Firehand Part 14

Her eyes narrowed. "I do if I were willing to abase you. I'm not." The man smiled. "Peace, Guardian. As you yourself have said, he knows I've been avoiding you tonight. He might as well know why."

"Very well," Eveleen replied, "but there's none of us-especially not Allran-who's going to allow you to accept blame for any of this."

Her tone softened. "You will come back with me now?"

"Yes." Murdock smiled. "Do you imagine I'm going to sulk out here all night and leave the heat of the fire to you three?"

"Who can fathom Firehand's reasoning?" she replied, and then, laughing softly, turned and started back toward their comrades.

It was late afternoon before Allran A Aldar was finally able to bring himself to enter his commander's cabin.

He closed the door quickly behind him to shut out the las.h.i.+ng rain and hung his cloak on the peg fastened to it for that purpose. Water ran from it in small rivers.

Ross looked up from the papers covering his desk. He hoped he did not look as nervous as he felt. This was not the kind of work Ross Murdock did, but it was a commander's business, as much so as was physically fighting the war he was here to wage. He could not delegate it to anyone, not even to Gordon, and he could not weasel out of it. He had only to do it and do it well, for the sake of this young man and for the cause they both supported.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to go looking for you," he said. "Come over here and let the fire drive some of the chill out of you."

The other complied but did not relax despite his chief's easy att.i.tude.

He came to stiff attention before him. "Captain A Murdoc, I realize full well that my conduct at the end of our mission can earn me only contempt. If I had died last night, it should only have been my due."

"Hardly that," Ross replied grimly, "and the loss of your services would certainly not have been the due of the rest of us." Murdock's expression tightened. "Not even mine, although my role was anything but creditable..."

"No! Eveleeni told me about that. If the danger had been so obvious, would she or Gordon not have seen it also and have prevented me from exposing myself?"

The commander smiled. "They would, and with that, I think we must close this subject of reproach, both of us. It'll accomplish nothing whatsoever to continue flogging ourselves."

The Lieutenant sat down now. "I wish I knew what has been driving me, setting me against you. I do not will that my temper should ever be so quick to rise."

"You want command of Sapphirehold's garrison and are more than capable of carrying it, and you know I'll remain between you and that authority as long as I stay in Ton I Loran's service."

"I cannot replace Firehand! Even were my vanity as great as one of these mountains, I surely must recognize that!"

"But the war-and with it, the need for my special skills-will soon end, isn't that right?"

Ross leaned forward in his chair. "I'm a mercenary, Comrade. Even after all our time together, you don't realize what that means. I can't stay here. What purpose would I serve? Once Condor Hall is defeated and I see Sapphirehold secure, I'll ride. It's inconceivable that I should do anything else."

His companion was silent a long time. "It speaks ill for my honor, but I concede that you have read me accurately," he responded slowly at the end of that time. "I did not realize this moved me before."

"The reaction's a normal one. Your honor's high enough that it wouldn't permit you to recognize it sooner."

"You believe there is some hope that I shall eventually be given command?"

"I've already recommended that."

Murdock's pale eyes held A Aldar's. "You're a good officer, Allran. You tend to be impetuous, but you're rarely thoughtless and never where those serving beneath you are concerned. You inspire confidence. You're just in your judgments. You plan well in council and respond quickly and appropriately when there's need for sudden change or action."

Ross shrugged. "Waiting even a year or two longer'll be rather to your advantage than otherwise. You're young. Even though our people know your worth, some of the older men could resent serving beneath one so much their junior. The pa.s.sing of a bit more time will completely lift that potential difficulty from you."

He paused. "Does what I've said sound reasonable to you?"

"Reasonable to my mind. Reasonable to my heart... Rossin, I am sorry. You are too good a friend to Sapphirehold and to me personally for this darkness to have risen up between us."

"Forget it. As Eveleeni feels compelled to remind me, we're only human."

Ross glanced at the papers on his desk with a sigh that was only partly voluntary. "Go on now. I imagine you have scarcely less than this to occupy you, and if you're as beat as I am, you won't be wanting to pa.s.s the better part of tonight working at it."

24.

THERE WAS LITTLE to mark the following four days. The weather remained extremely ugly with nearly constant, heavy rain accompanied by high winds and, frequently, by sleet.

It cleared a little on the morning of the fifth day, although it was still bitterly cold and the sky remained heavy and leaden.

Ross determined to take a small patrol out despite the threat of more foul weather. He wanted to examine the Corridor for the effect of the recent rains. Parts of it turned to mire after severe, long-term wetting and could become bad enough to prevent the pa.s.sage of wagons. At this time of year, such conditions, once established, could be expected to hold right to the first snows. If Zanthor I Yoroc wished to move goods then, he would be compelled to use pack animals until the winter put an end to all travel. That would force a significant change in the partisans' work as well; even heavily laden beasts could still move more quickly than vehicles and could traverse a considerably wider range of terrain, although a train of them could not bear nearly as much weight as could a similar number of wagons.

Eveleen was beside Ross. She let her buck s.h.i.+eld her from some of the breeze as she tightened his saddle girth.

Ross saw her s.h.i.+ver. "There's no need for you, or Gordon for that matter, to come this time. We don't intend to fight."

"Our abilities no longer satisfy you?" she answered with no good humor.

"I'm only trying to spare you a most unpleasant journey," he told her.

"We always ride with you," she retorted. "When you decide to spare yourself, we'll be spared as well. Until then, we'll hold our prerogatives."

"That's pure stubbornness, Lieutenant."

The woman smiled. "Perhaps I'm only speaking for myself. You might suggest to Gordon that he remain behind."

"I already did. His answer was the same as yours. He just used considerably less restraint in phrasing it."

Ross gave an exaggerated shake of his head. "I won't give any commands. Such folly deserves to reap its full reward."

The Sapphirehold unit rode almost steadily during the next several days. There was a lot of territory to be examined, and the war captain wanted to see it all and be away again as quickly as possible. The Corridor, even this northern part of it, was too close to the invaders' front-line army and was thus too well patrolled to allow him to feel even minimally secure here.

The fact that the invaders tended to send out fairly large units into this region did nothing to comfort him, either. There were only five with him. Their mission was such as to require no more, and it was relatively easy to conceal the movements of so few, yet six was a small number to put against a Condor Hall company.

He sighed then and put a rein on his nervousness. Their purpose was to explore, to study, not to fight. They would send word back to the mountains if they encountered any tempting targets whose capture they might thereby hope to effect, and conceal themselves or flee if they met with a patrol.

His partisans often rode thus and rarely came into trouble because of it. This, he knew full well-had he himself not originated their tactics?-yet the nagging fear of attack, of riding into a trap or a situation they would not be able to handle, continued to plague him unmercifully until he heartily wished they were well away, out of this place and back in the safety of the highlands once more.

Gradually, however, as time pa.s.sed without difficulty and he gained the information he sought, the Time Agent was forced to congratulate himself for taking the risk of coming here. The rain had indeed done its work. Zanthor of Condor Hall would, be sending no wagons through the Corridor for a long time to come.

"We've seen enough," he said at last to the woman riding beside him. "Let's head for home."

His voice had been low. All else was quiet apart from the moaning of the wind, and alien sounds could carry far.

None of the unit was sorry for hearing that order. The endless chill ate at their bodies, and their nerves were raw from trying to keep watch in a country that offered little in the way of defense and no alternate route of escape should they be discovered and need to bolt.

This, then, was what the invaders must feel and endure...

The six rode fast and hard, pa.s.sing at last from the Corridor to the nearly equally dangerous Funnel.

They relaxed somewhat despite the undiminished threat of meeting with a Condor Hall patrol. Here, at least, there was cover, and they had room in which to fight or flee if they did encounter trouble.

The wind was against them, and it was already too late when their springdeer gave them warning. Even as their ears went back, riders rounded the sharply defined bend formed by the base of a low hill just before them, twenty-four of them.

The two parties faced one another, frozen by surprise, only yards apart.

"Through them!" Murdock shouted.

His partisans had learned well the hard lesson of instantaneous response. They charged past their still-stunned foemen.

Their advantage was short-lived. The invaders whirled about and gave chase.

They were close, and their deer, if not fresh, were no more spent than were those of their prey. They would not give up quickly.

Ross dropped back to buy his comrades time. Lady Gay was fast. She would soon bring him away again.

He felled the first rider. The second. Others pressed around him, uncowed by their comrades' deaths. They had recognized him, and knowing his worth to those who could take or slay him, they let their greed fire their courage, greed, and their numbers.

He slashed out, desperately trying to open a path for himself.

Two more went down and then a third.

Fire erupted in his side, tore across his stomach.

Murdock slumped forward with a gasp, clutching at Lady's short ridge of mane as the sword dropped from his grasp. The saddle in front of him was already red with his blood.

A shout of triumph began, only to die stillborn.

Others, green-clad warriors, were about him.

The weapons expert's hand steadied him. "Just hang on!"

"Beat it! I'm gutted..."

He had no time for more. Someone had Lady Gay's reins and was leading her away.

He glimpsed Eveleen, Gordon, two of the others fighting furiously.

Eveleen? Was she a woman at all or a demoness out of the Halls of Fury?

There was nothing human about this battle. The invaders must have felt the truth of that as well. They buckled, fled, before the unexpected, incredibly fierce counterattack.

After that, there was only the blurred sensation of speed and a constant, jolting agony that seemed somehow unreal, as if it were part of him and yet not part. He clung tightly to Lady but knew he would soon fall were it not for the hands grasping his arms on either side.

At last, the motion stopped. Someone lifted him down. The smith, he thought. Only he could bear a man as if he were a child.

He was placed on the ground, on a cloak. A second was balled and eased under his head.

Marshaling his will, he forced his eyes open, compelled them to focus. "Eveleeni?" His voice was no more than a whisper.

She moved swiftly into his line of sight. "Easy, Rossin. We're away with it."

"All-must not risk themselves-for a dying man. Go on now. This, I-order..."

"You are incapacitated, Captain," the woman replied with icy firmness. "I'm in command at the moment."

"Fool..."

She placed her fingers over his mouth. "We're not going to give you up, Firehand. I will not."

He had grown too weary for further argument and closed his eyes once more, giving himself over to her will.

His mind retained its awareness. He knew what was happening to him, heard and understood what was being said around him, but it was beyond his power to respond to any of it.

His s.h.i.+rt was torn back and pressure applied to stem what remained of the bleeding. Ashe probed his wound. Ross had felt his touch before in the aftermath of battle and knew it now.

Gordon's breath caught. "The Lord of Time be praised," he whispered, his voice oddly thick. "I don't think the intestines have been cut."

He demanded water, which soon came. It was hot, and Ross moaned.

Eveleen's fingers gently caressed his forehead and temple. "Hold on, Love. It'll be over soon."

"I wish we could chance a duller," a man's voice, the blacksmith's said; there was an anguish in it that surprised him.

They would give him no pain killer, of course. Gordon had no more of the supply issued him at their mission's outset, and Murdock's body could not tolerate the local substance. If he sickened now, with such a wound, he was dead.

Ashe probed the laceration again, this time cleaning as well as examining. "I'm nearly certain they're sound, but it was a close miss, and he's by no means free of danger. He can't take any more tearing... I'll need help with the bandages. They'll have to be tight."

Ross felt another touch him, one of the men. The binding process was harsh. He lost consciousness during part of it, and when he drifted back into semiawareness, his mind was too confused to make an identification.

He heard Eveleen order someone to ride for the mountains, and then blackness closed in over him.

The war captain s.h.i.+vered violently. Someone was holding a frigid cloth to his face.

He tossed his head to rid himself of the tormenting thing and opened his eyes.

Gordon was beside him. He looked tired and strained, and there was an open fear on him which he now strove to conceal.

"How are we doing?" Ross was pleased that his voice, though weak, was at least steady. It sounded strange to his ears, as if he heard it through some kind of aural fog.