by Robert Adams
It was at that juncture that Hwahlis, four of his sons and a couple of other Linszee clansmen pounded up, ready for action.
“You’re all right, Aldora? Ax-Hoof sent one of his sons, Clear-Talker, to find me. He said you’d been attacked by a Blackfoot.” When she had explained matters to him, Hwahlis, too, shook his head. “Has ever a clan been gifted with such a fine and rare daughter? Furthermore, I think you may be right. The animal you describe sounds little like a Blackfoot. Except for the size, I’d say, an otter would be more what you dealt with, but I’ve never seen one longer than about four feet, including the tail. Is he still around? Can you range him?”
“Hungry one,” she broad-beamed. “Can my thoughts reach your mind? Are you still here?”
“I am hidden, two-leg,” came the response. “Have you got another sheep? I am getting hungry again. Have the bad two-legs with the sharp, hurty things gone yet?”
“They are not really bad,” she tried to reassure Lutros.
“They are!” he insisted. “I could feel their hate, and one of them sent a sharp thing at me, I heard the noise that it made.”
“They were mistaken and are now sorry, brother,” soothed Aldora. “There is a very bad creature that looks a little like you, and they thought you were one of his kind and would hurt me. Please come out, my father wants to see you.”
Lutros’ answer was flat and frightened. “No! He will hate me and try to hurt me!”
“Ask him,” suggested Hwahlis, when she had explained the creature’s quite understandable fears to the chief, “if he wouldn’t rather have a steer. There’s a sick one we passed on our way here. In his condition, he’ll never last a day’s march and the Law states that sick animals are not to be slain for food. We could drive the beast down to the pond and kill it Then, after we’ve taken the hide and horns and hooves, your acquaintance could take over.”
When she queried Lutros, he waxed enthusiastic at the prospect of several hundred pounds of meat; even so, he was still reluctant to show himself, so long as the men were about.
Telling her not to press the issue, Hwahlis had her brothers go out and drive the sick steer to a point near the upper end of the pond. With skillful speed, they butchered and flayed the beast and, after removing horns and hooves, rolled them into the hide and rejoined the group of horsemen on the crest of the slope.
Hwahlis dismounted, tossed his reins to Erl Linszee and his spear to Gairee, the youngest of his sons. Then he slung his target on his back and, retaining only saber and dirk, followed Aldora down the slope, toward the steer’s bloody carcass. Arrived, they took a stand, facing the woods, and Aldora mind-called.
“Here is your steer, brother. Won’t you please come out now, so that my father may meet you? He would be your friend, too. It was he who provided the steer.”
Gradually, foot by foot, with soothing words and comments on the excellence and quantity of the proffered meat, Aldora managed to coax the reluctant monster out of the protection of the trees and brush. Slowly, taking mincing steps, Lutros timidly forsook the brush and approached the wet, shiny carcass and his two benefactors.
“It smells so good!” he mentally drooled. “Even better than the sheep. You were right, the other two-leg does not smell of fear or of hate, either. You are good two-legs. The other two-legs only brought me goats. Will you bring me cattle often?”
“I am sorry, brother,” replied Aldora. “But we cannot, for we are leaving this place tomorrow.”
Hwahlis had never had much difficulty in mindspeaking the cats or most horses, but found that communication with this huge creature lay beyond his powers. At last, he spoke to Aldora, aloud.
“You were right, daughter-mine. Though obviously of the same tribe as the Blackfoots, he is clearly of a different clan. From those webbed hind feet and the shape of his tail, I’d say that he is truly a water animal. Of course, his smell is much akin to the Blackfoot, so I can see why he panicked your mare.”
Aldora had walked over to place an arm around the creature’s neck. At length, she said, “Father, he is sad because we are going away and there will be no one to feed him and there are but few deer left hereabouts, and in his lake no fish swim. He wants to go with us. May he?”
“Aldora,” replied Hwahlis, “well-meaning or no, the sight and smell of that creature would stampede our cattle and sheep and goats clear back to the plains; the horses, too, probably! No, I’m sorry. If I should allow it, the other chiefs would flay me alive.”
“But, Father,” wailed Aldora. “The poor thing will starve!”
Hwahlis thought for a moment. In a way, the girl was right. Between the tribesmen-hunters and the cats, any game larger than mice had been virtually exterminated within two days’ ride of Green-Walls. Also, he doubted not that a creature of this one’s size required a goodly amount of meat to keep body and soul together. But wait, there might be. . . .
Hwahlis, along with the other chiefs, had done extensive scouting of their projected line of march, as well as of a number of leagues to the north and south of it. Now he squatted in the dust — which was all that the teeth and churning hooves of the cattle had left at the edge of the pond — and, with the tip of his dirk-sheath, began to sketch a rough map on the ground.
“Child,” he addressed Aldora, “watch and listen. Then see if you can make him understand. This little creek and the ponds along it are all that remains of what was a true river, which joined an even greater river some day’s ride southeast of this place. If this creature will but follow the creek and the old riverbed, he will soon come to the big river. Tell him that there is much game along this river and many fish and water beasts in it. That big ring-tail, whose pelt Neekohl is teaching you to tan, came from the edge of that river. Tell him, also, that some say that extensive swamps flank the mouth of this river. Perhaps they house others of his kind.”
He stood and replaced his dirk on his belt. “It is the best that I can do for him, daughter. It were rankest folly for him to follow us, for he wears a fine coat and winter is coming and, did I not know he could mindspeak, I myself might be tempted to try to kill him for that fur.”
Leaving her to communicate as much of the idea as she could to the splendid creature, Hwahlis started back up the bank toward his horse and followers. He had wasted enough time today; there was much to do and little time to do it.
Aldora repeated herself until she was sure that the big creature understood her; then, bidding her new friend farewell, she rejoined the men of her clan.
Below, Lutros commenced to tear the steer apart.
* * *
Few slept in the camps around Green-Walls that night. Though all had been preparing for weeks, still were there things which needed doing. The oxen which drew the wagons and the huge, wheeled lodges of the chiefs, had to be driven in and paired and yoked; war horses must be brought in and saddled and armored, then picketed in readiness; here, an axle was discovered to have developed a crack within the last week, and it had to be removed and replaced; there, slaves of the Cat Clan and a few nomad volunteers were seeking out strayed kittens and loading them into one of the several horse-drawn wagons which would convey them; between the new moon and the thousands of fires and torches, the camps were almost as bright as day and the light glinted from steel and leather and brass and silver, as the warriors armed; there was an almost steady thrruumm in the air, as men and maidens tested bowstrings, and the shrill rasp of blade on stone, as a last honing was imparted to the edges of saber or ax. An unending caravan of men and horses wended through the splintered city gates, to return with bulging water-skins, filled at the city’s fountains — though the country they were to travel through was well-watered, old habits were hard to break. The odors of cooking breakfasts mingled with those of smoke and dust and dung and sweat and wet hide and grease and tallow and resin.
Two hours prior to dawn, the drums and fifes and trumpets of Lord Alexandros’ army joined in the cacophony and, with the first rays of the sun, the seas
oned kahtahfrahktoee trotted out of the castra followed by serried ranks of infantry, then the baggage. By the time the first of the nomads’ wagons lumbered onto the stones of the road, the condottas were two miles east: infantry stepping a mile-eating pace to the tireless beat of their drums; cavalry at van, rear and flanks; and, ahead of all, a rough crescent of nomad riders fanned on either side of the highway; a little behind, Horsekiller and his clan.
Unaware that the old man had always detested such contrivances as effete and anachronistic, Milo had presented the late Lord Simos’ best chariot to Lord Alexandros. On the march, it rolled along midway the column, loaded with water-skins. Lord Alexandros, astride a fine, chestnut gelding, rode with the knot of mercenary officers, exchanging jests and rough banter and swapping yarns of shared campaigns in times past.
21
The tribe made nearly eight miles the first day and Milo and the chiefs felt pleased. But not so Lord Alexandros. Unannounced and unaccompanied, he galloped the chestnut up, slammed out of the saddle before the animal was fully halted and stormed into Milo’s wagon-lodge a couple of hours after dusk.
Seated, cross-legged, around a bowl of wine on the thickly carpeted floor, were Milo, Mara, Blind Hari, Chief Hwil of Kuk, Chief Bili of Esmith, Chief Rahsz of Rahsz and Chief Djimi of Peerszuhn. Hari was flanked by Old-Cat and Mole-Fur, and Horsekiller crouched between Milo and Mara, now and then taking a surreptitious lap out of Milo’s cup (he had developed an unadmitted fondness for the resinous Ehleen wine).
Milo rose smiling. “Welcome, Lord Alexandros. Your presence honors my tent and our gathering.”
Exerting his iron control the strahteegos forced himself to sit and accepted a cup of the wine (and the fact that it was part of the loot of Theesispolis did nothing to improve his frame of mind).
Still smiling, Milo spoke. “All the clan smiths are hard at work, tonight, my lord. They will continue to be every night of the march, too. By the time we reach the vicinity of Kehnooryos Atheenahs, I can promise you that each and every one of your peasants will be armed, after a fashion-even if it’s only with spear, shield and helmet.”
Lord Alexandros took a deep draught of the contents of his silver cup. In a tight, restrained voice, he asked, “And how many days do you think it will take this . . . this ‘column’ to reach our objective, Lord Milos?”
Though the old nobleman possessed a mind-shield which made the reading of his thoughts impossible, even for Milo or Mara, the very restraint in his tone betrayed the force of his anger. For the nonce, however, Milo chose to ignore it, going on in the same friendly, conversational tone.
“Oh, ten days to two weeks, I should say, sir. The former, certainly, if we continue the same fast pace and make as good time as we did today.”
The last statement was too much. Lord Alexandros slammed his scarred knuckles into the carpet before him and sparks shot from his eyes. “My God, man! You call this good time? The outskirts of your camp are less than eight miles from where it was this morning! Why, I expect even fully armed infantry to make twenty miles a day — and God knows, I’ve the reputation for driving my men no harder than is necessary!”
So that’s the bone in his craw, thought Milo. He said, “Lord Alexandros, were none but our warriors involved, they’d have been nigh on to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, this night! But such is not the case. This is not — no matter how you may wish it were — a purely military movement. It is a migration! In addition to your troops and the tribe’s warriors, there are nearly eight thousands of women and children, well over a dozen hundreds of wagons, more hundreds of tent-carts, some twenty thousands horses and nearly twice that number of cattle, sheep and goats. It is because of the latter, principally, that our advance is — by your lights — slow. Cattle and sheep and goats can be driven just so far and just so fast.”
“Then I suggest they be left here or driven back to their original pasturage,” said Lord Alexandros shortly. “As I expect us to be under the walls of Kehnooryos Atheenahs in no more than three days.”
Chief Bili opened his mouth to make a sizzling retort. “No, Bili,” Milo mindspoke him. “Let me handle this.”
“Lord Alexandros,” he said to the white-haired Ehleen, “your baggage wagons carry the grain and vegetables which are your troops’ accustomed diet. My people are accustomed to a diet which consists to a large extent of dairy products, therefore the herds are their rations. You’d ask them to leave their rations behind?”
“Being without milk for a couple of weeks isn’t going to kill them!” snapped the strahteegos. “There’s always hard cheese or jerky, you know.”
“Babes and very young children, too?” questioned Milo gently. “Or aged persons, who lack teeth?”
“Well, dammit! Let them camp here,” was the old man’s tart rejoinder. “This is warfare, Lord Milos, serious business! Non-combatants have no place in it!”
“In such case, my lord,” Milo informed him, “you’d march on alone, on your own. My warriors would not leave their families camped, unprotected, in hostile territory.”
“Then . . . then . . . then let them go back to Theesispolis! They’ll be safe behind its walls.”
Scouting a column’s advance was hard, dirty, dangerous work; this Lord Alexandros knew well. It was very comforting to know that it was being done — and done well — by troops he felt no responsibility for, and he had no wish to lose the services of these expendables, simply because they felt obliged to stay with their squalling brats and their smelly women.
Milo felt it might — at this point — be impolitic to mention how little safety those same walls had afforded the former inhabitants of Theesispolis. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I could, of course, convene the Council of Chiefs, and put the question to them, but there’s no need, I can tell you their answer now.
“The tribe is migrating toward the sea. Kehnooryos Atheenahs lies in that direction. It would’ve been necessary to move the camp soon, in any case, as the area of Theesispolis is all but grazed out. If the warriors and the maidens go with you, the tribe goes with you. If the tribe goes with you, the herds go with you. It is that simple, Lord Alexandros!” Milo drained his cup and dipped it into the wine bowl.
Nonetheless, Milo did see that as little time as possible was wasted on the march. The second day, the tribe did nearly ten miles and the third saw a bit over ten covered.
By the sunset of the fourth night, they were almost halfway to the capital and, as the tribe halted, Milo passed word that the chiefs were to council before his lodge within the hour. It was a short meeting and was in the process of adjourning, when Lord Alexandros arrived. He was not alone this time. In his wake trotted a hundred fully-armed kahtahfrahktoee. His features were grim and the blaze of the fire before Milo’s lodge was no hotter than the glare from the old Ehleen’s eyes.
“Had I known you wished to attend our little conference,” Milo addressed the glowering noble, “I’d have seen that you were apprised of it, my Lord.”
Chief Hwil of Kuk strode smiling to assist his old strahteegos in dismounting. “You are right welcome, Lord Alexandros. Will you not honor my tent before you depart?”
By pressure of knee and rein, the old man danced his mount away from Kuk, saying, “Foresworn! You have sold out to these howling savages! Now you are no better than they, if ever you were. So, I’ll thank you to keep your gory hands off my horse and my person!”
“Shocked and abashed, Kuk could but stutter. “But . . . but. . .”
Amid an ominous muttering from the chiefs, Milo stepped forward. “My Lord, I know not what is now troubling you, but perhaps, if you were to dismount and come in to my lodge, we . . .”
He got no farther. Leaning forward, over the hands crossed on his pommel, Lord Alexandros said, “I only dismount to converse with equals, barbarian! I came not for conversation. I’ve heard more than enough of the yappings of you and your pack of curs, thank you! I came for justice and I mean to have it!”
At that moment,
Old-Cat-patrolling the fringes of the camp-mindspoke Milo. “Friend Milo, all the Ironshirts are spreading around the camp. The archers have arrows on strings and most of the others are lighting torches. The minds I have been able to enter are filled with thoughts of burning the camp and slaying the Kindred!”
Milo mindspoke Mara in his lodge. “Mara, it would appear that your former lover has had some change-of-heart. His cavalry are in the process of surrounding the camp at this moment, and he is raging and ranting about justice. Go out the back and raise as many warriors and maidens as you can. Fortunately, he was stupid enough to ride in here with only a hundred men. No matter what his orders to them were, I don’t think his troops will attack, knowing that his life would be the first taken — not as much as they idolize him.”
To Horsekiller, “Call up your clan, Cat Chief. Be ready to attack, but only at my word.”
But, from Lord Alexandros, Milo withheld the bulk of his knowledge for the moment, saying only, “If my Lord would deign to let me know what he is raving about, perhaps we could get to the bottom of it. However, I’ll have to request that you cease to insult my chiefs; you’re not High Lord, yet, sir, not by a long shot!”
“And, you imply,” said Lord Alexandros acidly, “that I’ll not be, without the help of you and your red-handed butchers? Is that it?”
Milo was playing for time. “I implied nothing of the sort, sir. However, since you did bring up the matter, know this: We are a loose confederation of blood-related clans. Should a chief be sufficiently provoked, there is nothing to prevent him and his clan from wreaking personal vengeance, where and on whom he sees fit!”
“Including,” snarled the strahteegos, “helpless, innocent peasants! You see, I have been apprised of your treacherous, bestial infamy, you supposedly civilized pig!”
