by Andre Norton
Storm, guessing what was to come, watched those preparations grimly. They were necessary and he knew it. Logan was gone – the animals had vanished – but he must be able to carry on if they were to find either, or trace Quade’s scouts. When the Norbie came across to him, the Terran managed a stretch of the lips that curved them briefly into something still far from the smile he intended.
“Arrow stay in – bad!” Gorgol’s fingers spelled out the warning Storm did not need. “Must cut out – now.”
Storm’s good hand, moving restlessly through the carpet of needles on which he lay, closed on a small chunk of dead branch. He clenched his fingers about that in preparation.
“Go ahead!” Though Gorgol could not have understood what were to him meaningless sounds, he read the answer in Storm’s eyes. And go ahead he did.
Norbies were deft and the Terran knew that probably this was not the first time Gorgol had operated to cut out an arrowhead from some companion. But to endure the probing, skilful as it was, was hard. And Storm remembered what Logan had said about the Spartan treatment for arrow wounds and what it cost the victim. He was lucky in that three of the barbs on this head remained intact as Gorgol freed the glassy main section, and only one had to be located by deeper knife work.
Breathing hard and with a swimming head, Storm lay quiet at last while Gorgol slapped a mass of pulped wet leaves over the ragged wound and then raised his patient’s head to let him sip water in a blessed flood of coolness down his parched throat. As the native settled Storm down again, he held his hands into the line of the Terran’s vision and signed:
“Go – look for Logan – see who put Gorgol to sleep – hunt trail of evil ones –”
“Nitra –” Storm was too shaken to raise his hand in the proper movement. But again the Norbie appeared to understand.
“Not Nitra –” He wriggled his own right hand. “Still have bow hand on wrist – Nitra take for Thunder House trophy. Think maybeso Butchers. We see –”
Storm shut his eyes, even on the welcome green of the branch over him. He aroused to a soft, warm weight on his good arm, a snuffling in his ear, and opened his eyes slowly. Over his head was a rustling, and a dark shape moved on a low swinging branch, a sharp beaked head was bent so glittering eyes could regard him.
“Baku!” The eagle mantled in answer to his call, replied with her own harsh cry.
The warm lump on his arm chirruped, and Storm heard Surra’s purr rumble louder from beside him. For a moment of lazy content, not yet fully awake, the Terran lay unmoving. Then he tried to lift his left arm to caress Surra and felt the answering twinge in his shoulder, awaking him to full memory. The pain, as he experimented Cautiously, was not nearly as bad as he expected. As on his first visit, this slice of a vanished world had worked its magic on him, and he was able to move with a measure of ease. In addition, the leafy plaster the Norbie had applied had dried hard, covering the wound and dulling the pain as if it had narcotic properties.
Gorgol must have returned and left again, for a small heap of objects taken from their supplies was piled not too far away. A battered canteen and one box of rations lay on the woollen blanket that had been his legacy from his grandfather. And beyond was some fruit laid out on a leaf plate.
Storm ate, with the greediness of a thoroughly hungry man. And as the minutes passed he had less and less trouble with his wound. He was trying to find the full extent of his disability when Gorgol came running lightly down the pathway toward the grassy oasis about the pine tree.
“You have found – what?” Storm demanded eagerly.
“Logan taken by Butchers. Butchers killed by Nitra. Logan – men with you – held by Nitra in other valley. Maybeso kill. Time of big dry comes, Nitra wizard makes magic to Thunder Drummers so rain come again. Kill captives for Thunder Drummers –”
“Nitra think that makes rain again?” Storm tried to put into signs his questions. “Nitra fear rains never come unless kill prisoners?”
The Norbie nodded vigorously. Thunder Drummers live in high mountains, make rain, make growing things come. But sometimes too much rain – bad. Bad like too much dry. Storms worse in Nitra land than for Shosonna. So Nitra wizards give prisoners to Thunder Drummers – end big dry, not make bad rains if have prisoners to eat.”
“How do they give prisoners?”
Gorgol made a wide swinging sweep with one hand, ending in the gesture of one tossing an object out into empty space.
“Throw from high rock – maybeso. Not sure – Shosonna do not spy on Nitra wizards. Many, many Nitra guard around – kill those who watch if not Nitra.”
“Where?”
“Nitra camp over ridge. They wait – think they wish to kill Butchers. Also there are Shosonna in hills – maybeso fight with them.”
Refugees from the river village Dumaroy had tried to raid? These mountains were getting rather full now, Storm thought with a little smile. For some reason he felt almost absurdly confident. There was Dumaroy’s crowd, and the posse now headed by Kelson, unless either or both had run into the Xik holdouts, or Nitras, or been ambushed by the aroused and thoroughly angry Shosonna. But it was the Nitra who interested Storm most at present. Kelso had been warned, and Dumaroy was not too far ahead of the Peace Officer – they would have to take their chances.
But the Nitra were holding Logan, Quade, Lancin and perhaps Quade’s two riders. That was Storm’s concern. He had one card to play. With the Shosonna or any semi-civilised Norbie tribe it might not work. But here he would be dealing with natives who should know very little about off-world men, especially any breed different from the settlers with whom they were only on raiding terms.
He outlined his plan as well as he could for Gorgol’s benefit. And, to his pleased surprise, the native did not object, instead he answered readily enough:
“You have wizard power. Larkin say your name mean weapon of Thunder Drummers in his tongue –”
“In my tongue also.”
Gorgol nodded. “Also Nitra not see bird totem like this one, nor other animals who follow you. Horses men may ride, zamle they can trap. But a frawn eats not from a man’s hand, or rubs head against him for notice. Nitra wizard commands no animals. So you may walk into their camp without meeting arrow. But maybeso you not come out again – that is different –”
“Could Gorgol find Shosonna in the mountains to help?”
“Wide are the mountains. And before sunrise the Nitra wizards make their magic.” The Norbie’s hands sketched the killing sign. “Better Gorgol use this.” From his belt holster he whipped the ray rod. “Use such magic on them!”
“You have only one charge left –” Storm pointed out. “When that is used, all you will have is a rod without power –”
“And this!” The Norbie laid his hand on his knife hilt. “But there be much warrior honour in this deed. When the fire of men is lighted, Gorgol can stand forth and tell great deeds before the face of twenty clans, and there shall be none to say it is not so –”
Storm made his preparations carefully. Once more he turned his face into a mask with improvised paint. The folded blanket lay across his shoulder to hide Gorgol’s protecting plaster of leaves, its ends thrust through the concha belt. He surveyed himself in a greenish mirror of one of the water garden pools, tearing a rag from a supply bag to hold his untidy hair out of his eyes. And the image the water presented was a barbaric figure, one which certainly should hold attention in the Nitra assembly, even without the addition of the team.
The Terran could not bear Baku’s weight on his injured shoulder for the full trip and he had to coax her out of the cavern as he carried Hing, and Surra walked beside him. Gorgol told him the eagle had come from the sky the day before, just preceding the attack of the Butchers, and had vanished into the garden cave where Surra and Hing had chosen to prowl on their own concerns.
Storm concentrated as he came into the open upon holding the animals’ attention, preparing them to aid him in any necessary attack. Gorgol
’s night sight aided them again as they climbed a twisting way up to the heights. But tonight there were moons, and when they won from the maw of the valley, they crossed a brilliantly lighted slope.
The Terran went slowly, conserving his strength, accepting the Norbie’s assistance over rough places. The wind was changing, bearing with it a low muttering of sound that aped the roll of thunder. They reached a ledge that Gorgol turned to follow, one hand ready to lead or support the Terran. And that narrow and perilous path took them around the spur of an outcrop, through an arch of stone, onto a wider platform where there was a muddle of dried sticks under an overhang.
Gorgol kicked at some of the rubbish to clear a path and signed:
“Evil flyer.”
This must have been the eyrie from which he had pursued the wounded monster on the day it led him into the valley of the Sealed Caves. But by all indications the bird had had no mate, nor had its untidy nesting place been claimed by another.
The nest ledge was above another. With Gorgol’s hand on his belt, Storm swung over by one hand and dropped to this, wondering how often he could equal that feat if called upon to do so tonight. However, this cutting led on around the side of the cliff and there was the red of fire beyond, a red that suddenly puffed vivid sparks of green into the air, along with a suffocating odour.
“Wizards!” Gorgol’s fingers wriggled.
As the green sparks cleared, Storm discovered that he was perched over a table-topped plateau, bare of any vegetation, but mounded here and there by weather-carved rocks, which assumed odd shapes in the semidarkness. Lashed to two such pillars were four men – settlers by their dress – while the space about the fire was crowded by squatting Norbies, intent upon the actions of two of their number who paced back and forth around the circle of the flames, beating on small tambours they held in their hands, so producing that deep thunder mutter.
Storm studied the scene. Either the Nitra felt secure from attack here or their sentries were very well hidden. He could detect none from his present stand. But there were men squatting beside the pillars to which the prisoners were bound, one each at the very feet of the captives.
“I am going in –” he signalled to Gorgol.
He beamed the silent summons to Baku who must be cruising overhead, felt Surra press reassuringly against him. Then the Terran made a slow descent of the drop immediately below him. As his boots struck the surface of the plateau he shouted aloud the rallying call of the team.
“Saaaaaaa –”
Out of the black sky Baku dropped, a thing that was a feathered part of the night endowed with separate life. Storm staggered a step or two as she set her claws in the blanket on his shoulder, resting her weight above the green wound. But he recovered swiftly and straightened under that necessary burden.
Then, with King wary against his breast, her eyes as bright as his necklace, and Surra, soft-footed beside him, showing her fangs in a snarl that wrinkled her lips, Storm walked confidently into the full light of the fire.
17
Comes now the Monster Slayer, wearing this one’s moccasins, Wearing the body of the storm born one. Comes now the Monster Slayer, bowstring extended, Arrow notched upon it for the flying – Comes now the Monster Slayer – ready for battle –
Storm was no Singer, but somehow the words came to his tongue, fitted themselves readily together into patterns of power so that the Terran believed he walked protected by the invisible armour of one who talked with the Faraway Gods, was akin to the Old Ones. He could feel that power rise and possess him. And with such to strengthen him what need had a man for other weapons?
The Terran did not see the Nitra rows split apart to make him a pathway to the edge of the fire. He was not truly aware of anything except the song and the power and the fact that, at this moment, Hosteen Storm was a small but well-fitting part of something much greater than any one man could aspire to be –
He stood still now, bracing himself under the weight of Baku, not noting the pain that weight brought him. Before him was a blue-horned Nitra wizard, his tambour drum raised. But the native was no longer beating it, instead he was staring at this apparition out of the night.
“Ahuuuuuu!” Storm’s voice spiralled up in the old war cry of his desert raiding people. “Ahuuuuuu!”
The Nitra wizard thumped his drum, was answered by a roll of muted thunder. However, there was a hesitation in that reply, which Storm sensed more than saw. The native made talk in his own high-pitched voice. To that the Terran did not reply with finger-talk. This was no time to betray kinship with the settlers and their ways. He turned to face the four prisoners, saw recognition leap to life in Logan’s eyes, surprise dawn in Quade’s.
Power is in this one’s arm – power is in this one, The Monster Slayer wears now this one’s body – He walks in this one –
Surra moved with Storm, matching her soft padding to his deliberate pace. He released King from his hold. The meerkat scurried, a grey shadow touched to life by the fire, to the nearest pillar. Rising on her hind legs, she attacked the prisoners’ bonds with teeth and claws. Storm gestured and Surra moved as quickly to Logan and his partner at the other post, to chew at the hide thongs about their bodies.
The Nitra priest squalled like an enraged yoris and sprang at Storm shaking his tambour. Baku mantled, her fierce eyes on the native, screaming with rage. She took off into the air and came down to do as she seldom did, attack from ground level, as she had faced the zamle in Krotag’s village. And the Nitra gave ground before her bristling fury, so that bird drove man around the fire and there was a shrilling chorus of wonder from the watching warriors.
“Power is now ours!” Storm exulted in a song perhaps only one other within hearing could understand. But if the words were unknown the meaning was clear and as he moved forward again the Nitra cowered away from him.
Quade stepped away from the pillar where he had been bound and Storm saw him shake off cut thongs. Gorgol had played his part back in the shadows. The settler jumped to catch the staggering Logan, but the younger man’s hand rested on Surra’s head for a moment – an attention the big cat had never before permitted from any save Storm – and he was once more steady on his feet.
“Let us go forth in power –” The Terran’s voice arose above the screaming rage of Baku. Surra led the retreat with Quade supporting his son, the riders crowding behind. Hing ran to Storm and climbed his leg, hooked her claws in his breeches.
“Go forth in power –” Storm put full urgency into that order. He moved between the retreating men and the restless Nitra. How long he could hold the natives Storm had no idea, but at this moment he had no doubts that he could hold them. Only a very few times in his life had the Terran experienced this inner Tightness, this being a part of a bigger pattern that was meant to work smoothly. Once when he first had his orders obeyed as team leader by the animals and Baku – twice during his service days when that team carried through a difficult assignment with perfect precision. But this in its way was again different, for the power flowed through him alone.
This one walks in power – This one carries power – This one works the will of the Old Ones, The Old Ones who walk in beauty, This one serves –
The rescued had gone beyond the rim of the firelight.
“Saaaaaa –”
Baku came to him. The Norbie wizard had a bleeding gash on his forearm and he no longer held the tambour. There was bitter hatred in his eyes and a knife ready in his hand. As Baku settled again on Storm’s shoulder the Nitra followed her in the arching spring of an attacking yoris.
He reached Storm only to go down with the stiff jerk of a man who had been rayed. And from the massed warriors there arose a wailing cry. It was then that Storm laughed. This was a night in which nothing could go wrong! Gorgol had used his rod at the right moment as he had earlier used his knife. They were all riding one of the waves of phenomenal luck that sometimes overtakes tides of action and can be used to carry a man on their crest until h
e is able to achieve the impossible. The Singers were right. At that moment full belief in the unseen powers of his people flooded through Storm, burning away all doubts. He was truly possessed and no Nitra – no – nor Xik – could stand successfully against him!
He withdrew stride by stride backwards to the edge of the light where he must climb to the heights.
“Over here, Storm –” came a low call just before the Nitra pack screeched their fear and anger aloud – though no warrior ventured in pursuit. A hand caught his arm, pulled him up to the cliff wall.
“Where did you come from?” Quade demanded. “We thought you were dead!”
Storm laughed again. The intoxication that filled him still bubbled.
“Far from dead,” he said. “But we had better get out of here before they recover nerve enough to come hunting –”
His exultation held as they climbed back to the ledge of the deserted nest, worked their way around to the valley of the Sealed Cave. But at the mouth of that same cave he halted.
“Listen!” His tone was so sharply commanding that the men about him were silent.
And it was not so much a noise that they heard as a vibration, which came to them through the walls of stone, from the earth under their feet.
”The Xik ship!” Storm knew that trembling of old. He had sheltered in hiding to watch the enemy take-off from hidden ports he had been sent to locate and harass. Always there had been that shaking of the earth as the alien ships had warmed to their take-off.
“What –?” Quade demanded.
The Xik ship – it is getting ready to take off. They may be leaving Arzor!”
Quade, one arm about Logan, put his other hand to the cliff surface.
“What a vibration!”
Too much so. Storm was conscious of that suddenly. The ship he had seen in the hidden valley was no intergalactic transport – it was hardly larger than a converted scout. This tearing was too much! Another Xik craft hidden somewhere near? Only now that throbbing came raggedly –