The Towers Of Melnon

Chapter FIVE

Blade found his opinion of the tower warriors' training growing unfavorable again as Pen-Jerg led them away from the base of the tower and through the Waste Land, toward the Plain of War. They made no effort to keep any sort of orderly formation, but marched in a long, straggling single line. Forty warriors trailed out over a space of more than a hundred yards like a class of schoolchildren on an outing. In fact, it was almost too charitable to describe the warriors' progress as a march. They made no effort to set or keep a cadence, and in their heavy boots they stumbled and lurched drunkenly over rough ground that the barefooted Blade crossed easily.

Blade could not help wondering what would happen to this ragged collection of individually skilled fighting men if they were ambushed on the way through the Waste Land. Of course in daylight the men on the balcony could see anything that moved on the ground near the base of the tower. But suppose one of the other towers sent over fifty men by night, and concealed them in the bushes and gullies near the outer edge of the Waste Land? There was enough room to hide a battalion there, and plenty of places for a surprise attack. He mentioned this possibility to Pen-Jerg.

The Serpent warrior's jaw dropped and a gasp of pure horror came out of his open mouth. «Don't ever say such things aloud, warrior-ah, what did Kir-Noz call you?»

«Blade. Of England.»

«Blade, then. It would be impossible for the other towers to think of something so monstrous. They-they would be hurling defiance to the War Wisdom.»

Blade nodded. He decided against going on to suggest that if the other towers couldn't use ambush tactics, the Tower of the Serpent should take advantage of the fact. Ambush tactics were contrary to the War Wisdom, and that was that. This explained, of course, why the area around the towers was so wild and overgrown. It didn't matter to any of the tower warriors, because they knew that none of their opponents would ever take advantage of natural cover. And-

«Are all your wars fought on the Plain of War?»

Pen-Jerg gave Blade the kind of look one gives a child or an idiot who has just tried to ask a question. «Of course. Is it otherwise where-«his voice dropped to a half-whisper «you come from?» Apparently Pen-Jerg would not commit himself to believing the strange tales of Blade's origins.

«Certainly. We fight wherever each side thinks it can do so to the greatest advantage.»

«What happens if the two sides seek different places?»

«Then sometimes there is no war at all. On the other hand, sometimes one side gets to its chosen place before the other one does. Then it can sometimes win a very great victory, at a small cost.»

«That hardly seems fair,» said Pen-Jerg. His tone was that of a man who hears another talking folly, but is trying to be polite about it.

«I know,» said Blade. «But war among the English is not fought to be fair, or in keeping with some War Wisdom. When we fight, we fight to win, and all our people go to the war.»

Once again Pen-Jerg was unable to keep an expression of horror off his face. «Your Low People, too?»

«What are Low People?»

«Those without honor or wisdom, Blade. Those unfit to go to war. Those fit only to clean the halls and levels of the towers and to serve the High People, who possess honor and wisdom. Do you-are you trying to tell me that in England-there are no Low People?» Pen-Jerg's voice was that of a man trying to conceive of the inconceivable.

«That is almost true,» said Blade.

Pen-Jerg threw up his hands-literally. Obviously he wasn't sure whether he was dealing with a fool, a madman, or an extremely cunning man whose people's customs he could never in a century hope to understand. And it obviously didn't matter much to him. He strode along in silence for a time, then turned back to Blade.

«Look you, Blade,» he said in a low voice. «Perhaps you are telling the truth. Perhaps you are telling lies. I don't care. But I will ask you, by the War and Peace Wisdom alike, to say no more of what war or peace are like in England-or wherever you come from. Few among our people would understand you. And half of those who did would haul you before the Council of Wisdom and Queen Mir-Kasa for judgment. Then you could expect to be sent down among the Low People. After that you would be degraded forever and you could never be a warrior again. And I would grieve to see the Tower of the Serpent lose such a warrior as you seem to be simply because you cannot keep your tongue still.»

«But-«began Blade.

«Enough,» said Pen-Jerg. «Remember what was said of a warrior called Bryg-Noz?»

«I did not know that he was a warrior.»

«He was. The greatest of the past ten-year, by far, greater even than his brother Kir-Noz, who is the greatest among us now. He was Kir-Noz's elder brother, Principal Chooser, Guide to the Candidates, Steward to Queen Mir-Kasa. There seemed to be nothing in the Tower of the Serpent beyond his reach and grasp. But he fell. He fell because, like you, he would not give over questioning the War Wisdom by which we fight our war, or the Peace Wisdom by which each Tower of Melnon is divided into the High People and the Low People. Except for the Tower of the Leopard,» Pen-Jerg added, with distaste in his voice.

«I see,» said Blade. He actually did not see much more than the wisdom of following Pen-Jerg's advice and keeping his mouth shut. But for the moment that was enough.

«Good,» said Pen-Jerg. «Keep silent, and though you may be from-some place-you may yet become a warrior of the Towers of Melnon.» He turned back to the line of warriors. «In the name of the Wisdoms, hurry! We're not going to lose man-points simply by letting those cursed Eagles reach the Plain ahead of us.»

The warriors behind them broke into a run, clumping and lumbering along in their heavy boots, sometimes stumbling and sprawling on the ground. Blade's mind could not help returning to the image of the ambush. If a force of tower warriors was ever attacked in the Waste Lands, half of them would break their necks falling over their own feet before a single sword touched them!

The warriors of the Tower of the Serpent rushed across the last few hundred yards of their tower's Waste Land and reached the edge of the Plain of War. Pen-Jerg called a halt there, and stared out toward the center of the Plain.

From the edge of the Waste Land the ground sloped sharply down to the level of the Plain nearly a hundred feet below. The slope was all grass, thick and as neatly-trimmed as a suburban lawn, in vivid contrast to the yellow coating of the Plain. The grass strip was nearly a hundred yards wide and divided into seven sections by lines of pink stones. Yes, definitely pink. The color at first seemed ridiculous to Blade. Then he realized that against the green it was probably the most visible color not already associated with one of the seven towers.

Five of the sections were already dotted with moving colored specks-people, no doubt, dressed in the colors of their tower. The Serpents' section and the one directly across from it were both empty. Blade noticed that pale green flowers had been planted in the Serpents' section in the form of a gigantic snake with its head raised to strike. In the Eagles' section, on the other hand, was the enormous white silhouette of an eagle. Then as he looked, he saw a line of white specks moving down into the Eagles' section. The opposition in the day's war had arrived. Pen-Jerg raised his hand, and motioned the line of Serpents forward down the slope.

As they scrambled down to the Plain, Blade could not help asking Pen-Jerg one more question.

«Why are the sections of the Serpents and Eagles empty, Pen-Jerg?»

Pen-Jerg apparently recognized this question as coming from legitimate curiosity. «The War Wisdom has it thus, Blade. For it is the great fear that if the people of the towers actually fighting the war were to come to see it, they might become angry when they saw their tower losing. They might run on to the Plain and join the fight, and make the war an uncontrollable slaughter, like the wars you say you have in England.»

«Particularly the Low People, I suppose.»

«What are you thinking of, Blade?» said Pen-Jerg sharply. «You must realize that the Low People never leave their towers. They are not taught to use the lifters or the reels. The Peace Wisdom forbids it. They could only leap from the balconies and die among the stones of the Waste Land below. No, it is the anger of the High People that the War Wisdom guards us against. To fight under the eyes of warriors only from the other towers keeps those actually in the war from violating the War Wisdom.»

«I can see that,» said Blade. «But what if the warriors of one of the other towers favor the victory of one of the warring towers more than the other?»

«That also is against the War Wisdom,» said Pen-Jerg. «That is called an 'Alliance,' and any tower urging it would find itself rejected at once. In fact, it would find itself dishonored, and any of its warriors captured in war would be sent down among the Low People of those who captured them. But enough questions, Blade. We are almost into the War Circle.»

Blade nodded and fell silent. Most of the things he felt like saying were in any case better left unsaid. Obedience to the War Wisdom must be rather precarious, considering how unnatural most of it seemed. That the War Wisdom had endured as basic law among the towers for fifteen generations was a miracle. But perhaps they could be-

Blade shut off that thought. This was the wrong time and place for it. Besides, if the people of the towers were happy with this apparently preposterous system-well, that was their problem. He was not going to try to play games with it, at least not before he knew a great deal more. And in the meantime there was a war to fight-and to live through.

The actual Plain was divided into seven segments by more lines of pink stones. Still more stones outlined a circle about three hundred yards in diameter in the very center of the Plain. As the Serpent warriors jogged toward the circle, Blade saw that its surface was scuffed as if scarred by many booted feet. He suddenly realized that he was within minutes of entering a fight whose rules he didn't know.

«Pen-Jerg,» he said quickly. «Is there any part of the War Wisdom in particular that I must know to fight in this war?»

«The fighting is the simplest part of the War Wisdom,» said Pen-Jerg. «If the Eagles accept that you were properly chosen and can use Kir-Noz's weapons, you will have no real problems.»

«Yes,» said Blade patiently. «I can see that. But how is the war actually fought?»

Again Blade got a look as though he had been a half-wit. «The only way it is lawful to fight a war. Each Tower lines its warriors up in four lines of ten men apiece. The man at the head of each line fights his opponent until one or the other falls. Then the second man in each line fights likewise, and so on. You must use the two swords, and you must not try to get around to your opponent's back.»

«I see,» said Blade. «And how long does this-go on?» He very nearly said «this nonsense.»

«Until all the men on one side have fought, or until one side has won so many fights that the other could not hope to catch up.»

«And the side which yields or runs out of men first loses the war?»

«You understand it exactly. Are you sure the English have never fought like this?»

«Not exactly.» The only people he knew of who had tried to fight this way in real battles were the medieval French knights. And the English longbow had punctured their pretensions, their tactics, and the knights themselves all very thoroughly. He wondered how long it would be before something equally drastic happened to this stylized, rule-bound game the people of the towers called «war.»

Now the warriors of both sides were approaching the center of the marked-off circle. The warriors of the Tower of the Eagle were dressed identically to those of the Tower of the Serpent, down to the last detail. But everything they wore was glossy white, and their commander wore a long white plume in the crest of his helmet.

Two seconds later the commander apparently caught sight of Blade. He shouted «Halt!» and his entire column stopped dead and piled up behind him. Their eyes switched back and forth between Blade and their own commander as he stepped out in front of them and hailed Pen-Jerg.

«What is this-whatever or whoever he is-you are bringing practically naked to a war, Pen-Jerg? And why do you wear the commander's plume anyway? I thought Kir-Noz was to command the Serpents today?»

«He was, Commander Zef-Dron. But he chose to be First on the Ground also. In the Waste Lands he met this warrior, Blade.» Pen-Jerg briefly summarized what had happened. As he mentioned Blade's being chosen to fill Kir-Noz's place, the other commander shook his head wearily.

«When you said this naked-man-had defeated Kir-Noz, I thought you were trying to make a bad joke worse. But you have said that he was chosen, and even given Kir-Noz's weapons. Do you swear this is true, by the War Wisdom?»

«I do so swear.»

Zef-Dron shrugged. «Then I cannot by the War Wisdom go against your warrior's choice. Is he planning to fight as he is-naked but for the weapons?»

Blade nodded. «I am.»

«I think I will not waste time asking where you get the idea you can do this and survive. Your first opponent will slice you into small pieces. But if you and Pen-Jerg wish your life thrown away…» Zef-Dron shrugged again.

Blade grinned. «Do not count your victories-or your surviving men-Zef-Dron, until I am dead. And that may be longer than you think.»

«Enough of this,» said Zef-Dron harshly. «Call the witnesses forward, swear the War Oath, and let us get on with this business.»

The witnesses apparently were the warriors from the other five towers. There was no need to call them forward, since they had started out across the Plain of War the moment they saw the argument between the two commanders. Within a few minutes some three hundred warriors in five different colors were assembling in the five different sections of the Plain reserved for the witnesses. With one exception they made no attempt to keep any sort of rigid formation, but sat or stood or even lay about like picnickers rather than warriors.

The exception was the forty-odd warriors in yellow orange. Their section had been marked by a fanged and snarling leopard's head, and they sat in two neat lines. Pen-Jerg looked at them and grunted.

«Those damned Leopards. They know they can make the rest of us look silly just by sitting that way. And it makes our warriors nervous when they go up against the Leopards. That's why the Leopards win almost all the time. If they didn't, they'd be finished. All that playing around with the Peace Wisdom they do. Would you believe that they even let Low People rise to high rank?»

Blade kept his mouth shut and managed to look politely horror-stricken. But he made a mental note that getting in touch with the Tower of the Leopard was a high-priority item. If they were in fact less rule-bound and class-ridden than the other Towers of Melnon-

He was interrupted by a sharp order from Pen-Jerg. «Take your place, Blade.»

«Where, Pen-Jerg?»

A grim smile broke Pen-Jerg's sober expression. «If you can defeat Kir-Noz, perhaps we should give you the chance to prove Zef-Dron full of wind. Would you like to be a line leader?»

Blade could not really say that he did like the idea. But on the other hand, it was certainly the best way to prove himself. Just as long as there weren't too many warriors as good as Kir-Noz.

He nodded.

«Good. Take the lead of the third line.»

Blade fought back the temptation to throw Pen-Jerg a mocking salute. Instead he turned silently and headed for his assigned place in the rapidly assembling formation of the Serpents' warriors.