The Blood of Ten Chiefs

by Robert Asprin

  It was almost full dark, and the sounds of night had begun.

  Beside them the stream gurgled pleasantly. Somewhere an owl hooted, in preparation for its night's hunt. Chirpers and other insects were calling stridently.

  They walked without talking until they could no longer see the lights left out at the holt, then found a nice place where a rock shelved over the edge of the stream, mossy and soft and big enough for them all to sit on. They rested for a while, silent in the deepening night.

  At last Brightmist spoke up. "We want to go on a hunt," she said.

  "By ourselves," Deerstorm added.

  "Well," Freefoot said, "I don't see why you couldn't do that."

  "Suretrail said we couldn't," Greentwig said. "Fangslayer said it would be all right, but when we asked Suretrail, he said no."

  "I see. Well, he must have had a reason."

  "But now that you're back," Brightmist said, "maybe you can tell him it's all right."

  "It's about time," Greentwig said. "We're not children anymore."

  "We can take care of ourselves," Deerstorm insisted. "We've been on lots of hunts with the elders."

  "But we always have to hunt what they want to hunt," Crystalmoss said, "and let them attack first, and sometimes we don't even get in on the kill until it's all over."

  "Except for ravvits," Greentwig said, "and chuckers."

  "Will you let us go?" Crystalmoss asked.

  "I can't if Suretrail told you you couldn't," Freefoot said, "but maybe we can work something out. We saw tapirs at the clearing when we came by this afternoon."

  "They're no fun," Brightmist said. "You can walk right up to them."

  "How about the otters at the pool?"

  "Yeah," Greentwig said with innocent enthusiasm. "They put up a good fight."

  "No," Deerstorm insisted, "two of the bitches died this spring."

  "Besides," Crystalmoss said, "Suretrail told us we couldn't."

  "Hunt otters?" Freefoot asked.

  The four were silent. They hadn't asked to hunt otters.

  It was an old story. Children had to be protected while they learned to live and survive in the forest. But sooner or later they wanted a real challenge. The transition between childhood and adulthood was never easy. "All right," Freefoot said. "I'll see what I can do."

  Suretrail and Bluesky were sitting in front of Bluesky's den when Freefoot got back to the cliff. In spite of the late hour they were both making arrowheads. Suretrail, who was putting thong-notches on the delicate flint points, seemed to know what Freefoot had come for. He put down the piece he had been working on and looked up at his chief. "Are you going to let them go?" he asked.

  Freefoot sat down facing them. He watched as Bluesky took a large piece of nearly black flint and skillfully struck off a flake with a fist-sized rock. She turned the flake over and over, laid it down on her anvil stone and struck it again. It broke cleanly across. The two halves were somewhat overlarge but almost the right shape.

  "I told them I'd talk with you about it," Freefoot said. "They want your permission."

  "They're good cubs," Suretrail started to say as Fangslayer, then Catcher joined them.

  "They're not cubs anymore," Fangslayer said.

  "But did they tell you what kind of hunt they have in mind?" Suretrail went on. "They want to go to Tall-Trees for black-neck deer.''

  "Oh," Freefoot said. "I see."

  "I think they ought to do it," Fangslayer said.

  "They have to learn sometime," Catcher added.

  "Of course they do," Suretrail said. "But you need at least four to hunt black-neck. If they wanted to go out with a couple of more experienced hunters, okay. I'm not worried about Brightmist or Deerstorm. It's Crystalmoss."

  "She's the best thrower in the tribe," Fangslayer said.

  "With stones and darts and javelins," Suretrail said. "That's not heavy enough for black-neck. And she's not even fully grown yet."'

  "It's Greentwig who's the real problem," Bluesky said. "He's just not ready."

  "He's old enough," Fangslayer said.

  "They don't have enough experience," Suretrail insisted. "None of them are ready for this kind of hunt yet. Black-necks are too tough, especially at this time of year."

  "And Tall-Trees is too far away," Bluesky said. "It would take them half a day at least just to get there."

  "And besides," Suretrail said, "I've already told them they couldn't."

  "I still think they ought to have their chance," Fangslayer said.

  "They'll never learn," Catcher said, "if they don't find out for themselves."

  Glade, Grazer, and Dreamsnake came to join them. They already seemed to know what the discussion was about. Bluesky added wood to her fire so that they could be included in its light. The others made room for them.

  "Talon and I," Glade said, "took Greentwig and Crystal-moss out hunting yesterday. Beaver, up by the marsh. Crystalmoss did all right. But Greentwig, I don't know. I don't predict a long life for him."

  Bluesky brought out a pouch of dreamberries and passed it around.

  "An elf his age should have an adult name," Fernhare said. "Crystalmoss has hers."

  "I think Deerstorm has what it takes," Grazer said, "and not just because I'm her father. Brightmist, too."

  "They want to do this for themselves," Fangslayer said.

  "Of course they do," Glade said. "They want to prove themselves. But Greentwig is… just… the combination just won't work."

  "He is something of a disappointment," Dreamsnake said gently. "But Glade, you and Fernhare can't take care of Greentwig all his life. He must learn-somehow-or die trying."

  "I know," Glade said sadly.

  "If Longreach were here," Bluesky said, "maybe they'd let him be a part of their hunt. He's not that much older than Greentwig. With five, that would be fine."

  "If they could bring in a black-neck," Grazer said, "they would certainly prove themselves."

  "They would indeed," Freefoot said. He chewed another dreamberry, then sat back to think.

  "We can all remember," he said at last, "when we were first given the chance to hunt, not with our elders but on our own-not just for ravvits but for serious game." The others listened without comment. "We can all remember when we were first given full responsibility for our own hunt, whatever game and whatever place we chose. For some of us that's been a long time."

  Suretrail looked away. His decision was being challenged. Fangslayer just stared into the fire.

  "Suretrail," Freefoot said, "you did the right thing when you told them not to go."

  Suretrail muttered an acknowledgment.

  "But it's my responsibility now," Freefoot went on, "not yours. And Fangslayer," he turned to his older son, "you are right too. Those four are nearly of an age, and they must

  become adults. We cannot deny them their chance, as we all have had, even though they die. Even though."

  For a moment, all were silent. "And it's not fair to Brightmist or Deerstorm," Freefoot went on, "who will be full adults soon enough. Now is the time. Let us hope they all come back alive."

  The next morning Shadowflash went with Brightmist and the other young hunters when they left Halfhill. The weather was cool, and there was a slight mist in the forest. Shadowflash liked it when the forest was that way. Of course he liked the forest any way when he was with Brightmist. He wanted to go with her today, but he knew he would not be welcome this time. He was only going to see them off.

  They went upstream a way and then the four young hunters paused to call their wolves. Answering howls came back from different parts of the forest.

  The four youths were excited about the hunt, and now that they had finally gotten permission, a bit apprehensive as well. That was good.

  After a moment Fog, Brightmist's gray bitch, came walking toward them. She was a big old wolf and seemed to know that something special was about to happen. Then Scarface and Mask appeared, bounding lightly through the brush. Scarface
was Deerstorm's wolf, who bore the marks of a less than successful encounter with a forest pig. Mask was Greentwig's companion, black across the eyes and tawny brown elsewhere. Behind them came Dancer, long-legged and swift, bounding up to Crystalmoss's side. The elves greeted their animals, in the way of elves and wolves.

  Then Brightmist turned to Shadowflash and put her hands on his chest.**We'll be all right,** she sent to him.

  **I know. Keep an eye on Greentwig.** He did not look at the youth, tall for his age, handsome, sturdy, and somehow younger than Crystalmoss.

  **This could make a difference for him,** Brightmist sent.

  **It will, if he survives.**

  "Let's go," Deerstorm said. "You two can cuddle when we get back."

  The wolves were impatient too, They could sense their companions' excitement and wanted to get on with it. Shadowflash touched Brightmist's pale ruddy hair, then turned and went back to Halfhill.

  The hunting party went upstream to the west. The mist dissipated before they got to the big south loop, which they cut across instead of following, and by the time they got to the marsh the day was warming. They had been too excited to have breakfast so they caught a few of the marshrats that lived there. The animals were so plentiful and slow that it was hardly hunting.

  The stream went on beyond the marsh, but they crossed the water there and headed southwest. The ground rose. Bald Hill was directly to the south, though its rocky top was not visible from this far away. They passed its sloping shoulder, moving quickly, ignoring the plentiful small game. It was an easy walk, though the forest was dense with undergrowth.

  Still, it was nearly noon by the time they got to the edge of Tall-Trees. Brightmist had not been there before. She couldn't help but pause as they left the denser forest and entered the parklike area.

  The trees were huge deciduous junipers, each one twenty or thirty paces or more from its nearest neighbors. The ground was covered with a ruddy-gray carpet of fallen foliage, scalelike and ankle-deep. The branches overhead completely covered the sky, so high that they got dizzy looking up at them. The tree trunks were so big around that the four of them together holding hands could not encircle one. The

  bark was shaggy and loose, and gave no purchase when they tried to climb.

  The forest floor was not completely bare. Here and there were a few small plants and shrubs that preferred deep shade, but they hardly obstructed the view. They could see for hundreds, maybe thousands of paces in every direction.

  Some ways off was what, had it been in a clearing, they would have called a copse. It was a dense, rounded mass of brush and vines that grew where the trees were farther apart, and where the sun was able to come down from the canopy of branches overhead. It was maybe thirty paces across, its verge abrupt, and the taller trees within it were about four times as tall as an elf. Still, the lowest branches of Tall-Trees were many times higher than that. There were other similar copses farther off, some smaller, some larger.

  They were all in awe of Tall-Trees. Even the wolves seemed to know that this was a special place, the last of an ancient forest left over from some previous age.

  "Look," Greentwig said. He pointed. There, so far away they could not tell what kind it was, was a buck deer. It was walking alone, and they watched it as it went from one great tree to another and then disappeared into a copse.

  "That's where we'll find the black-necks," Deerstorm said, "in the copses."

  "Then let's go hunting," Brightmist suggested.

  They went to the nearest place of brush, shrubs,-and vines, several hundred paces from the edge of the forest. Except for the one deer, they had seen or heard no other life in the park. But there was plenty in the copse-birds, squirrels, insects, bats hanging asleep from the head-high branches. The copse was small, and there were no deer there, but they did startle a forest antelope, its head barely chest-high to an elf. They did not chase it as it went bounding off in search of a safer refuge.

  They left the copse and went toward a larger one more

  likely to shelter their chosen prey. It felt strange, walking in an openness that was still roofed by branches. They could see so far in all directions that for the first time they realized they were truly alone, truly on their own here. They felt rather small and young. The great clear spaces between the trees was not like a clearing, or the meadow, or the prairie; it was different.

  As they went deeper into Tall-Trees, the copses became larger and farther apart. They quickly learned that while they could see great distances here, so could the other animals. They had to move carefully from one copse to another, to avoid being heard or seen before they got to the shelter of the brush. More than once they heard some unseen animal bounding away from the far side of a copse as they approached uncautiously.

  Sometimes they saw white-tail deer, occasionally red deer, in the copses or crossing the park between them. The wolves wanted to hunt, and it was not easy to explain that that was the wrong game. They took an occasional ravvit or pouch-rat, to fortify themselves, but avoided the prickle-spines and the badger they surprised out of its burrow. They found no traces of black-neck deer.

  Black-neck were uncommon in the elves' hunting range. Most of the year they lived in the upland forests to the south and came here only during the month or so just before the mating season. They were far bigger than the white-tail or even smaller red deer, which lived here year round.

  And at this time of year they were dangerous. The bucks, which would not eat much until the mating was over, were antsy with the upcoming rut, nervous, cautious, and prepared to fight with anything. The does, though not territorial, could also be deadly. Besides anticipating the mating, they would be protecting fawns and yearlings. White-tail or red deer would be far easier game.

  But it was black-neck they wanted, and at last, in the

  seventh and largest copse they had visited, they came upon traces of their quarry. The smell of the black-neck droppings was distinctive, and now that the wolves had the scent they could follow it.

  The deer were not in that copse, but the trail was fresh and led them past several smaller copses toward another large overgrown area, some distance away. They hurried toward it, but cautiously.

  The hunt was serious now. They entered the copse as quietly as they could, one step at a time, penetrating the dense growth of vines, bushes, tall grasses, and leafy herbs with as little noise as possible. The scent of the deer was strong, and fresh. They paused frequently to listen. There were squirrel sounds, bird calls, a ravvit dashed off through the brambles. But there was also the sound of a branch moving, and there was no wind, not even a breeze. They moved closer and could hear the sound of bark tearing. That was the deer grazing.

  They kept in touch by sending as they closed in. They were excited when they saw the deer-two big bucks, five does, as many yearlings, and maybe four fawns. The wolves were naturally cautious.

  The bucks were huge, over twice as high at the shoulder as an elf, their black manes thick, their antlers at full growth, broader than an elf could reach, with spear-sharp points. One of them would provide more meat than the four antelopes Freefoot and his hunting party had brought in. The more they watched, the more fascinated the elves became, and the more frightened.

  **Which one should we take?** Greentwig asked.**There's a yearling.**

  **If we wanted that spindly thing,** Deerstorm sent back,**we might as well have gone after red or white-tail.**

  **We don't dare try for a buck,** Brightmist sent. Unless they dropped it on the first strike, they would be in danger of

  their lives. Later these two bucks would become deadly enemies; right now they would help defend each other and the rest of the herd.

  **How about that doe,** Crystalmoss suggested,**the one on the far side.** It was the largest of the does, but also somewhat slower.

  **She won't have many more breeding seasons left,** Deerstorm agreed.**The younger does could easily replace her.**

  They circled into
position, then Greentwig, who was farthest around, sent,**Wait!**

  **What is it?** Brightmist asked, then she heard it too.

  There was another animal nearby, in a thicker part of the copse, not that far from the doe. The wolves one by one caught the scent, and they, too, were distracted. The animal sounded large, and its scent was unfamiliar. Carefully, they moved to where they could see the creature.

  At first they thought it was just a forest pig, but it was nearly half the height of the buck deer-taller at the shoulder than Crystalmoss-and fully as heavy. No forest pigs got that large. Its body was angular, its shoulders high and sharp, its face was knobbly and very long, its head huge, with a crest of dark reddish hair. And it had two tusks growing up from each side of its lower jaw instead of just one, each tusk longer than an elf's hand.

  It rooted around the bases of certain bushes, digging up tubers and occasionally pulling plump fruits off the branches. And even as they watched they all got the same idea. What if they brought back this animal instead? The black-necks would be around for several eights-of-days yet, but this might be their only chance at a strange pig like this.

  Pigs were, pound for pound, more dangerous than anything except badgers and wolverines. Even wolves and long-teeth were cautious about taking one. They would have to be especially careful, not only because it was a pig, and so

  large, but also because it was unfamiliar and they didn't know its ways.

  Quickly they planned their attack, then struck. Deerstorm's arrow bounced off the pig's boney face, Greentwig's lodged high in the shoulder, Brightmist's struck a rib, and Crystal-moss's javelin struck a flank.

  The pig jerked up and squealed with surprise and pain as they readied for a second shot. The wolves closed in to keep the pig confused. The deer moved quickly away.

  The three archers shot, but the pig's skin was tough. It squealed again and spun around. The wolves danced out of reach of its tusks. Crystalmoss threw her second javelin and hit the pig at the base of its neck, but the light weapon could not penetrate the bone and muscle. The pig crashed off, knocking Dancer aside.

  They dashed through the brush in pursuit. The wolves raced ahead to try to turn it. Brightmist got her spear ready for a charge, but the pig zigged and zagged out of her way. Deerstorm and Greentwig couldn't get a clear shot with their bows through the dense undergrowth.