Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (35 page)

 
          
“We
can go around them and lose half a day,” said Brannoc. “A full day if we are to
be certain of avoiding any hunters they may have out. Or we can ride on and
hope they will not detain us.”

 
          
“If
they are peaceful why should they be a threat?”

 
          
Brannoc
grinned at the question. “The Beltrevan teaches that
everything
is a threat, my friend. Treaties or no, the Caroc may
object to our wandering at will through their territory. And they may have
forgotten that you slew Niloc Yarrum to become hef-Alador; I cannot tell, but
you have a decision to make.”

 
          
Kedryn
thought for a moment,
then
pointed ahead. “We cannot
afford to lose half a day—we press on.” He looked to each man in turn, adding,
“And we seek to avoid sword-play.”

           
Brannoc went on grinning; Tepshen
nodded once, but his sword remained at the ready. Praying that he had made the
right decision, Kedryn lifted his stallion to a trot. The others followed and
in a short distance Brannoc passed him, assuming the lead again.

 
          
They
continued along the leafy trail until the half-breed once more raised a warning
hand. Kedryn reined in alongside, aware that the woodland had fallen silent.
Brannoc pointed through the trees and Kedryn saw movement.

 
          
The
trail went down a shallow slope to a grassy bowl spread around a stream
tributary to the Alagor. What timber had once grown there was long cleared,
indicating a regular camp site. It was occupied: seven hide lodges were pitched
in a circle on the far side of the stream, a cook fire burning at the center;
six women sat about it preparing food. Seven men, five burly warriors, the
remaining two white-haired, lounged in the sun, and nine children splashed in
the water. There were eight massive dogs sprawled close to the fire in hope of
scraps, and as the watchers studied the camp one raised an ugly gray head to
growl a warning.

 
          
Instantly
the hounds were on their feet, closely followed by the warriors. The big gray
dog barked and started toward the stream, the rest of the pack behind, hackles
bristling and lips drawn back from the savage fangs.

 
          
“Ka emblan
pasa ,
”
Brannoc called, urging his horse out from the shelter of the timber.
“Ka vajari sul Drott.
Nera balan tu dr ami, quero tu aldan
sul para em pladijo.”

           
Dark faces studied him suspiciously,
but one man shouted at the dogs, stilling their forward surge. Brannoc reached
forward to touch the red and white feathers attached to his bridle.

 
          
“Pasa fori, chaddah.
Ka
pulan ni terro.”
He smiled hugely and muttered, “Follow me.”

 
          
Kedryn
and Tepshen did as they were
bade
, bringing their
horses out from the trees and down the slope behind the half- breed. The
warrior who had ordered the dogs to a halt spoke again and the hounds,
grumbling at the intrusion of strangers, slunk back among the tents. The
warriors studied the trio
warily,
nocked bows in their
hands, and Kedryn saw that the knives the women had been using on the food were
now held in readiness of more hostile purpose. Brannoc halted at the stream and
spoke again, no longer in the byavan, but in a more guttural tongue that
sounded to Kedryn all clicks and grunts.

 
          
Whatever
he said appeared to find favor with the wood- landers, for the bows were
lowered and the women went back to the communal cookpot, the children emerging
from the stream to stare in wide-eyed wonder at the newcomers.

 
          
More
words were exchanged and Kedryn took the opportunity to study the Caroc. They
were darker of skin than the Drott, with mostly red or auburn hair. The women
wore braids wound in thick circles either side of their feces, fastened with
gold pins. The men were bearded, some teased into plaits, others great bushes,
and their hair was uniformly drawn into long tails woven with shells and
feathers. Only the two oldsters wore shirts, patched garments of red and blue
and green, while the younger warriors were bare-chested, wearing only plaid
breeks bound about their sturdy calves with thongs, ankle- length moccasins on
their feet. All wore short swords at their waists, and long hunting knives;
four axes lay on the grass.

 
          
“We
are invited to eat with them,” Brannoc announced. “I have told them we travel
on a mission of peace to the Drott territory. The leader is called Mykal and he
says we may go with his blessing.”

 
          
Kedryn
let slip a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that no opposition was offered, and
followed Brannoc across the stream.

 
          
At
a word from Mykal, the horses were led away from the circle of lodges and
tethered in the shade of the trees, where they began to crop the luxuriant
grass with only an occasional snicker of animosity directed at the dogs. Mykal
gestured at the ground and Brannoc sat down, Kedryn and Tepshen to either side.
The Caroc hunkered around them, the children gathering behind the men,
fascinated by the strangers.

 
          
A
volley of guttural questions was directed at Brannoc, who responded with the
same unintelligible sounds, pausing every so often to translate for his
companions.

 
          
“Mykal
says that he will give us his symbol so that we may pass unquestioned,” he
explained. “He adds that the Drott are not yet gathered. This band is moving to
the Caroc Gathering, which the hef-Alador is invited to attend—he says he
remembers you from the battle at High Fort.”

 
          
Kedryn
paled at the thought of finding himself forced to delay his journey, but
Brannoc reassured him with the promise that he had explained their mission did
not allow such a sojourn, but that the hef-Alador would endeavor to attend the
Caroc Gathering on his return. He smiled at the red-bearded warrior, who beamed
back and directed a torrent of grunts and clicks in his direction.

 
          
“He
says,” Brannoc translated, “that it is a great honor to have the hef-Alador eat
in his camp, and that you are welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

 
          
“Thank
him,” Kedryn said, “and make some reasonable excuse.”

 
          
Brannoc
grinned and turned to Mykal, who shrugged eloquently, nodding vigorously.

 
          
What
excuse Brannoc had offered Kedryn never discovered, for a woman called then and
they moved to the fire, where wooden bowls were distributed, filled with a
flavorsome stew of venison and vegetables. It was a tasty meal and when it was
done Mykal brought a leather sack from his hogan and clay cups were passed
around.

 
          
“We
must drink with him,” Brannoc elucidated, grinning at the prospect. “It would
be an insult to refuse after taking his food.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded agreement, although he had preferred to move on, but deemed it wiser to
go with the goodwill of the headman. He smiled as Mykal unstoppered the sack and
filled the cups with dark red liquid. It tasted sweet, no more potent than
watered wine, and with Brannoc pointing out that only on occasions of great
importance was the brew produced, Kedryn found himself forced to swallow
several cups. Mykal was enthusiastic in his hospitality, filling his guests’
mugs as the day drew on and Kedryn felt impatience growing.

 
          
Finally
Brannoc announced that they might leave without offering offense and Kedryn
realized that the brew was far from innocuous as the circle of lodges seemed to
rotate slowly as he rose to his feet. Blinking owlishly he bowed to Mykal,
instantly regretting the courtesy as the movement transformed the rotation of
the tents to a seesawing motion. The Caroc laughed hugely, slapping Kedryn’s
shoulder with an enthusiasm that threatened to pitch him face down on the
grass.

 
          
“Come,”
Brannoc suggested. “Before he decides you are too drunk to ride and
insists
you stay.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded, thinking that he should express gratitude for the woodlanders’ hospitality,
but afraid that any words would founder on his swollen tongue. “Thank him,” he
mumbled.

 
          
Brannoc,
more accustomed to the liquor than his companions, expressed their gratitude
and turned toward the horses. Kedryn paced after him, concentrating on each
step as the ground appeared to undulate before him. It was not until he reached
his mount that he realized Tepshen was in little better condition. His own foot
seemed unable to find the stirrup, and it took a helping hand from Brannoc to
get him astride the stallion. Tepshen, he saw, still stood beside his mount,
staring fixedly at the saddle. The kyo’s face was calm as ever and his
movements had shown no sign of ill-effects, but now he appeared immobilized,
simply standing with his reins in one hand, the other on the pommel.

 
          
"Mount,”
urged Brannoc from his own vantage point astride the gray.

 
          
Tepshen
raised his head and Kedryn saw his eyes were unfocused, the pupils pinpricks in
the jet irises. He felt laughter building and gritted his teeth, fighting the
impulse.

 
          
“I
cannot,” said the kyo.

 
          
Brannoc
shook his head in exasperation and was about to dismount, but Mykal came to
Tepshen’s aid, shoving the wiry easterner bodily across the horse. It skittered
at the movement and Tepshen clutched desperately at the horn as Mykal slotted
one foot into a stirrup and another laughing Caroc set the other in place.
Tepshen straightened his back with an obvious effort and looked solemnly down
at the tribesmen.

 
          
“My
thanks,” he declared, enunciating each word with drunken care. “You are true
friends.”

 
          
Brannoc
translated, adding something that raised a gale of laughter from the Caroc, and
took the lead lines of the two pack animals.

 
          
“Now
follow me,” he ordered, turning along the tree line to pick up the trail where
it left the bowl.

 
          
The
motion of his horse threatened to bring Kedryn’s stomach up to his mouth and he
concentrated on the figure of Brannoc riding before him with grim
determination, vowing that in future he would find out what he drank before
allowing a drop to pass his lips. Then he heard Tepshen curse volubly as a
branch struck the kyo’s face, turning in his saddle to watch the easterner
struggling to maintain his seat. For all his impatience, Kedryn could no longer
hold back his mirth and began to chuckle at the sight of his friend swaying and
swearing, his customary dignity lost to the powerful Caroc alcohol. He stopped
when he suffered the same fate, so intent on watching Tepshen that he failed to
heed Brannoc’s warning and caught a branch squarely across his shoulder,
finding himself suddenly sprawled full length on the trail, looking up into the
kyo’s glazed eyes.

 
          
He
sat up, groaning, and rose on unsteady feet, not sure he was capable of
reaching the saddle again.

 
          
He
was about to try when Brannoc came up beside him. “I think,” said the
half-breed, “that we had best find the river.”

 
          
“Why?”
Kedryn asked, frowning as he concentrated on the suggestion. “We have water.”

 
          
“Lead
your horse,” Brannoc said. “Tepshen, can you stay in the saddle?”

 
          
“Of
course,” replied the kyo, swaying wildly.

 
          
“Then
follow me.”

 
          
Without
further ado Brannoc took them off the trail, down a deer track to the
waterside. He swung down and tethered the animals. Tepshen remained mounted.

 
          
“Climb
down,” Brannoc said, and the kyo proceeded to slip sideways, caught by the
half-breed.

 
          
“Undress,”
Brannoc ordered.