Killer Plants of Binaark Part 11

There also would be no sharp-eyed men around to suspect her plans for King Manro. There was Jollya, and she would have to be replaced if necessary. There were two other women ready to lead the Women's Guard and, Tressana hoped, able to do the work as well. Sikkurad would no doubt suspect the queen after Manro was dead, but he was harmless. He now seemed only to be interested in studying Elstani livestock and all the specimens he'd brought out of the forest of Binaark. It seemed that nothing much short of the end of the world would get his attention, and whatever suspicions Tressana had felt about the Keeper now seemed unnecessary.

In fact, there was no serious danger from anybody with her now. Efroin perhaps would have been another matter. He was both sharp-eyed and honest. Now he would be too busy to think of anything else. She could hope this would last until Manro was dead. If the Elstani were defeated by then, even Efroin wouldn't gain anything by suspecting her. She was safe enough, given enough time and only a little luck. For the hundredth time she wished Richard Blade were still alive. If he were, she wouldn't have needed the luck.

Manro stood by the tail of the wagon, chained by one ankle to the rear axle. He watched the rolghas trot past, kicking up clouds of dust. It made him cough. The women guarding him were also looking at the riders, not at him. He wondered why the women had put a heavy chain around his ankle. The men who guarded him hadn't done that. But at least the women were gentle. They never pushed him or said unkind things to him.

Dark Jollya must have told them to be gentle with him. That was good. It proved she really was his friend, which was even better. He would need a friend to save him from Tressana and whatever punishment the G.o.ds would give her. That punishment must be very close now, because all the men were riding away into the new land and leaving Tressana behind. They did not want to be near her when the G.o.ds' punishment came.

Manro wished the men had taken him with them. He didn't want to be around Tressana either. But maybe Dark Jollya would be enough. She was only a woman, but a woman could be very strong.

"-by the Soul of the Land, by the Heart of the Steel, and by the Highest Powers of my own land of England, this I swear."

Everyone standing around the fire cheered the ritual four times. Daimarz tossed a small cup of Living Fire onto the blazing logs. The whooosh of blue flame nearly singed Blade's eyebrows, and he was afraid Chaia's long red hair would catch fire. He hastily pulled her back, then she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him.

He found himself kissing her back. Either Haima's daughter had been acquiring experience behind her mother's back, or she had a good deal of natural talent. It didn't help either that she looked closer to eighteen than fourteen, a slimmer version of her mother. Blade finally reminded himself that she was only fourteen, and that this was only the betrothal, not the marriage.

The kiss lasted so long that everyone was laughing by the time Chaia stepped out of Blade's arms. Haima was laughing the loudest. "Do you still think our women are like those of England, girls until they are sixteen?"

"I may change my mind. I guess I'll know for sure after tomorrow."

"Ah. Yes." The mention of tomorrow sobered her.

Blade looked away from the fire. When his night vision returned he saw a steady procession of shadowy figures pa.s.sing. Some of them seemed to be weird four-legged animals, with long thin bodies and no heads. Those were bearers, each pair of men carrying a rolled-up hang glider. Other bearers carried the pots of Living Fire in reed baskets on their backs. The glider pilots themselves were traveling light. They would have plenty of work to do tomorrow.

A pilot broke out of the procession and hurried toward Blade. He wore an elaborately tooled green leather belt.

As he came into the firelight, Blade recognized Fador'n. So did Daimarz.

"What are you doing here?" the woodcutter leader growled. He seemed to be doing a lot of growling lately. The strain was telling on all of them, except perhaps Haima.

"I want to ask Blade something," said Fador'n firmly.

"I'll give you something-" began Daimarz, clapping his hand to his sword.

Blade raised his hand for silence. "What is it that you want?"

Fador'n swallowed, and Blade saw that he was sweating. "Blade, I have been wrong in the way I saw you, the man who may save Elstan tomorrow. For this I have been called a fool. I may be that. I have also been called a coward, and I cannot bear that."

"I have never called you a coward," said Blade.

"No, but... Blade, let me be the first man to leap from the cliff tomorrow and throw the Living Fire on the Jaghdi. I beg you-let me prove that at least I am not a coward!"

Blade considered this. The first man off didn't have to be a leader, but he did have to be a better than average pilot. The men following him would have to make much of their judgment of the wind from the way his glider behaved.

"I have never seen Fador'n fly," Blade admitted. "Daimarz, have you?"

The woodcutter seemed reluctant to answer until Haima gently elbowed him in the ribs. "Come on, lad. The man's asked a question. He wants an honest answer."

Daimarz sighed. "Fador'n is a very good flyer. He has sometimes made a complete circle before he lands."

Anybody who could make a 360-degree turn in a three-hundred foot drop was lucky, but he was also good. He wouldn't have all his bones intact otherwise.

"All right, Fador'n. You can be the first."

Fador'n didn't say anything, and he shook all over. Blade was afraid the man was going to kneel to him. Instead he turned and ran back into the procession and the darkness.

Blade and the others around the fire watched in silence until the last of the procession was past. Two thousand men and women were marching off into the hills to a perch on the cliffs above the Kettle of the Winds. Five hundred were the glider pilots, the rest bearers and guards. When the last of the pilots had flown, the rest would come down the hills and take a position to the northwest of the Kettle. There they would stand between the retreating Jaghdi and the main valleys of Elstan.

The glider pilots who survived would join a small army of men on the far side of the river from the Kettle. Five hundred of the army were woodcutters and weavers. The rest were hardly more than a mob, but a well-armed one and very determined. They were the refugees who'd fled before the Jaghdi advance. They didn't have to wait to get word from Masters to fight. They'd seen their houses burned, their livestock driven off, their crops looted. Many had kin to avenge. Tomorrow they would take that vengeance, if the work of the gliders gave them half a chance.

Five thousand men to fight half again that many. It won't be easy, but it won't be impossible. The Jaghdi are all cavalry, and if they suddenly lose their rolghas...

Blade would have been less optimistic if the Jaghdi had brought infantry to guard the camp. But all the enemy's infantry was in the valley of the Adrim, making faces at the Elstani holding the pa.s.s above them. The Elstani made faces back, and occasionally rolled rocks down the hills. Perhaps the guilds who'd refused to believe Blade in time to send men south to help him would do some good after all, now that they saw how the war was progressing.

Now it was time to stop worrying and get some sleep.

Blade didn't get to sleep for quite a while, because Haima insisted on making love with almost desperate eagerness. Blade found himself responding in the same way. Either Chaia's kisses had roused him even more than he'd suspected, or he had the sense that this might be the last time he would hold a woman.

The thought made Blade sit up straight. He wondered if he was getting old. A few years ago he wouldn't have been thinking anything of the kind on the eve of a battle. Or was it that his preference for being alone was finally beginning to weaken? Was it possible that he needed companions.h.i.+p more than he ever had before? That was an even more interesting thought.

He lay back under the furs, and fell asleep listening to Haima's breathing and Lorma's purring.

Chapter 20.

The dawn air seemed chillier than usual at the Kettle of the Winds. Blade wondered if this was just his own antic.i.p.ation of the coming battle, or if the weather was really getting colder. Probably both. He'd talked the Elstani into staking their whole future not only on one battle but very nearly on one weapon. And the year was getting on toward autumn.

Daimarz crawled up beside him, barefoot in order to move silently but otherwise wearing his woodcutter's clothing. Together they looked down the precipitous cliff at the Jaghdi camp, where men and rolghas appeared no bigger than dots. The cooks were hard at work on breakfast, judging from the strings of smoke from the fire pits. One of the night patrols was riding back in with more Elstani prisoners. The day patrols were a.s.sembling by the ford, ready to head up the valleys. The patrols looked like insects swarming below.

"Still no sign of the royal banners," said Daimarz. "Curse it! I want Tressana dead."

Blade said nothing. The Elstani desire for vengeance on Tressana made sense from their point of view. The more chaos in Jaghd, the better. But would it be a step forward for civilization in this Dimension? Blade doubted it.

Tressana's not being here left Efroin of the Red Band in command. Blade was certain that after Curim's death, Tressana would have appointed Efroin as captain of the men, and that he would prove a dangerously good battle leader. Certainly he'd done well so far, keeping his men together and sending out patrols. No one could be sure how many Elstani prisoners were in the camp, but there might be more than a thousand already. Blade knew that the Elstani wanted their people safe, and they wanted them safe now.

Heavy breathing and feet sc.r.a.ping on stone made Blade turn around. Fador'n was approaching, followed by Borokku, seven more glider pilots, and bearers carrying nine fully a.s.sembled gliders. The gliders were flapping precariously in the dawn breeze, and Blade hoped nothing had been broken carrying them up the cliff. Looking beyond the new arrivals, Blade could see a procession of more gliders, bearers, and pilots winding its way toward him. From a distance the bearers looked like ants carrying leaves.

"Since the gliders are going to be all ready when they come up here," began Daimarz, "do I have to-?"

"Yes," said Blade. They'd argued the point before. Daimarz badly wanted to be among the first gliders to go. A man who'd be obeyed would be needed on top of the cliffs right through the battle, so Blade wanted him to be among the last. Daimarz agreed, and then tried all week to find a way out of the agreement.

Daimarz sighed. "Blade, you're asking a lot in return for just saving my life."

"No doubt."

During this exchange Fador'n was tightening his green belt, and both he and Borokku were checking their gliders. They stood side by side as the bearers strapped the pots of Living Fire onto the carrying straps. Then the two men made their final adjustments and stepped forward to the rock that marked the start of the takeoff run. Blade suddenly found himself more sympathetic to Daimarz. He wished he were on his way too.

Then both pilots were running down the hill. The sound of their boots on stone faded with distance, then died away suddenly as the gliders lifted. They slipped over the lip of the cliff with yards to spare, and swept out into the sky over the Jaghdi camp. Blade let out the breath he'd been holding.

Efroin finished his breakfast of hard biscuits and sour wine, buckled on his sword, and walked out of his tent unattended. Like Tressana, he disliked taking men away from useful work merely to let a chief make a show.

He walked toward the wall of piled stones that separated the rolghas from the men. Nothing more was necessary here, with the cliffs behind and the steep banks of the river everywhere else. The men who got out of his path looked cheerful enough, although short rations were beginning to thin their unshaven faces. He hoped Tressana would come up soon. That would mean more food for both men and rolghas. It would also mean doing something about all those Elstani prisoners. He didn't dare let them go, he didn't want to just kill them, but he'd be cursed if he wanted to go on feeding them much longer. Every bite they ate meant one less for...

Movement high overhead caught Efroin's eye, then stopped him completely. A winged shape far larger than any bird he'd ever imagined was coming toward the camp from the direction of the cliff. The thing must be larger than a rolgha! That was improbable enough, but there seemed to be a man hanging underneath it, and that was simply impossible.

Then the impossible bird-man was flying over the rolghas, higher than the top of the highest tree. Two black b.a.l.l.s dropped from him. Efroin felt his insides turn to ice. Then the b.a.l.l.s struck, and two flowers of blue flame blossomed among the rolghas. Efroin heard their screams, and the icy feeling gave way to a flood of nausea.

Lord of the Gra.s.s, what do we do now?

Efroin stood amazed long enough for a second birdman to drop his fire among the rolghas. The first one was already pa.s.sing over the camp, heading toward the river. Behind the first two he saw others, in a long line trailing across the sky to the top of the cliffs. There seemed to be no end of them, and in that line of bird-men Efroin saw terrible danger to his army and the future of Jaghd.

However, nothing is written so that a brave man can't change the writing if he tries. Efroin shouted, "The Elstani are attacking the rolghas! Every man to the corral to mount and get them to the ford! Everyone! Run, you fools, if you don't want to walk back to Jahgd!"

More than a hundred gliders had gone off the cliff. Most of the pilots dropped their loads on the rolghas below. Two-thirds made safe landings on the far bank of the river, and some who'd landed on the flatland side were running toward safety. The woodcutters and armed refugees beyond the river were now out in the open, picking up wounded pilots and trying to salvage the gliders. Most of the gliders would be junk after today, but Blade didn't care as long as their work was done.

Once more he thought briefly of a scene from the far future of this Dimension. A war museum, where the splintered remains of one of the gliders used in the ancient war between Jaghd and Elstan lay in a gla.s.s case. People who'd flown to the museum's city in jet airliners would stand around marveling at the courage of their warrior ancestors and wondering why the young people of today were so lazy.

The gliders were now going off five and six at a time. They'd have gone off faster if Blade had let them, but he knew there wasn't room for more than that to make their takeoff runs safely. With Daimarz's help Blade used his voice, his grim face, and occasionally his fists to enforce order. For quite a while he was too busy to pay any attention to what was happening in the camp below.

Then it finally happened-a fuse burning too quickly. A glider and its pilot became a ball of blue flame in the sky. There was a groan from the waiting pilots around Blade. He thought he could hear the burning man's screams. The ball of fire plunged down, reached out with what seemed s.a.d.i.s.tic slowness, and touched another glider's wing. The first ball of fire burned itself out as the second flared up, then two charred skeletons were trailing smoke down through the sky. Blade heard another groan around him as they vanished into the smoke rising from the camp.

Blade looked down, to study the scene carefully for the first time since Fadorn took to the air. The smoke made it hard to see details. All that showed through was some of the brighter fires and the shadowy swirling as thousands of panic-stricken rolghas ran back and forth. Some of them broke and ran for the river, trailing smoke or even fire. Some of these collapsed in smoking heaps, others reached the steep bank and leaped. The surface of the river was slowly becoming speckled with rolghas, mostly dead but a few swimming for the far side.

Blade looked at the men around him. The sight of two of their comrades burned alive in mid-air had shaken them. Then he felt a stronger puff of wind on his cheek, a second, then a steady breeze. He signaled to stop the launching of the gliders, and watched as the smoke canopy over the camp slowly broke up. Now he could see dozens of small fires, as well as the handful of larger ones. He could also pinpoint the Jaghdi campfires.

He turned to Daimarz. "We can stop lighting the fuses up here. There are enough fires down there so that we can just drop the pots." Coming down from more than a thousand feet, the Living Fire would splatter far and wide. If it splattered into even the smallest spark, there would be as nice a fire as anyone could ask.

Daimarz pa.s.sed the word, while Blade signaled his own two bearers. It was time he got into the air himself. With his large glider, no pots, and the rising wind he could stay in the air longer than anyone else, possibly even soar to gain more height and land back on top of the cliffs. It would help to have a report of how things looked from the air.

He also knew that he would have gone even if he'd known he was only going to glide down to the river. He couldn't stand and watch other men die any more than Daimarz could. No doubt it was unfair to indulge himself and keep Daimarz on the ground, but in every war of every Dimension, rank had its privileges.

Efroin knew what was happening now, and also the best way to fight it. He didn't know why it was happening, but that was a question worth asking only if he and his army lived through the day.

The Elstani had found a way of flying like birds, or at least floating down from the cliffs above the Kettle of the Winds like leaves from a tall tree. As they came, they dropped fire among the rolghas, who were going mad with fear. From what Efroin had seen and heard, at least two thousand were already dead or crippled, or had run off beyond any hope of getting them back.

However, if they could save the rest, the army might survive to fight another day. That day might not come this year, but it would come. So Efroin ran back and forth through the camp, until someone was able to saddle and bridle a rolgha for him. Then he continued his work mounted, surrounded by a slowly increasing band of guards. He hadn't pulled on his armor before he mounted, in order not to be slowed down. Now he couldn't take the time, at least not until he no longer had to be everywhere at once. If only Tressana were here!

Efroin rode from the ford to the corral wall and back again, shouting orders for the rolghas to be saddled as fast as possible, for a party of mounted men to go out and ride down the Elstani bird-men who were landing on this side of the river, for another party to support the patrol at the ford.

"Lord Efroin, could I take some of your men to the ford?" asked one n.o.ble when he heard this last order. Efroin nodded. He knew that the n.o.ble wanted men to help him seize the glory of defending the ford, but didn't care. If the ford was defended, the glory did not matter, and certainly he could spare the men. He waved to the thirty-odd men on his left and watched them ride off after the n.o.ble.

His rolgha was beginning to cough from the smoke. He reined in between two tents and dismounted to look for some water. Then a man stepped out from behind the tent. He was naked, dark-skinned, and held a short spear. With more irritation than fear, Efroin recognized an Elstani prisoner. Were they escaping in the confusion?

Then suddenly the spear was not in the Elstani's hand, but sticking out of Efroin's stomach. He looked down at it, then at his remaining guards as they ran past him to cut the Elstani to ribbons. He let his rolgha go. After a moment he felt a dull ache in his stomach, and realized that his feet wouldn't go where he wanted them to.

Then his world was torn apart in pain, and he heard nothing except screams that he vaguely recognized as his own.

Chapter 21.

Blade knew he'd have problems soaring, even with the rising wind, unless he stayed in the updraft along the face of the cliffs. The sun hadn't been up long enough to create thermals from heated rocks on the ground. As long as he stayed close to the cliffs, though, he would be flying a thin line between stalling out at high alt.i.tude and cras.h.i.+ng into the rock.

Blade made three complete circles in the updraft, twice skimming within a few feet of disaster. He lost only a hundred feet of alt.i.tude, but found it hard to pay attention to what was happening below. Fortunately the wind was still blowing the veil of smoke away, so when he could look down he could see fairly clearly. The Jaghdi were scurrying around frantically, but they also seemed to be getting at least some of their rolghas under control.

Then the pilots with unlighted pots started going off the cliffs and dropping their loads. Blade watched the blue flames flare up in a dozen new places every minute. The gamble of dropping the pots unlighted seemed to be paying off. The smoke rose faster than the wind could carry it away, and so did the unmistakable smell of burning flesh. Blade hoped it was rolghas rather than men.

Blade stopped looking down, and instead looked across the river. Some of the woodcutters were moving up to the ford, but not enough to hold it if the Jaghdi really tried to break out. The Elstani would need all the woodcutters and most of the refugees, formed into a battle line.

Time to go on down himself and take command on the ground. The battle was half won, but the second half was going to be much more complicated and dangerous than the first half unless the Jaghdi completely lost their nerve. So far they hadn't shown enough signs of doing that. He swung his glider into a gentle turn until its nose was pointing toward the river, then straightened out.

As Blade straightened out, he heard a distinct pop, just a little louder than the sigh of the wind or the muted uproar from the ground a thousand feet below. Blade waited until the glider was completely set on its course for the river, then cautiously turned his head from side to side. He saw that some of the cloth was pulling loose from the left-hand reed spar. The st.i.tching must have been faulty. Fortunately the Elstani cloth was much stiffer than anything used in Home Dimension gliders. It should hold its shape well enough to keep him safely in the air for a while.

He was still on the horns of a nasty dilemma. Should he lose alt.i.tude fast and risk more strain on the st.i.tching? Or should he let the glider descend naturally and risk its coming unst.i.tched high in the air? He decided to risk a natural descent. Until he got over the river, it didn't matter if the glider collapsed at five hundred feet or at fifty. He'd hit the ground much too hard from either height. Blade settled down to steering the straightest course he could, to put the least strain on the st.i.tching from any more maneuvering.

He heard several more pops as the glider b.u.mped and jolted its way over the camp. The sun wasn't creating updrafts yet, but the fires were now hot enough to do so and getting hotter every minute.

By the time Blade was out of the updrafts, enough st.i.tching was gone so that his glider was losing a serious amount of lift. He still had enough control to fly a straight course, but he was sinking rapidly. It was like being on an immense escalator sliding down through the sky. Before he'd covered half the distance between the camp and the river, Blade knew he was never going to reach the riverbank. That wouldn't have bothered him so much if he hadn't seen Jaghdi cavalry riding out of the camp to sweep their bank of the river clean of surviving glider pilots.

If there'd been any large band of gliders visible, Blade might have steered for it. As it was, the pilots who hadn't made it to the river were scattered across nearly two miles of ground. Once a glider was down, it was every man for himself.

So Blade kept his glider on a straight course, trying only to stay out of bowshot of the ground. He didn't entirely succeed-one Jaghd put an arrow through the right corner of the glider. In spite of this, Blade was able to bring his glider down to a safe landing at least fifty yards from the nearest enemy.

He lay down as his glider collapsed around him, then s.h.i.+fted position carefully. Now he could see the nearest Jaghdi and also be ready to get up in a hurry. The four riders were sitting motionless on their rolghas. The smoke was now drifting out over the flatlands thickly enough to make it hard to judge distances.

Blade took only shallow breaths to keep from coughing from the smoke. If all of the riders came over at once, he'd be in trouble. But if one or two came over, and got close enough A rolgha neighed as its rider dug in spurs and turned its head toward Blade. The Jaghd pulled his lance out of the saddle bucket but didn't lower it all the way to striking position. Blade lay still, not even blinking as the enemy trotted toward him. The Jaghd reined in just out of lance-reach. He studied Blade, who tried to keep his eyes unfocused and take the shallowest possible breaths. Then the Jaghd made his rolgha step sideways, leaned out of the saddle, and thrust his lance down at Blade.

Instantly Blade snapped himself up to a sitting position and gripped the shaft of the lance at the same time. The Jaghd neither straightened up nor let go of his lance fast enough. Blade tightened his grip and pulled. The Jaghd lost his balance, fell headfirst out of the saddle, and broke his neck.

Blade nearly stepped on the dead man as he gripped the saddle. He swung himself up and into place so swiftly that the rolgha barely had time to realize its old rider was gone before the new one was holding the reins. Then Blade was putting in the spurs and the rolgha jumped forward, more like a kangaroo than a horse. It was cantering before any of the dead man's comrades even noticed that his rolgha had changed owners. It kept trying to work up to a gallop, but Blade fought it back to a canter. Both visibility and footing were uncertain. He'd managed to avoid breaking his neck in the glider, and didn't want to do the job now in a riding accident on the very edge of safety.

The next moment he wondered just how close he was to safety. An arrow whistled past him less than a foot away. Another struck the rolgha in the leg, but fortunately low down where there was nothing except skin and solid bone. Blade had another fight to keep the rolgha under control, and by the time he'd won, the archer was out of accurate shooting range. Now the smoke was on Blade's side.

He kept the rolgha at a canter as he headed toward the ford. He also let it drift to the right as far as he could, toward the river bank. If he couldn't break through to the ford he could always ride the rolgha off the bank into the river and swim for it.

He heard shouts and neighings around him in the smoke as he rode, but no more arrows came at him. He suspected the Jaghdi were sufficiently confused so that one odd rider more or less looked enough like a Jaghdi cavalry outfit to be deceptive at first glance.

He was more than halfway to the ford when he saw a line of mounted men emerging from the smoke ahead. He turned even more sharply to the right, and someone, thinking he was a Jaghdi, shouted, "Hey! Where do you think you're going! Join us!"

Before the man could shout again, Blade put his head down and his spurs in. There were at least sixty riders in the line ahead, and that was too many. Saving a little time in getting across the river wasn't worth the risk of not getting there at all.