The Steel of Raithskar Page 17

  Either it worked in this case or they had never had any intention of letting their sha’um interfere. Because Snaggletooth waved his hand and the sha’um ahead of me moved back and lay down. I heard Scarface slip down from his cat’s back, and that cat, too, move away. Scarface appeared at my right elbow. I took a step backward as they drew their swords. Scarface was using his left hand now; his right forearm was tightly wrapped with a length of linen.

  I drew my sword. “Two against one?” I asked hopefully. But that honorable they weren’t going to be.

  “Same odds as last night,” Scarface said. And they came at me in a double rush.

  I ran through a short, wordless prayer to Markasset.

  We were standing in a young grove of dakathrenil trees. They had grown taller than our heads, but their umbrellas of branches were still narrow and lacy enough to admit a lot of light.

  I dodged to my left, evading Scarface’s overhand slash and blocking Snaggletooth’s thrust. Scarface turned and deftly shifted the momentum of his chop into a vicious two-handed swing at my midsection. I jumped backward and the edge of his sword whacked a good inch into a tree trunk on my left. Snaggletooth had anticipated the move. He grabbed the tree and swung around it to my left.

  He very nearly skewered me. I saw him just in time, twisted to get my sword between us and deflect his aim; the edge of his blade dragged a long, stinging cut across my chest.

  *Markasset hurt,* came Keeshah’s raging thought. *I come now.*

  *No, not yet.*

  *Please.*

  *No. Stay downwind.*

  I could feel him seething, eager to join the fight. The fire I sensed in him seemed to flow into me until I felt stronger, quicker, more alert.

  Snaggletooth roared at the sight of my blood and began to press me back. I needed all Markasset’s skill and more to keep his bronze blade away from my skin.

  Through the clanging of our swords, I heard the soft snicking sound of Scarface’s blade being drawn out of the treetrunk. I looked over Snaggletooth’s shoulder; Scarface had disappeared.

  I began to worry about where he was.

  Snaggletooth leaped forward with a grin of triumph. Had I retreated, as he expected, I’d have been chopped in two by Scarface’s sword. But I smelled him behind me and jumped, instead, to the right. Snaggletooth had to pull up short to keep from catching Scarface on the point of his sword.

  They were beginning to stink of frustration, and I knew they would start taking chances. So I stayed close to the trunk of a tree, using it for a shield. The lowest branches were eye-ridge level, but I always knew exactly where they were. The other two weren’t as lucky, and several times narrowly missed knocking themselves out.

  Finally Scarface used his bandaged arm to swing around the treetrunk as the other one had done earlier. He aimed low, and he had a lot of momentum in his thrust.

  I knocked the point of his sword into the ground and brought my knee up under his chin. He went down.

  Snaggletooth was behind me. I jumped over Scarface and ran for another tree, Snaggletooth following me. From the sound of his heavy breathing, I judged the distance. I whipped around the tree to face him, leaped to catch the highest branch I could, and swung my weight on the springy tree, legs extended. Both feet connected with Snaggletooth’s midriff.

  He dropped his sword and doubled over, gasping for air. I landed on the ground, sheathed my sword, and walked up close to him. Ricardo delivered a sharp, satisfying right cross and Snaggletooth collapsed in a heap.

  The two sha’um came up roaring, and I backed off. They didn’t come after me, but stood guard over the unconscious men, now and then nuzzling and licking. I was reminded of Keeshah and me out in the desert.

  Keeshah. I could feel him fading, and for the first time I realized what had happened.

  *You were with me, weren’t you Keeshah? I could smell and hear better. You did help me fight this battle, after all, didn’t you?*

  *Tried,* he answered. *Hurt?*

  I looked down at the blood on my tunic, pulled it away to examine the cut. It was a bad place and might take a while to heal, but it wasn’t deep. I was suffering more from the fading link with Keeshah, and I realized that his splendid fighting spirit had kept me going far past the point of my own endurance. I felt let down and shaky now, and I leaned against the tree I had swung on, because I didn’t trust my legs.

  *I’m all right,* I told Keeshah. *That’s a very special trick. You and Markasset must have made quite a fighting team.*

  *No*

  *What?*

  *First time.*

  I didn’t have a chance to wonder about that. Scarface and Snaggletooth were coming to.

  Scarface’s arms came up around the great wedge of his cat’s head and held it, stroking and soothing the sha’um’s concern for its master. Snaggletooth woke up choking and holding his gut; his cat lay down beside him, watching me with its golden eyes. Snaggletooth recovered enough to throw an arm up around the cat’s neck. The sha’um stood up slowly, helping Snaggletooth first to sit, then to stand up.

  Maybe these two wanted to kill me a few minutes ago, I was thinking. But as Thanasset said to me in different words not too long ago, anybody a sha’um loves can’t be all bad.

  I stood up straight and came out from under the tree. I was tense until I was sure neither one of them would reach for his sword.

  Scarface moved to stand beside Snaggletooth. They touched their cats, who roared and complained, then quieted and sidled off unhappily.

  If that means what I think it does …

  It did. Snaggletooth worked his mouth, spat out a tooth, and spoke with a quiet dignity that I wouldn’t have expected—but which somehow suited him.

  “They won’t hurt you now.”

  “I don’t want your lives,” I said, understanding and impressed by what he had meant. “I do want some information. First your names.”

  “I am Bareff,” said Snaggletooth, “and he is Liden.”

  “Why did you quit so suddenly last night?”

  They glanced at each other. Scarface—that is, Liden—answered.

  “We thought you were one of us.”

  “Sharith?” I was beginning to see, but it wouldn’t do to understand too easily. “What made you think so?”

  “When our sha’um came in, they said you smelled of sha’um,” explained Bareff.

  I did, I thought. But I bathed and had my clothes washed. And I haven’t touched Keeshah yet this morning. I’ll bet their cats are confused.

  “Then why all this hassle today?” I asked them.

  Liden spoke up. “We’re supposed to be told where our agents are, so that this doesn’t happen. We sent a message to Thagorn last night, and the answer arrived this morning.”

  Handy things, those maufa, I thought. Fast, too.

  “The Lieutenant told us we didn’t have a man in Omergol,” said Bareff. “He said to bring you in just to see what was going on.”

  “Then you weren’t supposed to kill me?” I asked them.

  Scarface rubbed his swelling jaw. “Not that it wouldn’t have been a pleasure.”

  I laughed then, and I caught a facial twitch from Snaggletooth that might have been the start of a smile. Or maybe not.

  “Well, Bareff and Liden,” I said finally, “I demand that you never raise sword to me again. But that’s all I demand. Your lives are restored to you; the debt is settled.”

  They looked at each other, waiting for the catch. I let them stew for a few seconds, then I laid it on them:

  “I need to go to Thagorn.” I just let it hang there.

  “Why?” asked Bareff. He bent over and picked up his sword: Liden walked back a few paces to retrieve his. They both looked at me thoughtfully before they sheathed the bronze blades.

  “A personal matter,” I said. “It’s important to me that I have a chance to talk to—” What had they called their leader? “—the Lieutenant.”

  “The Lieutenant don’t talk to groun
dwalkers,” sneered Bareff.

  “You’d have taken me back to Thagorn as a prisoner, right?”

  Liden nodded, the scar showing white against the bruise flowing upward from his chin.

  “If I had wanted it, I could have taken you back as my prisoners, right?”

  Another nod. I didn’t need their facial expressions to tell me that every member of the Sharith would have despised me for doing it. I, too, was a Rider. I’d have felt the same way.

  “Neither way suits me. Your Lieutenant—he might talk to me if I came to him in the company of two of his best men.” That wasn’t flattery; I was sure they were exactly that. “Not as prisoner or master—but as a friend.”

  They chewed that over, staring at me. Finally Bareff said: “I’ve never met a groundwalker I’d call friend.”

  I felt a temptation to call in Keeshah, to prove my kinship to them and end this bickering. But Balgokh had said that Markasset was the only Rider not connected with the Sharith. They already knew that I wasn’t one of their own. Seeing Keeshah would identify me positively—and I was still plagued by Markasset’s lack of knowledge about the Sharith. They might welcome me as a long-lost brother. Or they might think me a traitor, a maverick, and refuse to have anything to do with me. I couldn’t take the chance.

  I felt Keeshah in the distance, getting ready to come in as he sensed my almost-invitation.

  *Sorry, Keeshah,* I told him. *Stay where you are.*

  To the two Sharith I said: “I’d say most groundwalkers feel the same about Riders. But I’ve had a taste of your honor—” I waved vaguely at the sha’um “—and of your swords.”

  I waited. Ricardo had been a military man for a large portion of his life. As a Marine, I’d had the occasion to convince a few wetfeet that mudsluggers were worth something, too. I was hoping I’d just taught the same kind of lesson to these two members of the Gandalaran cavalry.

  “Well,” said Liden. His sha’um came up to him, and he put out a hand to stroke the smooth brow. “Well, let’s get moving, then.”

  I sighed.

  It’s not hail-fellow-well-met, I decided, but it’s a start.

  18

  The two sha’um knelt beside their masters. Liden mounted; his cat stood up and ambled a short distance southward. Bareff swung his leg over the cat’s broad back, then turned to me and grinned. There was a gap in his lower left jaw.

  “Come on, groundwalker. See how it feels to Ride.”

  I just stood there, looking at the flattish, dark-furred head of the kneeling sha’um. It was watching me, hating me.

  “Or have you changed your mind about going to Thagorn?”

  Bareff’s voice sounded dimly in my ears. I could spare no attention for him or for his cat. I was paralyzed by the icy rage that swept through me from Keeshah’s mind.

  *YOU RIDE ONLY KEESHAH!*

  I could barely breathe through the onslaught of emotion. Keeshah’s anger, yes—but my own reactions, as well. Love for the great cat. Awareness of our unique partnership, guilt over this necessary betrayal. I knew he was coming closer and was ready to attack Bareff’s sha’um. I was desperate to stop him for Thanasset’s sake. I was desperate to make him understand the need for this ugly deception, to win his forgiveness and cooperation.

  Wordlessly, I reached out to him. I pushed against the violent waves of disappointment and pain and outrage and fury. I seemed to push through a barrier—and we were linked as we had been during the fight. Only now I shared his perceptions more completely. I could see the trees passing, feel the ground thudding by underneath me/him.

  I pushed further, and another barrier yielded. I felt Keeshah slow and stop. I had touched the center of Keeshah.

  It was not a union, precisely. We were each aware of ourselves and of the other as separate entities. But in that intense moment of contact, we shared something more than communication, something far more intimate and revealing. The best term I can find for it is understanding.

  It lasted a bare instant, a closeness so pure and complete, a joy so sharp that we could endure it only briefly. Then we slipped back to the less complete, but more comfortable, communication pattern we had always shared.

  *You must go,* Keeshah agreed reluctantly. *I will follow.*

  *No,* I told him gently. *There are too many sha’um in Thagorn. You couldn’t hide from all of them. Will you wait here for me? A few days?*

  *Yes.*

  *Keeshah.* I felt I had to say it. *This one I ride means nothing to me.*

  *I know.* A rumble of impatience. *Go.*

  Keeshah’s presence left me abruptly, and I felt empty and vulnerable. But my sight cleared and I looked at Bareff, who was enjoying what he took to be my hesitation.

  “Have you changed your mind, groundwalker?” he asked.

  The cat’s golden gaze had never left me.

  “Your sha’um doesn’t like me much,” I told Bareff as I finally moved toward the pair.

  He uttered a short, scornful laugh. “He hates your tusks, groundwalker. But he’ll put up with you for my sake. Hurry up.”

  “My name is Rickardon,” I told him as I swung a leg over the cat’s back behind Bareff. I didn’t have to pretend to be awkward. The sha’um surged upward before I had my balance, nearly dumping me off on my keister.

  I grabbed at Bareff’s tunic for support. The sudden movement jerked open the cut on my chest, and it started to sting and bleed again. I hauled myself into position and held on, suffering the laughter of the men without comment.

  It was a nightmare ride.

  Bareff occupied the space I would have taken on Keeshah, lying along the big cat’s back and moving with its rhythm. But I was riding almost on the cat’s hindquarters. Even though I lay forward as far as I could over Bareff’s back, I was still almost sitting up.

  My spine jarred with the cat’s every step, and its pelvis ground painfully into my inner thighs. I couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t very comfortable for the cat, either. So I pulled on Bareff’s hips with my hands and used what pressure I could from my legs to ride more lightly.

  It wasn’t until we stopped for a light meal that I remembered the parcel of groceries I had dropped when the fight started. Not that they were needed: while I had been fighting Keeshah’s jealousy and mounting Bareff’s sha’um, Liden had retrieved their saddlebags from somewhere nearby, and they were well-stocked. I recognized some of the items from the same shops where I had bought my purchases—except that the Sharith had the finest the shops could offer, and I’d have bet my shirt they never paid a cent for any of it.

  We traveled south for the rest of the day, stopping frequently to let me shift from one cat to the other. The sha’um hunted while we slept that night, and in the morning were fresh again. At midday we rounded the southernmost point of the Mokadahl range, marked by a sheer, looming cliff, then headed eastward.

  We had been following the road from Omergol, through semi-cultivated areas dotted with grainfields and orchards. When we turned east, the ground began to rise and go wild. The curly-trunked trees I had seen so often on the way south had been cultivated and trained to their upright stance and umbrella of branches. Here the same trees covered the hillsides, twisting closer to the ground and all overgrown with branches.

  The low trees, tall grass, and other types of brush made the hillsides ideal for the concealment of small animals. As the sha’um passed by, the creatures concealed near the road panicked and fled, and I amused myself by trying to classify the types I saw.

  None of them were identical to the animals Ricardo had known, though there were similar body configurations. I asked Markasset’s memories for the names of the animals I saw; it gave me a few, but not many. I gave up fairly quickly and simply watched the activity and listened to the hoorah stirred by the passing cats. There seemed to be a huge bird population in these foothills, and some of them had very musical voices.

  A poet might say I was watching a living symphony. But I’d have to be more truthful
and admit it sounded more like Spike Jones’ band tuning up. In a hurry. Loudly.

  But it made the day pass quickly, and I was surprised, that afternoon, when the cats reached the top of a long slope and stopped to catch their breath.

  I slid off the cat’s back—Liden’s—and stretched as I looked up at a fortified wall made of stone and packed with earth. It had been built as a dam is built, filling a narrow depression between two steep hillsides. It was perhaps a hundred feet long, and at the deepest point of the valley it stood at least thirty feet high.

  There were men stationed at intervals along the level top edge of the wall, but just now their attention was focused on the gate at the center of the wall. A caravan master was supervising the payment of his toll fee. He was talking to a man wearing the same type of uniform as Bareff and Liden, except that the sash tied around his waist was red. They conferred over a list and checked things off as items were laid on a low stone shelf that had been built, apparently, as part of the wall.

  It was a noisy scene. The caravan vleks were hysterical with the smell of sha’um all around them. Those men who weren’t actually unloading goods were busy swearing at the vleks, trying to control them. The actual appearance of Bareff’s and Liden’s sha’um was hardly noticed by the frenzied animals.

  So this is Thagorn, I thought. The wall must guard a sheltered valley—a strong defense position. Even if you discount the cats, it’s easy to see why nobody wants to take on the Sharith.

  I just hope I can find some answers, get out of here with my skin intact, and get that skin back past Zaddorn.

  I looked up at Bareff and Liden, who were still mounted. The heads of the cats were turned toward me, nodding slightly with their heavy breathing. Was it my imagination, or had the gleam of hatred I had seen in the eyes of Bareff’s sha’um faded somewhat?

  He’s just tired, I decided. And he deserves to be. It wasn’t an easy trip for them, either.

  “Your sha’um,” I asked the men, “what are their names?”