King Of Zunga

Blade let his breath out in a long whistling sigh. Did these boasts mean that the On'ror was prepared to betray his own people to the slave raiders? That was an ugly thought. And it put Blade in an awkward position, to say the least. If he canceled the mission to the north, how could he convince his warriors that he hadn't simply lost his nerve? But if he took them north and the On'ror had passed the word on to the slave raiders to lay a trap, what then? Would it look as if he had led his ten picked men into a trap? Not to mention what losing many of the trained instructors in their first battle would do to the Zungans' morale.

Unfortunately there was no way back. He would simply have to march out tomorrow and be particularly careful. The plains and forests to the north were vast, his patrol small, the number of slave raiders limited. He and the enemy would have plenty of room to miss each other. He didn't like relying on luck, but for the moment it looked as if he would have to. With that giving him a little peace of mind, he fell asleep.

With Zungans, there was no problem in having the patrol headed north out of the city before dawn. It took them an hour to get clear of Dorkalu's herds going out to pasture, then they were alone.

They were alone for two whole days, in fact. Over the land to the north of Dorkalu the hand of the slavers had fallen heavily. Huts and whole towns lay abandoned and ruined, fields that had once been rich with grain now grew masses of weeds, the rangy survivors of the cattle herds had gone wild and lumbered away at the approach of Blade's men.

The second night out, they camped in a patch of forest on the northernmost edge of Zungan territory with extra sentries posted on all sides. The morning of the third day dawned overcast, less rare now that they were farther north. To Blade this was nothing, but to the Zungans clouds concealed the face of the Sky Father, who would not be able to see them going into battle and judge their new fighting skills. Blade did not try to argue them out of their nervousness. He was far from calm himself, here in enemy territory and with Aumara's warning hanging over his head like the gray sky itself. He hoped their nervousness would vanish with the first successful combat.

They no longer marched boldly across country, but stalked like hunting animals from one patch of cover to another. The Zungans had nothing to learn from Blade about the use of cover. In fact, he hoped he would have time to learn from them. A Zungan could stretch along the branch of a tree and remain so motionless that he seemed to merge with the branch. To a man not looking for him, he would be totally invisible.

The first sight of their enemies came toward midafternoon, sooner than Blade had expected. One of the Zungan scouts suddenly flattened himself against a tree, then cautiously waved Blade forward. Slipping forward and flattening himself against the other side of the tree, Blade followed the Zungan's pointing hand. Fourteen soldiers in two files of seven were tramping along the edge of a small ravine. They wore Rulami-style iron helmets and cuirasses, and carried the Rulami broadswords. But on each helmet and breastplate was a vertical white line.

«Kandans,» said the Zungan warrior. «That white line is the sign of the Ivory Tower. This will be easy. They are not as good soldiers as the Rulami.»

«Do not count the bodies until they are dead,» said Blade. He turned back toward the woods where the other nine Zungans were. He waited for a count of five, until the soldiers reached a stretch of ravine where there were no bushes to give them cover. Then he raised his hand and swung it across his own throat in a chopping gesture.

The Zungans swept forward from their cover so silently that they were halfway to the ravine before the soldiers looked up and saw them coming. If the Zungans could have thrown their spears, most of the soldiers would have been dead within thirty seconds. As it was, they had time to blunder into a sort of defensive formation and raise their swords and shields before the Zungans were on them.

Blade jabbed over the top of a soldier's shield and saw the soldier flinch and drop his guard. Blade's partner beat the sword down the rest of the way with a smashing blow, then swept the weighted butt of his spear sideways. The top, of the shield guided it straight to the soldier's jaw. Blade heard bone smash and saw the soldier reel and collapse. His fall left a gap in the enemy's ragged line. Blade led his partner through it.

As he passed in through the gap, he thrust at a knee exposed by a shield raised to defend against a Zungan downstroke. The knee crunched, the shield toppled, and the downstroke plunged into the man's throat all in the same split second. A gurgling scream, and he too went down.

Now Blade was behind the enemy, but four of them were turning to face him. Then there were only three, as a Zungan caught one man turning, striking low with the spear butt into the man's unprotected groin. The man went down onto his hands and knees, and the victor reversed his spear and drove the head down through the man's spine. Then Blade's partner feinted low, pulling down the shield of the man facing Blade. Blade himself thrust straight, seeing the spearhead drive into the bearded face, seeing the face split apart and disintegrate.

«They are as helpless as children,» a Zungan shouted behind Blade, and clubbed an enemy's sword out of his hand with his spear butt. The man dove after his weapon, but died before he reached it as the spear butt slammed down again across the back of his neck. Then Blade no longer had time to pick out individual details of fights, his own or anybody else's, as he and his partner concentrated on putting their opponents down.

These two were definitely not helpless as children. Blade leaped high to avoid a sword thrust and fell down over the edge of the ravine. He landed on all fours, and a soldier rushed at him, sword raised to chop down into Blade's skull. But in his enthusiasm the man raised his shield also. Blade's spear drove upward in a single-handed thrust and into the soldier's groin. Before the man could fall, Blade was on his feet and blocking downcuts from two more soldiers. His spear whirled, one sword flew down, the other flew up, and both men backed away. Blade would have taken their surrender, but his partner would not. He leaped forward and thrust both men through the throat in a quick double stroke.

Eventually the fight ended, with one Zungan and twelve of the soldiers lying dead on the ground. Another Zungan was wounded. Two of the soldiers had abandoned weapons, armor, and comrades and vanished into the forest. The Zungans would have gone after them, but Blade called them back. Wait until the next time slave raiders enter Zungan land, he told them. Then you can have all the fun you want hunting them down one by one. In their land, we stay together.

The Zungans did not mind his lecture. In fact, they were so overjoyed at their victory that they probably would not have minded very much if he had proclaimed himself King of Zunga. They might not have believed him, but they would not have been angry. Twelve of the enemy down, and only one Zungan! There had been no battle like that in a hundred years or even more, ever since the raiders began wearing armor. The iron of the enemy would no longer protect them. They would have to learn to fight like real warriors now, and that they would never do. The Zungans would kill them all.

Blade finally called a halt to the rejoicing. The twelve dead soldiers were stripped of their swords and personal gear and thrown into the ravine. Blade would have liked to take their armor also, but realized that this far from home the added weight would be a hindrance. Another thing to keep in mind for the next time the raiders entered Zungan land-pick up all the armor. Don't waste it in trophies. If it can't be worn, melt it down for spearheads.