Clan and Crown

21

Ben Murphy screamed curses to the sky. Then he went back to the laager. Dobbin could do as much for Lafe now as anyone. Scratch one man who'd do to ride the river with. The hell with that.

Two archers were holding Walinski. Lafe had worked on getting the arrow out, but he hadn't finished the job. First things first, Murphy thought. Methodically he gave orders. Collect all the enemy's weapons and gear. Retrieve the balloon. Lighten the bogged-down wagon. And keep guard, there might be more out there. When the archers and acolytes started on all that, he had time to deal with Ski.

"It's going to hurt," Ben said. "I got to cut it out of there."

Walinski screamed something.

Ah, quit your bitching, Murphy thought. Why couldn't it have been you? No, that's not fair. Hell. He found a bottle of McCleve's best tucked into Lafe's gear, and brought it over to Ski. "Drink it!" he shouted. "Take a good slug. Right. Another. Now I'll have one, gimme."

He took a drink from the bottle, then added a teaspoon of fine powder. It was made from madweed, and the old woman from the last village had sworn by it. Untested drug, Murphy thought. Probably the wrong thing to do, but what choices have I got? "Here, Ski, have another couple of slugs."

While Walinski drank, Murphy heated an iron rod in the wagon's balloon firepot. When it was red-hot he took it and went back to Ski. "Gimme the bottle-"

He handed the bottle to an acolyte and took a deep breath. Well, here goes He used his combat knife to slice quickly down the shaft of the arrow, cutting open the tunnel it had made. Ski screamed again, and blood poured out. Too much blood. Murphy drew the heated iron rod along the wound. There was a smell of burning meat.

Probably the wrong thing, Ben thought. God knows I've made a hell of a scar. But it's got to be open. Too much risk of tetanus, and maybe the Westmen poison their arrows. Got to be- open and cleaned out and got to stop the bleeding.

He used a Johnson amp; Johnson sterile dressing to cover the wound. There were a dozen in the first-aid kit, and when would there ever be more? And the bottle of peroxide was small, it would all be used treating Ski and the wounded archer.

Ben Murphy felt a long way from home.

The village was about a klick away, and nobody had come out to help them. Murphy gave Walinski the rest of the bottle, and supervised getting the wagon train going again. They'd have to go in without the balloon, one wizard dead and another wounded; if they were going to impress the locals at all, they'd need all their gear. And a story. And meanwhile, somebody had to get word back to Captain Galloway.

The hardest part was getting Lafe's body. Dobbin stood guard, ready to fight anyone approaching.

"We could kill it," Agikon said; but when he saw Ben's face, he shrank away in fear. "Forgive me, lord."

Murphy didn't answer. He tried talking to the centaur in soothing tones. "This is me. I've ridden you a dozen times. I'll take you back to Lafe's wives, but you got to let me have Lafe. Come on, Dobbin, it's all right."

Eventually he whimpered and stood aside, letting Ben and Agikon put Lafe's body in the wagon. Murphy covered his partner with wizard's robes.

The village, was called Irakia, aiid like all high plains settlements it had a wall. This far west it wouldn't really be as much for defense against men as against a native beast called the gunkel, an omnivorous rodent the size of a dog, with an elongated body like a weasel, a scaly hairless tail, and armor plates something like an armadillo. It had sharp claws, big teeth, and a stink spray that wasn't as bad as a skunk but more than enough to keep humans away from it. Unfortunately, the gunkel was perpetually hungry, stupid, and fearless, and it thought humans built houses to store food for it to eat.

The wall had been supplemented by a hastily dug ditch. There was also a watch tower. The gates were shut, and there were no animals in the fields. The watch tower was manned, and through chinks in the wicker areas of the wall Murphy could see the glint of helmets and spear points.

Murphy had put the robed acolytes in the lead wagon, and the gates opened quickly when they came near. A squad of villagers carrying spears and scythes came out to cover their entrance. One elderly man came to Murphy. He pointed to the wizard robes. "Where is your sky-beast?" he demanded.

Aha, they've heard of our travelling magic show. "The Westmen slew the sky-beast with arrows," Murphy said. "And they have killed others, and wounded the master wizard."

"An evil day. I am Panar, chief of this village. You are welcome here, lords, but I fear the Westmen will destroy us all."

Murphy patted his battle rifle. "Though there are many Westmen, still we have our magic," he said. "The Westmen slew two of us and wounded my master, but we have killed all of the Westmen we have seen."

The caravan moved into the village. There was only one street, and the wagon train nearly filled it. The gates were hastily shut again.

Most of the population crowded around them. A couple of pretty girls caught Murphy's eye. Were they interested in having a child with sky-wizard blood? A lot of village girls were, which was one reason Murphy never married. Not like Lafe, who was happy enough with two wives, and what would they do now? They weren't noble, except that Lafe made the locals accept them, and- The chief came back from seeing the gate closed.

"Lord, Bheroman Harkon sent messages three days ago, warning us of Westmen in strong bands. He was leading his knights against them, and summoned the men of our village. Thus we have few fighting men, and could not come to your aid when we heard the battle nearby. Forgive us, lord."

Murphy waved his hands in a blessing sign he'd seen old Yanulf use. "No problem," he said in English. "You are forgiven, and indeed had you tried to aid us you would all have been killed. How many lances does Bheroman Harkon lead?"

"Lord, I do not know how far he proclaimed the ban," Panar said. "I would guess no more than fifty."

Murphy nodded. No point in scaring people, but he could guess what would happen if the average Drantos heavy cavalry leader ran into a sizable band of Westmen. Those hornbacked bows would be punching his men at arms out of their saddles before they knew there was an enemy near them. The next Drantos bheroman would probably face Westmen armored with the spoils from Harkon's army.

"Has anyone told the Lord Eqeta?" Murphy demanded.

"Lord, I do not know."

So it comes down to how smart Harkon is, and there's no way I'm going to find that out from this group.

"Lord, will you stay and protect us with your magic?" Panar asked. Some of the others crowded close to hear Murphy's answer.

The first levy of young men went to Harkon. There's me, and there's the secondary levy, not one whole hell of a lot to hold this place with if I've got to face any number of those Westmen. But what the hell, you knew the job was dangerous when you took it, Fred…

"I will stay," Murphy said. "But we must send messages to the Lord Eqeta. That is more important than our lives."

He'd expected opposition to that, but the village chief nodded sagely. "If the Lord Eqeta knows, we may yet be saved," he said. He looked thoughtful, started to turn away, and finally turned back. "There are two young men here who have won many races. Their horses are very good."

Obviously the right troops to take a message, but what was Panar looking so nervous about? Hah. "I will not inform Lord Harkon that you did not send your best men," Murphy said. "It is well for us that you did not." He pointed to the wagon's shadows. "When there is but one shadow, have them come to me. We will send them when it is dark. Meantime I will write a message for Lord Rick."

He's impressed, Murphy thought. Because I know Lord Rick, or because I can write? Don't matter much. "Before then I must tend to the wounded, and all your women must watch, as must you and your village deacon." This place would be too small to have a real priest. "We will show them the healing magic revealed by Yatar to High Priest Yanuif. For now, have them boil water."

"Aye, lord." Panar left to give orders. Murphy was alone with Lafe's body. Bloody hell, he thought. I'm not as young as I used to be. He looked over to the wagon where Ski lay in a drunken stupor, and envied him. There was a lot of the powdered extract of madweed in the medicine chest…

Batshit, Murphy thought. Not that again. I took that trip back on Earth.

Why not, though? You ain't going to live through this anyway, might as well go out happy- That's not happy, that's dead already, and shut up, he told himself. Christ, Lafe, why you? You got me off the stuff. And into Africa. Damn this goddam planet, first Sindy and then Lafe- You found Sindy here, and you had a good year.

Do you wish you'd never married her? No. But damn all, Ski looks happy. And it's sure going to be tough without Lafe. Nobody to watch my back. Nobody I trust now, except maybe the Captain. Sure nobody else. Don't trust Warner, Lafe said. And not Gengrich either. Lafe had been right about Gengrich. Maybe not the Professor, maybe Warner would do, but Lafe had been right, don't trust anybody you don't have to. They'd smuggled the 106 away from Parsons without letting anybody else know. "Keep a couple of aces," Lafe used to say. "Can't hurt." Hadn't hurt, either, and a fat friggin' lot of good that does Lafe now. Jesus, God, are you up there? He was a good man. Please, somebody, remember that.

An ugly column of smoke rose against the sky. One of the village women saw it and began to wail. Must be another village, Murphy thought. He called for Panar and pointed out the smoke to him.

"Aye, lord, Katos lies in that direction."

Christ, what do I do now? I'm too damned tired to think. "What other villages are there near here?"

"Four within one day's ride, lord. Five, counting Katos."

"Forget Katos. Send to the others. Do not send your best messengers. Have all the people come here. They should bring their flocks and beasts and everything they have, food and fodder, and come here quickly where I can defend them with sky weapons."

"There is not room inside the wall for half of them!"

"Well, we build a new wall, and a ditch." That would keep the cattle from straying and the Westmen from riding up to the walls. They weren't likely to be dangerous on foot. Except for those long-ranging arrows. But I've got three rifles, and maybe Ski'll be able to fight.

"Building a wall will take many hands from the crops," said the chief.

Jeez, the soul of a bureaucrat. "How many crops will you harvest if the Westmen burn you out and kill you all?"

Panar shrugged. "What matter; if Lord Harkon does the same?"

"The hell with Harkon. I speak with the voice of the Lord Eqeta."

The old chief spat into the dirt, then squinted into Murphy's face. He said nothing.

"Look, dammit!" Murphy said. He patted his rifle, then opened his wizard robe to reveal his pistol and combat webbing. "Watch!" He drew the pistol and fired at a gourd in a nearby market stall. Everyone turned to stare at the sound, so he blew another gourd away while they were watching. "There. That is small magic." He patted the rifle again. "And this is big magic."

The chief nodded. "I have heard. You are a sky god."

"Not a god, but I know the sky magic."

"You know the Lord Eqeta, who is a sky god," Panar said. "And that is enough. You will tell the Lord Harkon?"

"I will."

"The messengers will go now."

"Good."

The chief left, and Murphy sat down in the wagon.

A couple of village kids looked shyly at him, then dodged back into their home behind the market stall.

A girl about sixteen walked by, carefully not looking at him, but she'd changed into her best clothes.

My people, Murphy thought. He laughed at himself, but even as he did he thought of what he could teach the villagers about self-defense. Pikes and spears. Stand your ground against cavalry. Discipline and trust the man next to you, and you're as good as any cavalry.

He realized he was taking on a lot of responsibilities. The villagers would be grateful, but their lord wouldn't much care for his giving military training to the peasants. But if that kept Ben Murphy alive long enough to get a message back, that ought to square things with Captain Galloway.

What of Lady Tylara? What if the local lord didn't like his villagers taking matters into their own hands this way?

Ben laughed again. Too bad for Bheroman flarkon. The pike regiments had already taught peasants they could do things for themselves. Murphy wasn't doing anything new. Besides, he was the great-grandson of a man who'd been hanged for shooting a landlord's agent, and he wasn't inclined to be very tender about landlords' feelings.