The Mountains Of Brega

Chapter 9

Blade awoke slowly, conscious of pains everywhere he remembered being hit and a good many more in other places. He stretched his battered arms and legs one by one, wincing at the pain that shot through them. Life and circulation slowly returned to them. Then he opened his eyes and looked around him.

He was lying naked on a pile of straw on the dirt floor of a log hut. Chinks in the walls and roof let in enough light to indicate that it was daylight outside. Apart from the pile of straw, the hut contained only a small clay pot of water and a somewhat larger clay pot for wastes. Blade rose uncertainly to his feet, drank some water from the smaller pot, used the larger one, and tottered back to the straw. A number of large, black-shelled insects ran out of the straw as Blade sat down on it.

Gradually the fogginess left his head and the aches and pains left his body. He noticed that the door to the hut consisted of two large logs fastened crosswise with smaller ones. It was not slung on any sort of hinges, but wedged from outside against the edges of the opening. Blade went over to it and gave it a few tentative pushes and kicks. It did not move at all. Getting out of here was not going to be a simple matter of breaking down the door. He went back to the straw pile and sat down again.

He felt in reasonably good physical shape now, except for being rather hungry. It had been a while since his last solid meal. But he could not help feeling rather depressed over the fates of Wyala and Nugun.

No doubt Wyala herself would rather have died than fall into the hands of the Senar. But she needn't have died at all if Blade hadn't been so determined to head west into the mountains in search of the Hairless Ones. The Hairless Ones! If the ones he had fought by the river were typical of the breed, they weren't much of an improvement over the Senar.

And Nugun was also dead, his body no doubt drifting away down the river. He needn't have died either, if Blade hadn't wanted him to follow and guide. The Senar had been faithful-and his reward had been a pointless death in the river. Blade was not feeling very proud of himself.

But there was even less point than usual to feeling sorry for himself. He had, after all, found the Blenar, which was why he had come into the Mountains of Brega in the first place. Admittedly, as a prisoner, his chances of learning about their ways, skills, and plans would not be good. But he had many years' experience of keeping his eyes and ears open under rough conditions and learning much from seeing and hearing little. And perhaps he need not stay a prisoner long.

Several more hours passed before anybody paid any attention to Blade. Then the thud of hammers sounded outside, followed by a number of voices. With a clatter and a bang the door fell outward. Two of the Senar spearmen came in and stood on either side of the opening, their spears pointed at Blade. Two Senar women then came in, the first that Blade had seen. They were only a little less massive than their mates, and almost as hairy. Blade could see that clearly, for the women wore only short skirts of filthy, stained cloth. Their odor in the badly ventilated but made Blade wrinkle his nose.

The two women brought in a fresh pot of water and a large wooden bowl filled with broiled fish and raw vegetables. Then they backed out, the spearmen followed, and the door was hammered back into place.

Except for being practically unsalted, there was nothing wrong with the food. And Blade was hungry enough to have eaten things far less appetizing than the fish and vegetables. He emptied the bowl in a few minutes, drank some water, and settled back to wait for his captors to make their next move. The meal resolved one point-someone was determined to keep him alive, at least for the time being. For what?

Blade got no answer that day, nor the next, nor the day after that. He was fed twice a day, morning and evening, always the same broiled fish and raw vegetables. They began to get a little monotonous by the third day. The Senar women also gave him plenty of water and a fresh waste pot every morning. On the third day they even gave him a pile of clean straw. But neither the spearmen nor the women nor the ones who opened and closed the door ever spoke to him. They looked at him with open curiosity, but said not a word.

By the fourth day, Blade was beginning to wonder what the plans were for him-assuming that anybody here had any. If nobody did, he might not die of thirst, hunger, or mistreatment-but he might come close to dying of boredom.

The morning of the fifth day came, and with it the usual gaggle of Senar bringing the morning fish and vegetables. This time, however, four Blenar were with them, armed with shields, swords, and shorthandled axes, and wearing heavy leather helmets with cheek-pieces.

Their leader stepped forward, drew his sword, and said in a loud, hectoring voice, «Come with us. Rilgon would see you.»

«Oh.» Blade crossed his arms on his chest. «Indeed.» His tone was very cool. He wanted to start off his relations with the local Blenar by refusing to be pushed around. «Who is Rilgon and why would he see me?»

The Blenar leader took a backward step, his face working in surprise. Apparently he was used to having prisoners cringe submissively before his drawn sword and loud, arrogant manner. There was a long silence, during which Blade continued to stare at the Blenar. He stared so effectively that the other three began to fidget nervously. Finally the leader, lowering his voice, said, «Rilgon is the War Leader of the Blenar. He has come from a great distance to see you, because he has heard that you are a warrior beyond anything dreamed of before in Brega. He would ask you to march with us against the city.»

«Very well,» said Blade. «Now that you have answered my questions, I will come with you. But I must have some clothes first. A warrior of my people does not appear before his future leader naked.»

Both the request and the remark about «future leader» seemed to further confuse the Blenar. There was a long pause before the leader barked an order. One of the other Blenar scuttled out and returned a few minutes later with a tunic and sandals. Blade considered asking for weapons, but decided not to push his luck too far. He had already gained as much of a psychological edge as he was likely to get.

The four Blenar formed a square around Blade and marched him out of the hut. Outside, he found himself in the muddy main street of a Senar village of log huts. In front of each hut was a rough hearth of soot-blackened stones. Senar women were tending cooking pots bubbling on these hearths, while Senar men tramped up and down the «street» bearing massive loads of fish and wood. Senar children, stark naked and even filthier than their parents, ran in and out of the huts. Some of them stopped to stare at Blade and his escort tramping through the village.

The path sloped down, and Blade could see the waters of the river gleaming through the trees ahead. Just beyond the last hut was a small clearing on the edge of the trees. Blade looked at it casually-and stopped abruptly as he saw what was there.

A large square frame of logs had been erected in the middle of the clearing. A nude woman was spread-eagled on that frame, wrists and ankles tied to the logs with heavy vines. Even at a distance Blade could see that the woman's hands and feet had already turned white and bloodless from the tight knots. He looked more carefully and realized that the woman was tall and slender, and that her filthy hair and skin had both once been fair.

«A woman of the city?» Blade asked the leader.

«Indeed,» said Blenar. «She was taken all of two years ago, so she should have learned the ways of the mountains by now. But she rebelled against her Senar master. The ways of the mountains shall prevail.»

«What will happen to her?»

«She has been tied up there for two days and nights already, without food or water. Tomorrow night she will receive two hundred lashes. If she survives that, she will be turned out into the forest, to live or die as the will of the mountains may have it.»

«Probably die,» Blade was keeping his voice tightly under control. Also his stomach.

«Yes. Most of them do. But what would you have us do with rebels?»

«I will make no suggestions, friend. The ways of your people are not the ways of mine.» That was a polite statement that could hardly get him in trouble for the moment. Matters might well be different when he faced Rilgon.

Rilgon was living in considerable state aboard the barge in which he had come down the river to meet Blade. It was a large, slab-sided craft with no pretense at grace or sea-worthiness. It was moved by twelve long sweeps pulled by Senar oarsmen and a single large square sail. A number of armed Blenar were lounging on the grimy deck when Blade's escort marched him up to the foot of the gangplank. They promptly took charge of Blade and led him aboard the barge.

Rilgon met Blade in the cabin on the stern of the barge. It was a low-windowed, low-ceilinged affair, dark and obviously none too clean. Rilgon himself was lying on a pile of roughly sewn cushions. A long pipe drooped from his thick, bearded lips and a jeweled sword lay on the floor within easy reach of one thick-fingered hand. In fact, everything about the man was thick and gross. He was almost as physically massive as a Senar, and with only a little more hair on his heavy belly he could have passed for one.

Blade carefully kept any expression of distaste off his face and gave Rilgon his standard story about being a traveling warrior from a far-distant land. The story had served him well among a variety of people in a variety of dimensions, and Blade saw no need to change it here. It explained his undeniable skills as a fighter, but did not promise too much. This was particularly important here and now. The last thing Blade wanted to do was to make any definite promises to Rilgon.

Rilgon seemed to find the story acceptable. «Well, Blade,» he said. «So you are a warrior.»

«That is what I said.»

«In fact, you are a warrior of quite marvelous skill. The tales of the fight by the river are traveling all over the mountains. When they came to my ears, I knew that I had to come and see you for myself.»

«I am honored,» said Blade. He managed to say that with a straight face.

«You should be,» said Rilgon tonelessly. «I am Rilgon, War Leader of the mountains. Before three more moons have passed, I will rule in all of Brega, even in the city where now the evil women worship Mother Mina. Those who do not honor me will not live.»

Blade suppressed a weary sigh. Megalomaniacs were, to say the least, rather tedious. «I can and will live to serve the new master of Brega, if indeed he becomes such. I have heard of the plans of yourself and the Blenar who follow you, and I find them very bold.»

Rilgon's eyes narrowed and his hand moved toward the hilt of the sword. Blade tensed, for a moment fearing that he had gone too far. «Too bold?» the War Leader said in a chill voice.

«I cannot say that, Rilgon. I do not know all that concerns your war against the women of the city. So I cannot speak surely of your war. But I am a warrior of many years' experience elsewhere, and I have seen many wars. By what I have seen in them, I find the war that is talked of very bold, and I would be speaking falsely to you if I said otherwise. You would not wish me to speak falsely, would you?»

«I would not. But never fear. It is known to me that the women of Brega will prove fatally weak when my warriors strike. I am not at all too bold, Blade. I am wise, for I know that the best moment to strike is when the enemy is at his weakest.»

Blade nodded. «Indeed that is wise for a warrior.» Rilgon's tone had made it clear that questions about the nature of the city's weaknesses would not be welcome.

Rilgon inclined his head and smiled with a graciousness so nauseating that Blade would have cheerfully strangled the man on the spot if he could have gotten away with it. But he knew that was not in the cards. What he would do, however, was set about making his escape as soon as possible. That decision made, he concentrated on keeping any sign of it off his face.

Rilgon continued, «I understand your woman was killed in the battle by the river when my warriors took you.»

«Indeed she was,» said Blade. «And I am much grieved and angered by it.» For once he could speak his true emotions.

«I understand that you might be,» said Rilgon, with another imperially gracious smile. «Be assured that those of her killers who were not slain by each other's hand on the riverbank will be found and punished.»

«I am grateful.» Blade decided that it was his turn to bow his head.

«It is the least I can do for one I hope to see at my right hand when I rule in Brega,» said Rilgon. «But I shall do more. When I rule in Brega and all its women are mine, you shall have the choice of not one but three of the fairest. They shall serve all your wants and be subject entirely to your discipline.»

«Even to the frame and the whip?» asked Blade.

«Even so,» said Rilgon. There was an unmistakable look of anticipation on his dark, sweating face at the mention of punishment. «You have seen the girl tied out in this village, I suppose?»

«I have.»

«You are luckier than I, for you will be here tomorrow night to witness her punishment. I, alas, must return north this very night, to continue my work, that the mountains may rule over the city.»

«You assume great burdens for us all,» said Blade. If he had to throw one more gross piece of flattery at this fat megalomaniac, he suspected he was also going to throw up his breakfast.

But Rilgon merely nodded in response, as though recognizing an obvious and undeniable truth. Then he raised his hand and said, «You may go.»

Blade had been half hoping for some words about being set free. But none came, and he knew enough not to ask about the matter if Rilgon did not raise it himself. There would be time enough to make his escape, now that he had decided it was necessary.

So he merely bowed as low as he could comfortably manage and backed out. The Blenar of the barge crew escorted him down the gangplank and turned him back into the hands of the four who had brought him from the hut. Those same four then marched him back the way he had come.

As they marched past the clearing where the girl was tied, Blade noticed that she had raised her head. Wide brown eyes stared into his through a screen of small, whining insects. He could see a tongue already swollen from thirst protruding through cracked lips. But she did not speak, did not even moan. She merely looked at him, as though trying to decide whether or not he was real. Blade would have liked to stop and say something to her, but he doubted if that would be appreciated by his escort. And what could he say to her, in any case? He could hardly promise her any help.

The four Blenar led Blade up the main street of the village again and back to the hut. They wedged the door shut again, and the rest of the day passed as the four preceding ones had done. Eventually darkness came down on the village, and the only light coming through the chinks in the logs was from the fading cook-fires. There was nothing else to do, so Blade lay back on his pile of straw and went to sleep.