Legends of the Riftwar (36 page)

Osami's eyes were already going dark. He looked up again at Dennis and smiled. ‘Saved friend, yes?'

‘Yes boy, you saved us,' Dennis whispered, and then Osami was gone.

Dennis sat back as Asayaga held the boy, struggling to control himself. Then he stood up. Eyes distant he looked across the span.

‘Another volunteer, take the rope across,' he said. ‘Once secure, I want twenty men over to help haul the second log across: that should give us good enough footing.'

Another Tsurani already had the rope which Osami had clung to, and tying it around his waist he leapt up on to the log and started across.

Asayaga turned away. Going over to the railing, he looked over the side.

Dennis went up to join him. ‘I'm sorry,' he said.

‘He was my elder sister's boy. Joined us just before we set out on this insanity. It was his first mission.'

Stunned, Dennis said nothing. This was the same boy that Asayaga had been willing to kill back in the retreat long ago, the boy that
Richard had insisted on saving, and who the cursed Corwin had helped as well.

Dennis put a hand on Asayaga's shoulder. ‘I didn't know.'

‘There was no reason to tell you. In our way, we are all of the same family, all who serve our house, so his ties to me gained him no favouritism. Even Sugama would not have thought to go after the boy to strike at me.'

‘Sugama?'

‘Don't you understand, don't you see anything? Haven't you learned anything of us in all this time? Sugama was my enemy, as much as you are. His clan seeks to destroy my clan; he was sent here as much to spy on me as to replace the Tondora officer who had died.'

‘But you were willing to defend him back at Wolfgar's.'

‘To preserve my command. I could not let you kill him like a wounded pig when he was already dying. All of us would have lost face.'

Dennis turned away and saw that the volunteer was already across, securing the second rope as a handrail for the next man to follow, and that another Tsurani was already up on the log and stepping out.

‘I never could thank your Richard for what he did in the way I wanted to, as an uncle and not just as Osami's commander. I wish I had.'

‘He knows that now.'

Asayaga looked back to the open span. ‘Once the second log is across we move the children and women, then the men. We should be across within the hour.' His face an impenetrable mask, he looked at Dennis.

‘Asayaga, we still must settle what is between us, but I am truly sorry for Osami. He was a brave lad. I think Richard must be greeting him now in Lims-Kragma's Halls.'

‘Remember, Hartraft, we go to different places when we die. I don't think your gods let Tsurani into their Hall of Judgment.'

‘Still, I think Richard would want to greet him,' Dennis said. He hesitated, his voice dropping. ‘And Jurgen would be there, too.'

Asayaga sighed, finally nodding his thanks.

‘Dennis!'

He looked up and was stunned to see Gregory approaching, cradling his right hand, a bloody bandage wrapped around it. He felt a momentary panic. So damn close and now the damned moredhel were closing in.

He looked past Gregory. Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers were circling in behind the Natalese scout, but where was Tinuva? But even before Gregory spoke to tell him what had happened he knew what the eledhel was doing: he was sacrificing himself in order to buy them time.

As he heard Gregory's words a terrible rage began to build in him. So much of his anger had been shifting over the last month. For so long it had been aimed at the Tsurani, at those who had murdered his family, at the war, and in the end at Corwin. But now at last he understood and it was as if a curtain that had covered his soul across the years had been torn away.

He could see the same fire in Asayaga as well, for the elf had been the one who had always walked between the two sides, respected by all, trusted by all.

He saw Roxanne and Alyssa standing at the edge of the circle and the fire was in their eyes as well, for the one that Tinuva now faced had destroyed their home, and murdered their father as well.

He caught Roxanne's eye. She studied his face and something in her eyes told him she knew what he must do. A mixture of fear, regret, and faint hope played across her face in seconds, then she returned to her implacable expression.

‘Figure out a way to get the children and women across,' he said to her. Without waiting for a response he looked over at Asayaga. ‘Are you with me?' he asked.

‘For what?'

‘We go back and fight. I'm finished with running.'

A curtain of snow drifted down from an overhanging branch. It seemed to hover before him, each flake clearly defined in his mind, each one alive for an eternity, flowing with the gentle wind, cloaking him, touching his brow, cooling the fever of his rage.

Tinuva slipped away from the tree, moving low, almost one with the snow on the ground. He rolled in behind a fallen log that rose like
a white hump-backed beast from the forest floor. Bracing himself, he grabbed hold of the arrow sticking out of his thigh and snapped the end off, chanting inwardly to block the pain. He knew he should push it through but there was no time and doing so might sever an artery. Time enough later. He dared a glance up over the side of the log, ducked, rolled, then came back up, bow drawn, arrow winging on its way. The distant shadow moved and collapsed and for a second he felt a disquieting thrill; and then there came a laugh.

‘Well sent, brother, well sent.'

Tinuva reached around to his quiver, drew another arrow, started up, then rolled backwards and dodged off in the other direction, racing through a thicket of saplings. He caught a glimpse of others standing silent, arms folded, watching intently, backing away at his approach. There were faces there that he recognized–for how could he not recognize cousins, comrades of hunts from long ago, those with whom he had once laughed, and whom he had once fought alongside, slaying their enemies together?

A few even nodded gravely, for even though he was apostate and an abomination, they remembered hunting and going to war with Morvai.

He turned away from the outer edge of the circle, an instinct telling him to suddenly drop, an arrow singing past his ear, kicking up a plume of snow as it struck the ground by his side.

Sitting up, he drew, aimed, shot again and Bovai dodged back behind an ancient pine, the bolt tearing off a spray of bark.

Tinuva was back up and running, but the pain was registering, each step a flood of agony that would have caused a human to fall, screaming, but he pressed on. He spared a quick glance to the south-east. Though the storm continued, still he could sense the face of the sun beyond the clouds, far above the white mantle, hovering in a fierce blue sky. It had risen to mid-zenith; the duel had consumed hours. He could hear angry mutterings from beyond the next hill, the impatient cries of goblins, the hoarse voices of men in protest, but all the moredhels' attention was focused on this duel, a duel which Tinuva knew they would see as a hunt that would be spoken of into eternity, the hunt of brother against brother. Each knew the tricks of the other, the subtle movements, the way of thinking, the
scent of the other on the wind, the feel of one's gaze upon the other even with the back turned.

He knew Bovai was breaking to the right, racing to cut across in front, rather than following the trail of blood dripping into the snow. He dodged behind a tree, a perfect position with a fallen log leaning against it, forming a small tunnel underneath. Crouching down, he drew and waited. Then he saw him.

He felt the brush of the fletching against his check and sighted down the shaft. The clouds parted for a second sending a gauzy shimmer of light racing across the clearing, highlighting Bovai, telling him as well that time was passing slowly, and that far away men were still labouring to escape.

Bovai slowed, as if his own inner voice was shouting a warning. He looked straight at Tinuva, eyes widening. Tinuva shifted ever so slightly and then released the arrow.

The bolt sang through the woods, spinning between trees and branches, and tore across Bovai's side, scraping his ribs. Bovai staggered, falling backwards, rolling for cover. A growl rose up from those circling the two, for though not all could see, they could hear and knew the sounds, were able to identify who had shot and who had fallen.

‘Tinuva.'

It was the inner voice, a whisper.

‘Brother?'

‘You had me, didn't you?'

‘No brother, I shot to kill.'

‘You lie. You had me. Why?'

‘It is not yet time, brother.'

There was a moment of silence.

‘I have her, you know, brother,' Bovai's voice whispered.

Tinuva lowered his head, body trembling. He knew this was a ploy to goad him into rage and error. After a moment, Tinuva whispered, knowing his thoughts would carry on the wind, ‘You have never had her. She will always be mine.'

‘Silence!' Bovai's angry reply, a scream of rage, was loud enough for all the onlookers to hear.

Tinuva stood up, shooting blindly at the source of the scream,
and was greeted by a taunting laugh. ‘Waste of a good bolt, brother.'

Tinuva reached back to his quiver and felt that there were only half a dozen arrows left, but he did not care. It would only take one more to kill Bovai, just one more.

‘Come for me brother, out in the open, blade to blade.'

Bovai stood up. ‘Look into my eyes brother, come closer, look into the eyes that look into hers every night.'

‘Damn you,' Tinuva hissed.

‘Yes brother, we are all damned are we not?'

‘No.'

‘You are. You abandoned your blood. That shame can be erased only in blood. Let me send you to the far shore, brother. There you can see the Mothers and Fathers, if they will have you.'

Another flicker of sunlight dashed across the woods and clearing.

He wasn't sure how long had passed now, for together the two of them were drifting in another world, a world that only those of the eledhel and moredhel truly understood, where a second could stretch to eternity, or a hundred years could be but a flicker of an eye.

‘Come to me, brother. One of us is fated to die this day, let his brother look into his eyes and be the last he shall ever see of this realm.'

Tinuva slowly let his bow drop; then reaching to his belt, he drew out his dagger and stepped into the clearing.

‘Move it, keep moving!' Dennis cried. Stepping to the side of the road, he looked back.

The column was strung out, the rear of it barely visible in the drifting snow which came down in a hard squall, then in seconds lifted to a few flurries, then closed in again.

Men were gasping, staggering, legs pumping, all semblance of formation gone, the strongest to the fore, the weaker to the rear. No scouts were forward, all caution abandoned in this headlong rush, the column rushing along like a torrent of rage unleashed. No longer were they the hunted: now they stormed forward as the hunters.

Dennis turned to look up the road. How much further he wasn't sure, for the ride down this path with Roxanne had been in the dark.
Gregory had ridden forward, promising to wait at the turn-off into the woods and to give warning if the moredhel were advancing.

‘How much further, Hartraft?'

Asayaga staggered up to his side, breathing hard, sword drawn, the blade catching a glint of sunlight when the sun showed through the clouds for an instant.

‘I don't know.'

‘Your plan?'

‘What plan?'

Asayaga looked at him and smiled.

‘Then let's go,' Asayaga cried and he pressed on, Dennis by his side.

It was an intricate dance, a ballet of death, the two leaping towards each other, blades flashing, the cold sound of steel striking steel and then a backing away, the dance to be repeated again and yet again.

The watchers of the clan had drawn closer, forming a circle to contain the fight, all silent, intent, more than one muttering bitter admiration for Tinuva, the Morvai of old whom they remembered as a comrade and friend. In their eyes he was again almost one of them. A dark fury shone in his regard, his jaw was stern, a pulsing radiance seemed to form around him.

Lightly he danced, oblivious to the pain, the blood that trickled down his leg, filling his boot so that he left a slushy pink footprint with each step.

Blood flowed from Bovai as well, dripping from his slashed side, from the cut of Tinuva's dagger to his left arm which had sliced nearly to the bone.

Again the two came together; again there was the sparkle of blades, a sprinkle of blood joining the snowflakes that drifted down around them. Tinuva jumped back, left hand going to his face to wipe away the blood from the cut across his brow which clouded his vision. The world in his eyes had gone to red: yet it was not the blood which darkened his world, but all that he had contained within himself and which had now flared back to life.

‘Come on brother,' Bovai taunted. ‘Finish it.'

‘I will.'

Bovai mockingly extended his arms wide. ‘Embrace me, brother, come on.'

Tinuva crouched.

‘Our father would have been proud of you, brother. Anleah would be proud of you.'

Tinuva leapt in and Bovai crouched to receive the attack. As he advanced Tinuva shifted his dagger from right hand to his left, and then at the last instant shifted it back again. He slashed out, feigning low, then coming in high. He barely felt the icy touch of Bovai's dagger cutting into his left shoulder: poised to block his own blade and finding nothing, it had simply driven in.

The two staggered back, Bovai gasping, a bright line of blood cut across his face, his cheek slashed open from the edge of his mouth to his ear, which had been cut in half.

Crying out, Bovai clutched his face and a gasp rose from all who watched, for everyone knew how Bovai took such pride in his countenance, and now it would be twisted and scarred forever.