Killer Plants of Binaark Part 9

"Daimarz!" he shouted. "You keep still too! There's no need for you to sacrifice yourself! The amulet works. I can move in and draw everything to me with no danger."

"Blade, I- "Stop arguing! I know what I'm doing! This is the beginning of the end for the killer plants of Binaark!"

That produced a dead silence except for the creaking and sc.r.a.ping of the creepers and the distant shouts of the men up on the hillside. Blade took another step forward, and saw another creeper come at him. It stopped just within range, and he cut completely through it with a single blow of the ax. Sap spattered the leaves around Blade but missed him.

Now he could see the first of the seven men ahead, lying under a bush completely tangled in creepers. He was doing his best to hold still, but a kill-pod was already wavering just above the bush. A few more feet and it would be within reach of the man.

Blade picked out the three nearest creepers and cut them off. All the others writhed more furiously than ever. The man yelled as the creepers holding him wrenched at his joints. The kill-pod swept over him and came at Blade. Whatever the creepers Blade had cut were saying, the kill-pod was getting the message that he was something to be investigated.

Blade let the pod come within easy reach. Then he unleashed his ax in an overhead swing using both hands and all his strength. The branch supporting the kill-pod was nearly a foot thick, but the ax went halfway through it at one blow. The branch jerked back so violently that most of the rest broke off. The pod dangled by a few remaining muscle fibers, sap gushed out like water from a hose, and the plant started screaming.

Blade jumped back, cut off another creeper, and tried to shout to the men up the hill. Then he realized they'd never hear him over the plant's screaming. The writhing creepers loosened their grip on the man under the bush. He was still clear-headed enough to realize it, and rolled out of their reach. Then he sprang to his feet and made a dash for safety. He ran straight into Blade, so hard that both men nearly went down. Blade gripped the woodcutter by one shoulder and bellowed in his ear loud enough to be heard over the plant's screaming.

"Tell those idiots up on the hill to stop standing around with their thumbs up their a.r.s.es! The amulet's working, I tell you. I'll be able to fight the plants, but you men are going to need some help getting back up. Tell them to send a couple of men down the hill, or at least throw down a rope! Understand me?"

The man jerked his head in what Blade hoped was a nod. Blade pointed toward the firm ground, and the man went off as if a kill-pod was snapping at his heels. Blade took several deep breaths, closed his ears to the screaming, and turned back to his battle for the lives of the other six woodcutters.

Blade fought his battle with mist all around him. After a while there was a second mist inside his head, and he stopped remembering details of the fight. He only knew that the amulet still worked, that the ax still cut everything he struck, and that one by one the woodcutters came free of the rogue and staggered off into the mist toward safety. This was enough.

By the time Blade reached Daimarz, he was dripping with sweat and his wounded arm was beginning to hurt. He itched in half a dozen places from tree sap, and his ax was beginning to lose its edge. He was still able to chop Daimarz free of half a dozen creepers and pull the woodcutter to his feet.

The man was bleeding in several places where the creepers had sc.r.a.ped his arms and legs. As Blade steadied him, blood from the Englishman's gashed arm flowed over some of Daimarz's wounds. The woodcutter pulled himself free so violently that Blade thought he might have violated some important taboo. Then the woodcutter looked steadily at Blade.

"So. We have mingled our blood at the first, not at the last. The proper words must still-no, I forgot. When you have saved-how many lives today, Blade of England?"

"I think all your men got clear of the rogue on their own two feet."

"Then, seven woodcutters saved. The words do not matter."

Blade took a deep breath, which cleared his head enough for him to understand and reply. "If you mean we are now blood brothers, I have nothing against it. But I think we should finish off this rogue first. It's-look out!"

A kill-pod loomed out of the nest behind Daimarz. Blade chopped at it with his ax but hit it only a glancing blow as the woodcutter jumped clear. Blade now saw that the kill-pod was moving slowly and clumsily, only a few feet off the ground. He also realized for the first time that the screaming was dying away to a thin piping whistle.

"It is not dead yet," said Daimarz. "But it can no longer do much harm." They stepped back as the kill-pod crept toward them. "I have no right to ask this, because I am at fault in all that has happened today, but-may I have your ax to strike one blow?"

"Certainly, although it's beginning to lose its edge."

Daimarz nodded and took the ax. Then he stepped back, leaped high with a shrill cry, and chopped through one hinge of the pod's jaw. Another leap, another cry, and the other hinge was cut through. The lower jaw sagged limply, and the pod itself drooped like a wilted leaf.

Daimarz handed the ax back to Blade. "Now that I have done as much as I am worthy of doing, the honor of the kill is yours. No, wait!" He raised a hand as Blade shouldered the ax. "I want to have other men watch you do your work. When I lay the tale of you and your amulet before my father and the other Masters, I want no one calling me a liar."

"A good idea." Daimarz seemed to be keeping his head, in spite of an experience which must have been both terrifying and shameful. Blade understood now some of the reason for the hostility of the party to the idea of the amulets. The woodcutters were proud of the courage and skill it took to face the killer plants and beat them on their own ground. If the amulets made it possible for any child to play in the forest of Binaark, that would be the end of their ancient and proud guild. They would be like square-rigger sailors forced ash.o.r.e by the coming of the steamship.

It took Daimarz a while to persuade or threaten enough of his men into coming back down the hill into the mist and the rogue's creepers. Blade used that time to catch his breath and examine his injuries. Apart from the gashed arm, there was nothing a bath and a good night's sleep wouldn't take care of. By the time four of the woodcutters were gathered behind Daimarz to watch Blade, he felt ready to tackle a whole new rogue.

The mist was beginning to lift, so the woodcutters were able to watch from a distance as Blade strode into the heart of the rogue's creepers. They didn't attack him, but they lay so thick on the ground that he sometimes had to chop a path through them. At last he came to the base of the rogue, a frightening black ma.s.s nearly two feet thick. It took him five strokes to chop clear through it, and as he did the plant's dying screams rang deafeningly in his ears. So much sap gushed out that the ground all around him turned to foul-smelling mud, and he had to jump back hastily to protect his feet.

When Blade returned to the woodcutters, they were all cheering, making nearly as much noise as the dying plant. They would have picked him up on their shoulders and carried him up the slope, if they could have stayed on their feet while doing it. Instead they all helped each other back up the slope, to where Fador'n was beginning to sit up and mutter.

Lorma was waiting for Blade on the path. She jumped on him so enthusiastically he nearly went over backward and down the slope again. Then she started rubbing against his legs, purring so loud it was almost a roar. Where had she come from? How had she been able to trail the party all these days, and know the exact moment when it was safe to come out? Blade respected Lorma's intelligence; now he began to wonder if she wasn't telepathic! Perhaps he'd be able to find out some time. For now it was enough to have her back and listen to her purr.

The lifting of the mist showed that the valley ahead was even steeper-sided than it was here. Daimarz decided to turn back. The woodcutters shouldered their equipment, picked up the blinded man's stretcher, and started retracing their steps toward the valley mouth. Fador'n staggered along, bound the same way Blade had been as punishment for his stupidity.

Blade and Daimarz brought up the rear of the party, so they could talk freely. "What can your father, the Master of the Woodcutters, do for the EIstani in the war against Jaghd?" Blade asked.

"Perhaps much, perhaps everything. The woodcutters will serve as the leaders of Elstan in any war, so our word will count for more than any other two guilds together."

That made sense. The woodcutters were in excellent physical condition, and trained both to use weapons and to act together. Blade could hardly imagine any other craft or skill that would produce the same sort of man.

"We don't have much time."

"The guilds may not take much time to come together and agree. Once they hear of the amulets, they will find it easy to believe the tale of the riders coming through the forest."

At least politics couldn't be any worse in Elstan than they'd been in Jaghd. But time was on the side of the Jaghdi, not the EIstani.

"Is there anything we can do about the war without waiting for all the guilds to agree?"

Daimarz frowned. "Two or three guilds together can work to deal with a flood or a plague, without waiting for the rest. The woodcutters would need one other guild at least, but-if you think it may be needed-?"

"I do."

They walked on in silence for a while. Lorma was staying so close to Blade that he had to watch his step to keep from treading on her tail. Blue sky was beginning to show through the clouds overhead.

"A word of warning, Blade. Our women are not those of Jaghd. They know their own minds and speak them. Remember that and listen to them."

"The women of England are more like yours than those of Jaghd," said Blade. "I will feel more at home in Elstan than I ever did on the other side of the forest. The Jaghdi have a great deal to learn about women, and I fear Queen Tressana is not the one to teach them."

Silence fell again. Blade looked back at the valley, where the mist had now lifted enough to show the ruins of the rogue plant. He hadn't won the whole war back there by defeating the plant, but he might have won Elstan's first battle.

Chapter 17.

Blade won Elstan's second victory by following Daimarz's advice about listening to the women of Elstan. It was easy to listen to Haima Kao, Master of the Guild of Weavers, particularly when she was talking to him in bed.

She was a large woman, heavy-boned and muscular rather than fat, with red hair down to her waist and a hearty appet.i.te for food, beer, and men. She met Blade when he and Daimarz visited her house. Blade wasn't expecting to have a particularly good time and, indeed, wasn't in the mood to be anybody's guest. It seemed to him that the Master Woodcutter's negotiations with his fellow Masters were taking forever, while Tressana's army might already be on the march. Daimarz swore up and down that his father was doing everything that could be done to persuade the other guildsmen to unite with the woodcutters, but Blade continued to wonder.

Haima's lavish banquet improved Blade's temper quite a bit. Their hostess laid on food and beer as though they were all eating their last meal. She talked cheerfully about her work, the inferior skills of the younger weavers, the people intriguing to get her out of the guild's mastership, her late husband, and her lovely daughter Chaia. She talked so long and so loudly that Daimarz, who was normally fond of the sound of his own voice, hardly got to say a word. Blade was amused at his blood brother's growing look of frustration.

During the meal Haima didn't say anything about the war or the negotiations among the Masters. Then at the end of the meal, Haima rose and said, "Here's to a peaceful road through the forest of Binaark, when we've beaten the Jaghdi!" She emptied a quart pot of beer without taking it from her lips. Blade was tempted to change that toast to "If we win," but remembered his manners. What was more, Haima was indicating that at least her guild, if not the others, was willing to unite with the woodcutters in a campaign against the Jaghdi. After a few more toasts to people and things he'd never heard of, Haima turned Daimarz over to her serving girls and took Blade off to her own bed for the night.

She was the third woman Blade had slept with in this Dimension, and he found her in most ways the best company. She wasn't nervous like Jollya, and she wasn't slightly mad like Tressana. She was simply enjoying herself. He enjoyed particularly the fine pillow her magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s made, and the fact that she laughed when she reached her climax. It wasn't the hysterical laughter of Queen Tressana, but a deep, hearty bellowing. It was as if she was enjoying herself so much that she simply couldn't find any other way to show it.

Afterward they sprawled on the furs before her fireplace and got down to serious business. Haima unrolled a map p.r.i.c.ked into deerskin with a hot needle and Blade showed her the planned Jaghdi campaign.

"The army on the Adrim isn't going to be much of a problem by itself," she said. "We can give up the lowland along the river and hold here with only a handful of men." A work-calloused forefinger stabbed at a narrow pa.s.s leading up from the Adrim into the central valleys of Elstan. "The Jaghdi cavalry is the real problem. Solve that and we've won the war." She looked at the mark Blade had made to show the planned Jaghdi camp. "That's the Kettle of the Winds there. We use the cliffs behind the flatland for the Stone Death."

"The what?"

"The Stone Death? Didn't Daimarz tell you?"

Her tone was so accusing that Blade felt he had to defend the woodcutter. "He's been busy, Haima. His father needs-"

"He needs to remember that you can be trusted now. The Stone Death is simple. We take the man to the top of one of the cliffs and throw him off."

"Oh." That explained why Daimarz had called it a "good death." It would be quick, at least.

Haima looked at the map again, then closed her eyes as if she were trying to conjure up a picture of the Kettle of the Winds. "That b.i.t.c.h Tressana has a good eye for land. We can't come at anyone camped on the flats there."

"You could make your own camp there first."

"We might, if we had enough men. Until all the guilds speak with one voice, we couldn't put more than two thousand men there." Blade realized that wouldn't be enough to hold for long against several times as many cavalry. The Jaghdi might not even bother to destroy them, and instead besiege them in their own camp with half the cavalry while the other half continued to march through Elstan.

"If we could just be sure of reaching the camp with enough of the Living Fire-" began Haima irritably. Then she saw Blade's blank expression and swore. "Didn't Daimarz tell you about that either?" She held up a hand to silence Blade's new attempts to make excuses for the woodcutter. "One of these days I'm going to take that boy's pants down and spank him until his a.s.s is red!"

Without any prompting from Blade she went on to describe the Living Fire. Blade recognized it as what the woodcutters must have used on those three rogues. It explained the smoke, the tar-like smell, and the soot on the men. The Living Fire was something like Greek fire or napalm. It was based on "rock oil," it clung where it fell, and water only spread it. A good dose of the Living Fire scattered over the Jaghdi camp would probably make a first-cla.s.s mess, and if it landed among unsaddled rolghas...

Blade was so absorbed by the idea of panicking the whole Jaghdi army's mounts that Haima had to run her fingers and lips over him for quite a while before he would pay attention to her. When they'd finished this time, she raised herself on one elbow and looked down at him. The firelight playing on her red hair seemed to make her face and b.r.e.a.s.t.s glow.

"Blade, how long do you intend to stay in Elstan?"

Blade answered cautiously. "Until I must travel onward, or return to my own land of England. If my queen orders me to return, it is my duty to go."

"And if those orders don't come?"

Blade had the feeling that she wanted to hear him say he'd be staying for many years. He knew that she wasn't the sort of woman to forgive a lie, and that it was impossible to tell how long it would be before the computer drew him back to Home Dimension. Even more cautiously, he said, "It could be several years."

"Ah. Long enough to marry Chaia and give her children, then." Startled, Blade could only nod. Haima went on. "Chaia is beautiful but willful. Those men who do not fear her fear me. Only the most courageous of men would be suitable husbands."

"Is Daimarz one of those men, by any chance?"

She laughed. "You see clearly. Yes. He was the first I would have chosen, as soon as Chaia came of age. But he refused, and said so much against both her and me that he drove away others. Now Chaia is two years past the lawful age, with no husband. If you could take her and give her my grandchildren before you returned to England, I would be sure of a place in the future of Elstan."

"How old is she?"

"She will be fourteen next month."

"Fourteen!" The exclamation slipped out before Blade could stop himself. The idea of playing stud to help Haima continue a dynasty wasn't entirely unreasonable, but making love to a girl of fourteen-!

"Is she too old to be a maiden?" asked Haima.

"Too old?" Blade managed to keep himself from gaping. "No. The law of England says no girl can be made a woman before she is sixteen."

"England is a land of feeble women, or is it that your girls do not have the size and shape of women before they are sixteen?"

"Most of them don't."

"Ah. Ours become women before they are twelve."

She explained that ever since the wars the Elstani called the Time of Death, an Elstani woman was usually mature enough to bear children safely at twelve. She normally married at thirteen, bore her two or three children before she was twenty, then practiced some craft or skill into old age.

This sounded to Blade like the result of a mutation, or perhaps warfare with DNA-altered bacteria. However it happened, it largely explained the position of women in Elstan. They could be both mothers and productive workers in a single normal lifespan. In fact, with the natural advantages its women had, Blade was surprised that Elstan wasn't a matriarchy.

The explanation didn't make the idea of marrying a fourteen-year-old any more appealing to Blade. He frowned, as if he was examining the idea from all sides. Then he said, "What if we lose the war and your daughter is left with children to bring up in Jaghdi slavery?"

"She will kill herself and them before bowing to the Jaghdi," said Haima coldly. "And we shall not lose this war if you agree to take Chaia to wife. If you do, I will join my voice to the woodcutters to unite Elstan. If we stand together the Jaghdi are doomed."

Blade remembered what Daimarz said, about their only needing the help of one more guild to begin preparing Elstan for war. The weavers and woodcutters might be able to do enough by themselves. Their union would certainly encourage the other guilds to join in. Certainly Haima was promising more and asking less than any of the other guilds so far.

"Then join your voice to the woodcutters, Haima. I will take Chaia as my wife, but after we have won the first battle."

They drank beer and bargained for nearly an hour. In the end they agreed that Blade and Chaia would swear betrothal and exchange rings at once, but the marriage would not be consummated until after the first battle. That was good enough for Blade. He wouldn't have to fight both the Jaghdi and his own scruples at the same time.

"The first thing I'd like to do is go to the Kettle of the Winds," he began. "If I see-"

"No, the first thing you can do is this," she said, guiding his hands to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Blade didn't think about the war again until he was drifting off to sleep, his head pillowed more comfortably than usual on Haima's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He thought he was standing at the foot of the cliffs in the Kettle of the Winds, but they kept advancing and receding in a cloud of dark smoke, while giant bats swooped down to claw at his eyes.

"How do I look, Jollya?"

"Like a queen riding to battle, Your Grace," said Jollya.

"I should hope so," said Tressana. She gripped her stirrup, and Jollya's hands clasped under her boots lifted her into the saddle. With one hand she held the bridle, while the other rose in a signal to her musicians. The silver horns blared, then the drums joined in, and finally the cheers of the crowd drowned out all the musicians.

Tressana's rolgha caught some of her excitement and began to prance. She reined it in, but couldn't rein in her own excitement as easily. Jaghd was going to war, Elstan was doomed, and she would rule the world!

For the first time she wore metal armor, a helmet, a gilded breastplate, and leggings of silvered chain mail. She still carried her bow, because she would have felt naked without it, but she carried a gold-hilted short sword rather than a lance. She wouldn't be much use in a cavalry fight, but she didn't intend to get into one. With ten thousand Jaghdi gathered in one place, she had to be where she could see everything and give the orders. Few of the commanders would obey anyone but her, and none would question her courage.

Ahead the road stretched yellow and dusty in the sun toward the forest of Binaark. On either side rode her guards, with Jollya at the head of the women and Efroin of the Red Band leading the men. She'd have to ask Jollya how her father was doing. Sikkurad and some of his helpers were riding in the baggage train, to represent the Keepers in the war. Both Sikkurad and his daughter probably knew he'd been chosen because Tressana didn't trust him. She suspected he disapproved of her war, and so it was better if she kept him where she could keep an eye on him. However, as long as both Sikkurad and his daughter did their work in the war, everything they might have done before it would be forgiven. Neither Keepers nor good fighting women grew on trees.

For Jollya's part, she, like her father, was keeping silent. She remembered Blade's words about keeping one's mouth shut and waiting for a better time. So, like her father, she continued to serve Tressana, biding her time and biting her tongue.

Even the wagons in the rear were moving now, judging from the cloud of dust. Tressana saw the royal banner over Manro's wagon swaying ominously, and sent a rider back to have the pole strengthened. If it fell someone would be sure to call it an evil omen. They'd already said as much about the disaster to the first scouting party.

If she'd only been able to leave Manro behind completely-but neither law nor custom nor common sense would allow it. The King of Jaghd must go to war with his army, even if his mind was useless and his body nearly so. There were also advantages. Far from the palace with its sharp eyes and wagging tongues, some way might be found to complete the work begun so many years ago. If that could be done, and Manro's death blamed on the war... Yes, that was worth thinking about.

The queen's smile broadened as she took her place between her two guard-captains.

King Manro knew that the men standing on the back of the wagon wouldn't let him put his head out and see what was going on. He wanted to do it. It would be like a turtle putting his head out of his sh.e.l.l. He'd seen a turtle do that once, and liked it.

Even if the men weren't going to let him, he knew what was going on. The G.o.ds had told the Jaghdi that they must leave their homeland. They were all going, and Tressana was leading them. This was not right. The G.o.ds were punishing the Jaghdi by forcing them to find a new home because of all the bad things Pretty Tressana had done. She should not be leading them. This would make the G.o.ds even angrier. The Jaghdi would be punished again, even in their new home.

Once he had thought that Pretty Tressana would protect him from everything, even the G.o.ds. Now he understood that he himself had to be protected from Tressana. He thought the dark woman who rode with Tressana might do it. What was her name? Jollya? Yes, Jollya-Dark Jollya.

Dark Jollya would protect him in the new land where the Jaghdi had to go.