"Two. The ship swooped a second time, and I thought, alas! what a sad end for my slaving companions! Then, as I sat here reflecting upon the remarkable life which it has been my good fortune to live, you crept up and found me musing. Aha! " Fabrache shook his head in mournful self-reproach. "Had you been Hozman Sore-throat, my time as a free man would now be done. What now is our program?"
"We will proceed back to Shagfe with all speed. First, pour out a cup of water. This creature was pent for several days."
Fabrache poured with a rueful smirk, as if reflecting upon the odd quirks of fate to which he was continually subjected. The creature without hesitation turned the contents of the cup into its throat, and did the same for three more cupfuls. Ifness then proffered a cake of jellied meat, which the creature cautiously refused, then dried fruit, which it dropped into its throat. Ifness offered it pounded seeds from which Fabrache made his bread, salt, and lump-fat, all of which the creature rejected.
The supplies were redistributed, and the dark creature was mounted on the pack animal, which jerked and shuddered at the alien scent, and walked with stiff legs and rounded nostrils.
The four set off down the Vurush Valley, along the route they had come, and the miles fell back into the afternoon. The alien rode stolidly, showing no interest in the landscape, hardly moving in the saddle. Etzwane asked Ifness, "Do you think it is in a state of shock, or grief or terror? Or is it only semi-intelligent?"
"As yet, we have no basis for assessment. In due course I would hope to learn a great deal."
"Perhaps it could act as interpreter between men and asutra," said Etzwane.
Ifness frowned, a signal that the idea had not yet occurred to him. "This is of course a possibility. " He looked toward Fabrache, who had drawn up his pacer. "What is the matter?"
Fabrache pointed to the east, where the slopes of the Orgai eased down upon the plain. "A party of riders-six or eight."
Ifness rose in his saddle, gazed across the distance. "They are riding in our direction at a good rate of speed."
"We had best do likewise," said Fabrache. "In this land one cannot take the friendship of strangers for granted. " He jerked his pacer into a full lope and the others followed suit, Etzwane applying the quirt to the pacer ridden by the alien.
Down the valley they coursed, Ifness frowning in distaste. The alien rode stiffly erect, clutching the back-curving horns of his beast. Etzwane judged that for the first two miles they gained ground, then for another two miles held their own, then the pursuing band seemed to gain. Fabrache, with long frame crouched grotesquely low and beard flapping over his shoulder, urged his pacer to its utmost efforts. He yelled over his shoulder, 'It is Hozman Sore-throat and his slaving band! Ride for freedom! Ride for your life! "
The pacers were tiring. Time after time they stumbled into a lurching jog, which aroused Fabrache to frantic measures. The pursuing pacers had also become winded, and they too slackened speed. The suns were low in the west, laying three trails upon the surface of the Vurush, Fabrache appraised the distance to the pursuing band and measured it against the height of the suns. He gave a call of despair. "We will be slaves before dark, and then we will learn Hozman's secret."
Ifness pointed ahead. "There, on the shore, a camp of wagons."
Fabrache peered and gave a croak of hope. "We shall arrive in time and claim protection… Unless they are cannibals, we are in luck."
A few moments later he called back, "They are the Alula; I now recognize their wains. They are a hospitable folk and we are safe."
On a level area near the river, fifty wains with crooked eight-foot wheels had been drawn up to form a hollow square, the wheels and dropped sideboards creating a staunch fence. A single opening faced the river. The slavers, trailing by three hundred, yards, their pacers coughing and stumbling, gave up the chase and swerved as.ide toward the river.
Fabrache led the way around the wall of wains and halted before the opening. Four men jumped forward in a crouching, splay-legged posture of threat. They wore jerkins of black chumpa-hide strips, helmets of black leather, and carried crossbows three feet wide. "If you be riders with the group yonder, go your way. We want no business with you."
Fabrache leapt from his pacer and stepped forward. "Put aside your weapons! We are travelers of the Orgai and fugitives from Hozman Sore-throat! We request protection for the night."
"All very well, but what of that one-eyed demoniac creature? We have heard tales; it is a Red Devil! "
"Nothing of the sort! The Red Devils are all dead, killed in a recent battle. This is the sole survivor of a wrecked spaceship."
"In that case, kill it as well. Why should we nurture off-world enemies?"
Ifness spoke in a measured and aristocratic voice, 'The matter is more complicated than this. I intend to learn the language of this creature, if it is able to talk. This knowledge will help us defeat our enemies."
"It is a matter for Karazan. Stand in your tracks; we are a suspicious people."
A moment later an enormous man strode forward, taller by a head than Fabrache. His face was no less impressive than his bulk; keen eyes glittered under a broad brow, a short beard clothed his cheeks and chin. He required a single second to appraise the situation, then turned a glance of contemptuous derogation toward the guards. "What is the difficulty? When have Alula feared three men and a monster? Let them in. " He scowled down at the riverbank where Hozman Sore-throat and his band rested % their pacers, then sauntered back the way he had come. The warriors put aside their crossbows and stood back. "Enter as you will. Take your pacers to the pen. Bed yourselves where you like, except in company with our wives. " "You have our gratitude," Fabrache declared. "Mind, that is Hozman Sore-throat, the expert slaver, yonder; let no one stray outside the camp, or he will never to be seen again."
Etzwane was intrigued by the camp, and by certain elements of barbaric splendor which in the popular imagination of Shant characterized all the tribes of Caraz. The green, pink, and magenta tents had been embroidered in marvelous starbursts and radiants. The carved tent stakes stood eight feet tall, displaying fetishes of four sorts: winged scorpions, wisk-weasels, Lake Nior kingfish, Lake Nior pelicans. The men of the camp wore trousers of pounded ahulph leather, glossy black boots, embroidered vests over loose white blouses. Married women wound their heads with purple and green scarves, their full gowns were of various colors; girls, however, swaggered about in breeches and boots like the men. Before each tent a cauldron bubbled over a fire, and the odors of spices and stewing meat permeated the camp. In front of the ceremonial wain sat the elders, passing a leather flask of aquavita back and forth. Nearby four other men, each wearing a string of golden beads, made desultory music upon stringed instruments.
No one gave the newcomers more than cursory attention; they went to the area indicated to them, unloaded their pacers, and laid out their beds. The alien watched without apparent interest. Fabrache dared not go to the river for clams or crayfish and cooked an austere meal of porridge and dried meat; the alien drank water and thrust a quantity of porridge into its maw without enthusiasm. Children of the camp began to gather and watched in wide-eyed wonder. They were joined by others, progressively older, and presently one put a timid question, "Is the creature tame?"
"It seems to be," said Etzwane. "It came to Durdane in a spaceship, so it is certainly civilized."
"Is it your slave? " asked another.