Blade jumped back, cut off another creeper, and tried to shout to the men up the hill. Then he realized they'd never hear him over the plant's screaming. The writhing creepers loosened their grip on the man under the bush. He was still clear-headed enough to realize it, and rolled out of their reach. Then he sprang to his feet and made a dash for safety. He ran straight into Blade, so hard that both men nearly went down. Blade gripped the woodcutter by one shoulder and bellowed in his ear loud enough to be heard over the plant's screaming.
«Tell those idiots up on the hill to stop standing around with their thumbs up their arses! The amulet's working, I tell you. I'll be able to fight the plants, but you men are going to need some help getting back up. Tell them to send a couple of men down the hill, or at least throw down a rope! Understand me?»
The man jerked his head in what Blade hoped was a nod. Blade pointed toward the firm ground, and the man went off as if a kill-pod was snapping at his heels. Blade took several deep breaths, closed his ears to the screaming, and turned back to his battle for the lives of the other six woodcutters.
Blade fought his battle with mist all around him. After a while there was a second mist inside his head, and he stopped remembering details of the fight. He only knew that the amulet still worked, that the ax still cut everything he struck, and that one by one the woodcutters came free of the rogue and staggered off into the mist toward safety. This was enough.
By the time Blade reached Daimarz, he was dripping with sweat and his wounded arm was beginning to hurt. He itched in half a dozen places from tree sap, and his ax was beginning to lose its edge. He was still able to chop Daimarz free of half a dozen creepers and pull the woodcutter to his feet.
The man was bleeding in several places where the creepers had scraped his arms and legs. As Blade steadied him, blood from the Englishman's gashed arm flowed over some of Daimarz's wounds. The woodcutter pulled himself free so violently that Blade thought he might have violated some important taboo. Then the woodcutter looked steadily at Blade.
«So. We have mingled our blood at the first, not at the last. The proper words must still-no, I forgot. When you have saved-how many lives today, Blade of England?»
«I think all your men got clear of the rogue on their own two feet.»
«Then, seven woodcutters saved. The words do not matter.»
Blade took a deep breath, which cleared his head enough for him to understand and reply. «If you mean we are now blood brothers, I have nothing against it. But I think we should finish off this rogue first. It's-look out!»
A kill-pod loomed out of the nest behind Daimarz. Blade chopped at it with his ax but hit it only a glancing blow as the woodcutter jumped clear. Blade now saw that the kill-pod was moving slowly and clumsily, only a few feet off the ground. He also realized for the first time that the screaming was dying away to a thin piping whistle.
«It is not dead yet,» said Daimarz. «But it can no longer do much harm.» They stepped back as the kill-pod crept toward them. «I have no right to ask this, because I am at fault in all that has happened today, but-may I have your ax to strike one blow?»
«Certainly, although it's beginning to lose its edge.»
Daimarz nodded and took the ax. Then he stepped back, leaped high with a shrill cry, and chopped through one hinge of the pod's jaw. Another leap, another cry, and the other hinge was cut through. The lower jaw sagged limply, and the pod itself drooped like a wilted leaf.
Daimarz handed the ax back to Blade. «Now that I have done as much as I am worthy of doing, the honor of the kill is yours. No, wait!» He raised a hand as Blade shouldered the ax. «I want to have other men watch you do your work. When I lay the tale of you and your amulet before my father and the other Masters, I want no one calling me a liar.»
«A good idea.» Daimarz seemed to be keeping his head, in spite of an experience which must have been both terrifying and shameful. Blade understood now some of the reason for the hostility of the party to the idea of the amulets. The woodcutters were proud of the courage and skill it took to face the killer plants and beat them on their own ground. If the amulets made it possible for any child to play in the forest of Binaark, that would be the end of their ancient and proud guild. They would be like square-rigger sailors forced ashore by the coming of the steamship.
It took Daimarz a while to persuade or threaten enough of his men into coming back down the hill into the mist and the rogue's creepers. Blade used that time to catch his breath and examine his injuries. Apart from the gashed arm, there was nothing a bath and a good night's sleep wouldn't take care of. By the time four of the woodcutters were gathered behind Daimarz to watch Blade, he felt ready to tackle a whole new rogue.
The mist was beginning to lift, so the woodcutters were able to watch from a distance as Blade strode into the heart of the rogue's creepers. They didn't attack him, but they lay so thick on the ground that he sometimes had to chop a path through them. At last he came to the base of the rogue, a frightening black mass nearly two feet thick. It took him five strokes to chop clear through it, and as he did the plant's dying screams rang deafeningly in his ears. So much sap gushed out that the ground all around him turned to foul-smelling mud, and he had to jump back hastily to protect his feet.
When Blade returned to the woodcutters, they were all cheering, making nearly as much noise as the dying plant. They would have picked him up on their shoulders and carried him up the slope, if they could have stayed on their feet while doing it. Instead they all helped each other back up the slope, to where Fador'n was beginning to sit up and mutter.
Lorma was waiting for Blade on the path. She jumped on him so enthusiastically he nearly went over backward and down the slope again. Then she started rubbing against his legs, purring so loud it was almost a roar. Where had she come from? How had she been able to trail the party all these days, and know the exact moment when it was safe to come out? Blade respected Lorma's intelligence; now he began to wonder if she wasn't telepathic! Perhaps he'd be able to find out some time. For now it was enough to have her back and listen to her purr.
The lifting of the mist showed that the valley ahead was even steeper-sided than it was here. Daimarz decided to turn back. The woodcutters shouldered their equipment, picked up the blinded man's stretcher, and started retracing their steps toward the valley mouth. Fador'n staggered along, bound the same way Blade had been as punishment for his stupidity.
Blade and Daimarz brought up the rear of the party, so they could talk freely. «What can your father, the Master of the Woodcutters, do for the EIstani in the war against Jaghd?» Blade asked.
«Perhaps much, perhaps everything. The woodcutters will serve as the leaders of Elstan in any war, so our word will count for more than any other two guilds together.»
That made sense. The woodcutters were in excellent physical condition, and trained both to use weapons and to act together. Blade could hardly imagine any other craft or skill that would produce the same sort of man.
«We don't have much time.»
«The guilds may not take much time to come together and agree. Once they hear of the amulets, they will find it easy to believe the tale of the riders coming through the forest.»
At least politics couldn't be any worse in Elstan than they'd been in Jaghd. But time was on the side of the Jaghdi, not the EIstani.
«Is there anything we can do about the war without waiting for all the guilds to agree?»
Daimarz frowned. «Two or three guilds together can work to deal with a flood or a plague, without waiting for the rest. The woodcutters would need one other guild at least, but-if you think it may be needed-?»