by Adam Corby
The women and oldsters told the tale to the hunters. Almost as soon as the dust of the hunters’ ponies had fallen, the Korlas had swept down out of the woods, wild savage cries upon their lips. They must have been waiting concealed in the forest, watching for the hunters’ departure.
They had swept the streets, killing all who stood in their way, throwing torches upon huts right and left. They had smashed the boats upon the shore and trampled the green crops in the fields. Fortunately not all the boats had been upon the beach, for many of the fishermen had been, and were still, out upon the deep. Many of the old men had buckled on their swords and taken spear against the invaders. The Korlas had only laughed, and struck them down. Some women had been violated in the village streets. Many others had been carried off to the village of the Korlas; among these were Turin Tim and Alli. The raiders had taken all the gold and pelts they could, and even the sacred hilt of the sword of Tont-Ornoth.
Alli’s young son had rushed from the chief’s hall and defied the invaders. When the Korlas had sacked the hall, the women had hidden themselves and the boy, but in the confusion he had managed to squirm free. He had taken his little toy sword, which Gundoen had carved for him out of wood. He had run into the square crying challenges to the Korlas in his piping voice.
The Korlas had seen him and laughed hatefully. They had kicked the flanks of their ponies and trampled the toddler down. Hertha-Toll had run out into the square in an effort to save the child; she might well have been slain herself, but she gave no heed to that.
She had arrived too late. The hooves of the war-ponies reached the boy first; and when she came up to the spot, all that remained for Hertha-Toll were the mangled little remains that Gundoen had seen her holding.
The hunters were outraged at this tale. This raid of the Korlas had gone far beyond anything else they had ever attempted. Though the hostilities between the tribes were real, both tribes had obeyed certain rules of custom – until now. Loud were the cries for vengeance and the shouts for Gundoen. Yet the chief was not to be found in all the village.
Hertha-Toll went into the woods after him. She sought him out in a place that was a favorite of his: a rock by a wide and lazy stream in a clearing in the forest. He was sitting, staring into his reflection on the water, saying nothing. But the great tears rolled silently down his weather-roughened cheeks and soaked his short sandy beard.
Hertha-Toll approached him, making enough noise so that he would surely hear her. But he did not turn about. She gently put her hands upon his massive shoulder.
‘I tried to save him,’ she said softly. ‘I ran after him but could not reach him in time. He died like a little warrior, Gundoen.’
He covered her hands in one of his, but did not turn around still. ‘Woman,’ he said, ‘I did you wrong. You are not the one Goddess put Her curse upon.’
They remained thus for some time, and she gave him what comfort she could. But he told her it was enough, and to leave him. When she turned back at the first bend in the path, she saw him still sitting on the rock, gazing down at his own murky reflection.
* * *
Later they took the bodies of the dead down to the side of the sea and set them lovingly into the death-barges. Gundoen himself brought down Alli’s young son. Around the shattered little body he spread sweetmeats, candies of dried sugar, milk, and thinned beer in stoppered clay jugs. These were the things the boy had liked best. And in the place where warriors would have had their weapons and armor of war, Gundoen put the little wooden sword, which had been broken in two by the hooves of the Korlas’ pony.
Every one of the tribe who could walk went to see the barges off. Even those who had not lost a friend or relative were as touched as if it were their own mother or son lying in the gray state. This had been a raid not on families or individuals but an assault upon the very tribe itself. And it had gone against all custom, for the Korlas had waged war only upon the helpless of the tribe.
So every boat that could hold water was filled with folk. There were not enough boats for all; the others hurried out to the ends of the arms of the bay and waved their last farewells to the dead as they went past the foaming waves.
Gundoen and Ara-Karn rode in Kuln-Holn’s fishing boat. It was barely large enough to hold the three of them. The boat had not been touched because it had lain in its customary place far up the beach, away from the other boats. The Pious One sailed now before the others, because he knew best how to reach the side of the currents of the dead.
When they reached that place where none of the fishermen set their nets, no matter how teeming the game might be, Gundoen rose on unsteady land legs and spoke words for all the dead.
He spoke in faltering tones, and his voice broke several times. Everyone could see that he no longer held his shoulders as he was used. He seemed like a man whose spirit had gone on before his body.
They cast off the lines and held to the tillers, and Kuln-Holn invoked the blessing of the Goddess for the dead, even as he had done alone for Oron – Oron whom none had loved. They watched the many death-barges sliding softly away. When the swells had cut off the last of them from sight, the people sighed heavily. And they sailed back to the land where silent, burned, and mournful huts awaited them.
* * *
The warriors held war-council in the chief’s hall shortly after the voyaging. They were all there, from the lowliest youth to Gundoen himself. They filled the hall, elbow to elbow and back to back. The air of the hall was close and tense even with the sea breezes coming through the long open portals. The warriors were distraught and expectant. They looked to Gundoen for leadership; he was their chief.
But the broad-chested hunter was subdued and silent. He ate no food and supped no ale. He had spoken hardly a word, outside of the oration for the dead, since they had returned from their hunting. Some of his concubines went up and down the tables, serving bowls of ale cooled in the underground storage-holes. Yet Alli was not there to lead them.
‘We must strike swiftly!’ said one of the younger warriors. ‘Our women are among them and we must take them back. When they decide the shares of the raid, they’ll parcel out the women. We must attack before then lest we find our wives bearing Korla brats!’
‘The Korlas never could stand up against us in an equal encounter,’ said another, older man. ‘Did they not wait until we were all out of the village before they attacked? They fear us with good cause. We should attack them with all our forces and teach them a lesson.’
‘More than a lesson,’ said another warrior. ‘This was no ordinary raid, but butchery of babes and women. The Korlas should be attacked and slain wholesale, and their huts burned as ours were!’ Many others cheered this idea.
At the sound, the chief roused himself. He looked from man to man with bloodshot eyes until they were silent once more.
‘Korlas,’ he said sadly. ‘Do you think the Korlas would have the courage to do this thing? If Korlas were all we had to face, we should be able to slay them all easily, even to the last warrior. But Korlas are not our foe.’
‘But the spear!’ they shouted. ‘It was a Korla spear!’
Gundoen spat upon the earth beside his chair. ‘So they are clever,’ he shrugged. ‘All the more reason to be wary. Mark you now, I do not say there were no Korlas on that raid. Perhaps, indeed, they were all Korlas. But if so, the ones who stirred them up, and the ones who planned this, were anything but Korlas. Do you not think the Korlas would realize that such an attack would only bring destruction on many of them?’
‘Who then?’ they cried with one voice. ‘Who has done it?’
Gundoen looked down at the table. ‘Men of the Orn tribe,’ he muttered. ‘Gen-Karn.’
They fell silent again. As soon as the chief had said them, the truth of his words became evident. The Korlas were at best poor fighters, not brutal madmen. To destroy the village yet leave the warriors unharmed was only to incur the death of every Korla who had participated in the raid; and the Korlas we
re not such fools that they would not realize it. No Korla would have enough of the rutting-madness to do this. But the Orns would, and Gen-Karn would – especially if they were clever enough to dress as Korlas or goad the Korlas to enough madness to do the thing for them. And Gen-Karn, Warlord of the far North, was indeed clever enough for that. Yet why had he done it?
‘To trap us,’ said Gundoen sadly. ‘And he has done so. Now we are caught just where he desired. The destruction of our tribe is now unavoidable. In another year, after the next Assembly of the Tribes, Gen-Karn will rule the chief of every tribe in the North.’
Shouts were hurled at the chief denying his words, especially from those who were young or who had had a good deal of ale. But the older, wiser warriors held their tongues and pondered.
‘You deny it, but it is truth,’ said the chief. ‘I could not have dreamed such a thing, but I can see it when it springs. Can we refuse to avenge this raid? Then we would lose heart, and the other tribes would rightly call us cowards. None would follow our lead then. And without our strength against him, Gen-Karn will swiftly gather all the remaining tribes into his hands. Then, even if we did battle against him, we would be doomed. Not even you, the warriors of Gundoen, could withstand the braves of all the other tribes.
‘Yet if we do fight now, what then?’ he went on, sadly, relentlessly. ‘The Korlas will be expecting our attack. We would not catch them unawares as they did us. They will not set foot beyond the log barrier they hide their huts behind now. You can be assured they have ample stores of food and water – enough to last them quite a while. When we attack, the fighting will be hard. There will be Orn warriors among them – perhaps even Gen-Karn himself, though I think not. He is too wily to set himself in our path thus.
‘Many of our warriors would die. Many others would be wounded. Perhaps we would succeed – nay, I know it: we would get our women back, and put the Korlas to the sword, and regain the hilt of the sword of Tont-Ornoth. Yet even so we would be weakened. We would have food enough, thanks to the bows of Ara-Karn. Yet the rebuilding of our village will be hard, harder than after the Storm. We would be vulnerable to attacks by Orn warriors. And if we could withstand those attacks, they would press suit against us at the Tribal Assembly.’
‘No, they would not!’ cried the youths. But their hearts were not in that cry.
Gundoen shook his head, still looking down at the wooden table. ‘He will press suit against us. He will do so in the name of the Korla tribe. He will say, that we hunted bandar on the Korlas’ land, that we attacked and slew a band of Korlas in the sacred forests where warfare is prohibited. He will say that the Korlas attacked us only in token of these offenses, and that our raid was simple blood-thirstiness – a violence when we should have gone to the Assembly with whatever grievances we might have claimed. He will call for us to be put forth from the North. He will demand our destruction unless we submit to whatever punishment he decrees.
‘Now you might say some of these charges we could refute – that all of them are false lies and slanders. You would speak truth then. But what does that matter? The other tribes will see that we are weak, wounded, and poor, and that Gen-Karn is mightier than ever. They will fear to go against his words lest they suffer what we have. Even those who spurn Gen-Karn and sympathize with us may say that it is a private matter not worth risking their own heads over.’
‘Yet can we not charge the Korlas for this raid?’ suggested one man. ‘If we do not attack, all the evidence will be upon our side. We could make it a private quarrel, our men against the Korlas. It need not be the final stand regarding Gen-Karn’s overlordship on this Assembly, does it?’
‘It need not be, but it will be,’ answered the chief. ‘I know Gen-Karn. He is tired of waiting. What his plans are I know not; but he wishes to rule all the North, and only we stand in his way. If we do not attack the Korlas, we shall lose more esteem than if we fought them and lost half our warriors. We might attack the Orns directly; I have considered it. But Orn lies too far away, and we would have to travel through several tribes friendly to Gen-Karn. That way, too, lies destruction. Besides, it were a great pity not to kill some Korlas for this affront to us. In the end, I know of only two courses that would leave our tribe alive at the end. But they are courses you would not follow.’
‘Tell us!’
‘We could pack up all our belongings, and our women too. We could make a last raid upon the Korlas, put them to death, and take back our women, gold, and the hilt of Tont-Ornoth’s sword. We could travel down the coast to the South, to Arpane on the Sea, before Gen-Karn could strike at us. Then we could become landworkers among the Southrons, or we could fight them for territory. Those civilized men could never stand against the swords of the North.’
‘And run from Gen-Karn?’ they cried, outraged. ‘Never, never!’
The chief smiled bitterly, sadly. ‘Perhaps this would appeal to you better,’ he murmured. ‘We could send a special embassy to Orn – I myself will go, if you desire. We could reach a secret agreement with Gen-Karn. We will get him to take his protection from the Korlas and let us raid them. In return all we would need to do is swear to serve Gen-Karn.’
‘Never!’ they cried again. ‘Never, never!’
The chief stood to his feet suddenly, sweepingly. The great carved high seat fell away behind his legs; a fire lighted up his blue eyes. He was suddenly Gundoen again. ‘Well, then, what do you say to this!’ he roared. ‘We could go to destroy these stinking Korlas and burn their village to the dark earth. And when we had done that, we could set our backs to the sea and Goddess, and march toward the dark horizon – to Orn. Those who stood against us we would fight and slay. And we would attempt the death of crafty Gen-Karn before the last of us lay dead on red soil! What say you to that?’
They were silent a moment, stunned. Then, as with a single, lusty voice, they cheered their chief’s wild plan. They slammed their bowls on the boards and stamped the earth with their feet. Gundoen grinned a wild wolf’s-grin, and sat back in his high seat. He took a bowl of dark ale and drank it down in tremendous gulps.
Yet, in the seat of honor across from the chief, Ara-Karn was silent.
When the clamor had died down, he began to speak. Gundoen immediately signed for silence.
‘O Chief,’ he said softly, ‘there is yet another way, if you would hear me.’
The chief frowned. ‘What way is that, my guest?’
‘You should attack the Korlas, because you must. But not the Orns. There will be no need. Your warriors will not be weakened or slain. You will still be a powerful tribe and even more honored than before. Did I teach you all for nothing, then?
‘O Chief, a man can hunt more things than the beasts of the wood with a bow.’
X
A Summer’s Raid
THEY CREPT through the dense forest like passing shadows propelled by the wind. No noise or disturbance marked their passing. They swarmed through the leafy underbrush as if they had no more substance than dusty spirits come to seek a sacred vengeance.
After the council of war, Gundoen had led them up to the Grove of dark God. They had come ceremonially, as was custom; and among them had been the foreigner Ara-Karn, as naked and smeared with ash and pigment as the rest. Gundoen had made the sacrifice, and they had sworn the destruction of the Korlas, promising dark God much death and blood, which is said to please Him. Then they had gone down again to the village and armed themselves for war. The women of the tribe had seen them off solemnly with no weeping. They too had learned to be as hard as the bark from the canthin tree.
Now they crept up to the village to the Korlas.
The village of the Korlas was large – almost as large as the main village of Gundoen’s tribe. But this was the Korlas’ only village. On three of its four sides the forest came right up to its walls; on the fourth side were the green fields. As the warriors crept up to the three forested sides, some of them could see some Korla men and women out in the sunshine working on
the fields.
The village of the Korlas was enclosed by a high wall of oak logs – tree trunks felled, lopped of branches, sharpened at the top, and lashed upright closely together. Along the top of the walls could be seen the Korla sentinels, walking back and forth, watching the forest for the enemies they did not see.
Gundoen grunted when he saw the wall. The sight never failed to excite his disgust. ‘That shows what cowards the Korlas are,’ he murmured to Ara-Karn. ‘There is no other tribe in all the North that must hide behind walls as if they were no better men than civilized landowners.’
He spat to punctuate his words.
The warriors moved into positions on the three forested sides of the village. By silent signals they told Gundoen that all the men were in position and ready. Gundoen grinned. He raised his fist with the thumb set apart from the knuckles. A dozen bowstrings sang, and there were no more sentinels on the walls.
From the inside of the stockade came the sounds of heavy things falling inertly to the earth. Cries of alarm followed.
‘Quickly now!’ roared Gundoen, leaping forward.
Ropes tied with loops were thrown up the walls; the loops fell over the sharpened ends of the logs and held fast. The warriors began to clamber up the ropes.
First to gain the summit was Ara-Karn, climbing with both hands, his bow between his teeth. When he reached the catwalk he took the bow in his hands and swiftly nocked an arrow.
There was a shout from below, from a tall man with long brown hair. Brandishing his lance, the man leaped upon the ladder to the catwalk. He never reached the top of the ladder: he fell back gurgling to the ground, dead. A long black-feathered arrow protruded from his throat.
Other warriors had climbed the ropes now on all three sides of the village. Ara-Karn could see them along the walks, gesticulating and brandishing their curved bows. The Korlas saw them also, and seeing them appear so suddenly and grimly, with naught but murder in their wild eyes, they cried out for fear. They had trusted in the promises of Gen-Karn and felt secure. They had believed that they could slaughter and burn at will in Gundoen’s village and never have the payment of it. Now they saw that they had been wrong, and that the payment required would be their lives.