Warlords Of Gaikon

Chapter 21

Nineteen of the twenty-nine uroi got safely out of the burning house, back through the tunnel, away from the Hongshu's palace. By the time they had reached the street, the fire was visible for miles. Flames shot a hundred feet into the air and lit up the base of a cloud of smoke that rose many times higher.

The streets began to come alive with people running out to stare at the fire, loudly wondering what it could mean. No one bothered the nineteen uroi as they tramped along, or failed to give them a clear path. In their black clothes they looked much like a party of the Hongshu's jinai on an urgent mission. No sensible private citizen and few soldiers would ask nineteen jinai their business or try to stop them. By dawn they were well outside the city, heading across country as fast as their legs would carry them, toward the emperor's precinct.

«That's a good three days' march,» Yezjaro told Blade in one of their brief pauses. «But we're going to do it in two. Not on the roads, either. Until we can place ourselves under the emperor's protection, the less anybody sees of us, the better. Once the emperor has rendered his judgment on us, even the Hongshu will stand aside. Until then the Hongshu will do as he sees fit. Need I bore you with details?» The instructor was haggard and filthy, and there were hollow circles under eyes reddened by fatigue and smoke. But he held onto a good deal of his sword-sharp wit.

Blade shook his head. «No, I think not. I doubt that the Hongshu will thank us for this past night's work.»

«Nor, I fear, will the emperor,» said Yezjaro. «At least he will not dare to do so openly. And what that may lead to-I have my doubts. But let us leave my suspicions where they are for the present, and march.»

They marched. They marched as Blade had never done during his military service in borne dimension, nor in any land or among any people in Dimension X. They stopped once for a few hours to sleep, and twice to eat and drink in small inns huddled at the edges of lonely forests. Otherwise they tramped steadily along, up hills, down into valleys, across brief stretches of lowlands and paddy fields, along paths winding through dark insect-ridden forests. Blade lost track of time, almost lost track of night and day and the passing landscape. His legs were white-hot pillars of fire, his throat a mass of dry gravel, his eyes glowing coals. But he kept on going because the others were, although few of them seemed in much better shape than he was.

On the morning of the third day they came to the crest of the last hill. Beyond the forest that spread across the valley below Blade saw castle towers with gold and orange banners streaming from them.

«The emperor's precinct,» said Yezjaro. There was relief in his voice, but also something else. Call it, well, acceptance. Acceptance of whatever might be waiting for them on the other side of the forest. Blade began to suspect that there were problems yet to come that he wasn't being told about. He was tempted to say so bluntly. But before he could speak, a dozen riders burst out of the forest below and began mounting the slope toward the uroi on top.

Blade's hand went to his sword hilt, then he saw that one of the horsemen was carrying the same orange and gold banner that flew over the castle. An imperial welcoming party? In any case, not the Hongshu's men. Blade started to relax, then he saw the tension still written all over Yezjaro's face. So instead he drew himself up as straight as his exhaustion and aching muscles permitted. There was an impressive dignity in the way the other men were standing, ready to accept the emperor's welcome whatever it might be. Blade did his best to match it. He kept his face expressionless and waited.

The horsemen appeared to be picking their way more cautiously as the slope steepened under them. Then, suddenly, Doifuzan stiffened like a puppet pulled upright by its strings. Pulling his sheathed swords from his sash, he dropped them on the grass. Then he knelt, head bowed. Before he had completed the movements, Yezjaro was following him, as were all the other dabuni.

Blade's bewilderment must have been written all over his face, because Yezjaro turned his head slightly and half-whispered, «The high prince himself rides to greet us. It is seldom that the emperor's own eldest son and heir comes forth. This is a mighty moment.»

«But not necessarily a fortunate one for us?» Blade could not help asking the question as he joined the others on his knees.

Yezjaro was silent for a moment before nodding. «You still see clearly, Blade.»

«I see what is on your face, my friend. And what is on your face is not-«

Yezjaro put a finger to his lips. Blade nodded and turned to look at the high prince, who had now moved out ahead of the other horsemen.

The high prince could not be more than seventeen, but he sat his horse like a cavalryman. He wore a short tunic that left muscular arms half-bare, and his tanned face showed no trace of youthful softness or baby fat. He wore a gilded breastplate and greaves, and a leather helmet with brass cheekpieces and an orange feather crest.

The high prince's father was an indecisive scholar, or so they said. But the high prince himself was a warrior. If he wasn't, Blade knew that he had lost the ability to recognize a warrior when he saw one.

The high prince's horse reared as it reached the top of the slope. The rider gentled it, then flung himself out of the saddle with an athlete's grace and swiftness and a complete lack of ceremoniousness. His companions reined in their horses and dismounted more carefully.

The high prince crossed his arms on his chest and said in a clear but high-pitched voice, «Welcome, uroi, in the emperor's name and in mine as well. I grant that here and now you may raise your eyes and look upon me.»

There were gasps of surprise from the uroi, then slowly, one by one, their exhausted grimy faces rose to look upon their future ruler. The high prince waited until he had the attention of all of them, then continued.

«You come from taking your vengeance upon Lord Geron for his betrayal of Lord Tsekuin. Is that not so, Doifuzan?»

«It is so, Exalted One.»

«You bear his head?»

«We do.» Doifuzan motioned to the uroi who had been carrying the sack. The man ran forward to kneel before the high prince and place the sack on the grass at the high prince's feet.

«Word has spread swiftly, as swiftly as birds upon the wind. The deed of the uroi who once served Lord Tsekuin already stands in Gaikon like high mountains. May Kunkoi grant that it stands as long as the mountains, as an example to men who come after us.»

«We are not worthy of such fame, Exal-«

«That is not for you to judge, Doifuzan.» Then the high prince fell silent. Even in his fatigue, Blade's trained ear told him that the young man was hesitating. He has praised us highly, thought Blade. If he is hesitating over what comes next, it's probably bad news.

«However-«began the high prince, and stopped again. That settles it, thought Blade. I've never heard anyone begin a sentence that wasn't bad news with «However.»

«However,» and now the words came out in a rush, «you have in your honorable vengeance slain a servant of the Hongshu, the Strong Younger Brother, whose hand is spread over Gaikon to keep the peace within it.» And to grab whatever his greedy heart desires, added Blade to himself. He nearly said it out loud.

«Therefore, it is fit and proper that your deaths shall follow.» Blade tensed. «It is the will of the emperor that you shall join Lord Tsekuin by that same honorable road which he used, and before the sun sets tomorrow. This honor is yours and none shall impair it in any way. For the emperor, it is spoken.»

The high prince worked his mouth for a moment, perhaps trying to get a bad taste out of it. Then he vaulted into the saddle and spurred his horse away down the hill, as though he could no longer face the men he had condemned to death.

That was certainly what he had done. Blade turned it over and over in his mind and could come up with no other answer. Before sunset tomorrow, they would all be dead by ritual suicide.

The high prince had called it an honor. Blade looked at the other eighteen men, and the relief and even joy on their faces. He realized that it might indeed be an honor. At least by the standards of Gaikon. But-were there other standards for him to follow, here and now?

If he could even think of that question, it would be a hard one to answer. He had the feeling that tonight was going to be full of grim, lonely thinking.

The uroi were quartered in an empty barracks in the military camp to the south of the palace. The servants who waited on them were willing to meet their every want. But those wants were few. Some of the uroi felt they should spend this last night fasting and praying. Those who were less strict still had little appetite for the food set before them. Not even Yezjaro was interested in the wine and the women they could have had. Some of the uroi were simply too tired to think about anything except a good night's sleep.

So no one bothered Blade when he went out after dark to sit under a tree and consider what he should do. He had expected to find his decision brutally hard to make. But that was not what happened.

None of the uroi were going to try to escape. That was obvious. They had done everything they had been living for when Lord Geron's head fell to the floor of his burning house. If they had then joined their ten comrades who were now ashes in the ruins of that house, it would have made no difference to them. Men who felt their lives were over would not disobey an order of their emperor. They had refused to strike at the Hongshu when they had the best of reasons for doing so. They would not defy the emperor when they had no reason except saving their own skins. None of them would. Not even Yezjaro, the cheerful, pleasure-loving young instructor, would try to gain the many years of life he should have ahead of him by defying the emperor.

So if he fled Blade knew he would flee alone.

He probably wouldn't have much trouble getting away from the emperor's precinct and surviving in the woods until he was called back to home dimension. He saw no signs that the uroi were being particularly well guarded. If he picked up his weapons now and strode away into the darkness, it would be easy to leave certain death behind him.

But he would also be leaving behind him eighteen doomed men, who had accepted their doom. Eighteen men who had fought as his comrades in a deadly battle to do their duty, who had in the end accepted him and honored him as first among them. They would call him a coward. If he lived, he would have to live with the knowledge that they had died thinking this of him.

And what would his flight do to the example the uroi wanted to set? The high prince's words had been clear. The servants had made it even clearer. The twenty-nine uroi would go into the legends of Gaikon as men who had stood faithful to their lord to death.

But what would happen to the legend if one of them fled at the last minute? Particularly if the one who fled was the one who had made their swift vengeance possible? Would the flight of that one man diminish what the other twenty-eight had done? Blade knew the codes and standards of Gaikon too well to doubt it. The tale would be flawed and the memory of those who had been his comrades diminished.

Perhaps it was a silly notion. In fact he was quite sure it was looked at soberly. But nonetheless he did not want to take anything away from the legend that the twenty-nine uroi had begun. If that meant accepting Gaikon's standards and the death they would bring-well, so be it.

And there was more. The present emperor might be too weak to inspire people to resist the Hongshu. But the high prince was a warrior, and if he lived to mount his father's throne Gaikon would have an emperor who might want to rule as well as reign.

If that happened, the Hongshu would have a mighty rival. Those who hated the Hongshu would have a rallying point. And the legend of the twenty-nine uroi would be part of that rallying. To weaken the legend might be to reduce the chances of bringing to an end the Hongshu's tyranny. Blade had risked his life in a dozen strange worlds to help their people in one way or another. What was different about accepting an honorable death here in Gaikon, if it would help strike at the Hongshu?

Nothing.

With that settled in his own mind, Blade found it easy to return to the barracks and go peacefully to sleep.

Lord Tsekuin had knelt to die on white sand. The uroi who had avenged him knelt to die on green grass, beyond the forest to the west of the emperor's precinct. But like their lord, each knelt on a small square of black silk. Each wore white, with a red sash. Blade had shoved under his sash the pouch with the diamond, and had put Lady Musura's short sword on the ground in front of him. That would be his death-weapon. It was a last honor that he could do her.

In the center of the circle stood a tall pole. From its top Lord Tsekuin's banner floated out on the evening breeze. A banner proscribed and banned by the Hongshu-but not by the emperor. Or rather, not by the high prince. It was no secret that he had watched the setting up of the pole, and then raised Lord Tsekuin's banner with his own hands.

No, the high prince was being open about what he thought of the Hongshu and the Hongshu's ways of ruling. Was he perhaps trying to spark rebellion even now? Blade couldn't help wondering. But it was idle wondering. Whatever the high prince might be planning didn't make much difference to him. In barely ten minutes he would be either dead or back in home dimension. More likely dead.

The moment of death for the nineteen uroi was fixed for sunset exactly. Blade looked toward the west, where a swollen orange ball seemed to hang in a luminous sky just above spiky black tree-tops. Less than ten minutes-quite a bit less, he suspected. A few minutes more or less didn't matter, in any case. They would make no difference in the astronomical odds against his living to return to home dimension.

Blade had often wondered what would pass through his mind in the last minutes before his death. But now he realized that all his previous imaginings had been meaningless. He was not going to die in the heat of furious action, brought down by great odds or bad luck. Nor was he going to die in bed of old age or illness. In his profession the second had never been very likely. But he had always accepted that as the only other prospect.

He had never imagined that he would be as he was now, sitting and calmly waiting for the signal to die by his own hand.

Calmly? Yes, calmly. He had accepted that there was no alternative that would permit him to live comfortably with himself-or avoid doing harm here in Gaikon. With this acceptance had come a calmness that seemed likely to last until he had no more need for any emotion of any sort.

The sun sank down. Blade felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The breeze seemed to be dying away. He could no longer feel it on his skin, and the tops of the trees were no longer bending toward him. They stood motionless against the sunset sky, with the great wavering ball of the sun sinking down toward them-and touching them.

A trumpet sounded from far away over the trees, from the palace itself. The boom of several massive gongs being slowly beaten followed. Yezjaro raised his head, and his dark eyes stared into Blade's. Blade stared back, and met Doifuzan's stare as well. One hand moved to open his tunic, while the other picked up the short sword lying on the grass in front of him.

All around the circle, the others did the same.

Blade unsheathed the short sword and held it out in front of him, its point toward his abdomen.

Again, eighteen uroi did the same.

Then, just before Blade could tense his muscles to drive the sword in, pain flared-suddenly, savagely-in his head. Sweat sprang out on his face and hands, and he had to clamp his mouth shut hard to keep from gasping out loud. He did not want to make any sound that would give his comrades the impression that he was losing his nerve.

But hope was also flaring in him, even more intense than the pain. The computer was calling him, calling him back to home dimension. He was going to make it home! And without dishonor or disgrace. If he simply vanished…

Then the pain faded, and so did the hope. Blade realized that he might make it home. But he also might still die here in Gaikon. He could not delay his blow much longer. If he did, he would do much of the damage he had feared, whether he died in the end or not.

No, it was time to do what had to be done. With a convulsive snap of his wrist, he drove the short sword in.

It struck so hard that the shock kept him from feeling any pain for a moment. Then as the pain struck, before he could start drawing the sword across, his head seemed to explode. His hand dropped away from the sword hilt because he had lost the strength to hold on. Hope rose in him again. With it rose the fear that the soldier standing behind him with a sword might swing prematurely.

It would be a bloody odd situation if he returned to home dimension in two pieces, or as a headless corpse!

The twilight seemed to turn to a shimmering green. Blade looked down, saw the sword in his hand flickering and glowing with raw red and golden hues. Across the circle he saw Yezjaro, bending over as he drew the sword across his stomach. But the instructor's eyes were fixed on Blade, and his face showed more surprise than pain.

A swish, and Blade saw a sword whistling past. He realized that the soldier behind must have swung to behead him. But he was no longer a solid object to those in Gaikon-or their weapons. Soon they would be gone, and he would be home.

The greenness was darkening now. Pain roared again in Blade's head, and he found it hard to keep his eyes open. But Yezjaro was still looking at him, and at last the instructor smiled. In a voice distorted by pain and Blade's fading hearing, he shouted:

«Go in honor, Blade. Go, for Kunkoi has called you first before us all, that you may speak for us.»

Then the instructor started to crumple forward. He could no longer keep agony from twisting his face. The sword of the soldier standing behind him flashed high, then swept down.

The flash of that sword was the last thing Blade saw in Gaikon. The green faded into a blackness and Blade sank down into that blackness, losing awareness of his pain, his body, everything.