The Blood-Rage (19) She reached out again and gripped his hand. "No, no. We are friends, are we not?" "I had thought so. Now I wonder." Would a friend kill another friend just because that one saw the embarrassment of the other? She turned her back to him. "I'm sorry I made naked my blade. It was a mistake made by a fool who doesn't yet know how to act with a friend. Much to my shame, I'm like all Agonians, a slave to my ego. I'm too sensitive about my appearance." Now he felt better. "I think we both probably have much to learn about friendship and ways to express it." She looked over her shoulder, trying to make him out. "You speak the truth. Again, I'm sorry. Did the knife cut?" "No." "I'm glad," she confessed and tried to suppress a yawn but didn't succeed. "Are you tired?" he asked cautiously. "I can hardly stand straight. This is the second night in a row I’m loosing sleep. How can you appear so . . . so awake?" "I was excited by all that was new today: the rain, the wind, the lightning." "Ah, yes. I keep forgetting your amnesia. Sometimes I wish I had that. To forget--" "You mustn't wish that. Memories are what shape . . . our ah, inner-being, our . . . ah, self . . . our--" "Our souls," she interrupted. "--yes, that's the word I was searching for." She looked away again. "I've been accused by many of being soulless." "I think that label fits me better." "Nevertheless--" she stopped speaking suddenly, then, "Look, a star." He saw her pointing upward and looked that way. Yes, there it was . . . a star, no two . . . no three, four. The dark clouds were giving up their cover of the sky as they watched. "The suns will shine come morning," she said as she brought her gaze down. He detected some melancholy in her voice. "The Kalts and Rasp will continue my journey poleward come suns-rise," he said, looking in that direction and noticing that the starlight made the land leap into clearer view. "A trip to oblivion," she said, and her voice seemed sad. He took a step toward her. Regardless of the starlight, the thermo-view of her was still the brightest. He asked, "Do you think I'll die before reaching journey's end?" Who will kill me first, Erendria or you? She turned her back to him. "Perhaps. If not on the way, for certain at the end, at the pole. You're flawed and you travel with good Agonians. What can be more certain than that?" Was there regret in her voice? he wondered. Even though he knew she couldn't see the gesture, he shrugged and said, "That's the way it should be. It's a fact that Agon must be pure." He hated the feeling of inferiority that those words gave to him. "It's also a fact that you can teach and make children believe in anything." Does she consider me to be childlike? Or does she mean that my teachings have been wrong? "But," she continued, "that may all be academic. That small worm of a man, the healer, follows you. Hate is a powerful force, and this makes him want your lives. He's already coerced a warrior into helping him. I suspect he'll get others. The Kalts should have killed him when they had the chance." Darkcian thought for a while before saying, "If you've gotten close enough to him to have seen all that, why didn't you kill him for us?" He watched as the thermo-effect of the skin on her forehead showed that she was frowning. "You want me to do your killing for you?" she asked. He surmised that there was some surprise in her tone. "That's not done for friends?" he countered. "The Kalts and the old one are not my friends. And you? What are you to me, really? A voice in the night? A face I haven't even seen yet? One who deprives me of my sleep? What?" Ah, he thought. I should have known better. It angers others to kill beyond reasons of their own, for it speaks of weakness on the part of those who would make such a request. He said, "This healer and the gang he was with were hunting you at one time, to purify Agon, I think he said." "Yes. I could kill him for that. But that's no longer his goal. I think I'll now be an observer to see who will prevail in the coming encounters. The stronger will win. It's Agon's way." "In our last meeting, you said to hell with Agon." She stamped her foot. "Must you always argue with me? What would you have me do?" An idea came to him. "You could teach me the ways of the dagger-that-returns." She stepped up close to him, trying to see his face. "The males who wish to only learn that weapon are the healers. And they only use the dagger, not the elastic lanyard." "Why?" "They are not true warriors. They don't defend themselves as men or women. A true fighting male will choose the sword; it serves their strength better in battle, especially against the ice-tigers in Friosan's-Time." "But you and others have said that no sword can stand against a dagger. I think it must be because the dagger can reach out further." "That's the reason. You've analyzed correctly. But a dagger won't normally kill an ice-tiger. It takes a sword. Also, a male warrior has to spend all of his young life to learn the ways of the sword and the rest of his time to remain proficient. As a consequence, there isn't time to learn both weapons. You see, for most on Agon, life is a partnership between a man and a woman. Together they can win against almost any danger that Agon has. The two are the optimum combination for survival. Apart, that ability diminishes radically. One has the speed and far-out striking capability of the thrown dagger; the other has the power of deep penetration by the use of the sword. Together the weapons can kill any predator. Alone, the swords of Agon die mostly during Ardent's-Time, the single daggers during Friosan's-Time." "But I have time now. Teach me." "You have time only by denying yourself sleep. That'll catch up with you soon. Don't be foolish." He was silent then for a long time, thinking. Finally he said, "I think I understand. You would rather sleep than help me stay alive." He turned from her and started to walk away. Her hand reached out to him. "No, NO!" she cried. "You misunderstand. I need someone to talk to. Don't leave." He stopped. "What have I misunderstood?" he said over his shoulder. He could hear her breathing deeply before she said, "Don't play on my loneliness. Your survival and mine, both, depends on our being alert and rested. I'll trade some of that edge for companionship. I think that you, too, would make that trade, or do you only wish to learn the ways of the dagger? Have I become to you just another teacher?" He turned around to face her. "I wish for both. But if forced to choose between them, I also will choose companionship. I've learned from you that life is sterile without the kind of communication that brings some worth to living. You're right, you do seem to have satisfied a hunger of mine based in my loneliness. So, the thought of living without a friend brings a pain here." He touched his heart. "Where," she said softly. He walked to her, grabbed her left hand, and placed it over his heart. "Here," he repeated. She slowly clenched that fist, raking her fingernails across his skin. "Already you know how to manipulate me, like my mother-teacher could. It only takes one kind word among a thousand. What a fool I’ve become." She untied the dagger's leather sheath, walked behind him, and re-tied it around his waist. Stepping back, she said, "Tie the strap on the bottom of the sheath around your leg, snug. Good. Now, notice that your hand when relaxed at your side is even with the dagger's handle. That's the correct height to position the weapon. It makes for the fastest draw." He patted the handle and nodded. The starlight was enough now for her to see the gesture. "All right, now draw the dagger. Yes. Now here's the way to hold it." She took it away from him and demonstrated. Four hours later, she, like the Kalts, appeared to be amazed at how fast he learned. CHAPTER 19 In a fight, when considering the two traits of skill and strength, skill is the most predominant factor. Therefore, beware of the small and weak, for they may possess more combat knowledge than you. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- After the night of rain, the harsh suns shown with renewed vigor, or so it seemed to the tired riders as they drifted through the fog-like steam that slowly rose in hot waves from the moist, heated ground. It made the land look mysterious and unreal, the air heavy and thick. It even seemed to filter out the color of the land, making everything but the sky look gray. To Darkcian, the world around him seemed to move in slow motion, his companions almost floating through the white mist, as though they were riding atop clouds. Along with the rising steam, there also came the fragrances of the earth. He probed down into the ground mist with his mind, gripped his mu-lynx's fur tightly, and then quickly bent down low to pick a prairie flower. Rising back up, he lifted the plant to his nose and flared his nostrils, filling his lungs to capacity so as to hold for as long as possible the exquisite smell. Pleasure, joy! He found himself, lately, grasping for the smallest rewards that Agon had to offer. Why? To balance out the dread? he wondered. Afterwards, he shook his head to clear it, not knowing for sure. As they rode through the yellow flowers, a swarm of stingers rose into the air around them. On Rasp's command, they urged their mounts to charge out of the area to higher ground. Even so, Darkcian received a painful sting on his left leg. Gravestone noticed the swelling about the wound and said, "The smallest forms of life are not usually dangerous to us unless their numbers are large. Large swarms can kill anything. For example, I've seen those small insects kill a leopard that wouldn't flee because it became insane with the pain of the stings. Be warned." Soon they were all perspiring, and the high humidity coupled with the lack of any breeze caused the sweat to run down their bodies. Darkcian watched fascinated as a large droplet slowly coursed its way down Erendria's shiny back, between her shoulder blades, to finally disappear into the cloth of the brief, darkening it. For some unknown reason, he found the sight of a sweating woman aroused strange feelings within him. * * * * * The healer and his captive topped a rise and stopped their mu-lynxes to survey the land beyond. The healer noticed that, spinward, a large flock of day-bats were circling. He watched their pattern for thirty minutes before again ordering their own forward progress. Since he didn't explain matters to a captive, the healer addressed the skull he was holding. "Something is disturbing the day-bats to our right, brother. Whatever it is, it's about ten miles away and heading anti-spinward. If we speed up our ride, we'll intersect their path in about an hour. I'm sure it's the group we met last night." He looked over at his captive. The sullen warrior was riding with his right arm in a sling, his left tied to a rope that was, in turn, tied around his mu-lynx's neck. The warrior's face was set to a hard cast, lips tight together in reaction to pain. The healer frowned and thought, Warriors are worthless without the use of their right arms. They should train to be ambidextrous. This fool won't be of use to anyone for weeks. The little man turned his gaze the other way, scanning the sky again. Yes, he thought, something large moves ahead of us. An hour later the healer held up the skull and orientated it so that its empty eye sockets pointed spinward. "How many of them do you count, brother? I make out ten warriors. You agree, huh." He chuckled, "Luck is always on the side of the righteous, isn't it? Let's hope they are true to Agon, for if so, the red-haired bitch will die by nightfall. If not," he shrugged, "we will probably die this day." He stopped his mu-lynx; his captive followed suit. They waited as the warriors approached. The band of riders stopped about twenty feet away from the other two. Most in the band-of-ten made no effort to hide their disgust upon recognizing a healer. But the little man was used to this reaction, and he raised his right arm and said, "Suns-rise to you warriors. May your enemies fear you this day." A young warrior with long, black hair, standing in the front of the group, replied, "We have been looking for the warrior who rides with you. We lost him last night. Where did you find him? And why is his arm in a sling?" "I captured him last night as you rode by. I gave him the wound." The young warrior and his band drew their swords. "Then you are going to die, little man," the warrior said. "Stupid of you to meet us again." The healer asked, "Is he important to you?" We now will live or die by the answer. "A good and worthy friend." There was a long pause. "Or was," he added. Quickly, the healer put his dagger to his captive's throat. "Make any move against me, and he dies." The young warrior paused again. "What do you hope to gain by such a stupid stand off?" "I want to trade his life for your help." "We are true warriors and want no dealings with healers and their weak-willed captives." He looked at the man next to the healer. "You have shamed yourself by being captured by a healer." The warrior beside the healer winced. The young warrior looked back to the healer and said, "However, I'm curious. What help do you need that is so urgent that you would risk you life to obtain it?" "I'm on a mission of revenge, for I pursue five warriors with which I have a blood-feud. They flee ahead of us." "Surely they do not flee from you, a healer? Or are you that awesome in battle?" Snickering could be heard from three or four members of the speaker's band. "They do flee from me," the little man said. "But, then, they aren't among Agon's most fierce warriors. One is even so fearful of battle that he drops to his knees and has the others defend him." There were more looks of disgust on the faces of the other group. The leader spoke again, "Anyone that weak will die in a short time from the predators of Agon. We need not concern ourselves with him." "Then what about the others, those who harbor such weakness?" He slowly looked into each of their faces. "No true warrior would ignore the Second Law of Agon." The black-haired warrior scoffed, "Why should we take the word of a pain-lover on such a matter? Why should we believe a tale of weakness from the mouth of the weak? I find it very hard to believe anyone would run from a healer." The little man's eyes almost closed to hide his fury. Squinting through the slits of his eyelids, he bit out, "Know you of the warrior, Stone, of the Grayman clan?" A puzzled look came over the black-haired warrior. "A big man with small scars over most of his body?" "Yes. A sword-master." "I haven't met that one but have heard of him. It's said that he's one of the few with enough sword skill to have killed some of the daggers of Agon. Do we speak of the same warrior? If so, why?" "Yes. He was my brother." "Was?" The healer held up the skull and said, "Here is Stone, killed from behind by a red-haired bitch in the group that now rides poleward. Cowardice is the common trait of those who now flee from my anger. Are you true warriors of Agon or will you let this pass? I'm but a small force of justice. However your group is many. But are you fearless and of Agon's spirit?" The man's face turned red with anger. "You call us cowards?" he said through clenched teeth. "I put no label on you now. But Agon will if you kill me now and then ride poleward to safety when you could have avenged one of your own and purified Agon of weakness." The warrior to the right of the black-haired one spoke up. "He's right, Naygor. We have time to avenge the deed of a back-stabber. Besides, we haven't had a good fight in weeks." The leader replied, "There are many back-stabbers on Agon. For example, I wouldn't turn my back on a healer." The little man was not cowered by this one's direct stare. He thought: This insufferable young bastard thinks he's privy to some deep Agonian truth. He has yet to learn that there's no real value to honor. Survival is all that matters. How one survives is the measure of intelligence. "I have never attacked anyone from behind," he announced, lying. "So you say," the black-haired warrior replied. "But we know your kind lie." Regroup, play another role, the little man thought quickly. "What must I do or say to make you believe?" "You can say nothing that I would believe. As I've already said, all healers lie." "Then what must I do?" Ah, that made him pause. Another of the black-haired warrior's companions leaned over and whispered something in the leader's ear. The black-haired one nodded, smiled, and said to the little man, "Free your captive." "The only factor that keeps you from killing me now is that I have a dagger to his throat. If I release him, you would kill me. Do you think I'm an idiot?" "You asked, I answered." They are such fools. Everyone is a slave to honor. "Can you give me your word that you won't kill me afterwards?" "We do." "How can I trust that?" I have them now! "We are warriors." He says that with such superiority, as if that explained all things. Such arrogance! "Very well. As a gesture of my sincerity, I'll put myself at the mercy of your word. I'll give up my captive. And, in return, you'll pledge to help me bring to justice the back-stabbers. Agreed?" The black-haired one raised his left arm and said, "We so pledge." Success! The little man turned to his slave and said, "You're free. Choose your path." The man's stoic face impressed the healer as the freed warrior kicked his mu-lynx forward, dismounted, and stood before his leader. Yet, the healer noticed, the man's clenched left fist betrayed this inner calm. The warrior said, "I succumbed to this snake out of fear and pain. Now I wish to lay aside the burden of shame that I've carried ever since. I know now that there are worse things than being mutilated. Give me back my self-respect. I may not toss true with my left hand, and I want my end to be clean. Honor me." The black-haired one nodded his approval. "By your request, you have proven to me that you are a true warrior. I'm honored in turn that you have chosen me." He dismounted. The ex-captive dropped to his knees and bowed his head to the earth. After a long pause, he said clearly, "Agon, here is my blood. Give me eternal peace." In one swift movement, the black-haired one drew his sword and beheaded the prone warrior. The healer was always surprised at how much blood shot forth from such a cut. The leader then turned to the companion who had whispered to him earlier. "You believe this healer?" "He carries his brother's skull," the companion said. "No one would lie about that." The black-haired one walked up to his mu-lynx, patted its head, and said, "I don't like it, but you are probably right." He turned to the healer. "All right, we're with you. What's your plan?"
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