Still, Lord Jidu's reply all but unnerved her. 'You speak boldly, for one who sits deep in the heart of Tuscalora lands.'
Mara arose from her litter and stood motionless in the sunlight. 'If Acoma honour is not satisfied, blood must answer.'
The two rulers measured each other; the Lord Jidu flicked a glance over Mara's fifty guards. His own squad was three times that number, and by now his reserves would be armed and awaiting orders from their Strike Leaders, to rush the estate borders where scouts had earlier reported the presence of soldiers in Acoma green. The Lord of the Tuscalora lowered his brows in a manner that caused his servants to duck quickly inside the estate house. 'The blood spilled will be Acoma, Lady!' And the man's plump hand rose and signalled the charge.
Swords scraped from scabbards, and the Tuscalora archers snapped off a flight of arrows, even as their front ranks rushed forward. Mara heard battle cries from the throats of her own soldiers; then Papewaio shoved her down and sideways, out of the line of fire. But his action came too late. Mara felt a thud against her upper arm that turned her half around. She fell back, through gauze curtains and onto the cushions of her litter, a Tuscalora arrow with its pale blue feathers protruding from her flesh. Her vision swam, but she made no outcry.
Dizziness made the sky seem to turn above her as the shields of her defenders clicked together, barely an instant before the enemy closed their charge.
Weapons clashed and shields rang. Gravel scattered under straining feet. Through the haze of discomfort, Mara concentrated upon the fact that the one Acoma archer who mattered had not yet released his round. Tape, the signal,' she said through clenched teeth. Her voice sounded weak in her own ear.
Her powerful Strike Leader did not answer. Blinking sweat from her eyes, Mara squinted through sunlight and whirling blades until she found the plumed helm. But Papewaio could not come to her, beset as he was by enemies. Even as Mara watched him dispatch one with a thrust to the neck, two others in Tuscalora blue leaped over their dying comrade to engage him. Plainly, Jidu's orders had been to cut down the one Acoma officer, in the hope that his death might throw Mara's guard into disarray.
Through her pain, Mara admired the merit of such tactics. With the high number of newcomers among the Acoma guard, and little to no encounters on the battlefield, many of these men were fighting with shieldmates who were strange to them. And against the relentless, concentrated attack of Jidu's finest warriors, even Pape-waio was hard-pressed. Mara gritted her teeth. Only minutes remained before the enemy overwhelmed her guard, and the plan she had devised to avoid their massacre had yet to be put into effect.
She gripped the side of the litter, but even that small movement caused the arrow in her arm to grate against the bone. Agony shot through her body; she whimpered through locked teeth and struggled not to faint.
Blades screeched in a bind, seemingly over her head. Then an Acoma guard crashed back and fell, blood spraying through a rent in his armour. He shuddered, his opened eyes reflecting sky. Then his lips framed a parting prayer to Chochocan, and his hand slackened on his sword. Mara felt tears sting her eyes. Thus her father had died, and Lano; the thought of little Ayaki spitted on an enemy spear turned her sick with fury.
She reached out and caught the sweat-damp grip of the fallen soldier's sword. Using the blade as a prop, she dragged herself to her knees. The sun fell hot on her head, and her eyes swam with pain. Through waves of faintness, she saw that an unlucky arrow had managed to dispatch her precious archer. He lay moaning with his hands clenched over his gut. And the signal arrow that would summon Lujan and Tasido to action sparkled unused at his feet.
Mara groaned. Shouts beat against her ears, and the clash of blade on blade seemed like drum rolls in the temple of Turakamu. Papewaio called an order, and the Acoma still able to fight closed ranks, stepping back of necessity over the still-warm bodies of their comrades. Mara prayed to Lashima for strength and reached out with unsteady hands for the fallen archer's bow.
The horn bow was heavy and awkward, and the arrow slippery in her sweaty hands. Mara notched the shaft with raw determination. Her hand faltered on the string, and the arrow tilted, sliding. She managed to recover it, but the rush of blood to her head momentarily blackened her vision.
She willed herself to continue by touch. Sight cleared in patches; another man crashed against her litter, his blood pattering into streaks across white gauze. Mara braced the bow and strove against weakness and pain to draw.
Her effort failed. Tearing agony laced her shoulder, and her lips drew back in a cry she could not stifle. Weeping tears of shame, she closed her eyes and tried again. The bow resisted her like iron-root. Tremors shook her body, and faintness stifled her awareness like dark felt. As the cries of the men and the clatter of weapons dimmed in her ears, still she strove to pull a bow that probably would have defeated her strength when she was in perfect health.
Suddenly someone's arms supported her. Sure hands reached around her shoulders and closed firmly on the fingers she held clenched to leather grip and string. And like a miracle, a man's strength joined hers, and the bow bent, paused, and released.
With a scream audible_through the noise of battle, the signal arrow leaped into the sky; and the Ruling Lady of the Acoma passed out into the lap of a man with a leg wound, who, but for the grace lent by her cunning, would have died a condemned criminal in the wilderness. He eased his mistress's slender form onto the stained cushions of her litter. The strip he should have used to bind his own hurt he pressed to staunch the blood from the arrow wound in Mara's shoulder, while around him the Tusca-lora pressed in for the victory.
Lord Jidu ignored the chilled fruit at his side as he sat forward eagerly upon his cushion. He motioned for a slave to fan cool air upon him while he sat watching the finish of the battle in his dooryard. Perspiration from excitement dripped off his forehead as he regarded his imminent victory - though it seemed to be longer in coming than he had expected. Many of his best warriors bled upon the gravel walk, no small few felled by the black-haired Acoma officer who fought with his hands drenched red to the wrists. He seemed invincible, his blade rising and falling with fatal regularity. But victory would come to the Tuscalora, despite the officer's aptness at killing. One by one the ranks at his side diminished, overwhelmed by superior numbers. For a moment Jidu considered ordering him captured, for his worth in the arena would recover the cost of this battle. Then the Lord of the Tuscalora discarded the thought. Best to end this quickly. There was still the matter of the other force of Acoma soldiers on his border, now attacking, no doubt, upon the release of that signal arrow. At least one Tuscalora archer had struck the Lady. Perhaps she bled to death even now.
Lord Jidu took a drink from the tray. He drew a long sip, and sighed in anticipation. The question of this debt he had incurred while gambling with Lord Buntokapi was coming to a better conclusion that he could have hoped. Perhaps he might gain the Acoma natami, to bury upside down beside the bones of Tuscalora ancestors. Then the Lord Jidu considered Tecuma of the Anasati, ignorant of this battle. A laugh shook his fat throat. Capture the Acoma brat and force Tecuma to terms! The boy in exchange for withdrawal of Anasati support from the Alliance for War! Jidu smiled at the thought. The Great Game dealt blows to the strong as well as the weak; and any ally of the Warlord's was to be balked, for war inevitably bent the monkeys of commerce away from chocha and into the pockets of armourers and weapons masters.
But all would depend on this victory, and the Acoma soldiers were showing an alarming reluctance to die. Perhaps, thought Jidu, he had ordered too many to attack the force on the border. Already both sides had been reduced, but now the odds were little better than two to one in favour of the Tuscalora. Again the green plume of the Acoma officer fell back, and the First Strike Leader of the Tuscalora shouted to his men to close. Now only a handful of soldiers remained, crowded against Mara's litter with their swords swinging in tired hands. Their end was certain now.
Then a br
eathless messenger raced up to the estate house. The man prostrated himself at his master's feet. 'Lord, Acoma troops have penetrated the orchards and fired the chocha-la bushes.'
Jidu bellowed in fury for his hadonra; but worse news followed. The messenger took a gasping breath and finished his report. 'Two Acoma Strike Leaders with a force of three hundred warriors have taken position between the burning crops and the river. None of our workers can get through to battle the blaze.'
The Lord of the Tuscalora leaped to his feet. Now the situation was critical; chocha-la bushes matured with extreme slowness, and a new field would not mature to yield sufficient harvest to recover his loss within his lifetime. If the bushes burned, the proceeds from this year's crop could not pay off the creditors. Ruin would be visited upon Jidu's house, and Tuscalora wealth would be as ashes.
Gesturing for the exhausted messenger to move clear of his path, the Lord of the Tuscalora shouted to his runner. 'Call up the auxiliary squads from the barracks! Send them to clear a way for the workers!'
The boy ran; and suddenly the fact that Mara's escort was nearly defeated lost its savour. Smoke turned the morning sky black and evil with soot. Plainly, the fires had been expertly set. Lord Jidu almost struck the second messenger, who arrived panting to report that shortly the crops would be ablaze beyond hope of salvage - unless the Acoma force could be neutralized to allow water brigades access to the river. •
Jidu hesitated, then signalled a horn bearer. 'Call withdraw!' he ordered bitterly. Mara had set him to select between hard choices: either surrender honour and admit his default as a dishonour, or destroy her at the price of his own house's destruction.
The herald blew a series of notes and the Tuscalora Strike Leader turned in open astonishment. Final victory was only moments away, but his master was signalling him to order withdraw. Tsurani obedience told, and instantly he had his men backing away from the surrounded Acoma guards.
Of the fifty soldiers who had arrived upon the Tuscalora estates, fewer than twenty stood before their Lady's blood-splattered litter.
Jidu shouted, 'I seek truce.'
'Offer the Lady of the Acoma your formal apology,' shouted the green-plumed officer, who stood with sword at the ready should combat resume. 'Satisfy her honour, Lord Jidu, and Acoma warriors will lay down their weapons and aid your men to save the crops.'
The Lord of the Tuscalora jiggled from foot to foot, furious to realize he had been duped. The girl in the litter had planned this strategy from the start; what a vicious twist it set upon the situation. If Jidu deliberated, if he even took time to dispatch runners to survey the extent of the damage to determine whether his force had a hope of breaking through, he might forfeit all. No choice remained but to capitulate.
‘I concede the honour of the Acoma,' shouted Lord Jidu, though the shame gripped him as though he had eaten unripe grapes. His First Strike Leader called orders for the warriors to lay down their arms, with reluctance.
The Acoma soldiers left living unlocked their shield wall, weary but proud. Papewaio's eyes flashed victory, but as he turned towards the litter to share victory with his Lady, his sweat-streaked features went rigid. He bent hastily, the bloody sword forgotten in his hand; and for a last, vicious instant, the Lord of the Tuscalora prayed that fortune favoured him. For if the Lady Mara lay dead, the Tuscalora were ruined.
Mara roused, her head aching, her arm aflame. An Acoma soldier was binding it with a torn shred of litter curtain. 'What . . .' she began weakly.
Papewaio's face suddenly loomed over her. 'My Lady?'
'What has passed?' she asked, her voice sounding small.
'As you hoped, Jidu ordered a withdrawal when his fields were threatened.' He glanced over his shoulder, where his battered and weary squad stood ready, and said, 'We are still in danger, but I think you hold the stronger position for the moment. But you need to speak with Jidu, now, before matters turn for the worse.'
Mara shook her head and allowed Papewaio and another soldier to lift her from her litter. Her feet seemed to betray her. She was forced to cling to her Strike Leader's arm as slowly she made her way over blood-spattered gravel to where her line of remaining soldiers stood. Mara's vision was blurred. She blinked several times to clear it, and noticed an acrid smell in the air. Smoke from the fired fields drifted like a pall over the estate house.
'Mara!' Jidu's shout was frantic. 'I propose a truce. Order your men to stand away from my fields and I'll admit I was wrong in not acknowledging my obligation.'
Mara regarded the fat, anxious man and coldly moved to turn the situation to Acoma advantage. 'You attacked me without provocation. Did you think, after admitting you were wrong, I would forgive the slaughter of good men for payment of a debt you owe me anyway?'
'We can settle our differences later,' cried Jidu, his colour turning florid. 'My fields burn.'
Mara nodded. Papewaio motioned with his sword point and a soldier sent another signal arrow overhead. Mara tried to speak, but weakness overcame her. She whispered to Papewaio, who shouted, 'My mistress says our workers will put out the fires. But our men will maintain position with lit torches. Should anything here go amiss, the chocha-la field will be reduced to ashes.'
Jidu's eyes went feral as he struggled to think of a way an advantage might still be gained. A ragged, smoke-stained runner raced into the dooryard. 'Master, Acoma soldiers repulse our men. The auxiliaries failed to open a way to the river.'
The Lord of the Tuscalora lost his resolve. Painfully resigned, he sank to his cushions and rubbed his hands on chubby knees. 'Very well, Mara. I accept the inevitable. We shall abide by your wishes.' He said to his First Strike Leader, 'Put up your arms.'
The Lord of the Tuscalora looked on uneasily while Mara shifted her weight to ease her wounded arm. The Lady of the Acoma had refused Jidu's offer to let his healer tend her; instead she had settled for a field bandage contrived by Papewaio. Acoma soldiers still held position amid the chocha-la and the Tuscalora Force Commander confirmed the worst. The Acoma could fire the field again before they could be forced back.
Jidu sweated and strove desperately to pass the matter off as a misunderstanding. 'It was an agreement between men, my Lady. I had many wagers with your late husband. Sometimes he won, sometimes I won. We let the sums accumulate, and when I won a bet, the amount was deducted. If later I chanced to gain the advantage, I let the debt ride in turn. It's . . . a gentleman's agreement.'
'Well, I do not gamble, Lord Jidu.' Mara turned dark, angry eyes upon her unwilling host. 'I think we shall simply settle for payment . . . and indemnity for the damage done my honour. Acoma soldiers died this day.'
'You ask the impossible!' The Lord of the Tuscalora flung pudgy hands in the air in an un-Tsurani-like display of distress.
Mara raised her eyebrows. 'You still choose not to honour this debt?' She glanced pointedly towards the Acoma soldiers who clustered close at hand, an archer in their midst ready to launch another signal arrow. Jidu stared at the shell sequins ornamenting his sandals. 'Ah, my Lady . . . I'm sorry to cause you inconvenience. But threats cannot change the fact that I am unable to honour the debt at this time. Of course, I will meet my obligation in full the instant my circumstances permit. On this you have my uncompromised word.'
Mara sat very still. Her voice held a hard and bitter edge. 'I am not presently inclined towards patience, Lord Jidu. How soon may I expect payment?'
Jidu looked abashed as he admitted, 'I have recently suffered personal reversals, Lady Mara. But I can safely promise compensation when this year's crop goes to market.'
If it goes to market, Mara thought pointedly. She sat back. 'The chocha-la harvest is not due for another three months, Lord Jidu. You expect me to wait until then for two thousand centuries of metal - and my indemnity?'
'But you must,' the Lord of the Tuscalora exclaimed miserably. He motioned in distress to the short, thin man who sat at his master's side. Sijana, the Tuscalora hadonra, shuffled scrolls in a hasty rev
iew of the estate's finances. He whispered furiously in his master's ear and paused, expectant. Lord Jido patted his^ stomach with renewed confidence. 'Actually, Lady, two thousand centuries can be paid now - plus another five hundred to repair the damage you've suffered. But a single payment of that size would prevent me from expanding the planting for next year. Lord Buntokapi understood this and promised to allow a favourable repayment schedule, five hundred centuries a year for the next four years - five years to cover the restitution.' The hadonra's nod of satisfaction turned to dismay; a deep flush rose from Jidu's collar as he realized his words had contradicted his earlier insistence that his debt was to be left to wait upon the outcome of future wagers. Since Mara was certain to seize upon this small but shameful lie, he quickly added, 'I'll pay interest, of course.'
Heavy silence fell, punctuated by Jidu's heavy breathing and a near-imperceptible creak of armour as Papewaio shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Mara used her good hand to open her fan, her manner poisonously sweet. 'You argue like a moneylender, while Acoma soldiers lie dead outside your door? If my late Lord chose to offer terms on the debt, so be it. Produce the document and we shall abide by the terms.'
Jidu blinked. 'But our agreement was spoken, Lady Mara, a promise between noblemen.'
The fan vibrated in the air as Mara reined back rage. 'You have no proof? And yet you haggle?'
With his field held hostage, Jidu shied from bringing up matters of honour again. 'You have my word, my Lady.'
Mara winced. The Lord of the Tuscalora had created a situation where she could only call him forsworn, an insult no ruler could ignore. Etiquette demanded that the Lady of the Acoma accept the agreement, thereby gaining nothing for the next three months, and then only a fifth of what was due, or resume the useless slaughter.
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