Fanglith - Return To Fanglith Part 16

Amo was staring at me, and I switched the sound from the remote to the hand unit so he could hear.

"Arno and I and a bunch of Varangian warriors are on the top of a mountain, and a bunch of Saracen knights have us surrounded. We haven't had anything to drink since yesterday. They charged us once, and a lot of guys are already dead. And the rest of us will be pretty darned soon. Like maybe in an hour or maybe five minutes."

"We're on our way," she snapped. "Keep talking, and I'll get a read on your location." "Right," I said.

"We've got a great view from up here. Mountains all around. I can't see the sea, though; we're too far inland. The flies are starting to gather around the bodies. The Varangians have been throwing Saracen heads down the hill, and it looks as if the Saracens are getting ready to attack again."

It must have been the head-throwing that got to them. They were forming ranks again, one behind the other, and I got the notion that this time they wouldn't quit. There were about ten in each rank, and I counted nine ranks at our end. I suppose the guys at the other end of camp were looking at the same sort of thing.

I switched the receive switch back to remote, so I'd have my hands free to fight and still be able to hear.

"Hold on!" I shouted to the Varangians. "The Angel Deneen is coming to help us! Hold on until she gets here!"

The first Saracen rank was starting our way at a slow trot. Then the second. Then the third, the fourth .. .

The Varangians were fitting arrows to their bowstrings. I hefted the heavy sword. It looked like a race, and I didn't see how Deneen could get there first.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

As we moved out onto the barricade to make our stand, Gunnlag grabbed me by the arm and shook his head, pointing back, snapping something in Norse. I gathered I was supposed to be a backup, along with several wounded men.

But by standing on a rock and looking between Varangians, I could see the charge well enough from the brow of the hill, a few paces back. As the lead Saracens got closer to the barricade, they realized they couldn't ride over it, while riding uphill the way they'd had to, they wouldn't have nearly enough speed to jump it. So a little short of it. They swung down from their saddles and came at us with swords. One problem the Varangians had was standing up. Dead bodies, especially the barrel-like bodies of horses, aren't the best footing for a sword fight. But they had the advantage of elevation, and slashed at the Saracens clambering up at them. It was slaughter, and for a half minute or so I thought for sure we'd hold them, even as outnumbered as we were.

But the Saracens weren't stupid. The sides of the k.n.o.b were too steep for horses, so we hadn't extended the barricade very far around. Now, on foot, some of the rear ranks started around to flank us, and the handful of us in reserve-the wounded and myself-moved to keep them out, while a few of the men on top dropped back to help us.

I can't describe what went on, because after that all I saw was what was close around me. We still had the advantage of position, but there were too few of us and too many of them. I didn't even think of finesse, of strike and parry. I didn't really think of anything at all. I just swung and slashed. Once, through the fog of desperation, I heard a voice howling like an animal, and realized it was me. And the howl was the Thargonian ghost tiger. Then more of the Saracens were on top with us, and more, and then .. .

Then I heard screaming, and realized I was also hearing the thud! thud! thud! thud! of a heavy blaster.

But there still were Saracens around us, striking with their swords. My blade half cleft a heavy s.h.i.+eld, stuck there, and was jerked from my hands. Without even thinking, I s.n.a.t.c.hed my stunner from my belt and fired, then fired again at another Saracen, and threw it at another when it failed on the third shot.

Then Arno was beside me, striding into the melee. Varangians too, more of them now. Because, it turned out, the attacks on the barricades had melted back under blaster fire and the sight of the scout close overhead. The Saracens who'd reached the top were suddenly outnumbered.

"Larn!" Deneen's voice spoke in my ear as I tugged my sword free of the Saracen s.h.i.+eld.

I straightened, ignoring her, the heavy sword in my hands, and looked around for more attackers. I wasn't about to be distracted when I needed my attention on staying alive. But I didn't, really. The Saracens were running now, back down the side slope, several falling and rolling, unable to stop themselves. There weren't any left to strike.

I blinked, shaking my head, becoming aware of things around me-other things besides Saracens. It was like coming out of some kind of b.l.o.o.d.y trance. Then I started counting. There seemed to be twenty-six Varangians left on their feet, most standing momentarily motionless, staring upward. I knew that some of them had to be wounded. I was spattered with blood myself, but as far as I knew, none of it was mine.

You might not believe how much blood gets sprayed around in a fight like that.

Gunnlag shouted a hoa.r.s.e order, and we moved back to the barricade. There were a lot of dead Saracens there, but down the hill I could see a lot of live ones-a lot more than there were of us.

And there was the scout, maybe two hundred feet overhead. I waved at it, then looked at Gunnlag. "The Angel Deneen," I told him, then crossed myself. Arno heard me, and repeated it loudly in Norse; I caught the name "Deneen" when he said it.

A second later the loud-hailer boomed out with about a minute's worth of talk that was a total mystery to me. The language wasn't Evdas.h.i.+an or Standard, Norman or Provencal, or Greek. I didn't even know the voice.

But it sure had the Saracens' attention. And when it was done, we saw them get on their horses and start rounding up the strays-the horses whose riders hadn't, or wouldn't, return. When they were done, they all left, riding along the ridge crest to the notch, where they turned off out of sight into the ravine.

"Larn," said the voice in my ear, "I'm the one who's got a problem now." I'd never heard Deneen sound like that. Tired. More tired than I was. "I just checked the fuel system again. Using the weapons system, even less than a dozen bolts like that, has begun some pretty heavy fuel crystallization. I never imagined it would happen so fast.

"Now here's what I'm going to do. I'll put Tarel and Moise down with you, each with a blast rifle, pistol, and stunner. And one of each for you. Then I'll get to the island again as quickly as I can, and shut down for a few days. We can not afford to get ourselves stranded." "Just a second," I said. "No rifles.

They'll make us too conspicuous.

Or just one. Make it one, in case we need some longer range firepower. And a pistol and stunner for Arno, and belt magazines with spare charges."

"All right ..." she began, but I interrupted.

"And we've had no water for nearly twenty-four hours. Or any food. None of us. Put down a hose; there's one in a locker in the machine room. And send down any food you can spare, if there's enough of it to share among thirty men."

"Right. I'm leaving the pilot's seat to do it."

"Got ya. Larn holding."

A bunch of the Varangians were staring at me, including Gunnlag, who, like Arno and me, seemed unwounded.

"The Angel Deneen is going to Set two other holy monks out of the sky s.h.i.+p," I told them, "with special protection for us, to help keep us safe to Christian territory. She has to go back to the heavens."

I figured she'd land and let them out, but she had a better idea-one that would help keep up our image.

She lowered to about fifty feet and let Tarel down in a harness. When he was down, she winched the harness back up and let down another guy, who had to be Moise. I realized then who'd been talking on the loud-hailer. Like Tarel, Moise wore a marine jump suit. He was tall for a Fanglithan; I suspect it was from a decent diet when he was a kid.

Deneen's voice spoke in my ear again. "There's some emergency food concentrate in Moise's musette bag," she told me. "All we've got left of it. And Tarel's musette bag has extra cells for your communicators. Water's coming next."

A minute later a hose came down, with a pail taped to it. On my cue, Deneen would release some water, a few quarts at a time. I'd catch it in the pail and pa.s.s it around among the Varangians. I drank last, which I'm darn sure the Varangians noticed. It tasted like hose, but it was good! When all of us had drunk a bit, I got some of the cubes of food concentrate from Moise's pack and pa.s.sed them around, two per man. That wasn't much, but any more might have made us sick on such empty stomachs. After that everyone drank again. Then I retaped the pail to the hose and told Deneen we were done. The hose drew back up into the hatch and disappeared.

The hatch closed behind it, and in a minute or so the Jav started to rise, rose till we couldn't see it anymore.

"That's it, brother mine," said Deneen in my ear. "Gqod luck. And wish me the same." I raised the communicator to my mouth. "Thanks. You've got my best wishes, for whatever they're worth." And she did. Not getting stranded here might not be as important to me as staying alive, but it ran a close second.

Luck! It occurred to me that, everything considered, we hadn't done too badly on Fanglith, luck-wise.

So far. Not for a world like this one. Things had gone wrong, but we were still alive. And that was more than I could say for a lot of Varangians and Saracens.

PART SIX.

TREACHERY AND CLIMAX.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

Actually there were thirty Varangians able to walk reasonably well. Five others could hobble with help.

We'd take them with us to the nearest water and leave them there on their own. The Varangians killed the more severely wounded, then all the dead were prayed over.

It had occurred to Gunnlag that I should do the praying. After all, I was the holy monk, the chief of the holy monks. But I told him I wanted him to do it because he was our war chief. I also told him that the Angel Deneen would want him to, over the Saracens and all. And just now what the Angel Deneen wanted was what we did.

I could have pretended to pray, of course, but these guys were dead, and they deserved the real thing.

And while he was praying, I found myself feeling really solemn. If there actually was some kind of heaven, the way the Christians thought, and maybe the Saracens, then I wanted them to go there, all of them. That's when I realized that I didn't hate the Saracens, even though we'd just been chopping at one another with swords, trying to kill each other. I only hated the Empire. Interesting.

After the praying, Tarel gave me my weapons and Arno's. I blessed Arno in Evdas.h.i.+an while holding up my crucifix. Actually, what I recited was part of the acceptance formula for initiates into the middle school honor society, modified a little for the circ.u.mstances. I didn't know any Christian formulas. Then I gave Arno a pistol and stunner, and a belt magazine of replacement charges for each.

I kept the blast rifle. It would be my symbol as chief monk.

Next I turned to Moise and asked him in Norman French if he spoke Greek.

"Yes, sir," he said, in Evdas.h.i.+an at that. "I also speak your language. Your sister had me learn it with the learning program, and we have practiced it ever since to develop my fluency."

"Good. I'm a.s.signing you to speak it with Arno. He needs the practice. But first I want you to tell Gunnlag Snorrason something for me, in Greek." I pointed. "He's the older Varangian with the red hair.

It's best that Arno not tell him, because I'm appointing Arno the leader of this expedition for now. And Gunnlag should get the word from someone else, not from Arno.

"And another thing: As far as these people are concerned, Deneen is an angel of G.o.d. D'you understand?"

He nodded soberly.

"Good. And she came down from heaven to bring you to us. You and Tarel. So while you should be courteous to the Varangians, always act as if you're their superior. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Fine. Now I want you to tell Gunnlag that Arno is a Norman of importance, a liege man of the great leader, Roger of Sicily. And that we will soon be in Norman land. Tell him."

We were the center of the watching and listening Varangians, Gunnlag the nearest of them. Moise turned to him and spoke in Greek. When he was done, he turned back to me for further instructions.

"Tell him that because of that, Arno will be our leader on the march. Gunnlag will still be the chief of the Varangians, but Arno will be the march leader-the march leader of all of us, including us holy monks. Got that?"

Moise nodded. "Yes sir," he said again, and again he talked to Gunnlag in Greek. Gunnlag nodded with no sign of resentment.

I looked at Arno. "Did you get that too?" I asked in Norman French.

"Yes," he said. "And I shall treat the old Viking like a Norman knight. I have seen him fight, and I love him like a brother."

It seemed to me that things just might go right for a while. For a change.

Progress was slow because of the wounded. As we hiked, Tarel told me what they'd learned about fuel crystallization, and approximately what Moise had said on the loud-hailer. He'd spoken in Arabic, the Saracen language, telling them that the vessel from Allah-Allah was the name the Saracens gave to Fanglith's G.o.d- that the vessel from Allah bore the Angel Deneen. And the Saracens were not to molest any further these people they'd been attacking. They should let them leave in peace, or risk Allah's further wrath.

"Was that Deneen's idea?" I asked. "Or Moise's?"

"Deneen knew he speaks Arabic. She does too now, but hasn't practiced it much. She told him to say whatever it would take to keep them from attacking you any more, and he took it from there."

"Umm. You guys get along all right? You and Moise?"

"Oh sure. We're good friends."

I was glad to hear it. I'd wondered if maybe they'd developed some rivalry-if maybe Moise had gotten interested in Deneen, too.

Dusk was settling when we reached a creek in a small valley, another valley with abandoned huts in it.

Gunnlag agreed with Arno that we shouldn't camp there though- that we needed to reach a high place.

So we drank our fill again, then left the five who needed help to walk, and started up the next ridge. Two of the Varangians keeled over when the going got steep, and three others couldn't make it, so we waited while they were helped back to the hut where we'd left the other five. Then we went on again-twenty-five Varangians, Arno, and three "holy monks from India." It was black night when we got to the top, chewed and swallowed the last of the food concentrate, and bunched up to sleep. The cubes didn't quiet our stomachs, which growled and grumbled, but they'd help us keep going.

The next morning, Arno and Gunnlag sent our four best hunters out ahead, after pointing out the course we'd be taking. Then, after about an hour of lying around, the rest of us started out. The muscles in my forearms had gotten surprisingly sore overnight, and my hands stiff from using the sword I suppose.

The hunters would be moving slowly, so we moved slowly too. An hour or so later we came to one of them who'd killed and dressed out a half grown goat. There wasn't any firewood nearby, so we ate most of it raw, keeping enough to share with the other hunters in case they hadn't gotten anything. Goat is tough chewing, especially raw, and b.l.o.o.d.y raw is the opposite of appetizing for me. But when you're hungry enough ..

Maybe two hours later we came to another hunter with another goat. This was near the mouth of a ravine where there was scrub, with dead branch wood to burn. So we took a break, half-cooked the goat, and ate some of it, wrapping the rest in the hide. A third hunter saw the smoke and hiked over. He hadn't seen anything near enough to shoot at.

Then we lay around for a while, feeling full, napping in the sun, digesting the half-raw goat meat. We never saw the fourth hunter again. He might have fallen and broken a leg somewhere. We yelled, there and later from a ridgetop, but never heard a thing.

A couple of ridges later I wondered if maybe he'd run into hostiles. Because when we reached the top of this ridge, we could see a lot bigger valley on the other side. Arno said a valley like that was sure to have farms and hamlets, and almost surely a castle with knights.

And these people wouldn't have heard of the Angel Deneen, though hopefully they might be under Norman control.

We talked it over and decided that the Varangians would hike down one of the ravines. It had enough brush and trees to give cover. Tarel and Amo would stay with them to provide fl repower Moise and I would hike along the top of one of the spur ridges that walled the ravine. From there I could provide blaster fire with my rifle, if needed. And while the two of us could be seen from a distance, the sight of two hikers shouldn't get anyone excited. Not when neither of us was visibly a warrior. Neither of us carried a s.h.i.+eld, and I'd left my long sword on the battleground.

Tarel turned his communicator on so we could stay in touch.

It was a warmer day than we'd been having. Spring was coming along, and the country wasn't as high as a lot that we'd been through. I was actually enjoying the hike. We paused on a high point, from where we could see a lot of the valley. And Arno had been right: A good-sized hamlet, almost a village, was visible, with a castle nearby. I saw a dust cloud in the valley's lower end, and staring, made out a number of mounted men at the head of it. They had to be military.

I took the communicator from my belt. "Tarel," I said, "this is Larn.

Tarel, this is Larn. Over."

"This is Tarel. Over."

"Tell Arno there's a force of cavalry in the valley, riding toward the castle. I can't tell if they're Normans or Saracens. Ask him what he wants to do about this. Over."

"Hold on; will do."

It was two or three minutes before I heard anything more than faint murmuring. Then Arno answered.