John Dalmas - Return to Fanglith

Then I just lay there for a minute, listening. I could barely hear someone talking in the courtyard, pretty far away. The guy behind me was still breathing about the same as before.

Now to get my arms in front of me. I rolled over on my stomach and bent my legs back as far as I could, grabbing my left foot with my left hand, and worked until I'd gotten my hands over my feet. Now the hard part was over; my hands were in front. All I had to do was untie my ankles and I'd be able to get up and move around. Though I wasn't sure what good that would do me; my wrists would still be tied together. But at least it gave me something to do while I was waiting.

Then I became aware that the breathing behind me had changed. I was pretty sure whoever it was was awake now. I also realized that whoever it was must have heard me moving around on the floor, and probably grunting, while I was getting loose.

"Are you awake?" I whispered in Norman.

The reply was in Norse; it was Gunnlag Snorrason! I groped for a moment for the Greek I'd started learning on the Jav. I'd had Moise recite all kinds of Greek stuff, with Evdashian equivalents, into the linguistics program for analysis while Deneen had had us in FTL, getting the fuel decrystallized. Then I had run the

Greek-Evdashian data base into the learning program, and had had a session with it. But only one, and I hadn't had a chance to practice with it because we'd gotten into other stuff.

"My hands, feet, not free," I said in Greek. "I try make them free,"

He murmured something back at me in rapid Greek that I didn't understand at all. "I no understand," I told him. "Only very very slow."

He muttered something in Norse. I started to work on getting my feet untied. That cord was pulled tighter than the other had been, but after a couple of minutes, it started to give. It didn't take long after that.

Then I turned around and, kneeling, explored Gunn-lag's bonds. He d been tied the same as I had, but it was easier to work on the knots, now that I had my hands in front of me. When I got his ankles free from his wrists, he gave a big groan of relief and said something in Greek that I recognized as "thank you," with some other words added.

His legs and body were so thick that I didn't think he'd be able to get his hands around in front, even with my help, so next I started on the knot that tied his wrists together. It was really tough. With my own wrists still tied, I wasn't getting anywhere. Maybe if my hands had been free…

I straightened my back and knelt there in the dark, thinking. We might not have much more time. They were certain to come by and check on us sooner or later, and it could be any minute. Maybe there was something in the room that I could use, something with a sharp edge, or a point…

Outside the window, the night seemed less dark now. I decided the moon must have come up. It seemed to come up later and thinner each night. The room was about as dark as before though. I got up, went to the window, and looked out. Fifteen or twenty feet below was a garden. Then I groped my way around the room. I couldn't find any kind of tool, not even any furniture, or anything sharp or rough fastened to the wall.

That left my teeth. With my eyeteeth, I started to dig at the knots that held my wrists.

Arno:

I rode my mount hard. I wanted to catch up with Gilbert's troop before it caught up with the Varangians. The Varangians could be useful to me. I had enjoyed their comradeship, and we had fought well together, side by side.

It was a close thing. Gilbert's men were in sight of the Varangians when I caught up, and the Varangians, unsuspecting, had halted with their escort to wait for them. Gilbert's marshal, Richard de Sele, led the troop. Another Italian-born Norman. It was clear he did not like my joining them. Nor did he hide his sneer when I arrived on a hunter, carrying neither lance nor shield. I told him I'd talked with Gilbert, and had decided to join him.

Less than half a furlong from the Varangians, Richard ordered his troop to charge. Spurring their destriers into a gallop, they raised their lances above their shoulders and drove at the surprised Varangians, who for a moment did not know whether to try running, to fight from horseback, or to dismount. I made the question irrelevant. My hunter easily kept pace immediately behind the troop, and I felled them with my stunner almost as quickly as a breath. All but Richard. He glanced back with a look of shock, then swerved to flee. I finished the others, then changed weapons, and with the blast pistol, shot his horse from under him, sending him crashing.

He got to his feet, drawing his sword and limping badly, scarcely twenty yards from the Varangians. I had spared him deliberately to their tender mercy. Their three escorts, who'd drawn away from the Varangians to be aside from the charge, had seen all that had happened. They milled in confusion now. It went against their Norman fiber to flee, yet what they had seen had overawed them. I settled their uncertainty by charging at them. They turned and fled, riding hard.

It did not suit my plans that they take word to Gilbert, so I spurred after them. Seeing me in pursuit, one turned aside, spurring viciously. I ignored him, my hunter gaining on the other two, and I killed them both with the pistol. Then I stopped and fired two aimed bolts from the blast rifle at the man remaining. The second bolt took the horse from under him. I trotted to where he lay, the dead horse pinning his legs. He cursed me as I jumped down, and with a dagger thrust I released him from his pain and humiliation.

Then I returned to the Varangians. Their mercy had not sufficed for Richard's life. He lay dead and dismembered by multiple sword blows.

The sun was a vivid orange-red ball half hidden by the westward mountains as we started back toward Gilbert's castle, myself the leader now. It was nearly night when we stopped to eat from our ration bags, and sleep. The Varangians were mostly indifferent horsemen. It would be unwise to lead them down into the ravine until the moon had risen. What there was of it, for it would be scarce half full tonight.

Tarel:

It took more patience than I knew I had, but finally I worked out the knot and got my hands free. I went right to work on Gunnlag's ankle bindings, and I'd just gotten them untied when I heard a metallic sound at the door-someone putting a key in the lock.

I jumped to the wall, where I'd be behind the door when it opened. It swung inward, letting weak light in from the corridor, and I heard a voice speaking Norman.

"Only the Varangian chief is here. You must have put the false monk in another room."

"No, this is the room. Someone else must have fetched him. Or moved him."

"Gilbert isn't going to like this when we tell him."

"Tell him what? We'll look in the other rooms until we find the filthy heretic."

Then the door closed. I heard them take the key out, but I hadn't heard it turned first in the lock. For maybe half a minute I stood there, getting up my nerve. Then I tried the door; it was unlocked. I started easing it open for a peek along the corridor, but I'd only opened it a few inches when I heard a Norman voice, excited but not loud.

"I tell you, the chief heretic, the one who carried the strangely shaped staff, was in there earlier. Shackled."

I felt excitement surge as I pulled the door almost closed. It sounded as if Larn might be loose somewhere. A door thudded shut: the two Normans were in the hall now.

"I helped Charles drag him in there, so I know," the voice went on. "Then Charles stayed to guard him. Now they're both gone."

"All right," the other said reasonably. "Then someone sent and had him moved."

"But only Gilbert would have had him moved. And he thinks the vile dog is still in there,"