Killer Plants Of Binaark

Chapter 8

Blade's second opponent was a bigger man than the first, and rode the largest rolgha Blade had ever seen. If they'd been in a real battle or even a less formal duel, the size of the other man's mount would have given him an advantage. A good Jaghdi rider could sideswipe an opponent's mount with his own, leaving the other man at least dismounted, sometimes pinned under his own rolgha. Since this trick was often rather hard on both rolghas involved, it was clearly out of the question when one of the rolghas was from Queen Tressana's stables.

Blade's second opponent kept his distance, and the three passes with the lance went by quickly and harmlessly. Most of the leather covering was stripped off Blade's shield, but otherwise he was in good shape. The bout with swords, however, was another matter. The Jaghd was an expert swordsman, and unlike some of the guards he could use his sword one-handed. In fact, he'd practiced until his right arm and shoulder were noticeably more developed than his left. He made his sword dance about Blade's ears as if it were no heavier than a bamboo pole.

Fortunately Blade's rolgha was as well-behaved as he could have hoped, and Blade's arms were even stronger than his opponent's. Otherwise the Englishman might have taken a disabling wound early in the sword bout. He did have to spend the first few minutes on the defensive, sizing up his opponent's strengths and weaknesses. Meanwhile the sun was getting hotter and the sweat streaming down made the leather of his armor begin to turn black. From behind him Blade heard shouts which might have come from anyone, sarcastic remarks unmistakably from Curim, and once a strangled scream which must have come from Jollya.

The two fighters swung their rolghas in tight circles, until a patch of grass twenty yards across was trampled almost completely flat. The guardsman sometimes shouted insults or curses, but Blade saved his breath and fought in grim silence. He knew he could stand on the defensive for a while longer, perhaps even long enough to wear out his opponent's sword arm. That would take a while, and also use up strength Blade suspected he'd need for his third opponent. He had no way of guessing who that might be, but knowing Curim he would be surprised if the man wasn't the most formidable of the day's opponents. He decided it was time to use his Home Dimension skills with the sword. Revealing them now would warn the third man, but that was less dangerous than letting this fight drag on much longer.

As he circled away from his opponent for the twentieth time, Blade dropped his sword hand behind his shield and shifted his grip on the sword. His opponent apparently noticed nothing. All he did was ask loudly how Blade would like his manhood served up to him after the fight.

Then Blade dug in his spurs, his rolgha leaped forward, and his sword came up into position for a thrust. The other man was good enough to understand what was happening. He started raising his shield and turning his mount but didn't do either in time. The hardwood tip of Blade's sword swept in over the top of his opponent's shield and crashed into his jaw. It was only a glancing blow, so it broke the man's jaw instead of his neck.

The guardsman was still full of fight. Cursing as well as he could with his broken jaw, he spat out bloody teeth and hunched down so that his shield covered as much of him as possible. The only easy targets left for Blade were the man's helmeted head and his sword arm.

If Blade hadn't felt his rolgha steady as a rock under him, he wouldn't have risked the next attack. But he now trusted his mount almost as completely as he did his own body. He rode in again, and this time he thrust hard at the small target of his opponent's right wrist. Blade's sharp eye and perfect coordination did half the work, and the sword tip with Blade's weight and the speed of his rolgha behind it did the rest: The guardsman screamed at the pain of his smashed wrist and his sword dangled uselessly, although he somehow managed to keep a desperate grip on it. He obviously wasn't going to swing it again.

Blade turned half around in the saddle, straightened his left arm, and flung his shield away. Then he gripped his sword with both hands feinted to draw the guardsman's shield down, and brought the wood side of his sword down on the man's head. The man's eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled out of the saddle into the grass.

Rolghas who suddenly lost their riders could become dangerous. Blade gripped the other rolgha's bridle until he could be sure the beast wasn't going to trample its fallen rider underfoot. Then he let it go, and rode back toward the judges as several guardsmen rode out to pick up their fallen comrade.

This time Curim admitted that Blade was the winner without the queen's prompting, and even with a faint smile on his face. Blade didn't trust that smile. He would rather have seen the guard captain in a blazing rage. The smile indicated that whatever plots against Blade might be hatching today, they were mostly Curim's.

All right, what could the guard captain be planning for the third fight? Blade thought about this as he sat on the grass drinking lukewarm, mint-flavored water from a leather bottle. The fight would be out in the same open field as the first two. If there'd been any snares or pitfalls prepared, he or one of his opponents would almost certainly have already stumbled into them. So the trick would probably involve striking from a distance, and that meant archery.

Would one of the guards shoot because he «thought Blade was trying to escape?» Possibly. Or would some friend of Blade's third opponent «go mad» and shoot? That wasn't at all impossible. The man who did the shooting would be doomed, of course. If Curim didn't have to kill him to show how clean his hands were, the queen would do the job. So the archer would have to be a good shot but not very intelligent. How likely was it that there was such a man among the guards today?

Quite likely. Blade had few illusions about the ability of most people to believe what they wanted to believe, rather than what made sense. He'd been called a cynic for this attitude, but he preferred to call it common sense, at least in his profession. Certainly it had saved his life a good many times, whatever you cared to call it.

The best way to deal with this sort of trick would be to win suddenly, catching Curim and the archer by surprise. It would also help if he could win while he was so close to his opponent that the archer would be afraid of hitting his comrade if he shot. That should delay things until the fight was over, and then it would be too late for Curim to do anything today. Blade knew he would have to go on watching his back all the time he was in this Dimension, or at least in Jaghd, but he was used to that.

Blade ate some biscuits and fruit, then drank more water. He didn't want to risk a stomachache by eating a heavy meal, but he badly needed the water. Normally he was as nearly immune to heat as anyone not born in the tropics could be, but he wanted to take no chances. Today the temperature must be close to a hundred, the dampness along the river made it worse, and there wasn't a breath of wind. Even Tressana and Jollya were beginning to wilt, and Sikkurad looked as if he'd sell his soul for a bath and a cold drink.

Blade was glad he'd been careful when he saw his third opponent. The man was the biggest of the thirteen guardsmen, taller than Blade and just as heavily built. He looked almost too big for his rolgha to carry through the fight without tiring. On the other hand his rolgha was starting fresh, while Blade's mount had already carried him through two fights. As far as Blade could see, he and his latest opponent would be a nearly perfect match. If the man had any weaknesses, it would take time to discover them, and time was the one thing Blade knew he couldn't rely on having.

Oh well, anyone who thinks hand-to-hand combat can be neat and tidy doesn't live long enough to learn otherwise.

Blade mounted and rode out into the field at a walk, to spare his mount. His opponent followed at a trot, with Curim and several of his comrades cheering him on.

Blade reined in when they reached the circle of trampled grass, but the guardsman simply pulled his rolgha around in a circle without stopping. Then he dropped his lance into striking position and spurred his rolgha up to a canter. Blade rode to meet him, and they came together so hard that both lances were smashed into splinters.

Both shields were still intact, however, and neither man was the worse for the shock. So one of Jollya's guardswomen rode out with fresh lances for both men, and they came at each other again. This time Blade's thrust was better placed. His lance tip caught in a split in the leather covering of his opponent's shield, jerked the shield out of position, and nearly pulled the man out of his saddle. For a moment the guardsman was completely unprotected. If Blade could have drawn his sword he could have ended the fight then and there, but the man went by too fast.

On the third pass with lance and shield, the guardsman's rolgha was only trotting, and the rider hardly tried to thrust at Blade. He crouched behind his shield, holding it so firmly that Blade's lance broke again and for a moment his right arm went numb all the way to the shoulder. He felt as if he'd thrust at a stone wall.

As the guardsman drew his sword, Blade trotted his rolgha around in circles, desperately flexing his arm to get it back into fighting shape. He was annoyed to realize that he hadn't got back all the strength he'd lost in the jungle and the prison, and the fighting had taken more out of him than he'd expected. It was too bad that he not only had to win this fight but also had to make a good show for the judges, and also guard against Curim's treachery.

Blade decided to make his move at the first decent chance he got. The guardsman was probably stronger than he was right now, but Blade knew he'd still have two advantages. One would be surprise; the other, the fact that the Jaghdi had no system of unarmed combat.

Blade drew his sword, but carefully loosened the straps on his shield so he could discard it with a single jerk of his arm. Then he shouted, «Come and be butchered, son of a sow!» and spurred his rolgha at the man.

Blade's opponent did the same but didn't notice that Blade was pulling on the reins at the same time as he dug in the spurs. Blade's rolgha whinnied and started to buck in confusion, but Blade kept it under control. The guardsman rode in at a canter, shield raised to meet a thrust, sword raised to come down on Blade's head or shoulder. He made the fatal mistake of concentrating completely on what he was going to do to his opponent, ignoring what his opponent might be planning to do himself. So he rode up to Blade without noticing that Blade's rolgha was almost standing still, a steady platform for launching any sort of attack.

As his opponent's sword came down, Blade exploded into action so fast and furiously that even those who saw him could only figure out afterward what he'd done. His sword dropped to the ground, his shield arm straightened suddenly, and his shield flew like a thrown discus at the guardsman. It flew high, crashing into his sword so that its slash went completely wild. Blade had nothing to fear from the sword as he hurled himself forward, gripping his opponent's shield with both hands.

Blade's rolgha squealed and bucked wildly. If the guardsman had thought of letting go of his shield, Blade would have dropped to the ground and would have probably lost his life as well, trampled to death by one of the rolghas. Instead the man froze in surprise, giving Blade all the time he needed. Blade swung himself up onto the back of the other rolgha, let go of the shield, got the man in a hammerlock with one arm, and chopped at the side of his neck with the other. As he felt the man go limp, he hurled himself to one side, to get clear of both the rolgha's hooves and his falling opponent.

All the spectators were shouting and screaming as the two men hit the grass. Somehow the guardsman sat up, and as he reached for his dagger Blade lunged for him again. He had to admire the guardsman's toughness, but that made it all the more important to put him down and keep him down. This fight wasn't going to be over until the other man was unconscious.

Then above the shouting Blade heard Curim's voice bellowing, «No, you-!» Blade didn't hear the whistle of the arrow, because he shouted, «Get down, you fool!» to his opponent, then threw himself as far as he could. He landed rolling, and as he rolled he heard the guardsman let out a throat-tearing scream.

When Blade raised his head he saw the guardsman sitting as if he'd been turned to stone, an arrow driven into his left eye and blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Then he slumped sideways, kicked twice, and lay still. Curim hadn't been able to stop his archer in time.

Blade was never really sure why he stayed out in the open field, a perfect target for more arrows, instead of catching one of the rolghas or running toward the judges.

He thought it was because he knew the scuffle among the spectators meant there would be no more arrows, but he also suspected it was because he wanted to honor the guardsman's courage, and arrows be damned! Blade bent over his fallen opponent, straightened his legs, and crossed his arms on his chest. He retrieved the man's shield and put it over his face. Then he picked up the man's dagger and thrust it into his own belt. Finally he rose and walked slowly toward the spectators.

As he approached, both men and women stepped out of his path. Curim looked away, the archer held by four guards buried his face in his hands, and even Tressana turned slightly pale under her tan as she looked at Blade. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke to her guard captain.

«Curim. This was your work, wasn't it?»

It was the captain's turn to go pale. Tressana raised her hand, and five of the guardswomen turned their rolghas and lowered their lances. Blade stood quietly, his hands at his sides. In spite of his rage, he knew that a single wrong word or movement could set off a bloody fight. He might die in it, and even if he didn't Tressana could be killed. Then there would be chaos in Jaghd.

«Well?» Tressana's voice cut like a whip. Curim swallowed, then nodded. The queen laughed. Blade had seldom heard such unpleasant laughter. Then she smiled, without warmth. «Curim, I do not know what you thought to accomplish by this. I will not ask, either. I will simply give you a choice. Slay the archer now with your own hands or lay down your post as captain of the Men's Guard.»

Curim never had a chance to obey or refuse. The archer let out an animal roar and with desperate strength tore himself free of the men holding him. He hurled himself at Curim. Blade was in the man's path and acted almost by reflex. He reached into his own belt, drew the dead guardsman's dagger, then thrust upward at the archer. The man's leather armor deflected the point upward, but only from his heart into his throat. Blade jerked the dagger free and the archer staggered a few more steps, then fell and lay still. Blade wiped the dagger on the dead man's breeches, then raised it hilt-first in salute to Tressana.

«Your Grace, this was a more fitting end for the archer. I killed him with his comrade's dagger. Now his comrade can rest easy, although he himself was not blameless in this affair.»

Blade's words set all the guards murmuring and whispering, except for Curim. He stood, trying not to look at either Blade or the queen, until Tressana spoke again.

«So be it. I will say that justice has been done, and will say no more of this. Curim, you still have your place, but it would be best if you kept out of my sight until I say otherwise.»

«But-«

«You will obey.» Tressana made a pointed gesture at the guardswomen all around. Some of them now had their bows in their hands. Curim growled something which it was probably well nobody understood, mounted his rolgha, and rode off. When he was out of sight Tressana dismounted, held on to her stirrup for a moment, then turned to Blade.

«Blade of England, why did you take it upon yourself to deal out First Justice to the archer?»

«I did not take it upon myself, Your Grace. It was thrust upon me by the fool himself.» He pointed at the dead man.

«You could have stepped aside and let him slay Curim.»

«Then I would have been guilty of Curim's death.»

«This worries you, after Curim sought your life by treachery?»

«If I let him die, his men would want my blood, and there are many of them. Why should I make more enemies than necessary?»

«Blade, I could still almost believe that you lied about not being of Elstan. They have a way of fighting without weapons much like yours. But to defeat three of our guardsmen-well, even if you are not of England, you are certainly of no land under any sun which has ever shone on Jaghd or Elstan.» She laughed again and rested one hand lightly on Blade's shoulder. She had to reach up rather a long way to do so.

At this point one of the guards collapsed on the grass, overcome by the heat. The doctor hurried forward to help him, and behind the doctor came Sikkurad. He also looked as if he would like to faint, but his voice was steady.

«Your Grace, the gods have shown us that Blade is not of Elstan, and that Curim is-«

«Never mind Curim, Keeper. You are claiming your reward for proposing this test of Blade?»

«Yes.» Blade noticed that unlike Curim, Sikkurad was able to meet the queen's eyes. «I would ask Blade to take guest-right in my house, while you find a place for him.»

«Such a warrior should be a guest among warriors, not in the house of a Keeper.»

«He should also be at a safe distance from Curim, at least for a month or so.»

«That also is true. But-«Blade half expected her to say, «But you will obey.» Instead it was the queen who looked away, and the Keeper who looked at Blade.

«Will you accept my house and all within it for a month, Lord Blade?»

«I will.»

«Good.» He hurried off, to help the doctor with the sun-stricken soldier. The queen's back was still turned to Blade, and he risked a quick look at Jollya. She seemed to feel his stare and turned slightly to look back at him. Unmistakably, she winked. Blade smiled, and resisted the temptation to laugh.

He might have rejected Tressana's friendship or even made an enemy of her by accepting Sikkurad's hospitality.

On the other hand, he suspected that he would learn more, and be in less danger, in the Keeper's house. Sikkurad could certainly answer most of his remaining questions about this Dimension, and the Keeper's guards seemed to be honorable men even if Curim, their captain, was not.

He also looked forward to seeing more of Jollya.