Jane Carver of Waar (8 page)

I said before that my blood was up. Now it was boiling like a gumbo pot. I launched from the tent. I have a vague idea that Queenie shouted something, but it could have been me. Two tents away I hit dirt and sprang forward again like a kung-fu kangaroo.

One-Eye was just laying his knife against Handsome’s helpless throat when he caught my motion out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, guilty. I hit him in the numbers with a cross body block.

It didn’t go so well. The problem with living on a planet with less gravity than Earth is that, for the same reason I can leap ridiculous distances and not hurt myself much when I crash, I don’t make much of an impact when I hit something—particularly not something four times my size. So it was more surprise than power that knocked One-Eye back on his haunches.

I careened past him into a rack of drying bird meat and was up and flying at him again before he could get his multi-purpose limbs back under him. The impact thing was a bust, so this time I hopped on his back and got him around the neck with a triangle choke.

Now this was where that alien, strength/mass thing worked out. This wasn’t weight against weight. This was strength against strength. There we were an even match, and I was in the one place he couldn’t get a good grip on me.

One-Eye’s eyes and tongue were popping out in seconds. He shredded my arms with his big, clawed paws. I took the pain. I didn’t even feel it. I had a mad on, blind, red, and roaring, and when I have a mad on, everything goes away—pain, cold, hunger, exhaustion.

There was shouting in the distance. One-Eye’s squad was turning, winners of the rumble, just in time to see their leader getting punked by a pink midget. Someone clipped me on the head. The next thing I remember I was flat on my back, staring up at rising spear points and sword blades. I was dead. Then there was a shout, and a big body leaped over me, scattering the swords and spears.

Queenie! There were growls of protest as she yanked me up and crushed me in a hug. For a second it was a stand off—One-Eye and his squad demanding that Queenie hand me over, and Queenie refusing, but then another gang of Barahir veered into view and One-Eye’s squad had to get busy again.

Handsome, shaking off the cobwebs, was about to join them, but Queenie, an odd look on her face, called him back and ordered him to come with her. He didn’t put up much of a fight.

***

We won. I mean they won. I mean the Hirrarah won. Barely. I didn’t see any more of the battle. Queenie kept me by her side until it was over—I wasn’t sure if she was worried about my safety or One-Eye’s—but I learned later that it had been a hell of a close call. The only reason we came out on top was that that big hunting party of ours that had gone out early had felt the rumble of the stampede through their feet and raced home, thinking more about meat on the hoof than danger. But when they saw the smoke from the burning tents rising from the ravine they breaknecked it down the trail, fresh as daisies, just as the Barahir thought they had us licked.

After that it was all putting out fires, clearing wreckage, repairing tents, burning our dead and carting theirs away. Plus, there was the logistical nightmare of what to do with more dead krae-flesh than the tribe could eat in ten years. Most of the slaves helped out, but not me. Once the all-clear blew and the women came out from their hidey-hole, Queenie took me straight to her tent and tied me to the king post with leather thongs that I couldn’t have broke with twice my strength.

I looked up at her. “I’m up shit creek here, ain’t I, Hur-Hranan?”

“Hin?”

“Trouble. I’m in trouble, right? Bad girl?”

She looked me in the eye and stroked my cheek sadly. “You good girl. Good girl.”

Then she turned and walked out.

Yup. Shit creek. Big time.

CHAPTER SIX

CONDEMNED!

A
fter a day when nobody but Queenie came into the tent—and she only came in to feed me and didn’t say a word—two tough looking hardcases, wearing the Chief’s colors of orange and green woven into their dreads, stepped in, cut me loose, and led me out.

I’d had plenty of time to think about what I’d done and what kind of shit storm paying the piper was going to involve—time enough to go from dead certain I was going to die to optimistic and back again. It was automatic death for a slave to strike or even lip-off to an Aarurrh, so I knew I was fucked. But then I started thinking. If they were going to kill me why wasn’t I dead already? Had Queenie put in a good word for me? Had she seen One-Eye try to ice Handsome? Maybe I’d get a pardon. Maybe they’d even let me go. Yeah right. On Queenie’s say so? Females, even wise old mamas like Queenie, didn’t get much respect in a testosterone boy’s club like an Aarurrh tribe. And with One-Eye’s clan practically running things? The men would probably just laugh at her and kill me anyway. But I wasn’t dead yet, so...

A big crowd surrounded a square of open space in front of the chief’s tent. The camp, as they dragged me through it, was only half repaired. The teepee skyline had more gaps in it than a shark with dental problems, but it looked like everybody had downed tools to see the pink chick get the axe.

The chief was impressive—a massive, white-muzzled silverback with a head full of gray dreadlocks and so many white scars criss-crossing his fur it looked like somebody had written on him in Chinese. He sat on a low-slung, upholstered hassock, built to fit an Aarurrh’s lower body. It was the biggest piece of furniture I’d seen in the camp.

He was flanked by a bunch of other higher-ups. They didn’t get couches. Under their feet was a beautiful rug decorated with twisting purple and black lines that looked like a cross between Arab stuff and the Celtic knot-work from a biker’s tattoo. It was big enough to cover a basketball court. I wondered who the sucker was who had to lug that thing from camp to camp. Some poor slave most likely.

Standing before the bigwigs, in the open space in front of the rug, were Queenie, Kitten and Handsome on one side, and One-Eye and a couple of his clan homies on the other, like plaintiffs and defendants in a trial—which I began to suspect this was. The space was square, with wooden posts pounded into the ground at the corners and roped off to keep the crowd back. The posts were taller than me and carved to look like big swords sticking into the ground. I didn’t care much for the symbolism.

My two guards ducked me under the rope and pushed me to the center of the square, then stood at my shoulders. They carried battle-axes as tall as stop signs, with huge double blades nearly as big around.

The chief gave me a skeptical once over while his mouthpiece, a thin Aarurrh with a face like a stuck-up bobcat and some kind of official necklace, got the show started with a long loud roar and a little ceremonial semaphore. Once the crowd simmered down he introduced the players, giving the two sides big build-ups like the ring announcer at a wrestling match, while the chief continued to look from me to One-Eye and back again like we were a nut and a bolt that just wouldn’t fit together. Then the mouthpiece finished speechifying and we got down to business.

I was still at square one when it came to understanding Aarurrh yakking—it just sounded like cats in heat to me—but I could get the gist of the arguments that went back and forth from everybody’s gestures and tone of voice. First One-Eye said his piece, pointing at me and growling something fierce. He had to have been saying that I’d struck an Aarurrh with intent to kill and that was all there was to it.

Handsome spoke next. It should have been Queenie, but apparently only males were allowed to speak at these things, so Handsome spoke for her. You could almost see her pulling his strings. He told ’em that I’d saved Queenie’s life and had only attacked One-Eye because One-Eye’d tried to kill him, miming the whole thing so I could almost see it happening.

One-Eye jumped in, waving all four arms and shaking his head. He hadn’t tried to kill Handsome, and he dared anyone to come forward and prove that he had. Handsome interrupted One-Eye’s interruption, gesturing again, with lots of looks back at Queenie to make sure he was getting it all right. He gave her testimony, acting out her running after me and seeing One-Eye leaning over Handsome with a knife. To back that up, Handsome showed everyone a small cut on his neck.

One-Eye laughed at this. Of course he’d had his knife out. He mimed being in the middle of battle—and giving himself a lot more action than he’d really seen, by the way. He motioned to the guys from his squad, showing all the cuts they’d picked up during the fighting. Then he crossed to Handsome and pointed out all
his
cuts. He was playing the jury like Johnnie Cochran. How could Handsome prove that he hadn’t got that little cut in battle along with all the rest?

I could see a lot of the big-wigs leaning his way, but the chief still looked undecided. He asked Queenie and Handsome if they had actually seen the attack. Because it was a direct question from the chief, Queenie was allowed to speak, but unfortunately she couldn’t give a good answer. She’d seen the knife and One-Eye’s position, but from her angle she couldn’t be certain if he was stabbing Handsome. Handsome said he’d still been knocked loopy and couldn’t remember exactly what happened. Triumphant, One-Eye again demanded my death.

That seemed to convince the last of the doubters, but the chief was still frowning. He called One-Eye’s squad forward and asked them something. From all the leaping and choking gestures they made—and believe me, you haven’t seen gesturing until you’ve seen a guy with four arms tell a story—I could tell they were telling him about my fight with One-Eye.

They were the last witnesses. After that we all stood around and waited for the chief to make a decision. It was a bit of a wait. The Chief rubbed his furry chest for what seemed to me, who had the most to lose in all this, a half an hour or more, but was probably under a minute. The crowd got so quiet I could hear the “skritch skritch” of his claws scratching his skin.

Finally he spoke. This part I couldn’t figure out from hand gestures, but everybody took it big. The crowd gasped. One-Eye bellowed in anger. Queenie and the kids talked among themselves and looked over at me, faces going back and forth between relief and worry.

After a gesture from the mouthpiece, my escort dragged me over to Handsome and dropped me at his feet. Queenie came out from behind him and scooped me up into a hug that could have killed a grizzly bear.

“So, am I free?”

Queenie shook her head. “Almost not yet. Chief think One-Eye weak not to kill you first time. Aarurrh not win fight with insect? And only a she-insect?” She laughed. I wasn’t sure if she was insulting One-Eye or me. “Now he think One-Eye coward too, asking chief to settle his fights.” She leaned in, rolling her eyes like I was supposed to get her meaning. “One-Eye ask for you execute, not trial.”

I was confused. “Wasn’t this the trial?”

Queenie shook her head. “Not trial like that. Like this.” She drew her dagger meaningfully. I still wasn’t exactly following, but I didn’t like the gist.

“One-Eye say trial only for Aarurrh. He no fight animals. But chief, he hear how you jump. He want to see a good fight. Now, stay. We find armor.”

Queenie and Kitten trotted off, leaving me and Sai with Handsome. My heart dropped into my colon. Now I got it. Trial by combat with a twelve foot, four armed monster. That was the chief’s idea of a good fight.

Sai was beside himself. “Mistress Jae-En, you mustn’t. ’Tis naught but suicide.” This from the bone-head who tried to hang himself.

“I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?”

“But how does this chief know of your abilities? You have been so careful to keep them secret.”

“Nobody knew but...” It hit me. Only Queenie and One-Eye had seen me leap, and One-Eye sure as hell wouldn’t have said anything. “Sly old bitch. No wonder she was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. She knew old Silver-Dreads would rather see a fight than a boring old execution any day of the week.”

Sai raised a worried eyebrow. “But is this a victory? Surely you have but exchanged one death for another.”

“Hey, I’ll take any fight over face-down on the chopping block. But I don’t think this has much to do with helping me out. I may be her favorite slave, but I’m still just a slave. Queenie’s got other fish to fry.”

“You baffle me, mistress.”

Poor Sai, born without a devious bone in his body. I spelled it out for him. “This is all about Kitten and Handsome. Sure I killed that Barahir bozo and nearly choked out One-Eye, but Queenie knows I got as much chance of beating him in a stand-up fight as the Cubs have of winning the World Series.”

“Pardon, mistress?”

“I’m saying she knows the odds of my winning are about a million to one and she doesn’t care. She’s covered any way it goes.” I started ticking options off on my fingers. “If One-Eye kills me she’s no worse off than before. If, by some miracle I kill One-Eye, Queenie’s troubles are over. Kitten can marry Handsome and everything’s happily ever after.”

“But, Mistress Jae-En, you are guaranteed to lose! Why would she trouble herself for such a slim chance?”

“Because—and thanks for the vote of confidence by the way—because if I give One-Eye even the slightest bit of trouble before he takes me out, his rep is in the shitter for being the guy who had a hard time killing an insect.”

The light bulb went on over Sai’s head. “Of course. His abilities as a warrior would be in question, thus lowering his standing in the matrimonial race.”

“Bingo. All of a sudden One-Eye’s low man on the totem pole and Handsome walks right in.”

Sai was round-eyed. “By the Seven, the subtlety of the creature. Who would have thought these animals capable of such guile?”

I sneered. “Yeah, well, two can play at that game.”

“Mistress, you are hardly in a position to...”

“I don’t care. I ain’t fighting Queenie’s battles for her unless there’s something in it for me.”

I saw Queenie and Kitten coming back, loaded down with weapons and armor. They dropped it all in front of me.