The queen hid her irritation. Jollya sounded as if she might be getting fond of the wretched man. And if Jollya couldn't be trusted, could anything be done about her that wouldn't cripple the Women's Guard right in the middle of the war? Also, what if Manro was actually regaining his wits? There was no telling what he might say or do. It was now more important than ever that he not be allowed to live much longer.
Suddenly Tressana was no longer in the mood for swimming. She scrambled up on the bank and started toweling herself dry with quick, jerky movements. She was angry with Manro for living, with Sikkurad for his disloyalty, with Jollya for attracting Manro's attention, and with Richard Blade of England for being dead.
Blade hurried across the beach, ducking as an Elstani swept overhead in a hang glider. Blade recognized Borokku, who'd been in his ground crew on the first flight into the Kettle of the Winds. The young man came down to a smooth but somewhat hard landing, and sat down abruptly. He was up again in a moment, muttering curses but apparently unhurt. Blade helped him get out of his glider, then watched him trot back up the hill, picking gravel out of the seat of his pants as he went.
There were five hundred glider pilots training here in the hills two days' march from the Kettle of the Winds. There could have been three thousand, if there'd been any need for that many or any chance of building that many gliders in time. The five hundred were not all showing great skill, but all were enthusiastic. Those who'd been woodcutters were almost frighteningly casual about the risks they ran.
As he learned more about Elstan, Blade stopped being surprised at Elstani bravery. Daily life in Elstan toughened both the mind and the body. The woodcutters in particular faced an enemy that allowed even fewer mistakes than flying a hang glider. Now everyone was facing the choice of either victory over Jaghd, death, or life in slavery. Those who volunteered for hang gliding had the chance of being the heroes of the victory, or at least finding an honorable death.
Blade walked through the cluster of tents that made up the training camp. At a safe distance on the other side Haima and Daimarz were standing next to what looked like a small clay water pot. Then Blade noticed that it had a complicated brass lid with a length of cord sticking out.
«We were waiting for you, Blade,» said Haima. «We thought you ought to see this.»
«The new fire pot?»
«Yes.» Daimarz bent over, struck sparks with a flint and steel lighter, and went on striking them until one landed on the cord. It flared up in a cloud of sparks and smoke. Daimarz hastily signaled a retreat, which Blade joined. There were buckets of sand and urine on hand for putting out the Living Fire, but the stuff had an unpredictable habit of spraying. If any of it fell on a person…
Wssssshhhhhhhh! The pot erupted in a great gout of angry blue flame that shot twenty feet into the air. Gobs of burning liquid came down over a wide circle, some of them only a few yards from Blade and his companions. It was at least ten minutes before the flames died down. Meanwhile the breeze carried smoke to the watchers until they had to step back even farther to be able to talk.
«You're thinking of two for each glider?» said Blade.
«Yes. Some women may be able to carry a third, if their glider is as large as a man's. But most will have two.»
Each of the clay fire pots held twenty pounds of the Living Fire. Five hundred gliders each dropping forty pounds of the Living Fire meant ten tons of it on the Jaghdi camp. That might be enough to cremate the rolghas, not just drive them into a panic.
Blade examined an empty pot. He noticed that the fuse was coiled inside the lid, with a few inches sticking out. «How are you going to light it in midair?»
«We aren't. The ones we use in battle will have longer fuses. We'll light them before the gliders go off.»
Blade looked hard at Daimarz and Haima. «What happens if a fuse burns too fast?»
Daimarz shrugged. That shrug would have annoyed Blade if he hadn't known Daimarz would be among the glider pilots on the day of battle. He wasn't being casual about dangers other men would be facing.
«Believe me, Blade,» said Haima earnestly. «We asked some of the glider pilots themselves. They want to be sure the Living Fire burns what it hits.»
Blade would never have asked the pilots to accept this, but if they were willing, that was another matter. Besides, was there really an alternative? Trying to drop the pots into the Jaghdi campfires or blacksmiths' forges would need better flying and better bombing than the Elstani glider force could be expected to give. Or at least better than the glider force could give without much practice in the Kettle of the Winds itself. And, of course, that would be risking the whole victory. The Jaghdi were bound to learn from their scouts reports of war preparations by the Elstani right where the Jaghdi were planning to camp. The enemy might not understand what kind of trap was being prepared for them, but they certainly wouldn't ride blindly into it.
Blade was moved, but tried to strike a light note. «I suppose the woodcutters were the most determined about flying with burning fuses?»
«Of course,» said Daimarz. «We have our pride.»
«You should have some sense as well,» said Haima. «We can't let the woodcutters kill themselves off proving their courage. It will be years before the Jaghdi give us enough amulets so that we can do without the woodcutters and the work they do.»
«Years?» snorted Daimarz. «Never, more likely.»
Haima shook her head. «I think perhaps the Jaghdi will see reason after their defeat. Not at once, perhaps, but before you and I are too old to get some good from it. I have always felt that when the killer plants are gone, the Jaghdi and the Elstani will start growing toward each other.»
«Like a rosebush and a killer plant!» growled Daimarz, shaking his head.
Blade was glad to see that at least Haima realized what might come out of this war for civilization in this Dimension. He wondered if he should tell her about Sikkurad and Jollya, then decided against it. There was no point in raising false hopes by revealing that the Jahdi keeper and his daughter were sympathetic to the Elstani cause. Besides, there was no telling what had happened to Sikkurad and Jollya. Blade just hoped that the two of them had heeded his advice and kept their mouths shut.
Haima and Daimarz seemed to be settling down for a long argument, so Blade turned away to watch the gliding practice. Two sites were in use, one a hillside for beginners, the other a vertical cliff for the more advanced pilots. The cliff was about three hundred feet high, more than enough to make carelessness fatal.
Eight gliders went off the top of the cliff while Blade was walking toward it. Some of them made rough landings, and Blade sighed wearily. The Elstani were much more interested in how to start a flight than in how to finish it. They also refused to wear heavy protective clothing, saying that the lighter their clothing, the more Living Fire they could carry on the day of battle.
A bunch of damned kamikaze pilots! thought Blade with a mixture of admiration and exasperation.
As he stopped at the foot of the cliff, he saw a ninth glider go off the top. The wing was bright blue, and he knew who the pilot was. Kima, Borokku's sister, had managed to persuade the weavers to use a dyed cloth for her Rogallo wing. There was enough of it left over to make her an extremely brief bikini that she used as her flying clothes. She said she liked the feeling of the wind on her bare skin.
Kima went over the edge at a sharper angle than Blade liked to see. She was a good pilot, but he didn't entirely trust the light cloth she'd used for her wing. She seemed to be straightening out, then suddenly her wing ripped across. She seemed to hang in the air for a moment, as if the cry of horror from the spectators on the ground was holding her up. Then her wing tipped up on one side and plummeted, flapping wildly.