"I'm not sure yet. I'm going to the Tent of the Hunter to try and find out how he's guarded."
"They won't let you near him. I'll discover what you want to know. Then I'll come to Forollkin and we can plan."
"Gwerath, this is our trouble not yours. If your father found out..."
"I am the Torga of the Goddess," said Gwerath, "and you are my cousins. The trouble is mine. As for my father, he thinks I only have words to use against him. He thinks I am helpless, but I am not!"
"No, indeed cousin," answered Kerish carefully, "and it is true, we need your help."
She almost smiled at him.
Kerish walked back through the camp, the smoke of the cooking fires drifting across his path. Only a handful of tents and windscreens had been erected but Forollkin had one of them. Eamey had just brought him one of her potions. Forollkin sniffed the horn of liquid approvingly.
"Your potions are the tastiest thing I've had among the Sheyasa. This will never encourage me to get well."
"But I see you drink it anyway," said Eamey dryly. She turned to Kerish. "You have been to the Tent of the Hunter?"
The Prince hesitated.
"Perhaps you should not tell me." Eamey looked at him gravely. "Tonight, Tayeb will feast the Chieftain of the Beshgoreen, where the two camps meet. I will be with him. May the Goddess be with you."
She took the empty horn from Forollkin's hand and left the tent.
Lilahnee was butting at Kerish's legs, demanding attention. He knelt to stroke her and related his conversation with the Torga. When he had finished Forollkin raged at his brother for allowing Gwerath to help them, but waited for her return as anxiously as Kerish.
It was not long before she was with them, sinking down on a pile of cushions to recover her breath.
"Do you remember the Tent of the Hunter?" she asked. "It is made into three parts with tapestries. They have set up a stake in the third part and tied your servant to it. The tapestry is drawn back, so a guard beneath the image of the Hunter can always see him. The Torgu is there too and another warrior walking round the tent."
Forollkin grimaced. "Worse than I thought. Still, if I . . ."
"No, listen, I have thought of a way."
It was a good plan. Forollkin admitted that before he turned it down.
"Why?" demanded Gwerath.
"You cannot possibly help us openly," said Forollkin. "Your father..."
"My father may beat me," answered Gwerath, "but he would never really harm me. Besides, you will need me to lead you round the camp and through the herds. I know where every sentry will be, you don't."
"Forollkin," said Kerish softly, "we have no choice. We must go on."
Reluctantly, Forollkin nodded. Gwerath looked at him eagerly and he took her hands.
"Cousin, we can never repay the gift of your courage."
Her smile was ecstatic. "It is a good plan, kinsman, it will work!"
Later that evening, the Galkians left their tent. They placed cushions under the fur coverlets to deceive the casual eye. Cloaked and hooded, with Gwerath at their side and Lilahnee at their heels, they slipped through the camp. Stopping in a pool of shadow they looked at the Tent of the Hunter. Through its flap they could see a dim light but they could hear nothing but the wind-harps. Hopefully no warrior had come to make offerings. They had not watched for more than half a minute before a tall, scarlet-cloaked figure paced round the front of the tent. He carried a spear and there was a dagger at his belt. "Kerish," hissed his brother, "are you sure you can. . ."
Kerish nodded and gestured for them to go on. Beneath the folds of his thick cloak, Forollkin drew his dagger, left-handed. He placed his right hand on Gwerath's shoulder and seemed to lean heavily against her. With dragging steps they approached the entrance and were challenged by the guard. Gwerath answered him. "The Gift-bringer comes for healing as I told the Torgu."
The warrior nodded and lowered his spear. They passed through the flap.
Unnoticed, Kerish had slipped round the back of the tent. As close to the sentries' path as he dared, Kerish knelt and put his arms around Lilahnee. All through their walk to the tent he had pictured to the marsh cat what he wanted her to do. As footsteps approached he repeated the image and released her.
As the guard came round the corner of the tent, Lilahnee padded across the damp grass. The man started and lowered his spear but Lilahnee looked at him with guileless gold eyes and mewed softly. It was a reassuring and slightly ridiculous sound to come from so formidable a creature. The sentry relaxed. He had seen the new Torgu pet the beast and it seemed friendly. He let her twine round his legs and even stooped to stroke her.
Kerish came silently up behind him and struck him across the head with the rock in his hand. It was a heavy blow and the man dropped without a sound. To the Prince's relief the man was not dead. Kerish took a hide rope from his sleeve. Praying his clumsy knots would hold he bound the warrior's hands and feet, stuffed a kerchief in his mouth and dragged him into the long grass.
Inside the tent, a second guard was frowning at Gwerath and Forollkin. Behind him, in the unlit portion of the tent, they could see Gidjabolgo tethered to a stake, his slave-collar replaced by the scarlet garland of the victims of the Hunter. The frail figure of the Torgu of the Hunter stood, leaning on a staff, beneath the image of his god.
"You are welcome, Gift-bringer, " the old man murmured. "The Torga has told me of your need for healing. Come closer."
As if every step was painful, Forollkin came slowly forward and Gwerath helped him to kneel. He heard the rasp of boots on grass as the other guard walked past the tent-flap. They must give Kerish enough time to act.
"Teach me what offerings are acceptable to the Hunter," said Forollkin. "My wound will not heal."
"You must offer your soul to be skewered on the spear of the Hunter," answered the Torgu. "You must be caught in his snare, trapped in his net."
Ignorant of what the Torgu had shrewdly read in Gwerath's face, Forollkin wondered fleetingly why the old man had accepted her story so readily.
"I promise to fight for the Hunter; tell me . . ."
Forollkin swayed as if he were about to faint. The Torgu grasped his shoulders to support him but with startling speed Forollkin rose to his feet dragging the old man with him. The guard shouted for his comrade as he ran forward. There was no response.
"Make another sound and I'll cut his throat," said Forollkin, his dagger already pressed against the old man's neck.
The guard hesitated. His spear was poised but the Galkian was shielded by the Torgu's body and Gwerath stood behind them.
"Drop your dagger and your spear," ordered Forollkin, "and kneel with your hands behind your back."
Blood speckled the wrinkled skin as the dagger pricked the Torgu's throat.
"Do as he says," gasped the old man, "and leave them to the Hunter."
The guard obeyed. Gwerath bound him and collected his weapons and then dealt the same way with the Torgu while Forollkin held him. Together they pushed the two prisoners behind a hanging and left them lying there. Forollkin's hand flew to his dagger again as a man entered the tent.
It was Kerish. Half-overcome by relief and exhaustion and the very real pain in his side, Forollkin sank down on to a pile of furs.
"Cousin, are you all right?"
"Don't fuss me," said Forollkin testily. "The sentry?"
"Bound and gagged," answered Kerish, "where no-one should stumble over him."
"Remarkable. I congratulate my Masters on their unexpected talents. Deceit and violence."
Gwerath turned on the Forgite. "They could have just left you behind..." but Kerish was laughing as he cut Gidjabolgo free. He handed the Forgite a spear and a scarlet cloak taken from the first guard.
"Tayeb no longer guards us or the horses, so tonight we leave the Sheyasa."
"What, the lady too?" inquired Gidjabolgo.
He was looking at Kerish but it was Forollkin who answered, "She is merely gu
iding us through the herds, but you owe Gwerath your life."
"When we're safe away I'll thank her," said Gidjabolgo.
The three travellers, the girl and the marsh cat, left the black and scarlet tent, hoping its prisoners would not be discovered till morning. Most of the Sheyasa were mingling with the Beshgoreen where the camps met and they could faintly hear shouting and laughter. The south side of the camp was dark and still. Few fires were still alight and only women and children slept around them.
Nevertheless the travellers were cautious as they skirted the camp, slipping from shadow to shadow, to reach the place where the horses were tethered. They nearly walked into a laughing couple looking for an empty tent, but the young lovers hardly glanced at them. Once they stood holding their breaths while a group of half-men strolled within a few feet of them, discussing the best horn for carving belt-buckles.
They were near the edge of the camp when the last voice they wanted to hear spoke nearby.
"Perhaps I should speak to Gift-bringer tonight."
Tayeb was passing by, with his arm around Eamey's waist.
"He was sleeping when I looked in his tent a few minutes ago. Don't disturb him. "
Had Eamey really been fooled? Kerish didn't think so. She was Taana's friend still.
When the Chieftain had gone, the four of them crept on. Silently they approached the makeshift pens. The moon was hidden and the night was very dark. Among the black shapes of seated Irollga, Forollkin could just make out the glimmering white of their horses. They edged their way towards them but the Irollga soon sensed Lilahnee's presence. A few stumbled snorting to their feet and Forollkin was afraid that their uneasiness would soon bring a sentry to investigate.
"Kerish, take Lilahnee and wait for us by the stream."
The Prince obeyed and he and the marsh cat were soon lost to sight in the gloom. Kerish stood quietly, trying to blend with the darkness and wishing Lilahnee would not purr so loudly. He didn't see Gwerath walk boldly up to a sentry and Forollkin strike him from behind, but he soon heard the jingling of harness. Forollkin was leading both the horses and the pack ponies followed obediently, re-loaded with the luggage that had been dumped where they were tethered.
The Galkians mounted and Gidjabolgo scrambled on to one of the ponies who whickered in annoyance at the familiar clutch of his hands in her mane. Gwerath was also to ride a pony, since her own Irollga might bray at the scent of Lilahnee and raise the alarm. She mounted nimbly and an experimental kick brought her alongside Forollkin's tall steed.
"If we ride to the left of the second herd, we should avoid the sentries."
Forollkin silently reproached himself for letting her help them but it was Kerish who said, "Cousin, are you sure this is what you want?"
"We must hurry," answered the Torga of the Goddess.
Hoping to avoid the sentries guarding the herds from night marauders, Gwerath led them a crooked course through dangerous moonlight and welcome darkness. Afraid of making too much noise, they began at walking pace. Every time the moon came out from behind the clouds Kerish longed to break into a gallop. Even from a distance the silhouette of a horse could not be mistaken for that of an Irollga.
About half an hour after they had left the camp, as they were trotting up a slight incline, Forollkin said, "We should be clear of the sentries now surely. How long before we are out of the tribe's circle?"
"An hour's ride south, no more," answered Gwerath.
Forollkin leaned down to take her hand. "You have guided us well, cousin. I wish I could be sure that no harm will come to you through this."
"It won't," said Gwerath boldly, "if you take me with you."
Before Forollkin could answer, the moon came out again and Gidjabolgo yelped a warning as three spear-men rode over the ridge. Forollkin reached for the bow at his saddle but it was already too late.
"Move, Gift-bringer, and I will spear you," said Enecko.
Chapter 11
The Book of the Emperors: Chronicles
But the Emperor said to his son, "However good the cause, I beseech you not to depart. There are wrongs enough here for you to strive against. You may break free but you will wound those bound to you. Therefore, my dearest son, be sure the prize is worthy of their pain as well as your own."
Frozen by Enecko's words, Forollkin thought furiously. They were four against three but Gidjabolgo was useless and Gwerath only had a knife and Kerish....
"How dare you threaten the kinsman of the Chieftain?" Gwerath rode towards the unwavering spears. "He attends the Torgi, on the business of the Goddess."
"And the slave?"
"The Torgu of the Hunter has agreed to release him."
"You lie," said Enecko calmly, "the slave is marked as the hunted one and the chase ends only in death."
"You cannot threaten us," repeated Gwerath but her hand was moving towards the dagger at her belt.
"I serve the Hunter," answered Enecko, "and may pursue his slave. True, if I kill Torgi it will bring my own death, but there is nothing to stop me spearing Gift-bringer. My brother warriors will witness that he was helping the slave to escape. I will do it, if you do not throw down your weapons and ride back with me."
"Enecko," called Kerish, "if you take us back you will return a victim to the Hunter, but you will be making a far greater gift to the Goddess and to Tayeb. The Chieftain will rejoice at the return of his daughter and his nephews. He looks on me not only as a Torgu, but as his heir. Understand that if we cannot escape I will accept my captivity with grace and strive to rule the Sheyasa."
In the watery moonlight, Kerish could not judge the expression on Enecko's face. Perhaps he was only driving the Votary of the Hunter to thoughts of murdering them all. Would Enecko's companions agree to that? They already looked uncomfortable levelling their spears at Gwerath.
Kerish went on cautiously, "Consider the Goddess, she has a Torga and a Torgu now. I have shown a little of my power already and I can win new followers to her worship. But if you let us go, Tayeb will be made a fool. He will have lost his heir and the Goddess her Torgu. All this you can accomplish by riding by us in the darkness."
The two other warriors began to talk at once but Enecko hunched in his saddle, stroking the butt of his spear and murmuring a prayer to the Hunter. The marsh cat was beside Kerish, her head level with his stirrups. As a silence lengthened, he began to prepare her with images of attack.
Then Enecko gave his answer.
"You speak well, Torgu, and there is much I would ride past to show our people the folly of honouring a Goddess who sucks the blood from the men of the Sheyasa. Our Chieftain has no heart to break but there is much I would give to see his pride crushed. I agree. I will let you go, even the slave, for there are other victims and the Hunter will spear him in his own time. But there is one condition. The Torga of the Goddess rides with you."
"She should return," said Kerish.
Forollkin would have added his protest to Kerish's but Gwerath whispered, "Agree. I can slip back to the camp later."
While he hesitated, she called out, "We accept your condition."
"Good, then we shall ride with you to the edge of our circle. Ride in front of us and slowly," said Enecko. "Try to escape and I will spear Gift-bringer through the back."
As they were ordered, the travellers rode slowly south, with Enecko and his companions always a few paces behind them. After a silent hour they reached a shallow stream, sparkling fitfully in the moonlight. Enecko rubbed his forehead and murmured, "The circle tightens, can you not feel it, daughter of Tayeb?"
"I feel it."
"Cross!" ordered Enecko.
The marsh cat splashed over first, the horses followed. Gwerath came last so the others did not see her face as she urged her pony into the cold, swift water.
"Farewell, Torga of the Goddess," called Enecko, "look your last on the Children of the Wind. Your circle is broken."
"I will not turn back," said Gwerath.
Eneck
o raised his spear in mocking salute and shouted to his companions. They wheeled round and galloped back towards the camp.
"What does he mean?" demanded Forollkin.
Gwerath was staring after Enecko. "I cannot go back. They would witness that I have broken my circle and the Bull of the Herd would know it was true. I would die on his horns."
Forollkin noted furiously that Kerish did not look surprised and Gidjabolgo gave a throaty chuckle.
"Well, here's a useful companion on your quest. What sorcerer can stand against you now?"
"Be quiet," snapped Forollkin. "If I'd known, Gwerath, I'd never have let you help us, never!"
The Children of the Wind (Seven Citadels) Page 20