VirtualWarrior (29 page)

Ralen walked by them toward a horse that had managed to get
loose. He stumbled. A hole yawned at his feet. Lien grabbed for Ralen’s tunic.
They slithered in wet leaves straight toward a void. The horse whinnied and
scrabbled backward.

The ground gave way—straight into a pit.

It was over in moments.

Lien stared up at the purple sky. Shocked faces stared down
at him from the rim of the hole. He tentatively moved his limbs. A groan nearby
shook him out of his lethargy.

When he took a deep breath and sat up, he saw Ralen on his
side, blood in his hair.

“Ralen, are you all right?” Lien crawled to the warrior.

His eyes were wide open, and for a moment Lien thought he
was dead. But Ralen groaned, and his eyes closed in a brief spasm of pain.
“Where are you hurt?” Lien asked.

His own body felt bruised and battered.

He realized there were rocks beneath a thick mat of muddy
leaves. Ralen shifted to his back, and his left hand shot out to grasp Lien’s
arm. He closed his eyes. For Ralen not to speak, he must be very hurt, impaled
on his sword perhaps.

“Is he alive?” Samoht called from above.

Quickly Lien ran his hands over Ralen’s tunic, searching for
blood, seeing only what stained his hair. But his arm was bent at an awkward
angle.

“He’s alive, but his arm’s broken.”

Samoht swore.

“Can you sit up?” Lien asked. Ralen nodded but didn’t move.

“Damn.” Lien looked up. The pit had sheer sides cut with a
digging tool, not caused by a collapse of nature. “Is this some kind of boar
trap?”

“A man trap,” Ralen said, then hissed in his breath.

Lien stood up and called, “Make some rope out of those vines
and get it down to us. Be quick about it.” The fear that the rebels were
rallying their forces made him order the onlookers as if he were in charge and
not Samoht.

“Do you want me to do something about this?” He touched
Ralen’s arm.

“Nay. Leave it to the women.” Ralen opened his eyes, then
licked his lips.

Although Ralen’s face had not paled, there was a look about
his mouth that told Lien that speaking was an effort. Sweat slicked his brow,
but his skin was cold. He was going into shock.

Lien elevated the injured arm. Ralen’s body jerked and his
eyes opened wide, but he made no sound, his lips clamped shut.

“Sorry. I had to raise your arm; your fingers are really
swelling.”

“Thank you.” Ralen grimaced. “I will have someone’s head for
this.”

“We have that same expression where I come from,” Lien said.

“It is not an expression. I will have someone’s head for
this.” Then Ralen grinned. It was not much of a grin, but it was a sign he was
not slipping into unconsciousness.

“So this is where the rebels were herding us,” Lien said.

“I believe so. They would have culled the ones they wanted
and left the rest of us to rot.”

Samoht looked over the edge of the pit. “We are dropping
rope and vines. The women have conferred over Ralen’s injury, and Nilrem will
instruct you.”

Nilrem gave quick directions. Lien pulled Ralen’s belt from
his waist.

Ralen groaned, his eyes closed.

“Look. Nilrem says I’m to tie up this arm or there’s no way you’re
getting out of this pit.”

Nilrem looked down from the rim, nothing but a nose and a
thatch of wild gray hair. “We need to get you out as quickly as possible lest
the rebels return.” There was a quaver in the wiseman’s voice.

The bloody garments a warrior tossed down must have come
from a corpse. But beggars can’t be choosers, so Lien used Ralen’s dagger to
slash one of the tunics into strips. He padded Ralen’s arm with the other.
While Lien worked, the warrior said not one word, but sweat dripped down his
face and his skin was clammy cold.

Next, Lien lashed Ralen’s arm to his chest. The warrior
groaned as Lien moved the limb, but did nothing to hinder the effort. Lien
wondered if Ralen would be able to get to his feet.

A thick braid of rope and vines dropped at Lien’s side. He
tested the line and hoped it was tough enough. Ralen was no lightweight and
neither was he.

He heard a rustle behind him. Ralen was struggling to his
feet. He swayed a moment, then with visible effort straightened up. Lien said, “Don’t
pass out on me now.”

Ralen gripped his arm. “This was a planned attack.” He
leaned heavily on Lien and groaned, then said, “Did you notice it was women and
slaves who were the targets?”

Lien shook his head. “I barely saw beyond my stick.”

“You have to get out of this pit. Now. Protect Einalem; I am
useless like this.” Ralen’s hand grasped Lien’s sleeve again. “Let some of my
men get me out. You must get up there and tell Samoht my suspicions. Cidre has
to be behind this.”

“I can’t believe it.” Lien made a sling out of the braided
vines and rope for Ralen, then made a similar one for himself.

Ralen’s men hauled Lien up the steep sides. Mini-avalanches
of mud showered down as he scrambled his way over the top.

Once there, he instructed one of Ralen’s men to go down into
the pit and aid Ralen. He outlined the safest way to haul an injured man out of
a pit, pretending he knew what he was talking about when, in truth, he had no
idea if the warrior was even strong enough to hang on to the rope.

While a trio of men worked at getting Ralen out of the hole,
Lien looked for Einalem.

She knelt by a wounded slave. As Lien watched Einalem work,
he saw a shiver in the tangled roots beside her. He snatched up a rock and
pitched it hard into the foliage.

A strange thrashing sound burst from the foliage along with
a jet of slimy fluid. It cascaded over Einalem and the wounded man.

Einalem fell across the slave in a dead faint.

A creature burst from the tangled roots.

A dragon. A six-foot-tall, scaly, green dragon with a barbed
tail.

Lien stared in disbelief. All about him, slaves and warriors
alike stood in silence. Some warily began to back away. No one spoke.

A second creature, half again as tall as the first, emerged
from the greenery. It swung its head in Einalem’s direction. A viperlike tongue
flicked out to test the air.

“What next?” Lien muttered. He glanced about for a weapon.
The damned creature had talons. It shifted closer to the prostrate Einalem. The
slave beneath her rolled his eyes.

In another moment someone was going to move and the things
would attack.

Something did move—in the trees and vines behind the
dragons. A snake. Then another. And another. They were three long ropes of
slick, shiny black, with red, hooded eyes. They twisted their diamond-shaped
heads in Lien’s direction.

The dragons did, too.

Lien concentrated on the serpents. His tattoo pulsed as if
the veins in his arm were suddenly too narrow for his blood.

One dragon thrashed its tail, smacking the roots behind it,
causing the slave beneath Einalem to shriek.

The dragons thundered forward. Slaves and warriors trampled
each other, shouting, running, stumbling over one another to escape. The
dragons charged the clearing, past Einalem, past Lien, after the running men.

Lien pointed to the dragons and shouted, “Stop them.”

Like magic, the black snakes dropped from the trees and
skidded along the ground. They darted between the dragons’ feet. One moment the
dragons were charging slaves, the next, they were biting and hissing and
spewing slimy fluid on the black vipers at their feet.

The first snake swelled. It reared its head and darted
forward, biting the dragon on the neck. The other two snakes attacked it too.

The dragon shrieked. Its companion crashed into the trees,
disappearing.

Lien watched in awe as the dragon turned and twisted,
slashing with its jaws at the snakes that had clamped onto its feet. Men jumped
away from the creature’s swinging tail.

The poison worked its way through the dragon’s system. The
creature slowed its dance. Slime dripped from its open mouth—a mouth filled
with jagged teeth. It shuddered, made one last snap at the snake, then stood
still. It trembled, rolled its eyes, then fell to its side with a crash.

The snakes let go. Slaves cowered as the vipers slipped
through the trampled grass toward Lien. They lifted their heads like cobras
before a snake charmer. He found his hand steady when he pointed after the
surviving dragon. The snakes zigzagged off into the brush.

Everyone in the clearing stood still, staring at the felled
dragon. No one even looked in Lien’s direction. He took a deep breath, then
went to where Einalem lay across the slave. Ardra reached her at the same time.
Lien’s eyes met Ardra’s as he helped her pull Einalem off the slave. They
placed her gently on her back. Her eyes fluttered.

The slave shook. Lien went down on one knee and checked the
man’s bloody arm. The slimy stuff was all over him—sticky, smelling like a
sewer. Lien called over his shoulder, “Hey, bring some water to wash off this
slime.”

Slaves ran to do his bidding. He found himself unnecessary
as Cidre and other servants bathed those who had been slimed.

Ardra placed her hand on his shoulder. “The venom can rot
the skin. It is imperative we wash it off.”

While the women sluiced the dragon venom off Einalem and the
slave, Lien nervously checked himself for splashes but found none. Then he
helped Ralen onto one of the horses. The warrior’s eyes spoke eloquently of the
pain he was in.

When Lien handed Ralen the reins, Ralen said. “I saw your
command of the snakes. Is it something you want others to know?”

Lien looked over to where Ardra stood with Einalem, who was
dressing a small wound on her brother’s leg. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

“As you wish.” Ralen grimaced and wrapped the reins about
his good hand.

“Lien,” Ardra said, hurrying toward him. “You must wash. You
touched the slave.”

She held a pitcher. He was surprised to see it was wine she
poured over his hands. It ran as red and warm as blood through his fingers,
pooled in his palms. He rubbed it into his skin; then she poured the wine over
his hands a second time. It splashed down her ivory gown.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Ardra met his gaze. Her eyes were full of concern. “Better
some wine than the venom.”

“Ardra, what were you and Samoht talking about before—” He
spoke to the air as she walked away, offering the wine to some of the men who
had been near the dragon.

He watched her move around the clearing, organizing the
slaves and even the warriors. She designated a man to ride behind Ralen and
curtly shut Ralen up when he tried to protest he was able enough to ride alone.

“We need to leave immediately,” she said. “What if the
rebels regroup? Or the commotion disturbed a nest of dragons, not just these
two?”

A nest of dragons?
Lien glanced around. Which was
worse, rebels or prehistoric dinosaurs spitting venom?

Ardra mounted up behind a small slave woman who had done
nothing but weep since the first rebels attacked.

Nilrem came to Lien’s side. “We have treated all those who
are injured; we must go.”

“Looks like we’re moving out now.” He helped Nilrem onto the
horse and climbed up behind him. The old man was exhausted, and Lien thought
that if he let Nilrem go, he’d fall right off.

Nilrem craned his neck in all directions, his beard blowing
in Lien’s face each time he turned.

“What happens when Ardra’s eight days are over?” Lien asked
to distract the old man.

“Samoht takes her fortress. He will see no need to honor the
treaties between Selaw and Tolemac. And why should he? He will have what
Tolemac needs, a direct path to the ice fields and whatever lies beyond. And,
of course, the ice. Let us not forget the joys of the ice itself.” The old man
whispered, “‘Tis said Einalem much likes a shard of ice rubbed on her nipples.”

“More information than I need to know,” Lien said.

Cidre led her horse to their side and inquired after
Nilrem’s health. Lien’s rash heated and the ant dance began again. He could no
longer deny that it was a signal of some sort.

The return was torturous, and not because of his rash. Lien
suspected it took so long because to go straight back to the fortress would
demonstrate that they had ridden in circles.

Lien helped carry the wounded into the hall, which quickly
became a hospital.

Venrali stood on the high steps and declared to all that
their attackers wanted the horses. Samoht countered with the opinion the rebels
were trying to kill him. The two men argued the issue while everyone worked
around them.

Ralen’s words that the attack was planned ran in Lien’s
brain like a hamster on a wheel. What did Cidre gain if Einalem and Ardra were
dead?

The sun began to set, a reminder of the carnage, dripping
its scarlet gleam over trees and vines. The courtyard was deserted except for
Ardra, who remained until the last man was taken inside and the last horse was
assigned a groom to see to its care. It was she who ordered a group of men to
return to the clearing for the dead.

Lien watched her. She knew how to lead. There was something
in her voice and manner that made everyone jump to follow her directions. Even
the men from Tol’s guard who had been insolent obeyed her orders. That might be
Ralen’s doing, but still, Lien couldn’t find fault with any of her decisions.
This was another side of her, different from the softer woman who’d spent the
night in his arms.

This woman didn’t need anyone. And had probably struck a
bargain with the devil to get what she wanted for her son and her people.

Not once did she look in Lien’s direction for help—or to any
other man either. He worked in the stable, which had an open front, so he could
keep tabs on her.