King Of Zunga

CHAPTER TWELVE

It did not come to that. Nayung, King Afuno, and several of the Great Mors who were thoroughly out of sympathy with the On'ror's plans pitched in and kept Blade's job from being completely impossible. It was merely fantastically difficult.

Blade chose his ten trainees carefully, with the advice of King Afuno. Among them were two Great Mors, five Mors, and three other fighters of known wisdom as well as skill. They were of the anti-Ulunga faction. Blade was able to be entirely frank with them the first time he gathered them together for a training session.

«The On'ror and some of the War Council want to play the game of the Ulungas. I don't know what that game is, but I have seen things like it in my travels. It is a game dangerous to the Zungans. The only people who will gain from it are the Ulungas themselves sand perhaps the slave raiders of Rulam and Kanda. But you do not want to let the Ulungas lead you by the hand like little children. That is good. You are wise men as well as great warriors. And by your wisdom as well as by your war skills you may save the people of Zunga.» That was a prospect he deliberately and carefully held out to them-that they would be the saviors of Zunga. He thought it wiser not to push himself too far forward, regardless of what plans Princess Aumara had for him.

After that there was no difficulty in whipping up his students' enthusiasm. They were all grown men, trained warriors, in top physical and mental condition, and more than willing to learn. Training them was a pleasure, even if an exhausting one. Blade soon learned that they were insatiable in their curiosity about the ways of the English, not only in fighting but in all other things. He had to keep mentally very much on his toes to answer their questions. And he had to keep even more on his toes physically. Not only were they willing to train from dawn to dark and even at night, but they learned fast. Within ten days half of them were already dangerous opponents.

Almost as great a pleasure to Blade were the various tricks he and King Afuno were playing on the Ulungas and the On'ror. The matter of the new balanced spears, for example. King Afuno's household included a large contingent of smiths. He had them make up the twenty practice spears for Blade's students.

After they had made these, the smiths waited for a few days while Blade tested the spears. Then he sent back the five best, and the smiths went right back to work making more. Soon they were turning out fifty to a hundred of the new spears a week. In obscure corners of the cellars of King Afuno's palace, piles of long hide-wrapped bundles began to grow. Each bundle contained ten of the new spears.

«And the Ulungas can say nothing about it,» said Afuno with a triumphant grin. «They said only that you could not train more than a certain number of fighters. They said nothing about not making the weapons for any number.»

There were even ways devised for getting around the training restrictions. All the training sessions were held in the open field, where anybody who wanted to stop and watch could do so. Many warriors did. Afterward, some of them went off and tried out privately what they had seen in the sessions. They soon discovered that the standard Zungan spear was not nearly as good as the new balanced ones for the new, fighting style. They came to Blade, asking for new spears. He sent them to Nayung, who asked each one a few questions, intended to reveal if the warrior was a sympathizer with the Ulungas or not. If Nayung approved of him, the warrior was then taken down into the cellars of the palace and given two of the new spears.

By the time Nayung was back on his feet, Blade had trained his hard core of ten about as much as he could without their going stale or getting bored. At least fifty more warriors had watched and practiced enough so that they also were now giving lessons. About five hundred warriors in all were now learning the new fighting techniques, and more than a thousand of the new spears were in circulation.

King Afuno was openly delighted at this neat outflanking of the Ulungas. So was Blade. He had heard J tell many tales of the years when intelligence service budgets had been slashed to the bone. The younger men, the field agents in particular, had performed miracles of improvisation and judicious deception. In some of those stories there had been a note of mild scorn for the postwar intelligence operatives, who had never known a real starvation budget, or learned how to outwit Whitehall. Well, when he got back from this trip, Blade knew he could tell J at least one good story of making do and outwitting higher authorities.

But as well as things were going, and as much fun as he was having, Blade knew the horizon was still far from clear. Neither he nor Afuno nor Nayung believed that the Ulungas would overlook the tricks and evasions of their decision indefinitely. Even if the Ulungas were not sufficiently familiar with things military to recognize what was happening, the On'ror certainly was and would pass the word to his masters. And then the fat would be, in the fire-Blade's fat, Afuno's, and Nayung's.

Meanwhile, the On'ror was also pushing his suit for Aumara. The princess would neither encourage nor discourage him. As long as he kept coming around on visits and talking to her, she would be able to learn at least some of what he was thinking and planning. And what she learned, she passed on to Blade each time she slipped into his room at night.

For many weeks there was nothing in the On'ror's words to cause Blade much alarm. In fact, Aumara's mocking recitals of the man's constant boasting became something he looked forward to almost as much as to their lovemaking. Aumara had a savage gift for mimicry. But he listened closely to those recitals while laughing at them. A boastful man who may drop hints of his plans while boasting is an easier enemy.

Finally the day came when he gathered his ten students together and told them that tomorrow they would go north to hunt slave raiders. If he had just offered each of them a ton of gold or half a dozen beautiful women, they could not have been happier. When the cheering died, he reminded them to bring three spears and two water bottles each. He warned them not to expect that the slave raiders would lie down and die when the new spears were waved in their faces. He made it clear that this was very much a trial run, and they were not going to fight a pitched battle if the Sky Father made it possible. And he was quite sure that they had not heard half a word of all his warnings and advice. Hoping that the Zungans' luck would hold until they got their overconfidence out of their systems, he went off to his chamber.

Aumara came to him that night. As she slipped into his bed and flowed up against him, he felt her trembling. Not with desire this time, but with fear. He held her gently and murmured in her ear as though he were comforting a child, but the trembling went on. Finally he pulled her tight against him and whispered in her ear, «What is it, my princess?»

She swallowed. «The On'ror knows that you are taking your men out tomorrow.»

«So? That's not a secret. Why should it be? The slave raiders aren't going to find out about it. And what good would it do if they did?»

«Are you sure, Blade? Are you sure the slave raiders don't know?»

It was Blade's turn to stiffen. «What have you heard? Has the On'ror been saying something?»

«Yes. He came to my chamber this evening and drank more beer than usual. He seemed happier than I had ever seen him. I gave him more beer, and… «she paused, «I even let him make love to me. You are not angry?»

«Of course not,» said Blade. «Go on.»

«When we were in bed together, he kept muttering something about 'The English warrior's time is coming. He has had his run. Now he thinks he will go out and get so famous he can have you. He won't. He won't even come back alive.' And then he laughed. He laughed for a long time, then he fell asleep.»

Blade let his breath out in a long whistling sigh. Did these boasts mean that the On'ror was prepared to betray his own people to the slave raiders? That was an ugly thought. And it put Blade in an awkward position, to say the least. If he canceled the mission to the north, how could he convince his warriors that he hadn't simply lost his nerve? But if he took them north and the On'ror had passed the word on to the slave raiders to lay a trap, what then? Would it look as if he had led his ten picked men into a trap? Not to mention what losing many of the trained instructors in their first battle would do to the Zungans' morale.

Unfortunately there was no way back. He would simply have to march out tomorrow and be particularly careful. The plains and forests to the north were vast, his patrol small, the number of slave raiders limited. He and the enemy would have plenty of room to miss each other. He didn't like relying on luck, but for the moment it looked as if he would have to. With that giving him a little peace of mind, he fell asleep.

With Zungans, there was no problem in having the patrol headed north out of the city before dawn. It took them an hour to get clear of Dorkalu's herds going out to pasture, then they were alone.

They were alone for two whole days, in fact. Over the land to the north of Dorkalu the hand of the slavers had fallen heavily. Huts and whole towns lay abandoned and ruined, fields that had once been rich with grain now grew masses of weeds, the rangy survivors of the cattle herds had gone wild and lumbered away at the approach of Blade's men.

The second night out, they camped in a patch of forest on the northernmost edge of Zungan territory with extra sentries posted on all sides. The morning of the third day dawned overcast, less rare now that they were farther north. To Blade this was nothing, but to the Zungans clouds concealed the face of the Sky Father, who would not be able to see them going into battle and judge their new fighting skills. Blade did not try to argue them out of their nervousness. He was far from calm himself, here in enemy territory and with Aumara's warning hanging over his head like the gray sky itself. He hoped their nervousness would vanish with the first successful combat.

They no longer marched boldly across country, but stalked like hunting animals from one patch of cover to another. The Zungans had nothing to learn from Blade about the use of cover. In fact, he hoped he would have time to learn from them. A Zungan could stretch along the branch of a tree and remain so motionless that he seemed to merge with the branch. To a man not looking for him, he would be totally invisible.

The first sight of their enemies came toward midafternoon, sooner than Blade had expected. One of the Zungan scouts suddenly flattened himself against a tree, then cautiously waved Blade forward. Slipping forward and flattening himself against the other side of the tree, Blade followed the Zungan's pointing hand. Fourteen soldiers in two files of seven were tramping along the edge of a small ravine. They wore Rulami-style iron helmets and cuirasses, and carried the Rulami broadswords. But on each helmet and breastplate was a vertical white line.

«Kandans,» said the Zungan warrior. «That white line is the sign of the Ivory Tower. This will be easy. They are not as good soldiers as the Rulami.»

«Do not count the bodies until they are dead,» said Blade. He turned back toward the woods where the other nine Zungans were. He waited for a count of five, until the soldiers reached a stretch of ravine where there were no bushes to give them cover. Then he raised his hand and swung it across his own throat in a chopping gesture.

The Zungans swept forward from their cover so silently that they were halfway to the ravine before the soldiers looked up and saw them coming. If the Zungans could have thrown their spears, most of the soldiers would have been dead within thirty seconds. As it was, they had time to blunder into a sort of defensive formation and raise their swords and shields before the Zungans were on them.

Blade jabbed over the top of a soldier's shield and saw the soldier flinch and drop his guard. Blade's partner beat the sword down the rest of the way with a smashing blow, then swept the weighted butt of his spear sideways. The top, of the shield guided it straight to the soldier's jaw. Blade heard bone smash and saw the soldier reel and collapse. His fall left a gap in the enemy's ragged line. Blade led his partner through it.

As he passed in through the gap, he thrust at a knee exposed by a shield raised to defend against a Zungan downstroke. The knee crunched, the shield toppled, and the downstroke plunged into the man's throat all in the same split second. A gurgling scream, and he too went down.

Now Blade was behind the enemy, but four of them were turning to face him. Then there were only three, as a Zungan caught one man turning, striking low with the spear butt into the man's unprotected groin. The man went down onto his hands and knees, and the victor reversed his spear and drove the head down through the man's spine. Then Blade's partner feinted low, pulling down the shield of the man facing Blade. Blade himself thrust straight, seeing the spearhead drive into the bearded face, seeing the face split apart and disintegrate.

«They are as helpless as children,» a Zungan shouted behind Blade, and clubbed an enemy's sword out of his hand with his spear butt. The man dove after his weapon, but died before he reached it as the spear butt slammed down again across the back of his neck. Then Blade no longer had time to pick out individual details of fights, his own or anybody else's, as he and his partner concentrated on putting their opponents down.

These two were definitely not helpless as children. Blade leaped high to avoid a sword thrust and fell down over the edge of the ravine. He landed on all fours, and a soldier rushed at him, sword raised to chop down into Blade's skull. But in his enthusiasm the man raised his shield also. Blade's spear drove upward in a single-handed thrust and into the soldier's groin. Before the man could fall, Blade was on his feet and blocking downcuts from two more soldiers. His spear whirled, one sword flew down, the other flew up, and both men backed away. Blade would have taken their surrender, but his partner would not. He leaped forward and thrust both men through the throat in a quick double stroke.

Eventually the fight ended, with one Zungan and twelve of the soldiers lying dead on the ground. Another Zungan was wounded. Two of the soldiers had abandoned weapons, armor, and comrades and vanished into the forest. The Zungans would have gone after them, but Blade called them back. Wait until the next time slave raiders enter Zungan land, he told them. Then you can have all the fun you want hunting them down one by one. In their land, we stay together.

The Zungans did not mind his lecture. In fact, they were so overjoyed at their victory that they probably would not have minded very much if he had proclaimed himself King of Zunga. They might not have believed him, but they would not have been angry. Twelve of the enemy down, and only one Zungan! There had been no battle like that in a hundred years or even more, ever since the raiders began wearing armor. The iron of the enemy would no longer protect them. They would have to learn to fight like real warriors now, and that they would never do. The Zungans would kill them all.

Blade finally called a halt to the rejoicing. The twelve dead soldiers were stripped of their swords and personal gear and thrown into the ravine. Blade would have liked to take their armor also, but realized that this far from home the added weight would be a hindrance. Another thing to keep in mind for the next time the raiders entered Zungan land-pick up all the armor. Don't waste it in trophies. If it can't be worn, melt it down for spearheads.

They laid the dead Zungan on the ground and stood around him while four of his comrades chanted the Warrior's Death. Then they placed the ritual bunch of grass on his chest and marched on. Darkness finally came down on them a good ten miles beyond the battle-site. They munched cold dried meat and grubbed edible mushrooms from around the roots of trees. Then the sentries were posted, and sleep came.

Blade took the first watch because he was still too keyed-up to sleep. A victory. A small one, but even he had to be encouraged by the way the new fighting technique had showed up against the soldiers. Would a thousand Zungans properly trained be able to do as well against a thousand soldiers, also properly trained?

Perhaps. Assuming, that is, that the On'ror allowed him to train those thousand Zungans. Or, preferably, ten thousand. What was the On'ror's game? Knowing that the answer would most likely be found back in Dorkalu, not out here, Blade put the matter from his mind.