Jewel Of Tharn Part 13

Honcho laughed. "To kill me, Blade? I had not thought you such a fool. Certainly Totha is not, I had no difficulty in pointing out to her where her best interests lay."

Totha spat at the ground. "You desire a Maiduke above me, Blade. That girl Zulekia. Honcho told me of this and at first I did not believe him. Then I spoke to the girl herself and I found that it was true: she wants you, Blade! And for that you are both going to die horribly."

Honcho made an impatient gesture. "Enough of this! But she speaks truth, Blade. Think. If you do not surrender as planned we will attack and defeat you. The girl will die first, with you watching. Both of you will take a long time to die, Blade. If you surrender now things will be as I have promised. I swear it."

Totha spat again. She glared at Honcho. "You will not save the girl! That I vow. Blade's life, perhaps, but not the girl."

Blade grinned at Honcho. "You see. You make promises you cannot keep." He was stalling now, talking to gain time until it was a little lighter and the wind stronger. By now Xeno would have transmitted his orders to the catapult troops on the roof of the teksin plant.

Honcho's green eyes were narrowed on Blade and they were full of speculation. As Blade intended. Honcho was wondering about the Power! Why, with the Pethcines safely in the trap, had the Power not been invoked? Where were the Red Storms and the magveils and the magrays? And where was Honcho's Power? Blade gave him a mocking grin. Honcho did well to wonder. And the advantage was to Blade. He knew what he was going to do. Honcho did not.

Org's sword rasped from the scabbard. He waved it at Blade. His little eyes were glittering with fury. "Fight me, Blade! Fight me now. To the death. We will decide this in single combat."

Blade's sword was swift in reply. "Gladly, Org. Gladly!" It was more than he had expected.

Both Honcho and Totha leaped at Org, catching at his sword arm and forcing it down. Honcho pleaded. Totha cursed and derided.

"Fool!" she blazed at her father. "Old fat fool! That is what he wants. You will be killed and our people will not fight. Fool! Fat stupid fool! Put your sword away and listen to me before you ruin everything."

Blade saw his chance fading. He sheathed his sword and nodded to Org. "Later, Org. Later. Come for me whenever you are ready."

He turned his back on them and strode toward the fort. Once he glanced back. Totha and Honcho were arguing fiercely with Org and half-dragging him back to the Pethcine lines.

Now it would begin.

Blade went straight to the pyramid of bales. He mounted it and made a signal to Xeno. Xeno made a signal in turn. The catapults atop the teksin plant went into action. They began to hurl fire arrows at the Pethcine tents.

Swoooooooosss-swoooosss-swoooosss...swoooosss...

They had followed orders. The arrows, tipped with blazing teksin oil, arched in a high parabola over the forts, firing to windward so the tents on Org's left wing would catch first. The east wind would do the rest.

The first salvo fell short. Blade signaled and the catapults were cogged back for more elevation. Blade could hear the Bearer Maidens singing and shouting at their work. He shook his head and smiled. This whole d.a.m.ned affair was only a festival to them.

The second salvo of fire arrows fell squarely amidst the rude skin tents. Each arrow, as it struck, spread blazing teksin oil. Tents began to go up in flame and roiling black smoke, each one a separate furnace. Blade did not expect too much from the tactic but it would spread a little chaos, plant a little fear, and divert some of Org's troops to saving their baggage.

He kept his eyes glued on Org's tent. And then he saw her. Zulekia. She was naked to the waist, her glorious hair glinting like the tent fires, her lovely face as impa.s.sive as ever as two warriors dragged her from the tent She was wearing only a loincloth of some animal skin.

Totha walked up and struck her in the face. She took the blow proudly and it seemed to Blade that she looked in his direction. Then drifting smoke obscured the scene for a moment. When he looked again Zulekia had been flung to the ground and spreadeagled. The warriors were holding her down. Honcho was giving commands. Four of the chariot horses were being driven up.

From the corner of his eye Blade saw Isma leaping up the pyramid toward him. He steeled himself.

At first Isma did not speak She stood beside him as they watched Zulekia being bound to the four horses. Each wrist, each ankle, attached to harness by a long rope of twisted leather. Honcho was careful in his directions. A Pethcine warrior stood by each horse, ready for the command. Blade did not think it would come immediately. Honcho was gambling, even as he himself was gambling. Zulekia was the neuter's only ace in the hole. He would not kill her yet. If things went badly Honcho was going to need the Maiduke girl to bargain with. So Blade thought. So he hoped Honcho was thinking. Yet he felt a moment of despair. The horses must have been Totha's idea. That one was a devil in female form.

Isma breathed hard beside him. The female odor of her, mixed with sweat beneath the body armor, was pungent. She said: "Who is the Maiduke, Blade?"

He shrugged and did not look at her. "I think Zulekia is her name. All I know is what Sutha has told me. She was sent to Honcho to be punished for karno, and Sutha used her as a spy. Honcho must have found her out and now he is going to punish her. Perhaps he thinks it will frighten us, seeing her torn apart by the horses."

"Then why doesn't he do it," said Isma. "What is he waiting for?" There was an odd, choked timbre to her voice and Blade looked at her. She was staring through the smoke at Zulekia and the horses, her dark eyes alight with expectation and her red mouth open. As he watched a dribble of saliva ran from the corner of her mouth. Blade turned away.

Isma said: "Why don't they tear her apart?"

"Honcho has his reasons," said Blade. "Get back to your women, Isma. The attack will come any moment now. And be sure you obey my orders exactly as they are sent to you!"

Isma licked her lips with her tongue. She looked at him sulkily. "Yes, Lord Blade! But I do not understand any of this - why do we not retreat into Urcit and simply destroy the Pethcines with the Power? I cannot understand why you wait."

Blade scowled. "I do not explain my orders. Even to you. Go, Isma, and do as you are told."

She scowled back and she muttered, but she went He watched her rejoin her women and the spindling, scrawny array of Lordsmen. Blade chuckled without glee. Now he was going to have to watch his back. And he must trust Sutha. There was no help for that.

Most of the tents had been burnt out by now. The Pethcines were ignoring them. They were forming into a long double line of skin clad warriors with pointed hats and each carrying a shield and sword and a long spear. Squads of bowmen were deploying in front of the line, on either flank. Trumpets called and echoed and there was much frenzied running to and fro. Blade nodded in satisfaction. It looked like a frontal attack.

He searched anxiously for the chariots and saw them forming up far to the rear, in leisurely fashion. For the moment Org was keeping them in reserve and Blade breathed a bit easier. He knew that his ceboid flanks could not stand up to a chariot charge.

The catapults had stopped shooting fire arrows now. Blade gave another signal, relayed by the vigilant Xeno, and the sound of the catapults changed to a deeper note as they hurled huge jagged blocks of teksin into the enemy ranks.

Whunaaaaggg...whunaaaaagggg...whunagggggggg...

One of the teksin missiles struck, bounced and skipped through a file of Pethcines, leaving behind a dozen shredded hunks of flesh. Screams of anger and pain and terror burst from the Pethdne ranks, but they were filled in at once. Org was striding up and down before his men, waving his sword and haranguing them. A teksin ball struck within a foot of him and he did not appear to notice. Blade nodded reluctantly. Org was a barbarian, a savage, but he was a brave one.

The rain had let up. The wind had stiffened and was whipping the Pethcines' banners straight out from their poles. A final trumpet rasped and then, as if both armies had taken a last deep breath, there was a tiny island of silence among the tumult.

Blade unsheathed the sword. High on the pyramid of bales, above them all, he brandished the sword at the Pethcine lines. His deep baritone roared above the wind.

"Here is your sword, Pethcines. Come and take it!"

Chapter Fifteen.

Org made a cunning feint with his frontal attack. The Pethcines, their battle cries swelling into a sullen roar, charged forward fifty paces and then halted. They turned and ran back. Blade's catapults, depressed now, poured a hail of battle arrows and bags of teksin shrapnel into the area just vacated. Blade cursed. Wasted ammunition, and it was short. He shouted to the bowmen to hold their fire. He wanted the Pethcines to waste their arrows, not his own.

Org now sent his, or Honcho's, ceboids in a double flanking attack. Blade recognized the maneuver. Org was willing to sacrifice ceboids just as Blade was.

Blade sent half the Lordsmen to back up the ceboid officers who in turn were backing the whipping neuters. He saw Isma protesting the order, but the Lordsmen formed, wheeled and marched off. Blade was grim.

The ceboid skirmish was short and fierce. Honcho's beasts came on with animal grunts and howls, waving their swords. Blade held the fire of the catapults, though a flanking fire could have been deadly, because he did not have arrows and teksin bombs to waste on ceboids.

He kept an eye on the war chariots. They were still in ranks far to the rear. Zulekia was still spreadeagled between the nervous horses. Honcho stood nearby, his arms folded, staring at the developing fray. For a moment Org and Totha were out of sight Then, just before he turned his attention back to the ceboids, Blade saw Totha running back toward the chariots.

Blade's ceboids held because of his foresight in planting the ceboid officers behind the neuters. Several of the neuters panicked and tried to run, but the officers cut them down with snarls of joy. Blade knew that a lot of old scores were being settled.

Honcho's neuters, on the other hand, had no stiffening behind them. They whipped their ceboids forward, but when Blade's line held, and the melee broke down into dozens of individual fights - when their weapons did not serve the ceboids went for each other with teeth and claws - Honcho's neuters despaired and began to retreat. Blade gave a signal then and the catapults went into action once more. They hurled shrapnel and six-foot war arrows that skewered four or five neuters at a time. The rest threw down their whips in terror and ran. Without the whippers behind them the ceboids of Honcho broke and fled also. It was soon over and Blade's ceboids had the field. They began tearing the throats out of the wounded ceboids and neuters.

There was a new flare of trumpets as the flank attack subsided and washed back. This time the Pethcine ranks came on in earnest, stepping smartly to the thumping of a crude skin drum.

Blade sent his bowmen to the ramparts of the forts. They began to drop a deadly hail into the advancing Pethcines. Still they came on. Org was leading them and Blade gave instructions for one of the catapults, and a squad of bowmen, to concentrate solely on the King of the Pethcines. Org waded on through the cloud of arrows, untouched.

The bowmen, Blade was using a mixture of high-level neuters and Maiduke maidens, did better than he had expected. They were accurate enough and the barbarian ranks were already thinned by the time they reached the glacis and began to toil up it. The first rank became tangled on the stakes and the teksin wire and wavered to a halt, trying frantically to disentangle themselves. The rear ranks came on, foolishly and bravely, piling up like the surf on an unfriendly sh.o.r.e.

Blade shouted at Xeno and made a prearranged signal. The Maiduke girls with the few air guns trotted into position and began to hurl darts into the milling savages. The arrow fire kept on. The catapults, depressed now to the limit, worked with a steady chonk-chonk-chonk-chonk as they flung arrows and hundred-pound chunks of teksin and bags of jagged shrapnel into the ma.s.s of struggling and dying Pethcines. Still they came on, wave after wave of them, to die.

Blade rubbed his big hands together in glee. His battle plan was working. He cast a glance toward the lines of chariots far to the rear. Still no action there.

Org, in the midst of the chaos, was hacking a way through the stakes and wire with his sword. The fat King was bleeding and sweating and baying defiance like a wounded wolf, shouting and beating at his men with the flat of his sword and trying to urge them up the glacis.

Blade was tempted. If he could get to Org and kill him it would be all but over. He glanced at the chariots and changed his mind. They were moving now. Not yet attacking, but moving and forming back on the flat plain. Blade put temptation behind him. Stick to the battle plan.

A runner arrived from Isma. Could she sally out and down the glacis? Cut down the trapped and moiling Pethcines?

Blade looked beyond the gray below him. There were still four ranks of Pethcine warriors not committed. He sent back his answer. No.

As an afterthought he said: "Tell Isma to send the Lordsmen if she likes." It was a chance to get rid of some of her bodyguard. The Pethcines would eat them alive.

Isma obeyed only in part. Blade watched as she formed her Lordsmen and sent them screaming down the glacis with herself at their head. Her 926 remained as ordered, sullen and impatient in their square.

By now Org and fifty or so of his men had cut their way through the stakes and wire and were starting up the glacis toward the walls. They met the charging Isma and her Lordsmen head on, with fierce cries of exaltation. Here at last was real red meat for their swords.

It was pitiful. A ma.s.sacre. Org's sword was a gleaming wheel of light as he ravaged the Lordsmen, hacking through their thin ornamental armor, sending heads spraying like bowling b.a.l.l.s. His men did as well, leaping in with howls of bloodthirsty delight.

The Lordsmen were dying fast. Isma, defending herself with more skill than Blade had known she possessed, began to retreat back up the glacis. Org, hewing off a head, then skewering a belly with a thrust, waved his reeking sword and plunged up after her. Blade was off the pyramid in two great leaps and running, sword in hand. He did not want Isma to die this way. Not by his calculated treachery. The Lordsmen, yes, for they were worthless. Isma, no. He did not know how well the women would fight without her.

Isma and two Lordsmen made it as far as the sally port. There they had to turn and defend themselves again. Org and half a dozen of his men closed in for the death. There was uneasy movement among the women, but they held their square and waited.

Org chose Isma for his special prey. He leaped at her, screaming death, his helmet askew and his face shining with sweat and blood'85Isma shouted back and lunged at him. Org countered, their sword hilts locked, and Org disarmed her with a twist of his powerful wrist. He showed his black stumps of teeth in an evil grimace and drew his sword back, meaning to transfix Isma squarely between the b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Blade was still twenty feet away, running hard.

A dying Pethcine, studded with arrows like a pincushion, stumbled between them with blood pouring from his mouth. He fell, clutching wildly at Org, and Org's sword drove into his vitals instead of Isma's. Org cursed, pushed the man aside, and leaped at Isma again just as Blade arrived.

The huge Pethcinian sword was an extension of Blade now, as much a part of him as his own arm. He parried Org's blow, shoved Isma back out of danger, and backhanded a blow at Org that slashed his helmet in half. Org grunted and retreated two paces, bringing up his shield to ward Blade's next stroke. The shield split down the middle. Org let out a bellow of rage and leaped at Blade, in bad position and wide open for Blade's thrust. Blade would have killed him then but another Pethcine, seeing his King's peril, leaped between them. Blade could not hold back his stroke and put his sword all the way through the man. It stuck there, the dying man screaming and clutching at the steel in him, falling and nearly dragging the sword from Blade's hand. The jeweled hilt was slippery with blood. Blade put a foot against the dead man's chest and pulled, cursing, trying to extricate the sword. Org, seeing the chance, let out a bellow of command and he and four warriors rushed in for the kill.

The sword came unstuck just in time. It glinted and whirled like a live thing as Blade slowly gave ground. One of the Pethcines tried to get behind him. Blade leaped back, feinted for the belly, and laid the man's throat open. He sank to his knees, spewing blood.

Blade kicked him in front of two of the charging barbarians. They fell over him, slashing wildly at Blade as they went down. He beheaded one with a stroke, then rammed a killing thrust through the breast armor of the other. Again the sword was stuck, entangled in flesh and metal and leather. Org was swinging a cruel mace now, a spiked ball at the end of a chain. He whirled it at Blade and the heavy ball mashed the big man's helmet. Sparks flew. Blade reeled in shock and near blindness for a breath, but managed to duck the follow-up blow. He caught the iron ball on his shield and hacked Org in the shoulder, a deep cut. Org shouted defiance and came on.

A Pethcine leaped in on Blade's flank. He backed another two steps and turned from Org long enough to put his sword into the man's groin. He recovered the steel quickly this time, leaving the Pethcine staring down at his ruined manhood, and faced Org once more. Org was not attacking. Org had turned, screaming commands at his men, and was running with them down the glacis. For a moment Blade could not fathom it. Then he was. .h.i.t and engulfed from behind, by the ma.s.sed phalanx of the women. Isma's 926, pouring past him in hot pursuit of the enemy. Isma had disobeyed orders and committed her women. There was very little Blade could do about it.

He was knocked aside by the charge of singing, shouting, screaming women. Had he gone down he might have been trampled to death. Blade shouted a hoa.r.s.e command, trying to stop them and knowing it was useless. The women were caught up in a blood frenzy.

Blade was nearly winded. He was bleeding from minor wounds, sweating, his body armor slashed and torn. There was a great dent in his helmet where Org had so nearly brained him. He would gladly have rested for a few minutes but there was no time. Isma's disobedience had placed his whole battle plan in the direst jeopardy.

Org and the survivors of the charge had fought clear of the glacis now and were reforming on the plain. The women, the phalanx tattering and coming to pieces now, were pursuing. Blade cupped his hands and shouted, cursing like a madman. Isma was playing directly into Org's merciless hands, leaving the sheltering advantage of the forts to fight on the open plain. Blade groaned aloud and started forward. If he could get to Isma in time, take command from her, he might yet avert the disaster that was building. Beyond the moil he saw Org's four ranks of reserves moving into position to attack, and behind them, moving slowly in a wide horned crescent, were the war chariots. Totha was leading them, standing beside her driver and brandishing a spear.

Xeno appeared at Blade's side. Blade was about to give him orders when new disaster struck. The catapults were now back into action, all of them, hurling arrows, b.a.l.l.s and chunks, fire and shrapnel into the battle that was beginning to shape on the plain. Isma had managed to get her women into a square, and for the moment was beating back the barbarians, but now the deadly hail from the catapults was falling short and wreaking havoc in the square.

Blade sent Xeno on the run to silence the catapults. He went to join Isma in the square. There was still a chance, if he could get the women back up the glacis and into the fort again. Blade was grim as he made his way through the crowded ranks of the square. It would not be easy to withdraw in the face of constant fierce attack.

Another barrage of arrows from the catapults slammed into the packed square. One arrow gutted three women just beside Blade. They fell, screaming and bleeding and thrashing about, strangely linked together in death. A huge block of teksin slammed four more women into b.l.o.o.d.y mush. Blade pushed on, becoming more and more alarmed. Isma had formed her square badly. It was too tight.

Then he was beside her. She was attended by what was left of the Lordsmen. They were few now, and badly frightened, the fight gone out of them.

Not so Isma. She rested in the center of the square, leaning on a lance, a b.l.o.o.d.y sword at her side. Her helmet was missing and her hair was down around her shoulders, streaked with dirt and blood. Her corselet had been slashed away, and one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s was exposed and bleeding from a long scratch. As Blade approached her dark eyes were enigmatic and her smile was chill. She greeted him.

"You see, my Lord Blade, how my people can fight! Soon we will destroy these barbarian sc.u.m."

He regarded her grimly and shook his head. "Not this way, Isma. We must get back into the fort. Quickly! While we can. This way we are fighting Org's battle!"

Another salvo of shrapnel from the catapults sprayed through the square. A Lordsman screamed and fell with half his face gone.

Isma did not flinch. She stared at Blade in defiance. With her hair wild around her she looked like a beautiful b.l.o.o.d.y witch.

"I will not, Blade. I stand here. Here we fight. Here we win, or perish!"

Org's main reserve had not yet come into the attack. His bowmen, what few were left, poured a desultory fire into the square that was not nearly so damaging as the catapults. The war chariots had wheeled out far to the left and halted, still in crescent formation.

Blade ran it all through his mind in a split instant and made his plans. There was still a chance.

Now he pointed to where some half-dozen of the women, wounded or dead, had been dragged into the Pethcine ranks and were being raped. There was no system about it, no order, and Org, if he even noticed, did not seem to mind this contravention of discipline. The women had been stripped of their armor and lay naked on the plain. Some moved, writhed, showing signs of life. Some were obviously dead. It made no difference to the Pethcine warriors who were so inclined: they dropped their weapons, raped the dead or badly wounded women for a minute or so, then recovered their weapons and got back into the ranks. The moans of the still living women could be heard at times above the battle din.

Blade pointed with his sword. "That will happen to you, Isma, and all your people unless you obey me!"

She glowered at him. "It will not. Nothing can defeat me - I am Isma, High Priestess of Tharn!"

It was useless to argue. Blade knew it. She would not be cajoled. He would have to make the best of it.

He stepped close and seized her arm. She tried to pull away and he was brutal, tightening his grip until she would have cried out in pain but for her fierce pride. One of the Lordsmen, bolder than the rest, stepped forward. Blade glared at him. The man shrank back.

"Very well," Blade said. "We will fight your way, Isma. And the G.o.ds have pity on us. Look. See that?"

He released her arm. She followed his pointing finger. Org had sent a column of Pethcines to get behind them, cutting the square off from the fort and the glacis.

Blade shrugged. "It is decided now. We fight here.

But listen to me, listen well, and there may still be a chance."

Isma, with the fickleness of women, did listen. She had had her way, and she knew that Blade planned well.

Blade loosened the square. He formed six ranks, detaching the Lordsmen and sending them into the front rank, and remained with Isma in the center of the square. The catapults had ceased firing now, for which Blade was thankful, but there was no sign of Xeno. The ceboids on the flanks had reformed and were waiting for orders. The glacis and the plain around the square were choked thick with the dead and dying. Org's column, once it had moved in to cut them off from the fort, had halted and was waiting. Blade noted that many of the savages in that column were wounded or battle weary. He did not think they would attack. Org was running short of manpower and was using his wounded as a cork, to plug up Blade's escape.

The wind had fallen off now and the rain stopped. Rays of faint sunlight fought through the ma.s.sy clouds and set the Pethcine banners to shimmering. Still the main attack did not come.

Isma sank white teeth into a scarlet nether lip and stared at Blade. "Why do they wait? They are cowards, then? Afraid!"

"Not Org," said Blade with a grim smile. "Be patient. They will come when they are ready."

He gave orders and had a platform of corpses built so that he could see above the battle. He must know how it was with Zulekia and Honcho.