Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

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      12. SUMMER

      The King’s next destination was no secret: the riverside locks for an inspection tour. It had officially been scheduled for this day at noon. The Howling Volv river ran from the mountains west to the sea. At Crimson Sapphire, engineers had built a series of gates and levees to funnel water into the city. As the river wound past the city and the palace and into the farmland, more gates were located for irrigation.

      As they made their way through a particularly narrow street where a few people were the only onlookers, the shadows of the buildings pressed in upon them. This was an older section of the city, stone buildings lofting high with no pattern in their construction. The area had evolved into mainly warehouses and other storage facilities.

      Summer Camp held his mule back, as outriders had to come closer to the King, and other soldiers moved forward to give the King room to ride.

      Summer scanned rooftops and upper windows. “It is a mistake to take the most direct route,” he said.

      TJ shrugged. “It’s the shortest—and time is expensive.”

      A cloud blotted the sun. Summer did not know much about science, but he always listened; and now he wondered why the Bear Ridge weather was what it was. According to Sharon Gold, none of the normal reasons for volatile weather were present: inordinate axial tilt, excessive sunspot activity, too many volcanic eruptions, rogue major currents, both atmospheric and oceanic. Sharon had speculated on the effects of the two great ridges circling the planet, but had said she didn’t know enough meteorology to specifically attribute the planet’s erratic weather to these terrain abnormalities.

      “Too quiet,” Summer said aloud, echoing his inner unease. “Are you wearing your mail?” A spattering of rain hit him.

      The squad leader, Lieutenant Timmons, rode calmly ahead of them.

      “No.”

      “TJ, you....”

      Summer heard the thunk and saw the shaft come out through the back of the King’s shoulder. The clops of the horses’ hooves seemed to continue.

      “Cover!” he shouted and slapped the rump of the King’s stallion with a stinging hand. The horse leapt forward, surprised. Summer goaded his mule to catch up. TJ lurched atop his mount. Summer stood in his stirrups searching the skyline.

      Another bolt quickly followed and Summer saw its trajectory as it flashed out of the shadows from above and his jester’s hat was off and he swung the two-foot length of the weighted end in an arc behind TJ and knocked the quarrel aside.

      “Close up!” he yelled at the Gyrenes who were just now comprehending.

      Uncontrolled, the King’s stallion struck a post and the King fell off like a sack of grain. TJ hit the cobblestones and rolled only a little. Summer saw TJ’s right hand had automatically grasped the shaft of the crossbow quarrel.

      Summer stood his mule on its hind legs, stopping the animal with brute strength. Before the mule had regained its footing, he was out of the saddle and leaping for the still form of the King.

      Blood spurted from the wound. TJ was either unconscious or dead. Summer knew TJ had maintained consciousness from far worse wounds. He didn’t understand. Could the fall have knocked TJ out? Summer didn’t remember the King hitting his head when he fell. Summer lifted TJ and he jammed the jester’s hat into the wound, staunching the flow of blood from TJ’s back. The entry point on the front left shoulder showed only a small leakage.

      Gyrene horses clattered up. Lieutenant Timmons jumped from his horse and ran to the jester and the King. “‘My Lord!”

      “Form a protective circle, man, there may be a follow-up attack.” Summer’s voice was commanding. His breath came quickly and he fought to control his own panic.

      The lieutenant shouted orders. “First squad to the roofs.” He pointed to a likely looking doorway. “Second squad, bodies between the King and all else.” Summer admired the man’s coolness and his precise directions.

      The first squad began to move out and the second to encircle Summer and the King before Summer decided on a line of action. “Hold,” Summer countermanded. The soldiers stopped immediately.

      “You have command, sir,” the lieutenant said.

      “Timmons, look at the King. His lips are blue. We have no time to chase the assassin. We must get the King back to the palace and medical aid. Here, help me pull this bolt out.”

      “Should we?” asked the lieutenant as he bent to assist. Two squads of Gyrenes with weapons at ready folded around them shoulder to shoulder, blocking the light and casting shadows.

      “I think it’s poisoned,” Summer said. “He’ll have to bleed. That might remove some of the poison.” But not enough, he knew. “Now!” The lieutenant broke off the fletched end and Summer pulled the quarrel through TJ’s shoulder with a smooth and steady movement. He handed the bolt to a soldier. “Save that. Mount up,” he commanded, voice rising. He was scared. More frightened than he could remember ever having been. He could think of nothing but TJ, not Gwen nor Michale nor Crimson Sapphire nor Bear Ridge nor the goddamn Fed nor their goddamn Council seat, not any goddamn thing but TJ.

      Training came to his aid. A good soldier can turn his mind off when it comes time to do what is necessary, and then do it mechanically, swiftly, and efficiently. Then he can turn on his mind again.

      With little conscious effort. Summer lifted the King, heavier and taller than he, and ran to his mule. The King’s stallion was nowhere to be seen. The lieutenant ran with him, assisted Summer to mount and helped position the King. Summer swung the mule about and urged the animal to speed. While racing along the way, he managed to cradle TJ in front of him. He didn’t want to sling him across the mule face down, not for dignity, but because that position might aggravate the bleeding. He kept his hat pressed against the exit wound allowing only a little bleeding.

      “Lieutenant,” he called as the officer caught up with him, “get one of your squads out front to clear the way.”

      “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant signaled. Six men dashed ahead of the plunging group and formed a wedge stretching far in front.

      The mule was a game one, thought Summer. Ears flopping, the animal had somehow caught the tension and was running full out. Summer thought about switching mounts with one of the Gyrenes, but didn’t want to waste the time. He hoped the mule would last.

      Around corners and up streets they dashed, clattering through markets and scattering people. The huge thoroughbreds of the soldiers made an effective shield, clearing the way. Summer did not want think of the possible injuries they were causing.

      Hoofbeats tattooed the roadway as they raced toward the palace. People stopped to stare, and unmistakable was the body of the King lolling in front of the bareheaded jester on the mule. The shock wave seemed to roll out in front of the hard riding men.

      As usual, the gates of the palace were open and they sped through there for the main entrance to the front steps.

      Summer did not stop, but rode his mule right up the wide stairs and into the great hall that served as the throne room. The Gyrenes followed. The roar of hoofbeats on the flagstones in the empty hall was deafening. Only slightly slowed, Summer guided the mule down a corridor to a ramp and shouted СКАЧАТЬ