Killer Plants Of Binaark

Chapter 19

The cloud of dust from thousands of hooves rose to mix with the smoke from burning Elstani farms as the main Jaghdi army marched eastward. They had been out of the forest for a day now and were invading the valleys of Elstan, taking prisoners and setting fires to the farms. Some of the Elstani had managed to flee and had set fires to their own storage buildings to prevent the Jaghdi from eating their food and taking their supplies, but many more of the Elstani were being captured. Now the army was preparing to ride farther into the valley, taking more prisoners as they went, and making their camp near the towering cliffs.

Tressana sat on her rolgha, the Women's Guard around her, watching Efroin of the Red Band approach.

He reined in and took off his helmet. «We're well enough started, Your Grace. When will you be joining us?»

Tressana studied Efroin's dusty, sun-reddened face. It was hard to tell if he was questioning her courage, and she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. «As soon as the rest of the wagons come up. The Elstani have burned too much for us to risk losing the food in the wagons. Even that won't be enough if you don't keep your men in hand.»

«I'll do my best, Your Grace. It would be easier if we had you with us.»

«We've talked of that before, Efroin. You will obey.»

«Yes, Your Grace.»

Seeing the queen's mood, Efroin put his helmet back on and rode back toward his men. Tressana watched him go with the first doubts about her plan she'd felt in quite a while.

Dividing her army still made sense. Eight thousand men would ride on into Elstan, led by Efroin. Two thousand would stay behind under the queen, to gather food from Elstan's remaining farms and protect the slow wagons as they crept out of the forest of Binaark. The Elstani would be too busy with Efroin to attack her.

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 gods 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 gods' 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 passing. 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 pass 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 companionship 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.