As if the elements favored him, the morning sky dawned gloomy, and intermittent light rain showers began shortly after sunrise. While Gord dozed in the saddle, Windeater trotted along, seeming to enjoy the dark and foul weather as much as he liked sunny days. Suddenly, a clap of thunder brought the young rider to wakefulness. The grass around him was tossing like wind-whipped water. Huge, flat-topped clouds loomed in front of him, black and ominous, their interiors illuminated by great flashes of lightning. Windeater did not mind the gentle rain, but thunder and lightning were another matter. The horse's eyes grew huge and wild, showing white, and his nostrils became dilated. Gord patted his neck and spoke soothingly to the stallion, but the streaking lightning and booming thunder undid his work as quickly as the young thief did it. Then the wind increased, rain sheeted down, and the crack and bang of the great storm hammered so at the senses that Windeater became unmanageable. Gord swung the animal's head toward the south, the only direction where the fury of the weather seemed less, and gave the courser his head. Windeater ran, and Gord held on for all he was worth.
After a time, the ground beneath Windeater's hooves became harder and more slippery. This rocky landscape made traveling difficult, but Gord let the horse pick his way through the terrain instead of trying to search for a safer route. He knew that somewhere in this area would likely be a cave or projection where man and horse could find a dry and safe haven. And they did indeed find a large overhang, which provided the two with a relatively dry and comfortable place to wait out the storm. After unsaddling Windeater, Gord hobbled the exhausted stallion and fed him a handful of grain. Then the young adventurer stretched out on the hard stone and instantly fell asleep.
When Gord awoke it was dawn, and he was stiff, sore, and miserably damp – but at the same time heartened by the fact that it would be impossible for his pursuers to continue to track him through the rain and over the rock. Windeater seemed to have recovered from his harrowing experience. Sometime during the night, when the rain had let up, the animal had moved out of the sheltered spot; he was now a hundred feet distant, working on eating the bits of vegetation that cropped up here and there among the stony ground and precipitous walls of rock around them. The storm still lingered, for Gord could see occasional lightning far to the north. Southward, the sky was clouded but undisturbed. To his left, Gord saw a dark line of the sort that could only indicate mountains, while to the west deep clouds bumped the plain and showed that the storm traveled southwest.
"Windeater, we must ride south, between the storm and the mountains," he said to the stallion as he placed blanket and saddle upon the horse's strong back. "At least we will no longer be troubled by any hounds of Yoll dogging us!"
Chapter 7
EVERYWHERE THE LAND was parched. It wasn't all sandy desert, or even a combination of sand and rock. There were patches of such ground aplenty, but more frequently the land was cracked earth dotted with skeletal plants. There were cacti and stunted trees too, growing in depressions and along steep-sided gullies.
"I guess it does rain here… sometimes," Gord said, patting his horse's neck as he peered around at the waste. "I am glad you are a hearty one, Wind-eater, or else we would be in desperate straits." The stallion moved on, ears twitching to indicate he heard his master's words, but he had interest only in where his hooves were placed. They had been traveling across the barrens for two days. Wind-eater had been able to find sufficient forage, but didn't like the cracked ground. Sand and rock troubled the stallion not at all – in fact, the courser moved with ease through the loose grains of such stuff, and trotted easily on hard sheets of bare rock. However, broken and powdery dirt, prickly succulents, and potholes made the courser uneasy, and as he paced through such terrain he paid attention mainly to his footing.
The ground became very rough. Gord dismounted and walked his mount then, not wanting to risk a fall or a broken leg. Clambering down a steep bank, they found themselves in a boulder-strewn wash that apparently served as the bed of a swift watercourse at times. The relatively smooth and level terrain here offered a fairly sure and easy means of travel, so Gord and the stallion shifted their path from south to southwest, following its course. At mid-morning they rounded a sharp bend, and Gord's eyes lit up in the same instant that Windeater's nostrils flared.
"Look, Windeater!" Gord boomed. "Water at last!" In a moment both man and horse were drinking from a deep pool off to one side of the dry wash – a place where the flood that came periodically sweeping along the wash had deposited some of its content. It was a well-used waterhole, judging from the signs of hoof and paw imprinted around it. As thirsty as the two travelers were, neither man nor horse cared. After checking quickly to see if any predatory animals lurked nearby, Gord dismounted, dropped to his knees, and began splashing and drinking. Windeater lowered his head and sucked up great gulps of the precious liquid even as his master did likewise.
"If you move, Bayomen dog, you are dead!"
Gord froze. Lifting his head imperceptibly, the young adventurer could just see shadows that indicated men behind him, advancing as they came down the slope of the wash. The horse jerked his head up and snorted wildly at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Then came a clatter as rocks were dislodged by approaching feet, and at that Windeater snorted again and bolted, trotting away on down the dry wash.
"Kodan! Vahkta!" cried out the same voice that had threatened Gord. "Stop that horse! He is worth more than this one in the Great Bazaar!" A short distance ahead, Gord saw a couple of men riding camels appear over the edge of the wash and head down into the depression, trying to intercept the runaway horse.
In the bit of confusion this incident caused, Gord decided to take a chance. With one smooth move he rolled to his right, gained his feet, and started to dart away along the same route Windeater had taken. But before he could take more than a couple of steps, a lasso circled his upper arms and drew them tight to his sides, stopping him in his tracks. A second later, another lariat tightened around his neck. The point of a weapon touched the small of his back at the same time. Gord stood stock still. He was captured, and there was no use attempting anything now to compound the peril. The weapon at his back was taken away. Then two of his attackers, mounted on camels, came around to his front, and he glared at them as they examined him.
This is no Al-baburi, even though he is dressed like one. See his eyes?"
"Had he different hair, he might be of our own people."
Gord looked from one speaker to the other. Both men were swathed in buff-colored garments, turbaned and veiled too. All he could see of them were patches of dark skin where their hands held weapons, and gray eyes through the slits in their veils.
"Who are you?" one of the voices demanded. The rope that circled his neck was pulled tighter by one of the men still behind him, and the young man had to shake his head a little to enable his constricted throat to get words out.
"I am a peaceful traveler from the north."
"Liar!" boomed the questioner. At the same time, the other man confronting Gord brought the tip of a lance to within inches of his stomach. "Only bandits and rogues come from the north! Where is the rest of your party?"
"I am alone," Gord said.
"Liar still!" the one holding the lance against his belly said as he pushed the point forward a little to make his statement show how he felt about falsehoods. "You are a scout for that band of Yoli dogs who ride but a little distance behind."