Terrible Swift Sword (47 page)

"To kill by placing exploding shells in the road— it is cowardly," Jubadi growled.

"It kills nevertheless," Muzta replied.

Muzta looked past him, toward the hills east of town, the barrows golden in the late afternoon sun.

"That is where my glory rests," Muzta said quietly.

Jubadi nodded, saying nothing.

He leaned back in his saddle tired and disappointed, and yet the moment had a pleasure to it. They were across the river and into the heart of the Rus. Losses were not too bad, considering what they had faced. The Yankees had suffered two defeats in less than a double moon, and their morale surely must be dropping away.

He could feel that his mount was tiring—it had been a long ride from the ford. He hadn't bothered to name this horse. It was a vanity, given how quickly they died. Cattle were cattle, but a horse was the companion of life, the saying went. If he had allowed himself to feel for all the mounts he had lost, his heart would have emptied long ago.

He looked over at Hulagar, who rode as always at his right side, shield on his arm. Jubadi remembered how, when he had thought himself alone, his shield-bearer-to-be had wept over the killing of his own first horse. He smiled.

"A warm day, is it not?" Jubadi said, looking up toward the deep blue sky.

"I thought the rains would never end," Hulagar replied.

"The weather had to change," Jubadi said absently.

Coming down the slope, he looked off to his left. Through the turn of the river valley he saw the vast buildings of the Yankees several miles upstream. Even from this distance they looked large. They filled him with an uneasiness. He had hoped to capture them with their mysteries inside. Now they were hollow shells, like corpses that had rotted on the inside, the useless skin and bones all that was left.

The iron-road bridge was still intact. It was a disturbing sight as well. How it had been made was beyond his understanding. He realized that all of it was beyond his understanding. The iron road, the steam-breathers that rode them, the guns, the cloud-flyers, the ships of iron that floated. All of it a mystery.

He looked back for a moment at Tamuka, who rode behind him and to the left of Vuka, shield up as well.

Was the young shield-bearer right, after all? Should all the cattle of this entire world now be slain?

How would that change us? he wondered. Who would be our food? Who would make all the other food we devour with such relish? Who would fashion our bows, our saddles, our yurts, the iron hooves for our horses, the armor we wear, the arrows that fly, the adornments that give us delight?

Jubadi looked up toward the city. His warriors were already sweeping the walls. From high windows he could see his warriors in the buildings. Atop the stone building of cattle worship the standard of the Merki was already flying, warriors beside it.

There was no one in the entire city. A strange moment this. He had expected either to enter it in flames, or to ride in as he had all the other cattle cities of the last two and a half circlings—the beasts lying on the ground, faces pressed to the dirt in obeisance. Never had he seen this.

He looked over at Hulagar.

"Tomorrow, first light, I want us to move hard. We must not give them time to regroup. They are on the edge of being beaten, and they know it, I know it. We can run them down. It is impossible for their steam machines to take every last cattle all the way to Roum in the little time they have had. They must have stopped only partway, at those hills Muzta spoke of. There we will finish them."

Hulagar nodded an agreement.

"They must not be given a moment's time. If we move swiftly enough, panic will strike them, perhaps then they will surrender. If not, we will drive them, and then surely the Roum will give up as well."

He looked back at his cavalcade.

"This is but a temporary setback. The foxes have run, but their legs are short, while ours are long. We will have them in our circle before half a moon is past."

The group nodded, the beginnings of smiles lighting their worried features.

The gentle slope past, he rode out onto the river plain, toward the wooden bridge over the Vina. On the low banks of the opposite side were the outer works of the city. He rode onto the bridge, the hooves of his horse sounding hollow on the boards. Hulagar looked nervously over toward the Neiper River. Strange, there was no Yankee iron-ship in sight. This would have been an ideal place for them to have a ship ready with canister, to sweep any who crossed.

Directly ahead were the outer bastions. Halfway up the side the banner fluttered darkly. Hulagar looked up at it nervously. Jubadi sat for a long moment, then swung down from his mount.

"A torch," he said quietly.

"A moment, my Qarth," Hulagar interjected. With a motion of his hand the silent ones went up the slope, stamping the ground as they moved forward in a line.

The line had reached a spot just below the banner when there was a sharp snap of light, a thunderclap explosion. Hulagar leaped in front of Jubadi, who recoiled, crouching down.

The smoke cleared. Though they could not speak, still they could scream. The torn remains of a silent one lay to one side. Another was down, holding the stump of his leg, a high keening shriek escaping his lips.

One of his companions knelt down beside him and, waving his hands, silently spoke. The wounded one, shaking in agony, raised his hands and moved them in reply. The companion stood back up and drew his scimitar. There was a flash of steel, and the keening stopped.

Hulagar exhaled slowly and looked over at Jubadi, who had watched the scene without emotion.

"They knew this would draw you," Hulagar said. "Somehow they knew. It was a trap."

Jubadi looked over at him.

"Well, now it is sprung, let's burn the damn thing. I'm tired and hungry. Bring up a cattle. We'll eat well tonight, and forget about this."

A silent one came up bearing a torch.

Hulagar could see the barely suppressed fear in Jubadi's eyes as he looked back up at the black banner.

"How did they know about this?" Jubadi whispered.

He started up the slope, Hulagar following behind him.

He looked around closely. The wall was lined with his warriors. The river was empty. How could they have known?

Jubadi reached the banner.

"This is but the sacrilege of cattle!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the field and reaching the thousands of warriors who had paused as they spread out across the plains. "I, Jubadi, take the yurts of the cattle as my own. I, Jubadi, still live as Qar Qarth, and spit on the roasted bones of our enemy the cattle."

He touched the torch to the bottom of the banner, holding it there for long seconds until it had started to flare into flame. He stepped back.

Hulagar looked back out across the field.

How?

The insight came of a sudden: the cattle Yuri.

His gaze shot over to Tamuka, who was watching the ceremony, a thin smile lighting his features.

Yuri pushed the gray piece of canvas aside and peered out. Several Merki had ridden right over him, the first wave spreading out. One of their horses had fallen as it clambered over the slippery boulders, the rider cursing so hard that he had almost laughed at the Merki's discomfort. They had ridden on, leaving him alone and never seeing his concealed position.

Yes, it was now.

He crawled up out of the small cave dug in between the boulders and barely peered up over the edge, looking out between the trees. He tried to suppress the shivering, not sure if it was from lying hidden in the damp cave all day or from fear.

He raised the telescope and extended it to full length, pushing it out through the canvas curtain to scan the column riding down the road. He had no trouble in spotting him. The broad shoulders, that manner of riding. It was not a double, something he had been known to use in battle. No, it was definitely him.

That knowledge alone had been the key to the argument with Keane. He alone could easily spot Jubadi. There were Cartha who had seen him before, but usually only for a brief moment. Only one person could do this. He had ridden behind him for twenty years, pet to his son's shield-bearer. He alone could pick out Jubadi no matter where he was, whether in full ceremonial armor and with standards about him, or as he was now, in battle armor and as undistinguished as his silent ones.

There was Hulagar, and Yuri felt a twinge of regret. The shield-bearer paused to turn his mount and look over his shoulder.

Was the
tu
calling? Yuri froze, his breath coming shallow. He shifted the telescope away so as not to be looking straight at him, fearing that the inner spirit was calling the warning.

He could almost sense the probing, the looking outward. He had seen far too many examples of the sensing not to believe in its power. He could feel the hair at the back of his neck prickling.

He waited.

Hulagar turned his mount and continued on, crossing the bridge behind Jubadi Qar Qarth.

Moving slowly, Yuri reached down and brought up the long leather case. He untied the drawstring and brought it out, the long brass tube barely visible in the darkness of the narrow dank cave. The tiny hovel was filled with the scent of oil, metal, and polished wood.

He calmed his breathing. There was still a little time.

The same place for five heartbeats, Andrew had told him.

He peeked out from the curtain once again. The sky was a dark blue, going into early evening.

It would be warm farther south. The horde yurts already going into their clan circles. The sun-watch-ers preparing to call out the songs of evening prayer.

"Vu Bac Nov domicak gloriang, nobis cu [Hear, ancestors, ride now the night sky]."

He whispered the words, smiling.

Keane was right. He had become them far more than he was now human, cattle. He had taken pride in his master, shield-bearer to Zan Qarth. And yes, he had eaten of their meals.

And he had grown to like it.

Andrew had sensed that. That is why Andrew had never allowed him to hold his child.

His child. My children.

There was my child, Olga. Her mother. He smiled. A girl of the Chin, soft, delicate, oval-faced, almost a child herself.

Beaten to death for spilling fermented milk on her mistress, first wife of Jubadi, and then cut up for the pits. Olga, my only child. It was better that I smothered you with my own hands than for you to be thrown into the pits.

"How long?" he whispered.

After Barkth Nom, at the place where the three rivers join into the salted sea. Fourteen seasons.

Season after season he had nursed his memory, his hatred, his self-loathing for doing nothing. For squatting over the bones that were tossed out of the yurt for the pets.

Endless seasons of the ride—at least in that there had been life. He had seen the whole world. Mountains that pierced the heavens, seas so thick with salt that one bobbed upon their surface. He had seen the twisting storms and the heavens alight with fire, and had laughed inwardly while his masters cowered. He had seen battles, standing atop a high hill— the beauty of the umens moving through a high sea of grass, their blocks of ten thousand moving as if guided by a single hand, filling the heavens with their thunder.

He had seen twenty races of cattle—the Chin of his beloved, the dark Ubi, the Toltec, the Constan, yet more Rus upon the far side of the world. He had seen their cities gleaming, their people bowing. He had heard their lamentations, and the horror of it all had frozen his soul so that he had become as unfeeling as the earth.

At least he thought he had.

And then there was Sophi. A pet taken from Constan.

Where was she?

Most likely with the yurt of Hulagar even now, and with her, yet another child. There was a warming of his heart, which he had thought beyond caring.

So
that
had been the promise of Tamuka. Kill Keane and they would go free, fail and they go to the feast—even the child, who would witness the death of her mother first.

"Don't think about it," he whispered to himself.

It would have been so easy, he realized, and he looked down at the ring on his finger. He pushed against the side of it with his thumbnail, striking the tiny stub. The poisoned needle snicked out, invisible in the dark.

Why not?

Because I am a coward? he wondered. He shook his head. Fear had been burned out of him long ago—a pet finally lost all fear in a world without hope. A free man feared death because he would lose the pleasure of life, but for a slave death was a release.

Why not?

The night he had first met him he was ready. Was it the brief sight of the child?

It was the simple humanity of it, brought by Keane. The simple decent humanity of a family living without fear, a humanity that could be annihilated for the innocent sin of spilling a cup of milk.

They thought he had forgotten.

For after all, he was only a cattle, a soulless cattle.

Now they would know. He could only pray that Sophi would in the end understand, that the child at least would never know the horror of living in a world ruled by the Merki. Because if he had killed Keane, they would truly have won.

So Keane had turned him back upon them. Yuri knew he was being used, that Keane did not care what happened to him now, only that he succeeded.

He smiled sadly, allowing the emotion of self-pity to form for the first time in years.

He peeked back out, watching the silent ones moving up the slope. There was a flash of light. Four heartbeats, five . . . The
boom
washed past him.

Keane had said it was just over one thousand yards away. The measure was meaningless to him.

Yuri saw him again, starting up the slope.

He reached down and brought the Whitworth sniper rifle up. He pulled the tampon out of the muzzle, then looked carefully at the six-sided bore to make sure no fragment of wood or speck of dirt was in the bore.

He had been practicing with this terrible device daily, ever since Keane had first suggested that this was the only way to save all of them. Andrew had considered numerous other plans. Traps in the city, a sniper in town, exploding shells hidden away, fire from the iron ships. Yuri had laughed at all the suggestions, pointing out the methods of the Merki. It was only when Keane had shown him the Whitworth that he had known that here was the means.