"A widder, ya say?" chortled Helvon. "Mister Jaron, we'll be thar in forty five minutes."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kit looked down from five thousand feet at the mountainous terrain between Washington and McAllister craters. Flash was flying comfortably, having just exited a strong thermal in which they had gained two thousand feet of altitude and rested for nearly seven minutes.
This trip had been planned and was being executed in secret. What had prompted it was Chan's increasing desire to learn to fight with two swords. They had started training using wooden swords and knives. They had tied a long bladed wooden knife on to Chan's hook and Kit had begun his instruction. This had started just a few days after they met and now that Helvon's shoulder had begun to mend, the tall hunter had also begun training with them in the technique. Chan had done well using a light wooden knife but when the real thing was strapped to his arm one day, it was too heavy to attach firmly. The nomad had begun to despair of ever being able to use the art he had learned but Kit had not given up so easily. It was then that he began to plan this trip.
He had questioned several people that he knew who had been to McAllister including Helvon. He had learned the route there and the location, in the crater, of the Metallurgy and Mining Guild laboratories where Meron, the armorer, worked. Meron McAllister had once before made a special device for Chan's benefit, Kit reasoned, perhaps he would do so again. Kit absently touched the large pouch of gold coins that he carried under his coat. There should be plenty there to pay for a good custom knife if he could only talk the armorer into making it.
Shifting his gaze ahead to the west, he could just make out the barrier rim of McAllister crater rising from the broken tangle of ridges, mesas and gullies that made up the landscape around its perfect circle. It was the richness of the ores in these mountains that made this the home of the Guild
and Kit knew that he would find their headquarters building on the north slope of that crater among the many mine shafts that delved into its side at that point.
Kit had told Helvon of this trip and its intended purpose but had said nothing of it to Chan. The lone nomad thought that he was but spending two or three days with his grandfather back at Washington. Kit knew that if he had told his new friend of his plan, it would have been vetoed from the onset. Chan did not care to ask for favors from others, especially others from the crater he had almost been instrumental in enslaving. Once the deed was done, it would be too late for the nomad to say no.
About a half hour later, they were flying over East Pass at McAllister. Kit directed the great eagle to bear slightly to the right and began searching the northern slopes of the crater for the large building that was the Guild laboratory. It was a hazy day and it was some minutes before he spotted it. He had been told that there was a ledge on which Eagle Riders usually landed and took off near the back door on the eastern side of the building. The building was large but it was only part of the extensive laboratory used by this, the Guild's principal stronghold. The rest was in a large cavern at the back of the building and was twice as large as the building itself. Kit spotted the landing area and directed Flash to set down there.
The door, as was usual for most on Randor, was unlocked and Kit went hesitantly in and began wandering the long hallway. He saw several adults walking past but was reluctant to approach them. Suddenly, he saw a tall boy, about a year or two older than he, with carrot colored hair, emerge from a room on the right side of the hall ahead of him. As the boy turned and began striding purposefully away from him, Kit broke into a trot to overtake him.
"Excuse me," he called, "can you help me find somebody?"
The boy stopped and turned to look at Kit for the first time. "Who is it you're looking to find?"
"I need to talk to Meron, the armorer apprentice to Master Zolfon. Do you know where he can be found? I've never been in a place like this before. It's like trying to get through a maze with walls and doors that look all the same."
The stranger looked surprised at Kit's apparent ignorance. "If you want to make it through a maze, just put your left hand on the wall and never take it off. Always keep contact with that left wall and you will eventually get to the other end but that won't help you here. Meron is usually outside at the forges this time of day. Come on, I'll take you there. It's not too far out of my way."
"Could you introduce me as well?" asked Kit. "I've never met him and I need to ask a favor of him. My name's Kittron Washington. I can pay you if need be."
The boy began walking down the hallway in strides that made Kit hurry to keep up. "Oh, I don't need to be paid. I make plenty of money for my needs. Meron's a good friend of mine. Do you mind if I ask what you want of him?"
Kit worded his answer carefully. "I'd like to ask him to make a special tool for a friend of mine who has a handicap."
"Well, that sounds like just the kind of project that Meron likes to get his teeth into. Who is this friend of yours?"
Kit hesitated. "Oh, just a man I met outside my home crater. He saved my life once and I want to do this to pay him back."
"You met him outside the crater, you say?" the stranger asked as he led the way out a door on the west side of the building. "What were the two of you doing there?"
"We're both wild meat hunters," Kit answered. "I was raised in the Home Guard barracks and can shoot a crossbow better than anyone in the crater."
The other boy's glance shot toward the weapon that hung from Kit's belt. "I see you have one of the new Ganton models. Meron helped design that, you know. They named it after his older brother who came up with the idea for it."
Kit grinned. "I know the whole story. A friend of mine was training at your Aerie at the time. He told me all about it and everything else that happened here at that time."
They were walking across the grass outside the laboratory toward several sheds where heat waves were shimmering up as though from a house on fire. "Oh, really? I knew a number of them in that class. What was his name?"
"Heron Washington," Kit answered. "His father is the Master Falconer there."
The tall boy stopped dead and turned to face his guest. "Wasn't he the one who died at the games this summer?"
Kit's face darkened in sadness. "I'm afraid so. He was my best friend." He lifted his eyes to those of his host. "What is Meron like? Is that where he works?" The change of subject was entirely intentional.
"Yes, those are his forges. You'll like him. Everybody does. He's the most even tempered person I have ever known and he's got a heart as big as a beefalo's."
"Beefalos aren't all that nice," the hunter stated, "I ought to know, but I think I know what you mean. Let's go talk to him."
They found Meron McAllister working at one of the forges, a leather apron around him and little else. Armorers usually worked either naked or dressed in thick leather. The sparks from the forge could easily lodge in cotton clothing and burn deeply into their skin before they could be brushed away. Meron was a large boy of eleven or twelve years at that time. His body was blocky and powerful and his hair was dark and curly. The muscles of his arms were knotted and bulging. He was probably stronger than most of the soldiers who wielded his fine swords.
"Meron," Kit's guide said, "this is Kittron Washington and he's come to make a special request of you."
The smile that came to the armorer's face was natural. "Thanks Nat." He turned to Kit. "What is it that you would like to ask of me?"
The young hunter was standing there with his mouth ajar. He turned, instead, to the boy who had guided him. "You're Naturon McAllister. What an idiot I was for not realizing it sooner. Along with Meron and Master Zolfon, you're the most famous person in the Guild. You invented the aerial bombs that defeated Ajax's army."
"Guilty as charged," confessed Nat. "Do you think you should keep Meron waiting any longer?"
"Oh, yes." Kit shook his head as though to clear the cobwebs. "I would like you to make a special weapon for a friend of mine. You assisted him once befor
e and, partly because of that, he saved my life recently. His name is Chan."
Both of the guildsmen's eyes lit up with interest. Nat stood by as Kit explained his mission and then added input to the design of Chan's new short sword. While Meron worked at the forges pounding out a special blank, Kit thought to contact Flash, who was still waiting outside the back door to the Guild lab.
"Flash," he projected, "I'm sorry I forgot about you. What have you been doing out there all this time?"
The answer came back, "Talking."
That puzzled Kit. "Who are you talking to?"
"Fury," the eagle replied.
"Where is Fury now?" the boy asked with alarm.
"Here," was the answer.
Kit turned to the two apprentices. "Can you excuse me for a minute?" he asked. "I have to see to my eagle. He's out on your back porch talking to Fury."
Nat turned sharply toward him. "You have an eagle?" he asked. "I thought you were a hunter, not an Eagle Rider. If Fury's there, so is Pip. I'll go with you. I want to get to the bottom of this mystery."
"I imagine I'll have to do some explaining to Fury's Rider," Kit said with a sigh. "If you are coming along, I might as well tell you both at once. Let's hurry."
When they emerged from the lab by the landing platform, the first thing Kit noticed was another eagle standing next to Flash. He was about the same age and size as Kit's mount but had slightly different coloration. The family resemblance, however, was evident. Next to the strange eagle was a small, brown haired boy of about nine. As the door slammed shut with a bang, he turned to face them. He extended his hand in greeting.
"You must be Kit," he said. "I'm Piperon McAllister. My Fury is a clutch mate of Flash's."
"Flash," said Nat in astonishment, "but he was Heron's mount wasn't he?"
"Yes," answered Pip before Kit could answer, "He's already told me most of the story through Fury. Kit accidentally formed a second bond with Flash before Heron's death. Because of that, the bird didn't self-destruct when Heron died. Later, Kit found him in the wilds close to Washington and completed the bond. They had flown together using a novice saddle while Heron was still alive. Kit taught himself to fly. They live in the wilds outside the crater. Do I have the story right?"
Kit blushed furiously. "Pretty much so."
For about an hour or so, they discussed things of mutual interest, most notably Heron and Flash. After extending an invitation to spend the night at the Aerie, Pip left and Nat guided Kit back to the forges.
The sword turned out to be considerably different than Kit had originally planned it. The blade was shorter than a short sword but much longer than the average knife. At the base of its blade, the iron spread out slightly and was pierced with a long slot starting just above the hilt and going up about an inch and a half. The handle of the sword was long but did not have any binding past the first five inches. There was, however, a knob on one side of it some few inches below the hilt and the slot in the blade. The handle took a dogleg not too far below this knob and extended as a round rod some eight inches below the dogleg ending in a short, blunt hook.
Meron handed Kit a broad strap of leather with a buckle on one end and a small iron ring attached close to the middle. "Have Chan attach this to the appropriate spot on the harness to his hook. Then you hook the ring with the bottom of the sword, swing it up so that his hook goes through the
slot in the blade and use the ratchet mechanism to securely clamp onto this knob. The whole process shouldn't take more than ten seconds with practice and the blade should be securely held in place."
"That's pretty nifty," Kit exclaimed. "Are you sure it will fit properly?"
"Pretty sure," the armorer assured him. "I used the original measurements and design for the hook. I keep drawings of everything I make no matter how unique." He indicated a drawing on a scrap of hide that lay on the table next to him. "You never know when I'll need to make another hook or sword like that, either to replace the original or to give to another unfortunate amputee."
Kit had tried to pay the armorer for the weapon but Meron refused. "I like Chan," he said. "He treated Nina well when she was his prisoner and he really wasn't a bad person considering how he was raised. Tell him that it is a gift from me and that we think of him often around here."
"His mother was an Eagle Rider, you know," volunteered Kit. "I think that she's the one who kept him from turning completely rotten. He is well respected around Washington crater. He gave a warning to a cavalry troop that prevented a complete massacre. My father died in that skirmish but half his troop came out alive."
"I heard about that one," said Meron, "it was led by a lieutenant named Peron. Was he your father?" Kit nodded with lowered eyes.
That night, Kit had shown up at the McAllister Aerie and had immediately invoked the curiosity of its famous Master Falconer as well as a number of Riders who had known Heron and Flash. Kit had been forced to tell his story all over again as he sat at table with the Falconer and his senior Riders.
"A secondary bond, eh?" commented Master Aferon when the tale was finished. He was a tall man and broad with a full beard and a ready smile. "Not a bad idea. I've always thought that when a Rider fell, it was a waste of a good eagle. You say that you have never had any safety wing training?"
"I don't even have a wing," the boy replied nervously. "I use a novice saddle that I made myself, instead."
"What if your eagle is shot down?" asked one of the Riders. "How would you save your life?"
"If I could never fly again," Kit said seriously, "I don't know if I would want to keep living." His answer was met with a number of knowing nods from around the table.
The next morning, Kit took off early to head back to the Washington area. When he arrived and presented the special sword to Chan along with an explanation, he was startled at what happened as the nomad accepted the gift. It was the first time that Kit had seen tears come to his new friend's eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
It had been, what, almost three weeks since Goovon had ridden into the main nomad camp. As he waited for "the twenty" to arrive, he thought back to that fateful day. They had been on the trail for three days, slowed down by the walking gait of the heavily laden women of the party. By that time, he had decided that Crill was the most frightening human on the face of Randor. He had been wrong.
Silar the Great had once been nearly as tall as his war chief was now. When Goovon met him, the man was slightly stooped with age. His face was not at all handsome but, rather, had a hard, ugly cast to it that purely radiated cruelty. His grey hair was sparse and kept cut short. His ears had the cauliflower look of a much battered boxer and his nose showed sign of having been broken. Goovon had often wondered what had happened to the man responsible for that condition. He was certain that he had not died happy. Silar's mouth was a thin, cruel gash across his face but his worst feature was his eyes. They were obsidian orbs under bushy salt and pepper eyebrows that bore through to your soul and left it shivering in cold fear.
Goovon had been left kneeling on the dirt floor of the grand pavilion as Crill had made his report to his master. Crill seemed to have no respect for or fear of any man in the camp except for his Chieftain. His disdain for all others was apparent. It ranged from tolerance of the best of them to sheer contempt for the average nomad warrior. The women he hardly ever even noticed except when he wished to fill his needs. When he had stepped before Silar the Great, however, he had knelt to one knee and bowed his head. Furthermore, it had been accomplished with that attitude of respect and reverence that strong men give only to an acknowledged superior. Since the two traits that most impressed Crill were cruel intelligence and deadly prowess, Goovon surmised that this old man before which he was groveling had at one time been supplied with a tremendous measure of both and probably still retained great power on the force of them. He was not at all wrong.
Crill's report on the vulnerability of Washington crater had included much information that Goovon, hims
elf, had imparted but the groveling captive was amazed with the scope of the intelligence which the war chief had collected without his input. When Crill had begun to relate the events which had precipitated Goovon's capture, the Chieftain had focused the force of his obsidian stare upon the captive for the first time. Goovon had broken out in a cold sweat and his legs had turned to rubber.
"He entreated me to spare his miserable hide because he felt he could give us something that we would want more than his drawn out demise," the war chief was saying. "He said he has a plan that will give us a quick and easy entrance into the crater. His help will have a price, however." Crill glanced disdainfully in the hunter's direction before returning his attention back to his Chieftain. An amused smile played across his face. "He says that if we give him the use of a comely woman and a place among our people, he will help us to pull off a ruse that will get some of us past the Guardsmen at the pass."
"How will this ruse work," asked the Chieftain, "and why do we need his help to make it work?"
"He says that he is a hunter well known by the pass guards," answered Crill, "and he can convince them that a band of our warriors are actually wild meat hunters from another crater."
The Chieftain's laughter boomed throughout the large tent and was echoed by many of the other warriors there. "How can anyone mistake my magnificent warriors for a band of miscreants like that?" His hand swept forward and down indicating Goovon's groveling form. "It could never work."
Goovon's eyes nearly popped out of his head in fear but he knew that he had to speak before the nomad Chieftain ordered his execution out of hand. "I can teach them how to dress, speak and act just as though they were hunters from a crater community," he squealed. "In similar clothes, all men look enough alike that no Guardsman would know the difference. It will take some time but give me twenty intelligent warriors and I'll teach them enough about our language and customs that they will be able to pull it off. With me, a man who the Washington pass guards are all familiar with, vouching for them, they would be able to gain entry with little trouble. Once we are through the pass, we could turn around and be ready to strike the rear of the pass guard contingent at the same time you throw your first wave of warriors against them. I've given the whole plan a lot of thought and I'm sure it could work. I know that if it doesn't, my life will not be worth a grain of sand."
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