thrust his staff at the Caydarman's head. Olag brushed it away.
Tain sighed sadly. "Grimnir, walk down the road. Get on your horse. Go back to the Tower. Do it now, or don't expect to see the sun set." He released the man's arm. His hand settled to the pommel of his longsword.
Grimnir believed him. He hurried to his horse, one hand holding his hat.
Olag glanced his way, grinned, shouted, "Hey, join the game, big man." He seemed puzzled when Grimnir galloped away.
Tain started toward Olag. Toma went down with a shoulder wound. Mikla had suffered a dozen cuts. Olag was playing with him. The fear was in him now. His pride had neared its snapping point. In a moment he would run.
"Stop it," Tain ordered.
Olag stepped back, considered him from a red tangle of hair and beard. He licked his lips and smiled. "Another one?"
He buried his blade in Mikla's guts.
Tain's swords sang as they cleared their scabbards. The evening sun played purple and indigo upon their blades.
Olag stopped grinning.
He was good. But the Caydarman had never faced a man doubly armed.
He fell within twenty seconds.
The villagers stared, awed. The whispers started, speculating about Kosku's mystery giant. Tain ignored them.
He dropped to one knee.
It was too late for Mikla. Toma, though, would mend. But his shoulder would bother him for the rest of his life.
Tain tended Kleckla's wound, then whistled for the roan. He set Toma in the saddle and laid Mikla behind him. He cleaned his blades on the dead Caydarman.
He started home.
Toma, in shock, stared at the horizon and spoke not a word.
XIV
Rula ran to meet them. How she knew, Tain couldn't fathom.
Darkness had fallen.
Steban was a step behind her, face taut and pallid. He looked at his father and uncle and retreated into an inner realm nothing could assail.
"I'm sorry, Rula. I wasn't quick enough. The man who did it is dead, if that helps." Honest grief moved him. He slid his arm around her waist.
Steban slipped under his other arm. They walked down to the sod house. The roan followed, his nose an inch behind Tain's right shoulder. The old soldier took comfort from the animal's concern.
They placed Mikla on a pallet, and Toma in his own bed. "How bad is he?" Rula asked, moving and talking like one of the living dead.
Tain knew the reaction. The barriers would relax sometime. Grief would demolish her. He touched her hand lightly. "He'll make it. It's a clean wound. Shock is the problem now. Probably more emotional than physical."
Steban watched with wide, sad eyes.
Tain squatted beside Toma, cleansing his wound again. "Needle and thread, Rula. He'll heal quicker."
"You're a surgeon too?"
"I commanded a hundred men. They were my responsibility."
The fire danced suddenly. The blanket closing the doorway whipped. Cold air chased itself round the inside walls. "Rain again," Rula said.
Tain nodded. "A storm, I think. The needle?"
"Oh. Yes."
He accepted needle and thread. "Steban. Come here."
The boy drifted over as if gripped by a narcotic dream.
"Sit. I need your help."
Steban shook his head.
"You wanted to be a soldier. I'll start teaching you now."
Steban lowered himself to the floor.
"The sad lessons are the hardest. And the most important. A soldier has to watch friends die. Put your fingers here, like this. Push. No. Gently. Just enough to keep the wound shut." Tain threaded the needle.
"Uncle Mikla . . . . How did it happen?" Disbelief animated the boy. His uncle could do anything.
"He forgot one of a soldier's commandments. He went after an enemy he didn't know. And he forgot that it's been a long time since he used a sword."
"Oh."
"Hold still, Steban. I'm going to start."
Toma surged up when the needle entered his flesh. A moan ripped from his throat. "Mikla! No!" His reason returned with his memory.
"Toma!" Tain snapped. "Lie down. Rula, help us. He's got to lie still."
Toma struggled. He started bleeding.
Steban gagged.
"Hold on, Steban. Rula, get down
Tain sighed sadly. "Grimnir, walk down the road. Get on your horse. Go back to the Tower. Do it now, or don't expect to see the sun set." He released the man's arm. His hand settled to the pommel of his longsword.
Grimnir believed him. He hurried to his horse, one hand holding his hat.
Olag glanced his way, grinned, shouted, "Hey, join the game, big man." He seemed puzzled when Grimnir galloped away.
Tain started toward Olag. Toma went down with a shoulder wound. Mikla had suffered a dozen cuts. Olag was playing with him. The fear was in him now. His pride had neared its snapping point. In a moment he would run.
"Stop it," Tain ordered.
Olag stepped back, considered him from a red tangle of hair and beard. He licked his lips and smiled. "Another one?"
He buried his blade in Mikla's guts.
Tain's swords sang as they cleared their scabbards. The evening sun played purple and indigo upon their blades.
Olag stopped grinning.
He was good. But the Caydarman had never faced a man doubly armed.
He fell within twenty seconds.
The villagers stared, awed. The whispers started, speculating about Kosku's mystery giant. Tain ignored them.
He dropped to one knee.
It was too late for Mikla. Toma, though, would mend. But his shoulder would bother him for the rest of his life.
Tain tended Kleckla's wound, then whistled for the roan. He set Toma in the saddle and laid Mikla behind him. He cleaned his blades on the dead Caydarman.
He started home.
Toma, in shock, stared at the horizon and spoke not a word.
XIV
Rula ran to meet them. How she knew, Tain couldn't fathom.
Darkness had fallen.
Steban was a step behind her, face taut and pallid. He looked at his father and uncle and retreated into an inner realm nothing could assail.
"I'm sorry, Rula. I wasn't quick enough. The man who did it is dead, if that helps." Honest grief moved him. He slid his arm around her waist.
Steban slipped under his other arm. They walked down to the sod house. The roan followed, his nose an inch behind Tain's right shoulder. The old soldier took comfort from the animal's concern.
They placed Mikla on a pallet, and Toma in his own bed. "How bad is he?" Rula asked, moving and talking like one of the living dead.
Tain knew the reaction. The barriers would relax sometime. Grief would demolish her. He touched her hand lightly. "He'll make it. It's a clean wound. Shock is the problem now. Probably more emotional than physical."
Steban watched with wide, sad eyes.
Tain squatted beside Toma, cleansing his wound again. "Needle and thread, Rula. He'll heal quicker."
"You're a surgeon too?"
"I commanded a hundred men. They were my responsibility."
The fire danced suddenly. The blanket closing the doorway whipped. Cold air chased itself round the inside walls. "Rain again," Rula said.
Tain nodded. "A storm, I think. The needle?"
"Oh. Yes."
He accepted needle and thread. "Steban. Come here."
The boy drifted over as if gripped by a narcotic dream.
"Sit. I need your help."
Steban shook his head.
"You wanted to be a soldier. I'll start teaching you now."
Steban lowered himself to the floor.
"The sad lessons are the hardest. And the most important. A soldier has to watch friends die. Put your fingers here, like this. Push. No. Gently. Just enough to keep the wound shut." Tain threaded the needle.
"Uncle Mikla . . . . How did it happen?" Disbelief animated the boy. His uncle could do anything.
"He forgot one of a soldier's commandments. He went after an enemy he didn't know. And he forgot that it's been a long time since he used a sword."
"Oh."
"Hold still, Steban. I'm going to start."
Toma surged up when the needle entered his flesh. A moan ripped from his throat. "Mikla! No!" His reason returned with his memory.
"Toma!" Tain snapped. "Lie down. Rula, help us. He's got to lie still."
Toma struggled. He started bleeding.
Steban gagged.
"Hold on, Steban. Rula, get down
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