The tall man smiled fleetingly. “We all are Horseclansmen, Bettylou. I am called Milo Morai. While some few of the more southerly clans do take the heads of and mutilate the dead bodies of their foemen—which practices they learned from an even more southerly people, the Mexicans—Clans Krooguh and Skaht do not, and it is their young men who make up this raiding party of mine.
“Despite all of the half-truths, exaggerations and outright lies that your folk tell of our folk, no one of the clans has yet sunk to cannibalism.”
He jokingly mindspoke, “Unless members of the Clan of Cats are taking to munching manflesh on the sly …?”
Elkbane beamed aggrievedly, “Please, Uncle Milo, don’t think things so unpleasant, so sickening, so soon after I’ve eaten that cold mutton. If you could only imagine just how foul is the taste of two-leg blood, you could not then be so cruel to your cat-brothers.”
“But how …?” Bettylou half-whispered to herself in consternation. Then, aloud, she asked, “Please, Elder Morai, did … could I have struck my head when I fell? Though your lips never moved, I could have … I … I thought heard you talking somehow to that biggest cat and him answering you!”
“She is a mindspeaker, Uncle Milo,” put in Flopears, “though I doubt she ever has used that ability before today.”
Bettylou saw broad smiles appear both on the face of Elder Morai and on that freckled one of the auburn-haired younger man. Then, although his lips were unmoving still, the Elder was once more speaking … no, not really speaking. But she could hear no, not really hear, but she knew exactly what he was saying … no, thinking.
“Just so, my child,” came the Elders beaming. “Thoughts are transmitted far faster and much more accurately by this way, that we Horseclansfolk call ‘mindspeak,’ than by oral means. Also, it is the only really effective way of communicating with prairiecats or horses, and there are a few other animals, wild animals, with whom a strong mindspeaker can converse, as well. I sense that you possess powerful but presently quiescent mindspeak abilities, child. Therefore after we all have eaten, Tim and I and a few others will begin to show you how to bring them to the surface, to properly make use of them.”
By sunup of the next morning, when the returning raiders came in sight of the grazing herds surrounding the two-clan camp, Bettylou Hanson had been mindspoken by all of the raiders, all three of the cats and several of the horses, as well. Moreover, she had discovered to her bubbling delight that she could answer just as silently, so she was feeling safe and comfortable and very much at home among her erstwhile captors even without the reassuring beams of Milo and the cats.
She still wore her red dress. It was somewhat more faded now from a thorough washing in the brook, but one of the raiders had skillfully mended all of the rips and tears. However, that was no longer her only item of attire; her feet and her lower legs were now protected by a gifted spare pair of Horseclans boots, into which were tucked the legs of a pair of baggy homespun trousers. They were the first breeches of any sort that Bettylou had ever worn, and she was not certain that she liked them, although they were, she easily admitted to herself, invaluable protection from the cutting blades of the tall grasses through which they had had to ride for much of the journey from the daylight camp.
By way of the lessons in mindspeak, she had learned many things. She had learned that the freckle-faced, auburn-haired man who had captured her and who now claimed her was called Tim, that he was the third-eldest living son of the Tanist of Clan Krooguh. The title had been strange to Bettylou and the explanation of it had been even more singular.
Tim’s father was the husband of the eldest sister of the present chief of Clan Krooguh, and therefore Tim’s eldest brother would be, by Krooguh Clan custom, the next chief upon the demise of his maternal uncle. Tim’s clan and some others reckoned legal descent through the mother, therefore he was a Krooguh, rather than a Staiklee, his sire’s name.
She had learned that this was Tim’s second raid, Though he had slain two foemen on his first raid—proven, well-witnessed kills, both of them, one with an arrow, one close on, with the saber—he personally had seized no notable loot, although he had of course shared in that loot apportioned to his clan from the proceeds of the raid. He now was immensely pleased at the good fortune he had enjoyed in capturing her, a comely, young and obviously fertile woman.
She had earned that Tim Krooguh was only four years her senior, he being not quite of eighteen winters. She had learned that this was about the average age for most of the men of this particular raiding party. When the general friendliness after they had ridden out at sundown had overcome to some extent her awe of Elder Morai, she had asked him his age. With a tinge of dry humor, he had beamed, “Old as the hills, child.” She had not presumed to press him for a more specific answer, just then.
She was beginning to truly like these strange men, all of them, but especially Tim Krooguh and Elder Morai. Being of an honest nature, therefore, she had tried to make them aware of her Sinful status, of the unholy Evil she harbored, the Sin-tainted seed which had caused her to conceive of Elder Claxton last winter.
Tim had seemed to not understand or really care, while Elder Morai had just shaken his helmeted head and beamed, “Bettylou, you must understand that you are no longer among the Dirtmen. Horseclansfolk do not adhere to that savage perversion of a religion or make claim to worship so cruel and capricious a god.
“Tim will wed you by clan rites, if his chief approves of you. And approve of you Dik Krooguh assuredly will, if only because I approve of you. That babe in your belly will be born one of the freest of men and women, a Horseclanner. Although life may be a bit difficult for you at first among us, I can see that you are made of the proper stuff; you’ll rapidly adapt. Soon you’ll be a full-fledged woman of the Horseclans, and you’ll come to really pity those poor creatures among whom you were born and reared.
“When once your babe is born and is old enough to no longer require constant attendance Tim will take you out to the Clan Krooguh horse herd to introduce you to the senior stallion, who then will conduct you about until you meet a filly you like who likes you. You’ll also be given weapons and taught how to use them properly—saber, spear, dirk, saddle-axe, sling, but especially the Horseclans bow.
“You will abide in the yurt of Tim’s father Djahn, sharing the communal chores with, your sisters-in-law, such other wives as Tim may take unto himself, any concubines the men of the yurt own or may come to own, and all supervised by Tim’s mother, Lainah.”
“I will not then be Tim’s only wife, Elder Morai?” she asked. “How many others will there be?”
Elder Morai had shrugged, beaming. No more than two or three at the time, including you, Bettylou, unless he should become the chief of Clan Krooguh. In that case he might take more wives or a few female slave-concubines. A chief has need of a large household, you see.”
She wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. “But, Elder Morai, Tim says that he never will be chief, rather that his eldest brother will be.”
Morai frowned. “You must understand Bettylou, we of the Horseclans lead a life that is most often hard, though more often rewarding. And though we live freer than any other race of folk, our lives are fraught with daily dangers, some of them deadly. Men of the Horseclans do the bulk of the fighting, almost all of the raiding and the larger part of the hunting of bigger, more dangerous animals. Therefore, the attrition of male warriors had always been high, and that is the major reason why men take as many wives as they can support or abide and get on them as many babes as Sun and Wind will give them.”
“Tim has already lost two brothers, One of them drowned as a child while the clan was crossing a river, the other—who was Djahn Staiklee’s firstborn—was slain three years ago while riding a raid. It is easily possible that both of Tim’s remaining brothers will die before their uncle, old Dik Krooguh, in which case Tim would be his successor.”