Maggur charged past, grinning, a black-maned mask in one hand, dripping knife in the other.
Across the river the others of Darak’s ambush were milling in to close the gap.
I felt sick abruptly. Evil was on me and I knew it. A kind of scream came whirling up from my belly and out of my mouth. I clamped the horse between my thighs, and kicked the spurs into it. I lifted the long-knife in a double grasp, over my head, letting the other one go. I plunged back into the chaos, and my arms swung left and right, and the knife spun at the end of them like a wheel of silver pain. I do not know how many I killed, but I killed many. There was a ringing in my head, and an anger in me, and a blood-red roaring triumph. I did not see much of what I did until I was in the river, and flung backward from my little horse, which in its turn lolled forward and went under. The cold, the taste of blood and river bitterness brought me out of the death dream. I staggered to my feet, stumbling on stones and bodies under the froth. At that moment three of the skull guard came leaping in at me. The horses’
bodies, on the great black stretch of that leap, seemed to stop still in the air. Their hooves were buzzing iron hammers falling on me. I struggled, and thought I was going down in quicksand; I could not seem to get my balance. They came like huge black birds, the water breaking like glass. One hoof struck me, a glancing blow—more like a quick hot hand, brushing back the hair from my neck. I fell again, and the hook-knives came flaring over me.
A man roared, and Maggur flung himself at them seemingly from out of nowhere. I glimpsed Giltt. Little Kel was there too, or his arrow. A guard jumped forward from his saddle, and fell near me, the flight just showing between his shoulder blades. But Maggur was spinning down also, out of sight, and the two remaining blacknesses had reached and caught my arms.
I was lifted up by them, carried backward between them very fast, across the river. I was aware that they would half stun me on the nearest tree, then finish me as slowly as they had time for. It pleased them to do this to me, perhaps because I had killed some friend of theirs—if such men had friends or lovers.
But then a shock went through them. I looked up and saw Darak behind us. Both his knives had gone, flung one into the back of each of my captors. They toppled and their grip was still tight on me. I thought I should be torn in two, but the grasp lessened at the last second, and I fell backward into the water with them.
Darak leaned over me and lifted me up.
“Both your knives are gone,” I said. It had seemed foolish of him to let go both of them to save me.
“The fight’s over,” he said.
I stared around me, and it was true.
“Maggur,” I said. “He came at them, and fell—”
Barak’s hand came swift and fast across my face. I stumbled and he caught my belt to steady me.
“I came at them, too, bitch. Thank me for it.”
“I thank you,” I said.
I picked my way among the debris in the river, past him, back to the bank.
They cleared the bodies from the water and burned them, then organized the stuff in the wagons. I did not see any of this. Kel and I sat together in the shade, under a leather awning, where Maggur lay. Of the bandits only four were dead, but one of them was Giltt. My attackers had managed it as he ran at them, and I had not even seen them do it. Other wounds were few and not serious. Only Maggur had been badly hurt.
“There was a fourth one, Imma—he swung at Maggur from the back with an iron club they carry. I got him too, after.”
I had wiped the blood away and cleaned the deep cut, and the skull seemed whole under my fingers, but Maggur did not wake up, and I could sense a sort of death on him.
We sat a long while, Kel and I. Then he said: “Imma, can’t you ...?”
“What?”
“They said you’re a healer.”
A little bright shock went through my brain.
“You think I can save Maggur?” I asked softly.
“Of course.”
There was no doubt in his face.
There was mist in the morning, and Darak came.
He glanced at Kel asleep, and Maggur sleeping too, healthily and deeply.
“Today we are merchants,” he said. “We go on to the South Road, protected by our skull-guard, of course. The bandits are rife hereabouts they tell me.”
His voice was light, his face cold.
Suddenly he said to me: “Is that brute your lover?”
“Kel?”
“No. The other one.”
“No,” I said. “Except he loves me a little.”
Darak’s mouth was set and sneering. “Of course, goddess.”
He bowed to me.
There was no one near to see. Kel and Maggur slept. I struck Darak across his set sneering mouth.
“Take back your blow,” I said. “I never deserved it of you.”
He looked as if he would kill me, but he did not kill me. I had not hurt him, and no one had been near to see. Otherwise it would have been different.
Part III: The High-Lord’s Way
1
The woods were gone, and the river which fed them was gone. The hills moved behind us in a slow procession, and before us lay the open plains. Yellow-brown as old parchment rolled the curve of their backs, farther off they melted into lavender and purple. The odd tree, leaning, its branches spreading low and still, the occasional rocky place, or little stretch of grassland sprung up by some muddy pool, stood out like isolated figures on a gameboard. It was to be like a game—hurrying from one watered square to another, across the parched listless land.
It was a merchant caravan again, now under Darak’s leadership, and he was a merchant’s son from Sigko, one of the northern towns, where these goods had come from. I had turned over the stuff myself—weapons and armor pieces, or raw metals in great bars. The bandits had picked a few items each, in payment for the battle in the ford. I took a long knife, larger than I was used to but with a weight I knew I could carry, given practice. It was fine workmanship, the great blade seared and inset with a silver leopard. The hilt was made from some white stone, highly polished but roughened a little around the grip so it would sit tight in the hand. The sheath and sling, which went across the breast and back to hang under the left arm, were crimson velvet over leather, the buckle and notches were gold.
When I chose this knife, no one stopped me, or laughed, even though Maggur was still in his shelter.
Despite the ignominious ending of my fight, I had done some skillful damage, The talk was mainly of how I had yelled my battle cry and ridden straight in among the guard, the long-knife wheeling in all directions at once. This was not as they thought, and I would not discuss it. They were probably glad the mad woman was not a boaster too.
But I think none of them considered me a woman any longer. A few women still journeyed with them, as a comfort, but dressed more somberly now, as prostitutes, and the men spoke of them in front of me, quite freely—not as a taunt, or to brag, but as if they had forgotten my sex, and expected me to tell the next tale.
All their clothes were altered. Darak wore black, the rest of them somber blues and clerical greens, stripped from the bodies, or provided beforehand. The men who rode as the guard had put on their covering, but kept the skull masks off their faces as long as they could. Only I remained unchanged, colorful, an oddity.
We were on the plains two days when I went to Darak’s tent. His captains would be there, I knew, but things were different now. No one would flinch when I came because I was female.
There was talk and laughter inside, and the clink of the bronze beer jug going around.