Clan and Crown j-2

by Jerry Pournelle

  The rest of the men were armed with short spears or light lances, and long wicked hornbacked compound bows, almost too big to use from horseback, only they sure could. They also had knives. Most had no armor, but one was wearing a mail shirt obviously made in Drantos. They didn't have much clothing, breechcloths and a rough wool cloak, but just about every one of them had something of gold: an armlet, or a brooch, or just gold wire wound loosely around his neck.

  They were all muscle and bone, and it looked as if they hadn't enough to eat for a long time.

  So these were the Westmen. Not many ever saw them. They lived in the unexplored high plains beyond the Westcarp, and few who'd entered their territory ever returned. Not that there was anything to go up there for.

  The last man lay too near the trees, and he could just lie there. Ben Murphy wasn't about to get that close. But as Murphy turned away, the man leaped to his feet. He started to run toward him, but after a step he fell again. Ben whirled and leveled the rifle "Mercy, I beg you!" the man shouted. "I am not one of-one of the Horse People!"

  "What the hell?"

  "Mercy!" He stretched out on the ground, reaching toward Ben, crawling painfully toward him. "Mercy!" he screamed again.

  Think fast, Ben. Maybe a trick. But He went over to him. The man was bald, no better dressed than the Westmen-and he had no weapons at all.

  "Who the hell are you?" Ben demanded.

  "A priest of Vothan! Take me to your wagons, before the Horse People come to kill me!"

  "Maybe. What were you doing with the Westmen?" Murphy demanded.

  "I was priest of Vothan, at a shrine outside Margilos." The man spoke haltingly, with good grammar but hesitating sometimes. "A fool of a merchant from the-south wanted a guide, to lead him to the-the Westmen, that he might trade for gold. The chief priest thought that a good thing, and ordered me to go, for I had been to the top of the Scarp in my ordeal. But when we went again, the Horse People sacrificed the merchant to Pirin the Thunderer and made me a slave."

  "So what the hell are you doing here?" Murphy demanded.

  "The chief of the Red Rocks thought I brought him war luck, and now all the Horse People are coming down from the Westscarp. Above, all is heat and drying streams and death."

  "Holy shit," Murphy said. "They're all coming down?"

  "Those who can," the priest said. "So they brought me with them, slave and translator. I thought you evil wizards until I saw the blue robes of Yatar among you. Then I threw myself from the saddle and lay on the ground in hopes the Red Rocks would believe me dead. But I think my leg is broken."

  A cool customer, Murphy thought. And a damned lucky find, a man who's been up there with them horse archers for years. "Okay, Baldy, let's get you to the wagons." And away from them trees, which give me the willies. "Here, get up, lean on me. You'll have to hobble."

  It was slow going. When they were halfway to the wagons, Lafe Reznick came out to help. "What did you find?" he asked.

  "Priest of Vothan the Westmen kept as a slave. Could be valuable to the captain-"

  Suddenly Agikon was shouting, and before Murphy could see why, the acolyte fired five rounds, semi-automatic but so fast it sounded like full rock and roll. A horse screamed. "Lords, the Westmen!" Agikon shouted.

  There were a dozen of the light cavalry coming across the field at a gallop. Some had spears held low like lances. The others carried short javelins ready to throw.

  They seemed awfully close. People were yelling all around, and it was hard to concentrate. Wish I had a grenade, Murphy thought.

  "Don't leave me!" the old priest shouted.

  "Get him movin'," Reznick said. He unslung his rifle and knelt. "Go on, Ben, go like hell."

  Murphy helped the priest toward the wagons. It was like a nightmare, the kind where no matter what happens you can't move fast enough. He glanced back over his shoulder. More Westmen, maybe twenty of them, riding like hell straight toward the laager. "Let's go, let's go," Murphy said. He pulled the old man along, heedless of the priest's gasp of pain. As they reached the laager he heard Reznick's H amp;K chatter at full auto.

  Murphy handed the priest to an acolyte. "Take care of him!" He ran back into the field. Reznick was changing magazines. He slammed the actuating lever home and fired again. The Westmen were galloping toward him, getting too close.

  "Run like hell, Lafe! I'll cover you!" Murphy shouted.

  "Right!" Reznick turned and ran toward the wagons. Three of the onrushing horsemen let fly with arrows. Lafe stumbled and fell. He got up, not running as fast. The horsemen were getting closer and closer to him. Murphy fired over his partner's head, full automatic, but the horsemen kept coming. Reznick stumbled again. "Ben, Ben, look after my wives-"

  He tried to get to his feet, but there were two arrows in his back. Murphy tried to ignore him, concentrate on shooting, cut down the horsemen before they could reach Lafe, but they kept coming, and one was getting closer and closer and his lance came down, and Murphy shot him four times but the lance came on anyway. Reznick turned in time to see it coming. He tried to dodge, but it hit him full in the chest.

  "You mucking bastards!" Murphy slammed a new magazine into his rifle. Agikon came up behind him with three of the archers and they fired another volley. There were only three Westmen left, but they kept coming until Murphy shot them all down.

  Lafe Reznick was already dead when Murphy knelt beside him. Ben looked up at the sky, then muttered prayers he hadn't remembered since he left home. He felt something snuffle against his neck and turned. It was Dobbin. The centaur must have broken his tether when he saw Reznick fall.

  The centaur bent down and sniffed at the blood on Reznick's chest and face. His half-formed hands patted Lafe's clothing clumsily, as if trying to tidy it. Then he reared, threw back his head, and let out a long, wailing scream. It reminded Murphy chillingly of the legends of the banshee.

  21

  Ben Murphy screamed curses to the sky. Then he went back to the laager. Dobbin could do as much for Lafe now as anyone. Scratch one man who'd do to ride the river with. The hell with that.

  Two archers were holding Walinski. Lafe had worked on getting the arrow out, but he hadn't finished the job. First things first, Murphy thought. Methodically he gave orders. Collect all the enemy's weapons and gear. Retrieve the balloon. Lighten the bogged-down wagon. And keep guard, there might be more out there. When the archers and acolytes started on all that, he had time to deal with Ski.

  "It's going to hurt," Ben said. "I got to cut it out of there."

  Walinski screamed something.

  Ah, quit your bitching, Murphy thought. Why couldn't it have been you? No, that's not fair. Hell. He found a bottle of McCleve's best tucked into Lafe's gear, and brought it over to Ski. "Drink it!" he shouted. "Take a good slug. Right. Another. Now I'll have one, gimme."

  He took a drink from the bottle, then added a teaspoon of fine powder. It was made from madweed, and the old woman from the last village had sworn by it. Untested drug, Murphy thought. Probably the wrong thing to do, but what choices have I got? "Here, Ski, have another couple of slugs."

  While Walinski drank, Murphy heated an iron rod in the wagon's balloon firepot. When it was red-hot he took it and went back to Ski. "Gimme the bottle-"

  He handed the bottle to an acolyte and took a deep breath. Well, here goes He used his combat knife to slice quickly down the shaft of the arrow, cutting open the tunnel it had made. Ski screamed again, and blood poured out. Too much blood. Murphy drew the heated iron rod along the wound. There was a smell of burning meat.

  Probably the wrong thing, Ben thought. God knows I've made a hell of a scar. But it's got to be open. Too much risk of tetanus, and maybe the Westmen poison their arrows. Got to be- open and cleaned out and got to stop the bleeding.

  He used a Johnson amp; Johnson sterile dressing to cover the wound. There were a dozen in the first-aid kit, and when would there ever be more? And the bottle of peroxide was small, it would all be used tre
ating Ski and the wounded archer.

  Ben Murphy felt a long way from home.

  The village was about a klick away, and nobody had come out to help them. Murphy gave Walinski the rest of the bottle, and supervised getting the wagon train going again. They'd have to go in without the balloon, one wizard dead and another wounded; if they were going to impress the locals at all, they'd need all their gear. And a story. And meanwhile, somebody had to get word back to Captain Galloway.

  The hardest part was getting Lafe's body. Dobbin stood guard, ready to fight anyone approaching.

  "We could kill it," Agikon said; but when he saw Ben's face, he shrank away in fear. "Forgive me, lord."

  Murphy didn't answer. He tried talking to the centaur in soothing tones. "This is me. I've ridden you a dozen times. I'll take you back to Lafe's wives, but you got to let me have Lafe. Come on, Dobbin, it's all right."

  Eventually he whimpered and stood aside, letting Ben and Agikon put Lafe's body in the wagon. Murphy covered his partner with wizard's robes.

  The village, was called Irakia, aiid like all high plains settlements it had a wall. This far west it wouldn't really be as much for defense against men as against a native beast called the gunkel, an omnivorous rodent the size of a dog, with an elongated body like a weasel, a scaly hairless tail, and armor plates something like an armadillo. It had sharp claws, big teeth, and a stink spray that wasn't as bad as a skunk but more than enough to keep humans away from it. Unfortunately, the gunkel was perpetually hungry, stupid, and fearless, and it thought humans built houses to store food for it to eat.

  The wall had been supplemented by a hastily dug ditch. There was also a watch tower. The gates were shut, and there were no animals in the fields. The watch tower was manned, and through chinks in the wicker areas of the wall Murphy could see the glint of helmets and spear points.

  Murphy had put the robed acolytes in the lead wagon, and the gates opened quickly when they came near. A squad of villagers carrying spears and scythes came out to cover their entrance. One elderly man came to Murphy. He pointed to the wizard robes. "Where is your sky-beast?" he demanded.

  Aha, they've heard of our travelling magic show. "The Westmen slew the sky-beast with arrows," Murphy said. "And they have killed others, and wounded the master wizard."

  "An evil day. I am Panar, chief of this village. You are welcome here, lords, but I fear the Westmen will destroy us all."

  Murphy patted his battle rifle. "Though there are many Westmen, still we have our magic," he said. "The Westmen slew two of us and wounded my master, but we have killed all of the Westmen we have seen."

  The caravan moved into the village. There was only one street, and the wagon train nearly filled it. The gates were hastily shut again.

  Most of the population crowded around them. A couple of pretty girls caught Murphy's eye. Were they interested in having a child with sky-wizard blood? A lot of village girls were, which was one reason Murphy never married. Not like Lafe, who was happy enough with two wives, and what would they do now? They weren't noble, except that Lafe made the locals accept them, and- The chief came back from seeing the gate closed.

  "Lord, Bheroman Harkon sent messages three days ago, warning us of Westmen in strong bands. He was leading his knights against them, and summoned the men of our village. Thus we have few fighting men, and could not come to your aid when we heard the battle nearby. Forgive us, lord."

  Murphy waved his hands in a blessing sign he'd seen old Yanulf use. "No problem," he said in English. "You are forgiven, and indeed had you tried to aid us you would all have been killed. How many lances does Bheroman Harkon lead?"

  "Lord, I do not know how far he proclaimed the ban," Panar said. "I would guess no more than fifty."

  Murphy nodded. No point in scaring people, but he could guess what would happen if the average Drantos heavy cavalry leader ran into a sizable band of Westmen. Those hornbacked bows would be punching his men at arms out of their saddles before they knew there was an enemy near them. The next Drantos bheroman would probably face Westmen armored with the spoils from Harkon's army.

  "Has anyone told the Lord Eqeta?" Murphy demanded.

  "Lord, I do not know."

  So it comes down to how smart Harkon is, and there's no way I'm going to find that out from this group.

  "Lord, will you stay and protect us with your magic?" Panar asked. Some of the others crowded close to hear Murphy's answer.

  The first levy of young men went to Harkon. There's me, and there's the secondary levy, not one whole hell of a lot to hold this place with if I've got to face any number of those Westmen. But what the hell, you knew the job was dangerous when you took it, Fred…

  "I will stay," Murphy said. "But we must send messages to the Lord Eqeta. That is more important than our lives."

  He'd expected opposition to that, but the village chief nodded sagely. "If the Lord Eqeta knows, we may yet be saved," he said. He looked thoughtful, started to turn away, and finally turned back. "There are two young men here who have won many races. Their horses are very good."

  Obviously the right troops to take a message, but what was Panar looking so nervous about? Hah. "I will not inform Lord Harkon that you did not send your best men," Murphy said. "It is well for us that you did not." He pointed to the wagon's shadows. "When there is but one shadow, have them come to me. We will send them when it is dark. Meantime I will write a message for Lord Rick."

  He's impressed, Murphy thought. Because I know Lord Rick, or because I can write? Don't matter much. "Before then I must tend to the wounded, and all your women must watch, as must you and your village deacon." This place would be too small to have a real priest. "We will show them the healing magic revealed by Yatar to High Priest Yanuif. For now, have them boil water."

  "Aye, lord." Panar left to give orders. Murphy was alone with Lafe's body. Bloody hell, he thought. I'm not as young as I used to be. He looked over to the wagon where Ski lay in a drunken stupor, and envied him. There was a lot of the powdered extract of madweed in the medicine chest…

  Batshit, Murphy thought. Not that again. I took that trip back on Earth.

  Why not, though? You ain't going to live through this anyway, might as well go out happy- That's not happy, that's dead already, and shut up, he told himself. Christ, Lafe, why you? You got me off the stuff. And into Africa. Damn this goddam planet, first Sindy and then Lafe- You found Sindy here, and you had a good year.

  Do you wish you'd never married her? No. But damn all, Ski looks happy. And it's sure going to be tough without Lafe. Nobody to watch my back. Nobody I trust now, except maybe the Captain. Sure nobody else. Don't trust Warner, Lafe said. And not Gengrich either. Lafe had been right about Gengrich. Maybe not the Professor, maybe Warner would do, but Lafe had been right, don't trust anybody you don't have to. They'd smuggled the 106 away from Parsons without letting anybody else know. "Keep a couple of aces," Lafe used to say. "Can't hurt." Hadn't hurt, either, and a fat friggin' lot of good that does Lafe now. Jesus, God, are you up there? He was a good man. Please, somebody, remember that.

  An ugly column of smoke rose against the sky. One of the village women saw it and began to wail. Must be another village, Murphy thought. He called for Panar and pointed out the smoke to him.

  "Aye, lord, Katos lies in that direction."

  Christ, what do I do now? I'm too damned tired to think. "What other villages are there near here?"

  "Four within one day's ride, lord. Five, counting Katos."

  "Forget Katos. Send to the others. Do not send your best messengers. Have all the people come here. They should bring their flocks and beasts and everything they have, food and fodder, and come here quickly where I can defend them with sky weapons."

  "There is not room inside the wall for half of them!"

  "Well, we build a new wall, and a ditch." That would keep the cattle from straying and the Westmen from riding up to the walls. They weren't likely to be dangerous on foot. Except for those lon
g-ranging arrows. But I've got three rifles, and maybe Ski'll be able to fight.

  "Building a wall will take many hands from the crops," said the chief.

  Jeez, the soul of a bureaucrat. "How many crops will you harvest if the Westmen burn you out and kill you all?"

  Panar shrugged. "What matter; if Lord Harkon does the same?"

  "The hell with Harkon. I speak with the voice of the Lord Eqeta."

  The old chief spat into the dirt, then squinted into Murphy's face. He said nothing.

  "Look, dammit!" Murphy said. He patted his rifle, then opened his wizard robe to reveal his pistol and combat webbing. "Watch!" He drew the pistol and fired at a gourd in a nearby market stall. Everyone turned to stare at the sound, so he blew another gourd away while they were watching. "There. That is small magic." He patted the rifle again. "And this is big magic."

  The chief nodded. "I have heard. You are a sky god."

  "Not a god, but I know the sky magic."

  "You know the Lord Eqeta, who is a sky god," Panar said. "And that is enough. You will tell the Lord Harkon?"

  "I will."

  "The messengers will go now."

  "Good."

  The chief left, and Murphy sat down in the wagon.

  A couple of village kids looked shyly at him, then dodged back into their home behind the market stall.

  A girl about sixteen walked by, carefully not looking at him, but she'd changed into her best clothes.

  My people, Murphy thought. He laughed at himself, but even as he did he thought of what he could teach the villagers about self-defense. Pikes and spears. Stand your ground against cavalry. Discipline and trust the man next to you, and you're as good as any cavalry.

  He realized he was taking on a lot of responsibilities. The villagers would be grateful, but their lord wouldn't much care for his giving military training to the peasants. But if that kept Ben Murphy alive long enough to get a message back, that ought to square things with Captain Galloway.