Doom's Break (29 page)

"The boat is sinking," said Iallia in alarm. A moment later, Thru felt the water rising to his ankles in the bottom of the boat.

"Onto the mill wheel. Ride it to the top," he said.

"The chooks?"

"I don't know. Can you help them?"

The boat banged into the mill wheel and began to spin away. Thru grabbed hold of one of the wheel's ribs and was hauled into the air. He moved hand over hand to the side of the wheel, and as it tilted up he swung a leg over onto one of the paddles. In another moment, he was borne to the top of the wheel, where he jumped off onto the gallery that ran around the mill house.

The gallery overlooked the bridge. Two archers were standing there, aiming down into the boat. At that range, they couldn't miss. Thru didn't hesitate but hurled himself off the gallery directly at them. He heard a shout, and as he slammed into the nearest fellow they all went down in a heap.

The impact was bone-jarring, but there was no time to waste trying to get his breath back. Somehow he got to his knees. One of the men had rolled over and was pushing himself up. The other had hold of Thru's shoulder. There was a flash of steel, and Thru twisted away just as the knife came down. He flung out a hand, felt the man's face under his palm, and pushed him away. The knife missed again.

Thru got his feet under him. The other man was back up, drawing a short stabbing sword. They came together. Thru reacted with the kyo moves he had learned so well from Master Sassadzu at Highnoth. The sword missed his belly, but his fist snapped into the man's throat.

The first man kicked Thru's legs out from under him, and he fell heavily. Rolling desperately, he avoided the stamping blow aimed at his throat. He started to get up, but the man caught him with a heavy kick to the ribs that knocked him over. He saw the knife in the man's hand and realized he might die here and all his efforts would have been in vain. Again he struggled up, but the man's boot quickly lashed out. Thru tried to grab it and twist the leg, but he was too slow. The man loomed over him. The knife swung down.

Suddenly a big ball of white and yellow feathers cannoned into the back of the man's legs, throwing him off balance. Thru kicked upward, felt his foot connect, and the man fell. Two chooks hurled themselves on top of him, delivering hefty kicks with rooster claws. Iallia appeared as well, with the other man's sword in her hand.

The men were down and not likely to get up soon. Thru took a bow and found it heavier than a mot bow but usable. He tore a quiver free from the man he'd punched in the throat.

"Hurry," he said to the two roosters, who were helping the wounded Mukka get down from the mill house gallery. An arrow jutted up from her back between the shoulders. Thru was amazed that Mukka had managed to get up the mill wheel.

"Mukka is hurt," said Chenk angrily.

"How bad is it?" Thru bent down beside the wounded chook.

Mukka winced but held her head up. "Pull out the arrow," she said, "and I will fight!"

Thru grinned. "That's the spirit," he said. "Now, hold your breath for a moment. This will hurt." He took hold of the shaft and eased the arrowhead out of Mukka's back. She gave a single sharp cry and then was silent. A moment later, the arrow came free.

"There," said Thru, breaking the shaft and hurling it away. "It did not go so deep."

Mukka's sides were heaving, but she made no further sound.

Thru examined the wound. There was a little flow of blood, but nothing life threatening. The arrowhead had not severed a major blood vessel.

"We will treat the wound later, when we have more time."

"More men are coming," said Iallia, pointing toward the village. Horsemen could be seen charging past the houses.

"Into the woods," Thru called out as he headed past the mill to the dark mass of the trees.

They ran, chooks in the lead, Thru at the rear, carrying the bow and an arrow in his hand and the quiver over his shoulder. Having a bow, even an unfamiliar one made by men, gave him renewed confidence. Let the riders come after him in these trees—he would make them pay.

They emerged onto a narrow lane that ran between woodlots on one side and vegetable gardens on the other. The gardens were fenced and terraced down to the river's edge in a style that was common in the middle sections of most rivers in the Land.

Thru urged them off the lane and into the woodlots. Progress was slower, but they were less likely to be seen by the pursuit.

The darkness was complete, and they slowed even further as they worked their way through dense stands of young trees on woodlots that had been clear-cut in recent years. The big white and yellow birds went first, and Iallia and Thru followed.

They had gone perhaps a mile when they heard the riders coming down the lane, horse hooves pounding, men calling encouragement to one another. Not far from the little band, someone struck a light, and a lantern was lit. Men were dismounting. Another party of men came down the lane.

Thru clearly heard a commander say, "Find them: The Master wants them dead or alive."

Thru understood that the enemy knew the information they carried was vital and was determined to prevent them from bringing it back to General Toshak.

A second lantern was lit, then a third. More men pushed into the woodlots. Thru, Iallia, and the three chooks retreated deeper into the trees, away from the river. Ahead, Thru could sense the ground was rising toward the hills that bound the valley.

The men came on, one group upstream of them, another downstream, both working into the woods with lanterns raised to guide themselves.

Thru considered shooting the men holding the lanterns, but he held his fire since it would confirm their presence.

They came to a shoulder-high fence of poles with another lane beyond it. The woodlots gave way to a strip of polder created where an old outlier of the swamp had once curled between the trees. The waterbrush had been harvested, so there was no cover.

The fence was an obstacle for the chooks, who had to be helped over. Mukka in particular found it difficult. Just as Iallia and Thru were helping her across, they were spotted by some of the men in the woods.

Thru vaulted over and sent the others hurrying down the road. He himself took aim at the man carrying the lantern. His first shaft went wide, but not by much. His second arrow struck home, and he was rewarded with a shriek and the sight of the lantern falling to the ground and going out.

The other men were still coming, though, and Thru took to his heels down the rutted lane.

The strip of polder continued for half a mile before giving way to woods once more. Thru glanced back. Men were climbing over the fence. Then he saw a lantern emerge from the woodlot on the right farther down, ahead of the chooks. Men were climbing over there as well.

"Into the polder!" Thru shouted.

The chooks needed no further encouragement. They were already on their way. Iallia leaped down behind the chooks and ran after them.

Thru strung an arrow, took aim, and let fly at the men firing at the chooks. The range was extreme but his shaft came down among them and caused them to halt and take shelter back behind the fence.

With men coming up from behind, he couldn't stay where he was. He, too, was forced onto the polder. He crouched low, arrow nocked, knowing that the men were watching the fleeing chooks, still dimly visible in the dark.

The men were being more cautious now. One of them had already paid for being overbold, and so they had no lantern. Thru heard them arguing over what to do.

"One of them's got a bow. Hornsli's dead for sure."

"Can't see a damn thing."

"Over there!" came another voice. "Come on."

The group of men lurched forward into the polder, and Thru rose up and sent an arrow into their midst. One of them screamed and stumbled coughing into the muck.

The others turned toward the mot.

"There's one! After him! Get his head!"

Thru fired again but missed, and then he had to run. An arrow sang past his ear as he dodged through the waterbush stumps.

"Kill him!" screamed a man from behind.

Far ahead, bouncing through the rows, he could see the chooks and Iallia. Beyond them a darker mass in the general murk delineated the hedge at the far side of the polder. He increased his pace, splashing through the muck. But he could hear the men, close behind him, and they were gaining. Another arrow zipped past, too close for comfort.

The chooks and Iallia reached the trees and disappeared. Thru concentrated on pushing himself the last few yards. He launched his body into the air, seeking to dive over the hedge and into the woods beyond.

His stomach briefly scraped the top of the hedge. His leg caught, and he fell heavily on the other side.

As he lay there partly stunned, bodies all around him rose up. In sudden terror he struggled to get to his feet, but a calm voice said, "Stay down, brother. We're ready for them." And he saw that he was surrounded by mots in the uniform of the army of Dronned.

They had found a patrol.

The mots stood up, leveled their bows, and released at short range. Screams erupted from the charging men, taken by surprise. The mots surged over the hedge and pitched into the men. Soon they had them running for their lives back across the polder.

Thru allowed himself to be guided into the woods by another mot.

"This is Captain Dinan's patrol group. We've been looking for any sign of the riders that went up into the mountains."

Behind them came more shouting as the victorious mots gathered back at the hedge.

"I am Colonel Gillo, on a mission for General Toshak himself. I have vital information that must reach the general as soon as possible."

"Then you have found the right unit, Colonel. I will take you to Captain Dinan at once."

"Thank you, gentlemen. You know the situation, and I know how you're feeling. Let's get on with our business."

The Emperor stood up and left the table in the big tent. His senior officers filed out, heads filled with potential battle plans plus a few reinforcements of Aeswiren's favorite dictums during this campaign, mostly concerning the need to get along with the native people.

Tempers had improved over the past few days. The fight in the woodlot had helped concentrate everyone's thoughts on the essential problem of getting former enemies to cooperate. Six men had received forty lashes apiece. Aeswiren was not overly fond of the lash, but sometimes it was necessary. He had the feeling that the men understood that, too.

Thankfully, Filek Biswas had saved the injured mot, Jelli, who was recovering in Nuza's hospital. During heroic surgery, Biswas had repaired the mot's intestines and sewed him up after cleaning the wounds with alcohol. The mot had survived all this, and Filek gave him a good chance of surviving. Following the news that Jelli would probably recover, there was a marked warming of relations with the mots.

Aeswiren was quite encouraged by the situation, in fact. The regiments were drilled, practiced, and ready, and from what he understood from his informants their morale was pretty good. Plus the grumbling about fighting alongside the monkeys had declined. Eating big, regular meals, courtesy of those same "monkeys," had helped quite a bit, of course.

While he was crossing between tents, he caught sight of Sergeant Rukkh, lurking as inconspicuously as possible at the side of the small white tent where the Emperor's personal staff worked. Aeswiren turned to Klek.

"See that Sergeant Rukkh is brought to me at once."

"Yes, Lord."

Once inside his own tent, Aeswiren kicked off his boots and hung up his jacket. As always on campaign, he wore the same military-issue clothes as his men. He kept the gold-plated breastplate only for those occasions when he had to give a formal address.

On the floor of the tent was spread a magnificent woven mat, a gift from the burghers of Dronned. It depicted a group of mots praying at a shrine. Their upturned faces were illuminated in yellow light, and their surroundings were rendered with remarkable skill. The weave was sumptuous, giving him the same sense of well being that he always got from a nice Nisjani carpet back in Shasht.

Servants brought in some hot biscuits and tea, and the Emperor took a few minutes to eat. At the same time, he went through the stack of messages that had piled up over the past few hours.

The bell attached to the front flap of his tent tinkled. The guard looked in. "Sergeant Rukkh to see you, Lord."

"Good."

The sergeant entered, saluted, and stood at ease, as he had done on many occasions since Aeswiren had recruited him as an informant.

"Tea, Sergeant?"

"Thank you, Lord. You asked for a report on the aftermath of the fight in the woodlot."

"Ah, yes."

Tea was poured and sipped, and then, and only then, was Rukkh allowed to proceed.

"The wounded are recovering well, Lord. The ones with stripes on their backs, too. The general feeling is that it was all just a big stupid mistake. Considering all the history between us, everyone feels that something like this was inevitable. But nobody got killed, and so the whole thing is now becoming a bit of a joke. Meanwhile, everyone is eager to get this campaign over with before winter sets in. If that means a real fight, then all the better."

"And everyone understands that we'll be fighting against men like ourselves?"

"Of course, Lord, everyone knows that."

Aeswiren mulled these words over for a moment. "Well, this is good news you have brought me, Sergeant. Thank you."

Rukkh was turning to go when the bell tinkled again. The guard lifted the flap. "Lord, it is your messenger from the city."

"Show her in. Remain, Sergeant, I want you to meet this person."

A moment later, Nuza entered, wearing a hooded robe to disguise herself, almost as if she were a woman of Shasht wearing the cloth of purdah. Aeswiren noticed that Rukkh stiffened at the sight of her.

Rukkh had the prejudices of his people, thought Aeswiren.

Nuza pulled back her hood.

"It's the monkey woman," said Rukkh without thinking. "Begging your pardon, Lord."