The Unforsaken Hiero

VII. HUNTERS AND THEIR PREY

Hiero lay stretched along a great fork, far up on the outer limb of the tree. In the distance, the roar of the saberfang rumbled, to be followed by silence. It was a cloudy night, and the moon came and went fitfully from gaps in the racing clouds. He was staring in the direction of the distant village, but he could see only its outline, a black and lightless mound in the intermittent moon gleams. No sound had come from it since he had found his present perch, save for the occasional restless mooing of a kaw somewhere in a pen.

He lay at seeming ease, but his spear was firmly held in his right fist, and his shield was strapped on the other arm. In need, he could drop the haft of the spear and draw the ancient short sword from over his shoulder in a second. There was no way he could get into a better position for defense. Now he could only wait and see what the night brought.

The tree had been reached and his site selected well before the last light faded in the west. He had eaten, and the coarse bread tasted fine, after many weeks deprived of grain. With the coming of dark, he had cautiously begun to probe with his mind, sending out his thoughts on an ever-widening sweep. And it was then that the surprises had commenced. Almost instantly he had touch with another mind!

As soon as his own feather caress struck it, the strange mind withdrew, flinching away and out of reach like a snake whipping back into a coil. There was no communication, only the instant retreat. He felt that it had neither known what had touched it nor sought to know. It had simply used a trigger reflex, one as good as his own, an automatic cutoff, so to speak. Whatever the mind was, it had a built-in safety factor, which snapped it out of any contact almost before the contact had been established. This gave one to think. His own abilities along those lines had been patiently learned under pressure, the pressure of the Unclean. But he had a feeling that this mind needed no such training, but was born the way it was.

In the coolness of the night, with a fine, fresh breeze rustling the leaves all about him, he set about trying to find the mind again. And this time he received a fresh surprise. His muscles tensed in reaction as he felt the new contacts. There was a whole group of similar minds, perhaps as many as a dozen!

Again came the trigger reaction as they evaded him, hiding behind mental shields so tight he could gain no opening. This time, though, he felt that at least one of the strangers had sensed him, but only fleetingly. He caught the shadow of awareness as it vanished. It might not know what had touched it, but it knew something had done so. He decided to lie quiet for a bit and try nothing further. Perhaps he could learn something by different methods. His mind stayed open, receptive to any outside thoughts at all. If he waited thus, the elusive creatures he had detected might come to him, hunting for contacts in their own way.

For a long time thereafter, nothing happened. When something finally did, it seemed to have nothing” to do with him. His first notice of it was a physical one. Far out on the savanna, to the northeast of both the Metz and the silent walls of the village, he heard the squeal of a frightened animal. Hiero had idly wondered earlier at the absence of the larger animals from the vicinity of the village. Earlier, there had been plenty of them about, but only in the middle distance. Now in the dark hours, there seemed to be none at all of either predators or those they hunted. All the life about him was small in size. There were snakes and lizards, rodents and weasels, plus a few foxlike beasts. The cry from far out in the dark was that of something large, something hunted and terrified. He felt for it with his mind and also listened with his ears. Presently, he detected it with both. He could hear, though only faintly, the drum of racing hoofbeats, and in his brain came the panic of a big herbivore of some kind, running at its hardest, running until its heart was bursting. He could feel the direction and knew the animal was coming closer rapidly.

The moon broke through the flying clouds and he now actually saw the chase, etched in black and grays. The figure of a big buck with tall lyrate horns was galloping for its life. Behind it, the hunters came—and they were an amazing sight.

They were bipedal and they were running at a speed the man would not have believed possible. The fastest Mu’aman racer of Luchare’s kingdom would have been left far behind such runners. Hiero knew well what a pace one of the big antelopes could set, and these things were hauling it down!

Straining his eyes, he could see that there were perhaps a half dozen of the pursuers and that they were very thin and tall. Whatever they were, he decided not to try to probe their minds at this time. The hunt was rapidly drawing close to his clump of trees. If they were the elusive minds he had tried to track earlier, and he was quite certain that they were, this did not seem the time to call their attention to him. Then he realized that he was to have little choice in the matter. He saw suddenly that the hunted beast was not trying to reach his area at all! Being a creature of the open, it was attempting to flee to the outer savannas. It was coming toward his trees because it had no choice. The incredible runners were driving it there.

As he watched, Hiero saw the big antelope try repeatedly to check and break away. Each time, one of the tall bipeds increased its own already fantastic speed and closed the gap, forcing the prey back on the track they had chosen for it. Moreover, it was not being herded to the clump of trees, the Metz realized in a hurry. It was being chased specifically to his tree!

Still as a stone, he watched the end. The buck turned at bay, its back to the trunk of his own refuge. He could have dropped a stick on the heaving sides or the lowered horns.

The end came very quickly. One of the shadowy hunters charged straight at the horns and then, with a movement so rapid that the man could hardly follow it, darted away at right angles, no more than the thickness of a knife blade from being impaled on the points. This was all the opportunity needed by the others. At the same incredible pace, another one darted in from the side and merged with the neck of the buck. There was a flash of light, glittering under the moon, and the second killer sped on, hardly seeming to pause.

The antelope shook its head and tried to brace its forelegs. A dark stream was pouring from its throat. With one final shudder, it collapsed, kicked once or twice, and then was still. Hiero thought he had never seen a neater, quicker kill. He looked quickly away from the body to see what the alien bipeds would do next and got another surprise. They had vanished.

One moment there were six tall, lean shapes in a semicircle around his tree; the next, the night was empty. It was as if they had never been. Were it not for the corpse of the antelope, Hiero might have thought he was dreaming.

He waited warily. It hardly seemed likely that a mere accident had caused the strange chase to be led so unerringly to his hiding place. No, something else was coming, and he had better be ready for it.

What came was nothing physical. He simply began to feel a sensation of fear growing in his mind. It was not a thought of any kind, nothing so clear and identifiable. Rather, it was more like a feeling of oppression, a sensation produced when the barometer was dropping and the air was hushed and heavy with the presence of an oncoming storm. Only in this case, he felt afraid!

Something was coming, something was stalking him, and he was helpless to defend himself. The shadows were full of yellow or orange eyes, all piercing the dark and all concentrated on him alone. A whiff of a curious odor came to him on the night wind, musky, fetid, and also vaguely familiar. The scent seemed to heighten the fear, and his hand even loosened the grip on his spear for an instant.

The movement of his hand served as a bracer. His brain cleared, and he realized that he was falling under a spell of a kind he had never before encountered. He, who had hunted all his life, was now being hunted. Worse, he was being treated as if he were already a helpless victim! He rallied himself and began to trace the strange glamour which was falling over him.

It was not his mind that was under attack. That type of assault he could easily guard against, and no warnings of such a thing had occurred. What, then? His body? Save for the acrid and feral odor, he had detected nothing physical at all. Yet he knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that he was the focusing point of a planned attack. The sensation of great fear was still there, but now he had mastered it, and it no longer had the power to make him do anything he did not choose.

The eyes were an illusion, created by fear. He could not actually see them. The bile rising in his mouth and the sweat starting on his skin were also products of fear, the irrational fear which his brain could control, but which seemed to have nothing to do with any ratiocination. Incredible as it appeared, he was under attack on his will by chemical methods aided by a mental assault on his emotions. His eyes narrowed in thought as he began to break down the course of this biological onslaught. At the same time, he mentally apologized to the villagers whom he had thought so stupid. If this was a sample of what they had to live with, he had much maligned them in his previous views on the subject!

Somehow, these runners in the night could take aim at: the deep animal levels of the psyche. The scent, probably a natural weapon, was the second weapon, used to enhance the fear started by concentrated will Intellectual ability was no defense at ail against such an animal barrage. It totally bypassed the brain and struck at the root of feelings, the same basic emotions that made a child cry or a dog salivate. By the time these creatures had got a good hold on the emotional centers of their prey’s inner self, he was doomed. He was literally frightened to death, long before the actual kill took place. The dead buck could probably have been reduced to utter helplessness, had the hunters chosen, so that it would have been able to make no defense at all.

Now, why had they not so chosen? Hiero thought he knew the answer. For the first time since he had felt their presence directed at his own, a grim smile crossed his lips.

The hunters were growing impatient now. He could feel the irritation coming to him almost as a palpable wave. Why did he not come down from his perch and offer his naked throat? The irritation was growing into anger, and Hiero could feel the heat of the frustrated rage rising from below. There would be some action soon. These beings were not patient at all when thwarted. So be it. He had the fear under perfect control now, holding it in easy check even while he examined the effects on his nerves and body chemistry. He was angry himself now, but in a cold state of anger. Somebody was going to get a sharp lesson in very short order.

He slid down the branch and climbed carefully to a lower fork, the breeze ruffling his hair as he did so. This was far enough. He had not forgotten the unbelievable speed he had witnessed. Yet if his guesses were correct, he would only have to deal with one adversary at a time, at least to begin with.

A rack of clouds began to cover the moon again, and he braced himself. He had mentally measured all the distances to every branch. His sword was drawn and the spear leaned on the main trunk at his back. This ought to be close work. That was what the attackers liked, if he were not mistaken.

As the moon vanished, the faint scrape of claws gave the alert. The dark figure swarmed up the tree like a flitting shadow, scarcely a whit slower than its pace on the ground, but he was quite ready for it. With great care, he used the flat of his sword on the round skull, even as it whipped up to his own level. The dull noise of the impact was followed by a long, slithering, scrambling fall as the half-stunned thing tried to catch itself on the way to ground at the bottom. He heard the thump as it hit, and this time he laughed aloud, deliberately and contemptuously. He knew that this gesture would reach attentive and enraged ears and got ready for the next rush. The fury from around the base of the tree beat up on his senses almost as if it were something tangible.

The next foe came more slowly, though still at a very fast rate of climb. This one was really hopeful; as Hiero struck with the blade’s flat again, he saw that in one arm there was a rope or leather lasso of some sort. They wanted him alive, did they? The same crashing, scrabbling fall followed, but there was a cry as well, a high, squalling sound. The fall sounded heavier this time, too. Hiero laughed again, the derisory sound calculated to induce a mad outburst of insane rage in those who were meant to hear it. The reaction was as prompt as he had thought it might be. They had swallowed their pride a little, though, because this time their attack was doubled.

Lightning-fast they might be on the plain; but, with his feet firmly set in the broad tree crotch, Hiero could move his arms and body with equal speed. The first one got the shield in its face and fell back, half-stunned, as had the others. The second, coming up the opposite side of the bole, managed to gain the crotch before getting the flat of the sword behind one ear. A knife tinkled on wood as the hand which held it opened and fell limp. This particular hunter was going to stay in the tree for a bit!

At the same time, the moon burst from behind the clouds, and the warrior-priest was able for the first time to see what lay at his feet. In the light filtering through the tossing branches and leaves, she was a lovely thing.

As tall or taller than Hiero, she was covered with a fine, close fur, a mixture of small spots and blotches on a lighter background. The tips of her small breasts were bare skin, and so was the nose, which was very blunt, with wide nostrils flaring back and sideways. The forehead was broad and shallow, with a black bar of darker pelage running across it; the chin was slightly receding and also shallow. The closed eyes were large under the heavy brow ridges, and the delicately pointed ears were set higher on the skull than a human’s. The narrow skull had plenty of occipital room for brains.

Listening intently for any new movements below, Hiero examined the long, slender limbs. The feet and hands were very human, save for the fur, but no human had sharp, retractile claws rather than nails! She was quite nude, save for a broad leather belt which held a small pouch and an empty dagger sheath. Hiero stood up, his suspicions confirmed.

Cats! Since the first faint reek of the hunting odor and the elusive mind touches, all his memories, all his knowledge of the world of animal life, studied since birth, had screamed one thing at him—cats! This was a mutation he had never before encountered or even guessed at. He was sure there was no record of it in the Abbey files. These night runners were something new to most human experience. Probably only the lost villages out on the plain had ever encountered them and lived to tell of it! Hiero remembered the elder’s tale of the traders who had so silently disappeared. He could easily imagine the scene around the fires as the fear and the musk wafted down on the unsuspecting men. This, then, was the source of the herder’s inbred night fear. Eyes in the dark, growing terror, and finally—death!

Now, from the foot of the tree, he could hear very faint movements. If enough of them attacked when the moon was next hidden, they could almost certainly overwhelm him. A lot of them would die, but the end would be an inevitable one. It was time to try something new and quickly.

He reached out with his mind, one foot resting on the body of his captive, feeling the faint rise and fall of her breath through his sandal. This time, on their odd wavelength, he got a mind which did not flinch, a very angry and aroused mind. It was already reaching out, not for him, but for the she, who had so suddenly disappeared. This was the leader, a male mind that had not been challenged so in ail its life. Hiero could almost see the blazing amber eyes and the ruff on the back of the neck, the bared carnas-sials and the flattened ears.

The reaction to Hiero’s sudden appearance on the private mental band that the cat people used was first startled, then furious. But—there was a brain there, down below. The link was not broken.

Where is the young sheP Come down from that monkey’s perch or we will kill you slowly!’The message was quite clear to one with Hiero’s training. These beings were used to mental speech among themselves, and their Images were fast and well formed. The contempt in the words “monkey’s perch” was also plain.

Killing me is not so easy, the man sent. Some of your folk have sore limbs and heads to prove it. I could have killed them very easily. Yet I sheathed my claws. Why not use their own images? Think about that. And remember this. I have your she up here in my power. Beyond another sore head, she is unharmed, but only as long as I choose! Me made his defiance flat and unequivocal. These creatures had had things their own way for far too long!

The mental link snapped off, in the way he had come to associate with these cats. But he could hear a purring murmur far below. They were not stupid. He could hardly eavesdrop in their spoken language, and they had no idea what else he could do. So they were being careful with a new discovery. This mouse had teeth! Best to wait and consider for a while.

Meanwhile, Hiero could feel the first stirring of awareness in the body under his heel. Bending swiftly, he unhooked the catch on his belt and tied her arms behind her back at the elbows. With a short length of thong from his pouch, he lashed her feet together at the ankles. If an attack came, he wanted no interference from an enraged wildcat of this frantic race.

After a time, the ruling mind below suddenly sent another message. Send the young she down. If no harm is done her, we will think again. If not, we will come and kill you.

In the wan light of the cloud-flecked moon, the Metz considered. Was this simply an arrogant bluff? The creature below had promised nothing. With the young female back in their hands, they could still attack and would have gained rather than lost. He, on the other hand, would have lost a hostage whom they obviously valued. His mind raced, balancing what he knew and had guessed about these folk, above all considering their ancestry and the probable way they would react to any new situation. There had been a merciless confidence in the mind of his rnenacer, but something else as well, or rather, two somethings. One was a feeling of integrity, as if the mind had never needed to lie. The other, and perhaps the more reliable, was something the man had been hoping for all along. Curiosity, that was it. It might not kill these cats, but it could help. Not for the first time in his turbulent life, Hiero decided to take a chance.

His captive was awake now, and the oval eyes, a third again as large as his own, glared defiantly up at him, the slitted pupils contracting in fury.

The wide, almost lipless mouth bared its sharp-looking teeth in a mute threat of what she would do to him, given the chance. Absently, he noted the fine whiskers on the upper lip and along the slender muzzle. It really was more that than a nose, he decided.

Peace, little sister. I mean no harm. I release you to those down on the ground. Your leader—He sent a picture of the dominant male mind—has asked for you back safely. He slowly unfastened her feet, next the elbows, and all the time kept his reflexes tense for any sudden moves. He had no real fear of being caught in unarmed combat by this slender thing, but those teeth and claws were no mere ornaments.

She rose equally carefully, watching him all the while. The wide eyes were now baffled rather than enraged. When he handed her the long knife he had earlier picked up from the tree crotch, the eyes widened further. But she thrust it into the sheath at the refastened belt and slid out of the fork and down in one easy motion. He settled back on his haunches and waited. He had a feeling that it might be a long wait.

The night waned and the moon sank until it disappeared. A few jackals barked in the distance, and a large owl flitted into Hiero’s tree, noted the silent man, and flew away, hooting mournfully in disgust. But Hiero knew that he was not alone. He had no intention of leaving his so-called monkey’s perch to see how many eyes glared up into the dark. The individual minds were closed to him, but he could feel a group aura growing as more and more of the night people arrived and went into conclave. The ground below must be thick with them by now. He wondered if he were going to die bloodily this night and said his prayers with especial emphasis on the virtues of charity and forgiveness. He was not thinking of his own efforts along those lines, but of others who might possess them!

The summons came as abruptly as all the other reactions he had observed from the catfolk. If you don’t want to be harmed, come down at once, came the leader’s message. We are leaving and will take you with us. Grudgingly, it added, You may keep your weapons. Do not try to use them.

As he clambered thoughtfully down the tree, Hiero exulted deep inside. It had worked! So far, at least, his guesses were paying off. The next few moments would see whether his throat would gape. He had no illusions about being able to handle a swarm of these extraordinary mutants on the ground. He said a last prayer and touched earth with his feet.

It was dark at the base of the tree, but not so dark that he could not see the ring of tall figures around him and the open anger blazing from the fiery eyes. He wondered how many humans in the past had seen such a group as their last sight, before dying as they knelt paralyzed with terror and incapable of defense. His hand tightened on his spear. He was not kneeling, at least, nor was he in any way paralyzed.

Come! It was the mind of the ruling male who gave orders. You can goat your own speed. We will go slowly, as slowly as your kind of plodding thing out there. The contemptuous thought was directed at the silent village.

I am not from out there, Hiero sent, as perhaps you have learned tonight. He felt the renewed anger at his open defiance. These people were totally unused to being countered in any way, and certainly not by mere humans.

The tali chieftain kept his temper, however. He was leaning over Hiero now, at least seven feet of him, if the estimate in the poor light were correct. No, you are certainly not as they. You can speak the way only the (Hiero translated the strange vocal image as “Eer’owear;” he could get no closer) can do. This is unheard of You resist our killing thoughts and even the Wind of Death, This was obviously the terrible scent, the pheromone, which sapped the will to resist.

No, the catman continued, you are not of those out there. You may he of another kind altogether. Perhaps you are something much worse! We have certain legends of the past of such as you may be. Our elder folk, some of them, remember these as I do only dimly. If you are what I think you may be, you had better have died in your tree!

They were moving off now, over the tall grass of the open plain, headed east under the dark clouds. Hiero was in the center of a loose ring, and they moved at a gentle lope that in no way stretched his running ability. He decided not to mention this. It might just come in handy.

The leader spoke again in the man’s mind, and Hiero could feel the doubt.

Personally, I hope that you are not what we all suspect. There was a pause, almost a reluctant one. You have courage. You came down on my word alone. Also, even those you struck with that big knife admit that you could have easily killed them and did not. Another pause. The young she likes you, even though her head is sore. She is a Keeper of the Wind. Hiero gathered the title or honorific was important.

Young shes, even Keepers, will play with anything. They steal the cubs of those apes back in the wooden wall and try to make pets of them! They always die, though. Hiero said a silent prayer for God knew how many lost babies of the unfortunate villagers.

Say your name aloud, in your own speech, he suddenly shot at the chief. The answer was a rumbling, purring, grunting sound that no human could really hope to approximate. Hiero tried, nevertheless, and finally achieved something like “B’uorgh.” He could feel the amusement at his attempt in the other’s mind. Any small gain of that sort might pay off in a handsome way later on.

A mile or so farther on, B’uorgh’s thoughts came again. You are a hunter, like us, stranger. The term really meant “oddity/enigma.” Those creatures back in the wall, they hunt with traps and covered pits. Can you hunt, as we do, in the dark?

Yes, Hiero thought. I hunt more slowly, though. I cannot see at night as your people do. Nor can I run thus. I have never seen such running, he added quite honestly.

None can match us, B’uorgh’s thought ran, full of pride. We are the Children of the Night Wind. Still, he added, there are good hunters among the lesser folk, some of whom lie in wait. At times we hunt them! And at such times, some of us may not return.

Hiero realized that the catman was rationalizing an attempt to accept a mere human, however odd, as a kind of equal or at least something only slightly inferior. This was a necessity to the arrogant chief. There was another factor as well, and this was one the Metz had been counting on all along, one he had figured out long before. The chief was curious. He found the new puzzle most intriguing and wanted it to continue. The kitten had found a new ball of string! Not only the young shes liked to play with new objects, it seemed. Hiero stifled a smile in the dark at the thought of the lean giant padding beside him ever having been a kitten.

We do not like the apes in the walls, living off plants and their tame beasts. Though the milk of the beasts is good, and we take what we want of it. You have met a young she, the one whose head you almost cracked. Soon you will meet another kind of she. Perhaps you will learn why we do not like the creatures which are far more like you than like us. I am beginning to remember bad things, things of long ago. We will speak no more until we come to the home place/lair. The last thought tones were not at all encouraging.

A darker shadow had been rising to meet them for some time. They were approaching another grove, such as the one Hiero had taken shelter in. It was larger, though, and the Metz could feel that it was not empty. The catfolk could silence their individual minds to him; but in a group, they gave off a sort of cloudy miasma, a mental mist which he was finding easy to recognize. This, then, was the home place. He hoped firmly that it would not be his final place!

In a few moments they were in the shadow of the great boughs and plunged into a narrow path through the undergrowth at the edge of the wood. It twisted and turned like a demented corkscrew but, after a short while, emerged into a densely shaded clearing. Hiero’s night sight was good enough to see narrow ladders leading up into the trees. Toward one of these, he was gently but firmly urged.

The ladder was quite steep and led a long way up. Eventually, he found that he and B’uorgh were alone at the outer edge of a large platform made, from the feel of it, of woven vines and slender withes. Alone? No. There was another watching, brooding presence there, crouched under a mat of branches at the far side. From the gloom, orange gleams studied them, then an arm was waved. Sit!

Side by side, the catman and the human squatted, while the being in front of them stared in silence. There was no attempt to touch his mind, Hiero knew, or to communicate in any way with the chief. He had the feeling that the person before him was simply ruminating, remembering and estimating, considering and rejecting. She took her time. Finally, she rose from her mat of branches and moved forward into the dim light until she could crouch only a small distance from them.

She was old, the Metz saw, old and worn. But she was vibrant with life, her mind and spirit burning, even as her body slackened and her sinews loosened. B’uorgh was no doubt a fine fighter and the capable leader of a hunting or war band. But this was the real ruler!

I have no name, even in our own tongue, Strange One. Her mental voice was fine-timbred and steely, with no age in it. Her great eyes were lighted with an inner fire, but there was no loss of control and no impatience, such as he had noted even with B’uorgh. I am the Speaker and the One Who Remembers. Since the vanished time when we became free, such a one as I must force the Folk to recall that which was past. They must never forget the Bad Time, which was in another place far away and happened before my mother many times away saw the sun rise and the moon set. Now you come, mayhap for the first time since a Speaker was trained and named, and you may be, in your single body, the sole reason that I and all those other Speakers who are now gone into the Wind ever existed. She reseated herself in one fluid motion even closer before them. Hiero felt that it was incumbent on him to answer. A vague idea of this race’s past was coming to him, but he concealed it and sent a bland concept.

At least I am no enemy of your people. I have told the chief here that I am not of the people out on the plains, the village dwellers. I think he believes me.

The response was quick and cold. It is not what he believes, Furless One! It is what I believe! That is why I am here. Her mental pitch lowered and calmed, the challenge having been met. She changed her tack.

We are not, as you seem to think, the foes of those creatures who herd together out in their sties, less alive than the beasts that feed them. No! We use them! And they have another purpose, which directly concerns you, for you are far closer to them than you are to us. Can you guess that other purpose?

The priest thought both rapidly and privately. This was a loaded and horribly dangerous question. He was standing on the edge of a figurative precipice. He might be dead in seconds if he gave the wrong response! Yet he had to do something fast. He chose to gamble.

Those people out in the open land, who are of my kind, though simple and harmless in themselves, they serve as an—example. They help us to remember times long ago. Times when others, who looked like them in the body, at least, were not harmless! He held his breath, his eyes locked on the vertical pupils of the Speaker.

She drew in her own breath with a faint hiss, a sound of mingled appreciation and recognition. You know, then? And if you know, how much do you know? And, most of all, if you do indeed know, whence does your knowledge come?

Hiero framed the concepts in his mind with exquisite care. He was still balanced on a knife edge. One wrong move and the big chief, so silent beside him, would attempt to rend him limb from limb before he could move. All the aged female would have to do was nod.

Believe that I know nothing, he sent. Still, I have traveled far in my life. I have fought and journeyed in many lands, with stranger allies than you could begin to imagine. Against us have been pitted even stranger foes, some like me in appearance, some not. The worst of these evil beings, my greatest and most terrible enemies, are outwardly of my race. He paused for effect. Only outwardly. And even then, they have no trace of hair, being truly furless, on their heads and bodies. Was there a momentary contraction of the barred pupils? He continued. In secret places, usually far from the light of the sun, they breed slaves, many of them of other races, whom they would warp and change into servants of evil. Such as these: He formed an image of one of the Hairy Howlers, the monkey Leemutes, and when she had had time to absorb it, another of a scowling Manrat, one of the giant, intelligent rodents. Ever so slightly, the Speaker relaxed, her posture slumping a little. But her eyes never left his.

Her next thought had something of supplication in it. The anger was gone, at least from his direction. So—if you do not know, then you can guess at least at the shame that we, the freest of the free, still bear?

I hold it no shame to be kept captive and tortured against my will by the servants of all that is bad. I have been so held and tortured. And I escaped! Indeed, I am fleeing even now, to join my own folk far to the north. As once, long and far in the distant past, the Children of the Wind fled also, seeking the open sky and the fresh air of freedom. Hiero was now fairly relaxed. His shrewd postulates, buoyed by hints dropped all evening, were being proved correct. The Speaker’s next thought confirmed him in his assurance.

Show me an enemy in your mind! One of those who command the others!

This was easy for the man. The hated face of S’duna, the Unclean Master, his inveterate and deadly foe, was often in his head. The pale, hairless face, the almost pupilless eyes, burning with a dead fire, the whole aura of malign purpose, were displayed for the cat-woman’s view.

She hissed again, and the chief beside him did also, a susurration of venomous rage, an anger that many generations of freedom could not kill, the hatred of the proudest and most independent of the mammalian breeds for those who had once presumed to chain them!

It is they! May they burn in the fires of the lightning! Death to them in their caves, death to them who brought the pain, who slew the cubs and the old, who worked with their cunning tools and their sharp knives! For they held us helpless with their minds, frozen in place, and they laughed as we suffered! They would make us useful, they said. We would be good servants when our wills were broken to their taste. Listen, Strange One, you who hate them also. I, the Remembrancer, the Speaker of the Eastern Pride, will tell you of that time, as my mother told me, having learned it from hers in turn! Learn the tale, as all our cubs must. For if you hate them, and I sense that you do not lie, then you are our friend and I offer you the help of the Pride!

Now, at last, Hiero could lounge back and allow all tension to leave his body. The Unclean, who would have writhed at the very idea, had found him new allies!

As the night finally faded and the dawn came in the east, he heard of the capture of the cat people in another land, many hundreds of leagues away in the southwest somewhere. He guessed, but did not say, that the Unclean had bred them for enhanced brain power as well as for physical stamina, feeling that they had acquired a splendid race of warriors.

What a mistake! With the increased brain power had come increased self-will. The catfolk learned that they were slaves, mere chattels, considered no more than tools of the Great Plan. From their enforced captivity, they learned cooperation. From their pain and loss, they learned patience. From their captors’ lies and cunning, they learned deception. They organized.

There was a night of blood. They broke from the caverns and buried laboratories, suffering and inflicting much loss. They had so taken their overlords by surprise that those who survived were hardly pursued. And they ran, the proud ones, the free, ran until their hearts almost broke, ran with their shes carrying the cubs. At last they were beyond the mental reach, the invisible chains, of their former masters, but still they went on, until one day they reached a new land. Here they stayed, but never forgot what had passed. They would never be taken so again. Their grim history was taught to every young one until it became a permanent scar on his racial memory.

When a wandering group of human settlers appeared in the area with their cattle, slitted eyes watched in the shadows. The only men the cat people had ever known were the Unclean. Almost, the decision was taken to kill them all out of hand. Wiser counsels prevailed. They studied the loathed creatures and decided that these men were in essence harmless. The milk and, when wanted, the flesh of their beasts were useful. Let the settlers stay in their villages. They would be taxed—and ruled.

The rule was not onerous, but it had a few strict laws. Any human being who saw one of the Children of the Wind, except at very long range, died. There were no exceptions. Among the ruling elders of the cat people, the thought was that the humans would serve a variety of purposes. Aside from the food easily taken, they would be a living reminder of the past. Also, if the Unclean or their allies should ever reappear, the villagers would mask the presence of the catfolk, thus allowing them time to plan. And so affairs had continued for what Hiero estimated was perhaps some two hundred years of his time.

The villagers were invariably inside their stockade by dusk. Then the People of the Dark, naturally nocturnal, emerged and took over the land. Their skilled hunting kept the area largely free of dangerous animals, thus benefiting the three villages. And the catfolk separated into three packs, or Prides, one for each village. It was cruel in a way, but the villagers did not live too badly. They soon learned the rules. One lived with the ghosts and put out food and milk at certain hours and in certain ways. Any who simply disappeared or vanished after dark had seen a ghost. Their fear kept them in their villages and discouraged exploration. Once in a while, a man trapped by night in a tree would see the hunt sweeping far away over the savanna and know that the racing figures he had seen were the gods of his tribe, thus reinforcing both awe and the observation of the law.

Hiero philosophically reflected that he had seen plenty of people who lived worse, in what they called freedom. One day in the future perhaps, he or others would be able to take thought to this odd, disparate set of cultures and attempt to modify things and bring some changes.

Eventually, her tale done, the Speaker allowed the man to be led away to a branch-shaded platform to sleep with the coming of day. This was their own sleep time, though they needed less sleep than humans and interrupted their drowsing with minor tasks, such as leather work and the making of rude pottery and baskets.

The next afternoon, B’uorgh awakened the man. All of the Pride were assembled in an open space, and Hiero was formally introduced to all of them, down to the smallest cubs. A messenger was sent to the other two Prides, telling them what had been done and why. After this, Hiero had the freedom of the land and began to enjoy himself hugely.

They were a simple folk in terms of physical culture, at about the level of the ancient aborigines of far Australia. They used no weapons save for long knives, of metal when they could obtain them, but otherwise of sharpened flint. These they took from the villages. In truth, as the Metz had witnessed, they needed nothing else. Their incredible agility plus the Wind of Death made hunting almost too easy! Everything they needed was at hand, and they lived very well, wanting no more than they had. They used fire, but only for warmth and light, preferring their flesh raw. They ate certain tubers and berries when they felt they needed them, and they knew which plants were useful in their rude pharmacopeia.

Two cubs were the normal birth, and Hiero found them enchanting. They decided the new, furless person was a fine toy; as he strolled through the encampment of an evening, he usually had a bouncing, wiggling, furry bail in the crook of each arm… Behind tagged a trail of older children and shy adolescents, racking him with so many questions at once that his head ached from trying to sort out the thoughts and answer them. He was welcome at every hearth and tried to eat at different places every day.

In the evenings, he always paid a formal call—for the catpeople were very formal—on the Speaker, where he chatted for an hour or so with her, B’uorgh, and the young Speaker-to-be, she whom he had clubbed on his first encounter. Her name, as close as he could form it, was M’reen, and she bade fair, in his opinion, to being as smart as her teacher.

The personal relations of the catfolk were subtle and often hard to understand. There were pair bonds and also deep affection between couples, but sex seemed to be indiscriminate. Any mother’s cubs were hers, but some shes stayed always with the same male and others changed mates. He gathered there were festivals when all rules were abrogated for brief periods. At such times they burned the leaves of a certain herb and grew wildly excited, if not actually intoxicated.

The Speakership was selective and took long training; but, as Hiero might have guessed, B’uorgh had fought his way to his position as hunting and war chief and would someday be challenged again by one of the younger males. Should he survive all such combat, as sometimes occurred, he would become one of an honored circle of elder males who advised the Speaker and helped to preserve tradition.

On certain nights, the Pride held group sings, for want of a better word. These were mixtures of poetry, chanting, and, Hiero thought privately, just plain yowling. Sometimes the massed rumbling and purring was soothing and at others made his ears ache, though he always gravely expressed vast appreciation. During the week he spent with the Pride, they held several in honor of his arrival and alliance.

Hiero found the catfolk delightful. He was even able to help with a problem that had been concerning the elders, that of a slowly declining birth rate. He discovered that the Pride, being so group-minded, had more or less stopped intermating with the other two Prides. There were obvious results in terms of inbreeding. He politely told the Speaker and her council of old males that this simply had to stop and that the younger folk of the three Prides should be made to meet more often. Outmating should be strongly encouraged, and the reasons for it should be thoroughly gone into and explained to all the folk. He was solemnly thanked for the advice and told it would be adhered to in the fullest way possible with personal independence! He wondered about this, but M’reen told him privately that it would happen, though probably slowly. One did not give Pride members orders, only veiled and delicate suggestions. This would result in the idea’s seeming to be of their own origination.

Every other night or so, those able to do so hunted. Of course, the new friend had to be taken along, not that he needed any urging. He could not run at their pace, so the game came to him. The Wind of Death was not used, since the adults of both sexes preferred not to utilize it unless they were in a hurry or at war. Hiero never found out what it was made from, but he strongly suspected a natural secretion of the glands, enhanced by the juices of a rare plant. It was a secret held by certain of the females, who alone could release it. It had been discovered long ago and had been used to help them escape from the horror of the Unclean.

Their favorite game was becoming scarce in the neighborhood, but they located a specimen and took the Metz out one night under a bright moon to see how he felt about it. He was positioned in a certain place, not too far from the trees, which he thought tactful, and told to get ready. He understood that the honor of the kill was to be his and wondered what it might be and if, indeed, he were capable of holding up his end. The catfolk would not tell him what it was. Knowing their whimsical humor, he wondered if one of the trunked giants were being herded in his direction.

He was therefore considerably relieved when he heard the drumming of hooves and the angry snorts of a fast-running herbivore. However, when the moon gleams showed him the prey, he was not so sure.

From the head down, the form was that of a giant buck. Over the deep-socketed eyes grew two long, straight horns, mighty enough weapons in themselves. But on the broad muzzle rose another, a straight stem which forked into two more evil-looking points. As the enraged animal twisted and darted at the tormentors who were herding it in his direction, the man wondered how they escaped, even with their speed, from the vicious and lethal lunges. When at length it sighted him, a solitary and fixed target, he had no more time to think. Meeting those terrible horns head-on would obviously be insane. As the brute charged, he hurled the heavy spear straight at the broad chest and then dodged, whipping out his long dagger and poising it.

The broad spear sank to the socket, for a brief moment bringing the great beast up standing. In that moment, he aimed and threw the knife from no more than ten feet away, not at the body, but at the nearest bulging, bloodshot eye. The blade sank to the hilt. With a final bellow, the animal fell over, its brain pierced instantaneously. The other hunters let out a wild, squalling cry of triumph, and Hiero felt that his knees were somewhat weak.

On examining the kill while they cut it up to carry back, Hiero thought his knees felt even weaker. The animal’s eyes were surrounded by rings of heavy bone, and a very slight miss would have proved useless! He thanked his Creator silently for the good shot.

You did very well with old Four-Horns, came B’uorgh’s jovial thought. We could not have helped, not at that range. One reason we like him so much is that he frequently gets the hunter. Always good sport when we meet him.

Hiero formally thanked all the hunters for the wonderful opportunity they had provided. They did not need to know his private feelings, which was just as well!