Killer Plants Of Binaark

Chapter 16

Blade heard the hiss and clatter of weapons being drawn by the woodcutters still on the path. He saw them step as cautiously as cats to the edge of the landslip and look down into the mist. Fador'n was the closest, but even he was staying carefully on firm ground.

Was Fador'n deliberately refusing to go to his leader's aid, taking a horrible vengeance for the disgrace of losing his bow? Then Blade looked down into the valley and reconsidered. Fador'n might be suffering from nothing worse than a loss of nerve. The mist-filled valley was weird and terrifying, an unreal sight which might easily be suspected of hiding even worse things than the killer plants.

Unfortunately it did hide the plants, and the cries of the men caught among the creepers of the rogue were entirely too real. Even if Fador'n got his nerve back in a minute or two, he might be too late. Without Daimarz, Blade's chances of having his story believed in Elstan or even getting to Elstan alive would shrink. So would Elstan's chances of surviving Queen Tressana's campaign. Apart from this, Blade knew he owed Daimarz something for his justice toward Lorma, and for saving him from Fador'n.

Blade rolled over until he was lying on his face, both arms clear of the ground. Then he put shoulder, back, and arm muscles into one tremendous jerk. The ropes dug into his flesh, then the stick cracked like a pistol shot. A second jerk split it in two. Blade flexed life into his wrists and got to his feet.

Fador'n saw him. He yelled, «The Jaghd's escaping!» and dashed at Blade, drawing his sword as he ran. Behind him came a man with a raised ax. Fortunately nobody had a crossbow ready for action. All the bowstrings were carefully packed away to keep them safe from the damp weather.

«Damn it, I want to help them down there!» roared Blade. «Give me the amulet and-«Then he had to leap aside from Fador'n's rush. His effort to be reasonable cost him a gashed forearm. He found himself directly in the path of the axman, with the ax starting down.

All right, if these idiots are more concerned with keeping me from escaping than with saving their friends…

Blade ducked under the downswing of the ax and gave the man a one-two punch in the stomach. He doubled up, vomited, and dropped the ax. Blade caught it in midair and swung it in a wide arc to drive Fador'n back. The woodcutter came in again, too intent on dealing with Blade even to shout for help. The flat of the ax came down on his sword hand. He yelped and dropped his weapon. Blade shifted the ax to his left hand, closed with Fador'n, and punched the man in the jaw. The woodcutter not only fell, he also started rolling down the slope. Blade plunged after him, nearly losing his own footing, and caught up with him just above the mist. He snatched the amulet out of the belt pouch, carefully tied it around his own neck, then pulled Fador'n around so that he wouldn't roll any farther. The man was an idiot, but even an idiot didn't deserve the fate awaiting him at the bottom of the hill.

Blade hefted the ax again, testing its weight and balance. For a five-foot, six-inch Elstani, the ax was a two-handed weapon. Blade found he could easily use it with one hand, thought for a moment of trying to get steel for his other hand, then decided time was more important than an extra weapon. He cupped his free hand to his mouth and shouted down into the mist.

«Halloooo! This is Richard Blade, the Englishman. I'm coming down with the ax and the amulet. Hold on! I'll try to get you out!»

Blade wished he could promise to do more than try, but he didn't believe in miracles. It would take just about that to get all the men out of the rogue's grip. The amulet might still be effective. The stopper was still in and the scent was supposed to be more powerful in damp weather. Would it work against a rogue already triggered into action by seven struggling men? Also, Blade didn't know where the men were, who was in the most danger, or the best route to the base of the rogue's trunk. The mist would make it hard to find out.

Blade started down the slope, cutting back and forth to slow his rate of descent. The last thing he wanted was to lose his footing on the slick grass and reach the bottom sprawling and weaponless. Then he'd be no more than another victim for the robe.

The panicky cries from the mist had died away at Blade's shout. As he entered the mist they started again. Then Daimarz's voice roared out above all the others. «Shut up, the whole damned pack of you! Are you woodcutters of Elstan or women of Jaghd?» A sudden silence, except for a few shouts from above. Blade ignored those. Nobody up there could do anything to him until they'd strung a bow. Even then they might have the sense not to shoot wildly into a mist which hid their comrades as well as the «escaping» prisoner.

As he dropped into the mist, Blade headed to his left, toward the landslip and the fallen men. He heard Daimarz's voice again, shouting, «If there's a pod close to you, shout! If not, stay quiet!» Two men shouted. Blade swore. The mist not only blocked vision, it distorted hearing as well. It was almost impossible to tell where a man was from just hearing him.

Daimarz must have realized the same thing. He shouted again. «Everybody stop moving! I'll keep fighting. That should pull the pods toward me. Blade, can you cut the rest loose while I draw the pods?»

As Daimarz fell silent, Blade reached the outer edge of the rogue's creepers. They were all writhing and twisting like an endless nest of immense snakes, terrifying enough in broad daylight and quite indescribable seen through the mist. Blade could now understand better why the tough woodcutters gave way to panic when they slid downhill into this.

Blade stepped forward into the creepers. Time to find out if the amulet was still any good. He wished it was on a chain rather than a cord. A creeper that wasn't attacking him might break the cord.

Two anaconda-sized creepers wriggled toward him. They rose into the air, wavered, then one pulled back abruptly. The second came on, slapped his thigh almost playfully, then swung wide of him. Blade didn't bother striking at them. He felt like cheering. The amulet still worked!

«Daimarz!» he shouted. «You keep still too! There's no need for you to sacrifice yourself! The amulet works. I can move in and draw everything to me with no danger.»

«Blade, I-

«Stop arguing! I know what I'm doing! This is the beginning of the end for the killer plants of Binaark!»

That produced a dead silence except for the creaking and scraping of the creepers and the distant shouts of the men up on the hillside. Blade took another step forward, and saw another creeper come at him. It stopped just within range, and he cut completely through it with a single blow of the ax. Sap spattered the leaves around Blade but missed him.

Now he could see the first of the seven men ahead, lying under a bush completely tangled in creepers. He was doing his best to hold still, but a kill-pod was already wavering just above the bush. A few more feet and it would be within reach of the man.

Blade picked out the three nearest creepers and cut them off. All the others writhed more furiously than ever. The man yelled as the creepers holding him wrenched at his joints. The kill-pod swept over him and came at Blade. Whatever the creepers Blade had cut were saying, the kill-pod was getting the message that he was something to be investigated.

Blade let the pod come within easy reach. Then he unleashed his ax in an overhead swing using both hands and all his strength. The branch supporting the kill-pod was nearly a foot thick, but the ax went halfway through it at one blow. The branch jerked back so violently that most of the rest broke off. The pod dangled by a few remaining muscle fibers, sap gushed out like water from a hose, and the plant started screaming.

Blade jumped back, cut off another creeper, and tried to shout to the men up the hill. Then he realized they'd never hear him over the plant's screaming. The writhing creepers loosened their grip on the man under the bush. He was still clear-headed enough to realize it, and rolled out of their reach. Then he sprang to his feet and made a dash for safety. He ran straight into Blade, so hard that both men nearly went down. Blade gripped the woodcutter by one shoulder and bellowed in his ear loud enough to be heard over the plant's screaming.

«Tell those idiots up on the hill to stop standing around with their thumbs up their arses! The amulet's working, I tell you. I'll be able to fight the plants, but you men are going to need some help getting back up. Tell them to send a couple of men down the hill, or at least throw down a rope! Understand me?»

The man jerked his head in what Blade hoped was a nod. Blade pointed toward the firm ground, and the man went off as if a kill-pod was snapping at his heels. Blade took several deep breaths, closed his ears to the screaming, and turned back to his battle for the lives of the other six woodcutters.

Blade fought his battle with mist all around him. After a while there was a second mist inside his head, and he stopped remembering details of the fight. He only knew that the amulet still worked, that the ax still cut everything he struck, and that one by one the woodcutters came free of the rogue and staggered off into the mist toward safety. This was enough.

By the time Blade reached Daimarz, he was dripping with sweat and his wounded arm was beginning to hurt. He itched in half a dozen places from tree sap, and his ax was beginning to lose its edge. He was still able to chop Daimarz free of half a dozen creepers and pull the woodcutter to his feet.

The man was bleeding in several places where the creepers had scraped his arms and legs. As Blade steadied him, blood from the Englishman's gashed arm flowed over some of Daimarz's wounds. The woodcutter pulled himself free so violently that Blade thought he might have violated some important taboo. Then the woodcutter looked steadily at Blade.

«So. We have mingled our blood at the first, not at the last. The proper words must still-no, I forgot. When you have saved-how many lives today, Blade of England?»

«I think all your men got clear of the rogue on their own two feet.»

«Then, seven woodcutters saved. The words do not matter.»

Blade took a deep breath, which cleared his head enough for him to understand and reply. «If you mean we are now blood brothers, I have nothing against it. But I think we should finish off this rogue first. It's-look out!»

A kill-pod loomed out of the nest behind Daimarz. Blade chopped at it with his ax but hit it only a glancing blow as the woodcutter jumped clear. Blade now saw that the kill-pod was moving slowly and clumsily, only a few feet off the ground. He also realized for the first time that the screaming was dying away to a thin piping whistle.

«It is not dead yet,» said Daimarz. «But it can no longer do much harm.» They stepped back as the kill-pod crept toward them. «I have no right to ask this, because I am at fault in all that has happened today, but-may I have your ax to strike one blow?»

«Certainly, although it's beginning to lose its edge.»

Daimarz nodded and took the ax. Then he stepped back, leaped high with a shrill cry, and chopped through one hinge of the pod's jaw. Another leap, another cry, and the other hinge was cut through. The lower jaw sagged limply, and the pod itself drooped like a wilted leaf.

Daimarz handed the ax back to Blade. «Now that I have done as much as I am worthy of doing, the honor of the kill is yours. No, wait!» He raised a hand as Blade shouldered the ax. «I want to have other men watch you do your work. When I lay the tale of you and your amulet before my father and the other Masters, I want no one calling me a liar.»

«A good idea.» Daimarz seemed to be keeping his head, in spite of an experience which must have been both terrifying and shameful. Blade understood now some of the reason for the hostility of the party to the idea of the amulets. The woodcutters were proud of the courage and skill it took to face the killer plants and beat them on their own ground. If the amulets made it possible for any child to play in the forest of Binaark, that would be the end of their ancient and proud guild. They would be like square-rigger sailors forced ashore by the coming of the steamship.

It took Daimarz a while to persuade or threaten enough of his men into coming back down the hill into the mist and the rogue's creepers. Blade used that time to catch his breath and examine his injuries. Apart from the gashed arm, there was nothing a bath and a good night's sleep wouldn't take care of. By the time four of the woodcutters were gathered behind Daimarz to watch Blade, he felt ready to tackle a whole new rogue.

The mist was beginning to lift, so the woodcutters were able to watch from a distance as Blade strode into the heart of the rogue's creepers. They didn't attack him, but they lay so thick on the ground that he sometimes had to chop a path through them. At last he came to the base of the rogue, a frightening black mass nearly two feet thick. It took him five strokes to chop clear through it, and as he did the plant's dying screams rang deafeningly in his ears. So much sap gushed out that the ground all around him turned to foul-smelling mud, and he had to jump back hastily to protect his feet.

When Blade returned to the woodcutters, they were all cheering, making nearly as much noise as the dying plant. They would have picked him up on their shoulders and carried him up the slope, if they could have stayed on their feet while doing it. Instead they all helped each other back up the slope, to where Fador'n was beginning to sit up and mutter.

Lorma was waiting for Blade on the path. She jumped on him so enthusiastically he nearly went over backward and down the slope again. Then she started rubbing against his legs, purring so loud it was almost a roar. Where had she come from? How had she been able to trail the party all these days, and know the exact moment when it was safe to come out? Blade respected Lorma's intelligence; now he began to wonder if she wasn't telepathic! Perhaps he'd be able to find out some time. For now it was enough to have her back and listen to her purr.

The lifting of the mist showed that the valley ahead was even steeper-sided than it was here. Daimarz decided to turn back. The woodcutters shouldered their equipment, picked up the blinded man's stretcher, and started retracing their steps toward the valley mouth. Fador'n staggered along, bound the same way Blade had been as punishment for his stupidity.

Blade and Daimarz brought up the rear of the party, so they could talk freely. «What can your father, the Master of the Woodcutters, do for the EIstani in the war against Jaghd?» Blade asked.

«Perhaps much, perhaps everything. The woodcutters will serve as the leaders of Elstan in any war, so our word will count for more than any other two guilds together.»

That made sense. The woodcutters were in excellent physical condition, and trained both to use weapons and to act together. Blade could hardly imagine any other craft or skill that would produce the same sort of man.

«We don't have much time.»

«The guilds may not take much time to come together and agree. Once they hear of the amulets, they will find it easy to believe the tale of the riders coming through the forest.»

At least politics couldn't be any worse in Elstan than they'd been in Jaghd. But time was on the side of the Jaghdi, not the EIstani.

«Is there anything we can do about the war without waiting for all the guilds to agree?»

Daimarz frowned. «Two or three guilds together can work to deal with a flood or a plague, without waiting for the rest. The woodcutters would need one other guild at least, but-if you think it may be needed-?»

«I do.»

They walked on in silence for a while. Lorma was staying so close to Blade that he had to watch his step to keep from treading on her tail. Blue sky was beginning to show through the clouds overhead.

«A word of warning, Blade. Our women are not those of Jaghd. They know their own minds and speak them. Remember that and listen to them.»

«The women of England are more like yours than those of Jaghd,» said Blade. «I will feel more at home in Elstan than I ever did on the other side of the forest. The Jaghdi have a great deal to learn about women, and I fear Queen Tressana is not the one to teach them.»

Silence fell again. Blade looked back at the valley, where the mist had now lifted enough to show the ruins of the rogue plant. He hadn't won the whole war back there by defeating the plant, but he might have won Elstan's first battle.