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the Red Band approach.
He reined in and took off his helmet. "We're well enough started, Your Grace.
When will you be joining us?"
Tressana studied Efroin's dusty, sun-reddened face. It was hard to tell if he
was questioning her courage, and she decided to give him the benefit of the
doubt. "As soon as the rest of the wagons come up. The Elstani have burned too
much for us to risk losing the food in the wagons. Even that won't be enough
if you don't keep your men in hand."
"I'll do my best, Your Grace. It would be easier if we had you with us."
"We've talked of that before, Efroin. You will obey."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Seeing the queen's mood, Efroin put his helmet back on and rode back toward
his men. Tressana watched him go with the first doubts about her plan she'd
felt in quite a while.
Dividing her army still made sense. Eight thousand men would ride on into
Elstan, led by Efroin. Two thousand would stay behind under the queen, to
gather food from Elstan's remaining farms and protect the slow wagons as they
crept out of the forest of Binaark. The Elstani would be too busy with Efroin
to attack her.
There also would be no sharp-eyed men around to suspect her plans for King
Manro. There was
Jollya, and she would have to be replaced if necessary. There were two other
women ready to lead the
Women's Guard and, Tressana hoped, able to do the work as well. Sikkurad would
no doubt suspect the queen after Manro was dead, but he was harmless. He now
seemed only to be interested in studying
Elstani livestock and all the specimens he'd brought out of the forest of
Binaark. It seemed that nothing much short of the end of the world would get
his attention, and whatever suspicions Tressana had felt about the Keeper now
seemed unnecessary.
In fact, there was no serious danger from anybody with her now. Efroin perhaps
would have been another matter. He was both sharp-eyed and honest. Now he
would be too busy to think of anything else. She could hope this would last
until Manro was dead. If the Elstani were defeated by then, even
Efroin wouldn't gain anything by suspecting her. She was safe enough, given
enough time and only a little luck. For the hundredth time she wished Richard
Blade were still alive. If he were, she wouldn't have needed the luck.
Manro stood by the tail of the wagon, chained by one ankle to the rear axle.
He watched the rolghas trot past, kicking up clouds of dust. It made him
cough. The women guarding him were also looking at the riders, not at him. He
wondered why the women had put a heavy chain around his ankle. The men who
guarded him hadn't done that. But at least the women were gentle. They never
pushed him or said unkind things to him.
Dark Jollya must have told them to be gentle with him. That was good. It
proved she really was his friend, which was even better. He would need a
friend to save him from Tressana and whatever punishment the gods would
give her. That punishment must be very close now, because all the men were
riding away into the new land and leaving Tressana behind. They did not want
to be near her when the gods' punishment came.
Manro wished the men had taken him with them. He didn't want to be around
Tressana either. But maybe Dark Jollya would be enough. She was only a woman,
but a woman could be very strong.
" by the Soul of the Land, by the Heart of the Steel, and by the Highest
Powers of my own land of
England, this I swear."
Everyone standing around the fire cheered the ritual four times. Daimarz
tossed a small cup of Living
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Fire onto the blazing logs. The whooosh of blue flame nearly singed Blade's
eyebrows, and he was afraid
Chaia's long red hair would catch fire. He hastily pulled her back, then she
raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him.
He found himself kissing her back. Either Haima's daughter had been acquiring
experience behind her mother's back, or she had a good deal of natural talent.
It didn't help either that she looked closer to eighteen than fourteen, a
slimmer version of her mother. Blade finally reminded himself that she was
only fourteen, and that this was only the betrothal, not the marriage.
The kiss lasted so long that everyone was laughing by the time Chaia stepped
out of Blade's arms.
Haima was laughing the loudest. "Do you still think our women are like those
of England, girls until they are sixteen?"
"I may change my mind. I guess I'll know for sure after tomorrow."
"Ah. Yes." The mention of tomorrow sobered her.
Blade looked away from the fire. When his night vision returned he saw a
steady procession of
shadowy figures passing. Some of them seemed to be weird four-legged animals,
with long thin bodies and no heads. Those were bearers, each pair of men
carrying a rolled-up hang glider. Other bearers carried the pots of Living
Fire in reed baskets on their backs. The glider pilots themselves were
traveling light. They would have plenty of work to do tomorrow.
A pilot broke out of the procession and hurried toward Blade. He wore an
elaborately tooled green leather belt.
As he came into the firelight, Blade recognized Fador'n. So did Daimarz.
"What are you doing here?" the woodcutter leader growled. He seemed to be
doing a lot of growling lately. The strain was telling on all of them, except
perhaps Haima.
"I want to ask Blade something," said Fador'n firmly.
"I'll give you something " began Daimarz, clapping his hand to his sword.
Blade raised his hand for silence. "What is it that you want?"
Fador'n swallowed, and Blade saw that he was sweating. "Blade, I have been
wrong in the way I
saw you, the man who may save Elstan tomorrow. For this I have been called a
fool. I may be that. I
have also been called a coward, and I cannot bear that."
"I have never called you a coward," said Blade.
"No, but& Blade, let me be the first man to leap from the cliff tomorrow and
throw the Living Fire on the Jaghdi. I beg you let me prove that at least I am
not a coward!"
Blade considered this. The first man off didn't have to be a leader, but he
did have to be a better than average pilot. The men following him would have
to make much of their judgment of the wind from the way his glider behaved.
"I have never seen Fador'n fly," Blade admitted. "Daimarz, have you?"
The woodcutter seemed reluctant to answer until Haima gently elbowed him in
the ribs. "Come on, lad. The man's asked a question. He wants an honest
answer."
Daimarz sighed. "Fador'n is a very good flyer. He has sometimes made a
complete circle before he lands."
Anybody who could make a 360-degree turn in a three-hundred foot drop was
lucky, but he was also good. He wouldn't have all his bones intact otherwise.
"All right, Fador'n. You can be the first."
Fador'n didn't say anything, and he shook all over. Blade was afraid the man
was going to kneel to him. Instead he turned and ran back into the procession
and the darkness.
Blade and the others around the fire watched in silence until the last of the
procession was past. Two thousand men and women were marching off into the
hills to a perch on the cliffs above the Kettle of the
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Winds. Five hundred were the glider pilots, the rest bearers and guards. When
the last of the pilots had flown, the rest would come down the hills and take
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