The first was Tilak, with his plain face and predatory glitter of sword in hand. He seemed to have not only his score but also the warriors who’d been keeping a perimeter defense of the palace square under the command of Att.
The barbarians slowed down, then pulled up. They had no wish to meddle in a bloody and fierce fight with desperate men, professional warriors who had no valuable possessions, while a wealthy unprotected city is close at hand, just behind the broken gate.
The four men rode slowly (because of Thomas swaying in his saddle) to meet Tilak. He had his galloping party stop, raised his sword in a greeting. “Thank gods! You alive. How’s the city?”
“You saw it,” the guard who supported Thomas replied grimly. “Men of desert brought monstrous spiders with them. These creatures devour people dead and alive, spread panic and terror. The city is plundered. Where’s Att?”
“He died, shielding me with his own body.”
“The inter-clan enmity forgotten?”
“Yes. But the price was terrible.”
Tilak’s men surrounded them. The close group rode away from the city, waded a small river, ascended into a narrow valley between green hills. The green place was red with cloaks: lots of warriors, wounded or dog-tired, lay in a sparse oak grove and around it. Their horses grazed aside. Women bustled among soldiers, carrying jugs, helping healers to dress up wounds. Some fires were blazing high, water boiled over them in sooty cauldrons.
Near the grove, there stoop a tent of yellow silk. A small red flag on top of it was trembling under the blows of wind. Around the tent, exhausted warriors sat straight on the grass but their swords lay close at hand. At the sight of galloping riders, several man rose up and barred the entrance into the tent. They moved in no hurry, as they saw red cloaks on the newcomers and the first rider was Tilak, known to many if not all soldiers.
The heavy trample of several hundred hooves must have been heard inside the tent, as Isosnezhda, the golden-haired queen, came quickly out of it. She had washed her face and put her hair in order, but her blue eyes were still blazing with fury.
Tilak dismounted first, gave her a low bow. “My queen! We fought as hard as we could. If not these Franks, I’d have stayed in the city. Due to them, we’ve taken out even the men of Att. They fought on the square!”
Isosnezhda turned her eyes on the bodyguards. Both of them kept beside Thomas, though he was sitting in the saddle firmly by that time. On the left arm, he had a gleaming shield with his coat of arms, and a giant lance, formidable with its size, was swaying in his right hand. One guard rode ahead and bowed. “My queen! The Franks have been to the captured city. They even broke — we’d never have believed it! — into the tower of great magician! They also slew the monsters whom the men of desert brought.”
Thomas coughed with confusion and interfered. “There’s little honor in breaking into a helpless old man’s place. And the monsters… I doubt whether you mock me. In my country, any servant can kill spiders with his broom. Those were your warriors who fought bravely, Your Majesty!”
The riders who had come with him were dismounting, leading their horses away. They glanced at the mighty knight, due to whom they broke out of the city, with fear and respect.
“They took us aback!” Isosnezhda said in fury. “We had only a small force in the city.”
“If there are more hosts,” Thomas spoke slowly, with his admired eyes glued on the golden-haired queen, “it would be a good idea to send for them.” He dismounted. Young boys came running to him, helped to take off the heavy armor, which was caked in the blood of others and the spider saliva and slime.
Oleg found a stream and got into the cold water. He bathed, hooting with delight, splashed himself with water from cupped hands, as though afraid of drowning.
Isosnezhda took a quick counsel with Tilak, then came up to Thomas. “Sir, I see you are not only a brave warrior, but also versed in strategy. I have big groups of my trustworthy hosts on the border of my kingdom. It’s two days journey from here.”
Thomas shook his head. “Too long. As soon as tomorrow, the barbarians will put a strong guard on the gate and have common men walling in the breaches. We need to attack now! While their battle fever is down, while they are dispersed, robbing, raping, and drunken. I saw them breaking into a storehouse of wine. They are no fierce host anymore but drunken robbers! But tomorrow they’ll turn warriors again.”
The queen cast a glance at the green valley. There were three hundred warriors but hardly twenty men up their feet: the rest were sprawled in the grass with exhaustion. A third of them was suffering from wounds they’d not noticed in the heat of the battle. “I would go with you!” she said bitterly. “But look at my men!”
Thomas shifted his feet as he glanced the grove and the valley over. Only the greatest stayers were coming to fires and trying to eat, but even their faces expressed despair and submission to the doom. The rest lay with their arms spread, too weak to talk or even to take their armor off.
“Tomorrow we won’t have such a good chance,” Thomas reminded her. He bent his knee slowly. Isosnezhda came closer. Even kneeling, the knight was almost as tall as the young queen. He felt the warmth emitted by her body. Her blue eyes were large and begging, her golden hair seemed to have a brighter gleam than her crown with all its jewels. “My sword is at your service, Your Majesty!”
She touched his broad shoulder with her gentle hand. His thick knitted sweater was wringing wet and smelled of strong male sweat. Her thin pale fingers lingered for a while. On their way back, they touched Thomas’s cheek, leaving a red trace, then his cheek flushed all over, then his face, even his neck went crimson. Isosnezhda felt her own cheeks and ears glowing too. Fortunately, the latter were hidden by hair.
“Stand up, valiant Northman,” she said in a different voice, trying her best in pulling herself together. “The help offered by hero is a great honor to me, weak and helpless woman. You are right. I’ll speak to my warriors!”
Thomas stood up, his broad shoulders hanging over her. He seemed as huge as a rock, his blue eyes went dark. “Let me speak to them myself,” he asked hoarsely.
Three more riders came into the valley by the road from city. Two of them supported the third one who was bandaged hastily and spattered with blood. All the three had plates of their armor cut and bent. One had a broken arrow stuck in shoulder, but he kept supporting his friend manly.
Others ran to meet them, helped to dismount. “What’s in the city?” Isosnezhda asked quickly.
“No more men of ours,” one of the newcomers replied. “Pillage everywhere. They break houses, searching for gold, destroy temples. They took chasubles from the Christian church, tore golden settings off thr icons. A score of barbarians, with their chieftain at head, stormed into the magic tower.”
Thomas heard it, came running with a terrible shout. “What? The tower?!”
The wounded men were laid down on the ground. Women wiped their blood hastily with wet cloths. “They’ll destroy it,” the warrior replied gloomily. “Someone set a rumor there’s a treasure in basement. A big mob gathered. With picks, crowbars… Who could think the magic tower can be captured?”
Thomas groaned bitterly. Isosnezhda looked at his blackened face with sympathy, touched his breast tenderly. “Thank you for your compassion, mighty warrior.”
Oleg came, jolly and wet like a seal, with his hair plastered to the forehead. “The magician isn’t dead still!” he said cheerfully from a distance. “While they believe he hides a treasure, they won’t kill. They’ll only shake him a bit. And the fool of him will finally see the difference between us and those barbarians!”
Thomas shook his head with disapproval. “Sir wonderer, we should rescue the old man. It’s cruel to leave the old to desecration.”
Oleg hemmed. He looked at the knight, then at the queen. She blushed under his gaze but raised her small nose with pride and straightened up, though her back was straight before. “And save the kingdom while we’re about it?” he asked Thomas. “Oh, Thomas. a good knight of Christ’s host… A knight of Anglic dream! All right, but you see to everyone having a rest and a hearty meal. Meanwhile, those in the city will get drunk enough to crawl on their fours…”
The queen looked at him with disgust. “You are a companion of the noble knight. Otherwise, I would not tolerate your abominable words. Men will take a rest if they can but any food will stick in their throats! Back in the city, their families are
“That will make them angrier,” Oleg said sadly.
The sun touched the tops of distant hills when Isosnezhda, on her white horse, rode into the middle of the camp. The folly shifted her chiseled legs nervously. Isosnezhda raised her hand. The wide sleeve slipped down, baring the white skin, never exposed to direct sunlight. “Warriors of glorious Merefa! Our beautiful city is taken by foes. If we retreat, we shall have no future. Now our families are destroyed, our beloved raped, our children thrown
