Lady Death

by Laer Carroll

  And some did. Women in the primitive feudal system on the continent where Loseliath and Ketlow existed did not take up the trade of warrior--even ketling women. After the third time that she picked up someone twice her size and threw them fifty feet into water or tree tops the annoyances ceased.

  Though her peace might have come more from the fact that she had caught the naked sword blade with her bare hand which her last annoyer had been swinging at her head, jerked it out of his hand, then casually thrown it aside before throwing him into a treetop.

  The story of her last defense against annoyances eventually caught the attention of the prince of the realm. He had been training others and being trained in tactical maneuvers an hour's ride from the border camp where Heyalna often stayed. He and a squad of troops rode one afternoon to inspect the camp and confer with its commander--and meet Heyalna.

  She was healing minor wounds in the camp's small infirmary and chatting with the chief medic assigned to the camp. The front flaps of the tent were open and tied up to catch the late-afternoon breeze. The medic called attention as he saw the prince and his entourage approaching from behind her. She had heard their approach and knew from direct and echoed sound how many there were and where.

  The warrior she was working on tried to stand up from his seat. In a motion so fast it was a blur she caught one shoulder and forced him still. She remained seated.

  "You don't stand when a superior approaches?" The voice behind her was amused. She automatically judged his age, size, and health from that voice.

  "I hope I don't offend," she said pleasantly, "but I have no superior. Even among my kind." Heyalna would have been just as happy to play obsequious and timid if the role called for it, but she was playing a ketling.

  There was a gasp behind her (to her right) and the rasp of a sword blade being loosened in its sheath (to her left). She ignored both and finished tying a bandage on her patient's hand. She patted his knee, let him rise to attention, and rose herself.

  As she turned toward the prince the long black cloak she wore nowadays swirled around her black armor. The armor appeared to be made of plate but was actually made of an airy light synthetic created by the fabricator on the shuttle she was using. It was reinforced with invisible force fields and would protect her against weapons far more advanced than anything which existed on this planet. It was only for show, however. She still wore her skinsuit.

  The prince was of medium height, more lithe than large-muscled, pleasant-faced, and blond like most southerners. He wore the light plate mail of light cavalry, shined to a mirror finish, over bright purple clothing. All of his companions, five in all, were similarly attired, though their purple was accented in several colors indicating their clan affiliations.

  She greeted him with a nod as befitted equals. The medic introduced the two of them, using a superior-to-inferior style. Naturally he indicated the prince as the superior.

  "Come walk with me, Lady."

  "It would be my pleasure." She stepped aside and let the prince precede her between the tent flaps but stepped in front of his entourage, gaining her a growl but no other protest.

  Outside it was a little before sunset. Red and orange clouds to the west had turned the dark evergreen forests around them ruddy, but already the eastern forest edge was half-sunk into the gloom of twilight. A sharp chill was stealing into the rude camp of some five hundred warriors. Tents in several rows made an L of one camp corner. A larger cook tent with trestle tables and bench seats for eaters made up much of a third edge of the camp, which also contained several other tents, including the infirmary from which they had just emerged.

  "The camp medic is young but a good doctor."

  "You are a good judge of that?" said one of the prince's companions. It was he who had pulled his sword a little way from his sheath. His sharp-angled face was not friendly.

  "Yes. I was a healer among you, using human medicines and tools, for over two decades."

  "But you were faking that. You were really using your…magic."

  "Only when the human remedies would not work, or work well enough. I was also teaching an apprentice, and he needed to know human skills."

  "But you raise the dead. Which is blasphemy."

  "No. It only seemed they were dead. The border between the life and death is not as sharp as it seems. I can heal most people if they have, to your senses, been dead less than about two hours. In cool weather. Eventually humans will be able to do the same."

  "And you don't die. Which means you have no soul."

  "I can die, and eventually will. I am mortal and have a soul. The difference is that I will never grow old."

  The prince said, "I am not here to discuss religion. What do you think of the military situation?"

  The Human Interstellar Confederation was several thousand years old and made up of over eight hundred planets, including about a hundred like this one which were fairly recently discovered and too primitive to be told they were part of its Protectorate. The Confed's military science was a real science rather than just by name and it had all of human history and several alien histories to draw upon. Since the northern invasions had begun Heyalna had spent much of every night while "sleeping" connected to the data web of the monitoring satellites, studying that science.

  She could make many helpful suggestions to the prince and to others, but could not make them directly. Instead she must ask leading questions and for clarifications that made some of those who answered rethink what they "knew."

  Most of that first evening, over a meal and drinks afterward, she spent being "educated" by the prince and his military advisers. In the weeks that followed there were more military planning sessions in several camps. Heyalna was invited to attend them and did. Slowly much advanced thinking percolated through the kingdom's practice and planning. Though it was only slightly advanced. Only gradual evolution was practical and in line with Confed policy of injecting easily assimilated uplift knowledge.

  At the same time Heyalna was routinely going on missions to defend against border incursions. She killed some enemy warriors but captured many more. She could get observation intelligence from the satellites and invisible sand-grain-sized spy craft, but emotional and cultural intelligence of the enemy could be gotten only through interrogations.

  Those were done humanely, using her "magic." The prisoners were also housed humanely, a policy that required her to occasionally enforce it with "magic" and few but impressively brutal examples of what crossing her could cost someone, no matter how highly placed.

  <>

  "And who are you?"

  The most senior of several guards in bright chain mail and clothing of brilliant red, green, and blue confronted her. Behind him two huge double doors of gleaming dark wood were opened. Inside could be seen a hall with seats running aslant up the two long sides. At the far end there was a dais and more seats similarly at a slant. On all three sides large windows above the seats let in bright noon sunlight.

  "I once was the healer of Creekside. I am now a warrior protecting Loseliath against Ketlow."

  "She's the one they call Lady Death, decurion." A fresh-faced young sub-officer hurried over from just inside the doors. He had been consulting with an older officer. Both dressed in light plate mail and were blond, likely from the south of the country, while the guards were all black- or brown-haired like most northerners.

  The decurion looked down at a list he had been consulting as nobles and officials came into the hall. The stream of attendees had become a trickle and now was time for the doors to be closed. Heyalna had waited for this last instant to approach the guards.

  "I don't see no Death on this list."

  "Her name is--Helaine Aluet, is it not, honored one?"

  Another man who was richly robed in purple and green had approached the older officer inside the doors. The officer was just turning toward the guards to see what was happening when the decurion found her name.

  "Pass, friend," the decurion
said to the tall black-armored and cloaked figure. She strode by him in company with the under-officer. He escorted her down the length of the hall while it was emptying of conferring attendees who were regaining their seats as the big doors swung slowly shut. As she neared the dais a heavy boom marked the doors' final closing.

  Her entrance had not been wasted. An experienced hist-techneer, she knew every trick of asserting her will upon crowds. Quick silence had followed fast upon her entering the doors followed even faster by a buzz of comment.

  At the dais she bowed her head to the three most splendidly dressed and armored figures standing at the center of the first row of seats. At the center of them was the prince of the realm, blond, tall, fair-haired and fair of face. His plate armor shone and his clothing was the purple of royalty. The two older men, one much older, also wore purple but adorned with red or green sleeves to mark them as lesser members of the ruling house.

  "Lady," the prince said. "Be welcome here. It is an honor to have you sit with us." He waved to the side where there was one empty seat.

  "The honor is mine, lord prince." Her voice was not offensively loud, but loud enough so the many nearer men could hear it in the total silence that had fallen as the prince had turned toward her.

  She bowed her head a second time and took her seat.

  <>

  The talk lasted half the afternoon. Nobles reaffirmed support, often in lengthy and impassioned speech. Officials gave reports and military outlined plans.

  Heyalna was not bored. She listened attentively and made her own assessments. There only minor surprises and many of her suggestions, hints, and question-provoked ideas had entered into current opinion.

  During the first intermission only a few people spoke with her. The prince and his staff were not among those. A few high officials and nobles did make her acquaintance. With a voice as eloquent as any on the planet she played them as a master musician would play an instrument. At the second intermission lower-ranked military men who knew her personally or had been told of her sagacity by others quickly surrounded her.

  Now and as in previous weeks her public assessment of Loseliath military prowess was that she only had minor criticisms of an organization that was wise and efficient. She had also let it be known that Loseliath was so respected by the powerful and sagacious but rare and reclusive ketling that they had sent one of their healers and heroes to support them.

  These were highly popular ideas.

  Toward the end of the afternoon the second highest royal, who had been guiding the conference, turned to Heyalna.

  "Perhaps the Lady would say a few words."

  Heyalna had primed him and the prince for this. She did not disappoint.

  She rose and made her slow way to the lectern. The royal there nodded to her and stepped to the side.

  As she turned full toward the lectern she looked out at the faces turned toward her, some curious, some annoyed, most indifferent--for now. Before now she had kept the cowl of her cloak up in the manner of a religious. Her face had been shadowed but not hidden. Now she casually swiped the cowl back.

  All could see perfectly smooth white skin, large sky-blue slanted eyes, a perfect oval face of beauty exactly matching their preference and set in stern intent. Her golden hair fell in glossy obedience about her shoulders and it glowed, too slightly to be consciously apprehended but subconsciously emphasized her eminence.

  She spoke, a contralto controlled but easy and easily heard at the farthest corners.

  "Our cause is just. Our leaders wise. Our warriors trained, disciplined, and valiant. WE WILL BE VICTORIOUS." She swept her arms up above her head and clamped her hands decidedly into fists.

  For an instant there was perfect silence. Then first one man stood, then several, then more, and more and more, till everyone was on their feet shouting VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY!

  Any planned closing remarks were lost.

  <>

  It took several weeks to organize a major force response to the "northern aggression." During that time Heyalna was in the thick of several minor actions. She held herself back from showing her full abilities and ensured that prisoners, at least those under her direct influence, were humanely treated.

  She achieved this by a plea for honor and occasional violent persuasions. It also helped that she had adopted the line that northern warriors were worthy foes bamboozled by a small coterie of evil fanatics. She also hinted that Ketlow would eventually become part of Loseliath and that it was wasteful to harm and further make enemies of vanquished foes who would eventually become valued workers for the greater good of Loseliath.

  It did not hurt that Heyalna was ethereally beautiful and always friendly to everyone who treated her with respect. For a time a rumor, one of many, went around that she and the prince were romantically involved. She was publicly indifferent to the rumor but used nanotech and subliminal persuasions to combat the rumor. It was much more useful to have impressionable warriors think that if they were incredibly lucky she might look upon them with favor. And it worked. Many a bad poem was written celebrating her beauty and virtue.

  The prince also helped. When he and she were together he ensured there were always several people around, though often he put them far enough away for the two to have private conversations. In them he treated her as an equal and was perfectly willing to ask for and sometimes adopt her advice. He was a very practical man who was not fooled by his position or flattery and thought of himself as ordinary, though he never allowed anyone to forget his right to command. He also had a sense of humor and many a time they shared a joke though expressing their laughter only with their eyes.

  In return she always let it be known publicly that she thought him her superior and deferred to him. He took shrewd but diplomatic advantage of the fact that only he commanded the obedience of a powerful supernatural entity, thus lifting him above all others in his country.

  Finally the Loseliath army began to move against the country's enemy.

  Forces and their logistical support traveled from all over the kingdom to a rendezvous area a day's march from the country's northern border. The day before the attack was to begin Heyalna traveled there with her horse via an invisible shuttle, leaving and arriving without anyone seeing her. By now she had ensured everyone knew that she, like all ketlings, could travel far and fast by mysterious means.

  She sat in on the high-level command meetings which put the finishing touches on the battle plans. If the Loseliath leaders hopes panned out there would be one decisive battle against Ketlow forces. Heyalna's intelligence sources indicated the northern leaders hoped the same but she said nothing.

  The evening the Loseliath army was finally all together everyone was given a modest ale ration to be drunken in pledge to the Goddess of Harvest and Healing.

  <>

  "Lord Trask."

  "Lady." The knight was grey-haired but tough and had much combat experience.

  "Come to my campfire in a half-hour with another few knights with a good bit of your wisdom at war. I have something I wish to discuss. There is an extra mug of a really good ale in it for you."

  He answered with a glimmer of a smile. "When someone almost a Harvest priestess makes such an offer, how can I refuse?"

  Near two-dozen knights made an appearance. All were as wisty at war as Sir Trask except perhaps three younger knights. The latter however had impressed Heyalna as sober and tough men of unusual maturity.

  Ah! There was a fourth young man behind Trask. He was a young cousin of the Prince, not a constant companion of the heir but a confidant. His presence was not a surprise to her. For all his tender years the Prince was one to avoid being himself surprised. Heyalna caught the young man's eyes long enough to give him a slight nod.

  Trask spoke up when all two-dozen men, including the Prince's man, had a filled mug.

  "You were right. This is a special brew. But you mentioned somewhat to discuss."

  Heyalna answered, "I want to request all o
f you to let mostly untried men engage in the mêlée tomorrow. If asked you could say you have no need to puff up your consequence. Or that the younger men should have their chance at experience."

  "You believe the red robes have some trick up their sleeves?" said another of the older men.

  "I have my suspicions."

  Both countries had devised more efficient ways to battle in the past century or so, ways that included professional and peasant ground troops. But for a long time knights, who were aristocrats, had been the main fighters and they were not about to give up their chance for glory. So after arranging their opposing forces in very canny arrays before a battle the fighters then routinely and stupidly engaged in a group fight of knights one-on-one between the two forces, with an intermission after battle for the wounded and killed to be taken to a rear echelon.

  However the militant priests of Ketlow, who distinguished themselves from others of their order by wearing red robes, had planned a surprise attack while the two armies were distracted by the knights' actions.

  "Well, then," said Trask, after a good deal of discussion which finished off the keg of special ale which Heyalna had spiked with a hangover remedy and nanotech tailored for complaisance. "I for one will follow your advice, Lady." A chorus of agreement followed his pronouncement and the little party broke up.

  A day later the Loseliathi and Ketlow armies finished their final maneuvering to position themselves for battle.

  <>

  Mist shrouded the battlefield the next morning but it was beginning to burn off by an hour after sunrise, by which time the two enemy armies had roused, eaten, performed other necessities, and smartened their lines, disordered because the fighters had slept in place.

  It was going to be a beautiful day for the ugly business of killing, Heyalna noted with a touch of sadness. And in a beautiful arena, a long valley still green despite the beginning of summer, with a lovely stream wandering off to the side, partly shaded with willow-like trees. The valley ran from the east and a bit north to the west and a bit south. Loseliath had placed itself in the narrower southwest end, which caused the larger Ketlow force to crowd itself a bit, a tactical advantage for the Loseliathi.