Warriors Of Latan

Chapter 3

A number of dark-skinned men were climbing down the slope of the far bank of the river, moving sure-footedly from the cover of one boulder to another. They were closing in on both sides of the mouth of a canyon that opened on the riverbank. The canyon's floor was level but it twisted so sharply that Blade could see barely fifty yards into it. From somewhere up the canyon a cloud of dust rose.

Blade counted at least twenty men. Fortunately all their attention seemed to be on the mouth of the canyon. Blade's camouflage coveralls were also doing a good job of hiding him against the dark gravel of the riverbank. He easily found cover for himself and Cheeky before the men reached the bank of the river.

The men's skins were brown with a tinge of bronze, and their hair long, dark, and glossy. Most of them wore nothing but sandals and leather loinguards; some were completely naked. The ones with loinguards seemed to have daggers thrust into their belts; all carried spears with wicked-looking barbed heads and tufts of feather at the butt ends. Some had their hair tied up with vividly colored headbands. More than anything else, they made Blade think of a hunting party of North American Indians before the white man came.

The dust cloud in the canyon seemed to be getting closer and thicker. Now Blade could hear an occasional bellow and the echoing rumble of many hooves. The hunters hurried out onto the open ground along the bank and divided into two parties, one on each side of the canyon mouth. Each party formed a line that reached from the base of the slope to the water's edge. All raised their spears, and those with daggers drew them. The sound of hooves swelled to a roar.

Then suddenly the canyon spewed out a solid mass of furious animal life. In the lead were a dozen shaggy animals, looking like oversized elk-except that no elk ever had a rack of antlers like these. The antlers were a deep red, at least seven feet from tip to tip, and so massive Blade wondered how the creatures ever managed to keep their heads up. He could have chinned himself on either side of such a rack! Finding themselves suddenly in the open, the elk slowed down and began to mill around, bellowing to one another.

Five of the dark-skinned hunters rode out of the canyon after the elk. The hunters were mounted on creatures that obviously must have had lizards somewhere in their family trees. Their scaly bodies weren't much larger than a Shetland pony's, but their thick legs were a good five feet long and ended in splayed, clawed feet. Their eyes swiveled like a frog's, but when they opened their mouths they displayed a fine set of teeth. The hunters rode bareback, with only ropes for bridles, and carried ten-foot lances or spiked clubs. Blade wasn't sure if these, weapons were for their prey or to control the strange-looking members of the hunting party that were bringing up the rear.

There were four of these creatures at the heel of the hunters. They were hairy humanoids that reminded Blade of the legendary Sasquatch or Bigfoot.

The smallest was at least seven feet tall and four feet across the shoulders, with arms reaching almost to its knees. Both hands and feet were clawed, and their long muzzles were studded with teeth. Great clumps of matted brown hair sprouted all over them like weeds. Blade even caught a whiff of their rank odor, which made him perfectly happy to watch the end of the hunt from a distance.

The lizard-riders slowed their mounts and urged the Bigfeet forward with high-pitched cries and prods from their lances. The Bigfeet threw back their heads and bellowed. Blade recognized the noise; he'd heard it from down in the first canyon. He realized he'd narrowly escaped meeting a den of these creatures in the wild. Then the Bigfeet shambled forward in a crouch that was almost a parody of a karate adept's stance.

Now the elk panicked again. Some of them ran left or right, straight at the hunters waiting for them. Blade saw a hunter stand up, ignoring the lowered antlers coming at him until the last moment. Then he leaped aside, catching the antlers in one hand and swinging himself up on the elk's back. Before the elk could figure out what to do next, the hunter stabbed it at the base of the neck. The elk reared in one desperate twisting convulsion. The hunter flew off but landed on his feet as lightly as a gymnast, avoiding the elk as it crashed to the ground.

The other elk were too confused to run. Or perhaps they thought the Bigfeet were less dangerous than the human hunters. They were wrong. Blade saw one Bigfoot leap on an elk's back and jerk its head back until the neck snapped. Another grabbed an elk by the antlers, threw it to the ground, then tore out its throat. A third waited until the elk in front of it reared. Then it struck with both hands, claws outstretched. The elk's belly opened in a wound six feet long, and steaming entrails poured out as it fell. The Bigfoot knelt down by its victim, feeding on the entrails even before the elk was dead. A lizard-rider rode up beside the Bigfoot and not too gently prodded it away with a lance.

In a matter of minutes all the elk were dead or dying except two. One had the sense to run back up the canyon; two of the lizard-riders went after it. The other ran at the right-hand line of hunters, with one of the Bigfoot after it.

A totally naked hunter stood between it and escape. He raised his spear and made a half-hearted thrust. The spear caught in the elk's thick hide and the animal's speed wrenched it out of his hands. He took a couple of steps after the elk, then jumped back as the Bigfoot headed toward him. For a moment it looked as if the Bigfoot thought the hunter was its prey, and the young man froze, staring at the Bigfoot. That moment was long enough to let the elk through. With open ground ahead, it broke into a run.

Blade saw that its course was going to bring it right opposite him. He unslung the crossbow, dropped a bolt into place, and had it cocked and raised by the time the elk was in range. Sighting carefully for a head shot-he didn't trust anything else to bring down such a large animal-he counted to three, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The elk stopped as if it had run into a stone wall. Then it shook its head, and for a moment Blake feared he'd shot only a glancing blow. As he snatched another bolt from his belt he saw the elk stagger, then topple sideways so violently that part of its antler broke off. As he finished reloading, the elk gave a final twitch, then lay still.

It was a minute or so before anyone on the far bank noticed either Blade or his work. They were all standing around the hunter who'd let the elk through, or else guarding the dead elk from the Bigfeet. Blade used this time to quickly disassemble his crossbow. He didn't want to take the chance of arousing anyone's suspicions. At last someone looked along the bank and saw the last elk lying dead for no apparent reason. He did a perfect double-take and started looking around frantically for his gods only knew what. It was then that he saw the tall man standing on the far bank of the river. He started waving his spear and let out a screech that sounded to Blade like a cat with its tail caught in a door.

The others promptly did the same. Blade held out both hands, palms outward, in the standard gesture of peace. As long as the hunters were only waving their spears instead of throwing them, Blade was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. Even if they did start throwing, the closest man was a good fifty yards away.

Eventually several of the hunters put down their spears and matched Blade's gesture. One who appeared to be in command pointed upstream, then pointed at himself and the men around him. Blade assumed he was indicating a way to cross the river, so he picked up his bow and told Cheeky to climb aboard.

They reached a ford about half a mile downstream, clearly marked by water boiling white around half-submerged rocks. Blade was glad the river was no more than knee deep here, since the water was icy cold and flowing fast.

Three of the hunters met him on the other bank, all with loinguards and daggers. Seen close up, they looked even more like American Indians. They didn't look too well fed-not exactly starved, but with no fat on their lean and sinewy frames. They also smelled as if they hadn't bathed since the day they were born.

The hunters were silent and impassive all the way back to the main party. Blade began to wonder how he was going to be able to communicate in the local language if they didn't say anything!

Normally the transition into Dimension X affected Blade's brain so that he understood the local language as English and the natives understood his English words as their tongue. This phenomenon probably had something to do with telepathy, and certainly Blade would have been dead a good many times over without it. He was good at learning languages, but not that good.

By the time they got back to the main party, the two riders who'd chased the elk up the canyon were back, triumphantly waving bloody lances. Everyone else was busily at work, skinning and cutting up the carcasses into manageable chunks. Off to one side, a pile of guts and bones grew steadily.

The man who'd seemed in command came up to Blade, walked around him several times, then sniffed at him like a dog. He said nothing, but Blade could make out enough of the conversation among the hunters to know he'd be able to understand the local language as well as ever. That didn't mean he could understand what it was they were talking about, but that was always a separate problem.

Finally the leader frowned. «Are you of the Idol Makers?»

Blade shrugged. It was his habit in new Dimensions to go along with whatever story was suggested to him. «I have not seen your Idol, so I do not know if it is the work of my people or not. It would not be lawful for me to look upon your Idol without your leave.»

This show of respect for their taboos went over well. The chief smiled and nodded. «This is so. Indeed, you would need more than my leave to look upon the Idol. The Wise One of the Rutari must look upon you first.»

«Will you take me before the Wise One?»

The chief laughed. «I think she would have me thrown to the Great Hunters if I did otherwise. There is great magic in you; your weapons-magic is powerful. The Wise One seeks to know all she can of magic, wherever it comes from or whatever its purpose, and she will want to know if your magic is good or evil.»

«Then she deserves her name.»

At this point the chief seemed to notice Cheeky for the first time, peering over Blade's shoulder. He raised a hand in an obvious gesture to ward off evil spirits, and several of the hunters raised their spears. Before anything more could happen, an earsplitting burst of squeals, roars, and, growls made conversation impossible.

The Bigfeet-the Great Hunters-were feeding. Turned loose on the pile of bones and entrails, they were squabbling over the tidbits, punching each other, cracking bones for the marrow, and throwing away anything they didn't want. The chief led Blade away from the Great Hunters until they could talk without shouting or being hit by flying bits of elk gut.

«Is that a-a First Friend, like the Wise One's Moyla?» the chief asked, pointing to Cheeky.

«Again, I cannot say. Certainly I had other friends before I met Cheeky, but we are close and do each other much honor. He is part of my magic, and I am part of his.»

«Then indeed he is very like Moyla,» said the chief. He seemed to hesitate. «Is there a name I may call you, that will give away none of your magic?»

«Among my people there is no magic in a name alone,» said Blade. «So my true name is my only name. Call me Blade.»

«To give away your true name and not fear losing much of your magic must mean that the magic of your people must be as strong as that of the Idol Makers, even if you are not of them,» said the chief. «Will you forgive me if I do not do the same?»

«Certainly,» said Blade. «You have no reason to trust me that much.»

The chief laughed. «I have a very good reason to trust you.» He pointed downstream to where Blade's kill lay. «Whatever else may be said of your magic, it has done good work for the Rutari this day.»

«I thank you,» said Blade. As he'd expected, he'd got off on the right foot with these people-the Rutari? — by adding meat to the tribal larder. Hunting peoples never had so much food that a little help in getting more didn't go over well.

«You may call me Teindo,» said the chief. «Now, do you know the art of dressing out one of the Red-Horns, or may one of our hunters aid you? If there is shame-?»

«There is no shame in admitting that my magic does not tell me how to do everything,» said Blade. «In my own land I have hunted ones like the Red-Horns, but not the same. I would not waste the meat or the hide of the Rutari's Red-Horns out of mere pride.»

«You are long past your first kill, I can tell,» said Teindo. «Are you a Blue Hunter of your people?»

«No,» said Blade. «Hunting is not my true work. My work is to travel to distant lands and seek out the wisdom of the people living there.»

«Giving them something in return, of course?» said Teindo. He was still smiling, but his eyes were suddenly hard.

«Of course. I said I was a traveler, not a thief.» Teindo laughed. Then Blade continued. «I can travel faster and farther if I gather my own food as I go. I was taught by the Blue Hunters of my people, though I am not one of them. «

At a signal from Teindo, a young naked hunter, one of the Red Hunters, stepped forward. Blade signaled Cheeky to hop down, unslung his pack, and started taking off his own clothes. Dressing out big game was a messy job, he had few changes of clothing, and the nearest laundry was a long way off.

When Blade was naked he put his clothes in his rucksack and walked three times backward around the pile, reciting the words of «Rule, Britannia» in pig latin. This seemed to impress Teindo and the other hunters as a proper spell. So did Blade's explanation.

«I have changed the magic of my weapons and other things so that it will not reach out against the Rutari. However, the magic is still there, ready for anyone who touches anything without my leave. I do not doubt the honor of the Rutari, but once a people whose honor I did not doubt stole my weapons. I nearly died, and since then I trust more to my own magic than to anything else.»

Teindo looked at Blade's collection of scars. «No man who has fought as many battles as you have can offend me by being careful.»

Blade picked up his Kabar knife in one hand, and whistled Cheeky up onto his other shoulder. Then he led the young hunter off toward the dead Red-Horn.