Iceblood

by James Axler

  He smiled again, hooking a thumb toward Auerbach. "I must point out that he fought Standing Bear for Little Willow. He was about to pay the ultimate penalty for his defeat when you arrived."

  Auerbach's hands, clasped over his groin, tightened reflexively.

  Kane said, "Bring out the woman. If she wants to stay with you, that's fine."

  Sky Dog called out to a teenage girl, who turned and rushed into the village. Auerbach muttered bleakly, "She won't want to stay now that you're here, Kane."

  He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

  Unsuccessfully swallowing a shamed sigh, Auerbach replied, "I think this whole deal was part of Beth-Li's plan."

  "Plan?" repeated Brigid sharply. "Explain."

  Auerbach opened his mouth, but nothing came out except another weary sigh. Faintly, he muttered, "I was a stupe. A triple-dipped stupe."

  He had no opportunity to say anything more. The girl returned, trailed by a small, slender woman wearing a fringed smock of bleached doeskin. At first glance, Kane took her for one of the Indian women. Her almond eyes and long hair were no lighter in shade, but her skin was ivory-colored and smooth. Her cheekbones weren't as prominent, but her lips were full and pouting. The smock did nothing to conceal the curvaceous figure beneath. She stared at Kane in a way uncharacteristically bold for an Indian woman.

  "Took you long enough," Rouch declared. "I've about had my limit of sour berries and boiled venison." She nodded in Standing Bear's direction. "Not to mention that overstimulated idiot."

  Standing Bear, not understanding her words, responded to her nod by stepping up beside her and placing a possessive hand on her shoulder. Rouch glanced at him contemptuously. "See what I mean? Dirty savage."

  Sky Dog's lips curled in a silent snarl.

  Coldly, Kane asked, "I'm told you belong to that 'dirty savage.' Do you want to stay or leave?"

  Rouch's Asian features twisted in a mask of disgust, as if she were scandalized by the mere suggestion. "Do you honestly think I want to stay in this pesthole? Get me out of here."

  Brigid said tightly "It's not that simple."

  Rouch flung Standing Bear's hand from her shoulder and made a motion to join Kane. Grasping her roughly by the upper arm, Standing Bear yanked her back, grunting a word in Lakota.

  "See?" Brigid asked.

  The disgust in Rouch's face instantly became fear. To Kane, she said beseechingly, "Get me out of here — get me away from him!"

  Refusing to acknowledge her stricken features and fearful tone, he said flatly, "Auerbach mentioned something about a plan. I want to hear it."

  Rouch cast her eyes downward as if she were deeply embarrassed, but Brigid received the distinct impression it was exaggerated, if not feigned completely. She didn't trust Rouch, and her wariness stemmed from more than just jealousy; Rouch had, with Lakesh's blessing, tried to seduce Kane. And she'd wasted no time sharing her affections since then, if Auerbach's admission was true.

  Tugging at the fringe on her dress, Rouch said in a halting whisper, "It wasn't a plan, not really. An idea… I was angry with you… I'm sorry."

  Her words trailed off, then she said, "I didn't expect to run across these savages."

  Sky Dog broke in harshly, "You refer to us as savages one more time, I'll lodge-pole you, Standing Bear and these others notwithstanding."

  Kane wasn't sure what lodge-poling consisted of, but he guessed it wasn't pleasant. To the shaman, he said, "She wants to leave. Tell Standing Bear that."

  "I will, but it won't make any difference."

  Sky Dog spoke tersely, briefly to the warrior, and rage glinted in the man's dark eyes. He thrust Rouch behind him, looked Kane up and down, hawked up from deep in his throat and spit a glob of saliva at his feet. He grated, "Zuya."

  Sky Dog rolled his eyes. "It's what I expected. You'll have to fight him for her. In my opinion, she's not worth the effort. Leave her here. Standing Bear is bound to get tired of her and her disrespectful mouth sooner than later."

  Kane said nothing for a tense tick of time. Brigid breathed, "I'm leaning toward taking Sky Dog's advice."

  So did Kane. He knew he could chill Standing Bear in his tracks, and with Grant as his ace, they stood a decent — not necessarily good — chance of escaping with Rouch. He saw no firearms among the warriors, not even the home-forged muzzle loaders they might have taken from the roamers.

  But if he opted for a firefight, a state of war would exist between the tribesmen and the handful of Cerberus exiles. When and if the forces of the villes arrived looking for them, the Indians would eagerly talk all about the dishonorable wasicun hiding in the Darks.

  Tactically, employing violence to retrieve Rouch might be sound. Diplomatically, it would be a disaster from which nothing could ever be salvaged.

  Kane started to speak, but hesitated when he noted the triumphant smirk appearing on Standing Bear's face. Fighting for or leaving Rouch behind was now more than a choice; it had become a challenge. Kane realized if he backed down, knuckled under, he would be branded a coward, not worthy of respect. If he or any of the Cerberus people traveled across the Indian's country again, the warriors would view them as targets.

  "Kane!" Rouch's cry was full of desperation, of quivering terror.

  Into the trans-comm, Kane muttered, "Merde."

  He knew Grant would instantly understand the code word, signifying the current situation could be compared to excrement and that he was to stand by.

  Kane began to turn away. Standing Bear's patronizing chuckle triggered a hot flash of anger within him, and he spun around on his heel. He struck the warrior across the face with his open right hand. Weighted by the holstered Sin Eater, the impact of the blow cracked like a whip and Standing Bear reeled, almost bowling Rouch off her feet.

  Recovering his balance, the warrior stared at Kane in shocked disbelief, the paint designs on his face smeared by the slap. Howling in fury, he lunged forward. Several other men did the same, echoing his cry.

  Sky Dog placed himself in front of Kane, speaking curtly and incisively. The men halted, muttering and glaring. The shaman faced Kane, eyes questioning but amused. "You've thought this course of action all the way through?"

  "Only the ramifications of not taking it," Kane replied.

  Sky Dog shook his head, laugh lines deepening around his squinting eyes. "I'm just an ignorant savage. I don't know big wasicun words like that."

  He smiled in rueful resignation. "But I know a couple of small wasicun words — like, 'you're fucked, dude.'"

  3

  The Indians formed a giant circle out on the open floor of the plain. In the center of the circle, a post had been driven into the ground. Rouch stood tethered to it by a length of leather slip-knotted around her right wrist. The wind caught her hair, making it stream behind her like an ebony banner.

  Auerbach, once his clothes had been returned to him, had become a bit more talkative, but not cheerful. As he walked with Brigid and Kane toward Sky Dog, he said quickly, "They're doing it just like with me yesterday. Hope you last longer than I did. Not that it makes any difference. The fucking Indians don't play fair…"

  "Shut up," growled Kane. "This is their country, and they make the rules."

  Auerbach fell silent and dropped back a pace. Sky Dog and Standing Bear stood with two snorting ponies. The animals wore no saddles, only rope halters with a single rein attached to them.

  Kane eyed both horses as he approached, studying their withers, their legs, their chests. Though one was dappled and the other a bay, they appeared matched in general size and physical condition. He looked around at the grinning warriors encircling the field in a solid wall of flesh and steel.

  Brigid whispered, "I think you'd better call Grant. This isn't just a trial by combat — it's a contest of horsemanship."

  "I've ridden horses," he retorted tersely.

  She looked at him suspiciously. "For what — all of thirty seconds in Mongolia? You told me you were bucked off."


  Kane mentally kicked himself for ever telling her about the incident. He admired horses, but his fondness for them was tempered by his lack of personal contact with them. Bred in Cobaltville, he was accustomed to horses that were dray animals, docile to the point of being comatose. His single experience with a high-spirited steed was during his escape from Kharo-Khoto, when his stolen mount had helped him flee, true enough, but more by accident than design.

  He stopped before Sky Dog. The shaman held a pair of rawhide-wrapped wooden staffs, five feet long with the ends curved like blunt-tipped fishhooks.

  "You will each take a horse and start at opposite sides of the field," Sky Dog stated in English. Kane figured the smirking Standing Bear didn't need instructions. "You will be armed with the coup sticks. To win, you must remain on the field. The man who rides from the field, is forced from it or unhorsed forfeits the contest. The man who releases Little Willow wins her."

  "Sounds simple enough," Kane commented.

  Sky Dog chuckled and nodded in Auerbach's direction. "That's what he thought. He learned otherwise."

  Kane took a staff, hefting it experimentally. Made of lightweight but sturdy wood, it felt easy to wield, but Kane didn't think it was much of a weapon.

  Standing Bear snatched the other staff, twirled it deftly in one hand, tossed it high in the air and caught the butt end on the palm of his other hand. He balanced it there, staring at Kane with a mocking smile. A wave of appreciative laughter rippled among the onlookers.

  Kane pretended not to hear it. He asked, "Which is my mount?"

  The shaman pulled the bay pony forward. Taking the rope rein, Kane looked into the horse's brown eyes, searching for any signs of a nasty or tricky disposition. Stroking its muzzle, he murmured, "I don't want to ride you any more than you want me to ride you. If you're going to get mad at a human being, get mad at Standing Bear."

  The pony snorted and pawed at the ground.

  The eager Indians voiced high-pitched ululating cries. Standing Bear nimbly vaulted onto his horse's back, grasping the coup stick in his right hand and looping the rein lightly around his left wrist.

  Kane mounted the bay, grateful that the animal didn't shy away from him. He considered stripping off his coat, but decided to keep it on since it concealed his Sin Eater. If matters turned ugly, he wasn't about to fend off Standing Bear or his friends with a stick of wood, rules of conduct be damned. He was a veteran hard-contact Mag — rules wouldn't come between him and survival.

  He caught Brigid's eye, and she extended the index finger of her right hand and brought it smartly toher nose. Gravely, Kane returned the one-percent salute. This time, he figured the odds were correct.

  The two men kicked their ponies' flanks and trotted out onto the field. Kane watched how Standing Bear guided his horse with the pressure of his knees and heels. He did his best to emulate it. The bay obeyed, even though he jounced painfully on the animal's spine. Without a saddle or even a blanket, it was about as comfortable as riding a fence rail.

  He looked toward Rouch, standing at the post. She had her eyes on him, and though her dark eyes shone with fear, they glittered with another emotion — a thrill, an excited anticipation.

  She had worn a similar look a month before when she learned he knifed a swampie to death during a mission to the bayous of Louisiana. A cold sickness sprang up in the pit of his belly.

  Sky Dog shouted, "Oh-oohey!"

  Before the echoes of the cry had faded, Standing Bear heeled his pony around and galloped straight at Kane, holding the coup stick like a jousting lance. Kane pressed with his knees, and his pony obediently jumped out of the path.

  Standing Bear rode past, almost to the edge of the ring of onlookers. He reined sharply, and his pony reared up on its hind legs. He brought the animal around without its forelegs touching the ground. The crowd shouted its approval. Standing Bear acknowledged the cheers with an arrogant toss of his head.

  Kane couldn't help but marvel at the warrior's expertise. He was less a man on horseback than a centaur, the mythical half human, half beast. Standing Bear charged again, riding around Kane in lightning-swift gambados and curvets, swinging his coup stick like a reaper's scythe.

  Leaning forward, then backward, Kane barely avoided being struck and hooked. The pony responded to an involuntary squeeze of his knees. It turned and slammed into Standing Bear's mount, drawing an angry whinny from it.

  The horse staggered, and Standing Bear swayed on its back. The Indians shouted in approbation, as if Kane's maneuver had been intentional. For a moment, the two animals snapped at each other, then whirled apart. Standing Bear galloped up the field, recovering his balance.

  Straightening up, ignoring the spasm of pain in his testicles, Kane patted the bay's neck. "Good boy," he whispered, even though he didn't know if the horse was male or female.

  He glanced toward Rouch, still standing tethered. Their eyes met briefly, and he saw her expression of excitement was being supplanted by one of arousal.

  Standing Bear thundered back toward him like a sinew-and-muscle typhoon, his long hair whipping around his head. He shrilled the Lakota war cry, "Hoka-hey!"

  The horses ran at each other, circled, then hurtled around the field, Standing Bear's pony snapping viciously at the bay's rump. Kane's pony shrilled in anger and launched several back-kicks, which nearly unseated him. But the grip of his heels and knees to the rib-slatted sides of the animal was like an iron vise, and his fingers laced about the rein tightly.

  Standing Bear flailed at him with his coup stick, and he parried the blows with a loud, castanet-like clacking of wood against wood. One of the blows got through his guard and cracked smartly on his collarbone. Kane tapped with his heels, and the pony lunged away, Standing Bear following closely.

  Pounding hooves tore up great clods of turf, and grit and gravel sprayed about. Twice Kane was almost forced from his steed's back by blows from Standing Bear's coup stick. He countered by catching the crook of his opponent's staff, and tried to pull the warrior down.

  Standing Bear went with the pull, leaning close and slapping the bay hard on its rump, screaming, "Dho!"

  Kane had no idea what the word meant, but his pony evidently understood. It exploded beneath him, rearing and bucking. He felt himself slipping off its back and he had no choice but to drop his coup stick and use both hands to grip the rein and the animal's mane.

  Standing Bear kept pace, racing by his side, lashing out at him with the wooden staff, raining hard blows on his hip and shoulder.

  Pulling hard on the rope rein, Kane managed to slow his pony. Standing Bear rode past and whirled around, his painted face split by a wide grin. His eyes blazed with glee as he kicked his horse into another thundering charge.

  Kane knew the obvious option was to turn his pony and allow Standing Bear to pursue him around the field again, but that tactic would only delay the inevitable — and provide more amusement for the Indians. Out of the many things in his life he hated, being pursued, forced into the role of prey, topped the list. It didn't come naturally to him. Also, his arms and shoulders throbbed from the coup-stick blows, and a deep, boring pain radiated out from his crotch into his upper thighs.

  Leaning forward, he murmured into the bay's ear, "Screw this."

  He reined the pony to a complete halt and slid off its back, sending it trotting away with a slap and a shout. He faced Standing Bear on wide-braced legs, listening to the astonished cries of the onlookers. As the distance rapidly narrowed between the two men, Kane shucked out of his coat, not caring if his Sin Eater was seen. He stood motionless, waiting.

  An instant of uncertainty flickered across Standing Bear's paint-masked face, but his warrior's blood beat too hot for him to spare any time wondering what the wasicun might have planned. A high-pitched, warbling scream issued from his throat.

  When Standing Bear was less than two yards away, Kane flung his coat out toward the horse's head, roaring wordlessly at the top of his voice. The warrior's steed
was well trained in the game of combat, but it was still only a horse. It reacted instantly to the flapping, wind-belled coat by digging in its rear hooves and lurching to one side.

  With a gargling cry, Standing Bear catapulted forward, over his horse's head, and slammed face-first to the ground. Kane sidestepped to avoid his rolling body. All the oxygen in the man's lungs exploded out in an agonized whoof.

  The warrior's pony galloped off, and the assembled Indians raised a great shout. Kane picked up Standing Bear's coup stick and held it over his head in a gesture of victory.

  Standing Bear writhed on the ground, mouth opening and closing as he tried to drag in enough air to move his limbs and get him back on his feet. Green grass stains blended with his red face paint. He managed to push himself over onto his back, and Kane planted the blunt end of the staff against his breastbone, pressing hard.

  "Stay down, asshole," he snapped, knowing full well the warrior couldn't understand his words. He touched his holstered Sin Eater suggestively. "Stay down for a minute or stay down permanently."

  Standing Bear glared first at him, then at the weapon, and comprehension slowly dawned in his eyes. He stayed down. Angling the coup stick over a shoulder, Kane stepped back a few feet, then turned and strode toward Rouch.

  Her face was jubilant, her eyes shining like pieces of wet obsidian. "You did it." Her voice was a happy whisper. "You won me!"

  Kane said nothing as he reached over and unknotted the tether around her wrist with a single theatrical jerk. The Indians rushed onto the field, waving their arms and shouting. They didn't sound pleased.

  Rouch paid them no attention. She was too busy embracing Kane tightly, face tilted up toward his, lips parted. "Oh, Kane!"

  Roughly, he disengaged himself. "Keep your mouth shut. We're not out of this yet."

  Taking her right hand, he raised it as the angry Indians approached. He didn't see either Brigid or Auerbach among the crowd. Into the trans-comm, he whispered, "Grant?"

  "Still here," came the tense response. "I'm watching."