A squealing groan arose from the other side of the gate, and Kirk rose and turned to see what was happening.
Two teams of neelots were harnessed to cables that rose over the wall to the high bridge support structure and then down to the far side. As their drovers urged them forward, the bridge slowly lifted until, now vertical, its far end towered above the wall.
“A perfect defense,” Kirk said.
Sara, sitting on a bundle of trade goods directly behind Kirk, said, “But how could a nomadic people come up with such an elaborate structure?”
“Semi-nomadic,” Kirk corrected. “They spend half of each year here. From the appearance of this place, they’ve evidently been doing it for hundreds of years. They’ve had time to work out the details. And they need something like that. When grazing is bad, the tribes start to raid each other.”
As the body-laden neelots ahead came to a halt,
Kirk stopped the caravan. He sat watching as men and women went from animal to animal, pulling off hoods to identify the dead. There was no outcry, no demonstration. Mothers looked at faces of dead sons for a moment, turned, and walked silently away.
“Demonstrative bunch,” McCoy said.
“At least they have a chance to see them one last time,” Kirk replied. “Before, they were left to rot I wonder what Tram Bir has in mind for us?”
As he spoke, the chief appeared from behind the van with two men bearing a litter. After his son was borne away to a nearby tent, he came up to Kirk, who had climbed down from the driver’s seat.
“I’ve thought much about Alt’s bonding,” the chief said. “It is unthinkable that clan brotherhood should be extended to Beshwa, who bear no arms. On the other hand, it can’t be denied that our blood has been mingled. If you are strangers, you must be killed; but if you are my kin, I can’t order your death. The question has never arisen before. I shall present it to the Messiah when we reach him tomorrow, while you remain here.”
Tram Bir’s casual statement struck home like a dagger. Kirk kept his face impassive as he glanced at the sun. It was already getting toward late afternoon and there were less than two days left in which to reach Spock, get close enough with the nullifier to break the connection between him and Gara, and return him to sanity. The place where the Messiah was assembling the clans was a good day’s journey away. Unless Tram Bir could be persuaded to take them with him, the Enterprise was doomed.
“In the meantime,” the chief continued, “you can make yourself useful. The Messiah wants every clansman who can handle a spear and sword—even the elders.”
As he spoke, a group of bandaged hillmen began to cluster around the caravan; some, who had been brought back on the captured carts, being borne on crude stretchers. Tram Bir gestured toward them.
“These are needed for the attack on Andres. With your powers, you must see that they are healed and ready to ride at first light.”
McCoy surveyed the group dubiously. There were ten on stretchers and at least forty walking wounded.
“We are a small clan,” Tram Bir added. “Without these, I will be forced to sit far in the rear during the gathering of the chiefs.”
Of course, thought Kirk, sensing an opening; in a society like this, a leader’s importance among his fellows is determined by the number of swords he can muster.
“Chief Tram Bir, come to the van,” Kirk said suddenly. “There are weighty matters we must discuss… alone.”
“Great as our skill is,” Kirk said, “it may be that some of the more seriously wounded will need a few days’ rest before they can join you. The others, however, can be ready to ride with you by dawn. But give thought to the future. When Andros is stormed, many of your men will fall. It is true that the Messiah’s strength will grow when he converts those who survive in the city and they take arms in his cause, but your numbers will shrink. What about your place among the chiefs?”
He poured Tram Bir another cup of wine.
“The others will have their losses, too,” the chief said. “Our ranking will remain the same.”
“True,” Kirk said, “but if your numbers shrank less than theirs, before too long you would be sitting in the front as a principal chief.” Kirk paused to let his words sink in and then added, “Of course, if you send your wounded all the way back here to be healed, many will die on the way.”
Tram Bir took another sip of wine and looked at Kirk thoughtfully for a moment. “So you wish to come with us. What’s in it for you? If the Messiah decides you are strangers, you will only hasten your death.”
“He won’t,” Kirk said. “From what you’ve told me about what happened in Andros, it’s obvious that he had spies from the city in mind when he gave that order about strangers. As for us, we are now of your blood; we wish to serve you as best we can.”
“Neelot dung!” Tram Bir snapped. “We of the clans take such things seriously, but Beshwa are only interested in trade. You claim kinship to save your throats.”
Kirk pursed his lips. “I know there would be good trading where the clans gather—excellent, in fact. There’s no reason why in helping others one can’t help oneself. How about a deal, Tram Bir? We’ll come along to care for your wounded if you let us do a little business on the side.”
Tram Bir pondered Kirk’s proposal for a long, silent moment then nodded slowly. “So be it. There will be a feast tonight when Afterbliss has set. We will talk more of this then.”
“Afterbliss?” Kirk asked. “The word is new to me. I have learned today that the clans have a new leader who converts all who hear his voice and that he gathers the clans for a holy war, but I have not been told what this thing is you speak of.”
“You must have seen it,” Tram Bir said, “a new star that moves swiftly through the heavens before dawn and after dusk. It is for this that we who have not heard the Messiah’s voice obey his orders and march to join him with our dead.”
“I know nothing of this,” Kirk said. “We saw a strange new light in the sky two nights ago and again last night, but we didn’t know what it was.”
“We had word of its first coming,” the chieftain replied. “Two days ago, a rider came from a western clan with word that the gods had sent a leader who was to remake Kyros into a holy place. As a sign of his greatness, they would place a shining city in the sky, a place where those who died for them would live forever. That night showed the truth of his words. We saw Afterbliss with our own eyes. No longer will the spirits of our dead sink into the ground and their bodies be left to rot! Tomorrow the bodies of those who died today will rise to be reunited with the souls that wait above.
“Yesterday another rider came with orders for us to raid the mining camp and destroy the bridge, so no more spearstone could be taken to Andros for weapons. After what we had seen, we obeyed without question. Tomorrow we hear the Messiah’s words with our own ears!”
He rose. “Heal as many as you can. We ride as soon as there is light enough to see the trail tomorrow. Your woman will remain behind with my wives. I will give orders that she be treated well.”
Before Kirk could respond, there was an angry bellowing from outside the van, followed by a Russian oath and a thudding sound. Kirk and Tram Bir dashed out and discovered the chiefs oldest son, Greth, sprawled on his back clutching a dagger—and an angry Chekov standing over bun.
Greth shook his head as if to clear it and got groggily to his feet, raising the dagger as he did so. He went into a half crouch and advanced slowly toward the Russian, whose fist was cocked, ready to deliver another blow.
“Greth! What’s going on here?” Tram Bir barked.