by Bill Fawcett
Next came the ban on killing. Since this wasn’t a raid, the villagers would put up no armed defense, so there was no reason whatsoever to kill them. Again Paralan had protested, claiming that the raiders’ right was to claim sacrifices to Skartu, but Talwe announced firmly that any who killed would die. What if the females resisted? The darkfur would not listen to any protest.
The raiders grumbled but accepted Talwe’s pronouncements. Unbelieving and unhappy, they approached the first village without enthusiasm. Talwe then went toward the village by himself. Not even a bodyguard was allowed to accompany him. He met with the elders on the outskirts of the village, and Paralan heard him insisting they be admitted as visitors. The village did not want them, but Talwe reminded them of his band’s strength.
Talwe got his way. He always got his way, Paralan was beginning to decide. And that was just as well. Each member of the band knew Talwe would kill them without mercy should he decide it was necessary.
Composed, firm, both threatening and yet somehow soothing, the darkfur talked the villagers into doing as he wished. Over and over, Paralan marveled at his powers of oration, and he wondered now if even Arklier was as good. In less than an hour the raiders were inside the village, and a feast (which he forced his disgruntled raiders to pay for) was prepared in their honor.
Next came the ban none of the highlanders could believe. Late that night, two drunken warriors staggered out of their makeshift tent. Wandering through the village, they looked through doorways until they found what they wanted. Entering a hut, they ignored the inhabitants’ protests and brought forth a young female. Back to their tent they took her, and with voices loud and mocking they ordered her to take off her clothes.
Talwe heard them. Leaping from his furs, he raced to their tent and tore it open. Too drunk to see how angry he was, and acting as they would have with Crethok, the two raiders offered to share her with him, and then they laughed and waited for their leader to join them. But when he stepped up to them, he did not smile. He ordered one warrior to free the village female and give her his purse. The astonished mrem stood gaping. Then his ruff rose and he turned to protest. Talwe threw his knife into the protesting mrem’s chest, killing him instantly. The second, who had not yet touched the girl, hurriedly threw the frightened female his purse and disappeared into the night as Talwe pulled his knife from his friend’s heart.
Standing in the shadows, Paralan shuddered. Not once had the dark-furred mrem shown any sign of anger. His fur had lain flat and his ears had stayed upright. There had not even been a twitch from his tail.
With the warriors watching, Talwe covered the female in a blanket, cut the purse off the dead raider’s harness and handed this to her as well. Then he walked with her back to her hut, speaking in soothing tones.
Returning from her hut, Talwe ordered the highlanders back to sleep. He announced that he would stand watch through the night, pointing, as he talked, with the knife that dripped blood onto the ground. They were sick, they were confused, and they did not understand what they had just seen. What they did understand was that his decisions were not to be questioned. They would not forget.
In the morning they left, actually buying food from the astonished elders. For a short while one of the village hunters had followed, then returned when it was clear the band was really leaving. The darkfur’s eyes blazed all that day, but except for his commands he spoke no word to anyone. Frightened, the clansmrem marched where he wished.
The other villages were the same. Even in the mountains, where twice the villagers forced the raiders to set up camp outside the village, the clansmrem were not allowed to attack. The darkfur ruled calmly, but beneath the calm was an enormous fury. What this fury did, simply and effectively, was to keep the clansmrem in check. Despite their displeasure, and despite their newfound distrust, none of the warriors dared to challenge Talwe—Paralan least of all.
And so they had come to this pass through the foothills. The raids had been few, and everything they had gained raiding two tiny caravans they had subsequently spent in trading with the villages for food and supplies. Even so, they had not eaten well, and the warriors were hungry and disgruntled.
“You have to talk to him,” Tarrin said. “The mrem are going to desert if things keep up this way.”
Paralan nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. “But he doesn’t want to talk, Tarrin. He never explains anything.” Nor had Jarrinon, he thought, or Crethok of course. But they were highlanders, not grasslanders. Their authority, unlike Talwe’s, was never open to question.
Tarrin stopped walking and looked around. “They’re ready,” he said of the clansmrem. “It won’t be long.” He paused. “And if they go, we will have to go with them.” He scratched his arm and added, “But after what happened to Jarrinon, and after we accepted Talwe, neither Crethok nor Arklier will welcome us back.”
That was true, Paralan thought. Only an incredible series of lies would persuade Crethok to accept them back, and by now even that was probably too late. Perhaps they could find a place with Arklier, but that, too, was doubtful. No love was lost between the two sons of Peorlias, but in matters of insubordination they would agree nevertheless.
If the raiders deserted, they would be lost.
I will approach Talwe, he thought. He must be told of the danger. Perhaps then he will become more reasonable.
He strode to the front of the cave they were camping in, where the darkfur stood alone. Talwe waited with head held high, the setting sun casting shadows that rippled across the fur on his face. His leather tunic was closed against the cold breeze, but even in this cold he did not wear boots. Perhaps later, when the snows came, he would take the soft leather boots from his pack, but for now his legs were bare from the middle of his calves to the bottom of his feet. Highlanders wore boots all year around, and Paralan shivered when he saw the darkfur’s feet.
He pulled up beside him. “I would talk with you,” he said, and the leader turned toward him.
When Talwe said nothing, Paralan continued. “The clansmrem are dissatisfied,” he said as calmly as he could. “There is a danger that they will desert.” He had thought of being less direct, but he seemed to have no control when the words came. Expecting anger, he was surprised at Talwe’s calm.
“I know,” the darkfur said, his head nodding almost imperceptibly. And then he added, “Tell them they are free to leave.”
“You are their leader,” Paralan protested. “They chose you to lead them.” He was agitated at Talwe, and his words were not gentle.
“I have led them,” Talwe countered. “But they do not like where.” There was no understanding in his voice. It was almost as if he resented the necessity of having to talk with the clansmrem.
Paralan spat on the ground. “When they—we—agreed to serve you, we thought you would lead us on raids against the merchants, raids against the villages. That is what we know, Talwe. That is what we have been trained to do. Crethok....”
“Crethok is not here,” Talwe cut in. “His purposes differ from mine.” Stopping, he turned to Paralan and repeated, “Tell them they are free to leave. Where we go would serve them well, but I will take no mrem with me who would question what I do.”
The clansmrem watched the darkfur. He meant it. He simply did not care if the mrem stayed or left. This was so different from Crethok’s insistence on obedience that the response was unsettling to the highlander. Nurtured in subservience, Paralan said nothing at all. Wondering why mrem followed Talwe, why he would stay, he simply left his leader’s side, shaking his head slowly. With his head hung low and tail drooping, Paralan walked back toward the others. When he told them the darkfur’s words, Tarrin threw up his arms in disgust.
“Is that his idea of a command?” Tarrin asked. “That isn’t a command. It isn’t even a suggestion.” He paused, shaking with anger. “What are we supposed to do now?” his voice quivered.
Tarrin calmed his voice and suggested, “Of course, we don’t have to decide at all.” He looked around. “At least, not yet.” Facing Paralan, he added, “We could just wait to see what he is planning.” Then, resignedly, “We have nowhere to go in any case. What do we have to lose?”
Paralan laughed softly. “Nothing,” he said, and he began to walk away from his comrades.
“We’ll wait,” Tarrin said to the mrem who stood watching. “If he still does nothing, we’ll all leave.”
What he didn’t say, what he was sure none of them understood, was that they would leave under his command. His own clan had always been small and with little honor. Unlike the darkfur, he would know what to do. He would raid, he would steal, and he would fight what battles he could find. With each victory mrem would hurry to join him. He would gather all the warriors he could find, until at last he could challenge the reign of the ClanMrem. No longer would the clan be weak.
Then Tarrin glanced at the enigmatic figure outlined in the light of the setting sun. For now he would wait.
•
The wait was short.
Late that afternoon, with the autumn sun throwing its last light over the foothills, Talwe’s band climbed a tall hill and saw over the crest the wagons of a caravan. It was headed west into the grasslands, perhaps then to Surisa or even southwest to Ar. As a late-year caravan it would be filled with goods to exchange for grain, produce, and perhaps salted meat, and if it came from a city its haul would be valuable. When Paralan saw it, he looked at Talwe, who stared down from the tree-lined hilltop.
The wagons numbered nine. If all eight were filled with trade goods (the ninth being the supply wagon), the take would be huge. But as always with caravans of this size, the guards were plentiful. Paralan counted twenty-four, and more could well be hidden from sight in the wagons. Against the eighteen remaining clansmrem, nineteen including the darkfur, such a number was practically impossible to defeat. Not only were most caravan guards well-trained as fighters, they knew how to use their wagons for protection.
Paralan waited. Like Tarrin and the others, he had no idea what to expect. If this plan was too foolish they would act as if starting to obey and then disappear into the darkness and meet at the cave. Even the darkfur couldn’t challenge all of them at once. He wondered if the troubled mrem they followed cared, if he would even bother to follow if they deserted him.
Talwe stood motionless behind a gnarled stump as the caravan worked its way through the hills in the semi-darkness. By this time of day the uxen would be weary, and Paralan knew the caravan must soon stop and camp. If the band was to strike, this was the perfect time.
Turning, Talwe strode back toward the clansmrem. His gold eyes caught the failing sun eerily, and he appeared so strange that if he had ordered them to lie down and sleep no mrem would have disputed him. But he didn’t. Instead, with a voice both calm and cold, he said to the raiders, “The wagons are ours.” He turned back up the hill, and Paralan looked at Tarrin and smiled.
Finally, after all this waiting, something was about to happen. The only questions now were what and when?
Talwe returned. “We will not attack,” he said, and once more the clansmrem looked angry, Tarrin more than the others.
“There are twenty-six guards,” their leader went on to explain. “If we attack, we will certainly lose. You are skilled, but they have the advantage.” Paralan smiled to himself. What Talwe was saying any clansmrem would understand.
Talwe looked straight at him. “Take five mrem,” he ordered. “Go quickly and quietly up the hill behind the wagons. I will lead the others toward the caravan, but instead of attacking we will draw the guards away. When I signal, fall on the merchants and the cooks and overcome them.” He paused, then added, “Kill them only if you must. I have a need for some alive.”
Paralan nodded vigorously. “What will the signal be?” he asked.
The darkfur looked to his left. “I will shout the Cry of the Kill,” he explained. “You do not know it, but you will not mistake it.” He paused in thought. “When you gain control of the caravan, lead the uxen south, the way they were headed. Make enough noise so that the guards will hear you. When they see the caravan moving, they will be forced back to protect it. As soon as they turn, we will attack them from behind.
“Now, go,” he ended, and he strode back up the hill to watch the caravan approach.
As Talwe walked away, Paralan realized that once more their leader had shown no emotion. His plan had merit, but he had presented it as if they were simply gathering strayed uxen. Nothing about the darkfur gave any hint he might even be excited—might care that some of them would soon die. And more damnably, the plan should work. With the merchants as hostages, the guards would be unable to act.
•
With Tarrin and four others, Paralan slipped past the wagons. With the sun almost completely set, and the guards evidently concentrating on getting the caravan through the pass before setting up camp, the clansmrem were in no danger of being spotted. Raised in the mountains, and expert at using the rocks and trees as cover and as aid, the highlanders climbed silently up the steep slope. Stopping behind a row of gold sporass, they looked across to Talwe’s hill and waited for the raid to begin.
Minutes later, Talwe appeared. Leading a group of four clansmrem, he descended the hill toward his left, while another group of five walked down the hill to the right. In the middle stood three archers with their bows bent, ready to shoot on command. As the small groups split further apart, Paralan silently questioned Talwe’s tactics. As the two groups of bandits sauntered toward the wagons, he wondered why every mrem followed him down the hill.
In the half-light of the three moons, Paralan could see Talwe pause. His shout filled the narrow valley. Seconds later, the three archers fired. Their arrows thudded into the ground well short of any target, but the sound of the bows in the night, combined with Talwe’s brief shout, served their purpose well. All of the guards jumped away from the caravan, drawing their swords and bows.
Quickly and efficiently, the guards deployed. Two groups of four spread out to the flanks, while two groups of five formed a center with a small gap between. Staggered behind them stood a second line, comprised of the remaining eight guards, and like the others they advanced at their leader’s command.
The clansmrem’s arrows rang once more. This time, Talwe’s group followed the firing with a short charge to the guards’ right flank. But the darkfur stopped before the battle was joined. The surprised guards staggered to a halt, confused by his tactics.
The highlanders’ other group of swordsmrem did the same. Again, the result was surprise. The guards were off balance now, their expectations dashed by Talwe’s unusual fighting stance, and Paralan could see them looking to their leader for their orders.
Again Talwe feinted, moving first forward, then away, drawing the guards further from the wagons. Arrows flew, but Talwe stayed far enough away so that none struck home. Then the other group performed its feint, and Paralan looked down at the wagons. Eight mrem watched from behind them, their backs fully exposed to the raiders on the mountainside, and none of the eight was armed with more than a dagger.
Suddenly, Talwe screamed. Around the valley his voice echoed; its sorrow and its longing stunned Paralan. In it he heard both victory and defeat, both comfort and fear. For a moment he could not think, because suddenly he needed a means to escape. To escape from the pain in that voice.
But then he knew it. This was the Cry of the Kill. “Now!” he purred just loudly enough to be heard, and the six mrem on the mountainside leaped from the sporass and raced through the rocks down toward the wagons.
They knocked all
eight unconscious with their fists and the flats of their swords. Tarrin stabbed his first opponent in the back and Paralan had to prevent him from doing the same to a cringing teamster. Then it was over. Quickly, while the others threw the unconscious merchants into the nearest wagon, Paralan raced to the caravan’s lead wagon, and grabbing the uxen’s harness he began to hurry it along the trail. For a minute the stubborn beasts resisted, but Paralan soothed them with his voice. Finally the wagon rolled. The uxen pulling the other driver-less wagons followed out of habit.
Paralan shouted to the others. “Faster!” he screamed, watching for the guards’ reaction. It was immediate.
Turning around quickly, the leader of the guards bellowed orders at his mrem. “The wagons!” he shouted. “Back to the wagons!”
As soon as they had obeyed, Talwe’s mrem charged, both groups uniting to attack first one of the scurrying flank groups and then the center.
Then they broke through to the wagons. The guard captain had fallen in the center, but his sergeant tried to rally the remaining mrem. Before they could charge, Talwe dragged an unconscious merchant out of a wagon. He said nothing, just stood there holding the dagger to the mrem’s throat.
This merchant must not have been popular, or the three guards who kept charging simply didn’t notice. They kept coming until five times their number met them at the edge of the wagons.
Within minutes, it was over. Confused, surprised, and disorganized, the remaining guards backed off. Eight guards remained, and finally Talwe called upon them to surrender. At a barked order, most simply turned and disappeared into the night. Two remained behind, moving cautiously toward the wagons. As they approached, their coloring betrayed they had at least some highland ancestry. Paralan gestured for them to drop their swords and then went forward to meet them. He returned after a few minutes of agitated discussion to explain they wished to join Talwe’s band. When one of the raiders recognized one of the guards as a clansmrem banished for besting Crethok in a duel, Talwe accepted them. One clansmrem only lay dead on the field, and another was wounded but would heal.
