The Coming of the Horseclans

11

Aldora had come to the stream to wash the pouch which one of her master’s wives had given her the week before and to change its stuffing of the dry moss that had received her body’s discharges. But today, she had found it unnecessary, yesterday’s moss being still almost fresh, She knew what that meant, had indeed been dreading it and terror consumed her. Sobbing, death-wishing herself, she was stretched, trembling on the cool moss, when first she heard the firm and gentle voice. At first, it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere and something about it was as wonderfully soothing as had been her old slave-nurse’s, when, as a much younger child, she had awakened from a bad dream. No reassurance was needed; Aldora knew that the strange speaker meant her no harm.

“Why do you fear and mourn, little kitten?”

Aldora raised her tear-streaked face and answered aloud in halting Merikan. “You are who? You are where?’”

She could sense the tender smile. “No, little female, mouthspeak is wasteful of Wind and only necessary with your two-leg kindred. Open your thoughts to me, my dear.”

“M … m … my thoughts?” stuttered Aldora. “I . . , please master… how? … don’t know.”

“It will be easier if I touch your head. Wait there; I will come down to you.”

Old-Cat heaved himself up and paced to the edge of the narrow valley. As he started down the shady bank in her direction, the girl didn’t scream, she’simply fainted.

When Aldora awakened, the sun was westering and Old-Cat was licking her face with a tongue wide enough to cover it. But she no longer feared him or any cat, and wondered why ever she had. She no longer feared anyone, in fact. Here, close to Old-Cat, was safety and comfort and … and peace.

Then, suddenly, she was not safe. The comfort was shattered, the peace fled. The Linsee men would come for her again tonight, and … and … Aldora whimpered.

The voice called yet another time. “Aaallldorraaa!” If was Beti, Hwahlis Linsee’s second wife, and she sounded almost to the top of the bank.

“Aalldorraa, are you down there, girl?”

In weary resignation, Aldora opened her mouth to answer, only to have one of Old-Cat’s big paws placed over it.

The cat’s thought beamed out, menacing as a draws bow. “I, Old-Cat, am down here with a female, meddle some two-leg! Just because your shameless kind have a regard for the privacy of others, will not save your haunches from my teeth. You proceed at your own peril!”

Beti’s high soprano laughter pealed out. Then, with obvious amusement, she mindspoke. “Old-Cat, indeed! That’s an alias, if I ever heard one. Enjoy yourselves, the tribe needs the kittens. Nevertheless, if either of you see a Blackhair slave-girl, chase her back to Clan Linsee. Mind you though, don’t hurt her. I don’t think she has run away. She’s a good girl and probably just asleep somewhere.” Hoofs thud-thudded as her mount cantered back toward the camp.

Milo and Mara sat at what had been Lord Simos’ council table. Across from them sat Blind Hari, flanked by Old-Cat and Horsekiller. As all were capable of mind-speak, only the rasp of their breathing broke the stillness.

“How long have you known of me?” inquired Milo, still somewhat stunned at Hari’s revelation.

The old man smiled. “Almost from the day of your return, God Milo. Though I could not see you, others could and I could use their eyes. My father was a young man when you left us, and you were just as he described you to me. Eighteen years agone, God Milo, I tried to read you, then I knew! I could but barely see the beginning of your life—lying, as it does, so many hundreds of years in the past—and I could not even sense an end. Who could have such a mind, save a God?”

“Then, you’ve known for nearly twenty years, Bard Hari. Why have you not spoken before this time? Why wait until now?”

Blind Hari settled himself against the backrest of his chair, regarding Milo’s face through Horsekiller’s eyes. “Though you, unlike mere men, God Milo, can shield off portions of your mind, I sensed that you knew or suspected my knowledge, yet you said nothing. I am a very old man, God Milo—nearly one and one-half hundreds of winters—and age has vouchsafed me two things: patience and wisdom. How much greater than mine must be the wisdom of one who has lived four times my age and nore, who knew birth at a time when all men were as ;ods? Though but a man, yet could I perceive that—when he time was as it must be—either the God would tell the nan or the man would tell the God. That time is now, lod Milo.”

“And you, Cat-brother?” Milo questioned Horsekiller. “I have known since kittenhood that your mind was not as other men’s, God Milo.”

Milo had had more than enough. He slammed one fist upon the tabletop and both cats blinked. “That’s sufficient subservience. I’m no Ehleenoee, dammit! If you must give me a title, let it be War Chief or Cat-friend or, better yet, none at all.”

“The God speaks, His servants obey,” replied Blind Hari aloud. He was broadly smiling and a hint of gentle sarcasm tinged his over-humble voice.

Mara had been watching and listening, and now her laughter trilled. “You speak with all the conviction of an Ehleenoee priest, ‘Father’ Hari. But you must have a very good reason for disclosing your knowledge at this time. What urgency has impelled you, Man of Powers?”

“… and so, keeping under the cover of the creek bank, I brought her here, to my Cat-brother, Bard Hari.”

After Old-Cat had recounted his portion of the tale, Milo shrugged. “I lived among the Northern Ehleenoee foi some years. While mindspeak is rare among their race, it is not unheard of. Over the course of years and centuries, races tend to mingle. I suspect that many who think of themselves as pure embody more than a trace of the blood of the fair races.

“As for the fact that the girl dislikes her lot… .” He shrugged again. “Few slaves do, not in the beginning. And you have probably earned her a beating, Old-Cat, by keep ing her this long from her owner’s clan-camp.”

Old-Cat bared his teeth and gave vent to a hair-rasing snarl of unadulterated menace.

“The cub has suffered enough! Much more suffering and her thought-mind will depart her little body. She has neither the maturity nor the training to control or prevent such. By my fangs and claws, the two-leg who seeks to hurt her more shall be found intestineless! Beware, Old-Cat makes not false threats!”

“If such is your feeling,” replied Milo, “the answer is simple: buy her. I am sure that your personal shares from the Black-Horse battle would be more than enough to pay a fair price for her, and if they are not, borrow from your clan; Chief Horsekiller is both generous and understanding.”

“That has been attempted, Friend Milo,” interjected Horsekiller. “Clan Linsee refuses to sell her. Chief Rik and his brother, Hwahlis, became quite angry when my emissary, Black-Claw, would not tell him where she was.”

Milo grimaced. “That, I don’t doubt, Cat Chief! Men like not to lose a new and but half-tried female.”

Mara turned on him bristling. “Sometimes, you are disgusting, my husband, and I can but wonder that I chose to marry you!”

Hari beamed his thought at her. “It is meet that you should defend the poor slave, Lady Goddess, for, though she has yet to see her twelfth year …”

“What?” Milo shouted aloud. “Has Clan Linsee, then, ceased to honor the Law? Slave-girl or clan-girl, I set the age of taking at fourteen!”

“And the Law, like all your Law, has proven just and good for clan and tribe.” Hari nodded sagely. “Little Aldora—for that is her name, Aldora Ahpoolios—says that she has tried ceaselessly to tell her ravishers her age and beg them to leave off abusing of her body, but she has only a few words of Merikan and could speak only in Ehleeneekos. The mercenaries who first raped her understood; but she is quite womanlike for her age, and they convinced her buyer, Hwahlis Linsee, that she was older, I am sure, for Hwahlis is a brave and honorable man and a respecter of the Law.”

“Then, when he is made aware of truth, he …” Milo broke off at the shake of Bard Hari’s old head.

“Hwahlis is not the problem, nor is he the Law-defiler, War Chief. It is Ms brother Chief Rik of Linsee. He fully understood and took her anyway, often and brutally! She knows he understood, for when they were alone once, he spoke to her in her own tongue, told her that as soon as she began to learn to speak Merikan, he would have her killed.

She did not know the reason for this or why her death should be necessary, but we do!

“It has been long and long since a chief of the Horse-clans has defied the Law. Rik of Linsee must not go unpunished. He knows the extent of his crime and is frightened—Black-Claw said that he reeked of fear. Though Hwahlis likes Aldora, he would have sold her; but Rik convinced the clansmen to refuse to sell.

“Also, War Chief and War Chief’s wife, there is another thing that you must know: Though Ehleenoee-born, this child is of your sacred race, the Race of Gods!”

Horsekiller and Old-Cat strode into the Clan Linsee chief-tent. Chief Rik neither rose in deference to Horse-killer as Cat chief nor gave greeting. His mindspeak was flat and more than a little hostile. “Well, yet two more flea-factories today! Has the Cat Chief come to return my clan’s property that they took away? Where is she?”

“I come,” said Horsekiller, trying hard to keep his lip down and his claws in, “to summon you and one of your clansmen, Hwahlis Linsee, to the War Chiefs stone tent, within Green-Walls. If you refuse to come, Old-Cat and I have orders to hamstring you and drag you there! The council sits and will judge you and your clansman for deliberate defilement of the Law.”

Though obviously stunned by the pronouncement, Hwahlis was just as puzzled; Rik, on the other hand, paled to ashiness and his hand crept toward his saber-hilt reflexively. His self-admitted guilt gave evidence that all could easily see and, muttering, gripping at Sun-talisman or the hilts of their sacred steel, his clansmen tightened their circle, edging away from him.

Arm cradling his telling-harp, Vinz Linsee, the clan bard, rose and mindspoke Horsekiller. “How speaks Blind Hari, Tribe-Bard and Sage of the Law, on this, Cat Chief?”

The big cat replied with ominous solemnity. “It is he who brings the charge, oh, Clan-Bard.”

Bard Vinz hung his head in shame. Such a charge from such a man was dishonor enough; but if, as he suspected from Chief Rik’s appearance and behavior, it were adjudged true, then the clan could claim no honor, past, present, or future.

“Well?” snarled Chief Rik. “Speak up, useless-maker-of-useless-songs. Must I go or do we fight?”

Those clansmen who had been grasping hilts let them go, as if red hot, and hastily averted their eyes from their accused chief.

“You and Hwahlis must go,” answered Vinz with as much dignity as he could muster. “Under such a charge, it were further Law-defilement to draw steel against summoners or council.”

“And, raper-of-kittens,” put in Old-Cat, who had moved quite near to Chief Rik, “if your hand does not depart from your saber hilt quickly, it will depart from your arm immediately!”

At the beginning, Chief Rik denied all: threatening the slave’s life, understanding her tongue or speaking to her in it, even having had knowledge of her flesh. He swore sword-oath that the charge was false, calling on Sun and Wind to witness his oath’s verity, but the Test of the Cat, administered by Horsekiller’s delegate, Old-Cat, broke him. As the teeth pierced his scalp and grated on bone, he screamingly admitted his deceptions and the blasphemies with which he had attempted to cover his misdeeds.

Bard Vinz and Hwahlis hung their heads and wept that their chief should so dishonor his clan. All the Linsee warriors were summoned to hear the foresworn man’s re-recital of his crimes. When he had finished, Milo rose and addressed the council.

“Kindred, at the fight on the hill, when there were no more arrows in our cases and all seemed lost, two brave men rose amid the foemen’s arrow-rain and precipitated a falling of rocks which, though it killed them, stopped the charge of the iron-shirts and preserved their kindred. Both those valiant ones bore the clan-name of Linsee. “The heinous misdeeds of Rik, Chief of Linsee, should be broadcast among all the tribe, to the irreparable dishonor of his clan. You Chiefs know what this will mean. As a dishonored clan has no place in the tribe, they will be banished. The kindred will drive them out of tribe territory, that their dishonored blood may never pollute that of the other clans.”

While he had been speaking, the weeping Linsee warriors had begun to voice a low moan. Clan dishonor and banishment from the tribe were the worst things that could befall them. After such, death would be a mercy.

“But, Chiefs,” Milo continued, “to save the honor of such a clan as produced the Heroes of the Rock, I ask that the council grant a boon.”

Several of the chiefs growled at once. “What would you, War Chief?”

“Allow Rik—who is clan-chief as well as chief malefactor—to personally expiate his clan’s dishonor. Allow him to reject his chiefhood, divorce his wives, give up his title to any clan-property, save only some clothing and a little food and a mule. Then allow him to ride away, bearing only dirk and ax and spear, for he has lost, by his blasphemies, the right to bear sword or bow or shield. And let him be declared outlaw, to be slain if ever he returns.”

No longer moaning, the Linsee warriors looked up, hope glimmering in their teary eyes; but Rik shattered their hopes.