The Sword & Sorcery Anthology (45 page)

“He was sober last night. And he told the same story the first time
they tried burning him out.”

Toma shrugged. “Believe what you want. He’s just crazy.” But
Toma considered Tain speculatively.

“Someone coming,” Tain said. The runner was coming from the
direction of the Kosku stead. Soon Toma and Mikla could see him
too.

“That’s Wes. Kosku’s youngest,” Toma said. “What’s happened
now?”

When the boy reached the men, he gasped, “It’s Dad. He’s gone
after Olag.”

“Calm down,” Mikla told him. “Catch your breath first.”

The boy didn’t wait long. “We went back to the house. To see if we
could save anything. We found Mari. We thought she ran to Jeski’s....
She was all burned. Then Ivon Pilsuski came by. He said Olag was in
town. He was bragging about teaching Dad a lesson. So Dad went to
town. To kill him.”

Tain sighed. It seemed unstoppable now. There was blood in it.

Toma looked at Mikla. Mikla stared back. “Well?” said Toma.

“It’s probably too late.”

“Are you going?”

Mikla rubbed his forehead, pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Yes.
All right.” He went to the house. Toma followed.

The two came back. Mikla had his sword. Toma had his staff. They
walked round the corner of the house, toward the village, without
speaking.

Rula flew outside. “Tain! Stop them! They’ll get killed.”

He seized her shoulders, held her at arm’s length. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You’re.... You mean you won’t.” Something had
broken within her. Her fear had returned. The raid had affected her
the way the Caydarmen wanted it to affect the entire Zemstvi.

“I mean I can’t. I’ve done what I could. There’s blood in it now.
It’ll take blood to finish it.”

“Then go with them. Don’t let anything happen to them.”

Tain shook his head sadly. He had gotten himself cornered here.

He had to go. To protect a man who claimed the woman he wanted.
If he didn’t, and Toma were killed, he would forever be asking himself
if he had willed it to happen.

He sealed his eyes briefly, then avoided Rula’s by glancing at the
sky. Cloudless and blue, it recalled the day when last he had killed a
man. There, away toward Kosku’s, Death’s daughters planed the air,
omening more dying.

“All right.” He went to the Kosku boy, who sat by the new house,
head between his knees.

“Wes. We’re going to town. Will you stay with Mrs. Kleckla?”

“Okay.” The boy didn’t raise his head.

Tain walked toward the barn. “Take care of him, Rula. He needs
mothering now.”

Toma and Mikla traveled fast. Tain didn’t overtake them till they
were near the village. He stayed out of sight, riding into town after
them. He left the roan near the first house.

There were two horses in the village. Both belonged to Caydarmen.
He ignored them.

Kosku and a Caydarman stood in the road, arguing viciously. The
whole village watched. Kosku waved a skinning knife.

Tain spotted the other Caydarman. Grimnir leaned against a wall
between two houses, grinning. The big man wore a hat to conceal his
hairless pate.

Tain strolled his way as Mikla and Toma bore down on Olag.

Olag said something. Kosku hurled himself at the Caydarman.
Blades flashed. Kosku fell. Olag kicked him, laughed. The old man
moaned.

Mikla and Toma charged.

The Caydarman drew his sword.

Grimnir, still grinning, started to join him.

Tain seized his left bicep. “No.”

Grimnir tried to yank away. He failed. He tried punching himself
loose. Tain blocked the blow, backhanded Grimnir across the face. “I
said no.”

Grimnir paused. His eyes grew huge.

“Don’t move. Or I’ll kill you.”

Grimnir tried for his sword.

Tain tightened his grip.

Grimnir almost whimpered.

And in the road Tain’s oracle became fact.

Mikla had been a soldier once, but now he was as rusty as his
blade. Olag battered his sword aside, nicked him. Toma thrust his
staff at the Caydarman’s head. Olag brushed it away.

Tain sighed sadly. “Grimnir, walk down the road. Get on your
horse. Go back to the Tower. Do it now, or don’t expect to see the sun
set.” He released the man’s arm. His hand settled to the pommel of
his longsword.

Grimnir believed him. He hurried to his horse, one hand holding
his hat.

Olag glanced his way, grinned, shouted, “Hey, join the game, big
man.” He seemed puzzled when Grimnir galloped away.

Tain started toward Olag. Toma went down with a shoulder
wound. Mikla had suffered a dozen cuts. Olag was playing with him.
The fear was in him now. His pride had neared its snapping point. In
a moment he would run.

“Stop it,” Tain ordered.

Olag stepped back, considered him from a red tangle of hair and
beard. He licked his lips and smiled. “Another one?”

He buried his blade in Mikla’s guts.

Tain’s swords sang as they cleared their scabbards. The evening
sun played purple and indigo upon their blades.

Olag stopped grinning.

He was good. But the Caydarman had never faced a man doubly
armed.

He fell within twenty seconds.

The villagers stared, awed. The whispers started, speculating
about Kosku’s mystery giant. Tain ignored them.

He dropped to one knee.

It was too late for Mikla. Toma, though, would mend. But his
shoulder would bother him for the rest of his life.

Tain tended Kleckla’s wound, then whistled for the roan. He set
Toma in the saddle and laid Mikla behind him. He cleaned his blades
on the dead Caydarman.

He started home.

Toma, in shock, stared at the horizon and spoke not a word.

XIV

Rula ran to meet them. How she knew, Tain couldn’t fathom.

Darkness had fallen.

Steban was a step behind her, face taut and pallid. He looked at
his father and uncle and retreated into an inner realm nothing could
assail.

“I’m sorry, Rula. I wasn’t quick enough. The man who did it is
dead, if that helps.” Honest grief moved him. He slid his arm around
her waist.

Steban slipped under his other arm. They walked down to the
sod house. The roan followed, his nose an inch behind Tain’s right
shoulder. The old soldier took comfort from the animal’s concern.

They placed Mikla on a pallet, and Toma in his own bed. “How
bad is he?” Rula asked, moving and talking like one of the living dead.

Tain knew the reaction. The barriers would relax sometime. Grief
would demolish her. He touched her hand lightly. “He’ll make it. It’s
a clean wound. Shock is the problem now. Probably more emotional
than physical.”

Steban watched with wide, sad eyes.

Tain squatted beside Toma, cleansing his wound again. “Needle
and thread, Rula. He’ll heal quicker.”

“You’re a surgeon too?”

“I commanded a hundred men. They were my responsibility.”

The fire danced suddenly. The blanket closing the doorway
whipped. Cold air chased itself round the inside walls. “Rain again,”
Rula said.

Tain nodded. “A storm, I think. The needle?”

“Oh. Yes.”

He accepted needle and thread. “Steban. Come here.”

The boy drifted over as if gripped by a narcotic dream.

“Sit. I need your help.”

Steban shook his head.

“You wanted to be a soldier. I’ll start teaching you now.”

Steban lowered himself to the floor.

“The sad lessons are the hardest. And the most important. A
soldier has to watch friends die. Put your fingers here, like this. Push.
No. Gently. Just enough to keep the wound shut.” Tain threaded the
needle.

“Uncle Mikla.... How did it happen?” Disbelief animated the boy.
His uncle could do anything.

“He forgot one of a soldier’s commandments. He went after an
enemy he didn’t know. And he forgot that it’s been a long time since
he used a sword.”

“Oh.”

“Hold still, Steban. I’m going to start.”

Toma surged up when the needle entered his flesh. A moan ripped
from his throat. “Mikla! No!” His reason returned with his memory.

“Toma!” Tain snapped. “Lie down. Rula, help us. He’s got to lie
still.”

Toma struggled. He started bleeding.

Steban gagged.

“Hold on, Steban. Rula, get down here with your knees beside his
head. Toma, can you hear me?”

Kleckla stopped struggling. He met Tain’s eyes.

“I’m trying to sew you up. You have to hold still.”

Rula ran her fingers over Toma’s features.

“Good. Try to relax. This won’t take a minute. Yes. Good thinking,
Steban.”

The boy had hurled himself away, heaved, then had taken control.
He returned with fists full of wool. Tain used it to sponge blood.

“Hold the wound together, Steban.”

The boy’s fingers quivered when the blood touched them, but he
persevered.

“Good. A soldier’s got to do what’s got to be done, like it or not.
Toma? I’m starting.”

“Uhm.”

The suturing didn’t take a minute. The bandaging took no longer.

“Rula. Make some broth. He’ll need lots of it. I’m going to the
barn. I’ll get something for the pain. Steban. Wash your hands.”

The boy was staring at his father’s blood on his fingers.

A gust of wind stirred fire and door covering. The wind was cold.
Then an avalanche of rain fell. A more solid sound counterpointed
the patter of raindrops.

“Hailstones,” Rula said.

“I have to get my horse inside. What about the sheep?”

“Steban will take care of them. Steban?”

Thunder rolled across the Zemstvi. Lightning scarred the night.
The sheep bleated.

“Steban! Please! Before they panic.”

“Another lesson, Steban.” Tain guided the boy out the door.
“You’ve got to go on, no matter what.”

The rain was cold and hard. It fell in huge drops. The hailstones
stung. The thunder and lightning picked up. The wind had claws of
ice. It tore at gaps in Tain’s clothing. He guided the roan into the rude
barn. The gelding’s presence calmed the mule and cow. Tain rifled his
packs by lightning flashes.

Steban drove the sheep into the barn too. They would be crowded,
but sheltered.

Tain went to help.

He saw the rider in the flashes, coming closer in sudden jerks.
The man lay against his mount’s neck, hiding from the wind. His
destination could be nowhere but the stead.

Tain told Steban, “Take this package to your mother. Tell her to
wait till I come in.”

Steban scampered off.

Tain backed into the lee of the barn. He waited.

The rider passed the spring. “Torfin. Here.”

The paint changed direction. The youth swung down beside Tain.
“Oh, what a night. What’re you doing out in it, friend?”

“Getting the sheep inside.”

“All right for a Caydarman to come in out of it?”

“You picked the wrong time, Torfin. But come on. Crowd the
horse inside.”

Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. The youth eyed Tain. The ex-
soldier still wore his shortsword.

“What happened?”

“You haven’t been to the Tower?”

“Not for a couple days.”

“Torfin, tell me. Why do you hang around here? How come you’re
always watching Steban graze sheep?”

“Uh.... The Klecklas deserve better.”