Revel lifted his pick and came forward, roaring defiance. Ewyo’s gun thrust out at his belly. “Don’t die now,” said the big squire pleadingly. “I want you for a fox, Revel.”
Jerran snatched a handgun from his belt. One of the squires loosed off at him instantly, the slug striking the handgun more by accident than design, sending it spinning as Jerran howled and gripped his numbed fingers.
“Nice shooting, Rosk,” said Ewyo. Revel still stood with his pick raised, wondering what his chances of a swipe at Ewyo would be. “Put it down,” said the squire. “Drop it!”
“Drop it, Revel,” said Jerran. The Mink did so, and Rosk picked it up.
“Come along,” said Ewyo then. “I have some excellent torture rooms I’d like you to inspect. Personally!” With a grin like a weasel’s, he motioned them through the maples. Several others of the gentry came up, and the three rebels were surrounded and marched off to the great house of Ewyo of Dolfya.
* * * *
The room was large, of field stone, set below the house like a mole’s den; portions of the walls were black with age-old soot, from what hellish fires Revel did not like to guess, and the rafters were grimed and looked like axe-blades, darkened with dry blood, ready to fall upon him. One wall had thongs hanging from it, beside a nine-lashed whip hanging on a post. Candles illumined other instruments, the purpose of all of which was torture.
“Strap him to the wall,” said Ewyo. Two of his servants did so; they were evil-faced ruckers, fat with good living in the squire’s huts. Rosk, the lean-jawed, red-cheeked squire who was Ewyo’s closest friend, said, “Shall I flay a part of him? The left hand, say, or one foot so he’ll be slow in the hunt?”
“No. I want him hale and hearty.” Revel breathed easier. “The gods want to do something, though. I’m not sure what. I have my orders.” Ewyo took a seat by the wall, gestured his servants out. As the door closed behind them, a hideous yell echoed in the vault.
Ewyo said comfortably, “They are taking the hide off the back of Dawvys, in the next chamber. They’ll split his fingernails, too, and perhaps take off an ear. He’s the least important of you upstarts, and I don’t care if he’s as slow as a slug tomorrow.”
Revel thrashed impotently in the leather straps.
Rosk studied the face of the Mink. He opened his gash of a mouth to say something, and Revel spat accurately into it. “I wish it were my pick,” he said, as the squire sputtered and backed off.
“Let be, Rosk,” said Ewyo, smiling a little. “He’ll pay for it tomorrow.” Rosk wiped his lips as the burly squire cocked his head, listening to an unseen command. Then he walked over, opened the door, and let in another yelp of agony, followed by a pair of golden orbs, with their attendant zanphs.
The globes floated down to the level of the Mink’s face, and his skin prickled at the nearness of the energy aura. What now? The long feelers came darting out, touching his eyelids, his cheeks, and Revel winced, expecting a searing burn. There was only the tingle. They could regulate the energy, then, burning an opponent only when necessary. But how loathsome their nearness was, to a sane and enlightened man who had discarded the creed of their god-hood!
* * * *
Now their minds came probing into his. Automatically he erected the rampart of innocuous thoughts. Yet the probing continued; he could feel it as a tangible finger of force, needling here, thrusting in there, pressing aside the thoughts that meant nothing, feeling out not only his true thoughts, but his memories, his unconscious hopes, the very traits of character which made him what he was and of which he was scarcely aware.
This was no casually suspicious probing, such as an orb might give a man as it passed him in the mine. This was a brutal wrenching of brain-stuff that would not be denied. He felt it go into his rebellious brain, poke and pry, ferret out all he remembered and believed. All the conceit washed out of Revel the Mink. All the scorn he had felt for these creatures turned to fear, and the bitter hatred increased a thousandfold. And he knew that they felt it as it happened.
At last the feelers drew back, and the orbs lifted toward the rafters. Their zanphs lay watching them, and the two squires stood up uncertainly. Then Rosk said in a hollow, unreal voice, “This man is to be guarded closely. He must not be allowed to escape. It would be better if he were killed now, rather than kept for the hunt. He is the most dangerous rebel we have ever found.”
The Mink realized that the gods were using Rosk as a dummy, speaking through his lips.
Ewyo said, looking at the globes, that burnt with a dull golden radiance in the upper gloom, “It would be better if he were hunted down. He is the ‘Savior’ the ruck has been waiting for all these years, they think, and if we slew him in this chamber, his death would never be believed. He should be hunted before the whole town, and torn to pieces by the dogs.”
The globes, through Rosk’s lips, said, “That is so. Hunt him, then; but if he escapes, you die and your family’s status is reduced to that of the lowest rucker’s.” They floated toward the door, which Ewyo hastened to open for them. The sound of Dawvys’ groans came in, and Revel strained again at his bonds.
* * * *
Ewyo’s pale eyes darted toward him. “What a fox you’ll make,” he gloated. “We’ll run you in my own lands, which are the best for the game in all this country. We’ll run you naked, I think, and allow the ruck to gather on the hills and watch you scuttle from afar. Their precious savior! A naked, frightened, harried rabbit, instead of a bold fighting mink! How’ll they like that? How much talk of treason will there be for the next ten years, after that? Precious little, Revel of the Ruck!”
He called his servants. “Take him and bind him with two dozen thick thongs, and have twenty men sit in a circle round him all night. Give him plenty of food and water—by Orbs, give him a beaker of my wine! We’ll have a fox tomorrow to remember for a lifetime!”
CHAPTER IX
And now the squire has trapped the Mink,
And now he sets him free,
And now the Mink is hunted down
On hill and vale and lea.
He pants and gasps, his legs grow weak,
His eyes with sweat are blind;
In squire’s halloo and hound’s mad bark
He hears his death behind!
—Ruck’s Ballad of the Mind
* * * *
They took Revel to the top of a hill just behind Ewyo’s mansion. He was stripped to the buff, but on his feet were stout sandals of horsehide in triple thickness, so that he could run well and give them a good hunt. On the crest they untied him, and he stood naked in a ring of the horsed gentry, rubbing his wrists and glaring at them. Beside him were Jerran and the mutilated Dawvys, who both wore their customary shirts and trousers.
Running his eyes over the squirachy, Revel saw with a strange thrill of horror the Lady Nirea, on a deep-chested roan stallion, as cool and distant as the moon ... and as beautiful, he thought bitterly. Well, but hadn’t he had her? He, a rucker born had loved this woman of the gentry! Let her watch him die—small compensation that would be!
He bowed to her. “May you be in at the death,” he said clearly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her face go white.
“Give the Mink his fangs,” said Ewyo. The burly squire was all in scarlet silk and purple velvet, with white calfskin boots on his thick legs. At his command, Rosk threw the tall rebel a belt with two holsters, in which were thrust two short iron daggers. “By rights you should go without, Mink,” said Ewyo, “but it’s more sport to chivvy a fox with a bite in him. Now, you have till the count of three hundred.”
“Five hundred is customary,” interrupted Nirea.
“Three is plenty for the savior of the ruck. Hold your tongue, Lady.” He leaned over his steed’s head. “Three hundred, Mink, and then we come after you. Your course is down this hill and straight away toward the sea. Don’t try to escape the straight, either, because the hills are rimmed with guards who’ll blow your guts out if you cross t
he line; and some thousands of your slimy kin are clustered on those hills to watch their hero die.” He nodded to the woman beside him, a blonde wench with vicious amber eyes. “Begin the count, Jann.”
The blonde said loudly, “One, two, three—” and at the third word Revel was off, running like a slim brown stag down the slope of the hill. Behind him came Dawvys and Jerran. The little man cried, “Don’t wait, Revel lad. Save yourself if you can. Remember you’re the Mink!”
“I wish to Orbs I wasn’t,” he growled, and hit the bottom, skimmed over a patch of raw rocks and struck the green beyond. As he ran he buckled the belt around his waist, with a knife hanging on each hip. He had not expected these, and though Ewyo thought he’d lose only a hound or two, Revel intended to take at least a pair of squires with him into the unknown....
He was a fine runner. By the time Lady Jann had counted two hundred and fifty, he was half a mile down the straight, which was a belt of land some quarter of a mile wide and twenty long, ending above the sea on a cliff’s edge. As the squire had said, he would not be able to break off the straight, for guards and packed mobs lined it and a naked man would be far too conspicuous heading toward them.
Now he thought of his two comrades in ill fortune. Neither of them was a runner of any caliber. Should he wait and help them?
Selfishness said no—and unselfishness said no, for wasn’t his first duty to the ruck, not to his friends? Didn’t he owe it to humanity to save himself? And besides, he was a lusty young buck, and didn’t want to die.
But he glanced back, slowed, waited till the two had come panting up to him, and thrusting an arm around each waist, ran them forward with him, ignoring their protests.
* * * *
They came to a coppice of elms, grown thick with brambles and cluttered with deadwood. It covered perhaps an acre. Revel ploughed into it, cursing as the thorns stabbed his naked hide. Too late he realized he should have skirted it. In the rare quarter-seconds when the branches were not snapping or the brush whipping noisily aside from their progress, he could hear the faint barking of the great hounds; even, he thought, the whoops of the excited gentry as they started down the hill on their fiery stallions. He pictured Nirea, her slate-hued eyes gleaming, her creamy skin aflush as she leaned forward eagerly for the first sight of the Mink. Damn her!
Abruptly the earth slanted off to the right, so that Revel, who was still pushing Dawvys and Jerran, went headlong into a patch of nettles, losing his balance at the unexpected dip and shoving both companions down on their faces. Dawvys rolled, yelping at the pain of scratches on fresh wounds, then vanished with a howl. Revel crouched, staring, unbelieving. In a moment the head of the plump rucker came up out of the earth.
“What in Orbs’ names—”
“It’s a pit,” said Dawvys. “It was covered with trash.” His eyes were wide and frightened. “Go on, Revel. I can’t run another step.”
The Mink thought swiftly. Dawvys was right, he could run no longer. Quickly Revel shoved the man’s head down, threw several branches and bushes across the mouth of the pit, began to disguise it, talking as he worked.
“Lie down and be very still, old fellow. Jerran and I will make enough of a trail for the hounds to follow, and only bad luck will discover you to them. If we escape, we’ll come back tonight for you.” The pit was camouflaged, looked like a mound of trash beside the trail. Revel murmured a good-bye, and went plunging on through the coppice to the other side, Jerran following him nimbly with the strength of second wind.
Now they could truly run, for Jerran, though forty-two, was no antique; and Revel had the thews of a woods lion. The way before them was smooth, grass cropped close by the sheep of Ewyo, gently rolling mounds one after another so that skimming down one slope gave them impetus to dash up the next. A faint cheer came to them from the left. The ruck was on their side.
Perhaps if I die well enough, thought Revel, my death may spark a revolt, and so count for something. He felt at the hilt of the iron daggers. Just give me Ewyo, he prayed to whatever higher powers there might be; just let me have one thrust at Ewyo the Squire!
From the crest of the highest hill he looked back, as Jerran sucked for breath. The gentry were just topping a rise some half mile behind. Not bad! But the dogs were much closer. They had gone through the coppice without discovering Dawvys; now, with any luck, they never would.
Revel ran on. His feet thudded on rock, slithered on grass, shuffled through the mire of a narrow swampland. Here trees slashed at him, there a woodchuck sprang out of his path and made him stumble with sudden panic. His chest labored, drawing in air; his legs pumped and ached. Then he came to a river.
It was some ten yards broad, with a swift current. He said to Jerran, “If we can make headway against that current, land up-stream on the other side, we may have a chance.”
The runty yellow man shook his head. “Look up,” he gasped. Above them soared a score of globes, plainly marking their position for the gentry.
“The filthy schemers,” growled Revel. “The foul cheats! They call this a game, yet ‘tis as easy for them as it would be to shoot at us in a small sealed room!” He bent down. “Get on my back, little one.” Jerran climbed on, and Revel grasped his legs, told him to hang tight around his neck, and leaped into the river.
Only thirty feet across, it was yet quite deep, and Revel sank like a dropped rock. When the water above his head was so opaque that he could not distinguish anything save a dull mirky lightness, he struck out downstream. For a full minute he swam with the current, then began to rise, Jerran clinging weakly to his neck. The Mink thanked his Orbs—no, not them, but whatever brought him luck—that he was one of the few ruckers who had taught himself to swim....
* * * *
He had gone farther by swimming than he might have running, for the current was like a demon with a thousand legs, all speeding it on and carrying him with it. His head lifted clear of the waters in the center of the stream, and Jerran behind him broke into coughs and gurgles. Revel looked for globes, and saw them upriver, lifting and falling uncertainly. He said, “Take a breath!” did so himself, and sank again. This time he stayed under for the space he could have counted fifty, then rose again near the far bank.
He was among trees, birch and poplar and evergreen, that grew to the water’s brink. He struggled ashore, carrying a limp Jerran, and fell with his burden beneath a single giant oak, which sheltered him from the buttoned, all-seeing sky.
“Rest a while, Jerran. We’ve put plenty of distance behind us.”
Yet when he stood up and gave his friend a hand, five minutes later, he could already hear the baying of hounds.
A touch of panic threaded down his spine—not the panic that flared and died when a woodchuck startled him, but the panic of any hunted creature who, do what he may, still hears the pursuers close behind him. The sound of the howls told him the dogs had crossed the river. He looked up, but saw no orbs. No dog scents a man two miles off. Who had betrayed them? Or were the gentry presuming that they must have crossed?
He broke trail for Jerran through a section that a great bear would have found hard going, all vines and tough saplings and snake holes that sunk beneath his sandaled feet. His body was by this time a hatched network of pain and scarlet stripes, oozing blood.
He had expected the mass of impeding vegetation to be a thin patch at best, but it went on and on, and the trees thinned so that the sky was open above them. It was a matter of time only till the globes spotted him. The hounds were louder. Once he heard the shout of a man, thin and high in the distance.
At last he was on solid, uncluttered ground again. He looked down at his skin, wondering if it would ever be smooth and whole again. His body had been gouged, gashed, torn, disfigured.
“Va-yoo hallo! Va-yoo hallo-lo-lo-lo-lo!” The terrible cry rang behind him, and turning, he saw two horsemen cresting a hill to the side of the patch of bad ground.
Then it dawned on him how they had been followed; fo
r behind the stallioned squires rose the hills, which bordered the straight hunting course, and on them showed small dots of color, the keen-eyed watchers of the gentry. No matter where he ran on this long narrow coursing ground, there would be eyes upon him.
At least the ravening dogs were not nearby. He picked up Jerran, tucked him under one arm, and dashed for the shelter of the evergreen woods before him. The hoofs of the horses pounded behind. He dodged in among the pines, and the mournful call lifted—“Gone to earth! Go-ho-hon to earth!”
“Damn you, put me down!” rasped Jerran. “Am I a child, to be carted like this?” Revel dropped him. They skittered from tree to tree, and then a charging horse was on them, and Jerran was rolling aside, bleating with fear of the hoofs, while Revel turned and stood foursquare in the path. As the stallion all but touched him, he jumped aside, jumped back, so that the head of the beast passed him but the rider was struck and clutched and hurled from his saddle, losing his trumpet-gun as he fell. The Mink was sitting astride him before he could bounce up, and two ruthless hands took him by the throat and tore out his jugular. The second rider at that instant drew rein behind them, and lifted his own gun for a quick shot.
Jerran hurled a rock. It took the squire on the head, spilled him out of his saddle, and the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.
“Two guns, by Orbs!” crowed Revel, gathering them up. “And two horses!” He put a foot into the stirrup of the second one, but it shied madly at the touch of a bloody, naked man; dashed forward, startling the other, and together they vanished among the trees. “Hell!” said Jerran, taking one of the guns; “nothing gained but two bullets, Mink.”
The 53rd Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK; Geoff St. Reynard Page 23