Gar felt a chill. He wondered if the tales had been true, and talk against war really did make a clan weak-or if they were simply stories made up to frighten clansfolk into doing as they were told.
"You do get sick and tired of the fighting if you live long enough," Zeke allowed, " 'specially if you get to know somebody from the other clan and find out how much they're like you."
"And there's always some who do," Lem sighed, "and who fall in love."
Gar felt the chill again. "You sound as if you know what you're talking about."
"We've got two in our band right now," Lem said, "and it's a miracle they're still in love, after the way they starved and just barely managed till we found them."
"Allie is a Rork," Farrell said, "and Billy is a Gonigle. Hard for young folk not to meet each other, when the same stream flows through both their farms."
"But if their clans didn't live next to each other, they wouldn't be fighting?"
"Seems to be the way of it," Lem sighed.
"Good fences make good neighbors," Farrell added, "but it seems the ancestors didn't believe that."
"So we've been learning it the hard way ever since," Lem said sourly.
Gar steered the conversation back to crime. "Didn't they try to hide the fact that they were in love?"
"Oh, they tried," Lem said, "but good luck keeping anything secret from your clan. You're going to go sneaking off far too often, and sooner or later there'll be a pair of eyes to watch you go."
"And a pair of silent feet to follow you," Farrell added.
"Somebody got curious, and trailed one of them?" Gar asked.
"One of the Rork girls, as Allie tells it," Lem said, "a little one. You know how the tads are about spying on the big ones when folks come a' courting. Well, the child followed Allie . . ."
"Fun game," Zeke said generously.
"Yeah, tracking without being spotted," Lem agreed. "The tad was too good at it, though, and Allie didn't suspect a thing, though I'm sure she must have been wary..."
"When she was on her way to meet Billy?" Farrell asked. "She might have missed a few twigs breaking."
"No doubt," Lem agreed. "But the tad saw her meet Billy, saw her kiss him, and ran straight home, bursting with the news."
"Poor kid probably didn't think she'd get Allie in trouble for anything more than kissing," Zeke sighed.
"Likely not. But she told, all bright-eyed and bursting with the excitement of it, and her grandma sent out a dozen men to bring the lovers in."
"That time, she did hear something," Farrell said.
"She says she heard a jaybird calling at night," Lem went on, "and knew right away what was coming, so she sent Billy running right quick."
"Musta been someone in the clan who cared about her," Zeke said. "Only a fool would give a jay call at night."
Lem nodded. "Next thing she heard was gunshots." Gar stared. "And they're both still alive to tell of it?"
"You ever try hitting a target at night, when it's twisting and turning 'mongst moon shadows?" Farrell asked.
"I have, yes." Gar didn't think it necessary to tell them that the weapon had been a crossbow. "I see your point."
"So her clan gathered to judge, and cast her out," Lem said. "But the tad felt bad about it and went to tell Billy-he was hanging around down by the creek hoping to see her again."
"Her grandma sent a truce party to tell the Gonigles first, though," Farrell said, "and they sat in judgment and cast out Billy."
"Good thing, too," Farrell agreed. "If they hadn't, he'd have upped and run away to find Allie, and his kinfolk would have come after to shoot him for treachery."
Gar stared, aghast. "There's no sense in that."
Lem shrugged. "There's no sense in feuding either, stranger, but try and stop it."
"We did," said Farrell, "most of the folks in our band, one way or another."
Gar frowned. "Wouldn't both clans have hunted them down for outlawry?"
"Just for the hell of it, you mean?" Lem nodded. "There's always some like that. Too much killing, and most folks grow to hate it, but some grow to like it. That's why they lit out."
"Strangers would hate them less than their own clans," Farrell observed. "No reason to think them traitors."
"Oh." Gar thought that over. "So this all happened far away?"
"A month's travel," Lem said. "Probably would have gone farther, if they hadn't come across a band that welcomed them."
"We did." Farrell nodded. "They're good kids."
"Our kind," Zeke agreed.
Gar appreciated the irony of it-that the ones who turned vicious were still welcomed in their own clans, as long as they didn't torment their own, whereas the ones who sickened of the slaughter and took a stand against it, were outlawed. "What if someone kills a person in his own clan?"
"Oh, he'll be killed in his own turn," Lem answered, "so those who do usually light out before they can be caught."
"There are vicious outlaws too, then?"
"Some," Farrell said, his voice hard. "When we find 'em, we kill 'em, too."
Gar frowned. "That seems harsh."
"How do you think we find out, stranger?" Lem challenged. "They try to hurt someone in the band, that's how! It comes down to kill or be killed, really."
"You could cast them ... no, I see the point. An outcast from the outcasts is likely to haunt the woods looking for folk out on their own, waiting for a chance for revenge."
"We never go out alone," Lem said, "but accidents happen." Gar could imagine it, one of the outlaws thinking they would be safe just this once, going a hundred yards from the camp for a bucket of water from the stream. "What happens if someone steals?"
"From another clan?" Zeke grinned. "He's a hero!"
"No, from his own clan."
"Oh! Well, if they find it out, he's outlawed."
"'Course, it's been known for one clan member to accuse another, and talk a third into lying about it before the family council," Farrell said judiciously, "but it don't happen often."
"Why not?" Gar asked, afraid of the answer.
"Why, because the liar's outlawed, too." Farrell looked up at Gar. "Mind you, nobody minds the odd lie here and there, in the daily round-you have to be wary and take your chances. But before the council, now, when someone else's doom is hanging--well, that's something else."
"I can see that it would be." So they outlawed treachery in even the slightest form, and cowardice, murder, theft, and false witness-but only within the clan. "I suppose if a clansman falls in love with a cousin's wife and she falls in love with him, they just run away and find an outlaw band to join?"
"If they can," Lem said, with flat cynicism.
"More likely the clan will hunt them down and bring them back for trial," Farrell said.
"Then they'll cast 'em out," Zeke finished.
"Has to be done the right way, eh? How about if a single man falls in love with his cousin, and gets her pregnant?"
"That's punishable by marriage," Zeke said, grinning, "as long as the cousin isn't too close-by blood, anyway."
"Second cousins are okay," Lem said, "but it's better to marry into the next county"
"Oh." Gar raised his eyebrows. "You get together with other clans?"
"Sure," Farrell said with a sardonic smile. "The clans who share a boundary with you, you'll fight to'the death, but the one ten miles away, well now, they'll be your friends."
"Especially if they live right next to your neighbors, but on the other side," Lem explained. "'Course, you have to go to the parties all together, but folks don't generally ambush then."
An unwritten law, Gar guessed, without which every clan would spend its whole life cooped up on the same few acres and die off from inbreeding.
It made sense, in its way. All of the "crimes" the three outlaws had spoken of weakened the unity of the clan and its ability to fight without mercy. Apparently, now and then, enough outlaws survived to form a band such as the one toward which they wer
e going. He suspected that over a few generations the band would become a clan in its own right.
He wondered how long it took the new band to start a feud of its own and to begin outlawing its lawbreakers.
All at once the trees opened out on either side into a clearing perhaps a hundred yards across. Toward its center stood a ring of stoutly built, thatch-roofed log cottages. Pigs rooted about in the grass circle at the center, and children ran about with men and women watching them as they worked at household chores.
Gar stared. Apparently the band had been going longer than he had thought. "This is your home camp?"
"That it is, stranger, and we'll thank you to shuck your pack and put up your hands." Lem nodded toward the cottages, grinning. "Maybe you can fight three rifles, but how about a dozen?"
More than that-a score of outlaws had seen them, and were coming toward them with their rifles leveled.
7
He had to decide, and decide instantly. Should he overawe the outlaws with displays that they would call magic, and take the chance that they would think him a witch? Or use his mental powers in such a way that they wouldn't know how he had won?
Neither. One man just couldn't win against twelve, no matter how good a fighter he was. Gar called out, "Whoever thinks to lead this band, let him prove it against me, hand to hand!"
The outlaws stopped, staring in consternation, then turned to one another in furious debate.
Lem grinned. "Think you're fit to lead us, stranger? Just kill off our chief and call yourself boss? That's not our way."
"I wasn't thinking of taking the title," Gar said evenly, "or the job. I only want the man to prove he deserves it, that's all."
"You just might get your chance." Lem watched, grinning with anticipation. So did Farrell, and Zeke chuckled.
Gar frowned. What was he missing?
Then a woman stepped forward, handing her rifle to the man beside her and taking off her hat and jacket. "I'm Rowena, stranger, and I'm the chosen chief of this band."
Gar stared. Admittedly, she was a big woman, both tall and stocky, her body having thickened with age. Gray streaked the long black hair that was tied in a club at the base of her neck. Surely, though, she didn't really think she stood a chance against a man twenty years younger than she-twenty years younger, a foot and half taller, and half again as heavy!
"We choose our leader by wisdom, not fighting," Lem explained. "You want to fight her hand to hand, you fight us all." Gar stared at Rowena, digesting that for a minute. Then he nodded, shrugging out of his pack and taking off his hat. "That's better odds than fighting twelve rifles. Hand to hand it is, outlaws, twelve to one or not!"
The outlaws stared, taken aback by his boldness.
"You can't beat a hundred and more, stranger," Rowena said. "Don't be a fool."
Gar grinned, lifting his fists. "This isn't about wisdom." Rowena's face darkened even more. "You'd be wiser to yield your pack and go your way. I've no wish to have your blood on my conscience."
"I told you she was wise," Lem said, then called to Rowena, "He seems to be a good one, though he's not willing to pay the toll."
"Toll, is it?" Gar asked. "All I own? Nothing left to sell or trade?"
Lem shrugged. "You can always start over."
"It's worth a fight to keep it."
"Have it as you will," Rowena said in disgust. "Take him, people."
The outlaws shouted and waded in, Rowena foremost. She was the first to swing at Gar, and he took the blow on his shoulder, rolling with the punch, not even trying to block. But he knocked aside the second punch and tripped her.
Farrell caught her and lifted her back onto her feet as Lem yelled and charged in from the right just as a big bearded man bellowed, shoving past Rowena and slamming a haymaker at Gar's jaw. Gar ducked; the haymaker caught Lem and sent him flying. Then Gar hooked a fist into the bearded man's belly. He doubled over, and Gar straightened him with an uppercut.
He saw Farrell swinging from the side and shot to his feet, blocking the punch, but Zeke darted in past Farrell, head down, butting Gar in the belly.
Gar fell backward, and boots swung at his head. He caught the first and turned, pulling it with him. The bandit woman yelped and stumbled over him, tripping and falling straight into the kicking boots of her fellows. They shouted in surprise and pulled their feet back as Gar pushed himself up.
A huge weight struck his shoulders and slammed him back to the ground. Boots swung at his head, and Gar decided it was time for telekinesis. He caught the boots with his mind and swung them high. Their startled owners brayed as they fell, but other boots were slamming into his legs, and whoever it was on his back sat up long enough to hammer a punch at the back of his head.
The world blurred, and Gar hung onto consciousness grimly, thinking of that same hammer shooting up from beneath the ape on his back. He heard a startled contralto cry and the weight lessened. He shoved himself up, jolting his rider off, and scrambled to his feet in a small clearing among the circle of bootsthe outlaws had given the rider room. Now they pressed in, roaring and eager.
But only eight of them could get close enough to swing at him. They moved in, shoulder to shoulder, forming a circle, so no matter how many were waiting their turn, he only had to worry about the front rank.
Having started using telekinesis, Gar saw no reason to stop. He swung and kicked, grabbed shirts and turned, hurling their owners into their mates, then spun back to block the next punch. More than a few made it through his guard; pain burned in his side and back and flank, but he stayed on his feet and kept chopping, though his arms grew heavy as lead and weary, weary. They would wear him down, he realized with a sinking heart, then bucked his spirits up; they would know they'd been in a fight!
Finally a voice soared high over the tumult: "H-O-O-O-O-L-D!" The clansfolk slowed, then stilled, glaring at Gar with fists raised, but waiting. Gar stopped, too, fists high, chest heaving like a race horse's at the end of a run.
The outlaws parted and Rowena strode through. "All right, you can keep your pack." She turned to her people. "He fought well and he fought clean, and what good will it do us to kick him to bits?"
"'Specially since he might kick one or two of us into the long sleep first," the bearded man grunted.
"Could be, Clem, and I'd hate to lose you," Rowena returned.
Somebody chuckled in the crowd.
Rowena turned and clapped Gar on the arm. "Good enough, stranger. You're one of us, if you want to be-and if not, we'll trade for your goods, if you like anything we've got."
Gar felt the change in the emotions of the people around him, saw grins breaking out through puffy lips, and lowered his fists, though he still remained wary. "You folks keep the furs that you skin off your game, don't you?"
"That we do, and a'many of them are pretty to behold," Rowena confirmed, "though I don't know if it's worth putting off a new coat for a year, just to have something to trade for your pins and pretties."
Gar shrugged. "You'll have to look for yourselves." He caught up his pack and sat on his heels, unbuckling the flap and letting it fall. Necklaces of synthetic gems gleamed in the sunlight, packets of needles and pins winked, and a breeze wafted the scent of his spice packets to the outlaws. Some exclaimed with delight, others groaned with longing, and Gar felt so sorry for the poor folk who lived so hard an existence that such simple luxuries as these could brighten their lives so much, that he felt a strong impulse to give them away. Only an impulse, and he choked it quickly; without trade goods, he'd have no excuse to wander from clan to clan with impunity. Instead he said, "Let's take them over by your cottages and you can show me what you have to trade."
The outlaws agreed with shouts of approval and turned away to their cottages.
Rowena stayed by Gar, grinning. "Seems they've taken a liking to you, stranger."
"Gar," he said. "Gar Pike."
Rowena frowned. "Never heard of any Pike clan."
"We're from far away,
" Gar said, "very far."
"And so are your goods, belike. Well, they'd better be worth what my people bring you in trade-not gems that turn to slime in the rain, or needles that break on the first stitch."
"Oh, my goods will last," Gar assured her, "a very long time." After all, he had some notion of how well Herkimer's synthesizing machines had made them.
A voice from the roadside trees called, "Stop right there, stranger!"
Alea stopped, turning toward the sound. "I'm a peddler. Anything to trade?"
"A peddler?" The voice couldn't hide its eagerness. Brush rustled, and two clansfolk stepped onto the road from either side, their rifles lowering. The woman said, "Not too safe traveling alone, you know."
Alea shrugged. "Sometimes it's not too safe traveling in company, either." At the woman's frown, she explained, "It depends on your companion."
"I reckon that makes sense," the woman said. "Why, you don't even carry a rifle!"
Alea shrugged. "What good would it do me? As you say, people don't travel alone. What good is one rifle against two-or five or six?"
"Better than none," the man said, frowning.
"Worse than none," Alea countered. "If people see you're unarmed, they know you mean no harm." I The man and woman exchanged a glance. "She's got a point," the man allowed.
"She has," the woman said, and turned back to Alea. "I'm Hazel Gregor."
"Alea Larsdatter." Alea proffered a hand.
Hazel took it. "We have furs and pretty pebbles to trade, and if you don't want any of those, at least we can give you dinner I and a bed for the night. Come on along to the Big House, now, and let's see what you've got to trade with."
"Thank you." Alea relaxed a little and followed her back to their homestead, leaving the man on guard.
More sentries stepped out, alert and with rifles at the ready, as Alea and Hazel came up the track toward the house. When they saw Hazel, though, they waved and faded back into the shrubbery.
"Are they always on guard?" Alea asked.
"No, we take turns," Hazel said. "We change the guard every four hours."
"All your lives?"
"Of course," Hazel said, surprised. "We wouldn't want the Mahons to catch us napping."
A Wizard In a Feud Page 7