Gods of Green Mountain (27 page)

Dray-Gon turned and looked back too, raking his eyes over the crowd, searching to see Ray-Mon. But there were too many there with red hair and citron faces. He couldn't pick her out from the crowd.

Ras-Far stood with his wife beside him, with the other parents of the twenty young travelers, and waved good-bye as cheerfully as any other. The king took pains to hide the tear that insisted on slipping down his cheek, traveling slowly to drop on the ground.

The Attack of the Outlaws

E
ach rider had two horshets apiece. One to ride, and one to use later when the first was tired. With them they had a flock of twenty puhlets, for that had been the charmed number for Far-Awn, and would be perhaps for them as well. They had five supply wagons, and a special wagon that would be a home for the princess. Each of the six wagons was pulled by a team of four horshets. The young sons of the bakarets took turns driving the wagons.

The wagons held a huge supply of water, plus quantities of concentrated and expandable food, enough to last for a year, if it took that long. The wagons were made of shimmering bygar, opaque, not transparent, of a smoke blue color like the puhlets. When the blustering, blazing, hot winds of Bay Sol blew, they would form an oblong with these wagons, lower protective shields over the wheels, and raise other shields over the wagons to form a pointed roof. Inside of their simulated, odd-shaped pyramid, they would take refuge with their animals when necessary. The wagons were equipped with machines that would heat, and others that would cool. They would survive! They would live! They were, each and every one, determined to reach that far Green Mountain!

The sensitive eyes of their horshets were shielded with a nonglare film. The puhlets were so uniquely evolved that they needed no extra man-made help. The riders of the horshets would shield their own eyes also from the white-hot glare of the dual suns on the white sands. Their long wagons were awkward to handle over the rough terrain, though they rode smoothly enough, for the wheels were cushioned with springs. Every trail had to be closely inspected by the scouts that were sent ahead to find the easiest route to travel, for the ruts and crevices could break the axles or mire a wheel.

The first night they drew their wagons into the rectangular shape, and lowered the shields to protect the wheels, but they did not raise the roof. All chose to look up and see the moons and the stars. They were terribly excited and talkative as they sat about their fires, groups of four individually cooking and preparing their own meals. It had been decided beforehand that the princess would eat her breakfast and noonday meal in her wagon, but the evening meal she would be the guest of one group of four alternately.

As chance would have it, for Sharita had reached into a hat and pulled out a number, it was Dray-Gon's group with whom she shared her first evening meal. Enviously the other men looked to their campfire, where Sharita sat on a cushion, daintily eating a meal that was scorched, or on the other hand, not well done. She thought that tomorrow night, she would offer to assist in the preparation of the meal, and be hopeful that it turned out better than this one.

"What's the matter, princess?" asked Dray-Gon, "you're not eating well. Are you already discovering that you would rather be home, in your exclusive apartment?"

"It's a delicious meal," she answered, smiling at a fellow named Arth-Rin, who had prepared it. "I don't have much appetite because I foolishly ate a few sweets not long ago." The young chef of the meal beamed happily, although he himself was having difficulty chewing the stringy meat. He reasoned that royal teeth must be better and sharper than his own. "How do you like the pudding?" Dray-Gon asked again of Sharita, who was forcing herself to swallow the lumpy, burned mess. If he weren't watching her so closely, she would quickly dump the contents of the bowl into the crevice directly in back of where she was sitting, but Dray-Gon didn't allow her that opportunity. She smiled at her tormentor charmingly. "Did you prepare this?--it tastes like something you would make," she asked of him.

"You mean you don't like it?" he asked innocently.

Sharita glanced at Arth-Rin, who anxiously awaited her opinion. "No, I like it very much." Quickly she ate all that remained of the pudding, swallowing before she could taste it.

"Since you like it so much, I'll make it again the next time we're honored with your company," Dray-Gon said. "In fact, I won't forget the lumps either..."

She gave him a hard glare and then rose to her feet, saying she was tired, and would see them early in the morning.

Dray-Gon called after, "We're leaving at the crack of dawn, princess--the first dawn--so don't sleep late."

For an answer, she slammed the door of her wagon. Inside her elaborately outfitted wagon, she quickly bathed and washed her hair, and fell wearily asleep. It seemed she had hardly closed her eyes when someone was rapping on her door, calling out, "Time to get up, princess."

Hurriedly Sharita dressed and ate a small meal of prepared food, and then joined the men who were saddling the horshets. Dray-Gon was buckling on the saddle of her own special white horshet. "You don't have to do that," she said to him sharply. "I can do it for myself."

Quicker than she could object, he had the saddle off the animal's back and thrown on the ground. "If that's the way you want it, as captain of this expedition--appointed by your father--from now on, it's against the rules for any man here to assist you in anything."

"My father didn't tell me he appointed you captain!" Sharita flared, her face flushed and angry.

"Whether he informed you or not, he did name me captain, and you, dear princess, are as much subject to my rule as any other here." And with this Dray-Gon extended his hand, showing her a crested ring, similar to the larger one the king wore. Sharita paled, then turned to pick up the saddle. It was heavier than she had supposed. Though she had seen it done many times, the effort of lifting the saddle and slinging it over the horshet's high back threw her to the ground. Quickly she got up and tried again. This time she managed to keep her balance, but she used too much effort, and the saddle ended up on the other side of the horshet, once more on the ground. Behind her, several of the young men were laughing. She pivoted around sharply to see who it was. She couldn't tell, for all faces sobered immediately.

"If you ask prettily, I may saddle your animal for you," Dray-Gon said with hardly any sarcasm.

She refused to reply, but stalked around to the other side of the restless horshet, and again picked up the saddle. This time it seemed even heavier, and she had managed to get it quite dirty, and now the seat of her pristine white uniform would be soiled. She tossed the saddle recklessly on the horshet's back, and somehow, for some reason, this time it stayed. Sighing, she reached under the horshet and found the right strap. Her horshet, Singer, began to prance about, unhappy with her clumsy handling, and her small hands, inexperienced at the task, couldn't buckle the cinch. "It seems we will be here all day if I don't help," said Dray-Gon, pushing her roughly aside. "The clumsy way you put on this saddle will have you dumped off in a ditch later on--and I swore to your father I would bring you back unharmed, or else I would let you end up in a ditch, broken legs and all."

"Why would my father ask for such a vow from you--when there are ten men here from Upper Dorraine, more dependable than any barbarian?"

"Bad judgment on his part, I suppose," replied Dray-Gon. "Then too, he may have thought a barbarian like me has more experience at this sort of adventure than any of your upperland dandies."

Just to the back of her, Sharita heard several men draw in their breaths, as if ready to take offense. She turned to see several of the young men she had known since childhood, squaring off, as if to fight with several of Dray-Gon's friends. "La-Don," called Sharita, "come assist me up on my horshet...we have to be on our way."

The handsome young man came willingly, smiling in triumph as he gallantly assisted the princess up, and at the same time, throwing Dray-Gon a look of disdain. The princess sighed in relief once they were under way, the first crisis averted.

The day was long and tiresome, and grew hotter as they approached Bay Sol. The large, clumsy wagons slowed their progress considerably, so that by nightfall they had only reached the rim of the bay, and there they settled down for the night. Sharita ate her second evening meal with a different group of four men, these from the upper borderlands, and since she had assisted with the meal preparation, this time it turned out slightly better. Two of her fingers were burned, and she had broken three long nails. That night after she was in bed, she studied a cookbook...the first she had ever read, or else she was going to end up skinny as a stick, for her own cooking wasn't much better than what the men managed to throw together.

Her light attracted someone, for he knocked on her window. "Time to turn out your light, princess, or you won't be able to get up."

"Go to bed, Dray-Gon," she snapped back. "Don't keep your eyes on me every second of the day, and the night too!"

She heard his soft chuckle. "I give you ten seconds, princess, or else I will come in and turn off the light for you."

"That is one thing you cannot do, Captain! I have the door locked!"

"Sharita," he called softly, very close to her window, "I have the master key that unlocks all the wagon doors..."

The count was nine when she snapped off the light, and then she heard his footsteps walk away. Why, her father must have been mad to have named him captain! He was a tyrant! A bully! He gave her absolutely no freedom! No privacy! He treated her like a spoiled, pampered, idiot child!

Such were Sharita's thoughts as she fell asleep.

Captain Dray-Gon was up early, rousing the other men, and barking commands right and left, for they were still within the unpoliced territory controlled by the many bands of outlaws, and he would have them out of here as soon as possible. "Hitch the horshets to the wagons," he ordered as one born to be in authority, "round up the puhlets and eat your breakfast." When all this was done, he called out, "Let's roll!"

It was then his first lieutenant Raykin, spoke: "Shouldn't the princess be awakened, Captain?"

"She seemed overly tired last night," answered Dray-Gon, peering this way and that to see that everything was done correctly, "and there is no reason why she has to ride with us, and leave the comfort of her wagon."

Again Raykin expressed his opinion: "But she isn't going to like being treated with patronizing condescension."

Sharply Dray-Gon cut his eyes to this handsome young man from Bar-Troth, an upperland province. This was the very elegant young dandy he had seen dance most often with the princess at the court ball. With intuitive recognition he guessed that Raykin was his most formidable opponent in the competition to win the love of the princess. The thought scowled his dark brows in a close knit. "Do you know the princess so well and so intimately that you can determine what she will consider patronizing and condescending?"

Raykin grinned in a challenging, snide way. "Her parents and my parents have always been the closest of friends--so Sharita and I have known each other since childhood."

As the two young men stood there, sizing each other up, each determined to win the same woman's favor, suddenly from the surrounding hills, came a large booming voice: "Hail there, fool sons of bakarets! I am Sintar, chief of the outlaws. You trespass upon my territory--and I demand tribute if you are to continue on with your absurd journey to speak with gods that don't exist!"

Dray-Gon spun about, keenly alert as he faced the voice that called, though the speaker was hidden behind large boulders, and he could see no one. "Hail to you, Sintar, chief of the outlaws," he called back in response. "I am Dray-Gon, captain of this fool expedition to speak with the Gods, whether or not they exist. Step out and show yourself like a man when you make demands of tribute!"

From the hills came a roll of booming laughter. "Step out and show myself, did you say? Do you consider me as large a fool as yourself, Captain Dray-Gon? I have no wish to be paralyzed for several hours--so hidden here behind the rocks you have no target for your weapons to aim at. But believe this, sons of noblemen, you are completely surrounded by my men, and you cannot escape, even with your paralyzing weapons, for just beyond the curve of the hill ahead, we have built a strong barrier of boulders through which your wagons cannot pass without my consent. Turn over to me the tribute I demand, and we will allow you to pass."

"Name the tribute!" Dray-Gon called, putting one hand behind his back and signaling to Arth-Rin and Ral-Bar, friends of his youth. The two young men from the lowerlands understood his gestures, and quietly, unobtrusively, stepped backward, slipping out of sight behind the horshets all readied for mounting.

"We demand but one thing," called the outlaw chieftain Sintar, "and we will permit you to pass on. Otherwise, we will rain down on your wagons and animals an avalanche of rocks, and we can slay your horshets one by one with our arrows. So don't think you can outwit us with your guns and your superior weapons. Primitive weapons can kill too!"