After uncovering the embers and building up the fire again, he rigged
sticks to roast as much meat as he thought he could carry, and carved
the end of the pole to fit his copper spearhead. The Star had set and
it was nearly dark by the time he got the metal tip fitted on and
secured with the narrow strip of leather that had bound Kwint's cloak.
With the alert senses of one who lives in the open, Yorgh looked up
before the girl came within a hundred yards.
He watched wonderingly as she plodded out of the dusk and up to his
fire. The flames put copper glints in her hair, like rays of The Star
on water, but her features were set in a harsh expression.
"You walked out?" asked Yorgh cautiously.
Vaneen curled her lip at him.
"Thanks to _you_!" she said, and the "you" was like a blow.
"Some meat?" invited Yorgh, trying not to show his hurt.
"No."
He considered. On the whole, even putting the best possible
interpretation on it, he did not think he could call the girl's visit
friendly.
"They didn't chase you out too, did they?" he asked mildly.
"My father sent me!" she all but spat at him. "He found me with
something of yours, and nothing would do but I must get the accursed
thing out of camp to fling in your face before nightfall!"
She took her hand from the belt of the blue dress, and Yorgh saw the
gleam of the metal stick from the desert.
"It's already dark," he said hastily.
Vaneen sneered and dropped the object at his feet. Yorgh showed no
resentment, thinking that she was beautiful even with a sneer. He could
think of any number of girls whose faces became twisted and ugly with
anger, but not Vaneen.
"Are you going back?" he asked.
"What do you think?"
"I think you ought to sit down and make yourself comfortable with a
steak."
Vaneen glared at him.
"I can't sit down and be comfortable, if you must know!"
"Why not?"
"My father took a stick to me when he found out that thing belonged to
you."
Yorgh peered at her, and saw that she did not joke.
"If Moyt hadn't been there to stop him, I probably couldn't have even
walked out here. You made a fine, merry day, Yorgh!"
The hunter rested his chin on his hand and looked down at the aimless
patterns he was tracing in the dust with the end of the metal cylinder.
Time had been, he reflected, that he would have thought it funny to
hear of Vaneen's being turned upside down and having some of the
haughtiness knocked out of her. Once, even, he might have felt sorry
for her afterward, or been enraged at the thought of Moyt's being there
to ogle--or, worse, to intercede.
At the moment, he merely felt weary and discouraged.
"As you like," he said, "but it's dark out there, and a long way back."
He drew a circle in the dust and sliced it into quarters. After a
moment, Vaneen turned back to the fire from staring across the dark
plain. The long grass looked light gray in the dim light of Kloto,
largest of The World's three moons. Lax would not rise till early
morning, and tiny Atropo was so seldom seen that walking in its "light"
was proverbial.
"Here," said Yorgh, "you can have my cloak for a cushion."
Vaneen stared expressionlessly at the tatters of his fine red tunic,
and he could not tell what she thought.
"I have my own," she said, and unslung it from the back of her belt.
She threw the cloak about her shoulders and eased herself to the
ground with just a hint of extra care.
Maybe the old fish did beat her, thought Yorgh. I'll pull his straggly
beard for him one of these days!
He cut off a portion of juicy loppa meat for her, and placed Kwint's
water-skin and salt between them. Then he went back to peeling the
remaining bark from his crude spear.
He caught Vaneen watching him with her hand close to the small knife in
her belt. Yorgh snorted.
"Go to sleep!" he said.
I can recall when she'd have needed a spear, Yorgh thought, but I just
don't have any spirit tonight.
He rolled himself in his cloak and stretched out. Something dug into
his ribs, and he found the metal cylinder under him.
* * * * *
Yorgh held it up before his eyes a moment, and muttered a few
obscenities. He could remember nothing but bad luck since the moment he
had found it.
A twig snapping in the flames caught his attention. He hefted the metal
instrument in his palm, then tossed it into the fire.
He slept better than he expected. Once or twice, instinct awakened him
in time to replenish the fire.
The last time he awoke, he found himself already halfway to his feet
in the mist of dawn as Vaneen's scream was choked off by a hairy hand
slapped across her mouth.
Yorgh groped for his spear. All he could see, at first, were legs of
wollies surrounding the fire.
The spear was not where he had left it; it was in the hands of a slim,
black-bearded man in a fur cap who sat on the nearest wolly. He watched
Vaneen's writhings with amused admiration, but kept one eye on Yorgh.
The big hunter sensed men behind him, and leaped forward. The dark man
looked surprised, and slid backwards off his mount just in time to
escape the clutch of Yorgh's big hands on his leg. Two bodies thudded
into Yorgh from the rear, pinning him momentarily against the animal.
Then the wolly sidestepped and Yorgh reached around to grasp the men
holding him.
Raydowers from the mountains, he thought, and swung them off balance,
around in front of him, and together with a soggy crunch. Then he
dropped them.
The man in the fur cap was just bouncing to his feet, the wolly having
shuffled over his head. Yorgh snarled and drove at him, pulling out his
bronze knife. More men came from behind, not in time to stop him, but
in time for one to hang on his arm. The dark man swung the butt of the
spear, and it cracked on the side of Yorgh's skull.
When he came to, all he could see was long, oily wool. He squirmed, and
found that he was tied face down across a wolly. Someone was telling
someone else to be careful about kicking dirt over the fire.
Twisting his head, Yorgh found that he could see the fire, and some
of the mountain men sitting their wollies beyond it. Vaneen was among
them, not bound, but looking disheveled and resentful.
"Ah, coming around?" asked a voice.
The legs of a wolly moved into Yorgh's sight.
"I am Ueln, of the Raydower tribe," said the man in the fur cap. "I
didn't expect you back so soon. You have a hard head."
Yorgh looked up at him painfully and grunted.
"We are going over to the brook to water the wollies," said Ueln, "and
to attend to other things before we start for the mountains. If you
behave I will let you ride in the saddle."
"All right," said Yorgh, feeling he ought to make some answer to
disguise the fact that he was not yet thinking very clearly.
"You promise not to try to ride away?"
"Where would I ride to?" grumbled the hunter.
As soon as he realized the explanation _that_ remark would entail,
he wished he had remained silent. Further questioning, however, was
forestalled by a cry from the man at the fire.
He ran to Ueln, holding up a gleaming object.
"What's this?" asked the Raydower leader.
Yorgh grimaced, and let his head drop.
"Keep it," he said. "I make you a gift of it."
Ueln hesitated. He moved his wolly forward a pace to call to Vaneen.
"It's his good luck charm," said the girl sourly.
"So?" Ueln hefted the metal cylinder in his hand thoughtfully. "What
kind of luck has he been having?"
When no one answered him, Ueln leaned back, tossed a leg over the
wolly's front shoulders, and slid gracefully to the ground as if to
search the fire more thoroughly. Unfortunately, his foot landed upon a
thick piece of dust-covered fat discarded from the roast of the night
before.
Yorgh looked up to see the Raydower sitting on the ground with much the
same expression as when the hunter had lunged at him. This time, he
held the metal stick instead of Yorgh's spear.
After a moment, he climbed to his feet and looked around at his men.
None of them laughed.
The dark man stepped over to Yorgh, and the latter felt the metal
object thrust into the pouch on his belt before Ueln cut him loose so
he could sit astride the saddle.
"I'll let you keep your precious charm," said the Raydower. "I like my
questions answered by people, or things, I can see."
Although the mountains thrust far out into the grasslands at that
point, it took the better part of the day to pass through the
foothills. Yorgh soon found out why the band was in a hurry when Ueln
admitted to him that the long strings of wollies led at the rear had
been "found" on the plain.
"But what could we do?" asked the Raydower. "Jayn sent us out to see
what you had worth trading or stealing."
"Jayn?"
"She is our chief, since her father died and she will not marry lest
she lose the title to her husband."
"Couldn't you persuade her? You look like a man."
"I am her cousin," said Ueln stiffly.
"Oh," said Yorgh, and rode on in silence.
They rode out of a narrow pass to see cultivated fields in a long
valley. Yorgh's eyes was caught by the village nearby. It was built of
rock and had the most permanent look he had ever seen.
He dismounted stiffly when ordered, before one of the houses. Bruises
unnoticed after the kromp had tossed him had made themselves felt
during the ride. Two of Ueln's riders pushed Yorgh through the open
doorway on the heels of their leader.
They entered a hall evidently used for meals and other gatherings. From
the smell of the flambeaux on the stone walls, Yorgh judged that the
Raydowers traded with the Sea People for fish oil.
* * * * *
Then he looked at the woman sitting in the big, carved chair on the
dais along one wall. She was attended by several men, armed, and a few
women who were very obviously chosen for being less beautiful.
She was dark of hair and eye, and bore a certain resemblance to Ueln.
Yorgh thought she must be a year or two older than himself. Then, as he
was led closer, he saw that it was more likely five.
Jayn swept Vaneen up and down with a cold glance, but let her frank
stare linger on Yorgh's broad shoulders and golden beard. Ueln fidgeted
impatiently.
"Is this what you were sent to get?" Jayn asked him.
Her voice was not as musical as Vaneen's, Yorgh reflected, but it had
a husky undertone that promised much. He saw that she took great care
with her person, as befitted her position. Her long robe was dark and
cleverly sewn to boast of every curve of her handsome body. It was
belted at the waist by a girdle of the polished, light-blue stones for
which the mountain people were famous. Yorgh wondered if her lips were
naturally as red as they appeared.
Ueln had been explaining why he had not liked to leave behind two who
might talk, especially as one was a hunter who could have trailed him.
Jayn shrugged.
"I will decide how well you have done, Ueln, when we have counted the
wollies. As for this pair, I am not entirely displeased."
She rose and walked across the dais to look down on them. Following
her glance, Yorgh saw that the blue dress which had looked so well on
Vaneen two nights ago was much the worse for rough treatment. Jayn
stared contemptuously at the rents in it.
"Well, girl," she asked, "what can you do to make yourself useful?"
Vaneen gave her back stare for stare, saying nothing. Jayn tapped a
small foot impatiently. Then she said something to make the men behind
her grin.
"Come, come!" she snapped. "Where would you earn your keep--in my
kitchen, or in one of the buildings housing our young men?"
Right there, Yorgh decided, was where he would have reached up and
struck her, had she been a man and speaking to him. Women, it seemed,
were wiser, especially in judging each other.
"Your kitchen," said Vaneen evenly, but Yorgh knew that the day might
come when Jayn would regret the affair.
So did the Raydower woman, apparently, for there was a hard look in her
eye as she watched the girl led away. Then it softened as she turned to
Yorgh.
"Untie him and clean him up, Ueln," she directed. "And get him
something to wear in place of that awful rag. You had no need to be so
rough with him."
Ueln bit his lip, glaring at the remnants of Yorgh's crimson tunic. He
turned on his heel and stalked toward the stairs flanking the entrance.
One of the riders touched Yorgh's elbow, and he followed, seething
undecidedly between the twin stings of being called ragged and of
having it implied that a man the size of Ueln could have been rough
with him.
He was led up one of the two flights of stone stairs which to him were
a wonder, and to a small room with a straw-covered wooden bed. Ueln
drew his knife and cut the cord on Yorgh's wrist.
"There's a pool along the trail a way," he said. "Tomorrow, you can
swim and clean up in the morning with the other riders. I'll see if I
can find a tunic big enough."
"I have nothing to give you for it," said Yorgh, unable to avoid
feeling sorry for the man at being received so casually after his hard
ride. "Unless you want to keep the knife you took from me as payment."
"Never mind," said Ueln. "You'll earn it before long, if I know Jayn."
"What do you mean?" asked Yorgh warily.
"She isn't a bad wench, in her way," Ueln muttered. "It's just that she
tries so hard to keep us all under her thumb because so many have been
at her to marry. She would rather continue to be chief."
"I should think," suggested Yorgh, recalling the black hair and
flashing eyes, "that one might be found who would wink at letting her
keep the power."
"Well, yes ... but she could never be sure," said Ueln. "Of course, if
she married a man of another tribe--like you, for instance--it would
make no difference. She would still rule, for he would be just a slave,
with less rights than even the kitchen flunkies."
"So?" murmured Yorgh. "Still ... just let her give me to choose between
the kitchen and a house of her young women, and you will see a notable
choice made, my friend!"
"Young women reside with their families," snapped Ueln.
He stared Yorgh up and down, his eyes black pools in the light cast by
the flambeaux he carried.
"I admire your attitude," he sneered with heavy sarcasm. "Enjoy it
while you can!"
He strode away down the hall, leaving Yorgh in the dark. The big hunter
thought fleetingly of creeping quietly to the stairs, but a saner
instinct convinced him that Ueln would not have left them unguarded.
He groped his way to the bed, found that a blanket had been left on
the straw, and wrapped himself in it against the night chill of the
mountains.
* * * * *
The next three days he spent "enjoying his attitude," as Ueln had
bidden him. The Raydower gave him a tunic of dark blue which was only a
trifle snug, having belonged to the old chief, and pants of gray Hunter
wool. The tunic had a narrow fur collar. Bathed and refreshed, Yorgh
regained some of his good nature with the new clothes.
He did not see Vaneen anywhere when he was invited to sit at the great
table for meals and to entertain the black-haired Raydower ruler. With
unusual insight, he decided that Jayn would probably not be pleased to
hear him asking about the girl.
Instead, he told some of his stories, and at supper made bold to yank a
bench from under one of Jayn's discouraged suitors.