Honor - Kevin Killiany [34]
What she could see, above the heads of the assembled K’k’tict, was the woodsmen clearing the last of the underbrush with a curious thoroughness, scraping the ground to create an unobstructed path a dozen meters wide. As they dragged the last of the vegetation away, back toward their base camp, a hundred or more Tznauk’t parted to let them pass.
These were different from the woodsmen. They carried crossbows, with loaded quivers over their shoulders and heavy swords at their belts. When the last of the deforesters were through, the armsmen had closed ranks and advanced, all deadly business as they approached.
Looking in from the bright sunlight, they could not clearly see what awaited them. That changed when they stepped across the shadow line.
They stopped abruptly.
A thousand K’k’tict stood in neat ranks, filling the fern-carpeted boulevard between the giant banyan trees from side to side.
Whatever the invaders had expected, this was not it. They hesitated visibly, unnerved by the sheer number of K’k’tict. Or perhaps by the calm with which the natives stood, not a weapon or closed fist among them.
The Tznauk’t in the center of the first rank, larger than most with a thick helmet of bright red hair, stepped forward into the open space between the two groups. Corsi could not read his expression, but his body language had nothing of bravado or victory about it. He seemed businesslike, weary but resolved, facing a job, not a battle.
He turned his back on the K’k’tict and addressed his own men. Nothing rousing. Flat instructions. The troops decocked their crossbows and slung them.
Corsi’s moment of hope died as they drew their swords.
The leader, sword in hand, turned again to the K’k’tict.
But before he could speak or act, a lone K’k’tict stepped forward to greet him. Even at this distance, Corsi could see the distinctive circle of bright golden hair high between her shoulders. Spot.
Hefting his sword, the Tznauk’t leader raised it over his head, then paused as Spot began to speak. Corsi could not hear her words, but could see her arms spread wide, open palms up as she addressed the invader.
“Blue to Corsi, come in, Commander!” said Corsi’s combadge.
The K’k’tict around her shifted in surprise, but did not move away.
“Go.”
“There’s an extermination force headed for the natives!”
“They’re here, Pattie.”
“I know how to stop them,” Pattie said.
The heavy sword of the Tznauk’t came down. Slashing through bone and flesh, it split the circle of bright gold in two.
Corsi was drowned in a sea of nutmeg and musk as loving arms surrounded her, stopping her and pulling her gently, irresistibly, to the ground.
Pattie’s voice, muffled by the earth and press of K’k’tict, barely reached her.
“It’s honor. You can challenge their leader to a duel.”
Corsi stopped struggling.
“Primitive racism,” Pattie was saying, “they think the natives are animals.” Corsi had never imagined the tinkle of Pattie’s bell-like laughter could sound bitter. “They think I’m an animal. But you’re humanoid. They’ll see you as a person.”
Sensing she was no longer trying to get up, the K’k’tict eased away from Corsi. She knew they could understand the words coming from her combadge. She wondered if they understood she was talking to someone far away or thought the golden piece of metal had come to life.
In the distance she could hear a sound, repeated, of wet rags slapping wood. Or melons being split. Around her the K’k’tict moaned as Corsi kept her eyes focused on the ground, keeping her emotions in check as she listened to her friend explain the Smaunif code of responsibility and the challenge to authority.
Corsi’s first thought was to get to Copper. But he wasn’t a leader. The K’k’tict made decisions by consensus; each of them had an equal say. She’d have to reach them all. Or maybe just enough.
She started with her guards, explaining as quickly as she could a plan that