Honored Enemy Read online

  Richard followed the priest’s orders. The wounded man’s eyes were still unfocused. Richard cradled the man on his lap and looked back 70

  down at the priest who was carefully examining the wound, running his fingers around the back of the man’s leg.

  Corwin picked up the still hot dagger with his right hand, positioned it underneath the wounded man’s leg on the opposite side from the wound and drove the blade in half way to the hilt and rotated the blade.

  A gasp escaped the wounded man. Richard looked into his eyes and saw that consciousness was returning: the Tsurani’s pupils went wide.

  ‘Hold him!’ the priest snapped.

  With his left hand he grabbed the arrow and started to push even as he pulled the dagger back out. A second latter the head of the arrow exploded out of the hole cut by the dagger.

  The wounded Tsurani cried out, and began to struggle, but Richard grabbed hold of him, ‘It’s all right; you’ll be all right,’ he began to say over and over.

  ‘Damn it, priest, he’s bleeding to death!’ Gregory cried.

  ‘Just shut up and get the hot knife from the fire!’

  The priest continued to push the arrow through the wound, finally pulling it out and flinging it aside. He picked his dagger back up, cut the exit wound wider and, using one of the brass clamps, pulled the wound apart. He motioned for the wounded man’s comrade to hold the clamp. Taking a pair of tweezers from his kit he reached into the wound, drawing the artery which was spurting blood.

  ‘Not the main one, thank the Goddess,’ he muttered, even as Gregory knelt by his side, holding the now-glowing dagger fresh from the fire, the hilt wrapped with a piece of smouldering canvas.

  The priest took the dagger, cursing when he singed his fingertips, then deftly touched the blade against the artery. A steamy cloud of boiling blood hissed up from the wound.

  The man jerked, trying to kick, but Richard held him tight. He realized that for some strange reason he was beginning to cry.

  This is a Tsurani, damn it. He felt a wave of anger for the man even as he held him tight and continued to try and reassure him.

  ‘Almost done,’ the priest announced.

  He drew out the hot dagger, turned, and then cauterized the 71

  entry wound. Finally he drew out the boiled bandages, stuffed both wounds, then tightly wrapped a compress around the leg.

  ‘We’ll stitch him up later, I want to keep it open so I can get in quick in case he starts to bleed again.’

  The whole operation had taken no more than a couple of minutes.

  The priest sat back, then took the hand of the Tsurani who had been helping and guided it to a pressure point above the wound to help slow the bleeding.

  ‘All right Richard, you did well, son.’

  Richard, shaking, looked down at the Tsurani. There were tears in the corner of the man’s eyes and he suddenly realized just how young his enemy was: about the same age as himself and the wounded Kingdom soldier with the broken leg. The Tsurani was obviously struggling for control, looking up at Richard in confusion, his emotions mixed between gratitude and hatred for an enemy.

  The priest knelt, softly muttered a prayer and made a sign of blessing over the wound, finishing by lightly touching the man’s forehead again.

  Wiping the now-cooled daggers, he bundled up his kit and then picked up the arrow, which was covered with blood, and a hunk of flesh still on the barbs.

  ‘Evil weapon,’ he sighed, ‘No bone splinters though; he just might make it.’

  He tossed the arrow aside. The room was silent: all were staring at him.

  ‘I’m pledged to healing,’ the priest said, ‘it doesn’t matter who.’

  He looked back over at Richard. ‘You’re a brave lad for helping.’

  The Tsurani Patrol Leader approached, bowed to the priest and said something.

  Corwin looked over at Gregory.

  ‘He said that the wounded man, Osami, now owes you a debt which the clan must honour. If we fight and they don’t kill you, they must make you a slave. So if we fight, they’ll let you leave before they kill all of us, so they won’t have to capture or kill you.’

  Gregory explained.

  Corwin said nothing for a moment and then began to chuckle softly. ‘Hell, tell him I think you’re all crazy,’ Corwin replied. ‘When 72

  you’re done killing each other I’ll take all your coins, and whatever the Tsurani use, and consider it a donation to the church.’

  Gregory translated and now the Tsurani laughed. The tension in the room eased for a moment.

  Gregory knelt next to Corwin. ‘You a chirugeon?’ He pointed to the small kit Corwin had used and was now cleaning ready to put away.

  The priest shrugged. ‘As a boy I apprenticed to one for a while.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked the Ranger. ‘Get the calling?’

  Putting away his medical tools, the priest said, ‘No, that came later. I was a mercenary for a while.’

  Remembering how frightened the priest had been when they had first met, Gregory could barely hide his surprise. ‘A mercenary?’

  Corwin nodded. ‘Not all mercenaries are swordsmen, Ranger. I have no skill with blade or bow. I earned my living with a company of engineers building siege machines. Give me two men with axes and in less than a day I can turn a tree into a ram that would knock down that stone wall out there in under ten minutes. Throw in a pair of hammers and one bow saw, and I can do it in six hours.’ He paused as if remembering. ‘Saw most of my fighting from a distance, though I’ve had a few close calls under a wall or two, trying to collapse a foundation.’ He smiled at Gregory’s blank expression. ‘I used to be a fair sapper, too.’ He sighed and lost his smile. ‘And I had more than my share of practice keeping other men alive, I can tell you.’

  He stood, and Gregory did as well. ‘Then I got the calling and entered the temple.’

  Gregory nodded. ‘I though you priests used your magic to heal.’

  Corwin shrugged. ‘Like anything else, healing magic takes talent.

  Some brothers could heal every man here in a couple of days. A rare few can lay on hands and make a wound vanish or a bone heal in an hour. I have no such gift. I have to rely on my tools and prayer.

  The bit of “magic” I used to calm the boy is simply a healer’s trick; anyone can learn it.’

  Gregory didn’t comment.

  Sighing with fatigue, Corwin said, ‘Besides, I never said I was a particularly good priest, did I?’

  ‘Guard change, five minutes!’

  73

  Both Gregory and Corwin looked to see Dennis standing in the doorway, Asayaga by his side, shouting the same order in Tsurani.

  A chorus of curses and groans greeted the order.

  Richard pushed through the press of men, reaching the place where he had hung up his outer coat, jerkin, boots and socks.

  They had yet to dry, and slipping on the damp woollen socks and sodden boots he grimaced. A Tsurani was sitting beside him, mumbling under his breath as he wrapped on his footcloths and then laced up the heavy sandals. Their eyes caught for a second and this time Richard did not lower his gaze.

  Again the impenetrable stare. The one-eyed man came past the two, barked something at the Tsurani and continued on. There was a look in the man’s eyes and Richard for the first time felt that he could understand something about these alien invaders, for he recognized the mixture of respect and hatred all soldiers hold for good sergeants. He almost smiled at the reaction. Again their eyes held and there seemed to be a brief instant in which the Tsurani was ready to smile as well.

  And then both of them realized just who the other person was.

  They turned away, stood up, belted on their swords, and formed up with their squads.

  ‘Everyone listen.’

  It was Dennis.

  ‘It’s quiet out there except for the damnable weather – it’s slackening a bit, but it’s still no spring evening. Squads one and two, on the
wall, keep a sharp watch, and keep your fool heads down. They can see you more easily silhouetted up there than you can see them; and, remember, the moredhel have better eyes in the night than we do.

  ‘Third squad, under Gregory, will secure the flank of the hill to our left. Gregory will detail several of you off to probe forward. Tinuva tracked the Dark Brothers. They’ve holed up in an abandoned mine a mile downslope but have patrols out.

  ‘Two hours then we shift watches again. Those of you detailed to the flank and forward patrol will get an extra hour of rest when you come back in. The Tsurani have the same routine and will cover the right flank.’

  74

  ‘When do we fight them?’ Darvan asked from the back of the room.

  Several men growled in agreement, while others mumbled for him to shut the hell up.

  ‘When I tell you and not before, you damned fool,’ Dennis snapped. ‘Now get the hell outside!’

  Richard fell in with his unit and followed the men out into the night. The storm still raged and he gasped as the cold wind hit.

  Filing past, rushing to get inside, were the miserable men who had been detailed to the first watch.

  ‘Third squad.’

  Gregory stepped in front of the group and motioned for them to follow. A narrow trail fifty yards further up the pass had been found, switchbacking its way up the icy slope. The men struggled to keep a footing, hanging on as gusts of wind roared through the pass, ready to snatch them off the icy precipice. The night was pitch-black, the men cursing, even the older veterans complaining that it was madness to be out on watch on a night like this.

  The group pressed on. Struggling to the top of the pass they met Tinuva and several men. Gregory and the elf conferred briefly, then the first watch headed back down to the shelter below. Gregory motioned for the men to gather round.

  ‘We seem to be lucky for once,’ Gregory announced. ‘The storm’s driven them all back to the old mine but that’s no reason to let our guard down. It might even be a trick. Space out, a man to every thirty paces, and don’t get lost. Keep a sharp watch. I’m going forward and please don’t kill me when I come back in.’

  The men chuckled grimly.

  ‘Move!’

  The squad started into the woods, moving just below the top of the crest. Richard made to follow, but Gregory motioned him back.

  ‘You’re going forward with me.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. Something wrong with your hearing, boy?’

  Richard swallowed hard, saying nothing.

  Without another word Gregory started down the slope, drifting from tree to tree, Richard struggling to keep pace. Looking to his right he caught a glimpse of the pass below, the glow of 75

  firelight shimmering from the top of the chimney, and wished he was back inside, sitting by the roaring fire, or better yet curled up and asleep by it.

  He lost sight of Gregory for a moment and felt a surge of panic when he tore his gaze away from the fire and realized he couldn’t see the Natalese Ranger. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and stumbled forward, startled when the ice cracked beneath his feet. An instant later a hand snapped around his throat. He started to cry out, but then the hand released him and he found himself staring into Gregory’s eyes.

  ‘First lesson. Never lose contact with your partner when scouting at night,’ Gregory whispered. His voice was calm, there was no reproach in it. It was as if the two of them were simply having a pleasant chat while strolling through the woods.

  ‘You looked at the fire glowing, you were wishing you were inside, you forgot about me.’

  Richard nodded, and suddenly realized that behind the calm words he could see a dagger in Gregory’s other hand.

  ‘Yes, I could have killed you as easily as a baby asleep in a cradle.

  Remember that, boy, for that’s what they’ll do to you.’

  Not sure how to react, Richard could only nod.

  ‘Second lesson: never look at a fire when you’re on night patrol.

  It robs you of sight in the dark. Look to one side or the other.

  On watch, stand with your back to the fire. Blind yourself for even just a moment, and it can cost you your life. Now get your own dagger out. This isn’t a night for archery or sword-play.’

  Gregory turned and continued forward and this time Richard stayed close, trying to mimic his movements, the fluid glide to his steps, noticing a certain rhythm . . . half a dozen quick steps, a pause, head turning, then forward, though at a slightly different angle; again, the pause. Once he stopped, pointing down and Richard looked, seeing footsteps in the frozen mud and a stain where someone had relieved himself.

  ‘Troll,’ Gregory whispered. ‘You can tell by the smell.’

  Richard nodded. The forest trolls of southern Yabon where he had been a boy were barely more than animals, without language 76

  and little more dangerous than a bear or lion. They were scarcely a nuisance to a party of armed men. Mountain trolls on the other hand had language and weapons and knew how to use them. And now they were in the woods around him. He gripped his dagger tightly.

  ‘Night watchers,’ Gregory whispered. ‘The moredhel call them allies, but treat them like slaves; so do the human renegades who travel with this kind of group. They’re all inside the mine staying warm while the trolls are out here freezing.’ He was quiet for a moment, then softly he added, ‘It’s a stupid choice; trolls don’t have the discipline needed for a night like this.’

  Gregory pushed forward. They pressed down a low rise and then started to climb to the next ridge, moving parallel to the road they had run along earlier in the day. Richard even recognized the place where the group had broken off from the road, spotting the cleft boulder with a tree growing out of the middle that marked the spot.

  Gregory stopped and held up his hand. He then pointed to the side of the boulder, the downwind side and held up his hand, two fingers extended.

  Richard felt his heart trip over. Two forms were huddled beneath the downwind side of the boulder, hunched over a small flickering fire . . . two trolls.

  Richard started to reach over his shoulder to pull out his bow and string it. Gregory shook his head. Motioning to the dagger in Richard’s hand, he then drew a finger across his throat.

  Richard felt his knees go weak. This madman was telling him they were going up to the trolls to cut their throats!

  Gregory remained still for several minutes as if frozen to the earth.

  Richard crouched behind him, limbs trembling. To his disbelief Gregory stood up and ever so casually started forward, walking in the open. Richard didn’t move. Gregory, without looking back, motioned for him to follow.

  Richard, barely able to walk on shaky legs, followed. The trolls were a scant thirty paces away.

  The two approached. One of the trolls finally stirred and raised its head. Richard suddenly realized that the two of them had been asleep and Gregory knew it. The first troll started to say something, Gregory 77

  responded in a guttural tongue, and then sprinted the last half dozen paces until he was on the troll, dagger flashing in the firelight.

  ‘Come on boy!’ he hissed. ‘Kill the other!’

  Richard remained frozen in place, watching, terrified as Gregory’s dagger slashed down. The other troll started to stand up.

  He was not even sure how he got there but suddenly the troll was in front of him, filling his world. Shorter than a man, the creature was wider at the shoulders by half again. Its misshapen forehead was dominated by a massive black brow, from under which tiny black eyes glinted. Its massive jaw jutted out and it displayed its teeth in a snarl, large pointed incisors extending beyond the upper and lower lips. A leather helmet was tightly pulled down, covering the large, pointed ears.

  The troll slammed into Richard, pushing him up against the boulder, driving his dagger into the beast’s stomach. There was a gasp of pain, fetid breath washing over him, claws tearing at his face. Richard tucked
his own chin down and crouched and the lethal claws raked across the stone of the boulder behind him.

  ‘The throat boy, the throat!’

  Richard yanked his dagger free and tried for the throat, stabbing upward, but the troll, fighting in blind panic, blocked him. Instead he slashed at the beast’s arms, cutting it again and again. Even as he tried to kill the troll he felt horrified, sickened, sensing the agony and terror of his victim.

  ‘Die! Just die, damn you!’ he cried, continuing to slash until the point of his dagger went in below the troll’s chin and up into its brain. The beast sagged down with a groan and collapsed. Richard stepped back, sobbing, turned away, and vomited.

  ‘Don’t ever hesitate, boy.’

  Richard, still bent double, looked up. Gregory was standing beside him, half-turned away, watchful gaze scanning the trail.

  Richard realized that Gregory had finished his victim within seconds and rather than help had simply stood by, watching as he made his own kill. He felt a wave of anger and also of shame.

  He scooped up a handful of snow to wipe his mouth and hands 78

  clean. He was trembling, suddenly afraid that he might lose control completely and soil himself.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Gregory whispered. ‘Its one thing to kill in the heat of battle the way you did two days ago. This is different, even if it is a troll. It may be war, boy, but this is as close as a lawful man gets to black murder.’ He put a reassuring hand on Richard’s shoulder.

  ‘You did just fine, son. More than one man’s turned and run the other way.’

  Even as he talked he continued to scan, carefully watching the trail and the surrounding forest. After a few moments of checking the signs to see if the struggle had alerted others, he said, ‘Good.

  They’re spread out too thin, hunched over fires and falling asleep from exhaustion. No one saw us. Come on.’

  Gregory stepped back, picked up the feet of one of the trolls and dragged it away from the fire, hiding it on the far side of the boulder.

  Richard hesitated then finally reached down and dragged his own victim. The body was heavy, he could feel the warmth of it even through the foot wrappings. He laid the body down next to the other. Gregory had rolled the troll half over and was stripping off the heavy blanket wrapped around its shoulders.