Soul of an Eagle

by Edwin Skinner

  Helvon drew a crude outline of one of the beasts in the dirt behind the rock and spoke in a low whisper. "They's two vital spots thet'll kill a beefalo right quick. The easiest ta hit is right here but th' cleanest kill is in the head right here. They've a hard head bone, howsomeever, an' on’y a bolt placed 'thin a three inch bulls eye'll do the trick."

  He looked the boy right in the eye. "Get out 'bout five 'r six bolts and be ready ta fire off as many as ya can. Make yer shots as acc'rate as possible. As long as we kill instantly an' th' target drops quickly, th' herd won't move away. They's kinda stupid but if'n ya only wing one of 'um, he'll begin ta beller an' run. Thet'll set th' whole mob of 'um inta a panic. If'n we play our cards right, we c'n drop a half dozen of 'um 'r more afore they stampede. When they do, watch out. If'n they head our way, we gotta take cover 'mediately. I seen men trampled inta a sodden pile o' raw meat in a few seconds by beefalo."

  They each took cover behind a group of boulders and drew out a half dozen bolts. Imitating Helvon, Kit stuck five of them point first in the ground where he could grab them quickly and loaded the last one in Suron's old crossbow. The two hunters then rose slowly above their respective rocks and took aim on the closest of the grazing beasts.

  Helvon was the first to fire, driving his first bolt directly into the brain of a fat cow not twenty five feet from him. Kit's first bolt hit a young bull two seconds later. Both beasts fell silently to their knees and rolled over onto their sides. Helvon was already firing his second shot before Kit had reached for his next bolt. Three more beefalo fell before a big bull on the far side of the herd lifted his head and whuffed a warning.

  The herd began to move restlessly about the meadow. Kit had the next bolt loaded and aimed it at the shoulder of a young calf who hesitated nearby. The calf moved at the last moment and was struck too far back on his body for a clean kill. He began bawling and set off in a run away from the rocks where the hunters were hidden. This gave direction to the milling herd and the stampede began in earnest. In thirty seconds, the meadow was empty except for the carcasses of five beefalo lying in the grass.

  "Not a bad first hunt," Helvon exclaimed as he stood up from behind the rocks. He reached down and collected his other three unfired bolts. "When they starts amovin' like thet, It be a waste of a good bolt ta try ta bring 'nother down. If'n we'd a'waited real silent like, they mighta quieted down again. Never shoot hasty, lad, still, five is 'most more than we'll be able ta lug inta th' crater. We done all right, shouldn't get too greedy."

  The man and the boy walked out and checked their victims. Every one of them had been an instantaneous kill. The bolts which the two used were different, each being fired by a different type of crossbow. Three of the kills had been made by Helvon and the other two by his student.

  "When th' hunters ain't no crack shots like us'n, they'll double team th' targets," Helvon explained. "Two hunters'll fire at th' same beast at th' same time. Thet way, if'n one don't drop th' animal, t'other might. Clean kills 'r th' secret ta gettin' multiple kills at a beefalo stand. Sloppy shootin' is the quickest way ta end th' hunt. Th' best I ever done were eight animals down afore th' stampede begun an' I was t'on’y one shootin'. I jest took m' time an' carefully picked 'em off one by one. Thet was one o' th' most prof'table days in m' career a'huntin. 'Twas lucky we had us a lot o' extry pack hosses ta get th' meat inta th' crater. We celebrated long an' hard thet night."

  As he spoke, he was busily cutting the throats of each of the fallen beefalo. This bleeding was helpful in keeping the meat fresh and taking out some of the wild flavor in it although beefalo meat was one of the best tasting on Randor. When he finished, Helvon pointed to a ring of rocks nearby.

  "Hide yerself in thar an' wait fer Goovon an' me to get back. If'n any nomads come 'round, don't try no heroics. Jest stay hid 'til we return to get ya out o' here. We ain't thet fur from camp. I should be back in 'bout fifteen minutes. Jest keep th' carrion birds off'n th' meat 'til we c'n get it butchered an' packed on th' hosses." He ruffled the boy's hair and took off for their picketed horses. Kit looked around nervously and moved over to the rocks to begin his vigil.

  Nearly twenty five minutes later, Helvon and Goovon came riding into the meadow with their six pack horses in tow. By that time, Kit had killed three carrion birds with crossbow bolts. Several more were circling overhead. The three humans moved right in and began cutting up the fresh kills. Goovon started working silently on one cow while Helvon motioned Kit over to a young bull that was the farthest from where the other man was working. As Helvon showed his student the proper skinning technique, he spoke quietly of his older partner.

  "I didn't have no trouble findin' m' way back ta th' camp," he commented with disgust. "Goovon had a smoke signal goin' up thet would 'tract any nomad 'thin twenty mile. Thank the fates it's quiet 'round here. It took so long ta get here 'cause thet dolt had 'llowed th' ponies ta spread out too much an' it took ten minute ta round 'em up. I caught 'im suckin' on a bottle. Smashed th' thing on a rock but I'll bet he has 'nother stashed some'ere close by. 'Twon't matter nohow. We be in th' crater t'night and he'll be drunk's a skunk."

  It took the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon to butcher and pack the five beasts on the ponies. They even had to pack meat on their riding horses in order to carry it all. They were only about five miles from West Pass, however, and it was an easy walk in to the crater. By evening, they had sold their goods and divided the profits among themselves, keeping out enough to buy a couple more pack ponies. Goovon headed for his favorite tavern while Kit and Helvon went to the local horse trader.

  "I been lookin' fer a good day like this'n ta get ahead a mite. I tole ya we would do well t'gether. I jest hope thet fool's bad habits don't get us inta no nomad troubles afore we c'n buy 'im out." The hunter was in good spirits as well he might be.

  As they were leaving with a nice dun gelding and a sorrel mare, Helvon suggested they go to a tavern for a good meal. Kit was all for that and began leading the way to one of the better eating spots in town.

  "Kit, is that you?" The voice was familiar and the boy considered ignoring the question and walking on. Instead he stopped and turned to face the man who was rapidly approaching from the right.

  "Hello Grandfather," he said with little warmth. "What brings you to town? This isn't Thursday."

  "I've been looking for you," Jaron said. "Somebody just told me that you joined up with a couple of hunters the other day. Is that true?"

  Kit slapped his forehead in mock forgetfulness. "I'm forgetting my manners. Helvon, this is my grandfather, Jaron. He has a peach farm upslope from the Guardsmen's Barracks. Grandfather, this is my new partner, Helvon. He's the best wild meat hunter on Randor. He seems to think I'll make a good hunter too."

  With a look of dismay on his face, Jaron accepted the tall hunter's handshake. "So it's true," he said numbly. "Why hunting? What's in it that's worth the risk of death by accident or at the hands of nomads?"

  "Well," the boy explained, "in one day we shot enough beefalo to earn a lot of money. That was just my first hunt. It's not all that dangerous. Helvon's been wandering all over Randor for almost forty years and he's still alive. Besides, what more is there for me to do? I can't join the Guard or the Aerie and I don't want to be in the Guild or tend a farm. Did you go talk to Daron yet?"

  "I saw him the day he returned from O'Malley," the farmer answered. "Did you know that Heron is dead of a flying accident?"

  Kit nodded his head grimly. "Talon told me all about it. Are you ready to nominate me into the Aerie?"

  "I haven't decided. I would think you might have second thoughts after what happened to your friend. Why don't you come home with me tonight and we'll discuss the possibilities?"

  Kit turned and began to lead the gelding away, Helvon following with the mare. "There's nothing to discuss," he threw over his shoulder. "When you make up your mind about that nomination, let me know. Don't take too long, though, Daron won't wait much longer to start me no
matter how strong my telepathic powers are."

  Jaron stood there in the street and watched the odd pair walk away from him. The possibility of reconciliation with Kit seemed to be drifting away much faster than he could grasp hold of it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next three days passed quickly for the novice hunter. It took a day to locate and sober up their partner. Goovon was, once again, broke. The second day they exited Maryland Pass and set up a base camp some ten miles from the pass. That first day's hunting had netted a couple of pronghorn antelopes, another introduced quadruped. On the third morning, Helvon told Kit about another mountain meadow that was a favorite of zorbeasts and beefalo and they decided to head on up there. They took along half of their pack ponies and departed, leaving Goovon to tend camp and begin tanning some of the hides that they had collected.

  The meadow was some fifteen miles north of their camp and twenty five miles from Maryland Pass. A moderately successful hunt had resulted in two pack horse loads of zorbeast meat. They were approaching the camp, led by a thick column of smoke from Goovon's fire, when the howling cry of a nomad war party was followed by the sounds of a short struggle. It ended with the ululating sound of a nomad victory cry. Helvon reined in his pony and executed an about face.

  "We best get out o' here," he said in a low voice. "They's leetle we can do for thet fool, Goovon. I tole him his camp fire would bring 'im trouble. If'n a body won't listen ta good advice, he's gotta learn the hard way. Trouble is ya seldom have the opportunity ta use the infamation then, hit's nearly allus fatal. Come on, kid, let's shag ass."

  They began a quick but quiet retreat from the camp area. They had little choice of directions. The camp with its nomad war party was between them and the pass. Helvon used every trick that he could conjure up to make their trail hard to follow. They waded up a stream, scrabbled over rocky terrain and doubled back on their trail several times in the next two hours. It was just bad luck that tripped them up. They were following a trail that suddenly cut across the face of a cliff. The old hunter didn't like it but decided to chance it rather than doubling back and possibly running head on into their pursuers. When they were halfway across the cliff face, a group of ten nomads rode out on the top of the next hill to their right. They were spotted immediately and the chase was on.

  The hunters' ponies were beginning to tire when they came upon an ideal defensive position. They had already lost five ponies, a partner and all of their camp equipment. Helvon had no desire to lose any of the rest. The semicircle of boulders guarded an area in front of the base of a cliff. The tall hunter guided his ponies into the natural fort and stationed himself at one of the two breaks in the rocks, directing his young companion to the other, less vulnerable, one. They both loaded their crossbows and laid a supply of bolts close to hand.

  "Make ever shot count," he told Kit, "'specially the fust few. They's 'bout eight 'r ten of 'um. Let's see if'n we can even th' odds a mite right from th' fust. Wait 'til they pass thet big pine tree by th' trail. I'll take th' fust and you get th' next 'un." They settled quietly in to wait.

  Some seven minutes later, their patience was rewarded. The nomads were ten in number and they came trotting into the little clearing in front of the hunters' position. The lead man was riding with his head down, looking for tracks in the rocky dirt of the trail. He lifted his head from this task just in time to recognize his own doom. The bolt, fired at almost point blank range, caught him in the chest and was followed less than a second later by a second bolt that transfixed the throat of the nomad directly behind him.

  The remaining warriors, assuming that they would catch the defenders cocking their weapons, let out a howl and spurred their ponies toward the circle of rocks. They had not figured, however, upon Helvon's spare crossbow which was loaded and ready. The brave warrior who led the charge dropped from his pony with a bolt in his right eye. Disrupted and confused, the charge faltered and turned into a retreat.

  When the charge had begun, Kit had set his crossbow down and drawn his sword and knife. These he quickly set aside as the enemy withdrew. In a matter of seconds, his crossbow was loaded and at the ready.

  "Three down an' seven ta go, kid," commented the hunter. "Th' rest won't be so easy, though. They knows whar we air. Don't ya shoot 'til after I do. We ain't so fat fer bolts and this could be a bad 'un. Try not ta waste yer shots. If'n they catch us unloaded again, they'll be on us in a flash."

  What followed then was a long, drawn out series of feints and maneuvering interspersed with tense periods of waiting. One of the feints resulted in another nomad dead and one slightly wounded. During the breaks, Helvon would speak in a low voice to his young companion.

  "Don't you worry none 'bout only grazin' thet last 'un. He ain't out of th' action but it made 'im a mite more cautious. Ya watch thet buck over ta th' right. He jest snuck behind thet big pink rock. Could come out either side so don't get caught unpr'pared."

  Suddenly, a bush moved off to the left and Helvon's bolt sped into the target at the speed of thought. At almost the same instant, the warrior behind the pink rock jumped out and then dropped flat on his chest as Kit's bolt shot a mere six inches over his head. He jumped up, only to catch Helvon's second bolt square in the chest.

  It was at that instant that the remaining five warriors leapt to their feet and rushed the hunters' positions.

  The howling war cry of the nomads' initial charge brought Chan to instant alertness. He was but a half mile from the site of the skirmish and had, in fact, just passed that way an hour earlier. He stood up from behind a low bush alertly, his mind suddenly far from his stalk. The antelope he had been approaching caught his movement and quickly bounded away.

  Chan had been aware of the hunters in his present area of operations but had not seen a clue as to the whereabouts of any nomads. Quickly but quietly, he stole back to his pony some hundred yards away. He untied the fiery roan and began making his way carefully back toward the sounds of battle. Finally, from a hilltop a quarter mile distant from the cliff face where the fight was proceeding, the lone nomad was able to see clearly what was going on.

  He wasn't surprised to see the tall hunter standing in the largest gap of the natural fort that Chan had noted earlier that day. He recognized the man as one of the two who had rudely turned him away from their camp a few weeks past. Chan counted seven warriors from a tribe that was familiar to him. They were spreading out among the trees and shrubs in front of the hunter's position in preparation for another attack.

  Chan considered remaining aloof from this conflict. The defender below had once made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the lone nomad. The odds were great against him but he had seemed a capable sort who might well be able to hold his position until darkness fell in about an hour. Chan could see three nomad bodies already lying in the grass out in the open. Just as Chan started to turn away, his gaze was captured by a flash of movement. Two of the warriors below were jumping into the open and charging from different quarters.

  As Chan watched with renewed interest, the tall hunter stood up and drilled the closest attacker with a crossbow bolt. Almost in the same motion, he was reaching for a second weapon which lay loaded on the rock beside him. Before he was able to train the second crossbow, however, a bolt sped out from another break in the rocks to the man's right. It was then that Chan became aware of the second defender. At first, he thought it was the slovenly companion who he had seen with the tall hunter earlier but then, when the defender dropped back to reload his crossbow, he realized that this was a much smaller person. The dark haired boy reminded him of a young Eagle Rider who had waived to him a couple of months earlier but, of course, that could not be he. Eagle Riders did not hunt outside the barrier rim of the crater.

  Chan saw that the lad's bolt had only nicked his target in the leg but the attacker had dropped his weapon in surprise and withdrawn. With his face a stoic mask, the lone nomad leapt to the back of his pony and disappeared into the brush to the no
rth.

  Kit dropped his crossbow and snatched up his sword and knife. He watched with determination as two of the attackers converged on his position. Two others were headed for Helvon but what caused the boy greatest concern was that the last nomad had paused to nock an arrow into his short bow. The man's first arrow, however, was hasty and bounced off the rock above the tall hunter's head. From that time forward, Kit had little time to watch anything as he fought for his life against two skilled nomad swordsmen.

  Kit's knife parried the stroke of one of the nomads' blades as his short sword managed to strike down that of the other. Stepping back from the opening, he drew one attacker into a defile that was so narrow that he was unable to receive assistance from his cohort. Kit's sword locked with that of his opponent and he simultaneously snaked his knife into the man's unprotected gut, snatching it out with a twist that rewarded him with a scream and a gout of blood from the nomad. A moment later as he squared off against the second warrior, he heard a triumphant cry from Helvon assuring him that his partner was meeting with similar success. What worried him, still, was that last attacker who had begun using his short bow.

  That man's presence became felt when Kit heard the swish and thump of an arrow striking home. Helvon's grunt of surprise left Kit no doubt of its target. The strange thing was that the sound of a second arrow followed almost immediately on the heels of the first.

  "Kit, I'm hit," Helvon's voice rang out, "and they's 'nother nomad comin' up on hossback."

  Kit didn't turn his head to answer. He was too busy circling with his second opponent who had bounded past the dead body of his predecessor into the center of the circle of rocks. As he circled, the corner of his eye caught sight of Helvon, an arrow sticking from his left shoulder. He was parrying the sword stroke of a large warrior in front of him and eyeing an even larger nomad who stood, sword in hand, behind his attacker. At that moment, Kit's opponent jumped to the attack with a mighty stroke of his sword that threatened to jar the knife from Kit's hand. Kit countered with a blow from his short sword that bounced off the warrior's shield.