Gillian Bradshaw - Island of Ghosts

It would have to end quickly, or I’d faint from the bleeding. I drew my sword, and fumbled with stiff fingers at the buckle of the baldric. It came loose, and I tore off the sword’s sheath and coiled the long leather strap about my hand. Arshak was waiting for me, watching, grinning triumphantly. The edge of his spear was dark now.

I turned Farna round to the right-it had to be to the right, my left leg wasn’t working-and cantered back toward my opponent. “Good girl,” I whispered, leaning forward onto her neck. Sweet, steady, patient Farna: I’d been right to choose her from among the thousands of horses I’d once owned, and take her with me. Holding the sword low against the armored blanket, looking up to watch Arshak’s face, we galloped up for the last time. My only hope was that he thought he’d won already, and might be careless.

He was not actually careless, but he didn’t mind if I veered left or right, and made no attempt to force me left, and that was enough. I saw the flicker in his eyes-he had to aim carefully this time, with me so low on the horse-and veered right. The crest of my helmet slapped against his spear shaft; I pulled Farna left sharply with the reins, and she crashed against his mount, making both horses stagger. I was up in my saddle, slashing down with the sword. But Arshak already had his spear back in line, and my blade chopped into the shaft. I dropped it and flung myself out of the saddle against him, knocking him out and over, reaching for my dagger as we fell. With another part of me, I heard screams and shouting and the clatter of arms; I saw the grass etched in a thousand tiny blades, shining with melted frost-and Arshak landed with a grunt, and I twisted my broken leg as I fell on top of him, and screamed, and found my dagger. Arshak rolled desperately away even as I struck, and the blade slid uselessly across the golden scales of his armor. I pulled myself up onto one knee, bracing myself with the other. My left leg was twisted so that the foot stuck out limply, sideways and almost upside down, and the blood was still streaming. A few more moments, I thought, and I’ll faint. Arshak leapt to his feet and drew his sword.

The long strap of the baldric uncoiled as I lashed out with it. The end caught about his leg, and he fell as I jerked it back again. I half kicked, half dragged myself toward him; he rolled, got to his knees, and swung his sword at me. I caught it in the leather strap and flung it out of his hand, and then I was on top of him, knocking him flat. He had his hand on his own dagger. Lying on top of him, I struck downward at his throat with all my strength; the knife glanced off his jaw and skidded across his armor. He screamed, a scream full of blood, pulling his own knife from its sheath, but too late. I struck again, and this time the knife went home. The blood spurted hot over my hand and into my face, blinding me. I let go of the knife and lay still. I felt his heart pounding beneath my cheek; I felt the instant when it stopped, and I was sick with grief. Around me, the world went gray.

The next thing I remember is someone pulling at my shoulders: my leg twisted and I lurched back into consciousness with a cry of pain. There was a pause, and then I was lifted again and turned over, and someone said, in Latin, “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” I looked up and saw Facilis standing over me.

“You bastard!” he said vehemently. He was very red in the face. “You slippery bastard!”

I looked away. I knew vaguely that he wasn’t supposed to be there, but I didn’t want to think about it. I felt very faint and sick, and the pain in my leg was terrible.

“Do not stand there!” Facilis shouted, in his villainous Sarmatian. “Your lord is bleeding to death. We must get his armor off and stop it.” I realized he hadn’t been addressing me this time.

I fainted when they took my armored trousers off, and probably screamed as well; I don’t remember. They pulled my leg straight, stitched the big vein in the leg, which had been torn but fortunately not severed, put a compress on the wound to stop the bleeding, splinted the whole, and tied it up: I woke up again during the last part of this, and saw that it was Comittus who was tying the knots. I remembered he had said he knew some field surgery, but I was still too faint to wonder how he’d come there. I was relieved, though, when Leimanos brought a stretcher up: I’d known that he was there.

They moved me next to the fire, covered me with horse blankets, and gave me a drink of wine from a flask. I lay still for a while, listening without understanding to the voices, Latin and Sarmatian, speaking around me. After a time, Facilis appeared overhead again. He knelt down beside me.

“We’ve rigged a horse litter,” he told me, “and we’re going to take you to Corstopitum. Incidentally, you’re under arrest.”

I nodded weakly. “What are you doing here?” I asked him. My voice came out very faint and far away.

He snorted. “I could ask the same question of you, and with much more justification. You bastard! There was no reason for you to fight him. The whole thing was going to be over with tomorrow anyway.”

“Honor,” I said, and smiled.

“Vae me miserum!” he exclaimed in disgust. “Sarmatians!”

“If you are taking me to Corstopitum,” I said, “could someone ride to Cilurnum and tell Pervica and the others that I am still alive?”

“You don’t deserve to be!” he told me. “Lucius!” Comittus appeared again. “He wants someone to ride to Cilurnum to tell the lady Pervica that he’s alive, and the rest of his precious savages as well. You go, and take Leimanos with you to make sure the others know it’s true and behave themselves. Keep the bastards confined to camp.”

Leimanos himself appeared, with Banadaspos, both looking distressed. “Is he going to live?” they asked anxiously.

“Unless the wound takes the rot,” replied Facilis impatiently. “Though if we hadn’t come along, you lot would probably have stood about lamenting his injury and praising his courage while he bled to death. Sarmatians!”

“I will not leave my lord to be imprisoned by you,” Leimanos declared angrily.

“You think he’s going to be imprisoned, in the state he’s in?” asked Facilis. “He’ll be shoved straight into the fort hospital. They’ve got a proper doctor there, not just a couple of orderlies like at Cilurnum. He’ll be fine.”

“I will not leave him,” Leimanos insisted, glaring at Facilis as though he suspected the centurion of plotting to clap me in irons and rack me on the hospital bed.

“You will go back and reassure the men,” I ordered him. “You have sworn me an oath on fire, and you will keep it.” He looked at me in distress, and I added softly, “We will reach the Jade Gate yet.”

He caught my hand, kissed it, and went off. Banadaspos looked at Facilis silently.

“You can come,” the centurion told him. “You and ten of the bodyguard can keep him safe. The rest go back to Cilurnum with Leimanos.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked Comittus.

“Marcus thought you might try to do something like this,” he replied. “He asked Severus at Condercum to tell him if you’d sent any messages to Arshak, and we found out the time of the meeting. We were planning to stop you on the way. But Severus got the day wrong: he thought it was tomorrow, and nobody realized until this morning after you’d left the fort. We came pelting after you with all five squadrons of Asturians, but we missed you on the road, and only arrived in time to see the end. Severus still isn’t here.”

“The day was changed,” I said.

“You slippery bastard,” Facilis grunted. He picked up one end of the stretcher; Leimanos took the other. They carried me over to the horse litter they had rigged, put me down on it, very gently, and strapped me in so that the movement wouldn’t jar my leg. I looked back and saw my helmet sitting on a stake, as it had been in my dream. I guessed that the pack below it contained my armor. I turned my head and saw Arshak’s body lying at the other side of the clearing, still in its golden armor. His face was covered with blood, and his men sat in a circle about him, disarmed, watched by some of the Asturians. Leimanos followed my gaze.