by Джеффри Лорд
Before going into the forest Blade had plenty of time to fit wooden handles on either end of the wire he’d brought from Home Dimension. When he’d finished he had a handy garrote, easily concealed, quickly brought out, and highly effective for silently strangling people. He wasn’t sure if he would need it, but he never passed by an opportunity to provide himself with another weapon.
Three days before Blade was supposed to lead his men off to the forest, Lorma disappeared. She came back the next day with a message from Jollya on her collar. Instead of news of the Keepers’ decisions, the message only gave a location-the field where Blade fought the three testing duels-and a time-nightfall that same evening.
Blade was fairly sure that the message wasn’t a trap. If anybody had learned the code from Jollya, he would almost certainly have heard about it. Jollya would have told him unless she was dead, and he knew she was still alive.
He wasn’t optimistic about what he might learn. Jollya’s asking for a meeting could only mean that her message was too complicated for the code to handle. He could only guess what this might mean, but his instincts told him that it was unlikely to be good news. Blade could never explain those instincts in a way that made sense to anyone else, but he knew them too well not to trust them.
It was a clear night except for the usual haze over the river. Anyone watching the riverbank would be able to see a mounted man a long way off. To avoid this danger Blade tethered his rolgha a good half mile from the rendezvous, walked most of the remaining distance, and virtually crawled the last hundred yards on hands and knees. He was holding the garrote ready as he moved, ready to deal silently with any unwanted visitors.
All he found was Jollya, sitting with her back against a tree and apparently asleep. He felt a little foolish, until he saw the tear streaks on her face and the stains on her clothes. Something had badly upset her, and Blade doubted he was so important to her that it was simply his riding off to war.
«Jollya,» he said softly.
She started. «Blade?»
«Yes. What’s wrong?»
She looked blankly at him, then shivered. «Those damned Keepers!» She made the word sound obscene. «Those incredible fools! They’ve betrayed us! I could geld every one of them, the useless-«
«Jollya, what happened?» If she went on like this she’d become either hysterical or loud enough to be heard at a distance.
She stopped as if he’d slapped her, then glared at him. He realized she wasn’t hysterical, except possibly with rage at the Keepers. That still didn’t explain what the Keepers had done. He repeated his question. Now she answered clearly and quickly, and Blade felt the hot night turn cold around him.
The Keepers had decided that they weren’t going to oppose Tressana after all. Or at least they wouldn’t oppose anything Blade had learned about. They would certainly make sure that the Masters of Elstan wrote down all their knowledge before they were executed, but as for preventing the executions, Jollya had the feeling the Keepers would make a party of the day!
«I think some of them are even more frightened than-than my father. They don’t want to risk going against Tressana. It’s her war, and the victory will make her so popular she could probably ask for their lives if they did anything against her.»
«And the others?»
«I know what three of them say. They say that if the Masters of Elstan die, the Keepers of Jaghd will be the only men of learning in the world. They will have all the power that comes from learning for themselves. All of it!» She clenched her fists in the grass and tore it up in handfuls.
«And your father?»
Jollya jerked again, then her head bowed. After a moment Blade realized she was crying silently. He put an arm around her shoulders, but she shook him off almost fiercely.
«My father-Blade, I’ve been a fool! Maybe you have too. My father-oh, Lady of the Grass-«She started crying too hard to be able to speak, and this time she didn’t pull away when Blade held her.
Finally she cried herself out and was able to talk again. «My father has more courage than we’ve ever believed. More courage than all the other Keepers together. He says no to the whole war. He says we can’t trust Queen Tressana to do anything after she’s won the war. Even if we could, slaying so many men of learning is a crime cursed by the gods. They will punish Jaghd for it, and any Jaghdi who lends himself to it.»
Like Sikkurad’s statement that the Jaghdi were going to march through the forest of Binaark, Jollya’s words were hard to believe at first. Blade had to hear her again, in more detail, before he understood. Then he shook his head. Sikkurad seemed an unlikely man to play hero, let alone martyr, and Blade didn’t like to learn that he’d been so inaccurate in his estimate of the man. Being able to judge people was one of his most important skills. Still, Jollya had to be telling the truth. After all these years of quarreling with her father, she was the last person in Jaghd to lie to make him look good.
There was also another question Blade knew had to be answered now. «Did your father say this to his fellow Keepers, or just to you?»
«He certainly said it to me first,» said Jollya. She swallowed, then said nervously, «I didn’t believe him. I called him a liar to his face, and he-he didn’t get angry with me. That was when I started believing him. I don’t know if you believe in the stories of a man being touched by the gods. I never did, until now. The way he looked and talked-there was something from the gods in him, and I had to believe that he meant what he was saying.»
«That could be,» said Blade. «It could also be that this sense of doubt about what has to be done has been in him all along, and you just didn’t see it. He loves you, Jollya, even if he can’t figure out a way to convince you.» Blade badly wanted to do something to reconcile Jollya and her father.
There was a long silence. Then Jollya said slowly, «You could be right. At least I won’t say you’re wrong. Not until I’ve talked with my father again.» She smiled faintly. «This time I won’t start by calling him a liar.»
«Good. Has he spoken at all about what he thinks to the other Keepers?»
«I don’t know. Even if he wanted to, he may not have had the time.»
This might be true; it had been only a few days since Sikkurad learned of Tressana’s plans at all. Blade desperately hoped it was true. «If your father hasn’t spoken to the other Keepers, try to persuade him not to. If the other Keepers are planning to go along with Tressana’s war plans, they may be willing to denounce him to her. She might have no mercy. At the very least you could wind up being held hostage for your father’s good behavior.»
Jollya hugged her breasts as if she were suffering from a chill. «I know. But after the gods have made him brave, how can I ask him to be a coward again?»
«There’s courage. There’s also jumping naked into the creepers of a killer plant. Right now your father will do more for everybody by keeping his mouth shut and waiting for a better time.» He hoped she’d believe him, because he could hardly tell her the real reason why he expected that better time.
She sighed. «I wish I had always believed in the gods. I might feel easier about their working now, or leaving things in their hands. Will you be able to help us in this? I believe you, Blade, gods or no gods!»
«I’ll have to lead my men to Binaark first. If I refuse now, I’ll make Tressana suspicious at the very least. Maybe she’d even think I was an enemy. Even if there’s no war, the work in the forest ought to be done. Now that we have the scent amulets, the killer plants won’t be a barrier between Jaghd and Elstan any more. We’ll be able to cut a road through the forest and trade with Elstan all the year around. Everybody will be much better off.»
«I understand. But, Blade-come back, whatever else you have to do.» She stood up and practically threw herself into his arms. He held her for a moment, then said, «Wait until I’m out of sight before you leave,» and turned away into the darkness.
He wanted to make sure that anyone who might have been watching would foll
ow him rather than her. He also didn’t want to have to tell Jollya any more lies about his plans. He knew he was good at making up plausible stories; he wasn’t entirely sure he was good enough to fool Jollya much longer.
If things worked out as he hoped, he would not be returning to Jollya or even to Jaghd after he’d done his work in the forest of Binaark. He’d be on his way to Elstan, with a scent amulet around his neck and all of Jaghd’s war plans in his head.
Blade knew that going to Elstan was a desperate solution, but then he faced a desperate situation. If the Keepers didn’t act, nothing could stop Tressana’s war. Even if the Jaghdi didn’t sweep everything before them as they hoped, many people would die and much knowledge would be lost. Also, Jollya and her father would sooner or later do something to make Tressana turn against them, and that would be the end. The only thing that still could be done against Tressana was to warn the Elstani and hope that this warning would help them to defeat the Jaghdi. After that, wiser heads might prevail in Jaghd. True, the Elstani rulers might not be any better than the Jaghdi, but chances were they wouldn’t be worse. And at least Elstan would not be a ravaged wasteland fighting a desperate guerrilla warfare against the Jaghdi cavalry.
As desperate as the situation was, Blade wouldn’t have chosen this solution if Tressana hadn’t helped him. Blade was really very grateful to her for that help, although he doubted that she would appreciate his gratitude. She’d given him all the details of Jaghd’s war plans, so that he could even tell the Elstani where the main Jaghdi camp would be. Then she’d let him go out to the borders of Jaghd, commander of his own band of men. That would make escaping merely dangerous, instead of suicidal. He’d have to ride or walk only a few miles to be so deep into the forest of Binaark that nobody could track him.
Chapter 14
A hot night followed a day when it seemed that the ground and the forest were going to be baked like a loaf of bread. Blade shifted uncomfortably in his sweat-soaked hammock, hoping that some miracle would bring even a small breeze into the hut.
Nothing happened. The air remained as still and heavy with jungle smells as ever. A night bird called in the distance, and from underneath the hammock came a whimper and a faint series of thumps. Lorma was stirring restlessly in sleep, probably from a dream of hunting.
Blade’s hut stood a little apart from the others in the camp on the edge of the forest of Binaark, but it was built to the same pattern. It was ten feet on a side, with log walls, a thatched roof, a narrow door, and a single small window. The door and the shutter were made of roughly dressed planks hung on leather hinges. The whole thing was a good deal more elaborate than Blade would have asked for under the circumstances, but this was the Jaghdi way of doing things. When they had to build, they built as solidly and as elaborately as the tools, materials, and time available would let them.
There were eight huts in the camp, plus an open-sided cook-shed over the fire pit and a log corral for the rolghas. Blade’s scouting party had been in the camp for a week now. In two more days they’d be on their way deep into the forest, the first men ever to walk there without fear of the killer plants.
Blade planned to keep right on going until he came out the other side into Elstan. The couriers who’d come into camp every day had brought no news to make him change his mind about that. The army was still gathering, and the Keepers were hard at work giving it the best weapons possible. Fortunately they didn’t seem to be coming up with anything new other than the scent amulets.
Blade stretched his arms as far as they would go, then let them droop over the sides of the hammock. He didn’t feel any cooler or more comfortable, but the fatigue of a long day was finally catching up with him.
He was beginning to doze when he heard Lorma whimper again, then suddenly fall silent. A moment later she made a low rumbling sound in her throat, not quite a snarl but definitely not a friendly purr. He heard a rustle of dried ferns as she shifted position. Then suddenly there was the unmistakable pad-pad-pad of Lorma’s feet as she crossed to the door.
By the time she’d taken three steps, Blade was fully awake. By the time he heard her low growl from by the door, he was sliding out of the hammock. He’d stripped naked and didn’t bother dressing. If whatever Lorma was sensing outside was dangerous, speed, silence, and weapons ready to hand were more important than clothes.
He’d pulled the garrote out from under his pillow as he slipped out of the hammock. Next he belted on his sword. By the time he’d finished he could hear what Lorma must have heard first: footsteps approaching the door of the hut.
The door faced the jungle, clear of any of the sentries’ paths. That in itself would have told Blade the approaching footsteps might be enemies. Making this nearly certain was the slow, cautious way the footsteps were coming on, as if the men didn’t know their way or were afraid of being heard.
The footsteps stopped, and Blade heard whispers. He didn’t recognize any words, let alone voices, but he was able to use the time. He pointed at the hammock. «Lorma, go!» The cat padded across the hut and leaped into the hammock. From outside no one could have seen her moving. Her gray coat blended too well with the darkness. Now in the darkness of the hut she gave the hammock the appearance of having someone in it.
The hut door opened inward. Blade found a position where he was hidden completely from the outside and still had a good view of the interior. At least it was as good a view as he could have in the darkness. He wished he had Lorma’s night vision, even though his was abnormally good for a man. He also wished that the people outside would get on with their business, whoever they were. He hoped it was Curim and some of his friends, rather than traitors among his own party. That would make a good many things easier, including his own escape. He also suspected Tressana would not hold it against anyone if Curim was caught and killed trying to commit murder.
Then Blade stopped wishing and nearly stopped breathing, because the footsteps outside were coming on. Dry leaves crackled, the door creaked, and three shadowy forms stepped into Blade’s view. He heard the unmistakable hiss of an all-steel sword being drawn, and grinned. The only man with an all-steel sword who’d be coming at him like this would be Curim.
Then one of the three assassins uncovered a lantern, and it would have taken a high-speed motion picture camera to record what happened after that.
Lorma growled and sat up. Where Curim and his men had expected to see Richard Blade half-asleep and nearly helpless, they saw two vast green eyes which seemed to glow with their own light. They stopped, stared, and completely forgot about everything else for a vital second. At least it was vital to Blade.
He sprang out from his hiding place, one leap carrying him halfway across the hut. He slammed the door with a flying sidekick from midair and landed to Curim’s left. The garrote was already in his left hand. He started to draw his sword with his right, saw Lorma getting ready to spring, and checked the draw. As Lorma sprang, Blade gripped both ends of his garrote, tossed it over Curim’s head, drove his knee into the captain’s back, and simultaneously jerked the wire tight. It was possible that Curim died without realizing that he was even being attacked. It is certain that he died without making a sound.
Meanwhile Lorma’s man was down on the floor, the cat on top of him. This man died a little more noisily than his captain, with chokings and gurgles as Lorma tore out his throat. Lorma jumped back from the blood and turned to help with the third man, but by then her master didn’t need any help.
The third man had seen his captain die to his left and his comrade go down under the cat’s attack to his right, and he was still trying to figure out what to do with his shortened spear when a large hand descended on his collar. Blade jerked the man around to face him with one hand and with the other thrust the point of his sword up under the man’s chin until it reached the brain. Blade had to pull the sword out quickly to keep the dead man from dragging it to the floor with him.
Blade and Lorma stepped back from the three bodies a
nd stared at each other. In the flickering glow from the lantern, the bodies on the floor were distorted into something barely human. The still, hot air reeked of smoke, blood, and even less pleasant things.
At that moment Blade realized he’d killed all three men without a sound that could have been heard outside. What was more, he couldn’t hear any voices or sounds of movement from beyond the door. Curim had probably brought more than two men with him, so the others must be waiting outside, to warn off or if necessary kill sentries from the camp. If they had orders to stay outside unless Curim ordered them in, it would be at least two or three minutes before they suspected that anything was wrong.
Blade’s mind was now working at the speed of one of Lord Leighton’s smaller computers. Suddenly he knew that those two or three minutes were giving him a golden opportunity not only to escape but to hide the escape completely. The Jaghdi would think he was dead, and not worry about where he might be going or what secrets he might be taking with him.
A moment later Blade’s body was working as fast as his mind. Once again it would have taken a movie camera to record the action. Blade bent down and stripped off the armor and clothing of the man he’d killed with his sword. He was the largest of the three. Then he put on the man’s armor and clothing, and piled all his own gear on top of the body except for his sword. Amulets or no amulets, he wasn’t going to face the forest of Binaark again without a good sharp steel edge in his hand!
All three men had been wearing amulets, but Lorma’s attack had smashed the one on her victim. The other two were intact. Curim’s was an officer’s model, made of gilded brass, heavily decorated, on a silvered chain. Blade had one very much like it. The other man had a soldier’s model a plain wooden cylinder, perforated with holes and plugged at the top with a bone stopper, hanging from a length of cord.