Kavin's World (5 page)

At that moment, two of my men had the boy, who had by ill chance killed a third. One, Caltus, held his mouth strangled with a cloak, and was busily breaking his arm; the other man placed his point on the boy’s throat.

Myself
, about to kill the graybeard, with my own point at his gullet, saw the older man roll back his eyes and heard him croak in terror. Instinctively, I knew what his cry meant; the boy was apparently his own. And I had a sudden thought.

“Caltus!”
I said, in a low voice. “Wait! Don’t kill the brat. We’ve got his sire here, too; bag them well, and we may be able to keep them awhile.”

They were wrapped and tied like bales in a moment. I stirred the other corpses with my foot, finding one still gurgling his blood and maybe capable of later noise. Him I finished with a quick thrust; then I pulled aside the tent flap very cautiously.

From the ridge it was possible to see the city wall, not far below. Torches, carried by riders near the gate, made it even easier to see, and fires burned on the walls too. Doubtless the invaders were about to make the night assault I had guessed at; possibly they believed the city held no more warriors at all.

Above the distant shouting, I heard a rhythmic booming noise, and saw a cluster of dark shapes about the gate; they had brought up their ram, and were even now at work. They were rats, sweating to work their way into a trap, and I could have cried out for sheer joy at the sight.

And this camp, I realized, would be nearly empty, with all the invaders drawing closer to the walls for that final assault. These dead on the tentfloor had been making ready their final plans. Ah, Tana smiled indeed!

Leaving two men behind to watch our newly won prizes, we slipped from the tent in groups of three or four, each toward a planned objective. In a moment, the ropes were being cut, and freed horses were plunging and shrieking; swords slashed at tent ropes, while we seized torches from the camp fires and flung them at the black felt peaks.

There were men in the camp, but the ones we found seemed mostly old or wounded; and there were innumerable women and brats, as well. These added to the invaders’ problems by running wildly and shrieking, thus hampering the few able men in their defense. Partly, we were helped by the complete surprise, and the darkness; it was almost as if we were invisible, so easy was it to slay.

Within a few minutes we were coming together again. I counted quickly, and discovered we had lost but three men so far. But every man looked like a butcher, painted with bright blood from helmet to feet.

We dragged the two captives to their feet and hauled them behind on a rope like unwilling mules, giving them an occasional stimulating whack with the flat of a sword to hasten their feet. So we went out of that burning camp as quickly as we could run,
myself
last of all.

Just at that moment, a haggard woman dashed out of a flaring tent, and caught sight of me. Wild as a cat, she seized up a short lance and ran at me. I had no choice; I cut her down. To kill a woman is a great evil, and against our most ancient laws, yet in such wars as these one is sometimes forced to do it. I have made such sacrifices as should cleanse this guilt from me, but I still recall it.

By this time, the invaders had forced through the gate, as they were meant to do, and a boiling mass of them were within. But some had seen the fire on the ridge, and the running horses, and were beginning to turn back.

Then we heard a cannon roar, and we knew the trap was sprung.

Within the city, my men and those of the townsfolk who could still work had been busy all through the day. Stout barricades had been laid across the streets that led from the square, just inside the gate. Over the gateway, a massive barrier of timbers had been hung by chains, and all else had been made ready. From the iron-barred gate of the castle tower, looking down into the square, culverins and two small cannon were laid, and bowmen waited on the housetops. One narrow street, a gulley that had no doors on either side, was left open as a slaughtering alley. And one more thought of mine had been carried through: under the cobbles of the square lay a dozen casks of powder mixed with small stones, and a thick trail of powder to link them all.

As we ran toward the distant walls, circling round to avoid the returning horsemen, we could see the wrecked gate, now blocked again. From within, the cannon bellowed once more, and a roar of fury rose from the trapped besiegers, now themselves besieged. The shrieking of horses and howling of men, all together, was a blood-freezing sound, even more so for the riders lucky enough to be still outside. They wasted no time on the hopeless task of freeing their comrades, we saw; it seemed that word of the sacking of their camp had already reached them and they were going back, enraged. In the blackness we were unseen until we reached the wall itself, at the foot of a square tower at the northern corner of the city. We shouted at the walls, and a head appeared.

A moment later, there were other heads, and ropes snaked down toward us. We climbed, or were pulled, like so many hungry cats, in a great hurry indeed. We knew it would be only a matter of moments before we were seen, even with the Luck watching over us. The boy and the old man sailed up at the ends of ropes, like sacks of wheat; and last of all,
myself
, Caltus, and one more of the Count’s men grasped lines to climb.

At that moment there was a wild yell from a corner of the wall, and half a dozen of the riders came down upon us at a gallop, howling. Two were skewered by arrows from above, but four were still in the saddle as they slammed past us. A spear lifted my helm away; fortunately my chin strap was unlaced, or I’d have sailed away like a prawn on a fishspear. That one I unhorsed, with a stroke to his beast’s hind leg, and he went head over tail to the ground.

I glanced round, seeing one man down and beyond aid, but Caltus was still on his feet, bleeding badly. His arm was slashed; he could not climb. Quickly, I looped the rope around him, and bellowed to those on the wall to pull. I seized a second line myself, and scrambled. Halfway up, with Caltus dangling lower, another rider came, standing in his saddle, blade up to fetch poor Caltus where he hung helpless as a kitten in a bag. Once more my sea work came to hand; I was as much at home on a rope as any man, and I slid down a yard or two, turning and kicking out.

I met that rider in midair, and he must have thought we of Dorada had somehow learned to fly. He had little time left for thought, though. I took his hand off at the wrist, and swung back to the wall.

Once up and on the wall, we ran to join the fray in the west square, but even as I gained the gatehouse, I knew it was nearly over. The horde within had tried at first to stand and fight, but arrows rained unceasingly, until their own maddened horses were kicking them to death. Then some of them gained the narrow street, and pelted down it, death from the housetops all the way. Down that street, and round, and back into the square, for it was a full circle; some rode through twice before discovering that there was no exit. None rode through a third time.

And as the last of them milled in the square, some clawing at the barriers, some trying to climb the walls with their nails, the cannon above fired again and again, until the barrels were too hot to touch. A handful of the riders stood now, barricaded behind their dead horses, shields up, sending useless arrows up against the deadly walls; and then a fire arrow from above found the powder trail. The mines went up with a sound that killed hearing, and the square was one black sea of smoke.

A cry went up from the lookouts on the walls: the riders were going back. The last of them were gone from under the walls, and the survivors of our city sent up a shaky cheer. But we knew they were still out there. We had a victory, but we were not yet free of them.

I gave orders to see if any still lived among the
trapped,
and, if so, to keep three or four alive, those in the healthiest condition, to put to question. Then I went down into the city, exhausted and blood-smeared, toward the Temple.

The city of Astorin grew around that Temple, which had stood there before walls or houses. The Temple itself had grown, of course; it filled the space atop its rocky crag, and grew, as a plant might, down the sides. It was walled and turreted about, like a fortress, as it had been at more than once in its history, and should the city have fallen, it could have been defended, as the castle could.

Now, the great lower gates stood open, two bronze leaves on which an ancient artist had lavished his best skill. The courtyards, open to the sun, were filled with plague sick and with wounded, though the two were kept separated. The lesser priestesses and other women were moving about, doing all they could for the sick. Their skill in such matters was very great, but the plague was stronger than any skill. I passed a cart of dead being carried forth for burning, and another was being loaded within.

Beyond the courts was the tall outer temple, where the Nine Gods live, each with his image and altar, in a high pillared hall. It was empty now, and my footsteps rang hollow under the vaulted roof.

I continued up a long, wide stair, through an arch, and I was in the outer court of the Temple of the Great Goddess, the One in Three. Here there were no images; she needed none. There was only cool white stone and gold, and a silence.

I stood there, as far as any man was ever permitted to go, and waited. They knew I was there, of course; but they are female, and it is customary to make a man wait a while. Then, at last, the dark curtained door opened, and the high priestess came forth.

“Kavin of Hostan,” she said quietly.

“Lady.”

“You bring a smell of blood,” she said.

“The blood of enemies of my people.”
I was a hair annoyed at her tone.

“I have heard that you have been very fortunate so far.”

I resented that, too, and bit my lip.

“Lady, I was lucky indeed. But I think craft had a little to do with it too. A man uses such luck as he gets.”

She stared at me coldly a while.
Then, “So young.
So young you are, Prince. Well… what seek you here, then?”

“First, Lady, I would ask certain questions,” I said, and my voice rang too harshly and commandingly for this place, where even a ruler is only a man. But I no longer cared.

“These are questions which I am entitled to ask, as you know,” I went on. “I am Prince of this land of Dorada, and Guardian of the Temple, by that right. I now demand to consult the place of questions, so that I may guide this war rightly.”

“You were taught that such questioning is dangerous, and why,” she said in a level voice. “Yet you still ask?”

“I do,” I said.
“And one thing more.
My bridal is not complete.”

She was silent again, and this time I thought I saw a strange look in her face, almost of look of… what, hesitation? What could cause such a look on the high priestess’s face, she who could make all decisions, anywhere?

At last she spoke, and there was a strange note in her voice, too.

“The Maiden Samala…” she began, and paused. “The Maiden… refuses to have speech with you.”

I was completely frozen with surprise. Such a thing had never happened in our known history. Such a thing could not happen, in all common sense.

The Maiden herself selected the Prince, although there was always some advice from her elders. Yet, she was guided in her choice by the Goddess herself, and the choice was a final one. He whom she made Prince of Dorada was her mate, and the presumptive father of her first child. She might take such other lovers as she chose, if she grew bored with the Prince; yet, the ritual had created his rule, and the form was an ancient and unchangeable one.

For the Maiden, wed but still a virgin, to refuse her choice,
after
the ceremonial itself… it was not to be understood.

“Is the Lady Samala… ill, perhaps?” I asked at last.

The high priestess shook her head.

“Neither ill nor mad;” she said, in an odd voice. “She received a command from the Goddess herself, she says. And she says that she will remain here, and nothing else, for… a long time.”

“Am I then not Prince of Dorada, after all?” I asked. I might almost have cried out with relief if she had answered that I was not. My short days of princedom had already become a heavy load.

“The rites have been performed,” she said. “You are the Prince.”

Now, I began to flush with anger.

“Let the Maiden sulk then,” I said in a hard voice. “There’s enough to keep me busy, as it is.
Although I may ask again, later… if I have time.
The matter of the question is more important to Dorada and to me than any green girl’s quirks. How soon will all be ready?”

The Priestess nodded, very solemnly. “If you dare, then we must do it. But you may not come in as you are, foul with blood and filth. There are baths in the rooms to that side, and a clean robe. Go quickly, and we will make ready.”

I turned toward the doors she showed me, and she moved to the curtain. But she paused, and spoke over her shoulder.

“You were most fond of the girl you bought, the red-haired one.”

“What?” I stared, and remembered Isa. “Yes. I was. Is she here, and safe?”

“I shall send her to you, to aid you in bathing.” The priestess smiled coldly. “We have discovered some words of her speech, and taught her a few of ours, during the voyage. She seems a wise and seemly girl. You may continue to keep her by you, if you wish… and if she wishes. Remember our law; we hold no slaves here.”

Things seemed a little brighter, I thought. What cared I if Samala had no use for me? There were many fair wenches in the world, and not many of them priestesses. I went on, into the other rooms, humming a tune.

There was a great bath, hot and steaming from a pipe that tapped the hot spring under the rock; water of a bitter taste, but most refreshing.

And there was also Isa, in the brown robe of a Temple servant, who greeted me most warmly, and ended by sharing the bath with me.