“That’s definitely crazy,” Rabbit noted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody that crazy before! Is there any kind of a cure for that?”
“I’ve had some luck with putting an arrow into the forehead of the crazy,” Longbow replied, “but dear old Holy there is about three hundred paces away, and I wouldn’t want to sprain my bow trying to reach out that far.”
“Can a bow actually be sprained?” Rabbit asked with a fair amount of skepticism.
“I’m not really sure,” Longbow admitted. “I’m not going to try it to find out just now, though.”
It was late in the afternoon of the following day when Skarn rode into the temporary encampment with Red-Beard riding at his side. “The archers aren’t far behind us,” Skarn said, swinging down from his saddle.
“And Keselo’s sleds aren’t very far behind them,” Red-Beard added. Then he looked at Tladak, who came from this part of Matakan. “There used to be a river that ran off to the west from here, wasn’t there?”
“It went dry a long time ago,” Tladak replied. “How did you know that?”
“There’s a shallow sort of valley running from here on off in that direction,” Red-Beard replied. “I wouldn’t call it a gorge or a ravine, but it’s fairly obvious that it was gouged out by running water. You get quite a bit of snow up here in the winter, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Tladak replied.
“And that dry riverbed stops being dry when springtime rolls around, right?”
“You sound like you’ve been here before.”
“Well, not here, exactly,” Red-Beard replied. “The same sort of thing happened all the time in the place where I grew up. It’s sort of nice to know that some things never change.” Then he looked around. “Your camp’s just a bit scruffy-looking, Longbow,” he chided.
“We aren’t going to be here permanently, Red-Beard. If things go the way we’ve planned, we’ll be on our way back to Mount Shrak in just a few days.”
“I take it that the Atazaks don’t really pose much of a threat.”
“Even less than that. They take incompetence out to the far end.”
Red-Beard looked around. “Where’s Padan?” he asked.
“He’s building a fort out of sod-blocks on a hill just a ways off to the north,” Longbow replied. “You know how important forts are to the Trogites. Anyway, he’s nearly finished up there. Then he’s going to bring some of his men here to build a series of breastworks off to the east to hold back the Atazaks.”
“Is their glorious leader as crazy as everybody says that he is?”
“Even crazier,” Longbow said. “Rabbit and I saw him yesterday, and he was threatening to spank a thunderbolt.”
“That’s crazy, all right,” Red-Beard said.
“We’ve been working on a way to cure him of crazy.”
“Oh?”
“I think it’s called ‘kill,’ Red-Beard. I’ve noticed that ‘kill’ cures just about everything that’s bothering anybody.”
“They don’t look very much like soldiers, Athlan,” the young archer called Zathan said rather scornfully as he looked down the slope at the invaders from Atazakan.
“I wouldn’t call them soldiers, Zathan,” Athlan replied. “The ones down at the bottom of this slope are just common people who shouldn’t even be here. The madman who gives all the orders decided to bring them here to serve as a human barricade when the war starts. They don’t even have weapons of any kind. I’m sure that they didn’t want to come here, but the ones behind them—the ones with spears—forced them to come so that they could stand between us and the ones who think they’re important. We’re going to ruin their grand plan, though. That should make the crazy one even crazier—right up until one of us gets close enough to drive a dozen or so arrows into his belly. Once he’s dead, everything will fall apart for the ones who think they’re important, and this silly war will end right then and there.”
“I like it!” Zathan said with a broad grin. “When it’s all over, are we going to drag the dead ones over to the edge of Matakan territory so that they can rot and stink up the air in the land of the Atazaks?”
“We might want to see what Dahlaine has to say about that,” Athlan agreed. “If that border territory smells bad enough, we probably won’t have to worry about any more invasions.”
“It worked pretty well for us during the war with the Reindeer Tribes,” Zathan said. “If it worked once, it’ll probably work again.”
“We’ll see,” Athlan replied.
Longbow smiled. There was a simplicity about the Tonthakans that he rather liked. Simplicity was better than complicated most of the time, but Longbow was fairly sure that he’d have a bit of difficulty if he tried to persuade the outlanders that it worked that way.
5
I’m not sure just exactly why,” Keselo said when he joined them the next day, “but there was a large herd of bison following our sleds all day yesterday.”
“It’s possible that the Malavi horses that were pulling your sleds might have had something to do with that,” Padan suggested. “I’ve noticed here lately that those horses have a rather strong odor when they’re working hard. Do you think the herd that was following you might have been one of those large ones the Malavi told us about? The ones that take a week or two to move on past you?”
“There weren’t that many, Sub-Commander,” Keselo replied.
Quite suddenly a couple of things clicked together for Longbow. “Tell me, Two-Hands, are bison at all frightened by fire?” he asked intently.
“All animals are afraid of fire, friend Longbow,” Two-Hands replied. “Every now and then grass-fires break out here in Matakan, and the bison go into pure panic.”
“Let’s say that a fire broke out just behind that herd that was following Keselo’s sleds. They would run toward the east, wouldn’t they?”
“I think I see where you’re going with this, Longbow,” Rabbit said, “but aren’t you overlooking something? A fire won’t spread out very much when it doesn’t have a wind behind it, and we definitely don’t want the wind to start blowing around here again.”
“I’ll get to that in just a minute,” Longbow said. “Now then, Two-Hands, you and Tladak have seen these bison herds running in panic many times, haven’t you?”
Tlantar nodded. “Too many times, actually,” he said glumly.
“Don’t be so sorrowful, friend Two-Hands. This might be one of the nice times. There’s that large herd of bison that was following Keselo’s sleds up that old riverbed. Now, if a fire broke out just behind them, they’d almost certainly stay down in that riverbed, wouldn’t they?”
“Not necessarily, Longbow. If one of them veered off and went on up the side of the riverbed to get away from the fire, the entire herd could scramble on up to safety.”
“Not if other fires were suddenly appearing right in front of them, they wouldn’t.”
“It’s an interesting idea, Longbow,” Two-Hands said, “but Rabbit just kicked several holes in this plan of yours. If a fire doesn’t have a wind to drive it, it won’t go very far. Were you planning to run along behind the bison with a torch and set new fires every hundred yards or so?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Chief Two-Hands,” Longbow said with a broad grin. “I have this friend called Keselo who has a way to set fire to anything—or anybody—that he wants to. He has a special tool that was made to set fires, and Keselo can set fires behind the bison, or in front of any of them that want to veer off in search of safety. If Keselo is down there with his engines, the bison will stampede up that old riverbed, and none of them will get very far if they try to leave the riverbed. Once they start, Keselo can herd them up that old dried-up riverbed until they reach the top of this ridge. Then they’ll run on toward the east with more fire snapping at their tails. They probably won’t even notice Holy Azakan or his noble but inept Guardians. They’ll just run right over the top of them without even slowing down.”
“It sounds to me like we’ll be going back to horns, doesn’t it, Longbow?” Rabbit suggested.
“I was sort of thinking along those lines myself,” Longbow agreed. “You were watching us during the war down in Veltan’s Domain, Ekial, and you probably heard a fair amount of toots.”
“Toots?” Ekial asked, frowning slightly.
“It’s a term Eleria used quite often,” Longbow explained. “The Maags use brass horns to communicate with each other, and the native people of Zelana’s Domain use animal horns to do much the same. If Red-Beard rides Seven and goes along with you, he can blow his horn when you’ve herded the Atazak commoners to a safe place. Keselo won’t set fire to the grass behind the bison until he hears Red-Beard’s horn.” Longbow frowned. “Just to be on the safe side, I think maybe Keselo should blow his horn when his catapults throw fire missiles into the grass behind the bison herd. When those of us standing behind the breastworks hear Keselo’s toot, we’ll kick the breastworks apart and then run away.”
“You’re going to destroy the breastworks my men and I built to protect you?” Padan protested.
“We don’t want anything to get in the way of the bison, do we? They might not know it, but they’ll be working for us. We want to make things as easy as possible for our shaggy new friends, don’t we? The bison will have a nice clear path to follow, so they’ll run right over the top of Divine—but crazy—Azakan and his devoted Guardians, and this ‘invasion’ will cease to exist along about then. ‘Holy Azakan’ will scream orders to lightning, wind, and, for all I know, to grass and dirt as well, but I don’t think they’ll listen. The nice thing about this will show up along about next spring. The grass up here will be very green, and it’ll grow much taller than usual. Atazaks that have been trampled down into mush should make excellent fertilizer, wouldn’t you say?”
“You are an evil man, Longbow,” Ekial declared, but then he burst out laughing.
At first light the following morning Longbow and several of his friends went on up to the top of a small knoll that rose at the head of the shallow riverbed and overlooked Padan’s breastworks and the gentle slope currently occupied by the Atazak invaders.
“It’s still just a bit dark to see very much,” Rabbit observed. “The days seem to be getting shorter and shorter, don’t they?”
“That’s one of the peculiarities of this time of the year,” Tladan said without smiling. “Winter doesn’t seem to like long days, for some reason.”
“I’ve never actually seen it,” Athlan said, “but I’ve heard that one of the Reindeer tribes lives so far to the north that the sun sets in the late autumn and doesn’t come back up until early spring in their territory. She makes up for it in midsummer, though. She doesn’t go down at all, so the people live out about a month or so without any nights. There’s nothing but broad daylight up there for about forty days.”
“That might make it a little hard to get any sleep,” Chief Two-Hands said.
“They catch up on their sleep the following winter, most likely,” Athlan said, peering down the riverbed. “As close as I can tell, Keselo’s set up his engines about two miles down that dry wash. They appear to be on the outer edge of the wash. Isn’t that quite a ways away from where he’ll be setting the grass on fire?”
“I think his catapults might surprise you, Athlan,” Rabbit said. “The Trogites were throwing fireballs a good half mile in Veltan-Land during the last war.” He looked at Longbow. “Did Ekial give you any idea of just when he was going to sweep in and herd the ordinary Atazaks out from in front of the ones who carry spears?” he asked.
“I think he’ll want just a little more light,” Longbow replied. “He wants to be sure that he’s got all of them. Then, too, Keselo will need to be able to see the bison before he starts his fires. We want those fires behind the herd, not right in the middle.”
The Tonthakan archers were sending their arrows over the unarmed Atazak commoners, and a fair number of the “Guardians of Divinity” had begun to sprout arrow feathers in places nobody wants penetrated.
“I thought we were going to let the bison trample those stupid Atazaks,” Chief Two-Hands said.
“Not until Ekial can get the ordinaries to a safe place,” Longbow explained. “Athlan and I talked it over, and it seemed to us that a brief arrow shower would persuade the ‘Guardians of Divinity’ to pull back. They won’t be in Ekial’s way now, so he won’t encounter any interference when he herds the ordinaries off to safety. Then, too, if the ‘Guardians’ are back down the east slope a ways, the bison will have enough time and distance ahead of them to build up their speed. A running trample should work better than a walking one. Excuse me a moment.” He lifted his horn and blew the agreed-upon signal. “Ekial will move now,” he told the others. “We’re not sure just how fast the ordinaries can move. They probably haven’t been eating too well, so they might be just a little weak.”
Prince Ekial and his men were surprisingly gentle as they escorted the unfortunate “ordinaries” out of harm’s way. Ekial frequently assumed a pose of blunt brutality, but Longbow had been quite certain that it was nothing more than a pose. Deep down where it really mattered, Ekial was anything but brutal. It did make a certain amount of sense. After all, Ekial had spent most of his life tending his cattle, and to some degree those cows were almost pets.
Prince Ekial’s pose came apart when he leaned over in his saddle and picked up a small child who’d been falling behind and carried the little boy off to safety.
“You saw that, too, didn’t you?” Rabbit said with a faint smile. “It seems that ‘big bad Ekial’ might just have a few soft spots in his nature.”
“I wouldn’t make an issue of that the next time you see him, little friend,” Longbow suggested.
“I wouldn’t think of it,” Rabbit replied. “I might try limping just a bit, though. If I limp a lot, I might even get a free ride.”
The eastern horizon had taken on a faint glow when Red-Beard’s horn announced that the unarmed Atazaks had reached safety, and Rabbit raised his horn to pass the word on to Keselo. “Just a precaution,” the little smith told Longbow and the others. “Keselo’s quite a ways on down that old riverbed, and it’s fairly important right now for him to start setting fires.”
Longbow looked off to the east and saw that the retreat of the “Guardians” had taken them only a short distance beyond the range of the arrows of the Tonthakan archers. Evidently, Holy Azakan still held a fairly firm grip on those who were supposed to protect him.
Then the sound of Keselo’s horn came up the dry riverbed, and Longbow and his friends watched as the shaggy bison were introduced to fire. Their response was very appropriate under the circumstances.
They ran.
Then, after a while, Keselo’s first fire flickered and died, another one of his catapults sent fresh fire on up the riverbed, and the bison continued their flight.
“It seems to be working,” Athlan observed.
“Keselo’s a very dependable young man,” Rabbit replied.
“We’ll see,” Chief Two-Hands said. “I want to find out if he can turn back any of the bison that try to get clear of that riverbed. That’s what’s going to tell us whether this will work or not. If just one bison reaches safety, the whole herd will follow him, and this will fall apart on us.”
“You’re a gloomy sort of fellow,” Rabbit noted. “Try to look on the bright side.”
“Since that pestilence came here, there hasn’t been a bright side,” Two-Hands retorted.
“We’re just about to find out, Chief Two-Hand
s,” Tladak said. “Off on the south side of the riverbed—one of the bison just started up the side-slope.”
Longbow saw the fleeing bison, and he held his breath.
“Here comes Keselo’s answer,” Rabbit said.
They all watched the fleeing bison scrambling up the rock-strewn slope. Then, almost like a comet, a fireball came hurtling across the dry riverbed and smashed into the grassy upper side of the slope, splashing gobs of burning tar and tree pitch in all directions.
The fleeing bison wheeled around and ran back down to rejoin its herd-mates.
“Is everything all better now, Chief Two-Hands?” Rabbit asked with a knowing grin.
“Does he do that all the time?” Two-Hands asked Longbow.
“It’s not uncommon,” Longbow replied. “Rabbit’s very clever, and he enjoys rubbing other people’s noses in that. We’ve tried to break him of the habit, but it still pops out every so often.”
* * *
Padan’s soldiers and the Tonthakan archers began to tear the sod breastworks apart, moving as fast as they possibly could.
“Don’t take too much time, Padan!” Longbow called. “Just shove the breastworks over. You don’t have enough time to carry the sod blocks out of the way. The bison will trample them flat anyway.”
“That’s the way we’ll do ’er, Cap’n!” Padan shouted back with a broad grin.
“Clown,” Longbow muttered under his breath.
“They’re slowing just a bit, Longbow,” Rabbit called from the front side of the knoll. “It looks to me like they’re getting a little winded.”
“Is Keselo still setting his fires?”
“I think he’s just about run out of grass. He’s still dropping fire-missiles right behind the back end of the herd, though. Do you want me to sound the stop toot?”
“Maybe you’d better,” Longbow replied. “Padan’s running a bit behind.”
Rabbit raised his horn and blew two sharp notes.
Crystal Gorge: Book Three of the Dreamers Page 32
