Conflict and Courage (49 page)

Francis changed
the subject, more to cover his confusion about what to say than
anything else, “it was a Larg idea, this war,” he began. “Aoalvaldr
persuaded them it would be an easy victory.” The story was coming
out now. A pawful of Larg had been taken prisoner.

“Jim saved us
again,” said Afanasei, “and thank the Lai the convicts did not
fight.”

“The convicts
are getting older,” continued Francis, “Lord Regent Baker did not
want to risk them. He made the arrangement I assume, their help to
get rid of Pierre Duchesne and in return his help to get them into
Vadath. It was a clever and well thought out plan. They nearly
managed it too. You are right about Jim and Larya. It is their
victory. We were lucky.”

“I not think
luck had anything to do with it Susyc Francis,” was Afanasei’s
measured comment.

“I want peace
Afanasei, peace to bring up Laura and my children and Asya and
Faddei’s ltsctas, with no threat of war in a country where I don’t
have to lead an endless procession of youngsters into battle.”

“We will work
on it,” Afanasei promised. “Fernei has ideas and so does Jim. The
Larg will return home to lick their wounds.”

“Perhaps we can
make a treaty with what is left of the convicts, persuade them that
the Larg are the main threat to peace and not us.”

“Is a
thought.”

“One that bears
thinking about,” Francis replied.

* * * * *

Pierre Duchesne
and his surviving men were jubilant. At last, they realised, they
were free, free to make a new life.

Whatever doubts
the Vadathians had had about their arrival were gone. They had
watched them fight and die for the north. Willing northern hands
tended their injuries and in their eyes the newcomers saw only
acceptance and respect.

Perhaps a great
deal of this change of heart came from the way the Lind treated
them, accepting them as fellow warriors. Some had even, as
Geraldine, Jsei and others had done during the Battle of the
Alliance, made battlefield vadeln-pairings.

Amongst this
select group was a surprised Michael Wallace, Pierre Duchesne’s old
friend, who had come to the rescue of a Lind female of middling
years of rtath Matvei’s Lindar during the fight at the ridge.

The story of
their pairing was not dissimilar to that of the others.

Sorely pressed
by not two but three Larg, she had fallen to her knees and was
desperately trying to save herself.

Michael Wallace
arrived like a knight in shining armour and yelling expletives, he
brought his sword down on the neck of her largest attacker, almost
severing it through so forceful was his thrust. Like lightening,
the same sword cut the top off the head of the next. The third
backed off, took one look at the dangerous and furious man and
turned away to look for an easier target.

Time stood
still. The turmoil of the battlefield eddied around them as Lind
and saviour’s eyes met.

: Thank you
:

When Valnrya
thought about it afterwards, the words were a complete
understatement of the emotive turmoil she was experiencing.

A solemn and
proud Lind and one of the few females to actually command a ryz and
that for many seasons, Michael and Valnrya’s pairing was a surprise
to everyone, as, never in the ten years since mankind had arrived
on the planet, had Valnrya shown any inclination to an interest in
humans at all.

Their minds
clicked together and Michael felt deep within him what she was
feeling.

The sound of
battle hit them again and Michael’s incredulous joy was dissipated
somewhat as the realisation of where he was came back. He pressed
himself beside her.

“I think we’d
better fight together from now on,” he shouted.

: I won’t argue
with you. Now are you going to kill that Larg who is approaching or
am I? :

: You keep him
occupied and I’ll kill him :

: Wise decision
:

Together they
met the next wave of attackers; together they survived the day.

“Looks like
you’ve lost your right-hand man,” said Francis, pointing to Michael
and Valnrya.

“Perhaps not
completely,” answered Pierre, “my guess is that they’ll go north to
Valnrya’s pack. I think me, Briony and the boys might well end up
heading in that general direction as well. Most of my people will
remain around here in the lowlands but I think it best if I put as
big a stretch of water and more between Sam Baker, me and mine as I
can. He is a vindictive soul and will be after my guts, even more
so now.”

“You’re
probably right,” agreed Francis, “and I think you’ll find that your
family has increased by one.”

Pierre looked
his surprise.

“My Asya
informs me that Jtanya is set on your eldest. If there is a
vadeln-pairing predestined by the gods it’s that one, any fool can
see that.”

“Predestined,
the gods? Isn’t that a bit archaic?”

Francis
shrugged. “Maybe,” was his laconic reply, “but I’m sure Asya’s
right. She usually is.”

He regarded the
ex-Lord of Duchesne, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Any
regrets?”

Pierre shook
his head.

“Giving up my
title and my land and becoming a simple farmer? None at all. When
all’s said and done a title’s an empty thing and the land, it was
held for the King, not mine at all. It was to him I swore
allegiance, not Sam Baker. Here, my children will grow up free,
free to forge their lives in the manner they desire. If Jacques
wants Jtanya and she him, well, that’s part of it.”

He sniffed
deeply then looked at Francis, abashed, “it’s the free air,” he
explained, “it makes me want to breathe it in forever.”

“It’s Vadath,”
said Asya. “Land of the Free.”

: I think my
dear :
sent Francis
: that you have been listening to Laura
reading some of these terrible epics again :

Asya wagged her
tail.

: I like the
stories :

: You and Laura
do. I and Faddei most definitely do not. Must be a female thing
:

: Okay, okay,
keep your hair on :

: Land of the
Free sounds so, so bumptious somehow :

: True
though :
she answered, having the last word much as Tara’s
Kolyei did.

* * * * *

“You can’t do
good work if you are exhausted,” said Winston, once more at the
helm whilst Hilary slept. The young woman had given up command of
the Holad and lain down on her pallet with relief. She had made
many difficult decisions, a credit to her training, but all she
wanted was to be an insignificant doctor again.

“But I need to
keep busy,” Emily swayed on her feet. “I don’t want to think.”

“I understand
lass,” said Winston, patting her shoulder, “but it’s bad to hold
your feelings in. I’ll try and fit in a chat later, now go to bed.
In the morning we’ll be run off our feet again and I need you to
help me with the surgery.”

She looked at
him with gratitude. In the surgical tent there was no reason for
her to interact with her patients, she was not ready for that
yet.

“Human or
Lind?” she asked.

“Lind. I’m a
vet remember, though during the last few years I have attained a
certain proficiency with human anatomy but I still prefer to leave
that side of things to the doctors. Hilary was operating until an
hour ago and Doctor James too. There’s a steady stream of injured
still coming in.”

He gestured
towards the awning where the two lind-sized operating tables
were.

The next day
Emily was woken early and after she had eaten made her way to the
surgical tent.

“Scrub up,”
ordered Winston, “protective gloves are on that table.”

Emily nodded;
she would need them to guard her hands against the numbing
properties of the Smaha root. A wonderful medicinal plant, native
to Rybak, it was both a numbing agent and an antiseptic but
surgeons and nurses had to cover their skin against it, otherwise
their hands became so numb they were incapable of conscious
movement, hence the gloves. Emily donned a cap to restrain her
hair, a gown then put on the gloves and, thus prepared, approached
their first patient.

To her horror,
she recognised the Lind lying there. It was Larya, Jim Cranston’s
vadeln-pair, her white fur matted with dried blood, her eyes full
of worry.

“Jim’s in a bad
state, she wouldn’t leave him for long enough for this to be done
before,” he replied, bending over the wound and starting to sew up
the ripped tendons on her chest. The wound was not deep Emily was
thankful to see.

“This looks
worse than it is, the medics stabilised it in the dressing
station,” Winston continued cheerfully to Larya. “We’ll soon have
you back with Jim.”

Emily busied
herself with passing Winston the prepared suture needles and mopped
up the blood.

“Not long now,”
she said with encouragement.

They worked
together in silence then Winston stepped back as Emily sprayed the
wound area one last time before beckoning over the
stretcher-bearers. She helped them manoeuvre Larya on to the buggy
and watched as it moved away, back to the tent where Jim hovered
between life and death.

Injured
vadeln-pairs were always kept together.

Busy in the
tent, Emily was spared the sight of the battlefield cleanup. She
did not want to watch as the bodies of Brian and Sofiya were taken
away to join the other dead awaiting burial.

Later, however,
she and Ilyei stood at Winston and Kolyei’s side, taking part in
the short service that committed the fallen to eternal rest in the
grave mound that held all those who were not of Geraldine and
Jsei’s Fourth Ryzck and Richard and Dahlya’s Tenth.

She stood again
three days later, sad that Brian was not there to see his brother
Louis plight his troth to Cherry Howard, watched by Ustinya and
Baltvei who saw no need for such formal arrangements. The Lind
committed themselves to each other and got on with it.

The only other
bright spot on Emily’s immediate horizon was the recovery of Jim
Cranston. With single-minded determination he dragged himself back
to life if not to full health.

Jim would never
fight again. His future and Larya’s was to be honoured retirement
at the pack Afanasei domta.

None forgot,
that it was Jim and his Larya who had saved them again, remembering
how they had attacked, how they had encouraged and rallied them
when all seemed lost and how they had, already wounded, led the
charge that had forced the kohorts to leave the ridge.

He and Larya
were remembered in sagas for generations, hero of Vadath and Lind
both, leader above all leaders, beloved Ruza of legend and
tradition.

A great
epitaph, although his and Larya’s gravestone at domta Afanasei
would simply state Ruza Jim, First Susyc of Lind and Human and his
Larya.

Francis and
Asya were appointed permanent Susyc of the north.

Jim had led the
north for nine long years, a charismatic and visionary commander
with a genius for tactics and a wonderful aptitude for leadership,
Francis was diffident about his abilities as his successor but
proud to be given the chance.

* * * * *

To the east,
the wide patrol topped yet another rise, this part of southwestern
Vadath undulated like a swelling sea, and stopped to get their
bearings. The weather was foul, sleeting rain interspersed with a
drizzle.

“Can you smell
burning?” asked Cherry of Peter, “Baltvei says he can.”

“Now that you
mention it, there is a faint whiff of something, strange, I
wouldn’t expect to smell anything in this confounded rain.” He
frowned. This was his first patrol as Vadryza and he was anxious
for it to go well. As it had been raining since they had left the
dom at first light with grass, foliage, Lind and human soaked
through, it was indeed odd that anything could burn.

“There’s a
farmstead around here if I’ve got my bearings right. Perhaps a
fire?”

“In this
rain?”

“Well, it can’t
be the southerners, none made it this far west.”

“You sure about
that?” was Cherry’s query. “Everything is a bit disorganised. Some
of the Larg may have slipped through before the Lindars arrived or
even after. The battlefield was pretty shambolic.”

“We’d better go
and check it out,” Peter decided and as one the wide patrol began
to descend the slope and make their way towards where Peter and
Radya remembered the farmstead was situated.

The stench of
burning became ever more pronounced as they galloped towards
it.

: Smells
like burning meat :
Cherry ‘thought’ to Baltvei as they reached
the tip of the river valley. The farmstead was downstream.

: Not meat. Get
your sword out. I do not like the feel of this :

Cherry heard
the sound of scabbards being loosened.

: Spread out
:
ordered Peter and the twelve formed a line abreast with Peter
in the middle as they continued their gallop towards the
smouldering farm.

: Larg :
observed Radya as they pounded forwards.

: They got
this far? :
gasped Peter.

: They can run
fast when there is need :

: But the Larg
can’t make fire :

: Humans can
:

: But that
means? :

: Yes. Larg
have let men ride them :

: Like us?
:

: Not same I
hope and to get here they must have set out as soon as boats
arrived :

: And in the
confusion and battle, their tracks, we would not see them :

“The Larg,” he
called out, “they might be anywhere. Everyone watch out.”

They ran across
the fields and past the pitiful little heaps that were dead
kura.