Star Guard

10. To The Sea

As the Horde spread out in a half-arc across the eastern approach to the town, the first signs of life, other than the restless guen in the corrals, showed in a band of Llor, some riding, some trudging humbly on foot, headed from the domed houses toward the Terran lines. The foremost rider waved over his head a hastily constructed parley flag.

Remembering the fate of Yorke and his officers, neither Hansu nor any other of the Combatants moved from the cover they had taken on the first sight of the Llor. Apparently disconcerted by meeting with only empty landscape the Llor leader reined in his gu and sat, waving the flag at the brush and trees, his followers clustered timidly about him — trying to face in all directions at once.

"Lords — War Lords of Terra — " called the leader, addressing the empty air. And his words lengthened oddly until "Terra" might well have been "terror."

Without rising to view Hansu answered:

"What would you, Corban?" giving the other the honorary title of a headman of a city.

"What would you, Lords of Terra?" countered the Llor. He handed the flag to one of his companions and sat, his hands on his thighs, facing in the direction of the Blademaster's voice. "Do you bring us war?"

"We war only when it is offered us. Where open hands hold no swords, we show palms in return. We but wish to travel the road to our homes."

The Llor swung out of his saddle and started to the Terran lines. One of his followers attempted to detain him, only to be pushed aside as the Fronnian, his hands held ostentatiously before him, advanced.

"My hands are open, Lord. I close no road to you."

Hansu arose to meet him, holding his own palms up.

"What would you then, Corban?"

"Word that my village will not be trodden into the earth, nor the blood of my people shaken wet from your swords, War Lord."

"Has not the war banner been raised against us?" countered the Blademaster.

"Lord, what have little men to do with the fine words of Gatanus and nobles? He who sits on the hork-winged bench means little to us — there are always those to gather taxes in his name, whatever it may be. We wish only to live and depart not into the Dark Mists before our time. And stern things have been said of you off-world ones — that you fight with fire those who deny you what you would take. Therefore come I to treat with you for the life of my village. Grain is yours, and the fruits of our fields — and whatever else you wish. Guen also — if it be your will to strip our pens of the newly caught wild ones. Only take your fill and go!"

"Then what if the Gatanu's men come and say unto you, `You have fed the enemy and given him guen to ride upon. You are one with him'?"

The Corban shook his head. "How can they in truth say that? For you are an army of men trained in strange and horrible forms of warfare. Nay, all of Fronn knows that nothing can stand against the might of your swordarms. For you fight not only blade to blade after our custom, but with fire which sears from a great distance and with death rained from the air. Some of you crawl in mighty fortresses of metal, lying snug within their bellies as they creep across the ground and crush your enemies under their weight! These things are widely known. So the Gatanu's men cannot believe that a village guard would dare deny you anything you desired. Therefore, I entreat you, Lord, take what you will and go — leaving us our lives!"

"You have seen the Terran fortresses which creep, the machines which fly through the air?"

"Not with my eyes, Lord. For I am an outland man — though Corban of men who do not flinch from hunting the ttsor on foot, nor from snaring the guen of the dales. But in the south all men have seen these wonders and the word has spread to our ears."

"These are then to be found about Tharc?"

"Yes, Lord, there are many of your wonderful machines there now. You wish to join them? It is well. But I entreat you — take what you want and go."

Hansu dropped his empty hands. "Good enough. We shall not invade your village, Corban. Send us supplies and one hundred guen — those broken to saddle use. And we shall not be deceived if you give us wild ones, but if you do we shall come and choose for ourselves."

The Corban raised his hands to his breast and then to his forehead in the salute a vassal renders his lord. "War Lord, it shall be even as you say. We shall bring you a conqueror's share and thank you for your mercy."

The Llor party went back to the village and Hansu addressed the shrunken Horde.

" — that's the picture. From this fellow's description there must be a full Mech Legion at Tharc. They have heavy stuff as well as wings with them."

"What about Truce Law?" called a voice from the ranks.

"Let's face it. Truce Law was broken when they flamed Yorke and the rest. Mech renegades aren't alone in this — they couldn't have brought in heavy stuff without help — a lot of it. And now they believe they can settle us whenever they wish. I don't care how much backing they have — they don't dare let any news of this get back to Prime. So their first move will be to shut us away from the ships at Tharc."

Shut off from Tharc — bottled up on Fronn — unable to get away. Kana watched the uncertainty mirrored on the faces of those about him begin to change to something else — a grim determination. Generations ago the weaklings, the irresolute, had been weeded and bred out of the Combatant strain. The mercenaries were, by the very nature of their trade, fatalists. Few lived to retire, or even to go into semi-service at the base. And they had followed many lost causes to the end. But this was a new experience. The code which to them was a creed, an unshakeable belief, had been flouted. And for that someone was going to pay!

"We'll get 'em — " The words were drowned out in a growl of assent.

But Hansu's gesture silenced that. "We're not alone," he reminded them. "Once Combat Law is broken here, what will happen? Others will begin to set Mech against Arch."

He did not need to continue. They knew what that would mean — vicious civil war on half a thousand planets, one Terran force pitted against another, bleeding their own world white —

"That has to be stopped here and now. One message to Combat Center and it will be!"

"We can't face up to big stuff in the field!" someone shouted.

"We won't try to. But we've got to get a messenger to Secundus or Prime. And the rest of us must hole up and wait for Combat to move."

"Stay in the mountains?" There was no enthusiasm in that question. They had had enough of Fronn's mountains.

Hansu shook his head. "We have an alternative. First we must learn more about what is going on. Now — set hostile country camp. Swordtans, scouts, report to me."

They went to the duties in which they had been drilled. Kana joined the others at the cart where Hansu waited for them. The commander had spread out a much-creased sheet of skin and was frowning at the blue lines which crossed and re-crossed its surface.

"Bogate" — he turned to the head scout— "when that Corban comes out with supplies, round him up and bring him here. These guen hunters must know the land for miles, know it intimately. We want all the information about it we can pry out of them. Mechs can't operate in rough territory — so we've got to keep to broken wilderness."

"But all around Tharc is open plain," one of the Swordtans objected.

"We have no intention of going to Tharc. They'll be watching for us to try that."

"The only space port — "

Hansu corrected him instantly. "The only military space port is at Tharc. You are forgetting the Venturi!"

Kana's lips shaped a soundless whistle. The Blademaster was right. The Venturi! As hereditary traders of Fronn they had some centers of their own on the mainland. And not too far from the western sea was a small off-world space landing used by the few alien traders who had managed to establish contact with the Venturi for a limited exchange of goods — mostly exotic novelties the Fronnian merchants were suspected of reselling at fabulous profit. To reach there — to take control of one of the trading ships — that offered a better chance than to try to blast their way into the toothed trap which was now Tharc.

"There is a space port near the Venturi holdings at Po'ult," Hansu was explaining. "There is no regular schedule of ships, but off-world traders do come. And we may have luck in making a deal for shelter with the Venturi. If we head straight west we should strike the sea not far from Po'ult."

The Corban was only too willing to provide any assistance which would insure getting these dangerous Terrans out of his territory. Kneeling with two of his best guen hunters over the map Hansu had produced, he asked one question which the Blademaster had to parry adroitly.

"But why, Lord, must you seek out a path through this wilderness? To the south the road is wide and smooth and there your brothers await you."

"It is our wish to visit the Venturi of the coast — and not to come upon them by a well-marked road — "

The Llor's tiny circle of a mouth moved in the Fronnian equivalent of a smile.

"Ha. Then it is true — that which has been whispered from mouth to ear — that the day of reckoning with those is coming? No longer shall the hooded ones keep the trails, nor be the only buyers and sellers to carry goods from one village to the next! That is good to hear, Lord. Eat up the Venturi forts along the coast if you will — and all the Llor shall speak kindly of you to the Ruler of the Winds. For when those fall, then there shall be rich spoil for all."

Eagerly he consulted the map. "Now here is a path — it lies among the western mountains and there may be Cos. But to you what are Cos — you may brush them out of your way as we brush the fas-fas beetles from our floors. And this path will lead you directly to the sea above Po'ult. May your hunting there prosper, War Lord!"

"Indeed may it," piously returned Hansu. And he moved his fingers in the Three Signs of those air, fire, and water spirits who must be consulted on Fronn before any major undertaking.

The Corban warmed still more and became their champion with the guen herders, personally inspecting the stock his fellow citizens had run out from the village corrals, and rejecting ten animals, much to the bafflement of his men who were prepared to make a handsome profit from the ignorance of off-world men, for Hansu insisted on paying for the animals. That night he gave a feast, using a month's supplies with the abandon of a Chortha of a province. To the future conquerors of the Venturi he would deny nothing. And a handpicked corps of guides, selected from the most hardy and far roving of the guen hunters, was detailed to accompany the Horde to the foothills of the western mountains.

That was a day and a half journey — mounted — and Hansu pushed them to the utmost, driven himself by the desire to get out of the dangerous level country before they were sighted by a Mech patrol.

On the morning of the third day when they were well on the mountain trail they found the Llor guides gone. Distant behind them was the smudge of smoke in the sky and bits of charred grass drifted down. The hunters had lighted a plains fire to drive the wild guen into a netting place. Hansu watched that haze with satisfaction. It would effectively cover their trail, which was perhaps why the Llor hunters had lit it.

Now began the old nightmare of climbing, climbing and being ever alert for an attack. Though the hunters had insisted that this route lay on the edge of Cos-held country and that the mountaineers had very seldom troubled the caravans which used it, they could not be sure of a peaceful penetration. And the Llor had been unable to answer Hansu's questions as to whether the Venturi caravanmen had some pact with the Cos which insured that safety. However, the Terrans had no alternative but to advance.

The trail was marked with those narrow stone pillars erected by the Venturi, the pictographs on them untranslatable. And it was made for the use of guen.

That night they went without fire, camped in small groups, strung out with sentries between. But the hours of darkness were not broken by alarms and they sighted no beacons on the heights.

Kana had tramped behind Hansu for most of that day, and now, his blanket pulled about him for warmth, he crouched by an outcrop trying to snatch some sleep while the Blademaster sat cross-legged a yard away and listened to the reports of scouts.

" — no deal with these Mechs?"

"Not a chance." Hansu's voice brought him fully awake. "Mills said that Hart Device was in command."

"Device! I still think Deke musta been wrong. Device wouldn't go outlaw — "

"That's just the point, Bogate. If Device is the commander at Tharc — and I see no reason not to trust information Mills died to bring us — then this is no matter of a Mech Legion gone outlaw. Hart Device is a new leader — just as Yorke was. His Legion is small but tough, well equipped, and Hart has the reputation of delivering. I'd be willing to lay half a year's pay that he has a large percentage of vets — just as we have. I wonder — " His voice trailed off.

But Kana, tired as he was, caught that hint. A Legion, a Horde, both consisting of well-trained men, locked in a death struggle. No matter which won in the end, the death toll would be high. So many veterans removed from action. It was beginning to add up to an ugly sum.

"If the Code's broke" — Zapan Bogate's rumbling whisper had thoughtful undertones — "hell's to pay! Why — Archs won't have a chance!"

"Not at the old game, no. But that is no reason why we can't start a new one."

"But — we're Combat men, Hansu — "

"Sure. Only there's no rule about who or what we have to fight." There was an absent note in the Blademaster's voice as if he were thinking aloud.

"Anyways, now we got just one job." Bogate heaved himself up. "To get outta these blasted hills and see the Venturi. We gonna try to take 'em, sir?"

"Not if we can help it. They may welcome us with open arms if what that Corban hinted is true and the Llor have turned against them. Their territory is too rough for the Mechs. This Po'ult of theirs is built on an island off the coast — sheer rock straight up from the sea. They have their own ways of getting ashore and you can't bring up heavy stuff to batter it."

"Good place for us to hole up — if they'll let us."

"That's what we'll have to arrange, Bogate. If we can make them see we have a common enemy, maybe they'll make it a common war. Take scouts out in the morning as usual."

"Yes, sir."

At dawn the trek began again. Snow lay in patches along the trail, and the patches became solid sheets, drifting across the track, drifts through which men on foot beat a way for the slender-legged guen. But in that struggle they lost animals, for the wild, newly captured mounts were not tough enough for a battle such as this. The second cart became a casualty — and with it one of the medical corpsmen who did not have a chance to relinquish his drag rope as it slithered over the edge of a drop and plunged to a slope far below.

"Alert!" The war whistle shrieked the message along, to set numb hands unslinging rifles, freeing sword-knives. That was the only warning they had before the battle of the pass began. But now they were not tangling with Cos but with a party of Llor in flight, desperate to win through, back to the plains and safety. And because of their desperation they came on without caution, trying to hack their way through the Horde.

The struggle was a short one, the rear guard of the Horde never firing a shot. But it was bloody. For the Llor died to a man and they had been so reckless in their attack that they cut down in their insane scramble men who would not normally have been drawn into a hand-to-hand combat.

The Terrans, already spent with their struggle through the snow to these heights, licked their wounds that night and camped, sick with weariness, on the edge of the battlefield. Wind-driven snow covered the fallen and the Combatants who could keep their feet moved among the wounded striving to ward off frozen death.

"Raiding party being chased home — " The sear breeze pulled the words from between Mic's chapped lips. "Maybe we're marching straight into a fire someone else started. Hope the Venturi won't think we're more of the same — "

Rey rubbed one cheek with a handful of snow. "Never a dull moment." He wheezed and then coughed until his whole rangy body shook. "Next time we have a premonition about any enlistment — me, I'm going to believe it! What a paradise replacement barracks was — why did I ever leave Secundus?"

Kana beat gloved hands together. Secundus seemed very far and long ago. Had he ever eaten in a room where flame birds flitted on the walls? Or was that a dream and this present nightmare stark reality?

"We'll just plow on and on through this" — Mic kicked a pile of snow— "until it is deep enough to bury us. Then next season they'll find us all nice and stiff and export us as `native art' — "

"Were these Llor running from a brush with the Venturi?" Rey wondered. "I thought they were afraid of them. Remember all that trouble about the spy just out of Tharc? We weren't to touch the traders. And even when they found their man the Llor didn't say anything to the caravan people."

"The Llor believe now that they are going to take over Fronn," Kana said. "They must have hated the Venturi for a long time and see a good chance to get back at them now. You scouting tomorrow, Rey?"

"I am — for my sins. And you?"

"Likewise."

Mic nursed his healing arm. "They're sure whittling us down to size, these mountains. Have bad luck every time we climb. Fifty lost back there — twenty here — and more wounded — "

"Not as bad as when the wing bombed us," Rey reminded him. "As long as we can fight back — "

"Yes, I know. But see you come back from scout, you long-legged byll!"

"You know" — Rey stopped rubbing the snow down his jaw line— "that's an idea. If a fella could get him say ten-twenty of those birds and train 'em — as the fur faces trained their horks. They don't make any noise before they jump, do they?" He turned to consult Kana as an authority. "No? Well, put 'em on the enemy's track and let 'em go. Better than a Mech crusher in country such as this."

"And just who is going to catch and train them?" Mic was beginning, when another Arch appeared out of the dark.

"Karr?"

"Here!"

"Report to Blademaster."

Kana groped his way to where Hansu had holed up between two overhanging slabs of rock forming a half-cave. The faint blue of a captured Llor torch gave a ghostly, morbid hue to the faces of those clustered about it. And one of them had no face at all — only the blank mask of a hooded Ventur.

"Karr, sit down." Kana folded up just inside as the Blademaster turned back to the hooded one.

"Will this man do?"

The muffled head moved, but no word was spoken for a long moment as Kana shifted under the gaze of eyes hidden behind round holes. Then the trader made an assenting gesture which was more a quick jerk than a Terran nod.

"This Ventur was a prisoner of that troop of Llor," Hansu explained. "He's going back to his people and you're the AL man who'll accompany him to make contact. We want a base — a chance to hide out until we can notify Secundus. Use your judgment, Karr. You are the only AL trained man we have left. Make the best deal you can with them. Impress upon them that we're as much against the Llor now as they are — tell their leaders what that Corban said to us."

"Yes, sir."

Hansu looked at his watch. "Take rations and extra ammunition. We have no idea how far we now are from Po'ult — the map isn't accurate. And" — he hesitated, his eyes boring into Kana's— "just remember — we have to have that base!"

"Yes, sir."