"Good night," I said to her.
"Good night," she said.
I watched her pull her blanket about her. She suddenly shuddered. "Oh!" she said. Then she pulled the blanket more tightly about her shoulders. We would not chain her. She was not a slave. She was a free woman. She might leave, if she wished.
12 It Is a Standard, That of a Silver Tarn
"The city is taken!" I heard. "The city is taken!"
I lay absolutely still for an instant. I heard no clash of weapons. There were no sounds of rushing feet, of flight. No cries of pain, of men cut in their blankets.
I did hear the ringing of an alarm bar in the distance.
My eyes might have appeared closed to a careless observer. They were open. Peripheral vision is important at such times. In that first instant, every sense suddenly alert, I appeared to be still asleep. There was the wagon. There were the remains of the fire. I detected no movement in my immediate vicinity.
The first object that moves is often that which attracts the immediate attention of the predator. Too, the swiftest moving object, particularly that which moves silently and with obvious menace or purpose, is often construed, and generally correctly, by the attacker as the most dangerous, that to be dealt with first. Those overcome with surprise, those expostulating or cursing, those stunned, may be left for the instants later. There is a dark mathematics in such matters, in the subtle equations balancing reaction times against the movements of blades. One gambles. Is the instant one waits, that instant of fearful reconnoitering, that instant in which one hopes to convince a foe that one is temporarily harmless, an instant of loss, or of gain? Does it grant him his opportunity, or does it obtain you yours? Much depends on the actual situation. If one is roused by known voices, one generally rises quickly. The defensive is being assumed. If one does not know what is occurring, it is sometimes wise to find out before leaping up, perhaps into the weapons of enemies who might be as close as one's elbow. My right hand was on the hilt of my sword, my left on the sheath, its straps wrapped about it, to steady its draw. Doubtless I appeared to be still asleep. But no sounds of carnage rang about me.
I sat up quickly, freeing myself from the blankets. I did not draw the weapon. I saw no immediate need to do so. I slung it, on its strap, over my left shoulder. The scabbard can be discarded more quickly in this suspension than in one which crosses the body.
"Hurtha," I said, "wake up." I moved to his shoulder.
"What is it?" he said. "Is it not early?"
"Something strange is going on," I said. "Get up. There was an alarm bar ringing."
"I hear nothing," he said, sitting up.
To be sure, the bar had now stopped ringing.
"I do not understand it," I said. "A fellow was crying out that the city had been taken. I do not hear him now. Too, the alarm bar was ringing. I heard it." "It is very early," said Hurtha.
"Get up," I said.
I looked over at Boabissia. Her eyes were open. She was looking at me, frightened.
"Did you hear the alarm bar?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Get up Hurtha," I said. He had once again returned to his blankets.
"It is too early," he said. Actually it was not all that early. Some other folks were now up, too, about the camp.
"You may be in jeopardy of your life," I informed him.
"At this hour?" he asked, horrified.
"Yes," I said. "The enemy may be near."
"What enemy?" he asked.
"I do not know," I said.
"Report to me when you learn," he said, rolling over.
"I am not joking," I said.
"I feared not," he grumbled.
"Get up," I said.
"One cannot begin to fight until the fight has begun, can one?" he asked. "I hope it does not follow from that that fighting is impossible," I said.
"Of course not," he said. I began to sense and dread a lesson in Alar logic. "Well, in a sense," I said, "maybe not."
"Has the fight begun?" he inquired.
"No," I said.
"Then you cannot expect me to begin fighting," he said.
"Of course not," I said, hesitantly.
"When the fray begins," said he, "awaken me."
"Do you wish to be murdered in your bed?" I asked.
"I had never thought much about it," said Hurtha, "but now that I reflect actively upon the matter, no. Why? Who is going to murder me in my bed?" "I am considering it," I said.
"You will not do so," he informed me.
"Why?" I asked, genuinely interested.
"Among other things," he said, "your respect for poetry is to great." "You must be prepared for combat," I told him.
"I am preparing even now," he said, rolling over.
"How is that?" I asked.
"I am pacing myself," he said. "I am conserving my strength. Surely you are aware that a well-rested body and clear mind are two among several of the soldier's best friends."
"Perhaps," I granted him.
"They are important, too, to poetry," he said, "of the sturdy, manly sort, that is, not to the neurasthenic drivel of mere poetasters and versifiers."
"Doubtless," I said. He was then again asleep. Hurtha was one of the few folks I had ever known who had the capacity to fall asleep like lightning. Doubtless this was connected with a clear conscious. Alars, incidentally, are renowned for their capacity to wreak havoc, conduct massacres, chop off heads, and such, and then get a good night's sleep afterwards. They just do not worry about such things. I hoped that the enemy, if there was one, would not now fall upon the camp like a storm. Still, if they did, Hurtha might have escaped, sleeping through the slaughter. "Did you hear the alarm bar?" asked Mincon, coming over to me, his blanket over his arm.
"Yes," I said.
"I thought I might have dreamed it," he said.
"Boabissia heard it too," I said.
"It is not now ringing," he said.
"No," I said.
"The camp is pretty quiet," he said.
"Yes," I said. We could see folks going about their business, folding their blankets, seeking out the latrines, starting up their morning fires.
"It was a false alarm," he said.
"Apparently," I said.
"You are not certain?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"What could of happened?" he asked.
"I heard a fellow crying out that the city had fallen," I said.
"That is impossible," he said. "No enemy is within hundreds of pasangs. Torcadino is garrisoned. It is impregnable. It lies even, in these times, in the midst of allied armies."
"It could be done." I said.
"You would have to move an army through armies to take the city," he said. "Or over armies," I said.
"You would have to smuggle and army into the city," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"Impossible," he said.
"With some modest collusion, not really," I said.
"You're joking," he said.
"No, I said."
"If there were such a thing," he said, "we would hear of it. There would be great fighting,"
"It is quiet here," I said. "That does not mean, however, that somewhere else in the city, even now, there might not be fighting. A few blocks away, unknown to us, men may be dying. The streets may be running with blood." "I see no smoke," he said. "There seem no signs of flames." "That could mean little," I said. "Perhaps it is desired to keep the city intact, to maintain the integrity of its walls, to preserve its resources." "Perhaps," he smiled.
"I looked at him, suddenly, surprised.
"There is one way to find out," he said.
"How?" I asked.
"Climb up here," he said, "to the wagon box,"
I joined him on the height of the wagon box. He pointed over the wagons, over the camp, over the buildings about the camp.