by Andre Norton
Kade leaped down, landing a stride's distance from Dokital. The Ikkinni's right hand, fingers grasping the net ready for a cast, made a small gesture which the Terran could interpret neither as a welcome nor a refusal of aid, merely recognition.
Why he chose to stand with the native who by all evidence had left him helpless to face the same danger they were about to meet here, Kade could not have explained. Maybe it was that having been brought here by the stallion, manifestly eager for the coming fight, his warrior ancestors would not allow him any retreat.
The stallion halted, turned as the two men, to face the same curve of earth and stone. Now Kade could make out a barricade, a crosshatch of timber stakes. As that moved, the horse screamed such a vocal defiance as was echoed in ear-shattering sound from the walls of the bowl. Dokital crouched, the net coiled at his hampered feet. Kade, breathing faster, held his knife in readiness. With the three of them to face at once, one susti should be partly at a disadvantage.
The crude door was jerking upward, to display a dark hole, ragged enough about the edges to suggest a natural mountain cave. And the stench was now a choking wave of corruption, setting Kade to gagging.
How long would they have to wait? He remembered those dragging minutes back at the camp before the attack when he had been able to see his foe. Here at least, they knew the direction from which attack would come. Yet nothing save that overpowering odor had issued from the cave hole.
The drums, which had died to nothing since Kade's entrance, broke out in a wild beat. They must be stationed, the Terran thought, near the top of the amphitheater. The heavier roll on his left was balanced by a quick staccato tapping from the right. And that din would now drown out even the stallion's cries.
But the horse did not neigh, no longer tossed his head. He was as intent upon that hole as a feline might be at the hiding place of legitimate prey.
Maybe the beat of drum was acting as either an irritant or a summons. For the susti flashed out of hiding, not in the clumsy, wing-furled crawl with which its fellow had approached Kade, but in a leap which bore it into the air, wings beating.
For a startled second Kade believed the creature was more intent upon gaining the freedom of the night skies, than upon attacking its intended victim or victims. But if the susti was a captive, it was also trained in its role. For though that first flight carried it past the three in the arena, on to the throat of the gorge, it banked widely, its wings momentarily blotting out the streaming columns of firelight, to fly back.
The three were saved only by the peculiarity of the enemy's hunting habits. Had it roved falconlike, pouncing on its prey from aloft, horse and men might have had little chance. But the susti had to kill such large opponents on the ground. So the glide of its return brought it down in a swoop as it headed for the horse. Perhaps it had fought with tethered Ikkinni sacrifices before and had the rudimentary intelligence to choose from the three the prey which appeared the easiest to subdue.
Only the stallion whirled with the agility of a veteran warrior and the susti missed its strike, while the hooves swung until one thudded against a leather wing, knocking the flyer off course. Those wings tried to beat, to raise the heavy body. Kade had to leap to avoid the sweep of one threshing surface.
Then the susti came to earth behind them, and horse and men turned to face the thoroughly enraged creature.
Chapter 11
Dokital's net lashed out not in a cast to entangle the susti—he could not have managed such a feat alone—but to cut whip fashion across that pointed snout, flick punishment at the bulbous eyes. The thing squealed—the thin shriek partially drowned by the thunder of the drums and yet piercing enough to reach their ears through the din—gave way a step or two, an advantage the bound Ikkinni could not follow up.
But the stallion was not tied, nor was Kade. And now the Terran stooped, twisted the spear from Dokital's foothold before the native could stop him. With that in one hand and his knife in the other he circled to the right, trying to flank the creature.
And the horse, as if the animal caught a thought from the man, trotted back, came around to get behind the susti. One man against that horror would have had little chance, but the three who faced it now reduced the odds drastically.
Dokital lashed again, coming to the end of his ankle straps, striving to keep the susti occupied, occupied and grounded where they had the better of the battlefield. The beat of the drums reached a wild crescendo, deafening the men in the arena. Kade saw the stallion's open mouth, knew the horse was screaming, yet he could hear nothing of that equine rage. And the pounding beat was making him dizzy, attacking him with snaps of vertigo.
As yet the Terran saw no chance for a telling thrust against the susti. The creature used its wings as shields, holding him at a distance. And a spear's throw under one of those flapping barriers was beyond his skill. Kade watched for the opportunity to stab into some part of that obscene body, but the stallion went into action.
Using the same tactics followed before with such excellent results, the horse came up behind the susti and struck out, aiming for the hunched back of the creature. But, as if it had sensed that onslaught, the bat-thing clapped wings and those sharp-shoed weapons struck fruitlessly against leather edges, sliding off without harm. As the stallion went to his knees, Kade rushed in, the haft of the spear braced between arm and ribs—thrusting with all the strength of his body to ram the point home.
He felt the queer sensation of the head tearing into flesh and then a blow struck him, flattening him to the ground. Dazed, gasping for breath, he watched one of those hooked-wing claws curl over him, and brought up his knife hand in feeble defense.
There was no cutting edge on that improvised dagger, it had been made to stab. And somehow he held it point up against that wing paw as it beat down. The needle tip he had ground into being skewed between fine bones, the force of that blow drove his own hand back against his chest with crushing brutality. But the wing snapped up and Kade rolled free.
Dokital had enmeshed one wing and the darting head of the susti in the widest folds of his net, and was bent almost bow-shaped as he fought to hold fast. Kade got to the other side, caught the straining cords. In the firelight they could see the dance of the spear haft in the side of the threshing creature. But the wing which was free beat wildly, its wounded claw-paw grabbing for the two men.
The horse charged, head down, mouth wide open, using teeth against the hide of the thing's back, tearing loose both pelt and flesh. And in a second rush he used hooves once again, this time landing squarely on the chosen goal between the hunched shoulders.
So driven to the ground the susti pulled Kade with it, tore the net from Dokital's hold. However, for the men, the fight was over. Brought shoulder to shoulder by the susti's struggles they half supported each other as the stallion, with the lightning swift action of his kind, smashed the thing as he had smashed its fellow, days earlier. And handicapped by its wounds the Klorian terror was now an easy kill.
Kade became aware that the clamor of the drums was dying, as if those drummers masked in the high shadows on the arena slopes were so bemused by the action below that they were dropping out of the infernal chorus which had summoned the susti. Now the Terran could detect individual beats in the once solid wave of noise, the rhythm was irregular as well as dying.
Yet no one had come from those serried ranks of watchers to interfere in the fight. Would a successful kill of the captive devil allow the three their freedom, or merely delay the vengeance of the watching natives? Judging by their treatment of Dokital they were hostile—
The susti was finished, a pulp beneath the dancing hooves of the horse. Kade pushed away from Dokital, circled about the mass on the ground to near the snorting, still wild-eyed four-footed fighter. He called softly, held out his hands.
For a second or two he was afraid that the animal was too excited to hear him. Then the head turned, the eyes regarded the Terran. Placing one foot carefully before the othe
r as if he walked on some treacherous surface, the stallion came to Kade. That proud head was lowered until the forelock brushed against the man's bare chest, and the Terran's hands smoothed up the arch of the sweating neck, fondled the ears. Without hackamore he had no rider's control, yet this was a time to impress the native watchers and Kade must take it. Still caressing the horse, he mounted.
The stallion neighed, to be heard above the almost dead rattle of the few remaining drums. Kade, one hand on the stiff mane where the neck arch arose from the body, his other up, palm out and before him, dared to call out in the speech of the Trade post:
"Ho! Here are warriors!"
The last drum was dead. He could believe that he heard a sigh of concentrated breathing along those rows of spectators who were only a blur beyond the reaches of the firelight.
"Here are warriors!" He kneed the stallion, kept his seat as the horse obeyed with a high stepping prance of forefeet. And from the right he heard Dokital echo the boast.
"Here are the warriors!"
By all that he knew of Ikkinni custom, those in the darkness must acknowledge that cry and admit equality with the victors or send forth a champion to dispute a claim which was a dare to every fighting man in that half-seen assemblage. And what he would do if such a champion appeared, Kade had no idea. But among his own kind bravery and skill in battle were recognized passports to diplomatic relations, even between old enemies. And so it might prove in this other culture solar systems away.
"It is Dokital of the line of Dok the long-armed, of Amsog of the quick wit, of Gid of the red spear. It is Kade of the starwalkers from the far skies. It is Swiftfeet of the horse kind."
Dokital threw the words at the still silent throng.
"Here are warriors who have fought the devil kind, the devil kind of the collars, the devil kind who obey those of the collars, the devil kind of the stony places." Dokital jerked the end of net. The crushed head of the susti rolled in gruesome answer, and the stallion pawed the earth, danced a step closer to his trampled foe.
"Here are warriors!" For the third time the Ikkinni flung that into the faces of the massed tribesmen.
The crackle of the flames cut the night and below that small sound Kade thought he could detect another murmur, as the whisper of a breeze running along the slopes of the arena. They waited.
Then, from directly above the cave door of the susti, there was a stir in the shadows, a ripple of figures rising, giving place to a small group of natives who stepped out in the full light of the fires. They halted there, five of them, well built men with the glint of jewelry on their upper arms, their belts, but no telltale rings about their throats. And, as the three from the plains faced them, each raised his spear and drove it point deep in the sand, ceremoniously disarming themselves.
"Here are warriors—"
Kade relaxed. Dokital dropped his net. The stallion stood as a statue.
"It is Kakgil of the line of Akil of the stone arm."
"It is Dartig of the line of Tigri the wind-swift."
"It is Farqui of the Inner Cliffs."
"It is Losigil of the Bitter Water Place."
"It is Vuqic of the line of Stigi the strong heart."
Each announced himself in turn. Their names, their identifications meant nothing to Kade, but he memorized them, sure that none of these men were petty chieftains with only a handful of followers. Their pride of bearing rather argued that he was fronting what might be the tribal leaders of the free interior, men on whom the Styor might have set fabulous prices. And if that were so, and he could make peaceful contact—Kade fought down his own soaring excitement, this was no time to hope for too much, to grow careless.
He who had named himself Kakgil made a quick downwards sweep with one hand. The cords holding Dokital twitched, loosened. With a kick the Ikkinni drew one foot out of an imprisoning circle, and then the other. The ex-slave stepped forward, leaving his bonds on the sand behind him.
"It greets Kakgil, as one who runs the high places to one who holds the spear over them."
"It greets the runner," Kakgil responded gravely. He plucked his spear out of the sand, reversed it with a graceful toss, and held out the butt to Dokital. The other took the weapon, spun it in a like fashion and drove the point into the ground again before his own feet. Kade guessed at the symbolism behind that action. If these two had been enemies, that enmity was now at an end.
"It has spoken true words," Dokital continued, and now there was again a hint of challenge in his tone. He put up one hand, drew his fingers lightly along the curve of the stallion's neck. The horse turned his head, regarded the Ikkinni, but accepted the attention with the same docility with which he had allowed Kade to mount.
"This is Swiftfeet, and the kind of Swiftfeet are for warriors, even as it said."
Kakgil looked at the Ikkinni, the horse and the Terran.
"It has spoken true words," he acknowledged. "The evil tale came to us out of the night, now we know that is evil. Swiftfeet is the friend of those in the heights. This is so!" His voice arose, carrying authority, the determination of his will, and again the murmur whispered about the arena. One by one the other chieftains echoed him. And so Kade found they had not only won the fight, but also acceptance among the free peoples of the hidden mountain valleys.
Before the dawn Kade, the horses, and Dokital were taken to one of those well concealed villages and the Terran witnessed for the first time the life of the Ikkinni who were not linked to the Styor will by the collars.
The architects of that village had taken advantage of a natural feature of the mountain side in their planning of what was in effect one great house set cunningly into a vast half-cavern where the overhang of rock not only provided the erection of stone and fire-dried clay with added protection, but effectively concealed it from any but ground level detection.
"Once warriors lived in skin tents," Kakgil noted the Terran's interest. "For then hunters followed the kwitu. Afterwards there were hunters for hunters, and those who wandered away from the high places could be easily netted and taken. Thus we make these hidden places."
Kade studied the rough walls, the small, easily defended entrances, and smaller, high window holes. The structure was undeniably crude, put together by those who had worked only with a general idea of what they must accomplish and primitive, untaught skills. Compared to Cor, Kakgil's village was a child's sand castle set against a finely finished plasta playhouse. Yet it represented a vast, awesome step forward into another kind of civilization, made in only a generation or two by men who had been roving hunters. And the potential it suggested was startling.
"This is a fine place!" The Terran gave hearty tribute not only to the city-house but to the labor and the dream which had brought it into being. And his sincerity was plain to the chieftain, for Kakgil gave a small sound, close to a human chuckle.
"To us a fine place," he agreed. "There are others," he waved a hand to the spreading peaks of the mountains. "Many others."
Kade discovered that there had been no great consolidation among the free Ikkinni. They still lived in bands of a few family clans, and such a village as he was shown harbored no more than a hundred natives at the most. But several such were linked by loose alliance, and the gathering in the arena had been comprised of the adults of five such communities.
The Terran established a camp with the horses outside the cave of the village and he was not surprised when Dokital chose to remain with him. They were eating cakes of ground grass seeds supplied them by their hosts when Kade asked his first question,
"It was left tied . . . for the susti—"
Dokital swallowed, perhaps to gain time. But he did not evade a reply.
"Tied, yes; for susti, no."
"Why?"
"It was not friend. The starwalker knew secret to free Ikkinni but would not help. It was made safe."
Kade could follow that line of reasoning.
"So it was left while Dokital went for the free warriors?
"
"That is so. It has said those are for warriors." He pointed to the horses.
"So Dokital took the horses to impress the free men, but they would not believe, holding the stranger prisoner?"
"That is so. It was struck from the back of the runner by a net. It was out of its body for a time. When it returned there were bonds, and it was judged a thing of the collar masters sent to bring monsters into the hills where the masters can not come on their flying things."
"But how did this tale of monsters spread so far from the flat lands?" Kade asked.
Dokital's lips shaped a half-smile. "Ask of the mountains where blows the force of the wind-breath. Drums talk among the hills, men tell false tales to those who have not seen with their two eyes, heard with their own ears, touched with the fingers of their hands. The collar masters spoke and the ripple of their speaking reached far."