Much Fall Of Blood hoa-3

by Eric Flint

  "When the kurultai broke up, we were separated from our clan," said the slave. "We are returning to them. We merely travel through. That is permitted."

  "We are looking for a woman…" That was a different voice.

  "There are no women here," said the slave in a tone of some shock and disgust. He did it well, as if they had suggested that the cart was some kind of cheap brothel in one of the small settlements. "Even my master's wife is three years dead."

  "We must look," said the first of the strange voices. "Stand aside, slave."

  Bortai rolled quietly to the far side of the cart and drew her knife. Up to that moment, there had been some chance that the interrogators might back off. But they would see Kildai. They would find some of her things in the cart. The runaway slave could hardly stop them.

  "No," Ion said. The slave's voice shook, but he did the unthinkable. She could see them now, two ordinary warriors from one of the poor clans from the south that had allied itself to Gatu. One had dismounted and had stopped just short of the slave, an incredulous look on his face. His hand rested on his sword hilt. But he faced just a solitary slave. He was hardly expecting trouble, even if Bortai could see that the slave had a stout stick in his hand.

  While one man remained mounted they were in grave danger. But he was relaxed, slouched in the saddle. She measured the distance with her eye. She could throw a knife fairly well, but doing so would leave her unarmed. Still, she saw no alternative.

  And then, once again, the slave's precipitous and unexpected actions affected her aim. He hit out at the warrior with his cudgel, dividing her attention for a moment. She was too late to stop the throw, although she did pull back from the intended force of it. As a result, she did what no good Mongol would ever do. She hit the flank of his horse instead of him. At least the weakened throw meant that the knife did not sink itself to the haft as she had intended.

  But as far as the horse was concerned, a giant and vicious horsefly had just bitten it. It screamed, reared, turned and tried to bite the spot. Not surprisingly, the horseman lost his seat.

  Ion almost lost his head. His blow with the cudgel, while unexpected, was hardly the most effective blow ever struck. The warrior barely staggered, and an instant later had drawn his sword and struck back. But sheer fury made him clumsy with his stroke, so that the slave was able to block it with his cudgel. The cudgel lost the top hand-length, and, almost dropping it, Ion stumbled back. He would have died seconds later if Bortai had not kicked the warrior's legs out from under him.

  The warrior still had his sword, but not for long. As he rose, Ion stepped forward and managed another wild swing with the truncated cudgel. That hit the warrior on the forearm just short of his elbow. The sword flew out of his hand and embedded itself in the wood of the cart. Bortai was on to him before he could draw a knife.

  Wrestling was one of the noble arts, one in which she might not exceed the skills of the legendary princess Khutulun, but was easily a match for some poor ordinary warrior. However, there was still the other man, who had gotten to his feet, drawn his sword and was running towards them.

  Ion turned tail and ran. Bortai knew now that she had little choice. She had to kill the first man very quickly. They had staggered to their feet. She did not wish to throw him and lose grip. Instead she swung him between herself and the second man and he took the sword thrust intended for her. His companion's own fury made him clumsy also.

  A moment later, Ion made sure that the other warrior had no opportunity to strike again. Ion's crudely made arrow skewered the man just as effectively as it had the doe.

  The warrior screamed, staggered and fell as she pushed his blood-gushing companion away from her. Ion advanced slowly, another one of his home-made arrows on the string.

  Bortai did what every good Mongol woman would do in such circumstances. She picked up a knife and cut their throats, neatly.

  Ion dropped his bow, and stood there, holding on to the edge of the cart. His face was white and his teeth chattered. He looked to her as if he would fall over at any moment.

  But they were more urgent things to be done. One of the Mongol horses stood, as Mongol horses had been trained to stand when their riders alit. The other…

  She would need to see how far it had run. "We will need to saddle up. No, I will just take this horse. But you had better yoke the ox." She was already in the saddle, and looking to see if she could see any sign of the other horse.

  "Lady Bortai, we must flee," he said, his eyes wild with fear again.

  "If we can't catch the horse, we'll have to. Whatever happens, we are going to have to take steps not to be tracked. Or not to be tracked too easily. Within the next day they'll start looking for these two. If I can find the horse, we'll have to bury the bodies."

  She put her heels to the pony's sides. Fortunately, she did not have far to go before she found the other horse. Her first thought was for the injury that she had caused. It was a nasty wound, but probably not serious. She led the horse back, looking for her knife, which had obviously fallen out. But she found no sign of it. That in itself was irritating. There had been a good stone on the pommel.

  When she got back, the cart had been hitched up but there was no sign of Ion. He might have run off, but she would give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Last time that she had assumed that he'd run off he had used that bow of his to good effect. It wasn't lying in the cart or on the ground. So it was a safe assumption that he'd at least taken that with him.

  Bortai hitched the horses and began to unsaddle them. Sure enough, Ion appeared warily from behind a tree and began to help. He was still obviously very afraid.

  "You did well back there," she said.

  He shuddered. "I did not actually know what to do," he admitted.

  "Hit much harder," said Bortai gruffly, some level of combat aftershock beginning to take hold. It was better just to keep doing things.

  A slave was not supposed to take up arms. But if he had not done so, she would probably have been dead and Kildai would have been killed no long afterward. It would seem to her that Nogay had wasted a very loyal servitor-but then perhaps that was why he had been entrusted with following her.

  "We need to do something with these bodies," she said. "And maybe move just a little bit."

  The slave looked at the bodies and shuddered again. "We could take them to the edge of the stream where there is a steep bank. We could cave it in on top of them."

  She made a face. That was too close to the water. Disrespectful of it. But they had to do something, or the carrion birds would show others just where these two had met their demise. "Not in the water," she said.

  He shook his head. "Well clear. There was a little hollow that I was hoping to hide in myself, Lady Bortai."

  So, once they had looted the bodies of anything useful, between them they dragged the corpses to the undercut bank. Sooner or later, unless they had rain, someone would probably track the missing two warriors. They would find the spot where the killing had happened. It was very possible that they would find the bodies too. Hopefully the cart would be a few days away before that happened.

  A little later, they moved the cart and the horses. As they were unhitching it again, Kildai gave a weak moan. His eyes opened wide, and then closed again. Bortai dropped the yoke and ran to him. But it did not appear that he was going to do any further waking up just yet. She hoped, desperately, that he would stir soon. They had three horses now. Once he could ride they could abandon this cart.

  She was not going to abandon the slave. If he was caught he would be killed. The man had risked a great deal to save her and Bortai, and behaved with rare courage too. Such loyalty had to be respected.

  She wondered if he could ride. In the meanwhile, she must see to that poor horse. It would need to be stitched and poulticed. Fortunately, she knew how to do both. She felt scant sympathy for the clansmen that had hunted for her. They would have killed her and Kildai, and taken their severed heads as proof. But h
orses were different. A horse did not choose the use it was put to.

  At dusk they must travel on again. They would seek to mingle their trail with that of other bullock carts. But never again would she allow exhaustion to override her caution. They could take turns to sleep. Ion might not be as keen eared as a sentry, but she would teach him to watch the horses. A horse was more keen-eared than any human, especially for the sounds of other horses. If whoever was not on watch slept a little distance away with a bow, they could wreak havoc on any enemy. They could certainly deal with foes in ones and twos.

  There was nothing like victory, no matter how unlikely, and how much by the favor of the spirits, to dispel fear and despair. With Kildai stirring, she almost dared to let herself hope that they could survive.

  Chapter 20

  "So, Benito, you want to send a column of Knights of the Holy Trinity down the Via Egnata," said Iskander, as the two of them sat on a log looking out toward Corfu. "Do you want to start several wars?"

  Benito thought carefully before replying. "I suspect that knowing they could be flanked might also restrict certain ambitions. If I were Alexis, I would make haste to open the sea route, before the principal source of my income dried up. But then I am not Alexis."

  "I would have reason to know fear, if you were," said Iskander. "But there is also Emeric of Hungary, to say nothing of the Grand Duke of Lithuania."

  Benito shrugged. "Seen from your point of view, King Emeric is at war with you and will remain at war with you for as long as he lives. The fact that you may be allying with some of his enemies is hardly going to change that. If anything, it may make him a little more wary. As for Jagiellon, the Mongols are at the moment a buffer between you and him. I have explained why we are escorting these envoys from the Ilkhan to the Golden Horde. If we fail, you will have Jagiellon's proxies on your doorstep. If we succeed, you will have a buffer zone."

  "That is a better argument than all the rest," admitted Iskander. "But there is no need surely for the knights to accompany them. I tell you truthfully, some of my people will be very uneasy about that party, so large and heavily armed."

  "By all means, match them with an equal number. The truth is, and I am being frank here, we dare not have anything go wrong in getting those envoys to the lands of the Golden Horde. We are honor bound to see that they get there. If we fail in any way, we will have acquired a powerful enemy. And to be honest again, some of the tribesmen in these hills are, by your own admission, barely under your control. They might try their luck with a small party of Mongols, no matter who they were escorted by. They're not going to-not one little tribe by itself-try it against the knights. I think the knights' reputation has penetrated even here." He smiled at Iskander's slightly troubled face. "If at a later date some tribesmen raid a caravan the matter can be dealt with without destroying any chance of other traders using the Via Egnata. But this first journey must succeed."

  Iskander stood up, and took a deep breath. "I risk my own standing among the tribes. Have I your word, as a kinsman, that the knights of the Holy Trinity do not come as a reconnoitering force? That they will, unless attacked, refrain from conflict?"

  Benito did not smile, even though he wanted to. This was serious. "I have never been as happy to give my word. You don't know them as I do, Iskander Beg. They are monks in armor. They will serve where their abbots tell them to serve. And they will obey orders, even to the death. They are a bit boneheaded, to be honest, but one gets used to them." He said the last with a disarming grin.

  Iskander laughed. "Well, there are a fair number among my own tribe that would fit the boneheaded part, but they're not much good at taking orders. We tend to go our own way up here. Where there are two of us, there are three different opinions. I will provide an escort and scouts."

  "And I will see that they pay, and pay handsomely, for food and lodging where it is available. We will have to discuss this, Lord of the Mountains. If possible they do not want have to take a baggage train with them. It will not be easy to get it over the mountains in a hurry."

  Iskander smiled. "As it happens I have a number of very fine Hungarian tents that I could have set up along the way. Their previous owners had to abandon them."

  "So sad for them. I think that we could decide on a mutually agreeable fee for this. There really isn't much of a market for second-hand tents."

  Iskander laughed. "Maybe not on Corfu. But they are promising material for fine cloth up here in the mountains. Delicate blouses for the ladies, and things like that."

  "Probably linen for the Lord of the Mountains' bed too."

  Iskander shook his head. "The canvas is a little too soft for that. It might make me soft too. To avoid it I will have them put up for a traveling band of Knights. No one will want to use them after that."

  "Well, seeing as we would doing you a public service, you wouldn't want us to pay for the use of them then, would you?"

  "You chaffer like a Venetian, Benito. Not a member of my tribe," said Iskander shaking his head, with his brow wrinkled in sorrow, and his mouth held prim. "Just think of the poor women who will lose fine blouses."

  "Well, it's the duty of the king to help to guide them away from vanity and vainglory. But, before we get to serious dickering, I need to make sure this journey is going to happen."

  The Lord of the Mountains raised his eyebrows. "Surely," he said, "they can see your impeccable logic?"

  "It's hard to tell quite what the envoy is thinking. We did not exactly get off on the right foot."

  Benito told Iskander just how the horseboy had misled Erik, and just what had followed. Iskander's teeth gleamed white through his moustache. "This boy will go far, if he lives long enough."

  Benito laughed. "Right now all he wants to do is get off my God-forsaken island, and gets back to his nice safe Jerusalem, where he is apparently counted one of the biggest rogues. Or thinks he is. Anyway, just as soon as I hear from our Mongol envoy, I will send you word."

  Iskander Beg nodded. "I will arrange it all. It is possible that I may decide to accompany this caravan myself. I will of course expect you, kinsman, not to tell them who I am. You're quite right. Much rests on this first caravan succeeding. But I would not have word of my presence get out. You are not the only one whom enemies would like to see dead."

  "A good idea, I think. There have not been many caravans of such value. At least, not ones where several great powers would pay so much just for the heads of the people on it."

  "I know," said Iskander. "I think you should put it about that the knights are outfitting to go overland to Rome. That might be best. You have my word, and you have my honor: they will get through my territories alive, while I remain alive to see that they do. You may tell the knights and the envoy that. Even outside of Illyria, my honor is known."

  Benito took his hand firmly. "I am proud to be adopted into your clan for that reason. It is a reputation that goes back many centuries."

  Iskander smiled wryly. "Centuries… One day I will tell you the entire story, Benito Valdosta. It is much more complicated than you realize. But let us just say that there are few enough men of honor. We should stand together, because, clan or no clan, we are brothers of a kind."

  "I know," said Benito simply. He felt an affinity with the man, and with his tiny beleaguered quarrelsome people, who still-against the odds-defied great powers both to the north and the south. It was clear that the liking cut both ways. He felt almost as if he was dealing with the elder brother Marco might have been, if they'd shared the same father. It might not be logical, but Benito knew that he could trust Iskander. He also knew why Iskander was Lord of the Mountains. Men would follow him, even these fractious hill-tribesmen.

  ***

  The Mongol envoy's eyes looked sharp and slightly hooded. But at least he was smiling, which was an improvement on anger. "Of course, I will require certain guarantees. It was with such contingencies in mind that I asked that Prince Manfred and his Knights be accorded the status that was gi
ven to them by Bashar Ahmbien. But I believe that as long as he accompanies us the Ilkhan would not take it as an affront. I would be able to complete my mission. Thus all our parties would be satisfied."

  Eberhart looked doubtful. "It is still fraught with some risks, Borshar Tarkhan. The person of Prince Manfred, for all that he thinks this is a good idea, is not one the Holy Roman Emperor is likely to put in harm's way again."

  Borshar looked mulish. "It is a point of honor, Ritter. Either we are accorded the appropriate escort, to which you agreed, or we do not go."

  "Let us have no further discussion on this matter," said Manfred firmly. "I have decided, and I am authorized to speak for the emperor. In this case I will speak for him about myself. The risks you speak of are small. Iskander Beg is known to be a man of his word. So are the Mongols, especially on matters of diplomatic protocol, and the safety and treatment of envoys. That, I believe, covers us. We will accompany you."

  Borshar bowed respectfully. "You conduct yourself with honor, Prince."

  "I hope so," said Manfred. "It is the hallmark by which my mentor," he gave an ironic smile at Erik, "says great men and great nations are known. He sets a high standard for us."

  "I shall see that meetings are arranged between yourself and the new khan of the Golden Horde," said the tarkhan. "As you are a man of rank and honor. If we can talk now of practicalities, we speak of a journey, overland, of some sixty leagues, I believe."

  "More," said Falkenberg. "It's mountain country. But part of the route follows an old Roman road, and Benito has arranged provisioning and accommodation. We should, even estimating conservatively, have you there in twenty days. We are preparing for the journey with some extra packhorses. It has been set about that we will make a landing at Bari and that we will proceed overland to Rome and then on to Venice."

  "That is slow travel by Mongol standards."

  Von Gherens eyed him frostily, but said nothing.