“Which others among you would stand as war leader?” I demanded, looking from one to the other of them as they stared at the lifeless, untenanted flesh which once had been Helis. “Which of you burn to face me with swords, to prove that I am no longer fit to be called Midanna?”
The Silla stirred at my words, their eyes coming to study me where I stood, feet spread, body and sword readied, head held high. The hands of one or two flexed toward their swords as lips tightened and growls arose in their throats, yet they knew well enough that their skill with swords was not equal to mine. To face me singly would be sure death for her who made the attempt, yet did the Silla trash stand two hands in number. One among them whispered to the others, another added agreement and encouragement, and then were they all rushing forward, sword in hand, voices raised in battle cry, to face me together as they had not the courage to do separately.
The first moments were a flurry of sword thrusts and raging shouts, attack and defense, madness and more madness. I struck away blades thirsting for my blood, taking small toll in counterthrusts among the number of swords before me, thanking Mida that not all of them were able to join the line of attack at once. And then those others who had walked with me had joined the battle, engaging the Silla and drawing away all save two. The blood thrummed through my body in true battle appreciation, though my lip curled in disgust at the actions of the Silla. To die in battle is the right of all Midanna, yet no other than Silla trash would fall upon a single warrior in numbers where their own safety would be assured. Had they demanded their right to battle, no others save warriors such as they would have come forward to face them, warriors in numbers equal to theirs. Now they faced not one war leader but several, those who had walked with Rilas and myself, those who had no patience with cowardly actions. The Silla were done sooner than they knew, and the doing took little more time than the telling.
The two remaining before me were those who had urged the others to the attack, yet they, themselves, were less than eager to face me. After a moment of hesitation they emboldened themselves to strike together, one high, at my head, one low, at my legs. I jumped quickly to my right as they struck, blocking the blow to my head, avoiding the blow at my legs, and then another stood beside me, a warrior with hair so pale it seemed nearly white, one whose clan covering was Hitta blue. The Hitta took the Silla to my left, I the one before me, and soon were the two enemy Midanna again one with their sisters, lying upon the ground amid pools of blood. No single Silla had been spared, as was proper, and when all was done, the Hitta turned to me with a grin.
“Since the moment of their arrival have I been praying for such battle,” said she, a sparkle in the green of her eyes. “I salute you, war leader, for having rid us of their presence, and for having provided such sport.”
“The doing was not mine,” said I, looking about the clearing which had once more regained the peace of battle ended. “The Silla faith brought their own ending upon themselves, choosing death in battle over life in captivity. The choice itself was commendable, yet one does not begin an honorable act with dishonor. ”
“Silla know naught save dishonor,” snorted this light-haired warrior, also looking about herself. “Had they remained behind us when we began our attack upon the city, I would not have known in which direction to point my sword.”
“Jalav, how do you fare?” demanded Rilas, reaching me with anger all through her. A Keeper is denied the glory of battle for other glory is hers, yet did Rilas recall the battles of her youth and bitterly regret her loss. She, as Keeper to our clans of Midanna, would not refuse the demands of her position, yet did she feel the bitterness of denial.
“I am revenged, Rilas,” I smiled, holding my bloody sword away from her. “The doing provided little of the effort I would have preferred, yet am I revenged.”
“The effort was great enough for my liking,” said she, frowning as she moved her eyes about me. “How badly do the wounds pain you?”
“Wounds?” I echoed, finding I also matched her frown as I looked upon myself, seeking signs of that of which Rilas spoke. Surely, had I been wounded I would have known it, and yet there, in two places upon my left arm and one place upon my left leg, were signs of where Silla swords had reached me. The wounds were not serious, yet it took sight of them to bring me the burning throb of their existence, the flare of pain I had not felt when I had received them. Had I been asked as to when they had been given me, I would not have found it possible to answer.
“Mida continues to hold her shield firmly before you,” said Rilas, a grim pleasure to her tone. “Not only were you able to keep their points from you till the others had joined you, you were also made to feel no pain which might dangerously distract you. With such aid as that, the city will surely be yours.”
“It will not fall of its own,” said I, pondering what truth might lie in Rilas’ words. Had it been Mida’s hand which had kept the pain from me, or was there another, unknowable reason for the happening? Perhaps the vague suspicions I felt were unfounded, yet so much had occurred in my life which began as unexplained confusion that I now felt I saw some pattern to the thing—which this latest occurrence lacked.
“Certainly it will not fall of its own,” Rilas laughed, looking about to see more and more warriors come streaming toward the clearing from all about. “It is we who will cause its fall, and you who will lead us. Come and clean your sword and tend your wounds, Jalav, and then speak to us of the manner in which we are to take that place of males. All here will listen, Jalav, and all will follow.”
“Aye, speak to us, war leader!” came from all about, the voices filled full with agreement and a willingness to obey. Shining faces surrounded me, faces filled with respect and support, and I saw at last the role played by those Silla who were no more. My own ascendancy to war leadership of all the clans had been accomplished through the slaying of hated enemies, their attack upon me the spur which caused the other war leaders to move in my cause. Here, indeed, did I see the hand of Mida, yet little quarrel did I have with the method used. Far better to spill enemy blood to achieve my goal, for each and every one of my sisters would be needed to take Bellinard. Rilas moved off in the direction of her tent, beckoning me with her, and gladly did the throngs of warriors part to let me pass. I would speak and they would listen, I would lead and they would follow, and then, Mida willing, the city would be ours.
2
Bellinard—and a city is captured
Eager discussions sped away the balance of that fey and half of the next. When mid-fey brought the beginnings of Mida’s tears, falling slowly at first and then more and more heavily, it was clear to all that the time to strike was at hand. The rains would drive all city folk within their dwellings, leaving no others save those males in leather and metal to bar our way. We awaited the fall of darkness beneath the trees of the forest, pleased by the touch of Mida’s tears yet also thoroughly chilled by them. The warmth of the fey had fled with the brightness of Mida’s light, bringing discomfort home in silence to warriors and discomfort loudly and bitterly protested to the males. The captives, of course, knew naught of what was afoot, and took the gags placed in their mouths and additional leather upon their bodies as punishment for having reviled their captors. No more than two hands of warriors were left to guard the males, those warriors miserable at being left behind, and yet the duty was a very necessary one. Should any of the males succeed in escaping his bonds, many Midanna lives would undoubtedly be lost.