‘You bastard!’ Richard cried, feeling at last for his dagger.
‘Oh lad, it’s a sin to curse a holy brother.’ Corwin snickered at the joke. ‘Bovai’s waiting down in those woods, boy. I just saw signs of him yesterday. Once you and your friends are dead he will attack.
I’m sorry son, but it’s time to die. Since I like you, let’s make this easy. Just lie back and close your eyes. I promise it won’t hurt.’
Richard, soul filled with terror, fumbled with his dagger, and held it up, gasping in agony with every movement.
‘All right then,’ Corwin whispered coldly. ‘Now I’m afraid it will hurt, lad. I don’t like defiance. Have you ever seen a man have his tongue carved out and then listened to him drown on his own blood?
It’s really quite interesting.’
Corwin sprung, but his bulk played against him as Richard staggered to one side. Richard felt a hot slash across his arm even as his own blade cut across Corwin’s face, laying open his cheek to the bone.
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Corwin, bellowing in rage, dived back in, blade flashing. Richard backed up, left hand clasped to his side, strength draining away and then the world seemed to spin around as he fell off the outcrop of rock. He fell, world tumbling end over end and then there was darkness.
He awoke to agony, the salty taste of blood in his mouth, and experienced a moment of terror, as he expected to see Corwin above him, having already cut out his tongue.
He waited for a moment, cautiously looking around, and then tried to sit up, but the slightest movement sent a wave of agony through him. Coughing, he spat up a foam of blood.
He tried to make sense of his surroundings, for the ground seemed to rise up beside him. He blinked and realized he was not where he had fought Corwin, but on a ledge a few feet below his hiding spot. He must have fallen over the edge when Corwin struck him.
He wondered why he was still alive, then considered the drop. The fat false-priest could hardly have climbed down to finish him off, and probably thought him already dead, or close enough that the cold would complete the task. And the slash he had given him to his face probably had him off somewhere trying to staunch the flow of blood.
With hazy vision he looked around and then, ever so slowly, stood up, with every muscle crying out in pain. He saw a small rock at knee level protruding from the face of the bank and stepped upon it. Heaving himself upward, he almost fainted as he gripped the ledge above. Knowing he had but one chance, he forced himself to take a deep breath and pulled himself over. Then he collapsed on the ground and passed out.
Consciousness returned some time later and Richard sat up slowly.
He looked at the angle of the sun and realized no more than an hour had passed. He got to his unsteady feet and looked around.
The monk was nowhere to be seen. Stumbling, he wove his way back down to the camp. The fire still snapped and crackled in the hut, and there, lying around the fire, were Bewin, Hanson and Luthar.
Poisoned by Corwin.
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The realization filled him with rage. He leaned over, gasping and coughing and specks of blood splattered onto the snow.
I’m bleeding inside, I’m dying, he thought.
He looked back over his shoulder, wondering if he heard horses approaching. Were they coming already?
Looking up at the sun, he judged that it was well past noon.
Corwin must have left him for dead more than an hour ago. Already they could be on the move.
Another spasm of coughing overtook him and he sat down, feeling such an infinite weariness that he was tempted to lie down by the fire and sleep. He fought it off, knowing that it was the dark shadow.
Absently, he picked up the sack of brandy lying by Bewin, then remembered what it contained and threw it aside.
Crawling over to the corporal he slowly worked the waist-belt off of the dead man then opened his own tunic. Reaching into Bewin’s haversack, he pulled out the field-dressing that Hartraft insisted all of his men carry. For the first time he looked at the puncture wound on his right side between his two lowest ribs. A thin trickle of blood seeped out and with each breath he could almost feel the air leaking away. He pressed the bandage up against the wound then ever so slowly wrapped Bewin’s belt around his chest and cinched it in tight to hold the bandage in place. The effort caused him to cry out in anguish. Unable to button his tunic, he left it open and stood up.
Amazingly Corwin had not thought to take the horse tied off behind the hut. It was an old nag, used to haul extra supplies up to the watchers, and was there in case a messenger ever had to get back quickly. Richard knew that the monk didn’t like horses, but still he should have taken the beast along – or killed it.
It wasn’t even saddled, but the effort of doing that now was beyond him. He led the horse around to the side of a rough-hewn table set in front of the cabin. Richard crawled up on to the table and then clawed his way onto the back of the horse.
Facing down the mountain, back towards Wolfgar’s Stockade, he set off. He knew in his soul that it was now a race, twenty miles against death. Who would win the race he wasn’t sure. To gallop the old horse would have her wheezing in minutes and probably 252
kill him with bloodloss. To walk would mean a half-day’s ride back to the garrison.
He gritted his teeth and urged the horse into a canter, settling in with a rocking motion that caused him more pain than he thought he could endure. He held onto the reins and vowed to remain conscious until he reached the Captain.
Throughout the day, except for the brief outdoor ceremony at sunrise, the Tsurani had remained inside the long house, but now, with the setting of the sun, the door had been opened and Asayaga stepped out. Dennis had just completed the sunset parade inspection and his men had stayed in place, talking quietly about the Tsurani.
Asayaga, dressed in full armour approached Dennis and saluted.
‘It is the custom to have a feast at the end of the Atonement Day.
We request your presence as guests.’
Dennis simply nodded, not sure what to say.
‘Will you and your men please follow me?’
Asayaga led the way into the long hall. The great table had been scrubbed clean, plates were laid out, fresh rushes were on the floor, the room was filled with a sweet cloud of incense. The Tsurani were arrayed around the table, an open place between each of them and Asayaga motioned for Dennis’s men to take the empty places.
Wolfgar, his daughters, and the other members of the household were already present down to the smallest child. Dennis accepted the place pointed out by Asayaga which placed him between the Tsurani captain and Wolfgar. The Kingdom soldiers were silent, looking around curiously.
Asayaga raised his cup, looking towards Strike Leader Tasemu who stood by the door. He stood at rigid attention and the minutes passed.
Finally Tasemu turned, faced the group and started a sing-song chant, and the other Tsurani joined in. The chant lasted for several minutes and then ended with lowered heads, the chant eerily drifting off into silence. The Tsurani solemnly raised their cups and flagons, drained them, and then slammed the cups down with a loud cheer.
Asayaga turned and bowed to Wolfgar. ‘It is custom, that when 253
the Day of Atonement has ended, a man brings into his home any wayfarers upon the road and feasts them. Tonight we are the wayfarers upon the road and we thank you.’
The cups were refilled from great bowls of ale set around the table and all the Tsurani raised a salute to Wolfgar, who stood up smiling, nodding his head in thanks.
Next Asayaga turned to Dennis. ‘It is the custom, as well, for a man to then seek one towards whom he feels anger and to extend his hand, clasp his forearm, and to pledge that the year to come shall be free of that anger.’
As he spoke in the language of the Kingdom the other Tsurani fell silent, but from their expressions Dennis sensed they knew what their captain was saying.
‘You and I are ple
dged to a king and an emperor who are at war, Hartraft. We must obey that pledge first. But I ask tonight that we will sit together without rancour, or thought of what we must still decide between each other. We are enemies, Hartraft, but at least tonight let us sit as honoured enemies and share this meal in peace.’
Asayaga started to extend his hand and Dennis did not know how he would react. Actually clasping the hand of a Tsurani in a formal ceremony was something beyond anything he had ever dreamed of doing.
Asayaga hesitated, looking into his eyes, and all in the room fell silent. A flicker of a smile crossed Asayaga’s face and, turning aside, he picked up his own cup, filled it, and offered it to Dennis instead.
Caught off guard Dennis took the cup without even thinking and a ripple of laughter echoed in the great hall followed by a flurry of activity as the Tsurani soldiers took their own cups, filled them again and offered them to the Kingdom soldiers.
Dennis, nodding, raised his cup, tipped it slightly in salute to Asayaga and then drained it. A cheer resounded throughout the long hall. He put the cup back down.
‘There are times, Asayaga,’ Dennis whispered, ‘when I almost forget that you are Tsurani.’
‘And there are times I forget you are Hartraft of the Marauders, Dennis,’ Asayaga replied.
Dennis could not help but offer a grudging smile and picking up 254
his own cup, which had yet to be touched, he offered it to Asayaga, who drained it.
Tsurani soldiers who had been sitting at the back of the hall left the table and returned seconds later with steaming platters piled high with cold slices of roasted meats, which had been prepared the day before and soon all were sitting, eating their fill, the room abuzz with conversation, the men finding it amusing to fill each other’s drinking cups and then press the cups into the hands of their neighbours, forcing them to drink.
‘Your ritual was deeply moving,’ Alyssa said, leaving her seat to come over and stand between Asayaga and Dennis.
‘I thank you, my lady,’ Asayaga replied.
‘It is a shame that this pledge between you two could not be kept till the next year’s Atonement Day.’
Asayaga nodded. ‘War is war, my lady. Hartraft must obey as I do. If ordered to fight we must do so. The only question then is what is in our hearts.’
‘And what is in your heart, Hartraft?’ Alyssa asked, looking over at Dennis.
‘I do my duty, my lady.’
‘Is it just duty? Father has told me of what happened to you, your family. Is it just duty?’
‘You have not seen this hall burn, your father dead, your beloved spouse dying in your arms.’
The words spilled out of him and, embarrassed, he turned away.
She put a hand on his shoulder and he looked back.
‘I know my father will not survive this winter,’ she whispered.
‘Your coming was the harbinger of that, and this hall will burn too.’
‘And won’t you hate the moredhel for that?’
‘Yes, the ones who might do it. Yes.’
Dennis looked back over at Asayaga. ‘Why do you even try?’
he asked.
‘What do you mean?’ the Tsurani replied.
‘This. All this,’ Dennis said, a note of confusion and frustration in his voice. ‘The feast, that prayer yesterday about the spirits of my dead comrades, the drink just offered. Why the hell do you even try?’
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‘Because I am Tsurani,’ Asayaga replied in a sharp whisper.
Dennis, stunned by the intensity in Asayaga’s response, said nothing.
‘I don’t want to be here, Hartraft. I wish by all the gods I was home, miserable as it was with the intrigue, the damnable Game of the Council. I am a retainer to Lord Ugasa, and his son who will rule after him, and have achieved the highest rank I may hope to achieve.
I gained my rank through twenty-five years of dutiful service, doing what was ordered without hesitation. And ten years of that service has been here, on your world, Hartraft.
‘I was ordered to this place, this war. Of the fifty of my clan who originally came with me there’s only Sergeant Tasemu and three others left. The others are the younger brothers and the sons of those who have fallen here.’
Dennis nodded, and said nothing when Alyssa’s hand slipped onto Asayaga’s shoulder.
‘I wish the men of Clan Minwanabi had never come to your keep, that you were living out your days there, that you and I had never met.’ He spat out the last words sharply, so that several of the men sitting to either side fell silent, turning their attention to the two captains. ‘But we have met, your family is dead, my comrades dead, and all that we have left is what is to come of our lives, brief might they be.’
He looked back up and Dennis was stunned to see tears in Asayaga’s eyes.
‘I just wish I could find peace and learn to forget.’
Then Asayaga stood up abruptly and turned his back to the table.
More men were falling silent and Dennis looked around the room.
The Tsurani were watching their captain, wondering what had just transpired.
Dennis saw Gregory and Tinuva looking at him curiously, Gregory giving the subtle hand signal to ask if there was trouble.
Time seemed to stretch out. He looked the other way. Wolfgar was silent, as if lost in thought. Roxanne, by her father’s side, staring at Dennis, but there was no sarcasm in her gaze this time, but a look of pity and sadness.
Dennis stood up awkwardly, and took his feasting cup. He 256
approached Asayaga, and held out the cup. ‘If I have caused sad memories tonight,’ he said, ‘I apologize.’
Asayaga stared at him and said nothing in return.
‘The men are watching us,’ Dennis whispered. ‘They think we are arguing.’
‘Always the men are watching,’ Asayaga sighed, ‘and we must act accordingly.’
Dennis shook his head. ‘Take the cup, Asayaga: you need a drink.’
There was the flicker of a smile. Asayaga took the cup and drained it. Instantly conversation in the room returned.
‘I suspect, Hartraft, that I’ve just received the most friendly gesture you will ever give to a Tsurani.’
Dennis said nothing. His gaze caught Alyssa’s for a second and he could see the relief in her eyes. He knew as well, at that same instant, that whatever feelings she might have kindled in him were worse than useless. Her attention was fixed on Asayaga and there it would stay.
He returned to his chair, Asayaga sitting beside him, and the two ate in silence, the room around them echoing with laughter, bursts of songs, and a wild eruption of cheers when one of the Tsurani, with a throw of the dice, won a dagger from a Kingdom soldier who grinned when he handed the blade over.
‘Made this bugger as wealthy as a prince in their home lands,’ the soldier laughed. ‘Them with no metal.’
Another soldier simply pulled out his dagger and tossed it to the Tsurani next to him and within seconds an exchange of gifts had ensued – Kingdom troops offering daggers that were far more precious than gold to the Tsurani, who in turn offered back equally precious gems and polished lacquer bracelets.
This exchange caused an almost wild hilarity to set in, and cups were raised, in many cases simply to be upended over the upraised face and open mouth of a nearby companion. Even Dennis had to smile at the foolishness and old Wolfgar stood up, slopping his drink, and began to declaim a ballad, but few if any listened.
And then it happened so fast Dennis barely caught the flash of the blade and spray of blood that exploded.
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Sergeant Barry stood up, staggering, holding his right armpit which had been flayed open, arterial blood spurting out.
Dennis and Asayaga leapt out of their seats and raced around either side of the table but could not push their way through the men who were up, backing away, shouting, some still thinking that a joke was being played, others beginning to realize that the two sub-comm
anders – Barry and Sugama – were fighting.
Sugama stood crouched, a Kingdom dagger in his hand. Barry had snatched a knife from the table and held it in his left hand; poised to pounce, ignoring the rush of blood from inside his armpit.
‘Sugama!’
Asayaga was moving up behind him, but Sugama ignored his commander. Instead he hissed something in Tsurani and several men started to move to join him.
‘The son of a bitch stabbed me!’ Barry roared, and a number of Kingdom soldiers grabbed their weapons as well.
‘Damn it, Barry, don’t move!’ Dennis cried.
‘You drink with these bastards!’ Barry screamed. ‘I even started to trust them and look at what you get in the end!’
He half-lifted his right arm, while still warily holding his fighter’s crouch, blade up in his left hand.
Dennis looked over at Asayaga, at the men around him, and he leapt for Barry, trying to pin his arms. He knew Barry was almost as strong as himself, and when moved to a fighting rage, as he now was, he was all but unstoppable.
Barry tried to throw him off and Dennis saw that more than one of his men was standing by, not moving, just watching. And then he saw Sugama make his move, coming in low, realizing that Barry’s arms were pinned. Asayaga was behind Sugama but out of reach. Dennis tried to push Barry out of the way, never anticipating that Sugama would make such a desperate and cowardly attack.
The blade sank to the hilt into Barry’s stomach, even as Dennis tried to push the sergeant out of the way. Barry gasped, doubling up in Dennis’s arms.
Dennis dropped Barry, reaching down to scoop up the blade which the sergeant had let slip. Sugama was backing up with a look Dennis 258
had seen all too many times in a man’s eyes, the realization that death was closing in and that he was the one to deliver it.
‘Hartraft, no!’
It was Asayaga trying to move between them but Dennis ignored his cry. He drove Barry’s dagger into Sugama’s stomach, and letting go, stepped back.