by J. T. Edson
Shortly after noon, the party came into sight of the Mun-Gatahs’ hunting camp. It was situated in the bottom of a large hollow and on the banks of a lake. Studying the way that the camp was laid out, Dawn had formed conclusions which were aided by the various comments she had heard passed between her captors. From what they had said, the nation was divided in its loyalties between the man and woman whom she had seen and spoken with at the edge of the chasm. Nor had there been any doubt as to which faction the trio supported.
The camp had been set up in the form of an open ended square. On the left and right sides, the tents grew in size until the far ones were of the pavilion type. The third side, which backed on to the lake, consisted of two more large pavilions with several smaller tents between them and the water. Watched over by youngsters wearing one piece white tunics, the majority of the party’s zebras were grazing near the camp. However, several mounts were standing saddled outside various tents. Lances, with pennants flying, were thrust into the ground alongside the animals. Few of the men wore breastplates and only the woman showed any evidence of which factions they supported. Those whose were adherents of the Protectress of the Quagga God followed Charole’s style of footwear. The supporters of the High Priest either wore greaves, or sandals of the slip-on variety.
Darting a look towards the pavilion on the left side, Elidor was disappointed to find that Charole was not coming from it. She did not doubt that the Protectress had been told of her arrival and she had been looking forward to flaunting her success. Sniffing in mingled annoyance and derision over Charole’s failure to appear, the woman guided her captive to the right and stopped alongside the High Priest’s quagga stallion.
Having been told that his party were returning, Dryaka strode majestically from his quarters. He had removed his breastplate and his helmet, exposing short-cropped black hair that was turning grey at the temples. He wore the usual white tunic, but with an illustration of a rearing quagga emblazoned on its chest. Halting just outside the pavilion, he gazed at Dawn with every evidence of satisfaction. Then he threw a glance across to the Protectress’s temporary dwelling. Even as he noted that she had not come to the entrance, a thought struck him. His head swiveled back to the riders, going from one to another. His expression of triumph faded as he failed to see Dawn’s bow and arrows.
‘We’ve brought the foreign bitch as you told us, Lord Dryaka,’ Elidor announced, but she was puzzled and uneasy at the evidence of the High Priest’s displeasure.
Before any more could be said the four members of the Council of Elders, who were on the hunt, emerged in pairs from their respective tents. Tall, bulky men with shoulder long white hair, they had on white toga-like garments that carried the rampant quagga insignia.
‘So this is the foreign woman, Dryaka,’ said Hulkona, the senior Elder. He nodded his approval. ‘She will make a worthy sacrifice for the Quagga God.’
‘Where are Sabart and the others?’ asked one of the second pair who was related to Charole and was hardly able to conceal his resentment that the High Priest’s party had brought in the prisoner.
‘Aren’t they back yet?’ Mador inquired, with such sincerity that he might have been speaking the truth. ‘We separated when we lost her tracks. After we’d caught her, we called, but they didn’t come and join us.’
Although Dawn was momentarily tempted to tell what she suspected, she decided to keep quiet. Her suspicions might be of more use later. So she sat without speaking and awaited developments.
‘Did you see any more of her people, Mador?’ the High Priest put in, guessing that there might be considerably more to the story than had been told.
‘No, Lord Dryaka,’ the man replied. ‘Perhaps Chanak has and is following them to see if he can capture more of them.’
‘It’s possible,’ Dryaka conceded. ‘Bring her inside. I want to question her—if I may, my lords?’
‘She’s your prisoner,’ Hulkona answered, but he noticed that the request for permission had come almost as an afterthought. ‘Care for her well, Lord Dryaka.’
‘I will,’ the High Priest assured the Elder, for he could sense a warning in the last sentence. ‘Bring her inside.’
Dismounting as the Elders walked away, Mador and the other man went to the grar-gatah. They liberated the girl’s feet, then Mador removed the thong which had passed from the link of the hobbles to the saddle horn. Before either man could make a move to lift her down, Dawn swung her right leg forward and above her mount’s head. Freeing her left foot from the stirrup, she jumped to the ground. Remembering how awkward she had acted previously, Elidor let out a hiss of annoyance.
‘Where is her knife?’ the High Priest demanded, having watched Dawn’s actions with interest, and noticed the empty sheath.
‘I have it, my lord,’ Mador answered reluctantly, returning to his banar-gatah and opening the saddlebag in which he had concealed the weapon.
‘Take her inside, Elidor,’ Dryaka commanded, accepting the knife and finding, as he had expected, that it was of very high quality. ‘See to your mounts, Mador.’
Swinging from her banar-gatah’s saddle, the woman stalked forward. Catching Dawn by the left arm, she pulled at it with the intention of forcing the girl to enter the pavilion. For a moment, Dawn considered taking advantage of the opportunity to make a reprisal against Elidor. Prudence dictated against it. While she did not doubt that she could render Elidor hors-de-combat, the men, or some of the women who were hovering nearby, would quickly subdue her. So she allowed herself to be guided roughly into the entrance.
Dawn found that she had been hustled into the main section of the large tent. A padded mat of what appeared to be silk covered the ground. There were several large cushions scattered on it and a low, long table was placed parallel to the rear wall.
Receiving a push in the back, Dawn staggered forward a few steps and almost fell. She managed to remain on her feet and came to a halt in the centre of the floor. Turning angrily, she glared at Elidor. Then her eyes went to Dryaka. The High Priest had followed them inside and he was standing examining the Randall knife with obvious interest.
‘It’s very good, isn’t it, my lord?’ Elidor remarked, following in the direction that Dawn was looking. ‘Their “Suppliers” give them better weapons than we get.’
‘Where are her bow and arrows?’ Dryaka demanded, lowering the knife to his side.
‘Her bow—?’ Elidor began and an expression of perturbation came to her face. Suddenly she remembered the High Priest’s interest in the arrows which had killed the eagle and Tomlu. She also realized what had caused Dryaka’s annoyance when they had brought in the captive. ‘She—She must have thrown them away so she could run faster when she saw us coming.’
An angry snort burst from the High Priest and, for a moment, he was on the point of striking the woman. He controlled his inclination with an effort, but his temper was not made any sweeter by the knowledge that he was partly to blame for the failure to gain possession of the girl’s bow and arrows. Because of his desire to avoid letting Charole’s supporters know how badly he wanted the weapons, he had not mentioned them when sending the party to hunt for Dawn. He had hoped that, if his adherents caught the girl, they would have sufficient sense to bring all her arms to him.
While Elidor and the two men were banar-gatah riders, they held their ranks by virtue of fighting ability rather than intelligence. That was one of the reasons why Dryaka considered Elidor an ideal replacement for Charole, whom he had helped to attain the position of Protectress of the Quagga God and who had subsequently proved too strong willed and clever to remain subservient to his will. Believing that Elidor would be more amenable and less ambitious, he had no wish to alienate her. So he decided to transfer his annoyance elsewhere.
‘Where did you leave your bow and arrows?’ Dryaka barked swinging his gaze to their captive.
‘Let me ask her, Lord Dryaka,’ Elidor requested when the girl did not reply, seeing a way in which she might retur
n to the High Priest’s favor.
Dryaka looked from the woman to Dawn, glancing for a moment at her manacled wrists and then raising his eyes to her face. Finding no fear on the beautiful features, he said, ‘You’ll find it less painful to answer me.’
‘Answer the Lord Dryaka!’ Elidor commanded, and without giving Dawn an opportunity to do so she glided forward and drew back her left fist, ‘or you’ll get more of this!’
With that, confident that she had little to fear from the girl, the woman shot her fist forward in a straight punch. It did not reach its intended mark, the centre of Dawn’s face. Having read the other’s intentions from her expression, the girl was ready to counter them.
Stepping back a short distance with her right foot and turning it outwards, Dawn crossed her hobbled wrists and threw them up. While the fetters did not allow her to separate her hands, the connecting links gave her enough play to form a karate X-block. Intercepting Elidor’s advancing arm, she forced it higher than it was supposed to go. Simultaneously, the girl brought her left foot around until it was almost touching the woman’s left sandal. By bending her knees, Dawn lowered her body a little. Then, freeing her wrists from the block, she snapped around and propelled her left elbow into Elidor’s midsection.
The woman might have counted herself fortunate that Dawn could not put her full power into the blow. Even at reduced force, it arrived hard enough to drive Elidor back a few steps and make her fold over. However, she did not go down. Nor was she badly hurt, as was shown by the way she lunged forward meaning to butt the girl in the chest.
Moving aside, Dawn avoided the attack and, pivoting, delivered a kick to Elidor’s rump as she went by. Squawking in fury, the woman stumbled onwards and barely avoided sprawling on to her face. She retained her equilibrium with an effort, halted by the table and turned. With her beautiful features distorted by rage, she sent her right hand flying to the hilt of her sword.
Hearing the commotion, the two women who were preparing a meal in the kitchen portion of the pavilion ran in to investigate. Standing by the entrance, Dryaka waved for them to keep back. He was watching the fight with interest and enjoyment, so did not want it brought to an end by their intervention. He considered that it was a good test for the foreign girl and would give him an idea of how she might fare against Charole.
Darting in a curve towards Elidor, Dawn bounded into the air. Wrapping her legs around the woman’s head, she allowed herself to hang down. When her shoulders came into contact with the silk covering of the pavilion’s floor, she twisted herself away from her opponent. Bowed forward by the girl’s weight, Elidor turned a half somersault and alighted on her back with the sword flying from her hand.
In performing the flying head-scissors, Dawn had failed to take into consideration that her hands would not be available to help her break the fall. So, while the throw was successful, the impact of her meeting with the floor had been more severe than she anticipated. By the time she had shaken off its effects, rolled on to her stomach and was starting to rise, Elidor had already come to her feet.
Ignoring her sword in her eagerness to retaliate for the punishment she had been taking, Elidor darted across the floor. While she was clenching her right hand ready to strike, her left fingers dug into Dawn’s tawny hair and heaved. Squealing an involuntary protest at the pain being caused to her scalp, the girl reacted fast. As she was being dragged erect, she thrust both her fists upwards and into the base of the woman’s imposing bosom. Although Dawn did not save herself entirely, her attack reduced the force with which Elidor’s right cross connected against the side of her jaw. However, the left to her bust was harder and it was followed by a straight right to the face which sent her reeling backwards. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth, but she kept on her feet.
Going after Dawn, Elidor was taking a warning from her earlier attempts and knew that the other was anything but the easy meat which she had anticipated. Wanting to distract the girl from her true purpose, she swung up both hands as if she was meaning to plunge them into and pull her hair. Having done so, on coming into range, she whipped forward her right foot in a kick. To make sure of her aim, she glanced down.
It was a mistake!
Noticing Elidor’s action, Dawn was not fooled. Taking a stride to the rear with her left foot and lowering her hips slightly, she drove her manacled wrists in a downwards swing that knocked the rising leg aside. Returning her foot to the floor, Elidor lashed a left hook at the girl’s head. Forming the X-block again, Dawn once more deflected the blow over her head. Spitting out a curse, Elidor fetched her right fist around in a hook aimed at the girl’s stomach. Before it could land, Dawn had interposed her crossed wrists and halted it. Having done so, the girl twisted and flung her right elbow as hard as she could into Elidor’s solar plexus.
Seeing the attack coming, Elidor tried to jump clear. The elbow landed, but was almost at the end of its flight. She grunted as it hit, then grabbed hold of Dawns left wrist with her right hand. Jerking in an attempt to pull the girl off balance, Elidor struck her in the chest with the other fist.
Instead of trying to tear herself free, Dawn fought to hold her equilibrium. Achieving her purpose, she stepped forward with her left foot so that it pointed towards the outside of Elidor’s advanced right leg. While she was doing so, she twisted sharply to her right so that her left elbow was exerting leverage against the woman’s grasp. Dawn then took a short, swift step to the right with her right foot. Setting her weight on that leg, with its knee slightly bent, she leaned away from Elidor and stamped with her left heel against the others forward knee. Pain caused Elidor to release her hold and retire a step. Pivoting before the woman had gone beyond her reach, Dawn flung a second stamping kick that took her in the pit of the stomach. It landed with all the driving thrust of the girl’s gluteus muscles behind it.
Letting out a strangled gasp, Elidor folded over at the waist. Linking her fingers, Dawn swung them as if wielding a baseball bat. Her knuckles caught the side of the woman’s head. Twirling around, Elidor crashed to and rolled over on the floor.
‘Stop her!’ Dryaka ordered, as Dawn went after her opponent.
Running forward, the two women grabbed the girl by the arms from behind. They were strong enough to restrain her. Nor did she struggle too hard, believing that the fight was over. However, having halted on her hands and knees, Elidor forced herself erect. For a moment, she stood swaying on spread apart feet. Then she stumbled forward with her hands crooked like talons.
Bracing herself against the two women’s grasp, Dawn swung her legs from the floor. The soles of her bare feet lashed up to meet Elidor’s jaw. Back snapped the woman’s head and her charge turned into an even more rapid retreat. Twirling helplessly, she collapsed face foremost on the table which buckled under her weight. She made an involuntary attempt to rise, then slumped forward and lay still.
The women threw Dawn to the floor before she could return her feet to it. Already breathing hard from her exertions, the landing winded her and she flopped limply. However, before the women could do anything more to her, Dryaka barked an order for them to leave her alone.
‘Go and attend to Elidor,’ the High Priest ordered. ‘Then bring water and food for the foreign girl.’
Waiting until the women had taken Elidor by the arms and dragged her into the kitchen section of the pavilion, Dryaka turned his gaze to Dawn. She was already sitting up and he studied her with satisfaction. Despite the failure to obtain her bow and arrows, he felt sure that she would serve his original purpose. If she could defeat Elidor while her wrists were shackled together, she would have a good chance against Charole with her hands free. Except that the end would be different. When Dawn fought against the Protectress, it would be to the death.
Chapter Fourteen – You’re Not A Mun-Gatah
The Protectress of the Quagga God was in anything but a pleasant mood as she rode alone across the plains about two miles from the Mun-Gatahs’ hunting camp in the late after
noon.
Ever since Charole had watched—through a slit specially made in the wall of her pavilion tent’s sleeping quarters—Elidor’s party returning with the foreign girl as their prisoner, she had been filled with an ever-growing sense of annoyance and perturbation. Not even receiving the news that Dawn had defeated the High Priest’s main female adherent in a fight despite having had her wrists secured by a pair of hobbles, made the Protectress feel any better.
On being told Mador’s version of the hunt for the foreign girl, Charole had not been surprised to hear that her half-sister’s party had separated from the other faction. So, although she was puzzled by Sabart and Chanak allowing their rivals to take the grar-gatah belonging to the dead eagle’s attendant, she had no suspicion of foul play having been done nor did she fear that her supporters would not be coming back.
Just about the only consolation Charole was able to draw from the situation was in thinking of Dryaka’s disappointment over his party’s failure to bring the girl’s bow and arrows with them. Although he had not referred to the weapons when sending the party after their owner, the Protectress had guessed that he wanted to lay his hands upon them.
Wanting to avoid having to put up with the High Priest’s smug satisfaction, Charole had anticipated his invitation to go and see the prisoner by taking her quagga and leaving the camp. She knew where to find a party of her supporters who were hunting and was heading for them. However, she was grateful for the opportunity to ride alone as it gave her time to think. She was aware of the threat to her position. After the failure of her eagle, and of Ragbuf and Sabart’s party, the people might start to believe that she was no longer in the Quagga God’s favor.
Something had to be done to restore her prestige, Charole told herself. The problem she must solve was what should she do? It would, she realized, have to be something important or spectacular to off-set her string of misfortunes and failures. Dryaka was building up too much superiority for anything of a trivial nature to bring her back level with him.