The welcome was rude and abrupt, though it might have been a bit better if they had reached the village.
They managed to find a road by the simple expedient of going downhill and following the sound of water; the trackway ran beside the river, as farmers’ roads often did. They had been following it for only ten minutes when Gar stiffened.
“What’s the matter?” Alea asked in alarm. “Company coming,” Gar said, clipping off the words. “Armed and looking for trouble. Hide, quickly!”
Alea turned toward the brush at the roadside, then realized he was standing still and turned back. “Didn’t you hear yourself? Come on!”
“Someone has to talk to them,” Gar said, “or we’ll never learn anything.”
“Then I will.” Alea came back.
“Believe me, companion, you have more to fear from them than I do,” Gar said grimly, “and I shall be stronger for an ally in reserve when they think I’m alone. Hide, I beg you, or I shall have to flee with you, and we’ll lose this chance for information.”
“All right, be a fool if you must!” Alea said, exasperated, and turned to slip in among the underbrush. Still, he had a point if they tried to harm him, she could leap out and strike from behind. Her heart quailed at the thought, but anyone who had fought wild dogs could summon the courage to fight wild men. Not that it would do her much good, probably, but it might give him a chance.
There they came, six men riding, with crude wooden shields slung from their saddlebows and spears in their hands. Alea shuddered at the sight of them; they were rough-looking men, all dressed alike in brown leather jerkins and trousers, several days overdue for a shave, and all glowering. They saw their quarry and yelped like hounds on a scent, kicking their horses into gallops.
Gar stood, leaning on his staff and watching, apparently tranquil and interested—but Alea knew that he was really putting no weight on the wood, that the pose was only an apparently harmless way of having both hands on a weapon.
The riders drew rein with savage cries, surrounding him and grinning. It was hard to gauge their height when they were mounted, but Alea could tell they were much shorter than Gar.
“Well, here’s a big enough catch!” said one. “You’re meat for the general now, fellow!”
“For the general what?” Gar asked, interested. The riders guffawed, and the spokesman said, “General Malachi, that’s what! What d’ ye have in that pack there?”
“Only the usual goods,” Gar said, “ribbons and needles and the like.”
“Girls’ stuffs,” one of the men sneered, but the leader said, “Off with it, then, and hand it over!”
Gar shrugged out of the straps, changing his staff from one hand to another to do so, then dropped it at his feet. He frowned at it for a few seconds as though thinking it over, then looked up and said, “I don’t think so.”
Alea felt a thrill; he had taken off the pack to free him for a fight. It was a good tactic, but what would happen if they stabbed at him?
“What did you say?” The leader’s eyes narrowed. Alea was wondering the same. What did the big galoot think he was doing? Didn’t he know that kind of reaction would incite them to use those spears? Yes, of course he did. Though why on earth he should be picking a fight with six mounted, armed men was more than she could say—until she remembered how much he could do with his mind.
“Hand it over, the sergeant said!” one of the men snapped.
“I’d rather not,” Gar said.
“Then we’ll take it!” The loudmouth drew back his spear.
“No, hold.” The leader held up a hand, eyes narrowing. “What kind of man would talk back to six spears?”
“Someone who’s big enough to carve up between us,” another man grunted, leveling his weapon. “And someone who’s sure he can handle the lot of us,” the sergeant said. “He can’t, of course, but I’d like to know why he thinks so.”
“The lot of us?” the other man scoffed. “He can’t handle one!” He jabbed at Gar with his spear halfheartedly.
Gar whirled, the man yelped, and there was a loud crack.
3
Somehow Gar was standing with his back to a horse whose saddle was empty because its rider was struggling with Gar’s arm around his neck, holding him as a shield.
“Yes, I thought it might be something like that,” the leader said conversationally. “Good moves, fellow, but you don’t really think you can take all six of us, do you?”
“I could have a lot of fun trying,” Gar said with a grin.
The leader leaned back, looking down his nose at Gar with a weighing gaze. Then he nodded slowly. “A fighter like that, with a size like yours, would be just what the general wants. Gawn, take his pack.”
One of the riders leaned down as his mount stepped forward and yanked at the pack. His eyes widened at the weight but he managed to swing it up in front of him anyway.
“There now,” said the leader, “all this because you wouldn’t give us your pack, and here we have it anyway.”
“Only for the moment,” Gar said.
“A bit more than that, I think,” the leader returned, “but I’m not here for a few trinkets, I’m here recruiting. We’ll let General Malachi bargain with you. Off up that track, big man, or we’ll leave you here looking like one of your pincushions.”
For a moment, Alea was afraid Gar was going to defy the man again—but he grinned and let the rider loose. “All right, I’ll meet your general. He sounds as though he might be more of a match than this pollywog.”
“Pollywog, am l?” the man husked, and coughed. “Don’t worry, your throat will be good as new within the hour,” Gar assured him.
“You won’t be, if I have anything to say about it! This pollywog has teeth!”
“Not until you’ve grown a bit.”
The man mounted his horse, snarling, “This big enough for you?”
“Not really,” Gar said. “Besides, I’ll keep your tooth.” He held up the spear.
The rider yanked a hatchet from his belt and swung it up.
“None of that!” the sergeant barked. “He’s for the general! ”
The rider froze, blood in his eye, then lowered his spear with a muttered obscenity.
“You shouldn’t say such things about yourself,” Gar admonished. He turned to the leader. “You take good care of your men.”
“Meaning that even if we’d done for you, he wouldn’t have seen the end of the fight?” The leader grinned. “We’ll see how your boasts work in battle. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Gar.”
The leader didn’t seem to notice the lack of a last name. “Well, Gar, I’m Sergeant Router, and you don’t have your pack to guard your back anymore—so what say we all go to see General Malachi nice and friendly-like, eh?”
“Yes, I’d be very interested.” Gar stepped forward into the middle of the group.
Most of the riders seemed a little taken aback at his sudden compliance, but Alea wasn’t. She was sure that Gar was indeed very interested—interested in any hint of this planet’s government, and a general would certainly be a good beginning for that. But why, in the name of Loki, had he baited them and earned their bad will if he was going to go with them anyway?
“Who gets his pack, Sergeant?” one of the riders asked.
“Drop it,” Router said. “He’ll be a soldier now, not a draft animal.” He grinned down at Gar. “Of course, if you get away from us, you can always come back for it.”
“Why should I want to get away?” Gar asked mildly. “You’ll learn the reason if the general lets you join up,” Router said. “You’ll be a soldier, my lad—that’s what the general calls his men; he says it’s an old word he’s freshened up to use again. Yes, you’ll be a soldier, and soldiers have to be trained.”