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  “Shoot as far as you can into their ranks,” Kirrah said, pointing to the mass of over a thousand raiders clustered up the north road. “This is our last chance, before they learn the range of our new longbows.” At his command, three volleys of over a hundred arrows each were in the air, before the first flight landed a good sixty meters back from the front of the densely packed Wrth formation. A fourth and fifth volley drew blood before the disorganized horsemen could withdraw to a safe distance. Your move, sucker! Kirrah thought.

  As the last of the captured Wrth were being led away, a brief conference was held on the walltop. No one was anxious to take the fight to the Wrth, who still held the plains outside the walls with over five thousand mounted warriors. We have the technological advantage, but not the manpower, Kirrah realized. Sending four hundred bowmen out against that horde, without the security of walls, would be suicide. Another stalemate. The smoke from the smoldering rams and the burning wreckage of the few buildings under the walls rose into the gray sky.

  “Would the Armsmaster please review our available forces?” Kirrah asked.

  “Warmaster, we have six hundred soldiers trained to the new weapons - two hundred pike and two hundred longbow, and another two hundred who are trained with both. That leaves one hundred on wall patrol, covering the forty-five towers and the three gates. There are also the two hundred militia already trained with old bows and swords only, all can ride. There are one hundred Border Patrol still away from the city, maintaining borders with our neighbors and guarding the villages to the south. One hundred fifty-five Royal Cavalry remain uninjured, plus of course the hundred palace guard.”

  Eleven hundred fifty, if you strip the town of defenses, Kirrah added up. Barely nine hundred if you leave the walls and towers manned. A feeling of desperation settled over her like a mantle. What can they do, against five thousand raiders? Through a tight throat, she asked:

  “What will the Wrth do next? How much food do they carry?” Several people looked at one another, finally Opeth spoke:

  “They carry food for up to twenty days, and they can resupply from their own villages within a few days. They are unused to defeat. I believe they will stay camped around our walls for some time, preventing farming or travel. Our planting season will be over in another twenty days.” Kirrah thought a moment, replied:

  “If the Talamae want to break this siege, we will need more soldiers. There are easily five thousand strong men in the farms and trades, are there not?”

  “We cannot make soldiers out of carpenters and bakers in a few days,” said Lord Tsano, “nor can we prosper without tradesmen.”

  “This city will slowly strangle if we are not allowed into our own fields,” Kirrah said. “What will it take, for all the Talamae people to rise up and break this siege?” Several looks were exchanged.

  “It will require a full meeting of the shee’tho’vai Council,” Lord Tsano replied, referring to the governing body which consisted of an elected leader from each of the two hundred city blocks. “I will call a meeting for tonight, assuming those,” he gestured towards the northwest where the Wrth were withdrawing, “require no more attention today. Meanwhile, I wonder if our Warmaster would like to see to her new… warriors? Perhaps something of value could be learned.”

  “I will return if I hear the alarm ringing. My Lord’s advice is good. It would also be good to raise this stone block, so the gate can be opened again at need. Perhaps our friends will visit again, although I do not think them that foolish.”

  As the meeting broke up, Kirrah descended by the tower ladder, to the death-filled street. After a moment the door into the first vai’atho was opened, and she retrieved Whoopsie from the entryway stable. She and the three men remaining in her bodyguard rode a block west and then three blocks south, by silent agreement avoiding the bloody avenue.

  Two blocks south of the carnage, where Falling Ash Road reached the outer palace walls, they caught up to the last of the prisoner procession. Irshe and Corporal Mastha’cha paced alongside the girl Peetha, who was sitting erect in her saddle, hands bound behind her just like the men and women walking ahead of them. Be careful, a cautionary thought with the memory of Angela’s voice reminded Kirrah, these are wolves in a barnyard, you could lose it all in a breath. Drops of blood marked the path the procession had taken; two blocks south from the pike line, then one street west and one south, around the palace, and into the gate guarding the military compound. Cavalry lined the route, followed the last of them.

  “Irshe,” she whispered, dropping back a few paces from the procession, “How can we get help for their injuries?”

  “The priests are already aware, they will be along soon.”

  “Is a Wrth’s word to be trusted? What do you know of them?”

  “When my family traded with them, years ago, they were trustworthy. I do not know now, it has never happened that they have… cooperated like this.” Great, new worlds to explore, Kirrah thought.

  In another ten minutes, they reached the designated practice field, well within the military compound. Wrth warriors were standing in the open, looking as confused as Kirrah felt inside. The Royal Cavalry was drawn up in a row along the longer, sixty-meter side of the field, apparently having taken seriously Kirrah’s suggestion to escort her new ‘students’. The twenty longbowmen she had detached for the same duty were in a line across the nearer, short end of the yard. As the last of the procession entered the practice field, the row of cavalry extended across the entrance. The Cavalry Major rode forward and stopped beside Kirrah, near the group of bound raiders.

  “I will now take charge of the prisoners,” said Major Doi’tam firmly.

  “I see no prisoners, Sir,” said Kirrah. “You must mean someone else, these are my student warriors.” Looks were being exchanged among the Wrth, Kirrah noticed.

  “No doubt a useful ruse. However they are now bound, and tricks are no longer necessary. The Royal Cavalry has a score to settle.”

  “Irshe-ro’tachk!” Her tall friend stepped forward, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “Did you convey to the Royal Cavalry my terms for this duty? I believe I said, ‘no trouble - no harm’.” Major Doi’tam’s splendid white mount shuffled slightly.

  “I did, Warmaster!”

  “And have any of my student-warriors given trouble to their escort?”

  “No, Warmaster!”

  “Dakka'tachk!” …this to the orange-and-green ribboned bowman, with the trailing orange ribbon. The young Corporal ran five steps up to her and saluted.

  “Hu’dakai-dakka'tachk, Warmaster!”

  “Have your men kept constant watch on the procession?”

  “Yes, Warmaster. No trouble, Sir!” You catch on quick, soldier. I wonder how people get promoted in this outfit…

  “Our guest may be amused by this nonsense. We are not. Stand aside, guest-soldier!” growled Major Doi’tam. Kirrah was hardly conscious of having moved in front of the major’s horse.

  “Does the Fira'tachk…” she started, then with a hiss of steel on scabbard, the big blond Cavalry Major drew his heavy sword, and at the motion, the entire rank of mounted cavalry behind him drew also. Something like a sigh rose from the bound Wrth. With a wooden rattle of arrows against bows, the twenty longbowmen to Kirrah’s right nocked arrows and took aim at the major. Corporal Mastha’cha and the other three men of Kirrah’s personal bodyguard drew swords and closed around her.

  “Does the good Fira'tachk,” said a clear, soft voice from behind the line of cavalry, “intend to defy his Warmaster on this field, before the Wrth? Or perhaps he would rather bring his complaint to the council tonight, like a Talamae soldier?” Bless you, Kirrah thought, as Issthe and half a dozen of the blue-robed priests stepped out between the ranks of mounted cavalry.

  “Source can plainly see, we have enough work to do already.” The tall pale woman continued walking straight into the center of the confrontation, serene as though strolling in a garden. “Although I suppose, with the n
umber of loyal bowmen present, and the palace guard, the first one to give orders to disgrace the Royal Cavalry will swiftly be beyond reach of our services. Was it not Lord Tsano himself, who assigned these men,” a casual wave took in the four orange-and-blues surrounding Kirrah, “…to protect his Warmaster?

  “Here, girl, let me see to your injuries,” she continued, stepping around the red-faced major to where Peetha sat bound in her saddle, blood still running in a steady trickle from her thigh and dripping from her gore-soaked boot.

  “Doi’tam-fira'tachk! There is need of your services! Are you ready, or shall I send for other assistance?” Kirrah put every bit of command she possessed into her voice. What an interesting shade of magenta, she thought, looking at his face.

  “Are you unwell, Sir?”

  “This will be decided in Council,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Tonight!” he added, as he stabbed his sword savagely back into its scabbard. Behind him, the line of mounted men sheathed their weapons. “Bra’dack-sana'tachk! See to the security of this compound!” The huge white charger wheeled to its left, and trotted, tail high, out the gates. Great exit, thought Kirrah. Wish I could do that. You just need a great big horse. Keep the initiative, now… As soon as the indignant Major was out of earshot, she said to the Lieutenant:

  “Bra’dack-sana'tachk. You may find this …disagreement has left you in a difficult position. I believe we have the same needs. I need trustworthy soldiers to keep this compound secure. You have been ordered to do this. Are we agreed?”

  “Yes …guest-Warmaster.” A little reluctant, but at least he’s not charging us, Kirrah thought. “Providing all your …students… remain unarmed, and bound.”

  “I have already ordered my students to disarm. They shall remain bound, except where Issthe’s services require different. Would you please send a few of your men for tents? This field will be our camp tonight.” The cavalry lieutenant very nearly saluted her, catching his fist on its way to his throat. He turned it into a gesture toward several men beside him, who trotted off, presumably on the requisite errand. Should have asked for food too, Kirrah realized. Oh well…

  Issthe had untied Peetha’s wrists, and with one of her fellow priests, helped the suddenly-pale girl to dismount, and then to sit, shaking, on a small blanket one of them spread on the hard ground. Gentle deft fingers undid the laces and removed the right boot, explored the bloody but undamaged foot. A steady drip continued from the back of the girl’s punctured thigh.

  Kirrah looked around for Irshe who, she suddenly noticed, was nowhere in sight. She gestured to the Wrth, standing in small groups, to sit on the ground. They stared at her a moment, then suddenly all folded their legs and sat where they were. Issthe shooed her helpers away. The other priests homed in on the most severely injured captives, by the simple expedient of following the trail of blood spots on the ground.

  Kirrah watched the blue-garbed woman’s hands, which moved over the young Wrth as though brushing the air, five or ten centimeters over the girl’s skin. The hands paused, twice, over the vivid red lesion on her forehead, then returned to the dripping leg wound.

  Needs a tourniquet, thought Kirrah. Moving in the air around the injury, those pale slim hands made short sweeping gestures, then paused, one above and one below the injury. The young warrior’s eyes seemed to half close. The steady drip of blood suddenly began to slow, and then stopped, as abruptly as though a tap had been turned off. Kirrah’s eyes widened.

  Issthe brought out a small vial from the bag slung over her shoulder, and as gently as possible smoothed some of the ointment into the edges of the wound. Peetha neither flinched nor complained. A clean cloth went around the leg, covering both entry and exit wounds. A dab of the same ointment went into another small cloth. Issthe put the cloth in the girl’s hand, and guided the hand to her forehead. Their two hands together spread the cloth over the angry red burn mark and held it there.

  After a moment Peetha said a few words in her own language, and a short, wiry Wrth a few paces away looked at Kirrah, then nodded toward the Wrth mount standing patiently beside them. Kirrah nodded in response, and the man rose awkwardly and began fumbling, hands tied behind him, with the horse’s saddle cinch. Kirrah took his shoulder and guided him to sit again, and with the help of one of her bodyguards, got the saddle off the animal. The beast nickered sharply and flinched as the saddle came off, revealing a small bloody gash in its hide where two centimeters of the bodkin point had penetrated the heaviest leather at the edge of the saddle. The guardsman called for a groom, who led the reluctant-looking horse away to the nearby stables.

  “We will care for your horses, all of them, and they will remain yours,” Kirrah assured the assembly. One of the Wrth repeated the pledge in his own language, and a wave of relief passed around the seated Wrth. As though they care more for their horses than their own lives, Kirrah thought.

  In about another ten minutes Irshe returned on the run with sixteen palace guards and twenty more archers. They were shortly joined by a cartload of supplies. A few minutes later, Lieutenant Bra’dack’s messengers returned, followed closely by a cart with a dozen or more small field-tents.

  When faced with the alternative of helping set up the tents and then hand-feeding bound Wrth, or guarding a camp of unarmed but unbound ‘students’, the Cavalry Lieutenant relented. By late afternoon, Kirrah’s ‘students’ were all fed and in tents. Wounds were cared for as well as Issthe’s workers were able, which somewhat to Kirrah’s surprise, was pretty well. One man, who had taken an arrow high on the left shoulder and exiting low on his left side, died - from internal bleeding, Kirrah imagined. How he had managed to walk the half-klick here under his own power remained a mystery. The twenty or thirty flesh wounds looked ugly and were probably painful, but all had been bound up and the bleeding stopped. The various ointments seemed at least to be treatments the priests had confidence in, to prevent infections. Peetha was resting comfortably in one of the tents, suffering from mild shock and blood loss, but on the way to recovery.

  With the clear understanding that Warmaster Kirrah had given her word, ‘no trouble, no harm’, and twenty palace guards and forty loyal archers to oversee security, Kirrah finally relented and allowed herself to return to the school for a hot bath and supper before the Council meeting that evening. Akaray was ecstatic with the news that his Warmaster had humiliated the mighty Wrth and humbled the Royal Cavalry, leaving Kirrah to speculate on rumor as the universal human condition.

  Chapter 19 (Landing plus thirty-nine): Council

  “It would be a great reform in politics if wisdom could be made to spread as easily and rapidly as folly.” – Sir Winston Churchill, op.cit.

  “Wrth are not evil people, Akaray,” she explained between mouthfulls of an excellent mildly-spiced creamy sauce and white meat, tastes like chicken, yeah… with some crisp yellow vegetables. “It is like when we found the irwua - it is their nature to attack. You tricked them with a piece of meat; I tricked the Wrth with an open gate.”

  “Wrth killed my village, you killed many Wrth. This was good,” the boy replied, with the irrefutable logic of youth. “I want to grow up and kill all the Wrth.”

  “Whenever some person or creature attacks civilization, they may have to be killed for the good of all,” she replied. “But you do not go back to the pond and try to kill the irwua, if it is not bothering you. It is dangerous, and unnecessary.” After a short pause, the boy said:

  “What if the irwua follows you home, and keeps attacking? That’s what the Wrth do.” He’s got you there, Irshe’s gray eyes seemed to say from across the table. “I think Doi’tam-fira'tachk wants to kill them all, too,” Akaray added. Great, twenty minutes ago the kid was happy I’d foiled the Major, now he’s on his side…

  “Akaray, what is better than a dead enemy?” she asked. When he seemed baffled, Kirrah said: “What happened when Irshe and I first met?” He thought that over for another few bites.

  “A friend!” he
said. “But, you can’t be friends with the Wrth! They just want to kill everyone!”

  “I already made friends with some of the Wrth, Akaray. I need a way to talk to more of them. Sometimes words are more effective weapons than a not-sword. I do not know the right words yet, but I was lucky with the ones I caught this morning.” At the other end of the table, Slaetra and Brai’klao exchanged thoughtful looks.

  Forty-five minutes later they arrived at the palace. The Council meeting was held in the large room at the front of the same central building where Kirrah had first met Lord Tsano. In the richly paneled and tapestried sixty by forty meter meeting room were seated two hundred shee’tho’vai or block-leaders, one representing each of the vai’atho, the city-block-sized living units. The King, his four executives the Scribemaster, Armsmaster, Guildmaster and Issthe the priest, sat at desks at a raised section on the back wall of the room.

  There were two vacant desks on the raised section, and Irshe guided Slaetra, Brai’klao and Kirrah to chairs at one of them. The other one, Brai’klao informed her in a hushed whisper, was normally for Major Doi’tam, but he was a petitioner at this meeting and so would be taking the petitioners’ table in front of the King. As the Cavalry major entered and took his seat, Brai’klao added that the King had marshaled the agenda so that the Major’s petition would come after a report on the day’s events.

  As the King’s personal scribe called the meeting to order, four of the block-leaders rose and stood with their hands in the air, reminding Kirrah of a trainee with a question in Academy classes. The King sighed audibly and signaled to a scribe, who carried a heavy, ornate metal object to one of the standing women. She accepted it and held it in front of her face like a microphone. Brai’klao whispered to Kirrah that was the ‘Mouth of Talam’, that only the person holding it, and the King, was allowed to speak in Council, and that they must hold it all the time they were speaking. Great idea, thought Kirrah – keeps the racket down, and limits the speech length… that thing looks heavy! The woman spoke up: