by Джеффри Лорд
Arrows splashed back into the water around them, but the smoke was now creeping out over the river, the two heads were small targets, and the river was already full of the bodies of men and rolghas. Blade finally ducked behind a dead rolgha and treaded water while he caught his breath and examined Fador’n. The man’s wounds looked ghastly. But if he didn’t die from shock or loss of blood, he still might survive to tell his grandchildren about the battle.
Blade stayed behind the rolgha until the current had drifted them a few hundred yards downstream. There were still Jaghdi on the bank, but the smoke was now pouring out over the river so thickly that visibility was steadily shrinking. Blade drew only a few badly aimed arrows when he struck out again for the safety of the far bank. Then he was beyond the range of the Jaghdi horsebows.
The river was only about four hundred yards wide, but to Blade it felt more like four miles. The cold ate into him and sapped his strength, the letdown after battle did more, and the constant struggle to keep Fador’n’s head above water took away most of what energy he had left. He gritted his teeth and swam on, until suddenly his feet struck a gravel bottom and there were Elstani shouts in his ears.
He managed to stay on his feet until he’d seen Fador’n placed on a litter and hurried off to the doctors, and after that he stood while someone shoved a cup of spiced hot beer into his hand. Then he sat down, ignoring the shouted congratulations all around him, forcing strength back into his limbs as the warmth of the beer flowed through him. By the time Daimarz came up, his face a red mask from a scalp wound, Blade was on his feet again.
«The work of the gliders is done, Blade. Your work.»
«There were five hundred-no, more like five thousand sharing that work.»
«Have it your way, if you’re going to be stubborn about it. But you’d better hurry if you want to be in on the kill. Our people are across the river, and the men from the other guilds are in sight. They finally agreed to join in our fight.»
It was about time, Blade thought, but all he said was, «I’m coming.» Blade noticed a nick in his sword, but decided it would last out the rest of the fight. He belted it on and followed the woodcutter.
The Jaghdi weren’t helpless even without their rolghas, but they were certainly doomed. The Elstani had steel swords and their crossbows outranged the Jaghdi horsebows. The woodcutters were trained to work together on foot, and the refugees fought like men possessed. A third of the Jaghdi died, but there were only a few hundred Elstani casualties. The rest of the invaders were surrendering as fast as they could by the time the men of the other guilds came up.
«It’s going to be the woodcutters’ and the weavers’ victory,» said Daimarz’s father, Yishpan. Although he’d worked himself to exhaustion trying to get the rest of the Elstani to the battle in time, he didn’t sound exactly unhappy about this. «The rest can-«
«Pick up the dead rolghas before they poison the river,» said Daimarz sourly. «That’s all they’re good for.»
They walked through the camp to the tent where Efroin lay. He’d cut his throat, and Blade was glad that he’d had the strength to do this at the last. It had spared him the lingering agony of a belly wound, or some equally harsh fate at the hands of the Estani.
That reminded Blade of a pressing question. «We’ve got close to five thousand prisoners here. We’d better decide what to do about them, before the refugees start cutting their throats.»
«I’d say let them,» growled Daimarz. «You can be sure that a dead Jaghd won’t be coming through the forest again next year. Besides, we’d have to feed them.»
Yishpan shook his head. «That would make the Jaghdi on the Adrim desperate. If they thought we’d give them their lives, they might yield without a fight and more loss of life. Let’s hold our prisoners and promise to release them if Queen Tressana gives herself up to us.»
Blade wasn’t the only person staring at the Master Woodcutter. Yishpan stared back. «Why not? She is evil but not yet mad, and has much courage. If we ask her to be an honorable chief and die for those who follow her-«
«I suppose you could do that,» said Daimarz. «But I warn you, Father, I’m taking the best hundred men I can and go after the bitch queen myself. If I don’t come back with her head, you can do as you see fit.»
«Daimarz-«began his father, but Blade interrupted.
«Daimarz, I’ll come with you. You may need someone who can talk to the Jaghdi. You’ll certainly need someone who knows their ways better than you do.»
«True.» He gripped Blade’s hand. «We leave as soon as we’ve got the men and supplies. I think we’d better take some captured amulets too. If we have to follow her into the forest, we’ll be ready to do it.»
«And you’ll take Blade away from Chaia for the gods know how long!» snapped Haima. «Was that your purpose in suggesting this?» She was splattered with other people’s blood and looked like some demonic goddess of war. Right now she also looked angry enough to draw her sword on the woodcutter.
Blade knew he had to play peacemaker. «Haima, I can’t do much here, even to help with the prisoners. I can do much more with Daimarz. He and Yishpan are both right. We’ve won a battle, but Tressana is the key to winning the war. We can’t leave anything undone to strike at her. Nothing would make me happier than to stay here and begin giving Chaia your grandchildren, but do you want me to desert my post while I’m still needed?»
Haima sighed. «Blade, I wish I knew how much of that is the truth. But you are right about my asking you to desert. As I value my own honor, I cannot ask you to give up yours.» She kissed him lightly and walked away, her shoulders sagging.
Blade really wished he did have nothing to do but guard prisoners and find ways of not sleeping with Chaia. Unfortunately he had to stay with Daimarz and try to keep him from throwing his life away to kill Tressana. He also had to try to save the queen herself, if he could. Her death would still mean chaos in Jaghd, probably even worse now that so many leaders were dead or captured. He hoped he could find a way to save Tressana without defying the Elstani, but the chances were slim. Without joining Daimarz, they didn’t exist.
«All right, Daimarz. I think we’ll need some refugees as guides, as well as your woodcutters. Most of the prisoners we’ve released aren’t in shape for any more fighting.»
«I agree with you about the refugees, but how do we choose them? They’ll be killing each other for a chance at Tressana.»
«Pick out the two or three hundred strongest, then draw lots.»
«That could work. We’ll want everyone in Jaghdi clothing, but with our own weapons. Then…» They sat down on a leather blanket in front of a nearby tent and began planning.
Chapter 22
Tressana found her legs shaking as she slipped from her rolgha’s back to the rocky ground. She cursed her own weakness. She shouldn’t be so tired, not when she was riding all day. She had to set a good example for the rest of her people, and put courage back into the Jaghdi fugitives who had returned from the disaster in the Kettle of the Winds. Some of them had walked for five days, managing to get through the ranks of Elstani that had been stationed to the northwest of the camp.
Unfortunately her legs wouldn’t obey her. She had to grip the stirrups for a moment to keep from falling. Then Jollya was there-Jollya, so good and reliable even if she was her father’s daughter. Jollya was helping her away from the rolgha, so gently that no one could see the queen’s weakness. By the time the queen’s tent was up, Tressana could walk into it herself, even though she lay down the moment she was out of sight.
She must have slept, because the next thing she knew it was no longer twilight but night. A cold rain was falling, and the wind made the tent ripple and crackle. Jollya was there again. She had soup and wine on a tray, and Tressana discovered that she was finally hungry.
«Your Grace,» said Jollya when the queen was finished. «How much farther east do we want to go?»
«As far as we need to,» said Tressana shortly. She’d thoug
ht that question was settled, although she hadn’t reached the point of saying «You will obey!» to Jollya or Sikkurad.
«Haven’t we done all that can be done to help our people escape?»
«Perhaps. But we haven’t done all we can do against the Elstani. If we can mount the fugitives… Why do you think we’re herding all the rolghas with us?»
«Your Grace, our fugitives are dying on their feet! The only reason they aren’t actually dying is because they’re eating the dead rolghas! How long-?»
«As long as it takes us to avenge our dead and kill Richard Blade.»
«Him again.»
«Jollya!» Tressana’s voice cracked like a whip. «Did you love him too?»
Jollya jumped up, looking startled. «Yes. I loved him, and I don’t want him dead.»
«You filthy little-!»
«I’m not throwing away the lives of men who follow me to take an impossible vengeance. Your Grace, I beg you. You’re trying loyalty beyond what it can bear. Let’s go home and-«
Jollya had her mouth open when Tressana hit her in the stomach. it stayed open as Tressana picked up a spear and smashed her across the back of the neck with it. Then it closed and she crumpled forward, to lie face down on the furs.
Tressana stood over the fallen woman, holding the spear and afraid for a moment that she was going to vomit from sheer rage and disgust. Blade had betrayed her even before he fled to Elstan and taught those-those- She couldn’t find a word. Before he taught those people to fly and destroyed her army. He’d betrayed her with Jollya, which made it even worse. And how much treason had he been planning even while he was in her bed?
Tressana felt as if her head was going to split apart. She pressed her hands against her temples and screamed out loud. That released some of the pressure, but it also brought the other guardswomen on the run. They stopped at the door of the tent, staring down at Jollya. With a terrible effort Tressana forced out coherent words.
«Jollya tried to kill me. I had to strike her down. Tell Siharma she’s captain of the Women’s Guard now and bring her to me. Bind Jollya and take her to the treasure tent.»
«Yes, Your Grace.»
With the aid of a hand on the tent pole, Tressana stayed on her feet until she’d given Siharma her orders and Jollya had been taken out. Then she had to sit down.
Perhaps she’d been hasty in striking Jollya. Jealousy over a man who was now beyond the reach of either of them was foolish. But once she’d struck, there was no way back. Jollya could no longer be trusted, perhaps not to obey, certainly not to keep her mouth shut. Siharma would do well enough in the Women’s Guard, and meanwhile Jollya would make a good hostage for her father’s loyalty. It also meant a clear road to Manro, and that was becoming more important each day. If the loyalty of the men was beginning to fray, Manro’s death at the hands of the Elstani would repair much of the damage. It would fill most of the men with a burning desire for vengeance on the Elstani, and remove the king as a possible rallying point for anyone who became discontented.
Blade was rubbing animal fat on his blistered feet when the refugee family arrived with word of Tressana’s camp. His feet were as tough as leather, and it took a good deal to get them blistered, but keeping up with vengeance-driven Elstani was enough. Daimarz considered thirty miles a day no more than healthy exercise. Blade had met only one other people who could cover ground as fast on foot, the tall warriors of Zunga. When he set off Blade doubted that any men on foot could hunt a mounted enemy. Now he suspected that a well-fed Elstani could move faster than a hungry rolgha, and certainly the enemy’s mounts were hungry.
Daimarz listened to the refugees for only a minute before calling Blade over to hear the rest of their story. It took a while, because the father was always interrupting himself to ask Blade if he could join the raiders in their attack. Blade kept refusing to make any promises to a man half-mad with rage, exhaustion, and hunger.
Tressana was no more than ten miles away, and had King Manro with her. Blade recognized both banners from the man’s description. She had four or five hundred armed men with her, and twice as many gaunt rolghas.
Daimarz was in no mood to count the odds, and after a while he was able to convince Blade. The Elstani could march the ten miles, strike, and be safely away between sunset and dawn. In Jaghdi clothes they would be hard to recognize as enemies in the darkness. With surprise on their side and all their strength concentrated on striking down the queen, Tressana would be doomed. His desire for vengeance wasn’t keeping Daimarz from thinking clearly. Blade went along with him partly because of this. The raid really wasn’t as suicidal as it seemed. He also went along because it was his only way of getting to the queen, even if there wasn’t any way of getting out.
It was nearly sunset. If they started now they would be approaching the camp before midnight. Blade and Daimarz started going down the list of their men, picking the best sixty. With surprise that would be enough. Without surprise there weren’t enough Elstani closer than the Kettle of the Winds to make the attack. Everyone would carry a sword or a spear, half would be carrying crossbows, and six would be carrying pots of the Living Fire. They’d brought it along at Blade’s suggestion, in spite of Daimarz’s protests that it would slow them down.
«I told you we’d find a use for it,» said Blade cheerfully, as he sharpened his sword. «If we can stampede the rest of Tressana’s rolghas, it hardly matters whether she dies or not. She’ll have to go home. After a disaster like this, her own subjects may lose their patience with her.» Blade realized that if Tressana returned home safely, Jaghd would not be thrown into chaos. The Jaghdi would be able to find someone to take her place in a peaceful and orderly fashion, which they couldn’t do if she was simply murdered by the Elstani.
«Maybe,» said Daimarz, wrapping his feet in clean cloths before pulling on his boots. «But people who could follow that woman in the first place-I won’t trust them. Not now. I’ll trust these and not much else.» He rested one hand on his sword and the other on a pot of the Living Fire.
Something was wrong tonight. Manro knew it. He felt it in the air, heard it in the voices of the women guarding him, saw it in their faces. The gods were going to strike tonight at Tressana herself. They’d already struck the men who rode away from her, hoping to escape. Now it was the bad woman’s turn. So pretty, but bad.
Where was Jollya? Dark Jollya would protect him, if he could find her. But he could find her only if he got loose from the chain on his ankle. How could he do that? He remembered that chains were fastened by locks, and locks had keys, but only the person who had the key could open the lock. He didn’t have the key, so he would have to wait until the person with it came to him.
But what if the person didn’t come before the gods did? He might be hurt too, because the gods would think anybody near Pretty Tressana had also done bad things like her. Even Dark Jollya might get hurt, although she hadn’t done anything bad at all!
Manro whimpered. He had to get out of his chain, find Jollya, and escape from the gods with her.
Chapter 23
Tressana was drunk, because the wine bad gone down on a nearly empty stomach. She wasn’t feeling cold or tired any more. In fact, she had new strength. She decided to go over to the treasure tent and have a short talk with Jollya. Some of that talk might be conducted with a sharp knife-perhaps even a hot one.
«Siharma! Give me four of your people. I’m going over to the treasure tent.»
«Yes, Your Grace.»
Tressana’s hands shook as she picked the knives. Traitor, traitor, traitor! went the scream in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she was screaming at Jollya or at Richard Blade.
Maybe when Jollya was also screaming she’d know.
The rain had stopped but the wind was rising. That was just as good for the raiders, although it had come too late to help them dry out. The sound of the wind would muffle their footsteps from sentries who could still be more concerned about keeping comfortable than with keeping wa
tch. With surprise on their side the sixty Elstani could hardly fail. At least they could hardly fail by Daimarz’s standards, which meant killing Tressana and be damned to everything else! Blade knew his own standards were different, but knew even better that he had to keep them to himself.
Blade lay on his stomach, feeling the chill of the ground eating through his clothing, and peered out at the camp from under a bush. The leaves of the bush were faded and brittle; autumn was definitely coming to Jaghd. The center of the camp was lit up by a fire that flickered and danced in the wind, throwing twisted shadows onto the tents and making the tents themselves seem to change shape with every gust of wind. The sentries’ fires on the edges of the camp were much smaller, barely large enough to let a man warm cold hands and feet.
As far as Blade was concerned, the less light and the more cold the sentries had, the better. He shifted position to make room for Daimarz as the woodcutter crawled up and lay down beside him. «We’re ready, Blade.»
«Has Borokku gone back?»
«Cursing every step of the way, but he’s gone.»
«Good.» Borokku had twisted his ankle, so they’d ordered him to escort Lorma and the farmer who’d guided them back out of danger. Borokku wasn’t at all happy over this order. He felt that a glider flight and six dead Jaghdi still wasn’t enough vengeance for his dead sister Kima. Blade and Daimarz felt differently, and once again superior rank got results.
Blade was especially determined not to get Lorma killed. It would be a poor reward for her loyalty, with the end of the war so close. If he got killed tonight, Borokku’s orders were to release Lorma and let her make her way back to freedom in the forest of Binaark.
«You remember your own advice, Blade,» said Daimarz, putting a hand on the Englishman’s arm. «You’re probably the man the Jaghdi would most like to kill. You don’t have to be out in front all the time.»