King Of Zunga

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Blade was never quite sure how he and Aumara got back to their tents afterward. And he had only vague memories of rolling himself up in his hide cloak after crawling back into the tent. But he had very vivid memories of the encounter the next morning, when the bawling of the cattle as they were watered and the clatter of the pots as the slaves prepared breakfast roused him out before dawn.

Vivid memories, and pleasant ones. Aumara was beautiful, and she had obviously been well satisfied. Her interest in him was another piece of luck. Whether it was good or bad he couldn't say right now. As long as he could satisfy with both his wits, and his virility his luck should remain good. But the affairs of princesses could develop nasty complications at a moment's notice. So could affairs with princesses. He would have to do his best, and rely on the ruthless but apparently just King Afuno to take up any slack.

They were on the move again, before all the dawn colors had faded from the sky, ambling along at the same tedious pace as the day before. The plain stretched out before them, as bare and flat and empty as before. It was not until nearly sundown that the smoke and the herds of Dorkalu, the Zungan capital, came in sight.

«We are almost home,» said Aumara. The grin she gave Blade made it obvious what home meant to her, at least for the moment. It meant more privacy and comfort for them and their lovemaking. Blade decided not to try explaining to her how much time he would have to spend training the warriors, assuming that the Great D'bors and the On'ror let him.

The homeward-bound herds thickened, until the warriors had to form a ring around the caravan to keep its cattle and those of the herds separate. A few minutes later Blade made out a long, dark line on the horizon. «The walls of Dorkalu,» Aumara said.

The sun dipped below the horizon and the tropical darkness swallowed up the land. A little after that, torches sparked in the darkness ahead as warriors came out from the city to escort the caravan the final miles to it. And eventually more torches sparked in the darkness ahead, held by men standing on top of the walls themselves. These stretched out of sight into the darkness on either side, and rose more than twenty feet above the plain. Dead ahead lay a massive gate, wide enough for a dozen men to march through.

The cattle turned aside instead of going through the gate. In Dorkalu, the herds had their own separate compounds outside the walls, each with its own fortifications and guards. But the royal caravan kept straight on.

The gate squealed and groaned open, and the caravan marched through without breaking formation or step. On the other side of the massive walls an inner gate led out onto another of the enormous open fields. Blade could not even see its edges in the darkness. What he could see would have swallowed Brona twice over. In the center of the field rose what could only be King Afuno's palace, looming behind its own wall, its roof and balconies outlined by still more flickering torches.

Now the caravan broke up in a flurry of barked orders and slaves and warriors hustling about on a dozen different errands. Afuno leaped down from his platform as lightly as any young warrior and came over to Blade. Four warriors nearly as large as he was stood on each side of him.

«Blade,» he said, «we must move quickly before the Ulungas try to make people forget Chamba's sacrilege and remember only that I went against their word. They will not have an easy time of it, for Chamba's sacrilege was great and public. But they may do it, and if they do, we will be back where we started. I will not give you up to the Ulungas. But in such a case I would not be able to give you a chance to train my warriors in your English fighting arts.»

He sighed. «If I had one son left-just one-I could throw myself against the Ulungas, sacrifice myself to bring them down. And then my son could rule a kingdom in which the Ulungas had no more power. But there are only daughters left. It is always a delicate thing to set up the joint rule of a princess and her consort. It is too delicate a thing to survive what might happen if I fought the Ulungas openly.»

Blade was worried. This gloomy note was something new for Afuno. «Surely at least the War Council will not listen to the Ulungas?»

«The Great Mors are supposed to be like you-wise men, not just warriors with strong arms and thick heads. Not all of them are. And the On'ror is only partly a war leader. He also speaks for the Ulungas in questions of war. He will speak this time, and he will speak loudly. I only hope nobody listens to him. At least, not until you have done your work for the Zungans.»

In spite of these disturbing words, Blade managed to get a good night's sleep. It turned out he needed it, because the next morning a summons to appear before the War Council came.

Like most Zungan public business, attending the War Council had to be done on an empty stomach. Blade supposed this was certainly one way of discouraging long speeches. But he would rather have sat through any number of speeches with something in his stomach than face the War Council and present his case with his empty stomach growling like a starving dog.

By now he was used to explaining himself, his fighting arts, and the English people to the Zungans, while putting his best foot forward. He tried to avoid claiming too much for his fighting skills, pointing out that he had never seen slave raiders in action. But if they were as he had heard them described, he could certainly teach the Zungans how to do much better against them. They would not win every fight, but they would win many more. And they would do this without any sacrilegious violations of the Sky Father's laws, such as throwing their spears as Chamba had done. Blade saw Afuno smile at the mention of Chamba.

When Blade finished, he had no idea whether he had won or lost his case. The men of the War Council had listened to his entire presentation with totally expressionless faces, except for Afuno. And the faces had not changed when Blade went out to await their decision.

There was beer and bread waiting for him in the corridor, and he fell to. He had just polished off the last of both when he saw a slave woman come down the hall and stop before the commander of the council's guards. They whispered together for a moment, then the commander turned to Blade and said, «This woman is Princess Aumara's. The princess wants you. You must go.»

«Now?» asked Blade.

«Yes.»

«But the council-«

«Richard Blade of the English,» said the guard commander with a grin. «Do not fear the War Council. Fear the princess if she becomes angry. I know. Soon you will too.» There was no trace of a leer in the man's grin. If he knew anything, he was keeping it to himself. Blade nodded and followed the woman.

He did not have to follow her very far. Aumara was standing in the corner of a small room off the next corridor to the left. As the door of the room closed behind him, Aumara slipped into his arms. She seemed to want to be held, and as he held her, he felt her trembling.

«What is it, Princess? Do you…?» He was trying to think of a tactful way to ask a warrior princess what had frightened her when she saved him the trouble.

«The On'ror has asked for my hand.»

It took Blade a moment to realize what she had said. It took him another moment to realize what it meant. When he did, he swore softly, invoking both the Sky Father and a variety of other deities picked up on his adventures. Then he shook his head in impotent fury.

«I see you understand,» said Aumara.

«Yes. The man who can determine whether I become a great hero of the Zungans is now my rival for you. If he gives me the chance to train the Zungans, I may end up with fame above his, second only to King Afuno. If he does not give me the chance, he himself will be the strongest candidate for your hand, no matter what your father thinks of him.»

«Yes,» said Aumara bitterly. «And the On'ror and I will rule for a few short years over the Zungans while the slave raiders continue to bleed them. Then we will die with our people when the Rulami and the Kandans march together.»

Blade felt like swearing again, but realized it would be a waste of breath. All the optimism he had built up over the past couple of hours had drained out of him. He sat down and stared off into the darkness of the room, his mind working furiously.

«Can you delay accepting any consort for a while?»

«How long, Blade?»

Blade frowned. «It depends on how much of a chance to train the warriors I get. Whatever you do, hold off choosing until I have some sort of a victory to show off. That will give me the status I need to make an offer for you.

«Whatever you and I think, your father won't dare accept me until I have enough status among the warriors so that he won't face a rebellion by choosing me.»

Aumara nodded sadly. «There are very many times when I was growing up that I wished I was not a princess. This is the first time I have wished that since I became a woman.» She sighed and seemed to put the thought away, then returned to the issue. «How long will it take you to win that victory?»

«That I won't even be able to guess at until the War Council decides what I am to do.»

After that there was nothing more to say, and they sat in the dark stifling little room holding each other. Blade did not know how long they sat before the woman knocked gently on the door and whispered, «The council is calling for Blade.»

Unwinding himself from Aumara's arms, he rose and followed the woman back to the council chamber. The guard led him inside and then vanished. Standing before the fifteen seated figures, he scanned the dark faces for some sign of what their decision had been.

Fourteen of the faces were as unreadable as ever. The fifteenth was the On'ror's. Blade looked the man over more closely than before, noticing the thickening jowls, the high forehead, the missing finger and the half-missing ear, the scars on his chest and arms. This man was an enemy. One he could take almost easily in a straight fight, he suspected. But would it ever come to, that? Blade doubted it.

«Richard Blade of the English,» said the On'ror in a voice now as gross and ugly as his body. «The council has heard you. It has talked of you. It has decided.» The man paused. He stretched the pause until it was obvious to Blade that this was a deliberate effort to make him sweat and fidget. He stared back at the On'ror with a level, expressionless gaze. He was damned if the man was going to win their very first confrontation.

Finally the On'ror got the message that Blade wasn't going to yield. He lifted his head until he appeared to be staring off into space-or perhaps up into the heavens? Once again he prolonged the display of reverence in an effort to make Blade nervous.

Blade remained unmoved, but the strain was too much for King Afuno. «Well, get on with it, damn you!» the King snapped. «The Sky Father isn't going to appear on the ceiling and give you a scroll with the words you want written on it in gold.»

The king's voice jolted the On'ror into action. He rose to his feet and the rest of the council followed. «Richard Blade of the English, your methods of fighting may not be pleasing to the Sky Father. But we shall not utterly cast out them or you: You shall train ten men in your arts for three moons. Then you shall wait three full moons more, and each of those men shall train ten more. After that all shall wait one full year, that the Sky Father may show us whether or not your arts are pleasing to him. Neither you nor any of the men you have trained shall instruct any other warriors during that year. Further we shall not say until all the time has passed.» He sat down again, his massive rump hitting the chair with a solid thump. The grin on his face was almost a smirk.

Forty objections and as many curses died on Blade's lips at a sharp look from Afuno. With an effort he controlled himself, took a deep breath, and without waiting for the guards, turned around and left the chamber. Outside he headed for the stairs to the second floor. He had to get out of this stifling gloom, onto a balcony and into the sun and the fresh air.

Aumara met him halfway up the stairs. «I thought you would be coming up here, Blade. What was the decision? No, I can see it in your face. Bad?»

Blade was calm now and his ability to plan was back. He nodded, but slowly. «It could have been worse.» He told her. She shook her head.

«I cannot hold out for six months, and never for a whole year after that. Even my father would cast me down as First Princess if I tried it. You must do something sooner.»

Blade had to laugh at this, but it was a bitter laugh.

«Very well, Princess. I will see if I can defeat the slave raiders with ten men.»