The Sterkarm Handshake (45 page)

Filling his lungs as deeply as he could, Per jerked up his head and tried to shout across the river—but could only cough.

“Come on,” Bryce said. He and Windsor took Per's elbows and walked him away from the ford. A little farther up the valley, in the shelter of another hill spur, was the place where the Elf-Gate opened.

After them, walking through the river, walking up the slope, came the Sterkarms, on foot and on horse.

Isobel, her skirts kilted up and her legs thrashing through the water, was saying to herself, over and over, “
Oh Per min, min Per, min Per, Per min
,” as if she didn't even know that she was speaking.

Toorkild was among the leading horsemen, wearing his jakke, his helmet on his head, the butt of his lance resting on the toe of his boot. He'd been so angry for so long, he was no longer aware of being angry, and admired his own calm as he watched the little party that struggled up the slope ahead. His eyes hardly shifted from the figure of his son.

Every time one of the men on either side of Per dragged at him, Toorkild nodded. Every time Per stumbled, Toorkild nodded. He noticed the cord still tied round Per's head, and dragging at the corners of his mouth. He noticed his son's hands, tied behind him at the wrists. Every time Per looked over his shoulder, Toorkild glimpsed the bruises on his face and realized—with as much shock as if for the first time—that these walking turds, these sheep's gets, these bags of cess, had so forgotten their place among the vermin of the world that they'd tied his son's hands behind him and then hit him in the face.

When I have him back safe, Toorkild thought, when I have him safe, when—

He would have the Elves tied hand and foot.

And give them to Isobel.

The slope was steep, and the Elves panted and sweated as they climbed, their legs and lungs aching, their feet bleeding and painful. Their backs prickled with awareness of the crowd of people and horses only yards behind them.

Windsor's and Bryce's fingers pressed deep into Per's arms as they urged him on. Bryce was worried by the way Per kept looking over his shoulder. The kid was bracing himself to make a break for it, and God help them if he succeeded!

The folds of land opened and showed them the Time Tube ahead, a bizarre and thankful sight. Andrea, pausing, allowed herself the luxury of a long, deep breath and a heartbeat's rest before pressing on. The sight put a new energy into all of them. So little farther to go. Get there, scramble up that ramp, and they were home safe.

The sight of the Elf-Gate startled Per from weariness. Leaning back against Bryce and Windsor, he braced his heels against the slope and stamped at their bare feet until, with the help of three of the other men, they picked him up and carried him like a long parcel. The Sterkarms heard his yell of fury.

Horses passed them. The line of horsemen lengthened at the ends as some of them passed the Elves, riding ahead of them to the Elf-Gate.

Bryce, looking ahead, saw the Elf-Gate go. It winked out, switched off, disappeared. The burned hillside it had blocked out reappeared.

Bryce stopped, and that stopped everyone else. Per was dropped to the grass, where he sat among their feet.

“They switched it off,” Bryce said. The people in the control room probably hadn't even seen them coming. How many times had he asked for those security monitors to be repaired and resited? Typical of FUP! Spend a fortune on security cameras and monitors, and let them be maintained and sited by chimps.

The Sterkarms, on horseback and on foot, had surrounded them, though they kept clear of the place that the Elf-Gate had filled when it had been visible.

Andrea felt herself shaking and thought of the lances going into the men at the stream. They'd come all this way, had kept going despite everything, and they'd got here, and— Per had promised her that she would be safe, but she would still have to see the others killed, and go on living after …

Per got to his knees and made to stand up. Bryce put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down. Per said something, but the cord tied around his mouth distorted whatever it was into noise.

Andrea could see Toorkild. He was staring at Per, and his face was white. It was Gobby who spoke, leaning forward on his saddlebow. He said,
“Naw, vah vill thee?”

“What's he say?” Bryce asked.

Andrea's heart was thumping and skipping, her breath was coming fast and shallow, and she didn't know how she could manage to think connectedly enough to answer. But she said, “Well—more or less, he says—‘
Now
what are you going to do?'”

25

16th Side: Sterkarmer Gaw i Erlf-Lant

Pace by pace, the Sterkarms shrank the space around them.

In Andrea's head, a jaunty, dancing tune was singing itself with the words: We're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to die—

Among the Sterkarms, men drew long knives from their belts. Toorkild kicked his horse, and it came forward at a slow walk. Toorkild, swaying with it, brought his lance down to point at them.

Oh God, Andrea thought. We're going to die, we're going to die—

Bryce dropped to his knees behind Per, hooked his arm around Per's neck and pulled his head back. He shouted, “I'll break his effin' neck!”

Andrea flapped her arms.
“Han brekker Per's nakka!”

The Sterkarms stopped moving. Toorkild reined in.

Bryce got the point of Per's jaw into the crook of his elbow and clenched the fist of that same arm in the hair at the nape of Per's neck. With his other hand he grasped Per's shoulder, ready to twist head and body in opposite directions.

Per tried to move, but the nutcracker grip of the elbow on his head was too strong, and the twist on his neck was forceful enough to convince him that Bryce could and maybe would break his spine. He kept still, and waited. Eventually, Bryce would have to relax his grip.

Toorkild slowly lowered his lance still further. From the extreme corners of his eyes, Per caught something of its movement. The point passed over Per's shoulder and came to rest against Bryce's chest.

Andrea covered her face, certain that she was going to see Bryce skewered or Per's neck wrung. She heard Toorkild speak: “You'll be dead before he takes his last breath.”

Bryce could feel the surprising weight of the lance head resting painfully on his collarbone, and the prick of its iron point. Every time he breathed, it stabbed at him again, scratching. His skin felt hot, and he was sure the lance had drawn blood. Keeping his grip on Per, he looked up at the face at the end of the lance. It was shadowed by the helmet, half hidden by the thick beard, making any expression hard to read, but Bryce was conscious of a steady stare. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “What's he—?”

Andrea, her hands still over her eyes, shouted out and told him.

As the lance pricked again, Bryce said, “Ask—ask him, is killing me worth risking a dead son?” He tightened his grip as Per shifted.

Andrea took her hands from her face. “I can't say that to him!”

“Tell him!” His collarbone ached under the lance's weight.

Andrea tried to find the words. When she spoke, Toorkild's eyes moved to her, and her voice shook so much she stammered and gasped. Toorkild had been kind to her; she knew him, and knew how much he doted on Per. It was not only cruel to say such things to him, but the thought of the revenge Toorkild might take for them made her shake.

The blood left her face at Toorkild's answer, turning her flesh hard and cold. “He says”—she choked—“that you dare not kill Per. If you do, he says, they'll kill all of us.” Even me! she thought, despite Per's promises. “He says, Bryce, if you harm Per, he'll build a fire and sit you in it. He says …” Her voice failed. She didn't even want to speak the rest of Toorkild's threats. The thought that the kindly man she knew might carry them out created an almost supernatural fear in her.

Bryce hadn't time to worry about the fire. Per was moving his hands, the fingers stretching. Bryce knew what the little bastard was doing—trying to reach his balls, to give them a twist. With his hands tied in the small of his back, it was probably impossible, but Bryce shifted his grip on Per's arm anyway, wrenching both bound arms higher up his back. The thought made him sweat, but he knew he couldn't hold Per in the necklock for ever. “Tell him—whatever he does to me—I'll die happier knowing his son's dead too.” He shifted his forearm, tightening the twist on Per's neck just a little more. Per made a choking noise.

Toorkild's eyes flickered at the sound, jumping to his son and back to Bryce. The lance point pressed harder as Toorkild lifted his arm, angling the lance downward for the thrust.

Gobby dropped down from his horse and led it forward. His eyes scanned the 21st men, noting their sagging shoulders and bleeding feet, and he grinned through his beard. Taking off his helmet, he squatted down in front of Per and Bryce, his horse's reins looped over his arm. Bryce saw a broken-nosed man with a front tooth missing, which somehow made his grin friendlier. Bright, pale eyes studied Bryce, rather kindly, from thickets of brown hair and beard.

“Now, now,” Gobby said. “Little birds in their nests must agree.” Per knew his uncle's voice, though his head was twisted too far around to see him. At another time, he'd have laughed, but now he kept very still, even holding his breath. To his own surprise, he found that he had greater faith in his uncle's ability to free him than his father's.

“We no want our lad hurt,” Gobby said, slowly, pausing to allow Andrea to stammer through a translation. “You no want to be hurt. So. We can deal.” Gently, Gobby reached out and pushed the lance up, away from Bryce. Toorkild let him do it but continued to hold the lance above Bryce's head.

Bryce heard his own people sigh and was aware of a shifting among them, a relaxing. This new speaker, with his broken-­nosed grin, was more dangerous than Toorkild. They were all so knocked about and exhausted, they were ready to believe anything he told them.

“My brother be angry,” Gobby said, “by cause that be his bairn you have there—but I can talk to my brother. And I ken how it be. Many times I've felt like blacking that one's eye myself. He'd try the patience of a stone.”

Per felt comforted. His bruises had been noted and would be avenged.

“Come on now,” Gobby said. “Let lad gan, and we'll let you gan. I give you my word.”

Andrea translated, and someone among the 21st men muttered, “Only chance we've got.”

Loudly, Bryce said, “Tell him I know he's lying.”

Andrea did, and Gobby grinned. “You canna hold him much longer. Three choices you've got. Hold him until you tire—then he'll break free and we'll kill you. Or break his neck while you still can—and then we'll kill you.” Gobby glanced over his shoulder. “See his mother over there, with cleaver?” Gobby waited for Andrea to finish translating, smiling gently into Bryce's face. “Or you can let him gan, and we'll let you gan. What use be lad to you? Your Gate be closed. Where shall you gan? Come on; let him gan now.”

Windsor crouched beside Bryce. He said, “Ask them what guarantees they'll give us.” As if he were in a boardroom. As if there could be any guarantees.

Bryce opened his mouth to answer—and it stayed open. Behind the Sterkarms, the Time Tube appeared again. There it was, blotting out part of the hillside with its big pipe and the textured rubber ramp that rose up to it.

There was an outcry from those Sterkarms who could see it, and Gobby, still crouching, swiveled on his heels to look behind him.

“I'll tell you what we're going to do,” Bryce said. “Andrea, tell 'em this. We're going through there, going home. We're going to take Pair right to the entrance, and when everybody's gone through,
then
I'll let Pair go. You've got my word.”

“—right up to Gate,” Andrea said, looking from Gobby to Toorkild. “But not through it!”

Bryce got to his feet, pulling Per up with him. They had to get to the Tube fast. Bryce was tiring. Moving sidelong, Bryce advanced a step, and Per was forced to go with him. Gobby got out of their way. “Keep up close,” Bryce said to his people, “and we'll get there.” They crowded around, pressing close to each other. “Andrea, tell 'em I can kill him in a second—and I will!”

Andrea looked at Gobby's face, glimpsed Isobel's in the crowd, and was scared to look at Toorkild. Why do I have to tell them? she thought. Why does it have to be me they remember saying it? But she said, “He can kill Per in an eye's blink. It be an Elf-Power he has!”

Per wasn't listening to the exchange of words. He knew that he was being taken toward the Gate, and to another imprisonment in Elf-Land. He tried moving his head a little, and it seemed to him that Bryce's grip had slackened. If he could turn his head a little more within Bryce's arm, he might be able to bite, despite the cord in his mouth. He stamped at Bryce's feet, missed, and stamped on grass.

Bryce jerked him to a halt and tightened the twist on his head. “I don't want to have to kill him to prove that I can!”

Gobby kept pace with them on foot, having thrown the reins of his horse to one of his men. Even while Andrea translated, Gobby spoke sharply, cutting through her words.
“Per! Slerssa nigh!”

“What's he say?”

“He told Per not to fight.”

The kid stopped fighting. Bryce moved on several more paces, and the kid went with him, good as gold.
“Tahk,”
Bryce called to Gobby. “Appreciate your help.”

Step by step they made toward the Tube's ramp. Not one among the Sterkarms tried to stop them, but Gobby kept with them, and at his side hung a big, gray sword that must have weighed a few pounds, its edges sharpened to cut.

Bryce set his foot on the bottom of the ramp and prayed that the Tube wouldn't be turned off now. “Go past me,” he said to the nearest man. “Get going. Not you!” he added, to Andrea. “I need you.”

Per, feeling the ramp under his feet, panicked. Gobby's sharp order not to fight had been, in a way, soothing; trust in his uncle had made him obey. But Gobby had done nothing and here he was, on the very threshold of Elf-Land. The way his head was held, he could see nothing of his own people or land anymore—only the ugly, unnatural slope leading up to the Gate.

Bryce's grip on him faltered, and Per was able to shift his head within the crook of Bryce's elbow. He managed to get a thin pinch of Bryce's flesh between his teeth, through the thin shirt, and he bit as hard as he could make his aching jaws close. Bryce's arm thrashed, the fist clubbing Per's head, but that was proof it hurt, and Per hung on. At the same time he made the fingers of his tied hands rigid and drove them behind him into Bryce's belly. It didn't inflict much pain, but it made Bryce move away from him. Per took his teeth from Bryce's arm and spun away from him, back toward the bottom of the ramp and the waiting Sterkarms. But Bryce still had hold of him by one arm, and pulled him up short.

Windsor, behind Per, stooped and gathered his legs together, lifting them up off the ramp, hugging them to smother the kicks. Bryce got a grip on his tied arms and supported his upper body. Between them, they lugged him up the ramp. “Keep going!” Bryce yelled, out of breath, to the men passing him.

Per kicked his knees against Windsor's throat and croaked, from a dry throat, “Sterkarm!”

Bryce, higher on the ramp, looked over Windsor's shoulder and saw the Sterkarms coming forward, the men on foot in front, their knives and sickles and cleavers ready. There was a zinging, scraping sound of iron as Gobby drew his sword. Bryce strained for breath and pushed himself to move faster, forcing Windsor to keep up.

They reached the top of the ramp, its platform and its great open tunnel mouth, with that beautiful glimpse of the 21st at the other end. Such relief rose into his brain, he thought he might faint—but he said, “Put him down, put him down!” Windsor had seemed to be continuing on into the tunnel.

Windsor dropped Per's feet onto the rubber surface, and Bryce steadied him. There were Sterkarms halfway up the slope, Gobby in the lead, but now they stopped. Bryce glanced around and saw that Andrea was already in the Tube, and that the last couple of his men were passing him. There were only Windsor and himself left. He let go of Per and set his hand in the middle of the kid's back, ready to push him down the ramp and into his family's arms.

Windsor grabbed Per by the shoulders and ran into the Tube, dragging Per with him. Off balance, his hands tied, Per could only stagger with him, though looking wildly back at Bryce.

Bryce looked down the ramp and saw Gobby coming on again, lifting the sword in his hand, his face viciously angry. There was nothing to do but pile into the Tube after Windsor as fast as he could and even, when he caught up, help to hustle Per along. No point in trying to explain that the treachery had been Windsor's, not his. He yelled to those running ahead of him, “Turn it off! Tell them to
turn it off
!”

Toorkild yelled, “Way!” and set his horse at the ramp. The horse shied, but Toorkild pulled around its head, kicked it and whacked its rump with the butt of his lance. Men on foot jumped from the ramp to clear the way as the horse started up it with a hollow banging of hooves.

The hooves gripped on the textured surface, and the horse scrambled to the top. Leveling his lance, Toorkild rode into the Elf-Gate. Others set their horses after him, and Gobby jumped from the ramp and ran for his own mount.

Joe ran up the ramp with a pack of other footmen, his axe raised. He felt angry, exhilarated, wild. Dragging in breath and opening his mouth wide, he yelled, “Sterkarm! Sterkarm!”