The next day, they set off towards the Barrier Mountains once more, Tassin refreshed after a night on a soft bed and a hot meal. The brisk air, bright sunshine and scenic countryside made the journey pleasant, so long as she did not dwell on dark thoughts. The narrow trail they followed cut through tracts of cultivated orchards and occasional clumps of wild woodland, but for the most part it was open pasture. Rare parrot shrubs were in full bloom, their beak-like flowers chattering and clicking as the sun heated the hard petals. Snow trees shed drifting, gossamer seed-flakes that whitened the land for miles around. Mage bushes made soft pops and little flashes of light as the seed pods exploded in the warmth, releasing clouds of drifting winged seeds. Flocks of jewel birds flew up at their approach, filling the air with their glittering, iridescent-plumed forms and melodic cries. Sabre appeared oblivious to it all, and when she commented on the scenery in an attempt to start a conversation, he simply agreed with her, volunteering nothing. He was a dull companion, she decided. Rude and dull, but useful.
Tassin studied him again. His high brow indicated intelligence, unlike the close-set eyes and sloping brows of dull-witted peasants with their coarse features and wide, slack-lipped mouths. The magic he wielded required skill, yet he seemed wholly intent on some inner problem that she could not fathom.
After that, they rode in silence, which Tassin found tiresome, since it allowed her to dwell on her future. She had resolved to find an ally in King Xavier, and any other, less pleasant prospect did not bear contemplation. King Xavier would protect her. With this firmly established as her future, she shrugged off any other possibilities. Her father had taught her the politics of ruling a kingdom, but he had not foreseen his sudden demise and its perilous result, so he had not prepared her for this eventuality. She did not doubt that the king of a poor kingdom like Olgara would be glad of an alliance with the largest and most powerful kingdom in the land, albeit that Arlin's military might was now somewhat weakened. Her father had planned that she should wed a noble of her choosing, and once that was achieved, she would no longer be prey to the three horrid kings.
The fact that Prince Victor had not offered suit and Xavier had not come to her aid did bother her, but the three more powerful kings had probably intimidated them. When she arrived at the palace in Olgara and offered Xavier an alliance, he could hardly refuse, since all trade with Olgara had to pass through Arlin. She would be in a powerful bargaining position, and, once she had found a suitable husband, all hostilities would cease. There was no other way out of this situation; Xavier was her only hope.
Just before midday, the trail veered away from the mountains and Tassin turned into a wide gully that sliced through a low rock ridge. Once a river must have run through it, but now only a stream meandered over the boulders of its bed. The horses were forced to pick their way through the rocky terrain, at times entering the stream. Tassin led the way over the treacherous ground, allowing her mare to lower her head and choose her path amid the stones.
The distinctive hiss of arrows and several meaty thuds made her whip around in alarm. Sabre sagged forward, five shafts protruding from his back. As she opened her mouth to shout in surprise and horror, dozens of soldiers erupted from the rocks. Many hands grabbed her mare's reins, and Tassin screamed the order to fight. The warhorse reared and chopped out at her attackers with iron-shod hooves, the slippery rocks hampering her. Swords flashed, and the mare gave a roar of agony, lashing out with hooves and teeth.
Many men fell with smashed bones, but the rest plunged their swords into the warhorse's flanks. The doomed mare sank to her knees, blood pumping from the wounds in her belly, and the soldiers dragged Tassin from the dying horse. She fought like a briar-cat, shouting for Sabre, but when she glanced around, a mob of struggling men surrounded him. Screams followed a bright flash, and blue smoke carried the sickening stench of burnt flesh to her, making her gag. Her captors hauled her away from the melee, ignoring her struggles and screams of rage, then picked her up and carried her.
Once they were out of sight around a bend in the gorge, the men placed her on the ground and bound her wrists and ankles with soft rope. The five soldiers were solicitous and polite, used her title and enquired about the bindings’ comfort. They ignored her shouted insults and threats as if they heard nothing, certainly not gutter talk from a queen. Tassin had picked up quite a few choice insults from spying on the soldiers of her father's garrison as a child, and she aired all of them, interspersed with shouting for Sabre and cursing him, too.
Torrian's soldiers glanced back up the gorge often, where the metallic clangs, crackling bangs and shouts of heated battle continued, clearly amazed that it still raged. As soon as Tassin was trussed to their satisfaction, they picked her up again, apologising for placing their hands upon her person, and bore her away. Tassin screamed for Sabre, threatening to have him hung, drawn and quartered, flayed and torn apart by wild horses if he failed to come to her aid. She also enumerated the many forms of torture the soldiers who had captured her would suffer if she became their queen.
The men looked pale and sick, their eyes taking on a hunted look that she knew meant Torrian had made the same threats if they failed. Evidently Torrian's threats had more effect, for they carried her out of the far end of the gully to a stand of scantily foliaged drifter trees, where their horses were picketed. Just beyond the trees, the land fell away in a sweeping valley, and the stream plummeted into a rocky pool from which it did not re-emerge. The soldiers placed her on a blanket that was spread on the shelving rock and debated whether they should wait for their comrades or take her to Torrian right away. They seemed confident that the soldiers who had attacked the cyber could deal with him, and opted to wait for them. Tassin wondered if they were right, for although she had been unable to count the number of men who had attacked Sabre, it had seemed like a lot, perhaps as many as two dozen.
Tense minutes passed, and the soldiers offered Tassin wine, water, sweetmeats, confections and pastries, all of which she declined ungraciously. Their uniforms told her that they were Torrian's best, part of a squadron of crack troops that served as his personal guard. It seemed that after all her efforts to escape, she was to wed Torrian after all. The thought brought a bitter taste to her mouth. The soldiers gave up trying to please her and gathered to mutter amongst themselves. Tassin concentrated on trying to work her hands free, tugging and twisting her wrists.
A bolt of light lanced past her and sliced into the soldiers' midst, cutting down three where they stood. The last two fled, only to be burnt down before they reached the shelter of the rocks. Tassin flinched at the brutal slaughter so close at hand and averted her eyes from the gruesome sight. Soft footsteps made her look up. Sabre limped towards her, his brow band blazing red. Blood poured down one thigh from a deep sword cut, and a gash crossed his forearm. Numerous cuts covered his chest and arms, and a stab wound oozed blood down his flank. He staggered, dragging his wounded leg.
Reaching her side, he fell to his knees, then sank back on his haunches. His breath came in rasping gasps, and his deathly pallor indicated massive blood loss. Moving slowly, he opened the pouch on his harness and extracted one of the strange ampoules. He pulled off the end, revealing a needle, which he pushed into his thigh above the sword cut. Extracting another ampoule, he repeated the process above the stab wound in his side. Tassin stared at him in awestruck horror. An ordinary man would be unconscious, bleeding to death, and Sabre appeared to be living on willpower alone. She wriggled closer to him and held out her bound hands.
"Untie me, Sabre."
The cyber's touch was cool and impersonal as he tugged at the knot. Broken arrow shafts protruded from his back, and red marks covered his chest, mingling with the older blue bruises in a horrible medley. As soon as her hands were free, she untied her ankles and knelt beside him. His head drooped, his eyes half shut, as if he was falling asleep. Tassin grasped his arm and shook him.
"Sabre, you must get on a horse. You have to get to a doctor!"
"This unit is no longer functional," he stated. "Accrued damage exceeds operational parameters."
Tassin cursed. It sounded bad, even if it did not make much sense. "You must! I cannot get you onto a horse. Just mount, and I will take you to a doctor."
Sabre's head bowed further. "This unit is no longer operational. Bio-status is at thirty-five per cent; unit shutdown is imminent."
Tassin noticed that his wounds had stopped bleeding. Surely if he lost no more blood he would get no worse? Jumping up, she ran over to the picketed horses, selected two and led them back to him.
"Sabre, get on the horse! I order you!"
The cyber's head lifted, and he gazed through her, the brow band ablaze with red lights. "Blood loss incurred to the host will result in the shutdown of this unit for a period of seven days required for recovery. Shutdown will take place within the next four hours. Damage sustained is too great for further operation of this cyber unit -"
"Damn it, Sabre! Get on the bloody horse!" Tassin grabbed his arm and tried to haul him to his feet. Tears stung her eyes, and she wondered why.
The lights on his brow band flickered erratically, and three of the seven diagonal lights flashed red. Sabre rose to his knees, trembling. Tassin released him and pushed the horse closer so he could grasp a stirrup. Using this, he pulled himself upright, clinging to the animal. She gripped his arm, noting that his skin was cool and clammy, and helped him to put his foot into the stirrup. With her help, he climbed into the saddle, holding onto the pommel.
Tassin placed his other foot in the stirrup and mounted the second horse, taking his steed's reins. She rode back into the gully, aware that if Sabre failed to stay conscious and on the horse, she would not be able to get him back into the saddle. Her eyes grew moist as she passed the body of Tyron's warhorse, but she had no remorse for the soldiers sprawled beside the stream, some horribly burnt, others with their heads at strange angles. In those few minutes, she marvelled, Sabre had killed twenty-two men and walked away. Had he been healthy at the outset, it would still have been an incredible feat, but he had already been injured.
Tassin glanced back at his bowed head. He must not die; he was more useful than a troop of soldiers. Leaving the gully, she angled away from their previous path. More soldiers would be hunting them, and she needed a safe place to hide while Sabre recovered. The men who had ambushed them must have ridden all night to get ahead of them, then lain in wait in the most likely place that they would pass through. Torrian's officers had clearly divined her intention of travelling to Olgara and planned the ambush accordingly.
The sun sank behind a bank of golden cloud by the time she spied a hamlet ahead. Sabre slumped over the pommel, and at times swayed dangerously, so she dared go no faster than a walk. His blood stained his mount's grey flanks, and it rolled its eyes at the scent. On the hamlet's outskirts, she encountered a labourer on his way home from the fields, and the man eyed her, scowling at the sagging cyber. He was not at all amused when she rode into his path, blocking it.
Tassin forced a friendly smile. "Excuse me. I need to find a doctor; my friend is injured."
The peasant spat on the side of the road, shifting his cud. "Nearest thing ye'll find 'round 'ere be Mother Amy. Go on past the village, up the path to the right, an' you'll find 'er 'ut."
Tassin dug in her pocket and drew out a silver coin. "If soldiers come looking for us, we went on to the mountains, right?"
The man grinned as he took the coin, revealing teeth stained brown from chewing moltin, a mild herbal drug. "Sure thing, missy."
Following the man's directions, she found a meandering trail leading up into a thickly wooded area overgrown with brambles and weeds. The coniferous trees presented a solid wall of dark verdure on either side of the path, and the thick bush between them prevented anyone from leaving it. The steep, rocky trail wound torturously, and Tassin glanced back often to make sure Sabre had not slipped from his saddle on the rough parts. His pallor had increased, and he appeared to be asleep, the brow band sparkling red. She shivered as a cool wind blew a dank, musty smell from the dense forest, wondering why anyone would want to live in such an uninviting place. The hairs on the back of her neck rose with every rustle in the darkness beside the trail, and Sabre's presence, even though he was so badly wounded, was a great comfort.
At the end of the narrow track, a wooden hut stood in a clearing, smoke curling from the chimney. A woodpile was stacked against one wall, and the faint clucking of chickens came from behind it. Tassin dismounted and banged on the door, waiting impatiently for an answer. She had raised her fist to bang again when the door was yanked open and a wizened, toothless crone peered out, looking cross. A coarse homespun black dress hung from her bony shoulders, and she leant on a gnarled walking stick, her lank white hair straggling around a weather-beaten face. Quick black eyes flicked over Tassin and lingered on the cyber.
"Wounded, is he?" She wasted no time on niceties.
"Yes, could you -"
"Bring 'im in 'ere."
Tassin gaped at the crone as she turned away and shuffled back into the hut's gloom. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Swallowing her anger, she ordered Sabre to dismount. His knees buckled as his feet hit the ground, and he sat back on his haunches, his eyes closed. The old crone reappeared in the doorway, clicked her tongue, and shouted over her shoulder.
"Bern!"
A huge, baby-faced man eased his bulk around the tiny woman, an idiot grin on his placid countenance. He shuffled over to Tassin and picked up the wounded cyber as if he weighed nothing at all. Tassin followed him into the hut, where he placed Sabre on a bed at the back of the hovel, near the fireplace where a warm blaze licked at the logs. He was careful to place Sabre on his side, so the arrow shafts protruding from his back were not driven further in, then retreated to sit in the corner and stare into the fire.
The wizened little crone faced Tassin, arms akimbo. "You got coin?"
Tassin took a gold coin from the pouch and held it up. Mother Amy nodded and went over to examine Sabre. Tassin, peering over her shoulder, gave a stifled cry of dismay. Sabre's brow band was completely black.
"Is - is he alive?"
The crone gave her a toothless smile. "Aye, he's alive, just barely. Go tend to yer horses and leave me to do my job. There's a paddock around the back where you can put 'em."
Tassin opened her mouth to tell the old woman that she did not tend horses, then shut it again. Shooting a glare at Bern, who did not notice, she stomped out.
When she returned, Mother Amy had stripped Sabre of his harness, wristband, trousers and boots, and he was clad only in his silken shorts. The old woman examined the brow band with keen interest, and looked up at Tassin's entry.
"Know you what be this?" She touched the brow band.
Tassin shook her head. "No, I have no idea."
"Tis magic. Bad magic," Mother Amy muttered, fingering it. "There's as little in 'is head as there be in Bern's."
She hobbled over to the fire and took off a pot of water, tested its temperature with her finger and nodded in satisfaction. Returning to Sabre's side, she knelt creakily, dipped a clean rag in it and washed off the blood.
"You mean he is an idiot, like Bern?" Tassin queried.
"Aye, poor Bern, 'e never stood a chance," Mother Amy chatted as she worked. "'Is mother died birthing 'im. She were but a child 'erself, only twelve years old or thereabouts. Some loutish drover must 'ave got her in the bushes. Anyways, she's dead, but the babe's still alive, so I get a big knife and cut her open. 'E were blue when I pulled 'im out, but 'e lived. Only he's touched in the 'ead because of it, ye see."
Tassin stared at the crone, whose wizened hands slid over Sabre's chest. "What do you mean, the brow band is magic?"
Mother Amy nodded, concentrating on her work. "Aye, it's magic all right. A right queer sort, but bad magic."
"What does it do? Why is it bad?"
"As to that I don't rightly know, but it's bad because it's fixed to 'im, see? He can't take it off, an' that's bad."
The old woman tugged at an arrow shaft, and, finding it firm, grunted and picked up a slender knife. Tassin noticed that none of the shafts protruded at right angles to Sabre's skin. It was as if they had been deflected somehow, but then, she recalled, the archers had been on either side of him. Sickened, she turned away as the woman cut and tugged until the barbed head came free, then flung it into the fire in a gesture of anger.
Tassin huddled beside the fire while Mother Amy removed the rest of the arrows, tired and hungry. She joined Bern in his vacant-eyed fire-staring, finding the mindlessness comforting. Mother Amy hummed is a tuneless, annoying whine, and several times Tassin opened her mouth to tell the crone to shut up, but stifled the impulse with an effort. Her stomach rumbled, and she glanced around to see if the old woman had finished. Surely Bern should be starting to make the supper by now? Bern, however, was absent-minded in a literal manner. She jumped as Mother Amy spoke.
"Well, now, lass, unless yer fixin' to live on air, you'd best fetch us some water in that there pot and put it on the fire."
"Me?" Tassin squeaked. "What about Bern?"
The idiot looked up and smiled at the sound of his name. Mother Amy shook her head and clicked her tongue. She sewed the skin of Sabre's thigh wound together as if it was torn cloth, and the sight sickened Tassin.
"Bern will peel the potatoes, that's 'is job. You fetch the water an' put in the onions and such. I'm busy."
Bern nodded and rose to fetch a bowl and several potatoes, which he peeled with intense concentration, tongue protruding. Tassin glared at the crone, then stomped out with the pot, making as much noise as possible. By the time she had put the pot on the fire and added the onions as instructed, Mother Amy was finished. Sabre lay on his back, his skin innocent of blood, but smeared and daubed with a vile-looking greyish paste. Tassin knelt beside him as Mother Amy went to make dinner. The brow band's crystals remained dead and black, and his skin was pale between the collection of bruises and the paste that was smeared on it. He looked dead, his breathing so slow that she could hardly make out the rise and fall of his chest. She frowned, worried. The brow band had not been dark since she had opened the casket.
Casting a furtive glance at Mother Amy, Tassin shook his shoulder and whispered, "Sabre! Sabre, wake up."
"Leave the lad alone, young lady," Mother Amy said from the fireside. "'E's not dead, nor will 'e die unless you shake 'im to death. When the body's healed, then we'll worry about the thing on 'is head."
"I just wanted to see if he was all right."
"'E's as right as 'e can be, considerin'." The old woman chopped vegetables into the bubbling pot. "'E's lost enough blood to fill a bucket, he 'as, an' that's why he ain't sittin' here helpin' me with the cooking. Tomorrow Bern'll go into the village an' get me a bucket of ox blood, an' we'll get that into him. Blood for blood, I always says."
Tassin grimaced. "What you said about there being nothing in his mind is what worries me."
"Aye." The crone nodded. "It be worryin' me too. 'Course, I've seen people like that afore now. Old Geffo, now, he were one. Fell off the cow byre, he did, banged 'is 'ead real good, 'ad a lump the size of a korron egg on it. Weren't nothin' in his 'ead neither when I saw 'im. 'E lay there like a log for nigh on two weeks."
Tassin waited for the rest of the story, but the old woman remained silent. "And then what happened?"
"Well 'e died acourse. Body can't live without a mind."
"Is Sabre going to die?"
Mother Amy glanced around, her black eyes sparkling. "Nay, lass. Ain't nothin' wrong with 'is 'ead, except for that there contraption on it. But there ought to be somethin' going on in it, even so."
"How do you know that there's nothing in his head?"
"Ah, well, I just know, see? I know there's plenty in your pretty 'ead. Lots o' thoughts an' feelings, not all of 'em good, neither." She chuckled.
Tassin stared at her, realising that Mother Amy was not merely a medicine woman, but a witch. Her eyes slid to Sabre, hoping that he would wake soon, so they could be on their way. Mother Amy chuckled again. Tassin frowned, wondering if she should just pay the old crone and go on alone. Her scowl deepened. Without a sword, she would be helpless if Torrian's men found her, and she had no wish to be dragged ignominiously to his castle and forced to marry him. Now she was reliant on the man who lay comatose on the narrow cot, and that rankled. Somehow, she had to get a sword.
Sabre did not oblige her by waking that night, and, when they had consumed the stew with much lip-smacking from Bern, Tassin found that she was expected to sleep on the floor with the idiot man, who curled up like a puppy in front of the fire. Mother Amy produced a spare mattress for herself, and Tassin had to bunk down on the horse blankets. This she did with much huffing and grunting, which only evinced a dry chuckle from Mother Amy.