Master Of The Hashomi

Chapter 25

Giraz glowered at Blade the moment the two were alone.

«Blade, have you gone mad?»

«Everybody seems very ready to call me a madman,» said Blade sharply. «First Esseta, now you. This makes more sense than anything else I could have done. I'll even explain it if you give me a chance.»

Giraz sighed: «You would go ahead and do it anyway, wouldn't you?»

Blade nodded. «The Master couldn't refuse a challenge like the one I made. His people have been taking too much punishment to be willing any more to follow him blindly. They hope he'll kill me easily, and then you and the others at the hospital will surrender.»

«I take it we're not supposed to?»

«Great Junah, no!» exploded Blade. «Why do you think I made him so angry before challenging him? I made him angry, so he'd forget to insist that my people promise to surrender if I was killed. He did forget, and now I don't think he'll risk changing the conditions of the fight. By all means-if I die tomorrow, you're in charge. Go on fighting as long as you can.»

«That may not be very long, Blade. There is the food shortage, and the refugees won't be happy about seeing their friends and families tortured to death.»

Blade shrugged. «You'll just have to do the best you can. The Baran's army will come, sooner or later. This challenge gains us a good twenty-four hours without lifting a finger. Also, the Hashomi may not be so interested in going to work on the prisoners after the Master is dead.»

«You're sure of winning, then?» said Giraz.

Blade shook his head. «I'm sure the Master of the Hashomi will die tomorrow, whether I live or not. That's all I can promise.»

Blade found it easy to sleep that night, in spite of the knowledge that he might be going to sleep for the last time in his life. He'd meant what he said to Giraz. Unless the Master were both fantastically skilled and fantastically lucky, he would not be able to kill Blade without getting killed himself. The determination of the Hashomi had been shaken by the collapse of the Master's plans, and might very well collapse with his death. Blade's men would go on fighting whether he was there or not. Once again, Richard Blade found himself expendable in a good cause.

The morning dawned clear, with the promise of staying that way. With no rain, the planks of the bridge would be dry once the night's dew was gone. That would reduce the risk of slipping. Blade was glad of that he didn't want to have to worry about accidents. This fight would be enough of a challenge as it was.

The Master had seen Blade fight, but Blade hadn't seen him. The Master would know many of Blade's strengths and weaknesses, while Blade could only guess at most of the Master's. Blade did know that he was stronger than the Master, and suspected that he was at least as fast. He also knew some tactics for dealing with quarterstaves that the Master wouldn't be expecting. They depended on Blade's longer reach and outright brute strength, so he hadn't bothered teaching them to the smaller and lighter Hashomi.

Blade was at his end of the bridge before the Master arrived. With Blade were Giraz and a guard of archers and swordsmen. He'd also strengthened the guards at the barricade in the tunnel, and placed all his fighting men on alert. Blade wanted to make sure the Hashomi wouldn't be tempted to try anything if the battle took any unexpected turns.

When the Master appeared, he was carrying his great staff, with the silver ball that contained the various drug-laden needles. He wore only trousers and sandals. The hair on his chest was as gray as the hair of his beard, but nothing else about him showed his age. He was all whipcord muscle, sinew, and bone. It would be possible for Blade to pull the Master limb from limb if he got a good hold on the man, but it wouldn't be easy for him to get that hold in the first place.

With the Master were three Treases and twelve regular Hashomi. He'd also brought Mirna with him, naked, chained, and showing fresh bruises and welts. Blade was glad to see her, and whispered to Giraz, «If I go down alone with the Master, see that one of our archers puts an arrow into her. She deserves a clean death.»

«And if you do not go down, Blade?»

«Then Mirna may outlive us all.» Their eyes met in clear understanding of Blade's meaning.

Now Blade stepped forward, arms crossed on his bare chest, eyes fixed on the Master. The Master raised his staff and held it crossways, looking back at Blade. The escorts of each duelist moved forward to close off the ends of the bridge.

«Ha, Blade!» cried the Master. His hands moved along his staff. A green needle slid out of the silver ball. «Blade, look upon your death. The Ephraimini have made this so that your death will be worse than that of any man before. You will be screaming for death three days before it will come, and you will not even have the strength to kill yourself.»

Blade turned slightly, and again his eyes met Girazs in mutual understanding. The Master's desire for an elaborate vengeance on Blade had led him into a mistake. He'd now given Blade a possible reason to be careless of his own life, if he could be sure the Master died with him. The moment he was scratched by the needle, Blade would become ten times as dangerous as before. Did the Master realize this?

Blade turned back to the Master, dropped into fighting stance, and stepped forward onto the bridge.

The bridge was only five feet wide, so there was no room for circling or complicated footwork. The two men advanced straight toward each other. As the Master came within striking range, his staff darted out, the green needle aimed at Blade's chest.

Blade twisted sharply aside and his arms swung down in a savage one-two sequence of karate blows. The staff was beaten down so hard that the silver ball struck the planking of the bridge with a bell-like chinnnngggg. The Master jerked the staff clear before Blade could follow through to pin it down with his feet.

Three more times in rapid succession, the Master thrust at Blade. Each time Blade's hands or feet smashed it down or aside before the needle came dangerously close. Each time the Master snatched the staff out of Blade's reach before the Englishman could do anything more.

A brief pause, then another flurry of thrusts, coming in so fast and from so many different directions that Blade no longer tried to count or keep track of them. The staff was a dancing blur, moving almost faster than his eyes could follow it, and his own arms and legs darted at the same furious pace to meet it. He always succeeded in blocking the staff, although he picked up a new bruise almost every time. He never succeeded in getting a grip on it, and after a while he gave up trying. He'd expected this to be a long fight, so this did not worry him or even particularly surprise him. The Master's speed alone would make him a difficult opponent.

Eventually the Master gave up trying to drive the needle past Blade's guard and drew back. The two men stood facing each other. Blade's breath was coming a trifle quicker than usual and a fine film of sweat covered his tanned skin in spite of the coolness of the morning. His forearms and ankles were red, and a trickle of blood showed where the skin had been split on one shin. Otherwise he looked as if he could go on fighting all day, and indeed felt quite ready to do so.

The Master had taken no punishment at all, but his narrow chest was heaving. The years had not taken away his speed, but they had inevitably taken away some of his endurance. He could not fight this way indefinitely. The moment he started losing speed, Blade would have a chance to immobilize, break, or even take away the staff. He would have to shift his tactics to something slower, steadier, and with a more solid grip on the staff. Otherwise he might be the one to spend three days screaming for the mercy of death.

The Master was no longer able to keep his face expressionless. Too much was at stake. Blade was able to guess at the Master's plans and decisions from the play of emotions on the thin features, and with an effort kept from smiling. He'd won his first victory. If the Master wound up shortening his thrusts, Blade would be in less danger from the needle. That meant he could take a few more chances to get in close and dish out a little punishment. A dozen good blows would do much to slow down the Master and prepare him for the final stroke.

The two men approached each other again. The Master once more held the staff crossways, and now he struck out with either end. His hands shifted up and down the staff so quickly that Blade had no time to take advantage of the shifts to close in. Nor could Blade predict which end of the staff would come at him, the wooden upper end or the deadly needle. He had to avoid both, and it took all his speed and attention to do so. Again the Master's staff became a blur, and again Blade found himself avoiding it more by instinct and reflex than by plan.

The Master of the Hashomi had certainly learned his quarterstaff well, and was using everything he'd learned. Blade realized that as long as the Master's speed held, he was going to have to keep his distance. One split second error in timing, one missed step, and he'd be purchasing his victory over the Master at the price of his own life.

The duel went on. Gradually Blade stopped taking punishment. Now he could avoid the Master by pure footwork, without having to use his hands and arms to block the staff. Perhaps he was beginning to have an edge in speed-but even if he did, it wasn't a big enough edge. He didn't expect to get such an edge, either, without giving the Master a good hammering. If he let this duel go on until it was decided by pure endurance, it could last for hours. He didn't want that. If gave too much of a chance for accidents, or treachery by the other Hashomi.

At last Blade could no longer doubt it. The Master was beginning to slow down. Blade also slowed down, matching his speed to the Master's. He wanted to save his own strength, and he also didn't want to warn the Master. If the man saw Blade defending himself with almost contemptuous ease and realized what this meant, he might become desperate. This duel could still be lost or at least end fatally for both men.

At last the Master stopped his attacks and drew back. He was breathing heavily, his beard and hair were dark and matted with sweat, and he seemed to be forcing himself to hold up the staff. He probably was. The Master's staff must weigh at least half again as much as a standard quarterstaff. Blade was also breathing heavily and his arms and hands showed more bruises and a few minor cuts. In spite of that he didn't take the brief rest the Master was offering him, but went straight over to the attack.

Suddenly the Master found Blade's foot coming out of nowhere, smashing into the staff just below where his right hand gripped it. The staff slammed back against his chest so hard that the breath went out of him in a whufff. If Blade's foot had landed squarely on the Master's hand, it would have smashed four fingers.

The Master seemed to be aware of this. He started backing away, to make sure Blade wouldn't be able to deliver another kick like that at a standing target within easy range. So Blade wheeled on one foot and kicked out with the other, aiming low. The Master twisted so that the kick struck his outer thigh instead of his kneecap, but it still jarred him from head to foot.

Now the continuous deadly swirling exchange of attack and counterattack began again. This time it was Blade who was the aggressor, and the Master who had to follow at the pace he set. Four more times Blade drove his feet in, four times the kicks just failed to be lethal or crippling, and all four times the Master was badly jolted. He stayed on his feet and kept those feet moving, he struck back and sometimes forced Blade to give ground-but he was definitely no longer what he'd been at the beginning of the fight. He was no longer a match for Blade, and Blade could read knowledge of this in the Master's eyes and also in those of the watching Hashomi.

Blade realized that he now had to push the fight to a swift conclusion if he wanted to come out of it alive. The Master was doomed. He could no longer win-but his desperation, or the treachery of his followers, might still mean Blade's death as well. Certainly they could mean Mirna's death, and Blade was beginning to think of doing more in this fight than just killing the Master and coming out on his own feet.

Blade got in one more blow, carefully aimed at the Master's shoulder. He saw the Master wince as the blow went home, and knew that the man would be even slower than before with the staff, at least for a minute or two. Blade dropped into a crouch and came in again. This time he faced the Master squarely, exposing his whole chest and belly as a target.

The Master couldn't resist the temptation. The staff darted at Blade. Blade threw himself on his back, kicking out with both legs and shooting up both arms. The staff sailed over his head and his fingers clamped down on it. At the same moment his feet smashed into the Master's groin.

Blade felt as if he'd broken all the toes on both feet. The Master was wearing some sort of armored groin protector. That didn't save his balance, though, as Blade jerked on the staff. The Master flew forward, to meet another kick from Blade smashing up into his belly. He doubled up, mouth open and gasping for air, while one hand darted inside his trousers. A knife flashed out, but before it could strike, Blade was on his feet, the staff in his hands. Before the Master could react to this sudden turnabout, Blade reversed the staff and drove the wooden end straight into the Master's chest. He put all his strength and weight behind the thrust, and the wood drove through skin and muscle and ribs to stop the Master's heart.

Blade gripped the Master by one arm as he tottered, the life going out of his eyes while he was still on his feet. He gripped the staff with the other hand. Then he whirled around, and with every muscle in his body strained to the limit threw both the Master and the staff toward the tunnel end of the bridge. Giraz jumped as the staff and the Master's body landed almost at his feet. Then he started shouting orders to the men around him.

Before any of them could obey, Blade was on the move again. He covered the ten feet of the bridge to the Hashomi side in three long strides. The Hashomi stared at him approaching, then stepped aside. Their eyes were wide and fixed, their mouths working uncontrollably. For the moment they were no more than animal, incapable of rational thought or action.

In that moment Blade took three more steps, snatched up Mirna, and turned back to the bridge. A Hashom made the mistake of putting one hand to the hilt of his knife. Blade shifted Mirna to one arm and with the other drove a fist straight into the Hashom's jaw. The man went over backward and did not get up. Blade dashed back onto the bridge, and by the time any of the Hashomi raised a weapon, he was back safely on his own side.

Six of Blade's men were already well into the tunnel, carrying the Master's staff and the body of its late owner. The archers all had arrows nocked to their bows, and Giraz had his sword drawn, ready to give them the signal to shoot. His eyes swept across the Hashomi on the far side of the bridge, and his voice was fiat and chill.

«Some of you will join your Master if one of you so much as blinks an eye.»

Apparently none of the Hashomi were eager to join their Master. They stood in numb silence until Blade and Giraz were almost up to the barricade. Then arrows came whistling into the tunnel. One archer fell. His comrades dropped to one knee and shot. The arrows drew screams from the bridge, and before the Hashomi could shoot again everyone was safe behind the barricade.

Blade sat down and called for water. His throat seemed to be packed full of red-hot stones and his legs would barely support him. When he'd drunk, he staggered to his feet and turned to Giraz. The eunuch was smiling in grim triumph.

«So much for the Master,» he said. «I wonder how long the Hashomi will survive him.»