Piers Anthony - Sos the Rope

He summoned Nar. "You are accused of dereliction in the performance of your duty. You were assigned to mount guard, but you slept in the tent instead. Have you any defense to make?"

Nar was vexed at being caught but decided to bluster it Out. "What are you going to do about it, bird-man?"

This was the awkward point. Sos could not take up his sword and remain true to his oath, though he had no doubt of his ability to handle this man in the circle. He could not afford to wait the weeks until Sol would show up again. He had to take action now.

"Children might have died through your neglect," he said. "A tent might have been torn unnoticed, or the shrews might have come after all by night. Until we have security from these dangers, I can not allow one man's laziness to endanger the group."

"What danger? How come none of us have seen this terrible horde of itty-bitty critters?" Nar exclaimed, laughing. There were a few smiles around the group. Sos saw that Sav was not smiling; he had predicted this.

"I'm granting you a trial, however," Sos said evenly. "By combat."

Nar drew his two daggers, still laughing. "I'm gonna carve me a big bird!"

"Take care of the matter, Tyl," Sos said, turning away. He forced his muscles to relax so that he would not show his tension, knowing that he would be branded a coward.

Tyl stepped forward, drawing his sword. "Make a circle," he said.

"Now just a minute!" Nar protested, alarmed. "It's him I got the fight with. Bird-brain, there."

Stupid perched on Sos's shoulder, and for once he wished the bird's loyalty lay elsewhere.

"You owe service to Sol," Tyl said, "and the forfeit is your life, as it is for all of us. He appointed Sos leader of this party, and Sos has appointed me to settle matters of discipline."

"All right!" Nar shouted, brazen through his fear. "Try one of these in your gut!"

Sos continued to face away as the sounds of battle commenced. He was not proud of himself or of what he had to do, but he had seen no alternative. If this action served to prevent recurrences, it was worth it. It had to be.

There was a scream and a gurgle, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground. Tyl came up to stand beside him, wiping the bright life blood from his sword. "He was found guilty," he said gently.

Why, then, was it Sos who felt guilty?

In a week the trench was complete, and the crews were working on the ramp just inside it. Sos insisted that the bottom of the trench be level and that the water be diverted to flow through it steadily. "Little dribble like that won't stop the beasties," Say remarked dubiously. "Anyhow, didn't you say they could swim?"

"Right." Sos went on to supervise the installation of mounted fire-strikers, set in the inner edge of the trench and spaced every hundred yards.

Meanwhile the bearers were hauling drums of alcohol from all cabins in range-but not for drinking. They were stored at intervals along the ramp.

Another week passed, and still the shrews did not come. A row of battle circles was set up, and a huge central tent fashioned of sewn family-tent sheets-but the group continued to camp at night in the tight little tents across the river. The hunting parties reported that game was moving into the area: deer and wild goats, followed by wolves and large cats and a few fierce pigs, as well as more numerous rodents. There was fresh meat for all.

Tyl went on enforcing discipline, usually with the sticks; one execution, though of doubtful validity, had been enough. But the seeming pointlessness of the labor made the men surly; they were accustomed to honorable fighting, not menial construction, and they did not like taking orders from a coward who bore no weapon.

"It would be better if you did it yourself," Sav said, commenting on one of Tyl's measures. "It needs to be done-we all know that-but when he does it it makes him the leader. No one respects you-and that bird doesn't help much, either."

Sav was such a harmless, easygoing sort that it was impossible to take offense at what he said. It was true: Sos was accomplishing his purpose at the expense of his reputation, which had not been good to begin with. None of these people knew the circumstances of his deprivation of weapons or his bond to Sol, and he did not care to publishize it.

Tyl was the de facto leader of the valley group-and if Sol did not return, Tyl would surely take over. He had had aspirations for a tribe of his own, and he was a highly skilled warrior. Like Sol, he had spurned inept opponents, and so hid accumulated only one tribesman in his travels; but also like Sol, he was quick enough to appreciate what could be,done with ordinary men once the way was shown. Was he being genuinely helpful-or was he biding his time while he consolidated the group around himself?

Sos could not carry a weapon. He was dependent upon Tyl's good will and his own intellectual abilities. He had a year of service to give, and he meant to complete it honorably. After that-

At night it was Sola's face he saw, and Sola's body. he felt touching his, her hair upon his shoulder. Here, too, he would never prevail without a weapon. The truth was that he was as dangerous to Sol's ambitions as was Tyl, because he wanted what only complete leadership would bring. Sola would not accept the bracelet of the second warrior of the tribe, or the third or fourth. She had been candid about that.

Yet even if he carried a weapon, he could not defeat Sol in the circle, or even Tyl. It would be fatally unrealistic ever to assume otherwise. To that extent his disarmed state was his protection.

Finally the shrews struck. They boiled over the hillside in mid-afternoon and steamed toward the camp defenses. He was almost glad to see them; at least this would vindicate his elaborate precaütións. They had been gone a long time, as the resurgence of game proved; it would have destroyed his program, paradoxically, if they had not come atall.

"Dump the barrels!" he shouted, and the men assigned to this task and drilled for it repetitively knocked open the containers of alcohol and began pouring them carefully into that shallow moat.

"Women and children to the tents!" Protesting shrilly, now that the excitment had come, the families forded the river and mounted the hillside.

"Stand by with weapons!" And all those not otherwise occupied took up the defensive formation, somewhat shamefaced as they saw the size of their adversaries. There were fifteen men and several of the older boys present; the hunting party happened to be out.

The barrel-dumpers finished their job, not without regretful glances at the good intoxicant going to waste, and stood by the extended wooden handles of the fire-strikers. Sos held off, hoping that the - hunters would appear, but there was no sign of them.

The shrews surged up to the moat and milled about, mistrusting the smell of it. Then, as before, the bolder ones plunged in, and the mass crossing commenced. Sos wondered whether the animals could become intoxicated in the same fashion as men.

"Fire!" he yelled. The assigned drummer beat a slow, regular cadence, and in absolute unison the men struck the igniters and leaped back. This had been one of the really sore spots of the training: grown men dancing to a musical rhythm.

A sheet of flame shot up from the moat, and the stench and smoke of improperly combusted alcohol filled the air. They were fenced in by a rising semicircle of fire. Watching it, the "dancers" shielded their eyes and gaped; now they understood what could have happened to the late man.

Sos had worked this out carefully. He knew from his readings that alcohol in its various forms would float on water and, if ignited, would burn more readily there than on land, where dirt or wood would absorb it. The layer of water in the moat offered a perfect surface for it, and the current would carry it along the entire perimeter. He was glad to have the proof; even he had had his doubts, since common sense encouraged him to believe that water quenched all fires. Why hadn't he thought to spill a few drops of the stuff into a basin of water and experiment?