Killer Plants Of Binaark

Chapter 20

The dawn air seemed chillier than usual at the Kettle of the Winds. Blade wondered if this was just his own anticipation 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 assembling 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 scraping on stone made Blade turn around. Fador'n was approaching, followed by Borokku, seven more glider pilots, and bearers carrying nine fully assembled 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 balls dropped from him. Efroin felt his insides turn to ice. Then the balls 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 Grass, 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 passing 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 glass 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 sadistic 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 passed 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 noble when he heard this last order. Efroin nodded. He knew that the noble 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 noble.

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.