The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch) (8 page)

From the circle of dancers, one of the young women raced out and grabbed the hands of one of the watching young men and pulled him into the circle of dancers.  They pivoted twice, clasping each other’s outstretched hands, then the young woman released the young man to have him snatched by another of the dancing young women.

Another young woman ran out to grab another of the young men, repeating the process.  Then another.  Soon the lighted circle around the fire was a maelstrom of dancing men and women.

Kreg turned his head to say something to Kaila but what he wished to say was driven out of his head as small, warm hands grabbed his where they rested on his knees and he turned back to find one of the young women pulling him into the circle of dancers.

It took some time before Kreg could extract himself from the circle of dancers.  Every time he tried to slip away, another of the young women would grab him and pull him back into the circle.  No sooner had he extracted himself and returned to his place next to Kaila when she stood.  Shillond was not where he had sat and Kreg looked around to see that he, too, had joined the dancers.

"I am to bed," Kaila said. "We ride early tomorrow.  Stay with my fool of a father and carouse with your nomad friends if you wish, but seek not sympathy of me an' your head throb on the morrow."

Kreg did not know what to say.  Before he could think of anything, the Shaman stepped out of shadows. "Sit for a while, please.  There are things you should hear before you go."

The shaman's gaze locked with Kaila's and she lowered herself to the ground.

"I have read the smoke again," the shaman said. "It has confirmed what I read before.  As welcome as Kreg would be among the Three Mountains clan, his path lies with you.  But strangely, no counsel did the smoke give for Kreg.  Instead, the counsel was for you."

"I need no counsel of desert nomads," Kaila said.

"No?" the shaman said. "Do, then, the Gods speak only to nobles of Aerioch, city dwellers as my cousin the chief calls them, or do the gods speak to those who pay heed to them."

"The Gods?"

The shaman nodded. "Although we call them by other names, we, too, know your Threefold Twins and the other Gods.  In cities, it is said, men retreat into temples and silence in an attempt to hear the Gods' words.  Some say that what men hear is often only the desires of their own hearts.  Among the Shamans of the desert clans, we seek the will of the Gods in the smoke.  I cannot swear that our method is more true, but it is ours."

Shillond returned at that moment and sat next to Kreg. "I suspect you do read the Gods' will more clearly, but not because of reading smoke." His gesture took in the encampment, the dancers, the fires, and the hobbled livestock. "You live your lives more directly, more openly.  With little need to deceive others, you have less need to deceive yourselves."

The shaman nodded. "Rarely do the Gods choose to speak, and when they do, they speak in riddles and choices.  But when they speak clearly, a wise man heeds what they say.  And they said most clearly that Kreg is to journey with you."

He paused. "But for you, warrior maid named Kaila, they had a deeper message."

"A message," Kaila said, her anger apparently forgotten, "from the Gods?"

The shaman nodded again. "You must learn to bend.  You are strong as your people count strength, a mighty warrior.  None doubt that.  Or let us say, none of wisdom doubt that.  But your strength is also your weakness and if you do not learn the lesson of bending, then greater will be the suffering to come, not just for you and those close to you, but for untold numbers of others.”

He leaned closer. "Consider the coyote and the wolf.  The wolf is larger, stronger, more powerful.  Many consider the wolf a more noble fighter.  But when men come to the lands of the wolf, the wolves decline.  Yet there is the coyote.  The coyote is weaker than the wolf, with less of pride and nobility, but the when men come to the lands where the coyote dwell, the coyote prospers."

He stood. "Learn this lesson if you would spare the world much suffering." With that, he turned and left.

"The wolf and the coyote?" Kaila said. "The coyote is a coward.  It cowers and flees rather than fight."

"Or perhaps," Shillond said softly, "it knows when to fight and when it need not fight."

CHAPTER FIVE

The next morning, Kreg arose more rested than he had felt in weeks.  Shillond was energetic as always, despite having spent most of the night tending the clan’s sick and injured.  Kaila was silent, as if deep in thought, as they packed the two pack-ponies that the nomads had given them in addition to their riding beasts.  These gifts came partly in response to Shillond’s care of the tribesman and partly, as the Shaman said, “The Chief’s brother shall not go forth as a beggar.”

Their path took them along a small stream running between hills that rapidly grew into mountains.  Along the stream, the going was easy while Kreg could see the mountains loom ahead and to either side like towering walls.  Since they did not have to carry water, their packs were considerably lighter.

"Shillond," Faron called from his place in the rear, "We should be reaching the first Stair by mid-afternoon.  I am thinking we should camp there. We should ascend the Stair in the morning, when we are rested."

"Agreed," Shillond said.

"Then I will be departing now.  I will see if I can be bringing us meat for the evening meal.  I will be seeing you at the Stair."

Faron brought his pony alongside Kreg's.  He handed the leads to the pack ponies to Kreg, then wheeled and directed his saddle pony across the shallow stream.

Kreg twisted in his saddle and knotted the two leads to a fitting on the saddle provided for that purpose.

"What did Faron mean by 'the first Stair?'"

"There's a cliff, several tens of manheights high, over which this stream falls in a waterfall," Shillond said. "A narrow ledge rises up the cliff at an angle.  The ponies should be able to manage that ledge in single file if we lead them.  Our path will be rougher from there but will not get truly difficult for several more days."

That afternoon's ride was the most pleasant Kreg had experienced since his arrival.  Although they only passed a few stunted clumps of trees, from them Kreg heard the first birdsong he had heard since his arrival in this world.  The ground near the stream was rocky, but grass grew between the rocks in brilliant green tufts.  The water in the stream was sweet and clear and tasted far better than that in their water bags.

When the sun reached its zenith, they stopped for a short lunch.  Roasted meat and bread that was still almost fresh lightened Kreg's spirits.

Riding no longer pained Kreg and the easy pace and pleasant surroundings did much to relieve the weariness and pain to which he had almost become accustomed.

True to Faron's prediction, they arrived at a small valley cut off by a cliff that loomed before them.  A fault line cut diagonally across this cliff, its lower part jutting outward in a narrow step that angled up the cliff.  From Shillond's earlier description, Kreg supposed this step would be their route to the top.

From the top of the cliff a small waterfall burst over the edge.  As it fell, it broke upon protruding rocks in the cliff face into a shower of spray.  By the time it reached the bottom of the cliff it was hardly a waterfall any longer but a steady shower of fine mist.  This mist collected in a rippling pool at the base of the cliff from which ran the stream they had been following.

Near this pool, yet far enough away to remain dry of the falling mist, they set their camp.  While Kaila tended to the horses and Shillond erected frames of sticks over which they would hang the saddle blankets to form rude lean-tos, Kreg collected wood for their fire.

"It has been overlong," Kaila said when their camp had been set, "since you have trained properly.  Let us commence."

Kreg saw that she had the two training swords.  Somehow she had carried them through everything they had done.

#

Shadow was beginning to fall over the valley when Faron returned.  Kreg looked up at Kaila's pause to see him sitting astride his pony observing them.  He rode over and dismounted next to them.

"You are teaching him the
shashyn
?" Faron said. "I was not knowing the true
shashyn
were made outside of Aerioch."

"Nor did I," Kaila said. "When first I saw the sword in the swordsmith's shop in Trevanta, I thought it but an imitation, but whether by chance or by skill it is sound and seems to be made of true God Iron."

"Longsword and shield are easier for a beginner to be learning, are they not?  Better for the battlefield than the dueling style?"

"But, Faron, I..."

"Peace, Kaila.  You are doing well enough.  Kreg seems to be learning swiftly under your tutelage.  And yet, his play is not without faults.  If I may..."

"Please," Kaila bowed and stepped back.

Faron held out his hand to Kreg, "If you please."

Kreg nodded and handed Faron his training sword.

"The first fault is the greatest.  Kaila's strong hand is her left.  She is grasping her sword with her left hand at the hilts. Her right is near the pommel.  You are doing the same.  Your strong hand is your right. Your right should be grasping the sword at the hilts. Be letting the left guide on the pommel." Faron demonstrated. "When you are striking, you are swinging too much with your arms.  Punch out straight with your arms.  At the last instant, be using your left hand on the pommel to guide the sword in the direction you choose.  Observe." Faron launched a series of fast attacks, each one angling in at different directions from the previous.

"Kaila, be attending," Faron said.

Kaila stepped forward and took a ready position in front of Faron. "Be remembering, Kreg, when fighting with the
shashyn
always be guarding the center line." He nodded to Kaila who attacked. "Halt" he said in the midst of the attack and Kaila froze. "When you are parrying, do not be striking your sword to the side. Thrusting forward, toward your opponent." He pushed forward and the angle of his blade forced hers out and to the side.  "Be continuing forward to strike." With Kaila's blade driven out of the way, Faron made a simple turn with his wrists and laid his blade alongside her neck.

Faron stepped back, returning to the position where he had just blocked Kaila's attack. "If your opponent is driving your blade aside you no longer are guarding the center.  You must be regaining it.  Kaila."

Kaila shifted her weight and drove her own sword forward, this time pushing Faron's back and out.  Faron responded by stepping back and to the side.  Once again, he had his sword square in front of him, guarding his center line and Kaila was suddenly in a position where she would find it difficult to defend against his attack.  Kaila responded with a circling movement of her own and, once again, they faced each other.

"Continue," Faron said.

Kaila moved, striking with serpent-like speed.  Faron moved, giving ground before her superior strength and speed.  Yet always she found the path for her sword blocked.  Mindful of Faron's words, Kreg saw new complexity in the movements, a dance far more elegant than the simple bashing of metal bars that he had thought swordplay to be.

At length Faron raised his blade in salute and bowed to Kaila.  He returned the sword to Kreg.

"That is enough swordplay for tonight, I am thinking," Faron said. "There is something else I would see."

He studied Kreg, "Kaila is telling me that you have some skill without arms.  This I would see."

"I thought you might," Shillond said as he ambled up to them. "I have seen the way Kreg fights and so I've cleared an area of stones.  I think neither of you will damage the other more than my ability to heal."

Kreg hesitantly followed Shillond to the area he had prepared.  He had marked a circle in the grass about 20 feet across.  Faron took a position at the edge of the circle and Shillond indicated to Kreg that he should stand at the other.  He then waved Kaila to the center.

"This contest shall be by tournament rules," Kaila said once she had reached the center. "It shall be ended when one cries 'Hold! Enough!' or when it seems to me that one cannot continue."

Kreg looked at Faron warily as Kaila backed toward the edge of the circle.  He was older, perhaps not as old as Shillond, but clearly at least in his fifties.  Even so, he was still strong and fast.  His bout with Kaila had proven that.  He was shorter than Kreg, but broader.

"Begin!" Kaila called from the edge of the circle.

Kreg stepped cautiously forward.  Faron charged across the circle at him and caught him around the waist with both arms.  Kreg felt steel in those arms as they closed around him, cutting off his breath.

Kreg stepped back and bent at the waist, letting his chest press down on Faron's shoulder.  He reached down and took his own grip around Faron's waist, then let his weight fall backward while heaving upward with his grip around Faron's body.

Faron lost his grip as his feet left the ground.  He landed hard on his back behind Kreg, the breath knocked out of him.

Kreg rolled to his hands and knees but saw that Faron had recovered quickly and he, too, was rising to his feet.

This time, Faron approached more slowly.  From a distance of just beyond an arms length away, he stepped forward suddenly, hands outstretched to grab Kreg's tunic.

Kreg deflected Faron's hands while catching his own grip with his left hand on Faron's right arm and stepped forward himself.  He reached forward with his right leg, intending to sweep Faron's left leg from under him, but striking that leg was like striking a tree.  Kreg shifted his weight and swung his foot back across to the left.  He caught the back of Faron's right heel with the inside edge of his own foot.  Faron's foot skidded forward and Kreg's pull on Faron's right arm combined with a push against his left shoulder twisted Faron so that he fell hard on his back again.

Before Faron could recover, Kreg dropped to the ground beside him, still retaining his grip on Faron's arm.  He used his legs to immobilize Faron while trapping his upper arm between Kreg's thighs.  He brought his right hand up to join his left in grasping Faron's arm.  Kreg pulled on the wrist, extending Faron's arm straight and beyond, increasing the pressure against Faron's elbow.

Kreg had just decided to release his hold, not wanting to injure Faron's arm regardless of what Shillond might have been able to do with his healing, when Faron called, "Hold! Enough!"

Kreg released his grip, untangled his legs from around Faron and stood.

Kaila clapped at the edge of the ring. "Splendid."

Faron came to his feet and held out his hand to Kreg. "You fight well, youngling."

"'Well'?" Kaila said. "Kreg, know you that Faron was five years the champion wrestler in all of Aerioch."

"That was being many years ago, child," Faron said. "Still, I am thinking few could be besting Kreg in such a match."

#

Although they had seen no hint of any pursuit by the army that had besieged Elam, they had set watches through the night.  Kreg had the last watch and so, as the sun began to peer into the valley in which they camped, he used took advantage of the time to stretch the soreness out of his muscles and to begin packing their gear for the day's climb.

As Kreg had surmised, the step along the fault line was their path to the top of the cliff.  It was only wide enough for them to pass up it single file, each leading a pony.  Once the four had reached the top, Kreg and Kaila descended the cliff again to bring up the pack ponies.

The streambed at the top of the cliff was narrower and more rocky than it had been below the cliff.  The valley was also narrower and the walls on either side steeper.  Tufts of grass were more scattered, seeming almost defiant in the rockier terrain.  Occasionally, smaller rivulets would trickle down the walls on either side to join the stream.

Soon after Faron had left them in his daily hunt for meat, Kaila reined in her pony and dropped back to Kreg’s side.

“I have been thinking on the shaman’s words,” she said. “He said I must learn the lesson of bending.”

“I remember,” Kreg said.

“You say your fighting style is called the Way of Yielding.  Perhaps that is what he meant.”

“I don’t see how,” Kreg said. “My fighting training never came up while I was with them.”

“But if the Gods spoke to him through the smoke?” She shook her head. “Such things are beyond me. Could you tell me of this way of yielding of yours?”

Kreg shrugged. “If you wish.  On my world the Far East is famous for having many organized fighting styles.  On one small nation there were many styles which had an element of softness, of yielding, to them.”

“What do you mean by softness?”

“Basically, it means moving along with your opponent’s actions. Think about when Faron attacked me in the circle and grabbed me around the waist.  I stepped back, in the same direction he had been moving.  This pulled him off balance and kept him from picking me up.  I kept moving, rolling backward and was able to throw him to the ground.”

“But what does my knowing this have to do with saving untold numbers from suffering?”

“I don’t know, but the founder of the The Way of Yielding said there were two great principles to the art.  One was mutual welfare and benefit.  The other was maximum efficiency with minimum effort.  The principles were supposed to go beyond the fighting art itself.  Students were to take them into their lives.  Perhaps that’s what the shaman meant.”