Firehand

by Andre Norton

  had to be replaced quickly, whatever the difficulty or expense of doing so.

  Thus far, I Yoroc had in the greater part succeeded in meeting that

  challenge, but there had been times when the mercenaries had been less

  than content, and each new success Firehand's people tore from them

  reduced their dependability as fighters and, more and more frequently,

  their very ability to fight as well.

  Because of this unending pressure, Zanthor was forced to keep large

  numbers of men back from the front to ride patrol and to mount guard on

  the baggage trains or lose control of the area entirely, and he was

  beginning to sorely miss the service they should be giving against his

  primary foes, who were not slow in their turn to read his budding

  difficulties and press all the harder to exploit them.

  Murdock straightened. Soon now.

  He glanced at those on either side of him, Gordon on his left, Eveleen

  on the right. Allran, the Dominionite Lieutenant who was second in place

  to Eveleen and one of those who customarily rode with them, waited

  farther back, out of his immediate line of sight.

  His thoughts snapped back to the present. Riders were just topping the

  low rise to the northeast.

  His sharp eyes fixed on them. He counted quickly. Twenty-five, thirty,

  deermen riding guard on a dozen large pack animals. They were moving

  rapidly but cautiously as well, taking care not to skyline themselves any

  more than necessary, but the guerrillas had been expecting their coming

  and knew where to watch for them.

  Ross glanced at Ashe, who caught his gaze and raised his hand in the

  old Terran gesture of victory. Their scout had not failed them. Their

  enemies would come directly to them; they would not have to so much as

  alter their present position to receive them.

  The agent could feel the familiar surge of fear well up within him, but

  he kept face and body impassive as he raised his once-bright battle horn

  to his lips. It was a dull black now so that neither sun nor moon could

  reflect from it.

  The invaders seemed to advance with agonizing slowness, as if they

  moved through water, although he knew they were actually riding at a

  good pace.

  The thirty made a small column, but that gave it both a speed and an

  ease of concealment a larger unit would lack. Fortune had been with them

  in discovering it. They had missed many of its like since their foes had

  begun moving supplies thus.

  Zanthor was anything but a stupid man. He had learned from his

  opponents' tactics and had soon realized that more supplies would get

  through in the long run if he utilized such compact trains as well as the

  more massive conveys which, although safe from destruction in the event

  of a single assault, were, by their very nature, slow and visible and subject

  to harassment along the whole of their route, however strong their guard

  upon setting out.

  Murdock mounted, and the others followed suit. No noise escaped

  them, no sudden flash of motion that might have been spotted by those

  travelers still a little below them on the slope.

  The partisan commander continued to carefully study the column,

  watching the way the individual riders sat their mounts.

  He nodded after a few minutes, satisfied. They were wary but not

  extraordinarily so. They would not know of their danger until it was upon

  them.

  The two units were fairly evenly matched in number, thirty of them,

  twenty-seven with him, but with surprise to aid him and barring some

  foul turn of chance, he was confident his party would be able to overpower

  and take most or all of their foes quickly, before the invaders could settle

  themselves into an extended battle costly to both sides.

  The column had been steadily ascending and had at last reached the

  level of the waiting guerrillas.

  The partisans remained motionless, scarcely breathing, until it was

  parallel to them, then Ross touched his lips to his horn.

  Arrows rained upon the Condor Hall force before the low, soft note had

  finished sounding.

  A few struck true, but most glanced harmlessly off the strong helms and

  the shields so borne as to face outward from the column's center.

  It was usually thus on such a raid, and he felt no disappointment. His

  archers aimed high to minimize the danger of striking the valuable

  springdeer. Their purpose was rather to unsettle their victims before

  battle was joined than to fell any great number of them outright. In other

  circumstances, when different objectives were before them, his bowmen

  could wreak terrible damage and had done so many times during these

  last months.

  Only that one volley was sent. The charge followed almost instantly

  upon it, well before the invading mercenaries could recover from their

  surprise to bring themselves and their animals into order.

  They did attempt to defend themselves. They, too, had bows and

  brought them quickly to bear, but their aim was off, and they were given

  no opportunity to fire a second round.

  The Time Agent felt a plucking at his right sleeve as he raced toward

  the column. He had no time even to glance down. The first of his foemen

  was before him.

  There was no resisting the force of the Sapphireholders' charge. The

  skirmish was briskly, even savagely, fought for a few tense minutes, then it

  was over, leaving Murdock's warriors masters of the field.

  Five of the enemy were dead, another eight wounded, one of them

  seriously. The majority of the rest were captives along with their mounts

  and baggage animals. The latter had been roped together for ease of

  handling and had, therefore, been unable to scatter during the battle. Four

  of the mercenaries had broken from the fray and had succeeded in making

  their escape.

  The Sapphirehold party had suffered no damage save for a slight scrape

  across one fighter's hand and an equally insignificant injury to Allran's

  mount.

  Because part of the column had won free, the partisans made no delay

  in quitting the battleground save that necessary to stanch the wound of

  the gravely hurt man.

  They rode hard and fast for the next hour until Ross at last felt they had

  put enough distance between themselves and possible pursuers and

  permitted a halt.

  His eyes glowed as he looked over the fruits of the raid. Twenty-six of

  the enemy were prisoners or casualties, bringing with them their

  equipment and mounts, not to mention a dozen fine dray deer. That were

  prize in plenty even discounting the bulging packs.

  Those last proved a rich take. The unit had been assigned to the front

  and had been carrying with it everything necessary to support itself until

  it should be able to settle in and establish itself with the regular supply

  lines.

  He watched with satisfaction the unloading of each animal. These

  goods would still reach the battle line, but they would enter into a very

  different service from that for which they had been intended.

  Some of his comrades, Allran among them, were less pleased than theirr />
  commander with what they found in the baggage. "Jerked meat and

  corn!" the Dominionite Lieutenant grumbled. "We used to eat better at

  Zanthor's expense."

  His commander smiled. "So used his own soldiers… Stop scowling,

  Comrade. Gurnion will make good use of this."

  Eveleen overheard the exchange and joined them. "Pay no attention to

  him, Captain. He's just sulking over that cut Sundance took."

  Ross glanced at the animal. "He's not much hurt, but take the

  Sergeant's doe. She's a good mount and should serve you well enough until

  he's fully healed again."

  The other man nodded his thanks and moved to claim the gray.

  There was nothing irregular in that. Sapphirehold was not part of the

  Confederacy, and what they took in their fighting was theirs by war right.

  Ton Gurnion was still surprised even after their months of informal

  alliance by the amount of materiel and the number of mounts sent to him

  by the hard-fighting partisan warriors, knowing no claim of his but only

  the generosity of these people and their perception of his needs moved

  them to give as they did of their spoil.

  The weapons expert's expression was thoughtful, as was her voice when

  she spoke. "He's right, you know. There has been a change in the type of

  supplies Condor Hall is providing for its army."

  He nodded. "In kind, but the quantity remains unaltered, and quality's

  still high. No warrior has cause to complain of this fare."

  Ross felt her eyes on him as Eveleen searched him for sign of injury.

  Her fingers darted out to separate the rent left in the material by the

  Condor Hall arrow. "A good shirt in need of mending," she commented

  dryly.

  "Better that than the arm beneath it."

  Both turned in response to a low whistle.

  "Let's see what Gordon's found," the war captain suggested even as he

  began moving toward his partner.

  Ashe had just opened the packs borne by the last of the baggage

  animals and had obviously discovered something totally unexpected.

  His fellow Terrans joined him. He held one of the satchels open, and

  their eyes widened. Gold.

  "The other pack holds the same?" Murdock asked after a moment.

  "It does. Scant wonder the poor beast seemed to be lagging worse than

  the rest. There's enough here to pay off a small army."

  "Probably its very purpose," Eveleen remarked. "Some of the mercenary

  companies must be getting restive."

  "That's about the way I read it," Ross agreed. He grinned. "It seems

  they'll have to bear their discontent a bit longer thanks to our

  intervention."

  Ashe's blue eyes sparkled. "This won't be going south with the rest, I

  presume?"

  The other man made a show of pondering the question. "I think not.

  No, Ton Luroc deserves some little prize to gladden his heart now and

  then. —Do you believe this'll serve the purpose, Lieutenant EA Riordan?"

  "Very nicely, Firehand," she replied, matching the mock gravity of his

  tone.

  "You're in agreement, I presume, Doctor?"

  Ross glanced sharply at his partner when Ashe did not respond.

  "Gordon?"

  The archeologist's eyes seemed to be looking into the distance. His

  expression was puzzled. "Sorry, Ross," he said, recalling himself to his

  comrades, "but this is wrong."

  "Taking the gold?" he asked in amazement.

  "No. The fact that it's been made into bars."

  "They're easier to transport that way," Eveleen protested. "The same

  weight in links would be incredibly bulky."

  "Yes, and I wouldn't question it in our own time, but pretech and

  low-tech peoples generally don't abuse gold like this. They wear it or

  decorate with it or mint it into coins or some other convenient type of

  specie. Molding it into ugly blocks and stashing it away like so many spare

  bricks is usually the work of a more machine-oriented society."

  "On Terra," Murdock said slowly after a moment. "Zanthor's ahead of

  his time in other ways, too, remember. That's how he managed to overrun

  most of the north and would have taken the whole damn island in short

  order if we hadn't come back to spoil his game. He'd probably be classed a

  genius if he'd turned his attention to some decent project."

  "I suppose you're right," the other man agreed, although his eyes

  remained dark. He shrugged in the end. "I hope we manage to take

  Zanthor I Yoroc alive in the end. I want to have a long, close talk with that

  bastard, if only to add to the knowledge of our psycho people back home."

  The partisan unit did not delay much longer there. The pack animals

  were reloaded, and the prisoners were bound to their mounts with their

  arms fastened to their sides, all save the heavily wounded warrior, who

  was placed in a litter slung between two of the springdeer. His injuries

  were indeed grave, but if he survived the journey south, he would receive

  good care there until he healed and then, in company with his comrades,

  better treatment than Confederates or Sapphireholders falling into

  Zanthor's power could ever hope to find.

  Ross pressed them as much as possible without taxing the heavily

  burdened dray animals until they reached the base of the highlands, the

  point beyond which he would not suffer any outsider to come. Here, the

  party divided, most riding as guards with the captured column, the rest

  turning for their home base, bringing with them the gold and the animal

  carrying it plus the doe Allran had claimed and one other wardeer, a fine

  young buck that had captured Ross's interest.

  8

  THE DOMAIN RULER'S quarters were larger than any of the others in

  the camp and were marked by considerably more luxury. Furs covered a

  good part of the floor, and hangings of worked skins and cloth both

  decorated the walls and blocked the drafts which would otherwise have

  had free access to the rooms inside, a large public chamber and a smaller

  sleeping area. The furnishings, though sparse enough out of consideration

  for mobility, were of good quality, and several of the chairs were padded to

  provide for comfort as well as utility.

  Luroc himself was still a fine-looking man of his race, tall and

  broad-shouldered, with heavy and flat but regular features and steady

  black eyes that seemed to read a man's very soul. His hair was a slightly

  lighter shade of auburn than was the norm among most of his people and

  was liberally peppered with gray.

  Strength of mind and will were patently his, a strength nature had

  decreed should be matched in power of body. War had denied him that,

  however, and his legs now rendered him but poor service. He could walk

  no more than a few yards unaided, if his slow, painful shuffle could be so

  termed at all. To venture outside, he was forced to depend on the support

  of crutches or else take to a chair borne upon the shoulders of his

  warriors. Even to sit a springdeer was agony, but he could ride and did

  when strong enough necessity, such as the conference with the

  Confederate Tons and their commanders from which he had just returned,

  called him from the camp.

&nb
sp; He was seated by the fire when Murdock entered, for the day was a

  brisk one for so early in the fall, and his inactivity rendered him sensitive

  to unaccustomed chill.

  His dark eyes fixed on the newcomer, noting every detail of his

  appearance, so different from that of his own kind. He relaxed at once,

  finding no indication that anything had gone amiss on the partisan's

  recent raid, even as the preliminary report he had already received had

  indicated.

  He returned the younger man's salute and motioned him into a seat

  near his own.

  Ross obeyed at once, knowing the Ton did not like having to look up at

  those with whom he spoke, particularly if their discussion was to be of

  significant length.

  Ordinarily, he would have launched at once into an account of his most

  recent mission, but he now studied Luroc closely, with no small concern.

  The journey south and the conference itself could not but have taken their

  toll. "You must be tired, Ton. I've got nothing to say that won't wait

  another day."

  "What of your curiosity?"

  A faint smile touched the other's lips. "I can stand it that long."

  Ross started to rise, but the Sapphireholder's hand lifted. "Stay,

  Captain."

  The black eyes pierced him suddenly. "Do you consider yourself

  disgraced before your own kind because of the sort of war you are waging

  for us?" I Loran asked him bluntly.

  "With the success we're having? Not likely!"

  The Dominionite smiled at his assurance. "Good, because Grunion has

  hired mercenaries, a huge column under Jeran A Murdoc."

  The Terran thought quickly, reviewing the sea of background

  information he had studied in preparation for this mission. A blank shield

  would know by repute every column Commandant…

  He remembered then and raised his brows. There was no larger or

  better force for hire on all the continent, or any other more expensive.

  "They can afford him," he remarked, "better than another year or two at

  war, at any rate."

  Luroc eyed him curiously. "Any relationship there?"

  "Somewhere way back, I suppose… No, you'll find no greats or near

  greats among my kin," he responded with perfect honesty. The question

  had been reasonable considering the similarity in name and profession. It

  was this closeness in the sound of Terran and Dominionite names that

  allowed the Time Agents to retain so close an approximation of their own,