Bunduki and Dawn (A Bunduki Jungle Adventure Book 2)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Ndio, bwana,’ Dawn assented with an apparently submissive attitude and, putting away her knife, she dropped to kneel before the big blond. ‘I always do as my lord and master tells me!’

  The meekness was, however, more pretended than genuine. Even as the girl was speaking, she shot out her hands. The left coiled around and tugged forward at Bunduki’s right ankle, while the flat of her other palm delivered a shove to his mid-section. Taken by surprise, although it was a tactic which she had employed in more than one childhood scuffle, he toppled backwards. As he went down, she dived after him with the intention of emphasizing that the giving of orders was not the inalienable right of the male so far as she was concerned.

  Although Bunduki had not expected his adoptive cousin to behave in such a manner, he responded with commendable presence of mind. Feeling himself being overbalanced, he whipped his arms behind him. Breaking his fall with his hands, he tipped himself to the left and rolled so that Dawn missed her mark. She let out a startled, indignant squeal as she saw him taking the evasive action. However, displaying a similar cat-like agility, she softened her landing with her palms and the soles of her feet. Having done so, she propelled herself in a twisting motion away from the blond giant with the intention of avoiding the retribution which she felt sure would be forthcoming.

  Giving a derisive laugh at his adoptive cousin’s discomfiture, Bunduki bounded to his feet. On the point of advancing to teach Dawn not to play tricks upon him, something caught the corner of his eye. All the levity left him as he turned his head to make a closer examination of the thing which .had attracted his attention. His right hand flashed across to the ivory grip of the bowie knife and he started to slip its blade from the sheath.

  Already rising, Dawn saw the change that had come over the blond giant. Swinging her gaze in the direction towards which he was staring, all the merriment fled from her beautiful features and she duplicated his actions by commencing to arm herself.

  Not more than twenty yards away, the upper edge of a shield and head of spear showed from behind the trunk of a massive tree!

  Chapter Three – Choose Whether You Live or Die

  ‘You seem to have had some trouble,’ remarked Gromart, District Administrator for San-Gatah, looking around the camp after he had dismounted from his quagga stallion.

  ‘A little,’ admitted Dryaka, the words having been directed at him.

  ‘Can we do anything to help you?’ Gromart inquired.

  Although the Administrator and his wife, Fabia, had swung from their saddles, the rest of their party was still mounted. The male banar-gatah rider was studying the tattered condition of the hunting camp with an air of derision. Tall, well built, handsome and in his early twenties, he was Gromart’s cousin. Vernark by name, he had already acquired a reputation as a promising warrior. There was an air of cocky arrogance about him and he was clearly trying to impress the young woman at his side. For her part, she showed amusement at his behavior. Almost as tall and shapely as Fabia, who was her aunt, Dolvia had a haughty look on her beautiful features and obviously held herself in high esteem.

  Hearing the Administrator’s question, Vernark let out an audible derisive snigger. It was not a tactful thing to do. Nor did it meet entirely with the reaction that he had anticipated. Although it drew a delighted smile from Dolvia and an angry scowl from the High Priest (both of which he had expected), Gromart’s response took the form of a warning and prohibitive frown.

  Although annoyed by the banar-gatah rider’s lack of respect, Dryaka decided not to take reprisals at that moment.

  He was faced with another, more important, problem. Despite his desire to be independent of Gromart’s help, common sense told him that he needed it.

  The Mun-Gatahs relied so much on their gatahs—which bore about as much resemblance to wild zebras as an Arabian, thoroughbred, or English hunter does to a tarpan, Equus Caballus Gmelini, or a Przewalski’s horse which are believed to have been the progenitors of the domesticated breeds—that they felt insecure when left a-foot. Some of the hunting party was trying to recapture the scattered animals, but mounted assistance would be very useful.

  ‘My thanks, Gromart,’ Dryaka said in an emotionless voice. ‘Lions stampeded our gatahs last night—’

  ‘Lions!’ Vernark ejaculated sotto voce, but pitching his tone just loud enough to reach the men and women on the ground ahead of him. Once again Gromart glared at him and he wisely refrained from continuing his provocative behavior.

  ‘They ran through the camp, doing the damage you see,’ the High Priest went on, gritting out the words. ‘I’d be obliged if you d send your people out to help gather them for us.’

  ‘Of course,’ the Administrator agreed, ‘Vernark, take Dolvia and Molan with you and do what you can. Oklat, attend to our quaggas.’

  ‘Come on,’ Vernark ordered with jaunty assurance and set his banar-gatah into motion. As he led the young woman and the ocha-gatah rider away, his next words drifted back intentionally. ‘They must have very fierce lions up this way. We’ve never lost a herd to them.’

  ‘You must excuse Vernark,’ Gromark apologized, promising himself that he would teach his cousin better sense in future. ‘He’s only young.’

  ‘There comes a time when that stops being an excuse,’ Dryaka warned coldly.

  ‘Shall we go inside and make ourselves more comfortable?’ Hulkona suggested, acting as peacemaker. ‘Come, all of you. I’ve a wine you may find to your liking, Gromart. Fortunately it was cooling in the lake last night and didn’t get spilled.’

  ‘Charole darling,’ Fabia purred, handing her quagga mare’s reins to the second ocha-gatah rider who had dismounted to carry out the orders. Her gaze roamed over the Protectress, pausing significantly on the halter and skirt. ‘How well you look. I must say that silver really suits you.’

  ‘I know, dear,’ Charole countered, in tones of equally poisoned friendship. It’s a pity that I don’t have to wear it all the time. When did you stop?’

  ‘I haven’t seen Elidor, Dryaka,’ Fabia remarked, ignoring the comment. She was referring to the High Priest’s current leading female adherent who was also his candidate to depose the Protectress. ‘Has she such important duties that she couldn’t come with you?’

  Having noticed the change in Charole’s attire and that Elidor was missing, Fabia was genuinely curious. While she did not think it likely that Dryaka’s adherent had succeeded in overthrowing the Protectress, the possibility existed.

  ‘No, she was be—!’ Charole began before the High Priest could speak, guessing what had provoked Fabia’s question. ‘She was run down by one of the gatahs last night and hasn’t recovered yet.’

  Much as the Protectress would have liked to tell the truth, she had realized just in time that it would be inadvisable to do so. Elidor had attacked the captive, Dawn of the Apes, in Dryaka’s pavilion. Despite having her wrists manacled, the foreign girl had succeeded in defeating and breaking her assailant’s jaw. Pleasing though it would have been to have mentioned the fight, it would create complications that were better avoided. Fabia and her husband were sure to want to see such a capable fighter, which would mean that her escape would have to be explained.

  ‘You seem to have had considerable misfortune recently,’ Fabia commented in a deceptively casual tone as she and the Protectress led the way into Hulkona’s pavilion. ‘By the way, darling, aren’t you hunting with any of your harpy eagles this season?’

  ‘I was,’ Charole admitted, having noticed the other woman’s glance towards the large and unoccupied falconry stand xxiv that was near the main entrance of her destroyed pavilion. On the point of laying the blame for the bird’s absence on the fire, she saw an objection in doing so. There was, she deduced, more than idle curiosity behind the question. ‘I was using one a few days ago, but it miscalculated when attacking a bontebok xxv and was killed by it.’

  While speaking, the Protectress watched Fabia in the hope of detecting whether she had been c
aught out in telling a lie. The harpy eagle had been killed, but by Dawn’s bow and arrow when Charole had dispatched it in an attempt to capture her. From all appearances, Fabia was accepting the story.

  ‘Did the bontebok kill the two men?’ the brunette inquired, still endeavoring to sound no more than innocently curious.

  ‘One of them,’ Charole lied, gambling on the falsehood ever being exposed. Before leaving the area in which the incident had taken place, they had removed and carried away both of the foreign girl’s arrows. ‘He went up to it thinking it was dead and was gored for his stupidity.’

  Despite there being a flaw in the explanation, Fabia could do nothing to contradict it. The evidence which would have allowed her to do so was missing when, on the way to the hunting camp, she and her companions had come across the carcass of a gar-gatah and the remains of two dead warriors. There had also been feathers and legs with talons that could only have belonged to a harpy eagle. As the Harpia Harpyja was a hunter of the woodlands and avoided the open plains in its wild state, they had concluded that it must be one of several owned by Charole and trained for falconry.

  Although the discovery had aroused their interest, the Administrator’s party had failed to learn one very significant fact. As Charole had anticipated, the hyenas, vultures and other scavengers had mangled the corpses to such an extent that it was impossible to tell the exact cause of death. So Fabia was unable to raise the question of how a bontebok’s attack could have resulted in only the one remarkably small hole in the body. It had, in fact, been caused by the foreign girl’s arrow passing through the dead man’s breastplate.

  ‘We found another of your men not far from here,’ the woman went on, feeling sure that she had not been told the truth but unable to think of a way of confirming her suspicions. ‘Was he killed by the buffalo?”

  ‘It happened during the hunt,’ Charole answered evasively, hoping nothing had been left to disprove her statement. She did not wish to explain what had really happened. The man in question had been killed when several of her adherents had fought with Bunduki and taken him prisoner after he had saved her from being gored by the buffalo.

  ‘As you’ve come from the south-east, Gromark,’ Temnak put in, ‘have you seen anything of my niece, Sabart?”

  Even as the Elder was speaking, he realized that his way of diverting Fabia from her embarrassing line of questioning was ill advised. Sabart and her two companions had accompanied the High Priest’s adherents who had been sent to hunt down Dawn of the Apes. On returning with the girl as their prisoner, Elidor had claimed that they had parted company with Charole’s supporters in order to increase their chances of finding Dawn, and they had not seen Sabart’s party since.

  ‘No,’ the Administrator answered. ‘Should I have?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Temnak replied, thinking fast. ‘She went with three men to look for a herd of good quality zebras we saw last season up towards the bush country.’

  ‘Why are we all standing around like this?’ Hulkona put in, oozing joviality and wanting to bring the conversation around to something less tricky. ‘Come, be seated. Let’s have wine and fruit for our guests, quickly!’

  The ploy proved successful. Bustling around, Hulkona seated the guests on the comfortable pillows which formed the main furnishings. His and Eokan’s servants had done a good job of cleaning up the mess caused by the stampede. Fortunately, both pairs of Elders had retired early and there had been no lamps alight to set fire to their pavilions. Some of the smaller tents had gone up in flames, but—having less luxurious appointments—there had not been the extensive damage that occurred in Charole’s and Dryaka’s quarters.

  In the course of sampling the wine and eating some of the fruit brought in by the servants, Hulkona and the other Elders guided the conversation to matters of general interest. It was not until the meal—a thick stew made from game meat and various vegetables—was served that another disturbing note was introduced. Even then, only one person in the pavilion regarded it in that light. To Charole, Fabia and the Elders it seemed quite natural for Gromart to ask if there would be any chance of him obtaining extra Telonga slaves.

  Keeping out of the discussion which followed the request, Dryaka studied the Administrator. There was nothing on the scarred features to suggest that he might have heard about the secret orders which the High Priest had given to the People-Taker. Not even the Elders, whose sole prerogative it should have been to make such a decision, were aware that the quota of young maidens and men had been doubled. They had sanctioned the earlier-than-usual visit that Dryaka had requested, but knew nothing of the arrangements he had made.

  As the conversation ran its course the High Priest could detect nothing to confirm or disprove his suspicions, and he concluded that his secret was safe. And the Administrator appeared content to accept a promise that his request would be given the consideration of the full Council when the four members who were present returned to the capital city, Bon-Gatah.

  With the Elders’ assurance given, Fabia turned the conversation to the hunting party’s activities. It was obvious that she was far more interested in hearing about their various mishaps than being told of their successes. Charole, Dryaka and the Elders were all too aware of the reason for this. Having seen the state of the camp, and discovering of two separate incidents involving fatal accidents, the Administrator and his wife were wondering if the Protectress and the High Priest might be losing the favor of the Quagga God.

  Glancing at Charole during Fabia’s questioning, Dryaka could tell that she was uneasy. He realized that his fear was not that she might have lost the Quagga God’s favor, for she had as little faith in such a thing as he did. But, she knew that the several incidents that had happened—such as the death of her eagle, the failure of Sabart to capture Dawn, and the escape of the prisoner from her pavilion—might cause her adherents to think that she was no longer favored by the God. The High Priest might have found satisfaction in the Protectress’s predicament, except that the situation applied similarly to him.

  The sound of rapidly approaching hooves brought the conversation to an end. As the volume of sound suggested a considerable number of animals were involved, the party rose and hurried out of the pavilion. They found that Vernark, Dolvia and the ocha-gatah rider were returning. As the trio was driving about two dozen gatahs of various kinds ahead of them, they had clearly been successful in their task. However, they were travelling at a far greater speed than appeared necessary. They raced through the space between the tent lines of the Protectress’s and the High Priest’s supporters, causing several people to run or leap out of the way. Then they brought the animals to a halt barely ten feet away from the two women and six men.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ Dryaka snarled as Dolvia and Vernark rode forward.

  ‘A lion roared back there and they started running,’ the banar-gatah rider answered with an air of thinly veiled mockery. ‘As our gatahs don’t act that way, we didn’t expect it.’

  ‘We tried to stop them,’ the young woman supplemented. ‘But they must be very young and not fully trained. At least, they wouldn’t obey us.’

  ‘If you’ll show me which one is yours, Dry—Lord Dryaka,’ Vernark went on, turning on his saddle to wave his lance filled right hand in the direction of the animals he and his companions had gathered. ‘I’ll—’

  Combined with his earlier behavior, his speech could only be regarded as a deliberate attempt to insult the High Priest. There were only gatahs in the bunch that he had helped recapture, so Dryaka’s mount—invariably a quagga—could not be with them. While Vernark was fully aware of what he was doing, his arrogant self-assurance caused him to make a serious error in tactics by failing to keep the man he was taunting under observation.

  Face dark with anger, but giving no preliminary warning of his intentions, the High Priest lunged into motion. Even if he had been so inclined, he could not have permitted Vernark’s words and actions to go unpunished. To
have done so would have been regarded as a sign of weakness. In addition to the party from the pavilion, there were other people close enough to have witnessed the banar-gatah rider’s show of disrespect. To do nothing would have reduced Dryaka’s authority even further, and he knew had already suffered from the events of the previous night.

  Acting with the swift and effective precision upon which his reputation as a warrior was founded, the High Priest thrust out his hands. Even as Dolvia opened her mouth to shriek a warning, he caught hold of Vernark’s left ankle and jerked its foot from the stirrup iron. Having done so, he shoved upwards on the leg.

  Before Vernark was aware of his danger, he found himself tipped from his saddle. He tried to prevent it happening. Releasing the ankle as soon as it had served its purpose, Dryaka slapped the banar-gatah’s black striped rump. The high-spirited animal gave a snort of alarm and bounded forward, ensuring that its rider was not granted an opportunity to recover his balance and avoid being unseated.

  A howl of surprise and fury burst from the young warrior, but he could do nothing to save himself from being dislodged. Letting go of the lance as he slid to the right, he kicked his off side foot free and concentrated on doing all he could to break the force of his fall. A skilled rider, he managed to alight on his hands and knees. Spluttering invective, he thrust himself into a crouching posture like a sprinter at the start of a race. Starting to drive himself upwards, he grabbed for and began to jerk the sword from its sheath.

  Ignoring the young man’s companions, but confident that his own adherents would warn and protect him against any attempted intervention, Dryaka did not hesitate in the way he responded. Taking a couple of swift strides, he lashed up with his right leg. The toe of a Mun-Gatah sandal was designed so it could be used for kicking. Catching Vemark’s chest, it combined with his own rising momentum to lift and pitch him over backwards. Losing his hold on the sword, so that it flew from his fingers, he crashed heavily to the ground.