Jeffrey Lord Blade 19 Looters of Tharn

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followed, as a sheet of flame blotted out the whole scene behind him.
Bits of metal scythed down two of the chariot horses. They screamed and fell,
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tangling the other two.
Blade clung to the chariot as it leaped into the air with a corkscrewing
motion. It was still in the air when the blast wave hit. Blade's grip on the
chariot failed, and he spun helplessly through the air, to crash down on the
ground and smash himself into blackness.
The first things Blade saw when he could see again were two faces bending over
him, both wearing concerned expressions. One face was Chara's, disfigured by a
massive bruise that covered most of one
cheek. The other was his son's. King Rikard's red gold hair was matted with
blood, sweat, and the filth of a long day's battle. But he and Chara both
smiled as they saw Blade's eyes flicker open.
"Have we won?" was the first question that came to Blade.
The others both nodded. "We could not have won much more thoroughly than we
have," said the king.
"When the explosions came, it seemed that the mercenaries lost their courage.
Many of them tried to surrender or run. They did not succeed. Others, who
still had ammunition for their weapons, turned their weapons on themselves.
Most of the mercenaries are dead by now, and those who are not dead now will
mostly be dead before darkness comes."
"How long have I been out?" was Blade's next question. He was taking an
inventory of his aches and pains as he did so. His ankle was swelling, his
head ached, he was bruised and scraped all over, and his chest felt as though
a ballet troupe had been dancing on it in logging boots. Also there were gaps
where two teeth had been.
"Nearly three hours," said King Rikard. "If you had not been breathing we
would have thought you dead, and that would have been a grief to all of us. We
have already lost many of the people this day, for the mercenaries fought well
until they lost their courage. More than six hundred of the people will not
see tomorrow's sun rise, and some of those hurt will not see many more. Anyara
is among the dead."
"I join you in mourning her. Tharn owes her much."
"Yes. There is another whom Tharn owes much, also."
"Silora?"
"Yes. Her body is safe in the same tent where Anyara already lies." He
hesitated. "Father, I speak in this for all those who doubted Silora,
including myself. It is a grief to me that I doubted her, and a greater grief
to me now that I cannot apologize to her. But there is something that may
still be done. Will you accept that she lie in the same tomb with the Beloved
Zulekia?"
For a moment Blade felt his eyes watering with more than fatigue and dust.
Then he nodded. "I accept that; I accept it gladly." He sat up, realized that
his bones would not fall apart if he moved, and stood up.
For a moment he had to brace himself on his son's shoulder, then stood alone.
"Let us get back to our people."
As King Rikard predicted, the last of the fighting died down before nightfall.
There was not a live mercenary anywhere in sight, and cavalry patrols armed
with captured guns were on the prowl to make sure that those who had run away
kept on running until they dropped dead.
More than two hundred thoroughly confused and frightened Peace Lords were
prisoners-or guests.
They weren't quite sure which, even after Blade assured them that they would
be welcome in Tharn and find good homes, freedom, and useful work there. No
doubt he looked like one more dusty and blood-spattered barbarian to them. He
could hardly tell them of his real origins, however.
But Blade knew the Peace Lords would come around in time, and be a valuable
aid to Tharn in its groping back to civilization. There would be problems
getting them settled in, but nothing that his son and the council could not
solve. What Tharn needed Mazda for had been done this day, and would not have
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to be done again.
Blade spent some time in the tent where Anyara and Silora lay. They had washed
Silora's face and then bound and covered her so that her wounds and
mutilations did not show. The pale face with the long eyelashes might have
been sunk in sleep. Yes, it was a good thought his son had, letting Silora lie
in the same tomb with Zulekia. Whatever happened in Konis now, Silora would
never go home. But at least she would not be forgotten here in Tharn, among
the people she had fought for and died helping to save.
After a while Blade went out again into the camp. One of the rare plains
thunderstorms was moving in from the west. The stars were vanishing overhead,
and lightning flickered eerily along the horizon.
Some of the younger men and women who still had the strength were dancing
among the tents. Why not? thought Blade. They are alive; the Looters are
destroyed; Tharn is safe. Enough reason for anyone to celebrate. Then he saw
who was leading the line of dancers as it snaked in and out among the tents.
It was Chara, wearing nothing but the technician's jeweled belt around her
waist. The jewels sparkled and her bare oiled skin seemed to glow in the light
from the campfires. She was magnificent, and suddenly completely irresistible.
Blade stepped forward and reached out to take her free hand. Her eyes met his,
with a light in them showing that she shared his thoughts. Together they would
seek out warmth and life, drive away the day's memories of death and all the
ghosts that still seemed to be hanging over the battlefield. She drifted away
from the dance, and hand in hand they started for his tent.
The first drops of rain spattered down on the camp as they ducked into the
tent. As Blade took the belt in both hands, to draw it off from Chara's waist,
thunder exploded outside, as loud as any of the battle noises that day.
In the same moment Blade felt pain and another sort of thunder explode inside
his head. He staggered, partly with the pain, partly with surprise at the
realization of what was happening. Lord Leighton's computer was calling him
back across the unknown, back to England. His hands tightened on the belt.
He saw Chara's eyes widen, heard her say, "Mazda, are you-?" Then the thunder
in his ears and the thunder in his head drowned her out. She faded from view,
the tent followed, then there was nothing around him but a vast dim grayness
and a steep slope plunging endlessly down into the grayness. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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