The Raven Warrior (65 page)

“Wrrrouuuouo,”
Tuau said.

“Fess up,” I told him. “What did Ilona say?”

He avoided my eyes. “How did you know?”

“Good guess,” I said. It wasn’t. Sometimes I just know things. But I saw I’d hit the mark.

“Ilona says you are leaving and in a way none of us can follow.”

I said, “That may be true.”

A silence fell and they all looked at me in concern and, I think, a bit frightened.

“Let us speak of this later.” My voice rang with command. It surprised me that I should be so imperious, but apparently I had earned it, because I was obeyed. “Better you should consider what you’re going to do to maintain yourselves in freedom.”

Goric and Albe looked at each other, and he said, “We spent last night talking about that.”

“Not all of last night.” Albe grinned.

“No,” he said. “But a lot. What we would like to do is organize ourselves into a guild. We would be the Guild of Herdsmen. The animals you saw when we first met.”

“The deer with fangs?” I asked.

“Yes. They provide most of the meat for the city. Horrible animals, dangerous, difficult to control. But withal, very good eating.”

We were having some sort of dried sausage with greens and bread. My mouth was full. I held one up.

“Yes,” he said. “We make it from the scraps on the carcasses and it’s sun-dried.”

Probably use the innards, also,
I thought. But then, no one ever wants to know what’s in most sausage.

“However,” he said, “we feel we might win the support of the other guilds. Their power counters the influence of the great families, and they are anxious to drum up as much support as they possibly can.”

Tuau scratched a flea carefully with his hind foot. “The diviners will, I know,” he said. “Nest told me. She said to pass the word along.”

“Yes,” I said. “But what about when the herds go back to the stables in the city?”

He and Albe exchanged one of those speaking glances, then I saw his eyes focused over my shoulder. I turned and saw we’d drawn quite a crowd. At least a hundred of the herdsmen were waiting for us to finish eating. I rose right away and got to work.

Goric and I carried the chains to the river. Here it ran into narrow channels. The ground was very broken. By the side of the river, we stood under a falls that dropped in a dozen separate places from the lake above. It was impossible to see very far in any direction. The place was a jumble of pools, ponds, small lakes, all interspersed among broken boulders and scattered, gigantic slabs of rock, all overgrown with vines bearing vicious thorns and bright flowers; small trees and long marsh grasses with sharp edges that sliced into the skin of anyone incautious enough to handle them carelessly.

Goric and I waded into the river. It ran shallow here. I could see there were wild things in abundance: snakes, big lizards, rabbits, otters, frogs, large snails, and fish, large and small. Then I saw something that gave me a chill: paw marks, cat, like Tuau, but much, much bigger.

I looked back and was surprised to see we were already out of sight of the cave where the slaves were kept. We were alone. I wasn’t alarmed, but wondered why he’d brought me here.

“You must go,” he said.

“Yes. And as soon as possible, before the great families regain their ambition to imprison me.”

“I thought of doing that myself,” he said bluntly.

I began to reply, but he held up his hand in a stop gesture.

“No. I gave up the idea when I saw what you could do. And when I spoke with Albe. I would say to you, remain here, become chieftain of our guild. Rule over us. But she tells me you are under a powerful geis.”

“I think my destiny was written before I was born,” I said. “I dare not deny it.”

“Will you take her with you?” He looked as though his life hung on the answer to the question.

“No,” I answered. “I must fly.”

“Ahaaaa. So that is the meaning of Ilona’s prophecy.”

“Yes.”

“The sun capes. You will want one. Think you can use it? They are more difficult than they look.”

“I can try,” I said. “I must reach the gates to the Summer Country. In my world they lie off the coast and are open only in the season of storms. And only birds can get to them now.”

His strange eyes gazed into mine. “Over the mountain,” he said. “You must fly over the mountain. As to the sun cape, . . . we must steal one.”

“Goric!” I said. “Slaves know . . .”

“Everything,” he filled in.

“Why?”

“We are so frightened of our masters, what they do affects us so much, we keep track and consider. What else have we to do but entertain ourselves with their intrigues? So I will put out the word among my people that a sun cape is needed. Someone will come forth with a suggestion, a workable idea. Have faith. The other question I would ask you is . . . do we allow the herds to be brought back into the city tonight? Do you think we can fool the great families one more day?”

“No. On balance I think you must take no chances. One night might make the difference between success and failure. If you are correct, the fanged antelope are the main meat supply for the city. Your ability to withhold them gives you the whip hand. The guilds would not easily forgive the great families for a disruption in the food supply. The great families may not understand justice, but they comprehend power. Most do. Demonstrate that you have it.”

He saluted me, raising his arm high.

“And,” I continued, “arm your people and as quickly as possible. There is no time to be lost, because as soon as they realize their predicament, they will attack you.”

“You would have been a great chieftain,” he said.

“I must find Arthur!” I told him.

We walked quietly back to the rest. I found the advice I had given him about his people arming themselves was not needed. They were making spears at fires within the caverns. They were hardening the tips. Others were making knives and spearheads from flint. They were turning hides to make slings and melting bead for shot.

When I paused to speak to them, I heard the words, “We want our freedom and are willing to pay the price.”

“The price is sometimes rather high.”

I had a good many requests for my touch, and in the end a whole wheelbarrow of chain went to the river. A lot of these were upper servants from the great houses, but another large percentage looked as down-trodden as the first woman I had helped this morning. Many had bruises, some had recently been flogged. Seems these were the newly captured from their own world, men and women who were given the dirtiest and most dangerous tasks in the hope of beating them into submission.

I could see that in a number of instances it hadn’t worked. Most were angry and rebellious, willing—in many instances more than willing—to die fighting for their freedom. The upper servants were less sure of themselves. They had loves and loyalties among their erstwhile masters. But most, however well treated, were filled with anger at the usurpation implied in their servitude, and I thought they would stand by their decision. Others were to some extent loyal to their masters but very much afraid that when the defection of so many of their kind became apparent, their masters would take out their rage on those few remaining slaves.

I spoke with the weapon makers and found my words respected far more than they would have been among any comparable group of human men. I acquainted them with the bolo, the spear thrower, and the bow, compound and simple. They in turn demonstrated the effectiveness of their stone tools and weapons. Flint takes a vicious edge, and obsidian is even more lethal.

At length I felt I had said and done all I could. By nightfall it was clear that no further slaves would be able to find their way here tonight. I drank a bit of wine and found myself drowsing over my food, so I curled up against the wooden partition and went to sleep. Albe and Goric joined me, and I was briefly aware of them. Whatever they were doing, they were . . . hell, I knew what they were doing. But they were quiet about it. I didn’t think Albe would be a screamer; and Goric, whatever he did, he was as quiet as a cat. So I enjoyed a good, long rest.

My dress—yes, I was still wearing it—woke me deep in the night. “Someone comes,” it whispered.

The woman I had freed yesterday crept silently into the stall and crouched down near me. But she was careful not to get close enough to touch me.

“My lady,” she whispered. “My lady!” she spoke a little louder.

I rolled over. It had been a smart move not to touch me. My sword was in my hand.

“What?” I asked, and added, “Don’t wake the rest.” I knew it was late. How did I know? I can’t tell; I just knew. The stillness was profound. Almost everything, even the night hunters, slept.

“I am Micka,” she said.

“We are well met, Micka,” I replied. She blinked. I don’t think she expected a courteous greeting. “I am Guinevere.”

In addition, I noticed she was clean. Her hair was cut short and she was wearing a fresh linen tunic. She no longer stank but had the warm-bread smell of a woman who has recently bathed.

“Goric says you want a sun cape. Well, I know where one is. If you come with me, I will take you there.”

“Where?”

She looked baffled for a moment, then said, “I’ll show you.”

The dance,
I thought.

You see, we use the dance not simply to convey inner meaning, but also to map the external world. Ure had danced the location of the Saxons on and along the coast. Both Maeniel and I understood him perfectly.

When the river left the lake, the water wandered away in many different streams into the badlands. Over the centuries when this world had an ocean, the stone was carven away by deep, fast currents as the ocean retreated and then tried to reclaim what it had abandoned in the wild jumble of rocky hollows, grottos, and caves that was left. Then at length when the ocean was gone, the river formed a chain of fens, swamps, ponds, and small lakes, all thickly overgrown with the desert plants I had seen on my way to the city.

Many of these were edible, and when the fanged antelope were penned up to be fattened for slaughter, she, Micka, and other foreigners were sent out to collect wild fruit and vegetation to keep them fed during the brief time it took for the meat to reach the desired level of tenderness. This was very dangerous work. The big cats prowled the badlands. More than one of her fellow slaves disappeared while foraging.

It was also possible in dry years to get lost in certain areas and die of thirst. The plants were not lilies, either. Most were venomous enough to cause anything from a rash or a scald to a deep ulceration on the skin of anyone forced to collect them.

All this she told me while we were on our way to what she called our helpers. I halted in surprise when I saw them: two of the big-fanged antelope. These two wore muzzles and had bits in their mouths. They were tethered. They try to gore you when they aren’t. Yes, they had the long, spiral horns, muscular bay bodies, and sharp, cloven hooves. But both wore blanket pads on their backs, held in place by thick straps.

Mine tried to bite me when I grasped the reins. Micka slapped it on the nose and it quieted. But when I mounted, it threw me by rearing, and when I was down, it tried to kick and then step on me. Micka slapped it on the nose again, and again it quieted. But when I mounted the second time, it tried to scrape me off against a rock.

Micka slapped it cross-eyed this time, and I stayed on its back. I could see why they weren’t tethered by the reins but rather with a chin strap attached to a stake. Micka turned it loose with some trepidation on her part.

It reared again and hopped three times on its hind legs. Then the forelegs dropped and it decided that since that didn’t unseat me, I must be tough. Temporarily at least, it decided to behave. We took off at a gallop, a blistering pace.

“Won’t we use them up?” I called out to Micka.

“No. It’s the only way to stay on their backs. You have to tire them out. Even so, we must let them go at dawn, because there is no water for them beyond that point. We will be in the desert. Watch out! They are full of tricks.”

Indeed they were. Mine tried throwing its head back and braining me with its skull. I corrected that by slapping its face with the long end of the trailing reins. It gave up on that and tried to break my knees in the narrow passages between rock formations. I had control of the bit and made the beast sorry every time it did it.

By dawn the beast was lathered and tired, still running fast. Truth to tell, I was almost as tired as it was. I had to hold on with my thighs and knees, and my legs and buttocks were sore. I was sure from the slick feel that I had brush burns on my inner thighs and buttocks. I would have given anything for one of our four-horn saddles that held the rider in place and allowed him or her to pick the safest route.

The sun was well up when our mounts quit on us. Or rather, when they wouldn’t respond to slaps and kicks or curses. Micka and I climbed down from their backs with a distinct feeling of relief, at least on my part. I was simply unbelievably sore. Once I was down, my mount tried to rear and crush my skull with a forehoof. I jerked its head down and gave it a truly terrible blow across the nose.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Micka said.

“I’d just as soon not,” I told her.

She unbuckled the girths and let the saddle pads fall to the ground. The halters were made of rope. She simply cut them loose with an obsidian knife. Our mounts still had enough energy to bolt. In that rocky, broken country, they vanished from sight in under a minute.

I wanted to rest, but knew it might quite literally be fatal if I allowed myself to get stiff. So we set out walking down the bottom of a narrow ravine that grew deeper and deeper. At first it was dark, but when the sun got higher, there was more light. Not that there was anything to see: layer on layer of eroded sandstone with outcroppings of darker rock, granite, and spongy lava. Where the wind had blown away the sand, it laid bare calcareous limestone packed with shells and the remains of other sea creatures, many the likes of which I had never seen before.