent chance he got. The guardsman was probably stronger than he was right now, but Blade knew he’d still have two advantages. One would be surprise; the other, the fact that the Jaghdi had no system of unarmed combat.

  Blade drew his sword, but carefully loosened the straps on his shield so he could discard it with a single jerk of his arm. Then he shouted, «Come and be butchered, son of a sow!» and spurred his rolgha at the man.

  Blade’s opponent did the same but didn’t notice that Blade was pulling on the reins at the same time as he dug in the spurs. Blade’s rolgha whinnied and started to buck in confusion, but Blade kept it under control. The guardsman rode in at a canter, shield raised to meet a thrust, sword raised to come down on Blade’s head or shoulder. He made the fatal mistake of concentrating completely on what he was going to do to his opponent, ignoring what his opponent might be planning to do himself. So he rode up to Blade without noticing that Blade’s rolgha was almost standing still, a steady platform for launching any sort of attack.

  As his opponent’s sword came down, Blade exploded into action so fast and furiously that even those who saw him could only figure out afterward what he’d done. His sword dropped to the ground, his shield arm straightened suddenly, and his shield flew like a thrown discus at the guardsman. It flew high, crashing into his sword so that its slash went completely wild. Blade had nothing to fear from the sword as he hurled himself forward, gripping his opponent’s shield with both hands.

  Blade’s rolgha squealed and bucked wildly. If the guardsman had thought of letting go of his shield, Blade would have dropped to the ground and would have probably lost his life as well, trampled to death by one of the rolghas. Instead the man froze in surprise, giving Blade all the time he needed. Blade swung himself up onto the back of the other rolgha, let go of the shield, got the man in a hammerlock with one arm, and chopped at the side of his neck with the other. As he felt the man go limp, he hurled himself to one side, to get clear of both the rolgha’s hooves and his falling opponent.

  All the spectators were shouting and screaming as the two men hit the grass. Somehow the guardsman sat up, and as he reached for his dagger Blade lunged for him again. He had to admire the guardsman’s toughness, but that made it all the more important to put him down and keep him down. This fight wasn’t going to be over until the other man was unconscious.

  Then above the shouting Blade heard Curim’s voice bellowing, «No, you-!» Blade didn’t hear the whistle of the arrow, because he shouted, «Get down, you fool!» to his opponent, then threw himself as far as he could. He landed rolling, and as he rolled he heard the guardsman let out a throat-tearing scream.

  When Blade raised his head he saw the guardsman sitting as if he’d been turned to stone, an arrow driven into his left eye and blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

  Then he slumped sideways, kicked twice, and lay still. Curim hadn’t been able to stop his archer in time.

  Blade was never really sure why he stayed out in the open field, a perfect target for more arrows, instead of catching one of the rolghas or running toward the judges.<
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  He thought it was because he knew the scuffle among the spectators meant there would be no more arrows, but he also suspected it was because he wanted to honor the guardsman’s courage, and arrows be damned! Blade bent over his fallen opponent, straightened his legs, and crossed his arms on his chest. He retrieved the man’s shield and put it over his face. Then he picked up the man’s dagger and thrust it into his own belt. Finally he rose and walked slowly toward the spectators.

  As he approached, both men and women stepped out of his path. Curim looked away, the archer held by four guards buried his face in his hands, and even Tressana turned slightly pale under her tan as she looked at Blade. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke to her guard captain.

  «Curim. This was your work, wasn’t it?»

  It was the captain’s turn to go pale. Tressana raised her hand, and five of the guardswomen turned their rolghas and lowered their lances. Blade stood quietly, his hands at his sides. In spite of his rage, he knew that a single wrong word or movement could set off a bloody fight. He might die in it, and even if he didn’t Tressana could be killed. Then there would be chaos in Jaghd.

  «Well?» Tressana’s voice cut like a whip. Curim swallowed, then nodded. The queen laughed. Blade had seldom heard such unpleasant laughter. Then she smiled, without warmth. «Curim, I do not know what you thought to accomplish by this. I will not ask, either. I will simply give you a choice. Slay the archer now with your own hands or lay down your post as captain of the Men’s Guard.»

  Curim never had a chance to obey or refuse. The archer let out an animal roar and with desperate strength tore himself free of the men holding him. He hurled himself at Curim. Blade was in the man’s path and acted almost by reflex. He reached into his own belt, drew the dead guardsman’s dagger, then thrust upward at the archer. The man’s leather armor deflected the point upward, but only from his heart into his throat. Blade jerked the dagger free and the archer staggered a few more steps, then fell and lay still. Blade wiped the dagger on the dead man’s breeches, then raised it hilt-first in salute to Tressana.

  «Your Grace, this was a more fitting end for the archer. I killed him with his comrade’s dagger. Now his comrade can rest easy, although he himself was not blameless in this affair.»

  Blade’s words set all the guards murmuring and whispering, except for Curim. He stood, trying not to look at either Blade or the queen, until Tressana spoke again.

  «So be it. I will say that justice has been done, and will say no more of this. Curim, you still have your place, but it would be best if you kept out of my sight until I say otherwise.»

  «But-«

  «You will obey.» Tressana made a pointed gesture at the guardswomen all around. Some of them now had their bows in their hands. Curim growled something which it was probably well nobody understood, mounted his rolgha, and rode off. When he was out of sight Tressana dismounted, held on to her stirrup for a moment, then turned to Blade.

  «Blade of England, why did you take it upon yourself to deal out First Justice to the archer?»

  «I did not take it upon myself, Your Grace. It was thrust upon me by the fool himself.» He pointed at the dead man.

  «You could have stepped aside and let him slay Curim.»

  «Then I would have been guilty of Curim’s death.»

  «This worries you, after Curim sought your life by treachery?»

  «If I let him die, his men would want my blood, and there are many of them. Why should I make more enemies than necessary?»

  «Blade, I could still almost believe that you lied about not being of Elstan. They have a way of fighting without weapons much like yours. But to defeat three of our guardsmen-well, even if you are not of England, you are certainly of no land under any sun which has ever shone on Jaghd or Elstan.» She laughed again and rested one hand lightly on Blade’s shoulder. She had to reach up rather a long way to do so.

  At this point one of the guards collapsed on the grass, overcome by the heat. The doctor hurried forward to help him, and behind the doctor came Sikkurad. He also looked as if he would like to faint, but his voice was steady.

  «Your Grace, the gods have shown us that Blade is not of Elstan, and that Curim is-«

  «Never mind Curim, Keeper. You are claiming your reward for proposing this test of Blade?»

  «Yes.» Blade noticed that unlike Curim, Sikkurad was able to meet the queen’s eyes. «I would ask Blade to take guest-right in my house, while you find a place for him.»

  «Such a warrior should be a guest among warriors, not in the house of a Keeper.»

  «He should also be at a safe distance from Curim, at least for a month or so.»

  «That also is true. But-«Blade half expected her to say, «But you will obey.» Instead it was the queen who looked away, and the Keeper who looked at Blade.

  «Will you accept my house and all within it for a month, Lord Blade?»

  «I will.»

  «Good.» He hurried off, to help the doctor with the sun-stricken soldier. The queen’s back was still turned to Blade, and he risked a quick look at Jollya. She seemed to feel his stare and turned slightly to look back at him. Unmistakably, she winked. Blade smiled, and resisted the temptation to laugh.

  He might have rejected Tressana’s friendship or even made an enemy of her by accepting Sikkurad’s hospitality.

  On the other hand, he suspected that he would learn more, and be in less danger, in the Keeper’s house. Sikkurad could certainly answer most of his remaining questions about this Dimension, and the Keeper’s guards seemed to be honorable men even if Curim, their captain, was not.

  He also looked forward to seeing more of Jollya.

  Chapter 9

  Neither Sikkurad nor his daughter turned out to have as much time for Blade as he’d hoped. Sikkurad’s duties as Keeper of the Animals forced him to travel all over Jaghd, although he hated riding and groaned aloud at the thought of a day in the saddle. As for Jollya, rumor said that the queen was finding all sorts of new errands for her, to keep her away from her father’s house and thus away from Blade.

  Blade had plenty of time to listen to this rumor, and to all the others going around. He had nothing to do, in fact, but eat four meals a day, run, swim, exercise, and get back the rest of his strength. After a week of this he was becoming irritable from sheer boredom. He would cheerfully have taken one of the servant girls to bed, or gone into Sikkurad’s library of books, scrolls, and parchments to start learning about Jaghd on his own. Unfortunately the servant girls were curiously reluctant to approach him, although he heard admiring comments about him when they thought he wasn’t listening. The library was simply forbidden territory, guarded by six or eight of Sikkurad’s household fighters who were as deaf as fence-posts to all Blade’s arguments.

  Without the rumors, Blade might have started feeling that he was simply in another, more comfortable, prison. Instead he was able to put the rumors together into a picture of how things were going in Jaghd. He could have done a better job if he’d known a little more about the history of this Dimension, but he could be sure of one thing: Jaghd was getting ready for war against Elstan.

  There could be no other explanation for all the tales of rolghas and draft animals being gathered, metal hoarded for weapons, new soldiers recruited and trained, hard bread and salt meat piled up high in the storehouses. If half these tales were true, the war might even break out while Blade was still in this Dimension.

  That explained why everyone was so ready to see spies under every bush and behind every door. It didn’t explain how the army of Jaghd was supposed to get over the mountains that lay between it and Elstan. Blade had seen just enough of the mountains to agree that they were completely impassable to any large body of men. The only other ways to invade Elstan were by boat up the Adrim River, or through the forest of Binaark itself.

  The Adrim was navigable only two months of the year, and in those two months the Jaghdi and the Elstani did all their trading. The rest of the year it wa
s either too shallow, too fast, or jammed with ice which flowed down from the river’s source in the mountains. An army coming up the Adrim would find the Elstani ready for it. After a month or two it would be completely cut off from its homeland, trapped by the water level, the currents or the ice. The army would have no supply source and the Elstani would only have to hold out for that month and a little longer, then round up the starving survivors of Jaghd’s fighting men. The fact that the Jaghdi were all cavalry and that their rolghas ate ten or fifteen pounds of meat a day made matters even worse.

  As for marching through the forest of Binaark-no one had ever led an army through it. The killer plants were dangerous enough to a man on foot, where a single slip could kill him. But an army of men, even though they were armed, equipped, and trained until they had at least a fighting chance against the killer plants, could never make it through the forest. Any army would need baggage and draft animals, as well as untrained servants, teamsters, and laborers. A Jaghdi army would need thousands of rolghas. There was no way of getting all these vulnerable targets past the killer plants. Sending an army into the forest of Binaark would make the Charge of the Light Brigade look sensible. A third of the army would die among the killer plants, a third would die of starvation and disease, and the Elstani would hit the survivors over the head as they staggered out of the forest.

  The idea was ridiculous. There was no other word for it.

  Sikkurad finally called on Blade late one hot afternoon, when Blade had just finished running two miles. The sweat was pouring off him but he knew he had all his strength back now.

  «Lord Blade, I would speak with you;«said the Keeper. «In my library.»

  «I would like to bathe before I-«

  «Your life may hang on what I have to tell you.» Sikkurad’s voice was low, so that only Blade could hear him, and his face was even paler than usual. Jollya had a tan any fashion model would have envied, but her father remained as pale as a mushroom no matter how much he rode in the sun.