The central and western thirds of Nebraska consisted of a vast treeless plain, rolling uplands thinly seeded with buffalo grass and sage, scored here and there by river valleys and streams that drained into the Platte or the Missouri. These valleys were the only shelter from the howling blizzards which had driven out the early ‘sod-busters’ after the sleet storms had levelled the crops they’d planned to live on through the long winter. And it was here that the trees lay hidden, cottonwood, willow and elm huddled side by side out of reach of the cutting winds.
From North Platte, the river plain varied in width from one mile to fifty, narrowing then broadening, then narrowing again as it squeezed through the surrounding uplands in its gentle climb towards the Goshen Hole on the state border.
At Scotts Bluff, Cadillac encountered another familiar land-mark, a huge yellow-ochre wedge of barren rock rising eight hundred feet above the surrounding landscape. This was the only signpost that now remained to tell the traveller he was about to leave Nebraska and enter Wyoming. No other evidence that these two states had once existed as legislative and economic entities remained. The traffic signs and roadside buildings had gone, the abandoned, pillaged hulks of the last few Highway Patrol cars had long since crumbled into powdery flakes of rust; the more resistant parts of the engine and chassis disappearing beneath the creeping carpet of vegetation. Day by day, year by year, century after century, the planet had set about the slow task of healing itself. Now, on the eve of the third millennium, apart from the fading lines of the hardways and the few weathered ruins of collaps stone bridges, little remained of what once had been. Twentieth century America had been buried with the same relentless efficiency as the ancient cities of Sumeria.
Now at four thousand feet above sea level and still climbing, Cadillac led the way along the river trail. Malone, after privately consulting his well-concealed miniature map (printed on a square of silk supplied to AMEXICO by Ieyasu’s contact men) and a tiny electronic device that took bearings from navigation beacons and converted them into map co-ordinates, found that the nearest navref point was a township called Torrington, on the old US Highway 26.
For Cadillac, visual confirmation that they were back in his home territory came in the shape of the Laramie Mountains whose densely forested slopes were home to a variety of conifers including the towering ponderosa pine. Rising like the sloping ramparts of an overgrown fort to a high point of ten thousand feet, the Laramie range forced the river to run around its northern flank like a moat, passing through navref Caspar before turning southwards and snaking uphill towards its source among the snow-melt streams of the Rockies.
It was on the plain beyond the western flank of the Laramie range that the M’Calls had made their first costly attack upon The Lady, and when Cadillac reached the shrunken lake where the river had been dammed to form the Glendo Reservoir, he turned left and led Steve and Malone’s band of renegades towards a trail that wound up and over the pine-covered slopes.
Halfway between the river and the hills they came across a M’Call turf-marker – a tall pole adorned with carved plaques of wood, bones and eagle’s wing feathers. A mile further on, Cadillac halted the column as a large posse of Mute warriors with the same golden feathers attached to their leather helmets emerged from the trees and formed a line across their path some two hundred yards ahead of the lead horses. Some carried the revolving-drum rifles given to the clan by the Iron Masters under the deal struck between Mr Snow and Lord Yama-Shita, the remainder were armed with cross-bows.
Malone eased his own rifle from his shoulder and laid it across his lap, a finger on the trigger. ‘Friends of yours?’
‘Yes.’ Cadillac had already made preparations for this encounter. Pulling the elegantly curved Iron Master bow from the quiver attached to the left side of his saddle, he notched an arrow to the draw-string and presented its spear-shaped metal point to Malone. A small bundle of dried red leaves was tied to the shaft immediately behind it.
Malone applied a battery-powered hot-wire to the tips of several leaves. They started to smoulder, emitting a dense white smoke. Pinching them together, Cadillac blew on them until the whole bundle was alight then aimed his left arm at the sky and sent the arrow soaring high into the air.
The slender arch of smoke formed as the arrow fell to earth behind the line of warriors was the sign used by the Plainfolk when they wished to parley with an opposing group. The warriors responded by raising a clenched fist which they then opened to display the palm of their hand. The invitation had been accepted.
Cadillac dismounted, planted his green flag in the ground and strode forward as a group of Mutes in the centre of the line ran to meet him. Their leader was Purple-Rain, one of the Bears who had come to the aid of Clearwater and Cadillac after the latter’s duel with the fearsome Shakatak D’Vine. Cadillac embraced him warmly then grasped the outstretched hand of his excited companions. When the first flurry of greetings had been exchanged, Cadillac invited Steve and Malone to join him.
Introducing them, he said: ‘You already know Cloud-Warrior. It was he who rescued me from the Iron Masters. And this is Malone, chief of the redskins who took us under their wing and journeyed with us across the great plains. They have the bodies of sand-burrowers but their hearts are with the Plainfolk and they have but one wish – to fight side by side with us against the iron-snakes!’
‘Heyy-yahh!’ chorused the warriors, brandishing their rifles and crossbows in the air. As the rest of the posse came forward to join them Steve encountered several familiar faces. Most belonged to warriors who had attended his quarter-staff classes or had been part of the delegation that had travelled to the trading post and they greeted him with equal warmth.
The uninhibited way in which Steve responded to the bear-like hugs and ritual hand-slaps turned Malone’s stomach. He could not abide physical contact with Mutes but he could not afford to be the odd man out. Forcing a smile onto his face, he shook hands with each member of the posse, disguising his desire to murder every single one of them behind a convincing display of camaraderie.
Purple-Rain ran his eyes over the assembled horsemen and foot-soldiers. He had never seen horses before but he had something far more important on his mind. ‘Where is Clearwater?’
Cadillac’s smile vanished. ‘She was struck down by the sand-burrowers.’ His words drew a mournful groan from the posse. ‘But she is not dead!’ he cried. ‘She lies not far from here in the belly of an iron-snake and it is from there we must rescue her!’
Purple-Rain winced at the prospect of storming a wagon-train. ‘Can she not use the gift of earth magic to free herself?’
‘No. She is too weak. The power will not return until her wounds are healed. Attacking the iron-snake will be a daunting task but,’ – he indicated Malone and the renegades with a sweeping gesture – ‘we are not alone. Our friends here know its secrets and are willing to fight by our side. The M’Calls proved their bravery in the Battle of the Now and Then River but raw courage is not enough. This time we will use cunning and stealth. The power of the Old One allied to the secret knowledge of these redskins will free Clearwater and bring the sand-burrowers to their knees!’
‘But the Old One is not here,’ replied Purple-Rain.
Cadillac blanched. ‘Not here?!’
‘No. He has gone to the trading post.’
Steve was equally appalled by the news, and he could see that Malone was not too happy either. ‘When did he leave?’
‘Three days ago.’
Shit, shit and triple shit … This was a major setback. Mr Snow’s presence was absolutely vital. Roz’s newly-revealed powers were frightening but they were virtually untried: an unknown quantity. No one could dispute Mr Snow’s powers as a summoner. He was the great equalizer; the spearhead of their attack and their first line of defence, the only sure means they had to turn the tables on Malone and the forces who would be lying in wait for them aboard Red River. And they had missed him by three days! What a pill!
/> The trade delegation would not return for at least five weeks. Steve had asked for and obtained six weeks in which to set up the attack on Red River. They had already used up eight days of that on the present journey to Wyoming. If the delegation was not delayed it now meant that Mr Snow would return just as the present deadline expired – leaving him no time to come up with a game-plan in which his magic would be the trump card!
They needed more elbow room. He would have to ask Malone to arrange an extension. But that was not as simple as it sounded. It was to the Federation’s advantage to keep the pressure on the M’Calls – forcing them to attack the train without adequate preparation within a time-frame and in a specific location which was not of their own choosing. But how could he delay the inevitable confrontation without making Mother suspicious …?
Cadillac turned to Steve and Malone, his new-found confidence waning visibly. ‘What are we going to do?’
Good question …
‘I’ll tell you what we ain’t gonna do,’ growled Malone. ‘An’ that’s attack this goddam wagon-train of yours without a summoner up front. You sold me on this magic shit and that’s the deal. If the old man don’t show, we don’t go!’
‘He’ll be back in five weeks!’ pleaded Cadillac. ‘Four and a half!’
‘Good. Give us a call then an’ we’ll think about it. Adios, amigo!’
Cadillac caught hold of Malone’s arm as the renegade turned towards his horse. ‘Wait –’
Malone halted and broke Cadillac’s grip with a knuckle-crunching squeeze. ‘Don’t ever lay hands on me, good buddy. Next time I’ll break your fuckin’ arm.’ The threat was delivered with a smile for the benefit of the watching warriors.
Steve intervened. ‘Hey! C’mon you guys! Cool it. I know how we can get out of this bind. I’ll ride after him – bring him back.’
‘It’s too late!’ said Cadillac. ‘Didn’t you hear what he said? The delegation left three days ago! They’ll be at the trading post by the time you catch up with them!’
‘I can try, can’t I? Anyway, so what?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? They’re not going to drop everything and come back here after going all that way. They’ll stay there and trade. And it’s no good thinking you’re going to persuade the Old One to get on the back of the horse, because you won’t!’
‘So what is it you’re trying to tell me?’
‘It’s no good going after them because you won’t bring them back any sooner.’
‘You underestimate me, Caddy. Especially my powers of persuasion. We’ve got to try. Can’t you see that? Okay, maybe I won’t be able to bring them back in time but someone has to go – to warn them.’
‘About what?’
‘About the Yama-Shita! Have you forgotten what happened on the wheel-boat? Those japs know that you and I were part of the group that destroyed the Heron Pool and that we’re linked to whoever blew that boatload of samurai out of the water!’
Cadillac hesitated, unwilling to come to the inevitable conclusion. ‘The commanders of the boat knew but –’
‘Supposing they sent word to Sara-Kusa by carrier-pigeon?’
‘You mean before the boat went down …’
‘There was plenty of time. We were locked up for several hours.’
‘So if they did …’
‘The family will have linked you and Clearwater to the M’Calls. And Mr Snow, the man who set up the deal with Lord Yama-Shita to send a cloud-warrior to Ne-Issan is on his way to the trading post with five hundred M’Calls. If I were a member of the Yama-Shita family I’d regard this as a golden opportunity to get even – wouldn’t you?’
Cadillac paled even further. ‘Sweet Sky-Mother. It never occurred to me –’
‘That’s because you had other more important things to think about,’ said Steve diplomatically. ‘Truth is, we’ve both been wrong-footed. I was hoping we’d get back in time.’ He shrugged. ‘Never mind. We’re still in with a chance.’ He eyed Malone. ‘I’d better get moving …’
‘You’re going now?!’ cried Cadillac.
Steve mounted his horse. ‘No point in wasting any time.’
‘But what about food?’
‘Caddy! I wasn’t planning to go totally empty-handed. Can you rustle up some flat-bread and a pouchful of meat-twists?’
‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll come with you!’
‘Uh-uh. No way. You and our friend here have got some urgent business to attend to. You’ll be able to see things more clearly if I get out of your hair for a while.
‘All right. But you must have an escort. A hand of warriors, at least.’
‘Caddy! I’m going on horseback! They’ll never be able to keep up with me!’
Cadillac’s confidence curve made an upswing. ‘You might be able to outrun them in the first two or three hours, but at the end of the day, a Mute warrior will be still be running when your mount is on its knees!’
Steve capitulated. ‘Okay. Go on ahead with Purple-Rain and get things organized. I’ll wait here with Malone.’
‘Don’t you want to come into the settlement?’
‘And get caught up in the celebrations? It’d take a week to get out of there!’
An hour later, Cadillac returned with six M’Call Bears led by a warrior called Cat-Ballou and a She-Wolf, the ever hopeful Night-Fever. They were all volunteers who realised the importance of their mission but apart from Night-Fever – who clearly had a more private celebration in mind – Steve could see they were somewhat cheesed off at having to miss out on the party which, apparently, had already got underway.
Having profited from Cadillac’s absence to square things with Malone, Steve took the Mute aside for a final word while his escort loaded the provisions they had brought onto the two pack-horses.
‘Take care – and watch those breakers, huh?’
‘I will …’
‘And don’t do anything rash while I’m gone.’
‘I don’t intend to. But let’s get one thing clear, Brickman. These are my clanfolk, this is my land, attacking the wagon-train is my idea, and from now on, I’m in charge.’
Steve gathered the reins of his horse and climbed into the saddle. ‘Caddy, I wouldn’t have it any other way …’
CHAPTER FIVE
Du-aruta, the Iron Master’s name for the trading-post, was a derivation of Duluth, Minnesota, the pre-H port situated at the western end of Lake Superior. But this was, in fact, something of a misnomer. As the accompanying maps show, Duluth had been built on the northern side of the Lake whereas the trading post had been planted on the opposite shore near its vanished trading partner, the port of Superior, Wisconsin.
In the days when they were both thriving transit points for the Great Lakes freight trade, Duluth and Superior were separated by the St Louis River which snaked down from northern Minnesota then turned east into a meandering estuary whose southern bank was eaten away by inlets and bays. A triangular chunk of land – on which the town of Superior stood – pushed the estuary in a north-easterly direction, but on rounding the point it made a sharp right hand turn into a long narrow lagoon bisected by the state line.
The lagoon itself was separated from Lake Superior by two low needle-like spits of sand and gravel which reached out from the opposing shores to form an almost unbroken line running from the north-west to the southeast.
In pre-Holocaust days the upper and lower sand-bars were separated by a three-hundred foot wide shipping channel kept open by dredgers. With the passage of time, the channel had silted up, narrowing to half its original width, and was now only thigh deep. The land to the south and west of the trading post consisted of rolling plains sloping gently upwards away from the lake, but on the Duluth side, the estuary sand-bar and the lake beyond were dominated by six-hundred foot high bluffs that rose steeply from the narrow shore.
The first thing that struck Mr Snow on reaching the trading post was the size of the D’Troit and C’Natti encampments. Traditionally, the de
legations from the six bloodlines were camped around the outside of a huge octagon marked out by a line of stones. The She-Kargo and D’Troit – who were both allocated two segments – faced each other across the central reservation, flanked on each side by the supposedly neutral, lesser bloodlines – the M’Waukee, C’Natti, San’Paul and San’Louis. This arrangement was designed to minimize the violent confrontations which, despite the general truce and the restraining presence of marshals and capos, always flared up as groups of young bloods from both sides prowled around the outer edge of the vast encampment looking for trouble.
This year, the dispositions of the various groups was the same, but not only were the individual D’Troit and C’Natti delegations much larger than usual, there were a great number of turf-markers belonging to Clans who had never been represented before.
Discreet enquiries through intermediaries elicited the reason: the Iron Masters, because of some internal upheaval, had withdrawn the boats which normally called at Bei-Sita, the second trading post serving the Mute clans inhabiting the plains close to the Eastern Lands – the pre-Holocaust states of Ohio, Indiana, and the broad peninsular bordered by Lake Erie, Huron and Michigan – the original home of the D’Troit.
As a result of this temporary closure, the delegations had made their way to Du-aruta. No one wanted to miss the once-yearly opportunity to exchange skins, furs, dream-cap and rainbow-grass for new knives, crossbows, tools, woven cloth and utensils. And, of course, there was always the hope that more clans would be able to obtain examples of the rifles supplied to the clan M’Call the year before.
To understand what went through Mr Snow’s mind it is necessary to explain that mathematics was a branch of learning the Plainfolk had little use for, especially when the sums embraced numbers larger than twelve – the number of fingers and thumbs possessed by the majority of Mutes. It had always been accepted that the She-Kargo were numerically superior to the D’Troit but prior to this fateful gathering the rival factions had never carried out a head-count of their supporters. This also meant they had no clear idea of the number of warriors their opponents could muster. On this occasion however, the D’Troit had received some outside help.
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