The Korental chuckled. "I know. He has some of those characteristics
attributed by legend to clan talu, and to them only." He bent his head
for a moment.
"Suppose I put it this way. When the clans and tribes meet for full
consideration of your request for support, you will need strong
council. And the councilor who presents your cause must be a member of
your clan, of course. He must speak for you, the head of the Waernu."
Waern looked at him. "I see," he said thoughtfully. "And here, we may
find strong council." He looked across at Don.
"You would consider this?"
Don paused. This, he thought, was getting serious. It had been fine at
first. He had just followed instructions from an experienced agent. And
there had been quite a thrill at being in the middle of things. But
somehow, everything was flying apart. All at once, he was on his own.
And now--well, clan councilors were pretty responsible individuals.
They were supposed to be the experts on law and custom. They were
supposed to put things together--and keep them that way. He could
remember daydreams he'd had once, of helping run a country. Some of
them had been pretty dramatic. But--well, it was beginning to look like
real trouble. If things went wrong, a councilor could get his neck on a
block for sure.
Then he smiled inwardly. So what of it? How could he get into any more
trouble? He already had the entire Enforcement Corps screaming for his
blood. He'd killed off a Royal Guard projector crew, an entire
Enforcement crew, and a few odd news people. They didn't like him. But
they wanted him. The only way out of this one would be straight ahead.
He nodded.
"Of course," he said simply.
The Korental came to his feet and grabbed his staff. Beside his stool
was a battered tone tube. He swung the staff at the dented wood and a
deep tone followed the sharp crack.
He wheeled upon the man who came through the door.
"Tell the Korensahn to come up here," he ordered. "And have him bring
five men with him. We have a clan adoption to witness."
* * * * *
Don flexed his back and hunched his shoulders a little to get the
pack-board more comfortably settled. The darn things were heavy. He
looked at the others, who walked along the road. Hang it, they seemed
to swing along under their loads as though they were just taking a
short walk before breakfast. He poked at the hard ground with his
stick.
How had he managed to haul himself into this one, anyway? Blasted thing
had all seemed so logical, back there in Korelanni. He reviewed the
steps.
First, it had been essential that the safety and contents of the Book
of the Waernu be determined. Without it, Pete's claim would be so vague
as to be untenable. Especially before a conclave with the regent in
active opposition.
Second, the book would have to be placed in safekeeping where it could
be immediately produced upon demand. He frowned. That was a tough one.
So anyway----
Then, there had come the question. Who was going to get this book and
bring it back--or protect it? Pete was too valuable and too vulnerable.
He was known, and if any of the police agencies got their hands on him
... well, that would be all. So Pete was out.
Jasu Waern? Don grinned to himself. "Skip it," he told himself. He
poked at the ground again with the stick. It was getting hot. And he
was thirsty.
"Hope that gunk they used to monkey up my complexion doesn't sweat
out," he told himself. "That would do it for sure."
He glanced up at the sky. It was getting close to midday. Ahead, he
could see a few men sitting at the side of the road, leaning back
against their packs. He went forward a few more paces, then selected a
comfortable looking bit of moss.
So what had happened? A little guy named Donald Michaels had been
disguised as a clanless mat maker. He leaned back against the pack.
And, brother, had they given him a stock of mats to sell. This clansman
in Riandar would be busy for a month, just unloading all these things
from his stock.
He thought of those daydreams he had once had. A king's councilor, he
had imagined, was a highly important, greatly respected individual. He
had dreamed of himself, dressed in the ornate formal robes he'd seen in
pictures of the old nobility. He'd pictured himself exchanging urbane
chatter with other beautifully turned out characters, who hung on his
every word. He'd seen himself striding between low-bowing lines of
assorted courtiers and soldiery, pausing now and then to tap at the
pavement with his jeweled staff. He'd---- Hah!
He looked at the dusty trail. He'd been striding, all right, but the
field reeds didn't look too much like bowing lines of---- Yeah, and his
staff didn't have too many jewels, either. No pavement, even, and this
fool pack didn't feel much like a finely tailored robe of office. He
shrugged.
"This is no dream," he told himself. "You let one of Stern's people get
suspicious, and you'll find out just how real things can get." He
twisted around to get the package of food and the water bottle which
dangled from the pack.
Distastefully, he looked at the little packet of powder which was in
the food package. He glanced around quickly, then dumped the powder
into his mouth, quickly gulping water to wash it down.
"Gaah!" he growled, "does it have to taste like the inside of an old
shoe? Oh, well, it'll keep me nice and dark for the next thirty hours
or so." He pulled a strip of dried meat from the package. Maybe this
will help take the taste out.
He sighed and worked his jaws on the leatherlike substance. It started
to soften a little.
Well, anyway, he knew how to get to the vault where the ancestral
volumes of the Waernu were kept. And he knew just which volume to pick
out. Only one small problem remained. How was he going to get into the
house--and on into the little pond in the inner garden? He grinned as
he thought of Pete's remark.
"It'll be simple for you," he had said enviously. "All you have to do
is tell any guard you meet to stand aside and forget he ever saw you.
Then you go on down to the vault. Wish I had that ability of yours."
"Sure," he told himself, "hang your clothes on yonder bush--and get
right into the water. It's just a simple matter of diving down ten feet
and pushing the right rock the right number of times--in the right
directions. Nothing to it. And then you go through the pressure trap,
and there you are. Simple!"
And who was going to guard the pond while he was down there? Suppose he
broke surface right in front of a flock of trigger-happy Enforcers? He
sighed.
"Oh, well," he told himself. "You asked for it. Now, you've got it.
Have fun." He looked into the food package and selected a meal cake.
* * * * *
At last, he dusted his fingers and leaned back lazily against his pack,
looking into the clear sky. For a few minutes, he simply relaxed, his
eyes fixed on the infinite distance, his mind a near blank.
Other pack-laden men strode past him, intent on their destination. At
last, a group swung by and the sound of their conversation brought Don
out of his semitrance. Behind the group was another, who walked a
little faster than the others, in an apparent effort to catch up. Don
pushed himself up with the aid of his staff, drew a few deep breaths,
and started pacing along behind him.
Ahead, the group went around a curve in the path. The man ahead of Don
cut over into the grass, still intent on catching up with his
companions, who were not more than a few meters ahead. Don watched him
casually.
There was no use, he thought, in trying to keep up with this fellow or
his companions. It was too hot. Besides, this was probably a clan group
who would not welcome company--especially the company of one of no
clan.
He started to slow down to a normal pace, then his attention was caught
by movement by a rock just ahead of the other. A small, greenish-brown
body was vaguely outlined in the long grass nearly in the man's path.
Don looked more closely. The animal was heavy-bodied, with rather short
forelegs. Powerful hind legs were tucked under the body, twitching a
little now. The forelegs pawed slightly at the grass and the flat, wide
head probed out, extending toward the approaching man.
"Hey!" yelled Don. "Look out. Gersal!" He started forward in a half
run, his staff poised for a blow.
The other jumped sideways but the furry body grazed his leg and spun,
claws and teeth working furiously. The man looked down and screamed.
Don's staff came down in a chopping blow and the animal bounced out
onto the open path. Its paws raised little spurts of dust as it spun
about and prepared for another spring.
Again, Don's staff swung down. The gersal flopped about for an instant
in the dust of the path, then faced toward him, an angry scream coming
from its throat.
Again, it tried to get its balance for a spring, but one hind leg
dragged limply. Again, the staff swung, tumbling the beast over in the
dust.
There was a flurry of paws and the gersal struggled up to its haunches,
then sat up, its brilliant red eyes fixed on Don. It stretched out
short forelegs in seeming supplication, then batted futilely at the
punching staff end.
Disregarding the pleading attitude of the beast, Don continued to punch
at the squirming body till it was obvious that no vestige of life could
remain. Then, he looked at the other man.
The fellow had managed to get to the center of the path before he had
collapsed. He half sat, half lay against his pack, breathing raggedly.
Sweat stood out on his forehead. He looked at Don vaguely, making an
obvious effort to focus his eyes.
"Thanks ... Friend," he mumbled. "You tried---- Oooh!" He closed his
eyes and stiffened, his legs stretching out and his back arching.
The men who walked ahead had been attracted by the commotion. They came
back and one jerked off his pack and bent over the man in the path. He
looked over at the dead animal, then glanced up at Don.
"How many times was he bitten?"
"I doubt if he got more than one," Don told him.
The other nodded and looked searchingly at the victim. Then, he reached
into his clothing and removed a small packet. He opened it and pulled
the protective cover off a syrette.
"There's a small chance, then," he remarked. He poked the needle of the
syrette into the sufferer's forearm and squeezed the tube.
The stricken man moved convulsively and opened one eye. His companion
nodded.
"You might make it, Delm," he said cautiously. "Only one bite, and we
got to you soon." He nodded.
"If you can hang on for just five minutes, you'll walk the trail
again." He looked up at Don.
"That was quick action," he said. "You may have saved our clan
brother." He looked down at the torn place on the man's leg.
"A couple of more bites, and he'd surely be dead by now." He got to his
feet.
"Whom do we have to thank?"
Don looked down at the path in apparent discomfort.
"I am Kalo," he said, "of the mountains."
The other's eyes clouded. "Oh," he said tonelessly. He looked down at
his companion, then back at the dead animal.
"Well," he said slowly, "we are grateful, Clanless One. Go your way in
peace. We will take care of our brother."