Tressana's rolgha caught some of her excitement and began to prance. She reined it in, but couldn't rein in her own excitement as easily. Jaghd was going to war, Elstan was doomed, and she would rule the world!
For the first time she wore metal armor, a helmet, a gilded breastplate, and leggings of silvered chain mail. She still carried her bow, because she would have felt naked without it, but she carried a gold-hilted short sword rather than a lance. She wouldn't be much use in a cavalry fight, but she didn't intend to get into one. With ten thousand Jaghdi gathered in one place, she had to be where she could see everything and give the orders. Few of the commanders would obey anyone but her, and none would question her courage.
Ahead the road stretched yellow and dusty in the sun toward the forest of Binaark. On either side rode her guards, with Jollya at the head of the women and Efroin of the Red Band leading the men. She'd have to ask Jollya how her father was doing. Sikkurad and some of his helpers were riding in the baggage train, to represent the Keepers in the war. Both Sikkurad and his daughter probably knew he'd been chosen because Tressana didn't trust him. She suspected he disapproved of her war, and so it was better if she kept him where she could keep an eye on him. However, as long as both Sikkurad and his daughter did their work in the war, everything they might have done before it would be forgiven. Neither Keepers nor good fighting women grew on trees.
For Jollya's part, she, like her father, was keeping silent. She remembered Blade's words about keeping one's mouth shut and waiting for a better time. So, like her father, she continued to serve Tressana, biding her time and biting her tongue.
Even the wagons in the rear were moving now, judging from the cloud of dust. Tressana saw the royal banner over Manro's wagon swaying ominously, and sent a rider back to have the pole strengthened. If it fell someone would be sure to call it an evil omen. They'd already said as much about the disaster to the first scouting party.
If she'd only been able to leave Manro behind completely-but neither law nor custom nor common sense would allow it. The King of Jaghd must go to war with his army, even if his mind was useless and his body nearly so. There were also advantages. Far from the palace with its sharp eyes and wagging tongues, some way might be found to complete the work begun so many years ago. If that could be done, and Manro's death blamed on the war… Yes, that was worth thinking about.
The queen's smile broadened as she took her place between her two guard-captains.
King Manro knew that the men standing on the back of the wagon wouldn't let him put his head out and see what was going on. He wanted to do it. It would be like a turtle putting his head out of his shell. He'd seen a turtle do that once, and liked it.
Even if the men weren't going to let him, he knew what was going on. The gods had told the Jaghdi that they must leave their homeland. They were all going, and Tressana was leading them. This was not right. The gods were punishing the Jaghdi by forcing them to find a new home because of all the bad things Pretty Tressana had done. She should not be leading them. This would make the gods even angrier. The Jaghdi would be punished again, even in their new home.
Once he had thought that Pretty Tressana would protect him from everything, even the gods. Now he understood that he himself had to be protected from Tressana. He thought the dark woman who rode with Tressana might do it. What was her name? Jollya? Yes, Jollya-Dark Jollya.
Dark Jollya would protect him in the new land where the Jaghdi had to go.
This time Blade was awake as he stood at the foot of the cliffs in the Kettle of the Winds. The towering cliffs were even more impressive than he'd imagined in his dream. From where Blade was standing, the cliffs were at least a quarter of a mile straight up. Or straight down, depending on your viewpoint. If the flatlands at the foot of the cliffs hadn't been so wide, no enemy could have set up a camp there. As it was, the flatlands were wide enough so that the Jaghdi cavalry would be protected by the cliffs but still be far enough away so that boulders pushed off the top would not reach them. The wide, shallow river protected them from the other three sides. Tressana did have a good eye for land.
Blade turned away from the cliffs and began to walk back toward the camp by the river. It was a good three miles against a brisk headwind. By the time he was getting close to the river he'd considered almost every way of attacking an enemy camped in the middle of the flats. He finally concluded that it couldn't be done unless the Elstani could grow wings.
Thinking of wings made him look up. Birds were soaring over the river and sweeping across the flatlands toward the cliffs, climbing as they went without a flicker of wing. They must be soaring on some fairly powerful updrafts.
Soaring on updrafts. Suddenly Blade was in a hurry. He scrambled across a patch of rocks as fast as he could go without breaking an ankle. When he reached smoother ground he broke into a run and came pounding up to the tent like an Olympic sprinter.
Haima watched Blade testing the direction of the wind with a wet thumb. Then he examined their tent, still without saying a word. Finally she lost patience. «Blade, have you got the itch or something?»
«No. I-Haima, how common are these reeds?» He pointed at the tent. Its poles were made of lengths of reed glued together.
«In some places they grow like grass. There's a marsh a day upriver.» She pointed.
«Good. And the wind-does it always blow? And toward the cliffs?»
«Blade, why do you think this place is called the Kettle of the Winds? Yes. What's biting you?»
Instead of answering, Blade took both her hands and danced her around in a circle until she started laughing in spite of herself. Finally she collapsed, still laughing.
«It's good news, isn't it?»
«Yes. There's no way of attacking a camp on the flatlands here unless the Elstani can fly. But with the help of the wind I think they can.»
Haima stared at him. Blade knelt down, wishing the Elstani had paper. The gravel by the river was very fine, though. With the point of his sword he was able to sketch his idea well enough to make Haima understand.
Chapter 18
«All right, people. Grab a wingtip and lift-gently, gently! This thing isn't made of iron!»
«If it isn't strong, Blade, Elstan is in trouble,» said Kima, the young woman to Blade's left.
«Blade is in even more trouble,» said her brother on Blade's right. «It's a long way down. Ah-how far do we need to go?» He looked down the steadily steepening slope and out into the empty air of the Kettle of the Winds.
«Scared, Borokku?» said Kima.
«Yes,» the man replied bluntly. «I haven't done anything to deserve the Stone Death.»
«It's better than you'll get if the Elstani win,» his sister replied sharply.
«Stop arguing, both of you,» said Blade, torn between irritation and amusement. «All I need is for you to hold on while I make the final inspection. Otherwise it's likely to take off on its own.»
«Yes, Blade,» they said. Then there was no more talking as Blade made his final inspection of the hang glider. He'd used the wing before, testing it on gentler hillsides, but he was very careful now to check for defects. If anything went wrong up here, there was a quarter-mile of empty air between him and the stony ground.
Blade's hang glider was the simplest kind-a triangular Rogallo wing of waxed cloth, with three spars and a pilot's frame made of glued reed. The materials were strong enough but made the glider much heavier than it would have been in Home Dimension. Blade compensated by making the glider considerably larger, to get a satisfactory glide angle with his two hundred and ten pounds aboard. The wing was twenty-three feet from tip to tip, and Blade expected it to carry him off the cliff, clear across the flatlands, and across the river to the far bank. If it did this it should be able to do the same with a one hundred fifty-pound Elstani and enough Living Fire to scare the wits out of any rolgha ever foaled!