Neta and Hashi kept their noses in the wind, staying beside the humans. The rest of the dyheli spread out all around them, for they were on foot, deciding that it would be better for the humans to present less of themselves above the grass as targets.
It was Kuari who sounded the warning, before they were a quarter of the way across the vast meadow—but through Kuari’s eyes, Darian saw that the hunting party drawing cautiously towards the meadow wore the emblem of the Snow Fox.
“It’s Snow Fox!” he shouted, and got into the saddle of the nearest dyheli, the rest no more than a fraction of a moment behind him.
Hywel, on Neta, took the lead; although he was riding on an unfamiliar animal, he wore the familiar clothing of another Northerner, and more, he carried with him a token from the Snow Fox women and children and the young warriors still with Ghost Cat. Darian let him race ahead of them; when he came close enough, he dismounted and finished his approach on foot. At that distance, he and the others were no more than dots against the shadow of the trees, but through Kuari’s eyes Darian saw that the meeting was going very well indeed. With that as encouragement, he led the rest on at a brisk lope.
By the time they reached Hywel and the hunting party, Hywel and the strangers were acting like old acquaintances. This was a party of young men his own age, which certainly helped, and the faces that they turned to the approaching riders were friendly and smiling.
But they soon sobered after the introductions were made and the initial excitement of the meeting died down. “We must make a kill and return quickly,” the leader of the hunting party said, with a nervous glance to the east. “We are too near to Wolverine territory....”
They didn’t elaborate, and Darian figured that questions could wait until later. “We will help,” he offered. “We should not come to your home empty handed, after all.”
The Snow Fox hunters were too young to hide their skepticism well, but politely said nothing. But of course the moment that Darian had offered his help, he, Wintersky, and Steelmind had sent off their birds to scout for those deer that they had frightened off earlier.
:Kel!: he called upward. :These are Snow Fox hunters; they need to make some kills and get out of here. When the birds find those deer, can you help out?:
:Hah! Easily!: cane the cheerful reply. :I will dive at them so that they run toward you—it will be your task to see that at least one or two do not get by you!:
Kreeak located the deer at just that moment, and Kel gave them time enough to get back across the meadow and in place before he began his flush. Darian felt his blood begin to heat and his heart speed up as they approached their ambush point.
“I beg your indulgence,” he said carefully. “But there will be a herd of deer running here in a moment—will you make ready?”
Now the hunters exchanged thinly veiled looks of amusement. Of course they were amused. This was their land, and they knew the habits and movements of the animals here; how could strangers presume to predict that a herd of deer would come through a particular place?
Nevertheless, they were polite young men, and they did indulge this ridiculous foreigner. So when, after a short period of waiting, the herd of deer did come charging through the trees as if a terrible enemy was on their heels, they were understandably startled. Only two or three of them actually got shots off, and of those, only one hit.
Darian and the rest, of course, knew exactly when Kel spooked the deer—and knew that Kel had managed another of his infamous double-kills as well. Small wonder that the deer fled!
Darian and Wintersky targeted the same deer that the Snow Fox hunter had hit, and the three of them brought it down. Shandi held her fire, as did Steelmind; Hywel brought down a fourth deer by himself. That was more than enough to make them welcome at the Snow Fox village.
One for Kel, three for us; that’s generous enough. Darian signaled to Wintersky and Steelmind to come with him; they found Kel with his two prizes, terribly proud of himself.
“Hah! Did I not tell you!” he shouted happily, holding his head high, his eyes shining. “I am asss good asss my worrrd!”
“Indeed you are,” Darian laughed. “Would you like us to wrap it up, or will you eat yours here?”
“Sssome of both,” Kel replied. “You will clean and drresss them herrre, yesss? Why wassste good food? I want sssome marrow, too.”
So as Darian and the others gutted and dressed the deer, bundling the meat into the hides, Kel gobbled up the entrails and other parts they would normally have left behind. The dyhelis flared their nostrils in distaste at the scent of blood, but permitted their riders to load the bundles up behind their saddles. Their attitude toward deer hunting was remarkably pragmatic considering that they looked so much like dyheli. They didn’t like it, but they didn’t actually object to it. The general attitude seemed to be, “better them than us.”
While they proceeded with the messy business of butchering, Darian Mindspoke to Neta, the dyheli doe. :Neta, could you ask Hywel to carefully explain Kel
to the Snow Fox hunters for me?: he asked, once he had established contact with her.
:Hmm, yes, I think he had better,: was the thoughtful reply. :I shall try to help him.:
When Darian and the others rejoined the rest, Kel came along with them, walking sedately on the ground rather than making one of his spectacular flying entrances. Darian hoped that Hywel and Neta had managed to “explain” Kel adequately.
Then again, knowing the dyheli doe, she would have no compunction whatsoever about invading their hosts’ minds and making certain that they wouldn’t panic when they first sighted the gryphon.
He had some qualms about that. More than a few.
Should I have forbidden her to do any such thing? He could have done that, but that didn’t mean she’d obey him. Dyheli had their own code of behavior, one that set the good of the herd above that of any individual, and that meant she would do whatever she thought was in the interest of her “herd,” in this case, the entire group she was with. She would dispassionately disobey orders, and lie to him about it. Of all the known creatures with Mindspeech, only the dyheli could lie successfully when using it.
There was no way to compromise with his conscience. He could only accept what happened and try to make up for it afterward.
Whether Neta had a hand in it or not, when they came out of the forest and into the sunlight, although the Snow Fox hunters looked a bit nervous to see Kel, they didn’t seem frightened. “This is our friend Kelvren,” Darian said carefully. “He has made two kills of his own, and wishes to present one of them to Snow Fox as thanks for your hospitality.”
Kel glanced longingly at the piles of offal laid to the side, but immediately turned his attention back to the hunters. “I am honorrrred to make thiss gift,” he said, with a graceful bow, and a broad gesture of his taloned forefoot.
“It is we who are honored by your generosity,” the chief hunter said bravely. “And—ah—are your tastes similar to those of the hunting birds? If so, would you care to take your choice of the—remains—before we leave this place?”
Darian was extremely pleased and a bit surprised by this display of tact and thoughtfulness. And it argued powerfully for the notion that Neta had only helped to explain Kel’s appearance, and had not taken charge of the hunters’ minds.
“Yesss!” Kel exclaimed. “And I thank you!”
The hunters tactfully looked the other way as Kel pounced upon the pile of discards with relish; watching a gryphon eat was something that took getting used to. It was all too easy to imagine what else that cruel beak and talons could do.
He made very short work of the meal—which was indeed a full meal even by a gryphon’s standards—and they were shortly on their way.
With the meat that would ordinarily have burdened them loaded on the backs of dyheli, the hunters set off at a lope that made conversation impossible. Very clearly they wanted to be gone from this place, and quickly, too. Darian longed to ask them why, but
knew that he would have to wait.
Whatever the answer was, though, he was fairly sure that it had to do with the Wolverine tribe—and that it would not be good news for them.
Fifteen
Reisha wasn’t the only one who felt the relief in the hunters as they crossed some invisible line into “safe” territory. They slowed their pace to a trot from what had very nearly been a run; they began to talk among themselves and even make occasional comments to their guests. And at last they finally looked back at the laden dyheli with the satisfaction and anticipation such a fine take of venison warranted.
She decided to talk to one of the young men herself, and asked her mount to take her up to the front of the group. She “picked” the first one that looked over at her and smiled, thinking it would be easier to approach someone who showed some friendliness from the beginning rather than trying to coax a reaction out of someone determined to keep a stony visage.
“How much farther do we go to reach your home?” she asked him, thinking that would be an easy way to begin a conversation, and grateful that they had all learned the Snow Fox dialect via dyheli before they left k’Valdemar.
“Not far,” the young man told her; he couldn’t be much older than Hywel, and was possibly younger. “We are within the range of our sentries now,” he added. And that was a curious addition, or so it seemed to Keisha. Why should that matter to her?
Unless he is reassuring me that no one can move upon his village without warning, she thought soberly. Like a war party from this Wolverine tribe, perhaps?
Their journey had brought them right up to the foot of the mountains, and soon it was evident that they were about to enter a kind of side valley, a cleft with steep cliffs on either side and a small, clear stream meandering along the base of the cliff on the left. If the village had not originally been situated with defense in mind, the setting certainly provided as much shelter as if protection had been a major consideration from the beginning.
Defensive cliffs, a water supply—the only thing they would lack if they came under siege would be food, and if they’ve stored enough, they might be all right.
“This is our valley,” the young hunter said proudly. “It has been the home of our tribe from the time of my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather. The Snow Fox himself led us here, as the Snow Fox told our Shaman to send our sick to Ghost Cat, and then led our sick ones on the journey.”
Ah? They didn’t say anything about that back at the Sanctuary. But then again—they might assume we already knew something of the sort must have happened in order for them to find us at all. It seemed that the tribal spirits of these northerners took a very paternal (or was it maternal?) interest in their titular tribes.
:And the other deities of you humans do not?: came the impudent query from her dyheli.
:Other deities have a great many more people to oversee, and rarely go so far as to personally lead their followers
to help or safety,: she pointed out wryly. :Perhaps it is easier when your worshipers number less than a hundred to intervene directly in their lives.:
“I am called Bendan,” the hunter continued diffidently, looking up at her, but not meeting her eyes directly. “May I know your name, Wisewoman?”
Hywel had found a way to get the tribesmen to grant both Keisha and Shandi better status than “merely female.” Keisha was always introduced as the Wisewoman, and Shandi as something that translated as “woman whose soul is a man.” Apparently there were a few female warriors in the history of the tribes, and they’d had to come up with a category to fit them into. “Man-souled women” who passed the boys’ initiation trials could become hunters and warriors, but they sacrificed the traditional role of “wife and mother” in order to attain that status. They were considered neither male nor female—rather like the Shin‘a’in Sword-Sworn, in a way.
At any rate, that was Shandi’s role, and she went along with it, since taking on that persona at least allowed her to sit at the Men’s Fire with the rest of the party, and not suffer a lonely exile to the company of the clan’s women.
It said something for the status of Wisewoman that Bendan gave Keisha his name. A “mere woman” would have had to learn it obliquely, by overhearing it or learning it from one of her friends, for he would never have addressed her directly if she had not had that rank.
“I am called Keisha,” she said. “Has Snow Fox a Wisewoman of their own, or does the Shaman conduct all healing?”
“We have only the Shaman, and he has no healing magic—that is why the Snow Fox sent to us to take our sick into the south,” Bendan said eagerly. “Have you been sent by the Fox to teach our Shaman in the ways of southern healing?”
:Boy’s a quick one, isn’t he?: chuckled the dyheli.
“I have; your people reached us safely, as you know, and I came in answer to your need,” she replied solemnly, taking the question as the gift it was. “That we bear trade goods is as a protection, so that others will not interfere with our passage.”
“It is wise—though I do not think it would avail you with Wolverine,” he replied, then shrugged and changed the subject, trotting along at her stirrup with no sign of effort. “We have some sick still with us; too ill to travel. I hope you will be able to help them.”
“I hope so, too,” she said sincerely.
When they reached the village, it was apparent that this was a permanent enclave, unlike some of the other hunting camps they had visited. Here were the familiar log houses, decorated and carved, roofed with slabs of bark; the characteristic poles stood prominently before each house with totemic animals and spirit representations carved into them. Even more than at Ghost Cat, there were piecework blankets on display, made of felted and dyed fur, and the costumes of the inhabitants were covered with embroideries made with tufts of dyed fur.
It was clear that this was a prosperous tribe; it was also clear that the invisible sentries had already alerted the Chief and Shaman that visitors were being escorted in. Women and children clustered at the entrances to the log houses—craning their necks and strairting their eyes for a good look at the strangers, but also ready to bolt inside at a hint that there was something amiss. The Chief and Shaman marched forward to meet them, surrounded by armed warriors older and more experienced than the young hunters.
Hywel bounded from his saddle, and together with Bendan, came forward to speak with the leaders of Snow Fox. He displayed the token that the Snow Fox folk back in Valdemar had given them, and soon the faces of those around him were relaxed, even smiling. The warriors lowered their weapons, and with that sign that all was well, the women and children began to ease closer.
The Shaman headed straight for Keisha once the formalities were over; she dismounted rather than tower over him as he approached. Gray-haired and bearded, he was a handsome old fellow by anyone’s standards, with strong features and lively eyes. Knot-work was layered down the front edges of his mantle, with points of antler serving as closures alternating from side to side. The colors picked for the tufting between the antler tips exactly matched his eyes.
“Wisewoman Keisha, I am Shaman Henkeir Told-True. I am warmed to see your presence. May your spirits bless you for coming to us!” he exclaimed, seizing her hand. “The Chief’s woman and children are ill, as are several more, too ill to send to Ghost Cat with the others, and I have had no success with them. The Snow Fox told me I must wait for a healer out of the south—”
“Bendan told me,” she replied, clasping the old man’s hand. “Is it the Wasting Sickness? Summer Fever?” Those were both names for the same illness, the disease that struck the channels that carried the commands of the mind to the body, causing weakness and paralysis.
“Nay, it is something else, another new sickness out of the times of evil magic and heartsick skies; something that chokes the breath but does not weaken the muscles. So short of breath are they that we dared not send them over-mountain, for the mountain sickness would have killed them. When they move wit
h any forcefulness at all, they become unable to breathe, but they cannot stay completely still,” he told her, and she felt a little thrill of excitement, though she immediately was ashamed of being excited at someone else’s misfortune. Still—the prospect of seeing something new—
“Let us go to them, and I will see what may be done,” she said instantly. “All else can wait.”
The old man’s eyes lit up. “Hah! You are a true Wisewoman!” he exclaimed, leading her to think that perhaps he had encountered those who had not been as dedicated to their duty. “Come, and I will show you.”
The sick folk had been isolated from the others in a separate log house. Although there were no windows, the roof had actually been propped up here and there to provide fresh air and ventilation. But the patients were bundled up near the fire, all of them weak, feverish, and thin. An effort had been made, using thick slabs of bark set upright in an overlapping-edged ring, to make sure that the smoke from the central fire was at a minimum; nevertheless, there was constant deep coughing coming from nearly everyone around the fire.
The Shaman told the stricken ones who this strange woman was, and in response there were murmurs of relief between rasps and coughing fits. Keisha examined the child nearest to her at the Shaman’s urging, opening her shields and sinking her awareness deep into the body before her.
It didn’t take her long to identify what was wrong—and it was a disease new to her, something that lived in the lungs, scarring them and turning them from a healthy honeycomb to a useless solid mass. But for all its toughness, for all that it was, if unchecked, absolutely deadly, it was no match for the forces she could wake in the body of its host with her power. It thrived because it walled itself off from those forces with scar tissue; she could break that wall down.
She gave the child a good first treatment before she emerged from her Healing trance, to see the Shaman staring at her with intense interest. “Have you the mastery of this magic?” she asked him. “The way of seeing inside the body, and going to war with sickness?”
Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight Page 26
