The Game of Stars and Comets (11 page)

Kade was in the field beyond the corral. He had a light riding pad on the stallion, another on the back of the lead mare. Equine nature had not changed across the star lanes, nor through the centuries. The herd was as it had always been; a wise mare to lead the bands into new pastures, the stallion ready to fight for his mares, bringing up the rear while in flight, nipping at those who fell behind.

By the gate of the corral stood a black figure, every line of his thin body suggesting, even from this distance, defiance he dared not translate into explosive action. Kade swung up easily on the stallion, booted the horse into a trot back towards the pole wall. And he did not miss Dokital's answering crabwise movement which was halted only by the half-open gate. Now the Ikkinni stood penned as the horse and rider approached him, his hands opening and shutting as if searching the empty air before him for a weapon which did not materialize. The stallion stretched out his head, sniffed at the native, and blew gustily.

"The beast carries no spear against it," Kade said. "Across the star paths this beast serves warriors, wearing no collar but this," he lifted his hand, displaying the reins. "As the Kwitu, grass is for its eating, not the flesh of men."

The hostility he was certain he read in the native's eyes did not diminish. Kade knew that with time pressing he must force matters. He whistled, the stallion nickered, and across the field the lead mare answered inquiringly. He had taken the precaution of looping her reins to the empty saddle pad, and now she came at a canter to join them, her sisters drifting after.

Buk was nowhere in sight, but Kade could not be sure that the Overman was not watching. Should the alien use the collar controls now—At least after his first attempt at escape Dokital had not moved, although Kade left a way open for him.

"Warriors ride," the Terran remarked. He put out his left hand and drew his fingers down the mare's soft nose.

"There is no warrior." For the first time the Ikkinni spoke. "It wears the collar." The heat of anger was searing, though the native did not even glance toward the stunner at Kade's belt.

"That is perhaps so," Kade agreed. "A warrior fights with a spear, a slave with magic knotted by night."

Dokital gave no answer to that charge. He stepped out of his corner refuge as if he were being pushed toward the horses and the rider by his desperate need to learn some truth. "The net holds it not?"

"The net is of Klor, how could it hold it which is not of Klor?"

Dokital blinked as he digested that bit of simple logic. But he had intelligence enough to not only accept Kade's answer but come back with a counter-argument to cross as a fencer's blade crosses his opponent's.

"The beast is not of Klor, how then can such be slave to those on Klor?"

"There is magic, and magic. Some kinds sweep from star to star, others bind the men of one world only. There is nothing to be learned without trial. The knots were netted for it, and that was a trial. Now let another trial be made."

For a moment, a very long moment, there was silence. Kade heard the ripple of breeze through the grass, the distant call of a sky high bird. He loosed the mare's reins, gathered them into his own hand.

Dokital moved, raising his palm up and out, taking one step and then another toward the mare. She turned her head, regarded the Ikkinni placidly. Then her nose came down to lip the native's fingers and Dokital stood valiantly, a tremor visible up his arm, yet he stood.

"Up!" Kade ordered, with a rasp which might have come from Buk's lips.

If Dokital had not appeared to absorb the information of the impromptu class in horsemanship it was surface indifference only. He mounted the mare clumsily. But he was safely on the riding pad when Kade walked the stallion out into the open land, leading the mare, the other horses trailing.

The walk became a cautious trot and the mare pushed a little ahead, until Ikkinni and Terran were riding almost thigh to thigh. Kade could read no expression on the native's face, but he was certain a measure of the other's rigid tenseness had vanished. And now Kade dared to increase the pace to a canter. They circled, were heading back toward the clustered buildings of the post, and Kade cut the speed back to a walk.

"A warrior rides," he said.

Dokital's hand went up to the collar he wore. "There is no warrior wearing this, starwalker," his head came around, his eyes were again red flames of eagerness. "Break these from us and you shall see warriors! But this must be soon."

A note in that alerted Kade. "Why?"

"The word has been passed. These are evil." Dokital combed his fingers in the mare's cropped mane. "There is said kill, kill!"

"Who kills? Those of the collars?"

"Those of the collars. With more from beyond." Dokital pointed with his chin toward the land which cupped the Terran post. There was the scarred landing apron, the winding river, the drifts of fast-growing grass broken by groves of trees, but it was a land at peace as far as Kade could see.

"From beyond?" he echoed.

Again, not lifting his hands from the mare's neck, Dokital gestured with his head toward the river.

"There are hunters out there. The Overmen bring them to a killing."

Kade reined in the stallion, leaned over as if to examine the rein lying along the horse's neck. But instead his eyes went on to the river bank. Not too close to the post one of the small bat-winged flying lizards zoomed to what must be the extent of its limited flight range. And it headed, not along the course of the waterway, but into the prairie. For the first time the Terran heard a sound near to a chuckle from the Ikkinni at his side.

"They walk there like the kwitu."

"Hunters?"

"That?" Dokital spat accurately over the mares head, his opinion of such clumsiness in the stalk so made graphic. "No. One who drives."

"How many?"

"One who drives—six—eight—ten." The native recited the listing of belt controls indifferently. "Another who drives more, more." His crested head turned on his neck as he conveyed the idea that the post was now ringed by unseen enemy.

"But why?"

"Over many say starwalkers bring demons. It fears. Also Overmen drive."

And the Overmen could only be taking orders from the Styor! The stallion obeyed Kade's reining, the pressure of his knees. Out of the grass, between them and the walls of the post courtyard, arose a line of men. And from the post Kade heard a shout—perhaps of warning, perhaps of outrage and surprise. Small figures boiled out of hiding, ripped loose from the grove, erupted from the face of the prairie. There was no time to reach the control of the post's force field. Kade could hear a distant clamor which argued that a fight had already broken out inside.

He booted the stallion into a dead run, flattened himself as small as he could on the animal's back.

The war cries came from all directions and a spear, too hastily thrown, arched over the Terran's back.

"Slay. Slay the demons!"

This time the spear scored Kade's shoulder, ripping the stuff of his tunic, its passage marked by a smarting red line. But he had broken through the line of natives which came apart, curling away from his mounted charge. He was by the corral, almost into the courtyard.

A red Terran coat made a splotch of color by the drab wall of the com room. But the man who wore it was propped on his arms, coughing out his life, as a spear shaft danced between his shoulder blades. Kade drew his stunner, sent one Ikkinni crashing into the dying Terran.

Then, out of nowhere, a mesh wrapped about his head and shoulders, and he fought wildly against a net, trying to keep his seat on the saddle pad. The throttling cords gave a little as Kade jerked at them. Against him the mare crowded and a knee ground into his thigh as fingers caught at his wrist, forced the stunner out of his hold.

"Kill! Kill!"

Buk shouted the order from behind a barricade of bales. The Overman was sweating and there was an avid eagerness in his face. His fingers were on his control box, he must be driving his gang frenzied by those jolts of force. And a handful of the Ikkinni were battering at the door of the com room, using spear butts fruitlessly against a substance only a flamer could pierce.

The haired hand which had pried the stunner out of Kade's grip steadied, as the thumb clicked a new charge into place. Somewhere, somehow, the young Ikkinni had picked up the oldest rule of hand gun shooting; to aim it as one points a finger. And the finger now pointed to Buk's control.

Nothing outwardly marked the impact of that arrow of energy until Buk tottered against the bales, his mouth drawn into a square of pain, his hands pawing at the air, while the control box shattered in a bright burst of unleashed power.

But Buk was not finished. Perhaps mere blind fear and pain sent the Overman at Kade, the largest target in his vicinity. He threw his knife and the Terran, still half-pinioned by the net, had no defense. One of those same net ropes saved the off-worlder's life, deflecting that wicked point to score flesh but not wound deeply.

For the Terran the rest of the fight possessed a dreamlike haze. Buk came on, wobbling uncertainly, his hands clutching air as if to tear at Kade. The stallion backed, snorted, and ran. While Kade, one hand over the bleeding cut in his side, clung to the saddle pad with all his remaining strength. Nor was he aware that another rider followed, while the loose mares, scattered and running wild, eventually gathered to their leader to head for the hills where evening shadows were already standing long and dark.

Kade remembered only one other thing clearly. The scene came to him for the rest of his life as a small vivid picture.

The horses and their riders were already screened by rising river banks, but they followed the curve of the stream, so that Kade, as their gallop fell again to a trot, was able to witness the act of a Styor ship coming from the north. The flyer was not a freighter, but a needle-slim fighting ship, undoubtedly one of the Cor garrison.

It circled over the Terran post where the rising smoke told of continued destruction. Then, with an ominous deliberation the flyer mounted skyward vertically. The pilot's return to earth was slow, deadly, for he rode down his tail flames which crisped everything. Had any Terran survived the initial attack by the controlled natives, there was little or no hope for him now. Attackers and attacked alike had been burnt from the face of Klor. To Kade the callous efficiency of that counterblast sealed the Styor guilt.

The Terran cried out, tried to turn the stallion back. But the reins were torn from his hold and, as a mist of pain and weakness closed in on him, Kade was dimly aware that they were headed on up the river into the mountains.

Arching sky over him was black, with the stars making frost sparkles across it, for the night was cold with the chill of early spring. Yet warmth and light were at his left, a warmth which was a cloak pulled over his half bared body. Kade dragged one hand across his left side, winced as its weight pressed a mass of pulpy stuff plastered on his wound.

He heard a low nicker, saw a horse's head, half visible in the limited light of the fire, toss with a flicker of forelock. And a figure came from the dark to loom over him. Dokital. Kade blinked, trying to see what was strange about the Ikkinni. A long moment later his dulled wits knew. The native's throat was bare, his slave collar was gone. As the other folded up his long legs to hunker down beside the Terran, Kade raised his hand.

"It is free."

White teeth flashed between dark lips. "It is free."

Those long-fingered hands went to work on Kade so he speedily forgot everything but the painful reaction of his body. The crushed mess was scraped from tender skin and a second poultice applied, patted into place with what seemed to Kade to be unnatural firmness. Unclenching his teeth he asked a question.

"We are in the hills?"

"The higher places," Dokital assented. "The collar masters can not come here. The Spearman brings down their fly-boats."

"And the post?" But Kade's memory already supplied the answer to that.

"There is no place. Those have left it only stinking earth."

Kade digested that. There was a chance, a very slim one, that perhaps Abu or Che'in, or both, had survived. He was sure that Santoz was the man he had seen die on the spear. Every Trade post was equipped with an underground emergency com. If the other two had managed to reach that in safety before the burn-off, there was a good chance they could hold out there until the help summoned by their SOS came. But the chance of such survival was indeed thin. Had they been above ground, still exchanging fire with the attackers when the Styor ship struck, then he was the last Terran left on Klor.

Meanwhile, for him, the mountains where the Styor ships could not patrol were the safest hideout.

"The horses?"

"One died from a spear," Dokital reported. "But the rest ran—faster than the kwitu, than the slog, faster than any Ikkinni, or any spear from an Ikkinni hand. Truly they are windswift ones!"

"Where do we go?"

Dokital fed a piece of rust-colored wood to the fire. "It is free. In the upper places there are many free warriors. It will be found."

"Iskug?"

"Iskug or others." He added a second piece of wood and the flames shot higher. Kade pulled himself up on one elbow, saw the horses stand, their heads pointing to the light, as if they, too, sought the promise of security, if not the warmth, of the fire.

But if Dokital meant that splotch of yellow-red in the night as a signal, there came no immediate answer. And at last the flames died, unfed, while Kade slept uneasily, but unstirring.

He awoke again cold, cramped, a chill slick of dew beading his good shoulder where he had pushed aside a light covering of twigs and lengths of dried grass. The throbbing in his side was only a faint memory, to be recalled when he moved stiffly to sit up. Last night's fire was burnt away to a handful of charred wood ends and a smear of ash. Seeing that, he looked around quickly, plagued with the thought he had been left in a deserted camp.