“Why do I allow you to do this?” he said with cold fury. “Why?”
“May I answer?” Jason asked quietly.
“Speak!” Temuchin roared, hanging over him like a falling mountain.
“I left Temuchin’s presence because it was the only way I coulcr be sure that justice would be done. What enabled me to do this is a fact I have concealed from you.”
Temuchin did not speak, though his eyes blazed with anger.
“Jongleurs know no tribe and wear no totem. This is the way it should be, for they go from tribe to tribe and should bear no allegiance. But I must tell you that I was born in the Pyrran tribe. They made me leave and that is why I became a jongleur.”
Temuchin would not ask the obvious question and Jason did not allow the expectant silence to become too long.
“I had to leave because, this is very hard to say, compared to the other Pyrrans… I was so weak and cowardly.”
Temuchin swayed slightly and his face suffused with blood. He bent and his mouth opened, and he roared with laughter. Still laughing, he went to his throne and dropped into it. None of the watchers knew what to make of this; therefore they were silent. Jason allowed himself the slightest smile but said nothing. Temuchin waved over the servant with a leathern blackjack of achadh, which he drained at a single swallow. The laughing died away to a chuckle, then to silence. He was his cold, controlled self once more.
“I enjoyed that,” he said. “I find very little to laugh at. I think you are intelligent, perhaps too intelligent for your own good, and you may someday have to die for that. Now you will tell me about your Pyrrans.”
“We live in the mountain valleys to the north and rarely go down to the plains.” Jason had been working on this cover story since he had first joined the nomads; now was the time to put it to the Pest. ‘We believe in the nile of might, but also the rule of law. Therefore we seldom leave our valleys and we kill anyone who trespasses. We are the Pyrrans of the eagle totem, which is our strength, so that even one of our women can kill a plains warrior with her hands. We have heard that Temuchin is bringing law to the plains, so I was sent to find out if this were true. If it is true, the Pyrrans will join Temuchin—”
They both looked up at the sudden interruption, Temuchin because there were shouts and commands as a group of inoropes reined up outside the camach, Jason because a weak voice had very clearly said “Jason” inside his head. He could not tell whether it was Meta or Grif.
Ahankk and his warriors came in through the entrance, half carrying, half pushing their prisoners. One wounded man, drenched with blood, and his unharmed companion, Jason recognized as two of the nomads from Shanin’s tribe. Meta and Grif were brought in and dropped onto the ground, bloody, battered and unmoving. Grif opened his one uninjured eye and said “Jason…,” then slumped unconscious again. Jason. started forward, then had enough self-control to halt, clenching his fists until his nails dug deep into his palms.
“Report,” Temuchin ordered. Ahankk stepped forward.
“We did as you ordered, Temuchin. Rode fast to this tribe and the one Shanin took us to a camach. We entered and fought. None escaped, but we had to kill to subdue them. Two have been captured. The slaves breathe so I think they are alive.”
Temuchin rubbed his jaw in obvious thought. Jason took a long chance and spoke.
“Do I have Temuchin’s permission to ask a question?”
Temuchin gave him a long, hard look, then nodded agreement.
“What is the penalty for rebellion and private vengeance in your horde?”
“Death. Is there any other punishment?”
“Then I would like to answer a question that you asked earlier. You wanted to know what Pyrrans are like. I am the weakest of all the Pyrrans. I would like to kill the unwounded prisoner, with one hand, with a dagger alone, with one stroke, no matter how he is armed. Even with a sword. He looks to be a good warrior.”
“He does,” Temuchin said, looking at the big, burly man who was almost a head taller than Jason. “I think that will be a very good idea.”
“Tie my hand,” Jason ordered the nearest guard, placing his left arm behind his back. The prisoner was going to die in any case, and if his
death could be put to a good use, that would probably be more than the man had contributed to any decent cause in his entire lifetime. Being a hypocrite, Jason? a tiny inner voice asked, and he did not answer because there was a great deal of truth in the charge. At one time he had disliked death and violence and sought to evade it. Now he appeared to be actively seeking it.
Then he looked at Meta, unconscious and curled in pain upon the ground, and his knife whispered from its sheath. A demonstration of unusual fighting ability would interest Temuchin. And that ignorant barbarian with the hint of a smug smile badly needed killing.
Or he would be killed himself if he hadn’t planted the suggestion strongly enough. If they gave that brute a spear or a club, he would easily butcher Jason in a few minutes.
Jason did not change expression when the soldiers released the man and Ahankk handed him his own long two-handed officer’s sword. Good old Ahankk: it sometimes helped to make an enemy. The man still remembered the thumb, twisting and was getting his own back. Jason slapped his broad, bladed knife against his side and let it hang straight down. It was an unusual knife that he had forged and tempered himself, after an ancient design called the “bowie.” It was as broad as his hand, with one edge sharpened the length of the blade, the other for less than half. It could cut up or down and could stab, and it weighed more than two kilos. And it was made of the best tool steel.
The man with the sword shouted once and swung the sword high, running forward. One blow would do it, a swing with all of his weight behind it that no knife could possibly stop. Jason stood as calmly as he could and waited.
Only when the sword was swinging down did he move, stepping forward with his right foot and bracing his legs. He swung the knife up, with his arm held straight and his elbow locked, then took the force of the blow full on the edge of his knife. The strength of the swing almost knocked the knife from his hand and drove him to his knees. But there was a brittle clang as the mild steel struck the toolsteel edge, all of the impact coming suddenly on this small area, and the sword snapped in two.
Jason had the barest glimpse of the shocked expression on his face as the man’s arms swung down, his hands still locked tightly about the hilt that supported the merest stub of a blade. The force of the blow had knocked Jason’s arm down and he moved with the motion, letting the knife swing down and around, and up.
The point tore through the leather clothing and struck the man iow in the abdomen, penetrating to the hilt. Bracing himself, Jason jerked upward with all his strength, cutting a deep and hideous wound through the man’s internal organs until the blade grated against the clavicle in his chest. He held the knife there as the man’s eyeballs rolled back into his head and Jason knew thét he was dead.
Jason pulled the knife out and stepped back. The corpse slid to the floor at his feet.
“I will see that knife,” Temuchin said.
“We have very good iron in our valley,” Jason told him, bending to wipe the knife on the dead man’s clothing. “It makes good steel.” He flipped the knife in the air, catching it by the tip, and extended the hilt to Temuchin, who examined it for a moment, then called to the soldiers.
“Hold the wounded one’s neck out,” he said.
The man struggled for a moment, then sank into the apathy of one already dead. Two soldiers held him while a third clutched his long hair with both hands and pulled him forward, face downward, with his dirt-lined neck bare and straight. Temuchin walked over, balancing the knife in his hand, then raised it straight over his head.
With a single galvanic thrust of his muscles, he swung the knife down against the neck and a meaty chunnk filled the silent cainach.
The tension released, the soldier moved back a step, the severed head swinging from h
is fingers. The blood-spurting body was unceremoniously dropped to the ground.
“I like this knife,” Temuchin said. “I will keep it.”
“I was about to present it to you,” Jason said, bowing to hide his scowl. He should have realized that this would happen. Well, it was just a knife.
“Do your people know much of the old science?” Temuchin asked, dropping the knife for a servant to pick up and clean. Jason was instantly on his guard.
“No more or lessthan other tribes,” he said.
“None of them can make iron like this.”
“It is an old secret, passed on from father to son.”
“There could be other old secrets.” His voice was as hard and cold as the steel itself.
“Perhaps.”
“There is a lost secret then that you may have heard 0f. Some call it ‘flamepowder’ and others, ‘gunpowder.’ What do you know of this?”
Indeed, what do I know of this? Jason thought, trying to read something from the other’s fixed expression. What could a barbarian jongleur know of such things?
And if this was a trap, what should Jason tell him?
9
Meta made no protest as Jason washed the dirt from her cuts and sprayed them with dermafoam. The medikit had sewn 14 stitches into the cut on her skull, but he had done this while she was still unconscious and had covered the shaved area with a bandage. She had come to right after this, but had not moved or complained when he had put two more stitches in her split upper lip.
Grif breathed a hoarse snore from the mound of furs where Jason had placed him. The boy’s wounds were mostly superficial and the medikit had advised sedation, which suggestion Jason had complied with.
“It’s all over now,” Jason said. “You had better get some rest.”
“There were too many of them,” Meta said, “but we did the best we could. Let me have a mirror. They surprised me, going for the boy first, but it was a wise plan. He went down at once. Then they came at me and I could not talk to you any more.” She took the polished steel mirror from Jason, had one brief glance and handed it back. “I look terrible. It must have been a quick fight. I don’t remember too clearly. Some of them had clubs, the women, and they tried to hit my legs. I know I killed at least three or four, one of the women, before I went down. What happened then?”
Jason took the aehadh skin and worked the hidden valve on the mouthpiece that sealed off the fermented milk and opened the reservoir of spiced alcohol that the Pyrrans favored.
“Drink?” he asked, but she shook her head. He joined himself and had a long one. “Skipping the finer details for the moment, I managed to send some of the troopers after you. They brought back both of you, and a few rat survivors, all of whom are now dead. I killed the unwounded one myself in true Pyrran, vengeance fashion, for which I do not feel too ashamed. But I had to give my knife to Temuchin, who instantly spotted the advanced level of technology. I’m very glad now that I hand, forged it and that the tool marks can still be seen. Bight away he asked me if we Pyrrans knew anything about gunpowder, which rocked me. I played it slippery, told him I knew nothing, just the name, but perhaps others in the tribe knew more. He bought that for the time being, I think. You just can’t tell with that guy. But he wants us to move in. At dawn we have to truck our camach into the camp next to his, and say good-bye to Shanin and his rats, whom we shall not miss. And in case we should change our minds, there is a squad of Temuchin’s boys waiting outside. I still haven’t decided whether we are prisoners or not.”
“I know I look terrible this way,” she said, her head nodding.
“You’ll always look good to me,” Jason told her cheeringly, then realized that he meant it. He twisted the medikit to full sedation and pressed it to her arm. She did not protest. With more than a small amount of guilt, and the feeling that he alone was responsible for their danger and pain, Jason laid her down on the furs next to the boy and covered them both. What bit of insane stupidity was it that had permitted him to involve a woman and a child in this murderous business? Then he remembered that conditions here were still far better than they were on Pyrrus, and he had probably saved their lives by getting them away. He looked at their bruises and shuddered, and wondered if they would thank him for it.
In the morning the two wounded Pyrrans had just enough strength to stumble out of the camach so that Jason could supervise its clismanding by the soldiers. They grumbled about woman’s work, but Jason would allow none of Shanin’s tribespeople near any of his belongings. After all the recent deaths, he was sure that his feud had widened its boundaries until it took in a good portion of the tribe: It was only after Jason had lubricated their spirits with a large skin of high-proof achadh that the soldiers buckled down to finish the job and to load the escung. Jason strapped Meta and Crlf in under the furs, in much the same way that he had been carried after his capture, and the small caravan set out, hurried on its way by many dark looks.
In Temuchin’s own camp, there were enough females who could be drafted for the degrading labor so that the men could stand and watch, which was their normal contribution. Jason could not stay to supervise. He left this to Meta, because a message arrived demanding his instant appearance before Temuchin.
The two guards at the entrance to the warlord’s cainach stood aside when Jason approached. At least he had some prestige among the enlisted men. Temuchin was alone, holding Jason’s knife, which was drenched with blood. Jason stopped, then relaxed when Temuchin seized the point and, with a quick snap of his wrist, sent it whistling through the air to sink deep into the carcass of a goat that he was using for a target.
“This knife has good balance,” Temuchin said. “Throws well.”
Jason nodded silently for he knew that he had not been summoned to an audience just to hear that.
“Tell me all you know about gunpowder,” Temuchin said, bending over to retrieve the knife.
“There is very little to tell.”
Temuchin straightened and his eyes caught Jason’s as he tapped the hilt of the knife against the calloused palm of his hand. “Tell me everything you know. Instantly. If you had gunpowder, could you make it blow up with the big noise instead of burning with smoke?”
This was the clinch. If Temuchin thought that he were lying, that big knife would sink into his gut as easily as it went into the goat’s. The warlord had some very specific ideas about the physical nature of gunpowder, so he was not bluffing. Time to take a chance.
“Though I have never seen gunpowder, I know what is said about it. I have heard how to make it explode.”
“I thought you might.” The knife thunked as it sank deep into the goat’s flesh. “I think you know other things that you are not telling me.”
“Men have secrets that they swear never to reveal. But Temuchin is my master and I will help him in every way that I can.”
“Good. Don’t forget that. Now tell me what you know about the people in the lowlands.”
“Why, nothing,” Jason said, astonished, The question had come as a complete surprise.
“You and everyone else. That is changing now. I know some things about the lowlanders and I am going to learn more. I am going to raid the lowlands and you are coming with me. I can use some of this gunpowder. Prepare yourself. We leave at midday. You are the only one who knows it is not a simple hunting expedition, so talk of the matter only at the risk of your life.”
“I would rather die than speak a word of this to anyone.”
Jason returned to his camach, deep in thought, and instantly told Meta everything he had just learned.
“This sounds very strange,” she said, hobbling to the fire, her muscles stiff from the beating she had undergone. “I am hungry and cannot make this fire bum.”
Jason fanned the fire, and coughed and averted his head when he caught a lungful of pungent smoke. “I don’t think you are using firstrate Inorope chips here. They have to be well dried to burn evenly. It sounded strange to me, too. How c
an he get down a vertical cliff over ten kilometers high? Yet he knows about gunpowder, and he certainly never found out about that here on the plateau.” He coughed again then kicked sand over the fire. “Enough of that. You and Grif need something more nutritious than goat stew in any case. I’ll crack out a couple of meal packs.”
Meta picked up a war ax and stood by the entrance to make sure that Jason was not disturbed when he opened the lockbox. He took out the meal packs and unsealed them, then pointed tO the radio.
“Report to Kerk at midnight. Let him know everything that is happening. You should be safe enough here, but if it looks like there will be any difficulty, tell him to pull you out.”
“No. We will stay here until you return.” She plunged her spoon into the food and ate hungrily. Crlf took the other pack and Jason stood guard at the entrance during the meal.
“Put the empty cans into the lockbox until we find a safer spot to bury them. I wish there was more I could do.”
“Don’t worry about us. We know how to take care of ourselves,” Meta told him firmly.
“Yes,” Grif agreed, unsmiling. “This planet is very soft after Pyrrus. Only the food is bad.”
Jason looked at them both, battered yet undefeated. He opened his mouth, then closed it because there was really nothing that he could say. He packed a leathern bag with the supplies he might need for the trip, extra clothing, and a microminiaturized transceiver that slipped into the hollow handle of his war ax. This and a short sword were his only weapons. He had tried using the laminated horn bows, but he was so improficient that he was better off not having one of the things around. Slinging a shield from his left arm, he waved good-bye and left.
When Jason rode up on his lnorope, he saw that a small force of less than 50 men had assembled for the expedition. They carried no extra equipment or supplies and it was obvious that it would not be a prolonged trip. Only after Jason had intercepted a number of cold glances did he realize that he was the only outsider there. All the others were either high-ranking officers and close associates of Temuchin or members of his own tribe.
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