by Jeffrey Lord
But he had targets and he planned to be generous with them. Even in the absence of reports he did not reckon that the Pethcines would have much in the way of transport. They would have just so many arrows and spears. He planned to mulct the enemy of these weapons as soon as possible.
To that end, when on the third day he moved his forces into position, he stationed a heavy contingent of ceboids on either flank. This, he thought, would offer some slight protection to his flanks, and might draw some of Org’s men off in diversionary attacks. Blade did not trust the ceboids to stand without neuters to whip them forward, and so he placed a line of ceboid-masters just behind the ceboids.
Behind the masters, the neuters, he then placed a line of specially selected ceboid officers, the more intelligent beasts, with orders to kill any neuter that ran. Blade had in person watched this order being translated to the ceboids, and he saw with what puzzlement and joy, it was received. The moist animal eyes examined Blade with awe and fear, but there could be no doubt of their obedience. Blade expected to lose them, all of them, but they would draw a lot of fire and it would take a lot of arrows and spears to kill them all. And they might even kill a few Pethcines.
Blade also planned to sacrifice the Lordsmen. Every one of them big enough to carry a sword into battle. They would be no great loss. He made them a Guard of Honor to Isma and placed them under her command. And his - when the time came.
The Second Neuter, in fact all the neuters of high rank, he kept around him as staff. They were not good for anything else, and they did exercise an awesome authority over the minor neuters and the ceboids. More than that - they were a nucleus. Blade was thinking far ahead.
On the fourth day, still without sleep, Blade constantly inspected his line of forts while keeping an anxious eye on the northern horizon. The twilight sky had all sloughed away now and the new Tharnian sun was mild, the visibility clear for miles, and still nothing moved out on the flat plain. And still no scouts returned.
Blade had instructed Isma in the techniques of the square and the phalanx. He had stationed the women, the 926 now, in his center. Everything, in the last analysis, depended on them. Everything. When the time came, when he had bled the Pethcines as much as possible, he meant to lead the women straight through the opposing center in a frontal attack of his own. Straight to the standards of Org and Totha. At the same time the ceboids would attack on the flanks.
He watched the tall beauties practice the intricacies of the square and the phalanx with mingled emotions. They were willing and anxious, these prima donnas, now full of song and bloodthirst, but they were still bacchantes and voluptuaries, still coi-hungry women to whom coi was forbidden. It might, Blade thought grimly, make them better killers.
The women shouted and sang as they drilled. Each had a Maiduke girl in attendance, as an arms bearer. On one of the flanks Blade was keeping a small contingent of the Maidukes in reserve. They were equipped with the antique air guns, of the type that Moyna had first shown him; he had been able to find about fifty of them. His troops were fighting with arfactis, obsolete weapons, because it was all he had.
Blade checked on the last-minute emplacement of bales of raw mani, they would absorb a lot of arrows and lances, and then returned to the Palace command post. He was weary to the bone, and for the moment his mood was dour. If he failed, and Tharn fell, it would be irony spelt large - a civilization that had advanced too far, too fast. Too much trust placed in advanced techniques. Old virtues forgotten before new ones were acquired. In his other life he had known a truism: the barbarians always won!
The terrace atop the Palace was now a busy place, aswarm with neuters and ceboids scurrying about on various errands. Blade settled himself at a large table and studied the slates on which he had sketched his battle plan. He could see no way to improve it. Let it stand. He did not expect the battle to go exactly to plan, they never did, but he had done all he could and he must, above all, retain a certain degree of flexibility.
Xeno came running up to the desk. “A scout has returned, Lord.”
Blade forced his eyes open. He had been nearly asleep over the slates. “Fetch him, then. Quickly.”
The returned scout was a neuter of the seventh level. He was disheveled and haggard and there was blood on the shoulder of his tunic. He made slaveface.
Blade scowled impatiently. “Get on with it. What have you found out there?”
“Many Pethcines, my Lord Blade. They approach from the north. They will be here before the morning.”
Blade studied him. “How many Pethcines?”
“I did not see them all, Lord, but I saw many. I and my ceboids were driven off before I could see more.”
“How did your ceboids fight?”
The wounded neuter shrugged. “Some fought, Lord. Some ran. We all ran when the Pethcines attacked us in the wheeled platforms. They have great knives on the wheels, my Lord, and nothing can stand against them.”
Blade pulled at his beard. “Wheeled platforms?” He motioned to Xeno. “Speak with him in low neuter, just what does he mean?”
Xeno spoke rapidly to the scout in a patois that neuters used among themselves. Xeno turned to Blade.
“I think I understand him, Lord. Many kronos ago, in the old times, Tharnians used these platforms. And wheels as well. They are drawn by two horses, which we also once had in Tharn, and they have swords on the wheels.” Xeno made a face. “A childish weapon, my Lord Blade. Fit only for barbarians.”
Battle chariots. He had not counted on that! Blade scowled at Xeno. “Childish, eh? You will change your mind before this is over.”
But he was not particularly worried about the chariots. He knew of a tactic that could handle them, if the women were up to it. But if Org and Honcho had chariots and horses, they were bound to have adequate transport as well. Supplies in plenty. That was bad. Urcit could not, was in no position, to withstand a siege. It had to be decided quickly.
It only confirmed what Blade already knew. Honcho had been preparing for this day a long time. Long before Blade had come to Tharn. Honcho had told him as much. It had been a slow and laborious process, the transferring of so many men, and so much material, from the depths of the Gorge to the plains of Tharn.
Blade questioned the neuter for an hour, then sent him away to be attended to. He was one of the lucky ones. There were no medical facilities and Blade did not intend to be burdened with wounded. He had already designated mercy squads to cut the throats of the badly wounded, regardless of rank.
When the scout had been taken away Xeno said, “The news is bad, my Lord?”
Blade shook his head. “No. Nor good. I will sleep now, Xeno. Wake me if I am needed. In the morning we fight.”
He stretched out on two tables pushed together, covered himself with a robe, and was asleep in seconds.
Xeno stood guard over him. At times the young neuter would finger the necklace Blade had given him, then smile at his sleeping Lord. Toward dawn he saw Isma and the Second Neuter come to the top of the stairs and halt, whispering and looking in the direction of the sleeping man. Xeno who had been sitting, stood up.
Isma and the Second Neuter started toward him. Xeno drew his short sword. It was greatly daring of him, and he knew he was as good as dead, but he drew the sword anyway.
Isma stopped, tie Second Neuter also. Nothing was said. The Second Neuter trembled behind the High Priestess. Xeno was silent, holding the sword ready, trying not to let the terror overcome him.
Isma gave him a long look from her dark eyes, then turned away. She and the Second Neuter vanished down the stairs.
The cloak had fallen away from the sleeping Blade. Xeno replaced it and made slaveface. Something had stirred in him for a moment, had nearly come through. He wondered what it was like to be a man. A God?
Chapter Fourteen
Xeno, obeying his instructions, awakened Blade with the first gray chill of dawn. He told the big man of Isma’s visit. Blade nodded curtly and strode to the terra
ce railing, fastening his cloak around his shoulders again a rising wind. Tharn’s new weather seemed to be turning bad. As he reached the rail a spatter of cold rain slashed the open terrace.
The campfires of the Pethcines made a great crescent on the plain before Urcit, a concave shimmer of yellow and ruby light extending on both flanks of Blade’s forts. He counted upward of a hundred fires and wondered if they actually represented Pethcinian troops or if Org, at Honcho’s prodding, was trying to fake it. Org would not think of such a device himself. Blade shrugged his massive shoulders. What matter? Today would tell the story. The die was cast and all his fortunes were at stake.
Xeno set about awakening and organizing staff neuters. Blade ate and had a great draught of warm soka. Then he gave concise orders and he and Xeno left the Palace for the lines. It was growing lighter by the moment, a bleak dank morning with an increasing wind and cold drizzle and no hint of sun. The wind, Blade thought, might help him. Otherwise he did not care about the weather.
Squarely in the midst of the main fort, a little behind the spot where the women would form ranks, Blade had ordered the erection of a high platform of mani bales. This was built in the shape of a pyramid and crowned by a single large bale. There was room enough for Blade alone. Xeno and his lesser aides were clustered on the next level down.
When it was light enough Blade ascended the pyramid and stood peering over at the Pethcine camp. The campfires were dying now, some of them smoking badly, and the easterly wind was blowing a gray film of smoke across the dark lines of Pethcine warriors already assembled. Blade counted files, rapidly multiplied, and whistled softly under his breath. He kept his face impassive. They were all watching him. But eight thousand! Not counting the charioteers that were drawn up far to the rear of Org’s first rank.
Blade loosened the huge sword in the scabbard. It was going to be a bloody day.
Behind the center of Org’s line, not too far back, were the skin tents of Org and his ranking officers. Totha’s tent, perhaps. And certainly Honcho’s. And in Honcho’s tent, Blade was sure, would be Zulekia. The neuter had certainly brought the Maiduke girl, to increase the pressure on Blade and make sure that he lived up to his bargain. Blade’s little smile was grim. He was counting on Zulekia being there. And he had no intention of living up to his bargain.
He could make out King Org’s tent now. It stood a little apart from the others and before it a standard fluttered and snapped in the wind. It was a spear jabbed deep into the earth and from the butt was hung a shield and three horse tails.
Org, Honcho, and Totha came out of the tent as Blade watched. They were all in armor. Totha, wearing breastplates and a short leathern girdle, carried a helmet under one arm. She stopped and stared, looking straight at Blade. He raised a hand. Totha stared for a moment longer, then turned to where Honcho and Org were talking animatedly. Blade grinned. He wondered just how Honcho had managed it, how the neuter had gotten around Totha. Blade had left her primed to kill the neuter, had been more than half convinced the ploy would work. But no. Why? Not that it mattered now.
From the Pethcine lines came a harsh bray of trumpets. Blade smiled again. This was the beginning of the trickery, as Honcho had planned it. There was to be a parley and he, Blade, was to surrender after only a token resistance. The terms would be very generous. Blade and Isma would continue to share the throne of Tharn. Sutha had to go, and Honcho would allow a merciful destruct. Honcho then to be appointed King of Neuters. The Pethcines to be allowed emigration from the Gorge, to settle the plains of Tharn, and be accorded status equal to the People.
Later, as Honcho planned it, the Pethcines would be divided and destroyed in their turn, bit by bit. And, as Blade now extrapolated it, soon it would be Isma’s turn. And his own. Then Honcho would rule Tharn alone. And his surgeon would make a man of him. Victory. Heart’s desire. Total achievement of aims.
Blade’s smile was as cold as the rain. Dream on, Honcho!
The Pethcine trumpets blared again. Org, with Totha and Honcho on either side of him, left his lines and walked toward the main fort. He had no bodyguard. Such was the plan. They would come halfway and wait for Blade.
Blade leaped nimbly down the pyramid of bales. He gave an order to Xeno, who went running off toward the teksin factory behind them. Blade adjusted his helmet at an angle, the black plume brave in the wind, and went out through the sally port to meet the enemy.
He passed Isma and her women, drawn up in a great square, and raised his sword in salute.
The women thrust their swords high in answer. They roared: “Blade! Blade!”
Blade smiled at them. Isma, in the center of the square, flanked about by her Lordsmen, raised her sword but she did not shout nor smile. Her dark eyes followed Blade as he left the fort.
He went alone to meet the three of them. When he was within six paces he halted and saluted with the Pethcine sword. King Org, his greasy ringlets crammed beneath a helmet of metal and leather, glared at the sword and then at Blade. His piggy eyes, ever bloodshot, glared above his curling beard. His voice was thick and cruel, rasping.
“Well, Blade? Do you betray us again? Or do you keep the terms you made with Honcho?” His warrior’s eyes roved over the forts and the ceboid troops drawn up on the flanks. “This does not look like surrender to me!”
Blade’s smile was glacial. “I agree, Org. It does not.”
Org’s hand went to his sword. Honcho, with a long-toothed smile, put a hand out to stay it. His green eyes glinted at Blade.
“Surely you will not be fool enough to betray us a second time, Blade. I have shown you what will happen. She is with us, you know. In Org’s tent.”
Blade stared at him. “I had guessed that. And I do not betray you, Honcho. I never meant to keep any bargain with you, as I am sure you knew. Nor will I betray Urcit, or myself. If you want Urcit, and Tharn, and me - you must take us.”
He was conscious of Totha’s eyes on him. She was standing easy, relaxed, but her deep brown eyes never left him. Fires burnt in those eyes that sent a chill down Blade’s spine. Her mouth was as scarlet, her teeth as white, as they had been in the Gorge when she had done things to his body, and had demanded so much of him. That body, even in armor, was nubile and lithe and the dusky ivory skin as sensuous as ever.
Totha spoke now, for the first time. “You also betray me, Blade! You have made a lie of everything between us.”
Blade glanced from Totha to Honcho. “I could name a promise that you have not kept, Totha.” He might yet sow a little dissension.
Honcho laughed. “To kill me, Blade? I had not thought you such a fool. Certainly Totha is not, I had no difficulty in pointing out to her where her best interests lay.”
Totha spat at the ground. “You desire a Maiduke above me, Blade. That girl Zulekia. Honcho told me of this and at first I did not believe him. Then I spoke to the girl herself and I found that it was true: she wants you, Blade! And for that you are both going to die horribly.”
Honcho made an impatient gesture. “Enough of this! But she speaks truth, Blade. Think. If you do not surrender as planned we will attack and defeat you. The girl will die first, with you watching. Both of you will take a long time to die, Blade. If you surrender now things will be as I have promised. I swear it.”
Totha spat again. She glared at Honcho. “You will not save the girl! That I vow. Blade’s life, perhaps, but not the girl.”
Blade grinned at Honcho. “You see. You make promises you cannot keep.” He was stalling now, talking to gain time until it was a little lighter and the wind stronger. By now Xeno would have transmitted his orders to the catapult troops on the roof of the teksin plant.
Honcho’s green eyes were narrowed on Blade and they were full of speculation. As Blade intended. Honcho was wondering about the Power! Why, with the Pethcines safely in the trap, had the Power not been invoked? Where were the Red Storms and the magveils and the magrays? And where was Honcho’s Power? Blade gave him a mocking grin. Honcho
did well to wonder. And the advantage was to Blade. He knew what he was going to do. Honcho did not.
Org’s sword rasped from the scabbard. He waved it at Blade. His little eyes were glittering with fury. “Fight me, Blade! Fight me now. To the death. We will decide this in single combat.”
Blade’s sword was swift in reply. “Gladly, Org. Gladly!” It was more than he had expected.
Both Honcho and Totha leaped at Org, catching at his sword arm and forcing it down. Honcho pleaded. Totha cursed and derided.
“Fool!” she blazed at her father. “Old fat fool! That is what he wants. You will be killed and our people will not fight. Fool! Fat stupid fool! Put your sword away and listen to me before you ruin everything.”
Blade saw his chance fading. He sheathed his sword and nodded to Org. “Later, Org. Later. Come for me whenever you are ready.”
He turned his back on them and strode toward the fort. Once he glanced back. Totha and Honcho were arguing fiercely with Org and half-dragging him back to the Pethcine lines.
Now it would begin.
Blade went straight to the pyramid of bales. He mounted it and made a signal to Xeno. Xeno made a signal in turn. The catapults atop the teksin plant went into action. They began to hurl fire arrows at the Pethcine tents.
Swoooooooosss-swoooosss-swoooosss…swoooosss…
They had followed orders. The arrows, tipped with blazing teksin oil, arched in a high parabola over the forts, firing to windward so the tents on Org’s left wing would catch first. The east wind would do the rest.
The first salvo fell short. Blade signaled and the catapults were cogged back for more elevation. Blade could hear the Bearer Maidens singing and shouting at their work. He shook his head and smiled. This whole damned affair was only a festival to them.
The second salvo of fire arrows fell squarely amidst the rude skin tents. Each arrow, as it struck, spread blazing teksin oil. Tents began to go up in flame and roiling black smoke, each one a separate furnace. Blade did not expect too much from the tactic but it would spread a little chaos, plant a little fear, and divert some of Org’s troops to saving their baggage.