by Joan Wolf
“They can certainly ride,” he murmured, knowing from bitter experience just how difficult it was to be so at one with a horse. The big man was holding the girl and guiding his horse with seemingly effortless ease. The girl’s hair is the color of moonbeams, he thought.
“Sa, they can ride.” It was Ronan who answered. “And, as we feared, they are moving up the River of Gold.”
“So they are,” said Kasar, his voice very grim. The Tribe of the Leopard, to which he was born, had their dwelling place not far from the intermingling of the Greatfish River with the River of Gold.
“I wish we had come horsed ourselves,” Ronan said now. “We could move so much faster!”
“You said yourself it would have been too difficult to get the horses over the Altas in the snow,” Kasar replied. “Our horses are young and untried, not like these,” and he gestured toward the tribe that was wending its purposeful way along the river.
“We will have to get them over it now,” Ronan said. He gestured to his men to retreat within the cover of the forest. “This is what we must do,” he resumed when they were once more gathered together. “Kasar, you go to the Tribe of the Leopard, Thorn to the Tribe of the Buffalo, Mitlik to the Tribe of the Red Deer, Dai to the Tribe of the Squirrel, Heno to the Tribe of the Fox, Okal to the Tribe of the Bear. You are to tell the chiefs and leading men of these tribes to come to the Great Cave at the full of the moon to meet with me there.” A nerve flickered along Ronan’s lean jaw. “We must unite if these invaders are not to destroy the tribes of the mountains the way they have destroyed the tribes of the plains!”
Grave nods came from the men who were gathered around their chief. “I will return to the Valley of the Wolf and bring the rest of the men and the horses to the Great Cave,” Ronan went on. “I am thinking the horses are important; it is they that will put heart into our people and encourage them not to give up.”
Again those solemn nods.
“If I am late getting to the Great Cave, you must make the chiefs wait for me.”
“Ronan,” Mitlik said, “you are sending me to the Tribe of the Red Deer. Do you want me to bring the Mistress?”
In the sudden, tense silence, a squirrel scrambled down the tree beside which they were standing and scurried across the forest floor. “If she wishes to come, then she should come,” Ronan replied at last. “If she does not, then you must try to bring some of the men. Speak to Neihle, the Mistress’s brother, and to Tyr. They are two who will listen to words of mine.”
Mitlik bowed his head.
“Let us go then,” Ronan said. “We have no time to waste.”
* * * *
Nel had ridden her favorite horse, a bright copper-colored colt with three white stockings she had named White Foot, toward the narrow southern end of the valley, where the river escaped through a cut in the rampart wall. There was never any ice on the river at this end of the valley, the current moved too rapidly, and here was where the valley animals watered throughout the winter.
Impero and the mares were grazing along the eastern wall when Nel and White Foot came cantering into their vicinity. The cliff wall here was forbiddingly high, its upper part dropping down for hundreds of yards as sheerly as if it had been cut by a knife; but above the floor of the valley it sloped, cracking into fissures and ravines in which were growing clumps of juniper, mountain pine, and alpen rose. There was no snow on these sunny slopes, and the mares and yearlings, intent upon finding forage, paid no attention to Nel and her mount.
Not so the white stallion, who was immediately alarmed by the presence of another male. Impero snorted, dropped his nose, and moved immediately into full gallop, gathering his mares and offspring from their foraging and rounding them up until they formed a tight little band. When they were all securely herded behind him, he trotted out to hurl his defiance at White Foot, raising his head to the heavens and bugling forth a brassy challenge to come forth and do battle.
White Foot was afraid of the stallion, the father and protector who had so inexplicably turned into his implacable enemy. But something in his blood roused at that neighing challenge, and he reared up, snorting, his front hooves pawing the air.
Nel had already twined one hand into the colt’s mane for security, and now she used the other to slap him on his shoulder to get his attention. As soon as his front hooves were on the ground, she twisted her own body around, bringing the colt with her; then she drove him with her legs away from the stallion. They galloped along the river toward the extreme southern rim of the valley, not pulling up until they had reached the wall. Then Nel looked around.
Impero was still staring after them, his scarred, muscular white neck raised high, his nostrils distended. Thorn should paint him like that, Nel thought suddenly. He looked magnificent. As she watched, he whirled and plunged straight into the closely bunched herd of mares and yearlings, scattering them and thus giving them his permission to resume their hunt for food. As they broke away and returned to the lower levels of the cliff, the white stallion stood on guard, dividing his attention between his mares and the three-year-old son he perceived as a potential rival for their favors.
Well, thought Nel resignedly, it’s pretty clear that I had better give up any ideas of keeping more than one stallion with the mares. If even White Foot wants to fight…
White Foot was immune to challenges at the moment, however, for not even Impero’s bugle could be heard above the thunder of water as it raced through the ravine in the cliff wall and poured down a sheer two-hundred-foot slide to a great pool of churning white water at the cliff’s base outside the valley.
White Foot had grown up with the sound of the waterfall, and it held no fear for him. The young stallion stood quietly under Nel’s command, and she patted his neck softly before she turned him and began to go back, this time following the western wall of the valley, where the snow still lay in patches.
Mait met her at the corral with the news that Ronan was back. She left Mait with the task of returning White Foot to the company of his fellows and raced on foot around the lake, moving as fast as she could in her winter boots.
The entire tribe appeared to be gathered in the large open space between the huts and the lake when Nel came racing up. Everyone had turned to look at her, but Nel ignored them all, running like a deer straight into Ronan’s arms. They closed around her, lifting her off of her feet.
“You’re back,” she said breathlessly.
“Sa. I am back.” His rough cold cheek was pressed against hers. “You are strangling me, Nel.”
Indeed, her arms were clasped so tightly about his neck that she thought she probably was. She never admitted to anyone, and certainly not to him, how terrified she was for him every time he left on one of these expeditions. She loosened her grip a little and leaned her head back so she could look into his face.
He was unshaven and tired-looking, but otherwise she approved of what she saw. She said, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, minnow,” he said in her ear and bent to put her back on her feet.
Nel looked around, saw Beki standing there without Kasar, and understood at last that Ronan bad returned alone. She waited until she was sure the panic she felt would not show in her voice. Then, she asked, “They are coming south?”
“Sa,” Ronan answered her, his voice oddly gentle. “They are coming south.”
* * * *
To Ronan’s surprise, and not entirely to his pleasure, all of the tribe’s men insisted upon accompanying him to the meeting at the Great Cave.
“You cannot all come,” he said immediately, when he realized what was being proposed.
“Why not?” Crim asked.
“We cannot leave the women and children here without any men.” His carefully patient voice said that surely they should have been able to see this for themselves.
They were all crammed into Bror’s tent, women and children as well as men, and even though no fire was burning, it was hot from so many bodies. T
he dogs had been sent outside, but the toddlers were crawling busily under everyone’s feet. Ronan loosened the thong that tied his shirt at the throat.
“You sent to the Tribe of the Red Deer?” Bror asked.
“Sa.”
“We have discussed this while you were gone,” Bror said, “and we have decided we cannot send you alone into the hands of your enemies.”
Impatience was written clear on Ronan’s face, “You are not sending me alone. I will be taking most of the men, as well as the horses. But I cannot take all of the men because of the women and children. There must be someone here to hunt for them.”
“Who were you planning to leave in the valley?” It was Cree’s nasal voice. “The men of the Goddess?”
“It would seem the reasonable choice,” Ronan replied. “By your own admission, you do not have the stake in this fight that we of the Kindred have.”
“If you are going to meet with the Tribe of the Red Deer, then you will need your men who worship the Mother behind you,” Cree returned.
Ronan’s Face was beginning to take on what Mait always thought of as its “black look.” The chief did not like it when his men tried to overrule him. “Then who have you decided will stay with the women?” Ronan asked in the overly pleasant voice they had all learned to distrust. “You, Bror?”
Bror scowled ferociously and did not reply.
It was Berta who answered the angry chief. “No one will have to stay with the women, Ronan, because the women are coming too.”
At that, Ronan’s head snapped around. He stared in astonishment at the madonna-calm face of Berta. “You cannot,” he said.
“Certainly we can,” she replied, not one jot of her serenity ruffled by his glare.
Ronan turned now and looked at Nel. Her face bore the same serene look as Berta’s. She met his eyes, but did not speak.
Ina, the two-year-old daughter of Berta and Heno, toddled over and sat on Ronan’s foot. “Go with Ronan,” she said with satisfaction and gave him a beatific smile.
“The women are determined, Ronan,” Crim said with a smile.
“We cannot drag the babies down the Atlas!”
“The babies will be easier than this age will be,” said Beki ruefully, coming to pick up Berta’s daughter. “The babies we can strap on cradleboards to our backs.”
For the first time since they had sat down, Nel spoke. “The Horsemasters move their whole tribe,” she pointed out gently. “Surely they have women and children too.”
Ronan looked from his wife to the faces of the rest of his rebellious followers. Then he thrust his hands into his hair and bent his head so that his face was hidden. They all stared nervously at the long slim fingers that were curved into the thickness of the raven black hair.
Bror drew a determined breath. “We are not trying to undermine your authority or go behind your back,” he said. “You are still our chief. That is why we feel that we must come with you.”
“I see.” Ronan’s voice was muffled.
Mait looked anxiously at Nel. She was watching her husband. “Ronan,” she said now accusingly. “Stop laughing!”
“Laughing?” said Asok indignantly. “What is funny here?”
Ronan raised his flushed face. “The picture of me, stalking into the Great Cave followed by a train of squalling babies.”
“We won’t let the babies squall,” Fara promised with a grin.
“That will be a nice change,” Crim remarked.
Ronan sobered. “I thank you all. It is nice that you are so concerned for me. But we have never taken these horses out of the valley. I cannot trust them with the children.”
“We tried them out while you were gone,” Berta volunteered. “They were perfectly fine.”
Ronan looked again at Nel. “You took the horses out of the valley?”
“They were very well behaved,” she said sedately. “I feel quite confident they will prove to be no trouble.”
“Give up,” Crim advised him. “We have.”
“Go with Ronan!” Ina chanted again, liking the sound of the words.
Once more, Ronan began to laugh. “All right,” he said when at last he had caught his breath. “But if I say you must return to the valley, then I will expect to be obeyed. We have no guarantee what the tribes will decide to do.”
“That is precisely why we are all going with you,” Bror said grimly, to which the rest of the tribe signaled their sober agreement.
Chapter Twenty-two
Of the six tribes Ronan had sent messengers to, three had answered his summons. From the Tribe of the Leopard came Unwar, the chief; Hamar, the shaman; and eight of the chief nirum.
From the Tribe of the Buffalo came Haras, the chief; Jessl, the shaman; Rilik, Thorn’s father; and seven other of the chief nirum.
From the Tribe of the Red Deer came Arika, the Mistress; her brother, Neihle; three matriarchs and five other men. Her daughter, Morna, she had left at home.
Most of these people had been gathered at the cave for several days before Ronan arrived with his following. The chiefs of the Leopard and of the Buffalo, knowing Ronan was coming from the Altas, had been prepared to wait, and they spent the time conferring between themselves. The delegation from the Red Deer arrived only the day before Ronan and the Tribe of the Wolf.
It had been an adventurous journey down the Altas, as the horses had not been quite as placid as Nel had predicted. After the first two days, however, the colts had settled down and proved reasonably obedient.
Never, for as long as he lived, would Thorn forget the moment when the men of the Kindred tribes first saw the Tribe of the Wolf on horseback. He had been standing before the Great Cave with Rilik and Haras, and when the horses rounded the turn and came into sight, Haras, squinting into the sun, had first mistaken them for a wild herd.
“Horses!” the Buffalo chief cried, with a mixture of alarm and surprise. Then his breath sucked in audibly as he saw the human figures on the horses’ backs.
As Thorn watched his tribe approach, fierce pride surged through his heart. Ronan and Nel rode at the tribe’s head, Ronan on Cloud, the big gray colt he had tamed himself, and Nel upon White Foot. They rode as well as any of the Horsemasters, those two, Thorn thought: upright and proud, their thighs slanted slightly forward, their knees bent, their lower legs back. Behind them came the rest of the tribe, with some of the men leading packhorses behind them. The dogs ran about between the horses’ legs, except for Nigak, who had positioned himself firmly at Ronan’s side.
“Dhu!” said Haras. “I cannot believe what I am seeing!”
“Is it possible?” Rilik breathed.
From all around came the sound of running feet as the tribes came racing to see the impossible.
“Men on horses!”
“Not just men—women too!”
“I cannot believe it.”
“How did they do it?”
Then, fearfully, a voice asked, “Is it the Horsemasters?”
“Na,” came a feminine voice with the accent of the Red Deer. “It is Ronan!”
“Ronan never said aught to us about this,” Haras managed to get out at last. He glanced reproachfully at Thorn.
The horses and riders had stopped at a discreet distance from the gawking onlookers.
Thorn’s nostrils were flared with pride. “We have been taming horses for two years now,” he said to Haras. “This is the first time we have taken them out of the valley.”
“You too?” Rilik turned to stare at his son in wonder. “Do you ride too, Thorn?”
“Sa,” Thorn replied. “I am one of the first to get on them because I am so light.”
Rilik’s mouth was open with amazement.
“Stay back everyone!” Thorn called as the crowd began to surge forward. “You will frighten the horses if you get too close.”
Everyone took a step backward.
“Father, you and the chiefs may come with me,” Thorn said grandly, and he began to walk forward, fo
llowed by Rilik, Haras, and Unwar. Arika and Neihle stood a little apart from the others, in the shadow of the enormous tunnel through the hillside that formed the Great Cave.
Ronan flicked his eyes once toward the place where his mother stood before greeting the four men who had joined him. “Thorn,” he said. “Rilik.” Then, formally, to Unwar and Haras: “I greet the chief of the Leopard and the chief of the Buffalo.”
“Arika of the Red Deer is also here,” Unwar returned, having seen that glance toward the cave, “but the chiefs of the Squirrel, the Bear, and the Fox declined to come.”
“I see,” Ronan said expressionlessly.
The chiefs stared with amazement at Cloud, who snorted, rolled his eyes, and danced sideways. Ronan patted his arched neck and the colt quieted.
The chiefs had hastily backed up, nervous around the dancing hooves. “This is astonishing!” Haras said from the safety of his newly gained distance. “You never told us you were riding horses!”
Ronan sat calmly upon his excited colt, replying to their many questions, but all the while Thorn sensed that his real attention was elsewhere, was focused on the red-haired woman who stood with such absolute stillness within the shadow of the cave’s opening. Cloud, sensing the tension in his rider, began to swish his tail and trot in place.
“The horses are tired, and so are the children,” Nel said to her husband in her soft husky voice. “I am thinking we should get all settled before we talk further.”
Ronan looked at her, and for the first time in Thorn’s memory, he had the feeling that Ronan didn’t know what to do. His face looked strained and taut. Cloud tossed his head up and down, and then he reared. “Get off of him, Ronan,” Nel said calmly, and Ronan obediently slid to the ground and once more patted the gray colt’s neck. “You said you knew of a fairly enclosed place to pasture the horses,” Nel continued, talking to her husband in the same ordinary tone. “Why don’t you take the men there, and I will get the women and children into shelter.”
Again Ronan nodded. Yet still he remained, irresolute, all of his being taut with his awareness of his mother. Nel said, “Thorn will go with you,” and she slid off White Foot and beckoned to Thorn to take the colt’s reins. Then she walked over to Ronan.
