Killer Plants of Binaark Part 3

"Yes?"

"A few days of good food. I don't insist on the right to beat the prison cooks. I do refuse to fight anyone after experiencing their cooking."

"I don't blame you at all," said Sikkurad. He smiled. "That also can be arranged. The-"

Something thumped against the outside of the door three times. Apparently it was a signal for the Keeper. He raised a hand to Blade in a farewell salute, then turned and slipped out the door as it opened. The lock clinked back into place.

Blade sat down. The Keeper was clearly playing some fairly deep game of his own, and wanted Blade in it. Did he want an ally or a p.a.w.n? It was too soon to tell. At least Blade would have taken the first step on the road out of this d.a.m.ned cell, wherever it might lead him afterward.

Chapter 7.

Blade looked out across the hundred yards of gra.s.s where he would fight to prove himself, then reached up and adjusted the sweat band around his forehead. Queen Tressana's hunting lodge lay on the bank of the Adrim, the great river that linked Jaghd with Elstan. The damp heat and the ripe smells from the river reminded Blade of the forest of Binaark.

That was about all the two places had in common. In the forest he'd been a hungry, naked stranger, surviving by his wits, in constant danger, hardly knowing where he was going or what he might find when he got there. Here on the bank of the Adrim he was no worse than a prisoner on parole, with a chance to rise higher if he won the day's fighting. He was well fed, well armed, well mounted, and facing human opponents instead of the implacable killer plants.

Of course winning today wasn't something to be taken for granted. It would also probably throw him headfirst into the tangled politics of Jaghd, but he could live with that. Compared to the Soviet KGB or the American CIA, most of the intriguers and plotters he'd met in Dimension X were hardly more than children. Dangerous children, to be sure, but still children. They didn't have the perverted ingenuity or the vast resources of modern nations and their intelligence agencies.

Blade's rolgha whinnied softly. He turned to his mount, checking the saddle, stirrups, bridle, and above all the muzzle. He remembered Sikkurad's words when he was showing Blade the rolgha.

"You see that brand? This is a rolgha from the queen's own stables. She loves her rolghas more than she'd love her children if she had any. She will expect this one back unhurt."

"Then why is she risking him in this fight at all?"

"Because she also breeds the best rolghas in Jaghd, and wants you to have one under you today."

"Do you know why?"

"No. And I probably would not tell you if I did."

The warning tone was unmistakable. Blade knew he was in no position to look a gift rolgha in the mouth, whatever reasons the queen might have for making the gift. "All right. Now what are the rules of the fight?"

"You leave the muzzle on and do not strike at the other man's mount. For honor's sake your opponents must do the same."

Blade wasn't going to trust something as fragile as the honor of unknown opponents too far. He'd make sure that his rolgha's muzzle stayed in place just as long as those of his opponents' but not a second longer. Now when he examined the muzzle, he paid particular attention to the slip knots fastening it in place. With two quick tugs, Blade could release the knots, let the muzzle drop to the ground, and leave his mount free to use its teeth. Those teeth made stallion duels among rolghas fights to the death more often than not and made even a rolgha mare a match for any of Jaghd's predators.

By the time Blade finished his inspection, the rest of the spectators for the duel had arrived. Although Queen Tressana was with them, they arrived with neither fanfare nor ceremony. No doubt the queen considered this a holiday rather than a state occasion.

Thirteen men under Curim and ten women under Jollya escorted the queen and led several pack rolghas. A discreet distance behind the royal party rode Sikkurad with half a dozen of his guards. The guards looked as tough as the ones who'd been with him in the prison, but Sikkurad rode like a sack of potatoes. Even from a distance Blade could make out the relief on the Keeper's face as he slid clumsily out of his saddle.

The queen sat down cross-legged while the guards unloaded the pack animals, set up a tent, and spread out a picnic lunch. Blade signaled to his own guards, who'd been with him since he left the prison the week before. Then he swung himself up into the saddle and rode at a walk over to the royal party.

Curim ran toward his mount as he saw Blade on the move. But Jollya was still in the saddle, and she spurred her rolgha into movement and reached Blade well ahead of the other captain.

"Blade, be careful," she whispered fiercely. "The three men you'll be fighting are Curim's picked killers. He uses them to deal with his enemies in the guard. They've never been beaten."

"When was the last time the royal guards of Jaghd fought a battle?"

Jollya stiffened as if he'd slapped her. Blade realized she'd taken the words as an insult rather than a request for information about the level of experience he might be facing. He mentally cursed his own careless tongue and Jollya's thin skin. Before he could say anything else, Curim rode up. She didn't quite turn her back on Curim, but the way she held herself told Blade she would have liked to.

Blade looked past the two captains at Queen Tressana. She was smiling, and there was a naked look of pleasure in the wide blue eyes. Blade had the feeling that if the two captains had quarreled openly she'd have been licking her lips, and if they'd come to blows she'd have been applauding them impartially.

No, that's not quite right. That would wreck her guards, and she's not foolish enough to pay that price for her fun. But she still looks much too fond of games for my taste.

Blade looked around. His own guards were now riding up behind him. There was no chance of making a break for it, not with more than two dozen armed guards in sight and the nearest cover nearly three hundred yards away. If the chances of getting clear had been only a little better, Blade would have considered clapping spurs to his rolgha and trying to leave the Jaghdi and all their plots behind.

Tressana rose, brushed gra.s.s and insects off her trousers, and walked up to the three riders. "Are you ready, Blade?"

"Yes."

"Very good." She waved to Sikkurad, who also rose and came over. Queen and Keeper together would be the witnesses to Blade's oath, and would be two of the four judges of the fight. Curim and Jollya would be the other judges. Blade ran the words of the oath through his mind one more time, then took a deep breath and spoke.

"I am Richard Blade, warrior of England, no man of Elstan and no enemy to Jaghd. This I swear by the Lord of the Sky and the Lady of the Gra.s.s, by the Highest Powers of my own land, and by my own steel and my own blood.

"To prove these words, I shall submit to the Judgment of Steel and Blood. I shall fight three combats against three opponents chosen by the judges of today. If my oath is a true one, let the victory in all three combats be judged mine. If my oath is false, let my steel fail me and my blood stain the Lady's gra.s.s beneath me."

He'd thought of adding an offer to fight all three men at once, but decided against it after hearing Jollya's warning. Three men weren't necessarily a match for one unless they were a team trained to fight together. If his opponents were Curim's personal goon squad, they might be trained that way. After the fight, I owe Jollya something special for that warning. Somehow he no longer doubted he would be alive to thank her. He knew the dangers of overconfidence, but that didn't keep him from feeling better than he had since he entered this Dimension. A few days of good food and a chance to hit back had done most of the work. Blade grinned and shouted to the men guards, "All right! Who wants to be the first to see the doctors?"

The Jaghdi fought as they did because they were excellent riders, who had powerful mounts under them but little in the way of metal weapons. They had bows and s.h.i.+elds that used no metal, lances and arrows that used metal only at the tips, and even swords that used surprisingly little. They wore armor of wood and leather; metal was used only for the fastenings or the breastplates and helmets of the very wealthy. Their rolgha harnesses used very little metal other than the heavy bits, and their saddles used none. The leather the Jaghdi got from their endless herds wasn't entirely a subst.i.tute for the metal they had to import, but along with wood it was enough to give them a highly effective cavalry.

Their short horsebows could kill an unarmored man at a hundred yards, their lances were among the best Blade had ever handled, and their s.h.i.+elds were light and tough. The swords usually consisted of a four-foot length of wood with a metal edge two inches wide riveted into a groove on one side. They reminded Blade of the swords of the Aztec Indians, which had obsidian chips instead of metal to give them an edge. All-metal swords were rare, a sign of great wealth or high rank. From where he sat on his rolgha Blade could see only two metal swords, one of them Curim's and the other Jollya's.

Of course, the metal-edged swords were much lighter than they'd have been if they were entirely made of metal, and they were useless for a backswing or a conventional thrust. But they were well-balanced, and were very good for a slash from the back of a rolgha. Blade had also used his knowledge of kendo and singlestick fighting to work out ways of using the swords as clubs. He hadn't practiced too much, for fear of revealing his knowledge, but he was sure he could spring a surprise or two on even the best Jaghdi opponent.

Blade's first opponent was so far from the best that he wondered if the man had been told to sacrifice himself in order to make Blade overconfident. However, it seemed unlikely that any man would have volunteered or could have been ordered to make such a fool of himself and nearly get killed as well.

Blade knocked the man's s.h.i.+eld aside on the first pa.s.s and did it again on the second. He also nearly broke the man's arm, so that on the third pa.s.s the man rode in without his s.h.i.+eld, sprained arm dangling, and put his entire trust in his lance to win back the advantage for him.

This gave Blade his biggest challenge of the whole fight: how to win without killing. It would have been much easier simply to thrust his lance into the man's chest, but he didn't want to. Blade hated killing unnecessarily even when it was safe to do so. He also doubted that it would be entirely safe to kill one of Curim's friends.

Blade was sweating from more than the heat of the day as he and his opponent spurred their rolghas toward each other for the third time. The man was coming in faster than before, with clods flying up from his rolgha's hooves. He grew larger and larger, until he was Blade's whole world. Then Blade's point moved through a six-inch arc as the other man's lance smashed into Blade's s.h.i.+eld.

The Jaghdi's gamble very nearly paid off. Blade was jarred from head to foot, his s.h.i.+eld arm screamed in protest, and if his feet hadn't been firm in the stirrups he would have gone out of the saddle. But his own lance caught the lacing at the man's left shoulder and sent him flying over his mount's rump. The man parted company with his lance in mid-air and came down with a thud, his good arm under him. He cursed, struggled to his feet, tried to raise a hand to wipe rolgha dung and dirt off his face, then screamed at the sudden pain.

With both arms disabled, the man could do nothing but give up the fight and stumble back to where the doctors waited. He cursed Blade all the way, and Blade knew he'd made another enemy. He also knew that he'd made a highly favorable impression on all the judges except Curim. The guard captain was surly and growled at Blade: "It would have been a fairer fight if you'd thrown away your own s.h.i.+eld after he lost his."

"Perhaps," said Blade. "But I not only want to win these fights. I want to win them and still be fit to give good service to Jaghd and its n.o.ble queen afterward. If the G.o.ds do not wish this, let them pa.s.s their judgment." He looked at the queen.

Curim glared and took a deep breath to reply, but Tressana spoke first. "No doubt they will, but first we need to pa.s.s ours. I say Blade wins."

"And I," said Jollya and her father almost together.

"Well, Curim?" said the queen. She was still smiling, but it was one of those smiles that didn't reach the eyes. "Do you call Blade the winner?"

"Oh, yes. I have to say so. But I'll be surprised if I have to say so again."

"I think you'd better get ready to be surprised, Curim," said Blade. He had no doubt the captain was glaring again as he turned his rolgha and rode back out onto the field, ready to meet his second opponent.

Chapter 8.

Blade's second opponent was a bigger man than the first, and rode the largest rolgha Blade had ever seen. If they'd been in a real battle or even a less formal duel, the size of the other man's mount would have given him an advantage. A good Jaghdi rider could sideswipe an opponent's mount with his own, leaving the other man at least dismounted, sometimes pinned under his own rolgha. Since this trick was often rather hard on both rolghas involved, it was clearly out of the question when one of the rolghas was from Queen Tressana's stables.

Blade's second opponent kept his distance, and the three pa.s.ses with the lance went by quickly and harmlessly. Most of the leather covering was stripped off Blade's s.h.i.+eld, but otherwise he was in good shape. The bout with swords, however, was another matter. The Jaghd was an expert swordsman, and unlike some of the guards he could use his sword one-handed. In fact, he'd practiced until his right arm and shoulder were noticeably more developed than his left. He made his sword dance about Blade's ears as if it were no heavier than a bamboo pole.

Fortunately Blade's rolgha was as well-behaved as he could have hoped, and Blade's arms were even stronger than his opponent's. Otherwise the Englishman might have taken a disabling wound early in the sword bout. He did have to spend the first few minutes on the defensive, sizing up his opponent's strengths and weaknesses. Meanwhile the sun was getting hotter and the sweat streaming down made the leather of his armor begin to turn black. From behind him Blade heard shouts which might have come from anyone, sarcastic remarks unmistakably from Curim, and once a strangled scream which must have come from Jollya.

The two fighters swung their rolghas in tight circles, until a patch of gra.s.s twenty yards across was trampled almost completely flat. The guardsman sometimes shouted insults or curses, but Blade saved his breath and fought in grim silence. He knew he could stand on the defensive for a while longer, perhaps even long enough to wear out his opponent's sword arm. That would take a while, and also use up strength Blade suspected he'd need for his third opponent. He had no way of guessing who that might be, but knowing Curim he would be surprised if the man wasn't the most formidable of the day's opponents. He decided it was time to use his Home Dimension skills with the sword. Revealing them now would warn the third man, but that was less dangerous than letting this fight drag on much longer.

As he circled away from his opponent for the twentieth time, Blade dropped his sword hand behind his s.h.i.+eld and s.h.i.+fted his grip on the sword. His opponent apparently noticed nothing. All he did was ask loudly how Blade would like his manhood served up to him after the fight.

Then Blade dug in his spurs, his rolgha leaped forward, and his sword came up into position for a thrust. The other man was good enough to understand what was happening. He started raising his s.h.i.+eld and turning his mount but didn't do either in time. The hardwood tip of Blade's sword swept in over the top of his opponent's s.h.i.+eld and crashed into his jaw. It was only a glancing blow, so it broke the man's jaw instead of his neck.

The guardsman was still full of fight. Cursing as well as he could with his broken jaw, he spat out b.l.o.o.d.y teeth and hunched down so that his s.h.i.+eld covered as much of him as possible. The only easy targets left for Blade were the man's helmeted head and his sword arm.

If Blade hadn't felt his rolgha steady as a rock under him, he wouldn't have risked the next attack. But he now trusted his mount almost as completely as he did his own body. He rode in again, and this time he thrust hard at the small target of his opponent's right wrist. Blade's sharp eye and perfect coordination did half the work, and the sword tip with Blade's weight and the speed of his rolgha behind it did the rest: The guardsman screamed at the pain of his smashed wrist and his sword dangled uselessly, although he somehow managed to keep a desperate grip on it. He obviously wasn't going to swing it again.

Blade turned half around in the saddle, straightened his left arm, and flung his s.h.i.+eld away. Then he gripped his sword with both hands feinted to draw the guardsman's s.h.i.+eld down, and brought the wood side of his sword down on the man's head. The man's eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled out of the saddle into the gra.s.s.

Rolghas who suddenly lost their riders could become dangerous. Blade gripped the other rolgha's bridle until he could be sure the beast wasn't going to trample its fallen rider underfoot. Then he let it go, and rode back toward the judges as several guardsmen rode out to pick up their fallen comrade.

This time Curim admitted that Blade was the winner without the queen's prompting, and even with a faint smile on his face. Blade didn't trust that smile. He would rather have seen the guard captain in a blazing rage. The smile indicated that whatever plots against Blade might be hatching today, they were mostly Curim's.

All right, what could the guard captain be planning for the third fight? Blade thought about this as he sat on the gra.s.s drinking lukewarm, mint-flavored water from a leather bottle. The fight would be out in the same open field as the first two. If there'd been any snares or pitfalls prepared, he or one of his opponents would almost certainly have already stumbled into them. So the trick would probably involve striking from a distance, and that meant archery.

Would one of the guards shoot because he "thought Blade was trying to escape?" Possibly. Or would some friend of Blade's third opponent "go mad" and shoot? That wasn't at all impossible. The man who did the shooting would be doomed, of course. If Curim didn't have to kill him to show how clean his hands were, the queen would do the job. So the archer would have to be a good shot but not very intelligent. How likely was it that there was such a man among the guards today?

Quite likely. Blade had few illusions about the ability of most people to believe what they wanted to believe, rather than what made sense. He'd been called a cynic for this att.i.tude, but he preferred to call it common sense, at least in his profession. Certainly it had saved his life a good many times, whatever you cared to call it.

The best way to deal with this sort of trick would be to win suddenly, catching Curim and the archer by surprise. It would also help if he could win while he was so close to his opponent that the archer would be afraid of hitting his comrade if he shot. That should delay things until the fight was over, and then it would be too late for Curim to do anything today. Blade knew he would have to go on watching his back all the time he was in this Dimension, or at least in Jaghd, but he was used to that.

Blade ate some biscuits and fruit, then drank more water. He didn't want to risk a stomachache by eating a heavy meal, but he badly needed the water. Normally he was as nearly immune to heat as anyone not born in the tropics could be, but he wanted to take no chances. Today the temperature must be close to a hundred, the dampness along the river made it worse, and there wasn't a breath of wind. Even Tressana and Jollya were beginning to wilt, and Sikkurad looked as if he'd sell his soul for a bath and a cold drink.

Blade was glad he'd been careful when he saw his third opponent. The man was the biggest of the thirteen guardsmen, taller than Blade and just as heavily built. He looked almost too big for his rolgha to carry through the fight without tiring. On the other hand his rolgha was starting fresh, while Blade's mount had already carried him through two fights. As far as Blade could see, he and his latest opponent would be a nearly perfect match. If the man had any weaknesses, it would take time to discover them, and time was the one thing Blade knew he couldn't rely on having.

Oh well, anyone who thinks hand-to-hand combat can be neat and tidy doesn't live long enough to learn otherwise.

Blade mounted and rode out into the field at a walk, to spare his mount. His opponent followed at a trot, with Curim and several of his comrades cheering him on.

Blade reined in when they reached the circle of trampled gra.s.s, but the guardsman simply pulled his rolgha around in a circle without stopping. Then he dropped his lance into striking position and spurred his rolgha up to a canter. Blade rode to meet him, and they came together so hard that both lances were smashed into splinters.

Both s.h.i.+elds were still intact, however, and neither man was the worse for the shock. So one of Jollya's guardswomen rode out with fresh lances for both men, and they came at each other again. This time Blade's thrust was better placed. His lance tip caught in a split in the leather covering of his opponent's s.h.i.+eld, jerked the s.h.i.+eld out of position, and nearly pulled the man out of his saddle. For a moment the guardsman was completely unprotected. If Blade could have drawn his sword he could have ended the fight then and there, but the man went by too fast.

On the third pa.s.s with lance and s.h.i.+eld, the guardsman's rolgha was only trotting, and the rider hardly tried to thrust at Blade. He crouched behind his s.h.i.+eld, holding it so firmly that Blade's lance broke again and for a moment his right arm went numb all the way to the shoulder. He felt as if he'd thrust at a stone wall.

As the guardsman drew his sword, Blade trotted his rolgha around in circles, desperately flexing his arm to get it back into fighting shape. He was annoyed to realize that he hadn't got back all the strength he'd lost in the jungle and the prison, and the fighting had taken more out of him than he'd expected. It was too bad that he not only had to win this fight but also had to make a good show for the judges, and also guard against Curim's treachery.

Blade decided to make his move at the first decent chance he got. The guardsman was probably stronger than he was right now, but Blade knew he'd still have two advantages. One would be surprise; the other, the fact that the Jaghdi had no system of unarmed combat.

Blade drew his sword, but carefully loosened the straps on his s.h.i.+eld so he could discard it with a single jerk of his arm. Then he shouted, "Come and be butchered, son of a sow!" and spurred his rolgha at the man.

Blade's opponent did the same but didn't notice that Blade was pulling on the reins at the same time as he dug in the spurs. Blade's rolgha whinnied and started to buck in confusion, but Blade kept it under control. The guardsman rode in at a canter, s.h.i.+eld raised to meet a thrust, sword raised to come down on Blade's head or shoulder. He made the fatal mistake of concentrating completely on what he was going to do to his opponent, ignoring what his opponent might be planning to do himself. So he rode up to Blade without noticing that Blade's rolgha was almost standing still, a steady platform for launching any sort of attack.

As his opponent's sword came down, Blade exploded into action so fast and furiously that even those who saw him could only figure out afterward what he'd done. His sword dropped to the ground, his s.h.i.+eld arm straightened suddenly, and his s.h.i.+eld flew like a thrown discus at the guardsman. It flew high, cras.h.i.+ng into his sword so that its slash went completely wild. Blade had nothing to fear from the sword as he hurled himself forward, gripping his opponent's s.h.i.+eld with both hands.

Blade's rolgha squealed and bucked wildly. If the guardsman had thought of letting go of his s.h.i.+eld, Blade would have dropped to the ground and would have probably lost his life as well, trampled to death by one of the rolghas. Instead the man froze in surprise, giving Blade all the time he needed. Blade swung himself up onto the back of the other rolgha, let go of the s.h.i.+eld, got the man in a hammerlock with one arm, and chopped at the side of his neck with the other. As he felt the man go limp, he hurled himself to one side, to get clear of both the rolgha's hooves and his falling opponent.

All the spectators were shouting and screaming as the two men hit the gra.s.s. Somehow the guardsman sat up, and as he reached for his dagger Blade lunged for him again. He had to admire the guardsman's toughness, but that made it all the more important to put him down and keep him down. This fight wasn't going to be over until the other man was unconscious.

Then above the shouting Blade heard Curim's voice bellowing, "No, you-!" Blade didn't hear the whistle of the arrow, because he shouted, "Get down, you fool!" to his opponent, then threw himself as far as he could. He landed rolling, and as he rolled he heard the guardsman let out a throat-tearing scream.

When Blade raised his head he saw the guardsman sitting as if he'd been turned to stone, an arrow driven into his left eye and blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Then he slumped sideways, kicked twice, and lay still. Curim hadn't been able to stop his archer in time.

Blade was never really sure why he stayed out in the open field, a perfect target for more arrows, instead of catching one of the rolghas or running toward the judges.

He thought it was because he knew the scuffle among the spectators meant there would be no more arrows, but he also suspected it was because he wanted to honor the guardsman's courage, and arrows be d.a.m.ned! Blade bent over his fallen opponent, straightened his legs, and crossed his arms on his chest. He retrieved the man's s.h.i.+eld and put it over his face. Then he picked up the man's dagger and thrust it into his own belt. Finally he rose and walked slowly toward the spectators.

As he approached, both men and women stepped out of his path. Curim looked away, the archer held by four guards buried his face in his hands, and even Tressana turned slightly pale under her tan as she looked at Blade. Her voice was hoa.r.s.e as she spoke to her guard captain.

"Curim. This was your work, wasn't it?"

It was the captain's turn to go pale. Tressana raised her hand, and five of the guardswomen turned their rolghas and lowered their lances. Blade stood quietly, his hands at his sides. In spite of his rage, he knew that a single wrong word or movement could set off a b.l.o.o.d.y fight. He might die in it, and even if he didn't Tressana could be killed. Then there would be chaos in Jaghd.

"Well?" Tressana's voice cut like a whip. Curim swallowed, then nodded. The queen laughed. Blade had seldom heard such unpleasant laughter. Then she smiled, without warmth. "Curim, I do not know what you thought to accomplish by this. I will not ask, either. I will simply give you a choice. Slay the archer now with your own hands or lay down your post as captain of the Men's Guard."

Curim never had a chance to obey or refuse. The archer let out an animal roar and with desperate strength tore himself free of the men holding him. He hurled himself at Curim. Blade was in the man's path and acted almost by reflex. He reached into his own belt, drew the dead guardsman's dagger, then thrust upward at the archer. The man's leather armor deflected the point upward, but only from his heart into his throat. Blade jerked the dagger free and the archer staggered a few more steps, then fell and lay still. Blade wiped the dagger on the dead man's breeches, then raised it hilt-first in salute to Tressana.

"Your Grace, this was a more fitting end for the archer. I killed him with his comrade's dagger. Now his comrade can rest easy, although he himself was not blameless in this affair."

Blade's words set all the guards murmuring and whispering, except for Curim. He stood, trying not to look at either Blade or the queen, until Tressana spoke again.

"So be it. I will say that justice has been done, and will say no more of this. Curim, you still have your place, but it would be best if you kept out of my sight until I say otherwise."

"But-"

"You will obey." Tressana made a pointed gesture at the guardswomen all around. Some of them now had their bows in their hands. Curim growled something which it was probably well n.o.body understood, mounted his rolgha, and rode off. When he was out of sight Tressana dismounted, held on to her stirrup for a moment, then turned to Blade.