Madbond (20 page)

“And I suppose they raised beautiful horses,” said Kor quite softly.

Tass gave him a startled glance and half opened his mouth as if to speak, but did not.

“What has become of these wondrous folk, Tassida?” asked Kor, his voice no louder than a breath of wind. “They who tamed stone and sea, even the birds of the air?”

“They dwindled, as all has dwindled,” answered Tassida just as softly, “and their stone dwellings fell to ruin, and their horses ran wild, and their great boats bleached into firewood on the shore. They are gone. Gone. I have searched and searched for them and I have found only their empty houses, open to wind and rain.”

“And a certain horse,” Kor mused. “And now a sword.”

Tassida gathered a pelt around himself as if he were cold, and did not answer. Kor sat staring at the boy's fair, strange face.

We did not question him any further, for we were weary of mysteries. We sat long by the fire that night, talked much—though not of Birc—and grew warm and merry, for who or what was there to hurt us anymore? On the morrow, after we had passed the final rocky ridge, we would be at the reaches of the high plateau, the steppes, and just southward lay the fringes of the hunting lands, the Demesne, of my people.

Chapter Fourteen

In the morning Kor took the lead. Talu was in heat and, bitch of a fanged mare that she was, she kicked at the gelding when he walked behind her, though Calimir was as gentle and courteous as he was beautiful. So the mare and I brought up the rear. A hot wind was blowing down from the mountains, as hot as the mare's temper, and I knew it could go on for days, sapping our strength. Witch winds, we hunters called such hot and relentless winds out of the west, and they were enough to make lifelong friends come to blows—the Herders said they made the sheep abort their lambs. But I did not tell the others this, letting them hope that it would quickly abate. Soon enough, in a day or two, they would be downhearted.

As it turned out, sooner than I knew.

We came to the last ridge, lower than the true peaks, and climbed to a rocky pass. Up on the alps we had been most of the time above cloud, but from this lower nagsback we could see the world spread out before us like a cloak trailing from the shoulders of the mountains, and the cloak was sand-brown and pebble-gray and patched with the dull green of blunderbrush—we hunters called it that because woe to the one who blundered into it, he would be bloody from brown thorns. Nearly everything was brown or yellow-brown on the steppes, even the grass—but there was more sand and rock than grass, which grew sparse and short. The yellow pines ended at the ridge, but a few twisted junipers grew beyond, looking no larger than brush balls in the great distances of the expanse that lay before us. The reaches of the sere plateau looked oddly pale against the darker blue sky.

“Drink sparingly of your water,” I told the others, for although the rippling line of the greener hills to southward did not look far, perhaps a day's journey, I knew it might be much farther. Where there were no trees, there was no telling.

Still gazing, more in shock than in wonder, Kor felt for the goatskin full of water that hung at his knee. “But what has happened!” he exclaimed. “A day ago all was verdant.”

“We have left the snowfields, where the snowmelt feeds the meadows,” I told him. “And here little rain falls. These are the lands that lie in the shadow of the tall peaks. Water falls to the seaward side of the mountains and does not carry inland.”

“But the upland valleys of your people—” He pointed east and southward, where he judged the place lay. “—they also lie on the landward side of the peaks.”

I shrugged. “We bear Sakeema's blessing, and the rain finds its way to us.”

Near my shoulder, Tassida snorted. “The line of the mountains curves away from the sea,” he said rather too curtly for courtesy, “and the passes channel the clouds to you.”

“Is that not Sakeema's blessing?” I retorted. “It is as well for us,” I added before he could speak, “that we roam there and the Fanged Horse Folk here on the shadowlands.”

“And the Herders,” said Kor.

“Sometimes. But much farther eastward.” I pointed, though I could see nothing but a low rise looming yellow-gray against the blue sky. “For the most part they stay near the thunder cones.” The oddly shaped mountains that sometimes rumbled and vomited fire, that wore skirts of blackstone around their feet. “Sometimes they venture to the edges of the great plain that lies beyond. But that is a vast flatness even more arid than this. There no one goes.”

“Am I no one?” asked Tass bitterly.

“Tell us the tale in the evening,” said Kor. “For now, spare talking to spare water.” He squared his shoulders and led us down from the ridge, between the last of the yellow pines.

Downward, into the open—

The Fanged Horse warriors struck out of the woods with a rush like storm, galloping at us from three sides, and Pajlat himself rode at their head, his black hair streaming like oily smoke and all his teeth bared in a killer's smile.

“Ho! Korridun, little king!” he greeted, his heavy whip of bisonhide already upraised.

“Calimir!” Tass shouted to the horse. “Fight!”

The gelding reared, striking out with his forehooves at Pajlat's vicious fanged mare, and Kor took the whip on his shoulder instead of his face, where it had been aimed. I saw how he was shaken by the force of the blow, but he kept his seat, clinging to Calimir's mane. Pajlat's warriors went at the men on foot, intent on trophies—the heads of victims dangled by the hair from their bearskin riding pelts. Kor had his knife out, but such a small blade would avail him little against the long reach of Pajlat's weapon, even less against the stone-headed clubs and spears of the others. And he knew nothing of how to use his horse in battle, for the Seal were not horseback riders. Calimir whirled and darted, keeping foes to the fore, but the fangs of the enemy steeds were coming at him, the mares roaring like their masters, deadly as so many horned bison—

And under me Talu was roaring as well, and springing forward, and slashing with her fangs, opening a path to take me to Kor's side, and the great knife, the sword, was ablaze in my hand.

I felt odd, very odd, as if there were two of me. It was the only way I could manage to do what I had to do, I was so deeply afraid. Terrified—not of death and battle, but of my own weapon, the great knife, the strange sword, and of the murderer it might awaken in me, and of memory. But for Kor's sake … And so it was that I saw the battle as if I sat aside and watched, and all the while my arm, my sword, and my steed did destruction.

But there were too many of them in the way, the raiding scum, too many between me and Pajlat's filthy face. There must have been a dozen or more of them against our six! They trampled down the men on foot as if they were so much grass. And I could not soon enough get to Korridun's side, and I could have cried out as I saw Pajlat's sickening whip curl around his back. So far Calimir had kept the lash away from Kor's face, but if Kor weakened under those blows he would fall—

Astonished, I saw Tassida sidestep an attacker's charge, turn and seize Calimir's tail, vaulting over the gelding's rump to sit behind Kor. Saving his own life? Perhaps, but it was well thought of. With his heels and his shouts the boy directed the horse to greater advantage, and his back protected the king's. And there were now two knives instead of one—

And at last I was there, sinking my sword deep into the side of an attacker—the man's face took on a surprised look as he died. And Kor caught up his great club as it fell.

After that no one could come near him. He was strong, and roused, and as skilled a fighter as I had ever met, and his steed swifter and lighter of foot than any heavy-headed mare the high plains had ever fed. Tassida defended his back with a knife in either hand, urging Calimir on with a high, chilling yell. As for me, I struck down the Fanged Horse raiders one after another as coldly as if I were cutting down targets of straw. Pajlat kept away from me. He was afraid of the strange weapon, the sword, and so were his men, but they were afraid of their king's lash and his wrath as well, so they fought more bravely than he. No one knew I was the most terrified of anyone there. I had gone into a trance of killing, thinking only to clear this enemy out of the way, but all the while I stood aside and watched myself and cowered in fright.

Kor told me afterward that my coolness was terrifying. They stood against us so long, he thought, only because they were ashamed to leave us triumphant, the mere three of us against all of them.

But when I had hacked and whittled them down to five plus one, the one being Pajlat, they fled.

I could not comprehend it at first. Talu wanted to pursue them, and we did so for a short while, but then I pulled her to a halt and blinked. Kor! Where was Kor?

He was not badly hurt. He had walked Calimir aside from the heap of bodies strewn amidst the blunderbrush and the short grass. He had dropped his club. But he still sat the gelding, and his face looked stricken.

“Help me with Tass!” he shouted at me.

The youth sat slumped against Kor's back—dead? There was blood everywhere, drenching the boy's clothing. I leaped down off of Talu, stumbling in my haste, surprised to find that my legs were shaking under me, and as gently as I could I got Tassida down from behind Kor. I laid him on the stony ground. At once Kor was beside me, kneeling and reaching over to feel at the pulse of the throat.

“He's breathing,” I said.

“Yes, he lives.… Is he wounded? So much blood, he must be!” Frantically the two of us tore open his tunic, searching for the wound. For some reason Tassida wore a strip of binding around his chest. Kor yanked it away—

“Dan,” he whispered in a small, stunned voice.

I saw in the same moment. Round, perfect breasts, pink-tipped, uninjured. Tassida was a maiden.

He—she might yet be hurt. Kor knelt by her as if frozen, useless. Clenching my teeth, I tore away her trousers, found no wound, pulled her up against my chest to look at her back. Three ugly whip weals, but they had not drawn blood. No, she was not wounded, or not badly, and as I moved her she groaned and pulled away from me. I laid her down, took off my cloak and put it over her. Within the moment she opened her eyes and stared up at us.

“Did you kill Pajlat?” she demanded of me.

I moved my mouth to reply, discovered I was speechless, and shook my head.

“Blast.” Tassida muttered a curse of pain as she sat up, then looked down at herself and burst into louder profanity. “Bowels of Sakeema! Was it necessary to strip me?”

“We thought you were half killed,” Kor whispered. He seemed quite shaken. “There was so much blood.…”

“I was hit on the head, that was all. It must have been someone else's blood, horse blood—Calimir! How is Calimir?”

I got up and went to look at the gelding, for I was glad enough of the excuse to get up and move around, clear my mind. Calimir bore many slashes from the fangs of the enemy steeds, and he had bled much, but a horse can bleed a puddle's worth and take no harm from it. None of the wounds looked deep. As for Talu, there was not a scratch on her.

“Flesh wounds,” I called back over my shoulder to Tass. “He carries his head high enough.”

Kor finally stirred where he knelt by her side. “Bring her some clothes, Dan,” he called to me. His voice sounded strained.

Birc's pack had been loaded on Talu. I untied it and took it to Tassida, then touched Kor on the shoulder. Dazedly he looked up at me, then came with me to see to the bodies. They were all killed and already growing cold, the other three who had been with us. So also were all of Pajlat's men dead, and most of them beheaded. The sight made me uneasy, and hastily I went to the place where I had laid down my weapon, wiped the blood from it and sheathed it in the leather scabbard Kor had made me.

After a short while Tassida walked up to us, clothed in Birc's spare tunic and leggings, to all appearances a boy again, except that she had not bound her breasts. They made a small, soft showing under the fine wool of her tunic, and I tried not to stare. She handed my cloak back to me with a nod.

“Your head?” Kor asked hoarsely. He had not spoken to me at all—he seemed stupid with shock or fatigue.

“Hurts,” Tassida said briefly. “It was a glancing blow, or I would be dead.”

“You saved my life,” Kor said. She looked at him in surprise.

“And my own.”

All was awkwardness, for there was a matter that had to be broached. “Tass,” I asked her, “why did you not tell us you were a maiden?”

She shrugged. “I always travel as a youth. It is more comfortable than sleeping with a knife in hand.”

“My men are honorable,” Kor said, too hotly.

“Were honorable. But all men are not so.” Something passed across her face, some memory's shadow, quickly hidden. She faced Kor, appearing sure of herself to the point of arrogance. “And would you have taken me with you, Korridun King, if you had known I was a woman?”

He made no reply—I had never seen him so floundering. “We of the Red Hart welcome maidens as our fellow warriors,” I blurted, just for something to say. Tass looked me full in the face and grinned.

“I understand you welcome maidens at all times and in all places, Dannoc,” she mocked. “You nearly caught me with my trousers down, that night in the blue pine forest. Must I take a knife to my bed, now that you have had them off me?”

“Of course not!” Kor flared at her. Such vehemence was not needed, or usual in him—what was the matter with him? Quickly I spoke to Tassida again.

“Will you tell us your real name, now?”

“You know my name,” she said. “What name I have.”

“And where you are from, of what tribe—will you tell us that, now that we know your secret?”