Skeen's Leap

by Clayton, Jo;

  THE ADVANTAGE OF THE HIGH GROUND.

  or

  WHAT A HANDY THING IT IS TO HAVE WINGS.

  Because he didn’t have a Pallah form yet and might never have one (which made riding a karynx decidedly awkward), Chulji volunteered to fly watch over Ravvayad, flitting back at intervals to let Skeen know what was happening. The Kalakal assassins sat patiently in their copses until half the morning had passed, then they filed into the middle of the road and stood arguing for a while; eventually they walked back toward Karolsey until they reached the place where Skeen and the others had stood waiting for Chulji’s scouting report. Three kept on going, vanishing through the gate. One dropped to his hands and knees and moved his head in circling darts, sniffing out their trail. He followed it a short way, got to his feet and came back. The three stood silent in the road and waited until one of the others came through the Esher Gate riding a karynx and leading three more. Then with three mounted and one tracking, changing the tracker every hour, they started after the Companions.

  By the time the four Ravvayad circled back to the road it was almost sundown. They rode hard until their mounts were stumbling with fatigue, then made camp, graining and watering and rubbing down the karynxes before fixing themselves a cold meal. Chulji left them chewing stolidly on dried meat and hard biscuits, washing these down with drafts of water they fetched from the river.

  In the other camp, some twenty stads ahead of the Kalakal, the Aggitj divided the night into four watches and drew straws to determine who would sleep when. After introducing a very nervous Britt as a friend, the Boy set the Beast to prowling the trees around them.

  There was no disturbance of any kind that night.

  Bright clear dawning, turning to a warm rather windy day. They rode past rich farmland. There were few houses visible yet they were seldom alone in the landscape—drovers watching herds, women washing clothes beside the river, and men, women, and children working in the fields. Most straightened (glad of the excuse to rest weary backs) to wave at the travelers and call out greetings.

  Toward the end of the day they passed from croplands to grazing lands, low rounded swells covered with a short succulent grass. The road began to tilt upward and lose its identity as a road. By the time they camped for the night (having made another forty stads; the karynx lope was effortless and slightly faster than a similar gait in a horse), they had gained ground on the Kalakal because their pursuers had to let their mounts rest and recover from the hard work of the first day; part of every hour they slid from the saddle and walked beside the karynxes.

  Another quiet night.

  By midday they were deep into the foothills, taking a lesson from the Chalarosh and trotting part of the time at the stirrup so the karynxes would have the energy for a run if that was needed. Chulji reported that the followers were making up time because they were still on a relatively flat stretch of road while the Company was dealing with steep rises and sudden drops and a pathway that was so unused that only Britt knew exactly where it was. Some distance below them the river whispered noisily about the rocks in its bed and on the other bank mists and clouds of insects rose from the swamplands stretching out to the horizon without many breaks in the low wide-spreading trees, with only the occasional glint of water among the cottony green. The land seemed empty, but Britt was much more alert now; Timka shifted also and scouted the land ahead of them while Chulji kept a close watch on the Kalakal. Timka flew back to report she’d seen five other persons moving on the mountain slopes ahead, widely scattered, none of them anywhere near the river. “Trappers,” Britt said. “Maybe miners. Maybe just some wilders out hunting for their next meal.”

  When they stopped to camp, Pegwai was exhausted and had knots in his muscles that kept him sitting still and silent for his pride’s sake. If he moved too suddenly, he’d groan and give way. Skeen watched him sweat for a few minutes, then shook her head and got to her feet. “Whenever Tibo visited some of his family, he came back like that,” she said. “Friend of mine, trained as a tumbler and juggler when he was a boy; tried to be a boy again, showing off for the family. On your stomach, Scholar.” She bent over him, squeezed his shoulder. “Only therapeutic, I promise,” she murmured. “Company manners.”

  That night Skeen was restless, very tired. Too tired to sleep, she told herself—both of us, she told herself when she heard Pegwai shifting about too often. Thinking about Tibo was a mistake, she told herself, and this time it was true. Thinking about Tibo fed the ache of need in her and the pain. That and the nearness of the event that would free her from this world or keep her here forever. What she’d told Pegwai about searching further, if there were no Ykx at Lake Sydo or if those Ykx proved uncooperative, that was moon-dreaming, talking to keep her spirits from sagging so low she couldn’t get out of bed or eat or do anything but sleep or gloom. Fifteen days Britt said. Three gone. Small creaks and rustles as Pegwai turned over again. Sleep, old friend, you need it. Take your own advice, Skeen, another night like this and you’ll be a rag. Peg. Peg. Peg. She wanted him and didn’t want, was afraid of wanting. More terrified than she’d been the first time she’d slipped alone into a warehouse going after empty flakes and domp boards, a combination of terror and desire that churned her insides to mush that threatened to run out her toes.

  An hour or so before dawn Ravvayad came creeping around the camp, trying to get close enough for a clean shot at the Boy. This wasn’t the desert they knew, this land was too lush for them. They weren’t accustomed to working through slender shivering trees and crackly brush, they had sloughed their robes, wore only weapon harness and loincloth; but even so their clothing snagged on branches, their feet seemed to seek out small dry branches and crunch them with crackles loud enough to wake the dead. They didn’t make one quarter the noise they thought, but it was enough. Domi heard the rustles, his not-hair picked up their body heat. He turned slowly trying to locate them. Out in the darkness the Beast hissed and spat. Domi gave a shout, loosed a quarrel from his crossbow into the center of the loudest sound, clawed the bowstring back and shot again. Then the guard was beside him, holding out his bow. Domi took it, shot a third time while the guard laid in another quarrel. He held the bow out, but Domi shook his head. “Gone,” he said, then pointed as the Beast came trotting into the small dell, smugness dripping off his small body. They watched him snuggle up against the Boy.

  The moment the alarm sounded, Pegwai and the other Aggitj rolled from their blankets and leaped to stand in a circle about the Boy, Skeen on her feet, darter out. They all relaxed as the Beast sighed and flattened himself against the Boy’s side. Timka shifted from her cat-weasel form, spoke softly to Chulji, who took to the air a moment later, a night-owl on silent wings. She pulled on the loose robe she was wearing on this leg of the trip (it made quick shifts simpler) and belted it about her. “Chulji’s up,” she said. “He’ll watch them back to where they’re stopping.”

  Dawn, pink in gray; breakfast fire, coals more black than red. Skeen emptied her mug, handed it to Ders for washing. “Britt, tell me about the land ahead. It’s time I started working on the Ravvayad.”

  “No!” Timka leaned over the fire, hand out, reaching toward Skeen. “No. You stay with us.”

  Skeen looked startled. “What?”

  Timka folded her hands in her lap. “It’s easy. I’ve been thinking about this. Ji and I can put them on foot. Spook the karynxes from under them. We have to get close, but we can do it under cover, where there are trees—tall ones, get away while they’re picking themselves up. It’s not so dangerous that way. Besides, the Beast and Domi took out one of them and Domi scratched another and they spent most of the night catching up with us. Without karynxes they won’t have a hope of catching us. It’s not so dangerous, don’t you see?”

  Skeen smoothed a finger across her lips, frowned at the fire. Pegwai watched them both, saying nothing. The guide was back among the trees, detached from all this, watching with cool interest. The Aggitj and the Boy bustled ab
out getting the breakfast things washed, the gear packed and loaded on the karynxes, leaving the planning and all the arguing to the others. Skeen watched the fire die a while longer, then she looked up. “It won’t stop them,” she said. “They’ll find other mounts.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither will they.”

  “Don’t discount luck. Bona Fortuna is a capricious dame, she can conjure life out of stone for them if she chooses.”

  “Whatever happens, we’ll slow them down. Do it again if Bona Fortuna kisses them. They can’t stop us. Even if they suspect us, they can’t shoot down every bird in the sky and we can stay out of bowshot while we’re watching them, get away quick once we’ve hit them, hit them any time we want as long as we’re careful.”

  Skeen gazed at her, gave her a long slow smile. “Point taken.” She got to her feet. “Hal?”

  “Saddled up, gear stowed, ready to go, Skeen ka.”

  Pegwai grunted onto his feet. “Do you realize how sharp that backbone is? Comes right through the leather.” He sighed. “I’m ready, I suppose. No use putting it off any longer.”

  “Timmy?”

  “If you must, Skeen, will you please please make it Ti? I’m flying today, I’ll see you come the noon halt.” She stepped out of her robe, shifted to hawk and swept up out of the dell.

  Skeen frowned after her, a look both speculative and amused, then she swung into the saddle. “Let’s go.”

  Noon halt. “They crawled back to their camp,” Chulji said, speaking through a mouthful of cheese and raisins and the contortions of his mouthparts that were the Min-Skirrik equivalent of a broad grin. “A nush or two later, one of them goes riding back toward Karolsey. All hunched over he was. You plunked him good, Domi, shoulder or back. The other two ate and then they rolled up in their blankets and took a nap; they woke up about an hour ago and started coming after us. They’re way way back and not coming fast.”

  “How long before they catch us again?”

  “Well, hard to say. Unless we waste an awful lot of time, not before dawn, even if they ride all night, um, probably even if they really pushed the karynxes. I’ll watch them some more, but I don’t think they’re going to try.”

  Skeen turned to Timka. “Then I say wait. Leave them alone for a while. Two reasons. We’re setting up a pattern—we ride and try to increase the distance between the two parties, defend ourselves if attacked, but we don’t go after them. That way they will be the more surprised when you hit them; your job will be easier, safer. And, though they don’t know it, they’re acting like rear guards back there, keeping the locals off our backs.” She flicked the end of her nose, laughed. “I wonder if they realize that.”

  “I’ll keep watching them, Skeen.” Chulji rose and fluttered away.

  “And I’ll keep hunting out ambush points.” Timka rose, dropped her robe, and fluttered away.

  “Min,” Skeen said. “I thought I was getting used to them.”

  Pegwai walked beside her to her mount. “Timka is very different now.”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes blank. “I was thinking that this morning. I’m not sure any more. Maybe she knows.” She swung into the saddle, gazed down at him. “More knots?”

  “Not so far, Lifefire be blessed.” He stroked his hand along her leg, smiled up at her. “I suppose it’s as well we stick to company manners.”

  “Damn you, Peg.” Half-irritated, half-laughing, she clucked the karynx into a walk.

  On the fifth day out, the pair of Ravvayad were still trailing over a dozen stads behind and showing no real interest in catching up.

  Two hours before sundown, Timka came darting back, dropped to the ground in front of Skeen and melted to the naked form of the woman they knew. Skeen threw her the robe and she slipped into it. “Trouble ahead,” Timka said. She tied the belt with a sharp jerk of the ends. “Waiting for us, about half a stad. Nemin—a general mix, wearing rags and leather, long shaggy hair; those with hair, beards, about two-thirds are Pallah. No Chalarosh, some Nagamar males, one Aggitj, the rest are Balayar and rogue Funor. Two with longbows, otherwise spears and knives. One has something that looks like a saber. I think but can’t be sure others have slings and whips. About a score of men all told. But there was a lot of growth around, trees and brush, so I’m not really sure about numbers. Place seems to be molded for ambushes. Steep slope left side, cranky going, ravines, scree that looks unstable, lot of brush with thorns. Right side, sort of leaning cliff. The only clear path lies along a narrow stone lip that hangs over the river. If we want to keep following the river, we have to take that lip.”

  Britt nodded. “I know that place, more blood spilled there than on a butcher’s ground. At least twenty?”

  “Yes. Spread along about two hundred paces.”

  “Standard tactics—they mean to let us pass, then close both ends of the lip, spook the karynxes over the edge, cut the throats of any left alive.” He brought a leg up, crossed it over the saddle in front of him. One hand on his thigh, the thumb of the other hooked over his belt, he frowned at the sky and chewed on the smooth black flesh of his lower lip. “We can’t go round, just back. You won’t go back. Don’t need to tell me that. Happen to catch sight of a one-eyed man, black hair halfway down his back, wide as he is tall and that’s saying some?”

  “I saw mostly shadows and bits.”

  “That many, though, sounds like Naels the Eye. Runs about with three or four, picks up strays when he needs them.”

  Skeen looked quickly around at the others. Eyes on her waiting for what she’d say. “What about fording the river, going by on the far side?”

  “Nope. Nagamar have been burned too many times by hillmen. These days they kill whoever sets foot on their side of the river. And this side, if you take a look down there, you’ll see there’s a brake too thick to force through mounted. Might do it if you’re on foot and desperate and didn’t give a shit about your hide.”

  “Lovely. How far are you in this?”

  “How exactly do you mean that?”

  “Only that you’re hired to guide, not fight.”

  “Come up with something reasonable, I’ll do my part.”

  Skeen grimaced. The Aggitj grinned at her, waiting; they’d grown up a lot on this trip, there was an assurance about them that showed, but they still waited for her to point the way. The Boy waited, quiet and resigned, with the Beast in his arms; can he remember anything but fighting? Pegwai smiled at her with the kind of confidence that irritated her; he was too old and too artful to be acting like that, like he was another Aggitj. She smiled down at Timka. “You and me?”

  Timka didn’t bother answering; she pulled off the robe, tossed it to Skeen who draped it across the saddle in front of her, blurred into that snaky powerful cat-weasel, gray and tan fur mottled like a clouded leopard’s pelt, long limber neck, large furred pads that made less sound than a feather moving over difficult ground, gray horn claws, ripping teeth that showed fearsomely when she opened her mouth in a soundless snarl that needed no translation.

  Skeen nodded, turned to the guide. “Britt, hold up here about an hour, shouldn’t take more than that to clear the road or get ourselves killed. That happens, you get everyone back to Karolsey.”

  Pegwai started to protest, then shut his mouth.

  She smiled at him, slid off the karynx and moved over to Timka-cat. “Hal, you and the others, you take care of the Boy.” She clipped the lanyard to the darter’s butt, did a body flutter to loosen her muscles. “You know the land, Ti-cat. Take us around behind them.”

  They clambered across a pair of ravines, slipped like shadows through a thin scatter of trees, glided round impassable clumps of dry thorny brush, picked a careful path through a mutter of dry grasses, leaves, and small twigs. Skeen had learned silentwalk on litter-scummed warehouse floors where noise alarms would have nailed her if she faltered. Not so different from this. Ti-cat was a hunter by nature and instinct, pad
ding over scruff and scree, soundless as a ghost on a foam mattress, a ripple in the air, barely visible even when Skeen was looking directly at her.

  Naels’ men were getting restive. The Company was due, but they weren’t suspicious yet and paid little attention to what was behind them. Not used to being hit from behind, Skeen thought; they do all the hitting. She grinned at Ti-cat, got a fearsome grin back from her. They crept to within a man-length of the ambushers; Skeen eased the holster flap back and brought out the darter.

  She started down the line, darter set on spray, its almost inaudible clicks merging with the rustle of the leaves; she shot whatever bits she could see, legs, arms until one man shouted alarm when he saw the next over topple from a low branch. After that Skeen didn’t bother about noise, but ran full out, the darter spitting its bursts until the reservoir ran dry. Before that happened, she managed to take out close to a dozen of the ambushers.

  Ti-cat hit them as they began to wake to danger and start for Skeen; hamstringing the runners with a slash of her claws, sometimes taking the time to tear out a throat as they went down.

  One man had a longbow, but it was awkward in close work. He tried to get the distance he needed and managed to get off one shaft. Timka flashed away, her flank misting so the point went harmlessly past her. Before he could try again, Skeen was on him with her boot knife. Slash through the bowstring, foot hooked behind his heel. As he toppled, Ti-cat flashed her bloodied claws across his throat. Another exchange of grins, and they went after the rest, working together as if they’d practiced it for years. A stone grazed Skeen’s head, Ti-cat rushed in low and fast, a flow of tan and gray, raked the legs from under the slinger, flicked her claws across his throat. A bobtail lance sent Ti-cat scrambling and shifting into the misty half-state. A huge man hefted another, ready to throw the moment she solidified. Skeen came in behind him, put a knife in his kidneys then across his throat. And so it went until they’d cleaned out the trees and brush, until all the wilders were down from the darts, or dead.