Trouble! Storm caught the threat in this. The Norbies allowed the space port to be located well away from the mountains that to them were sacred. And the treaty that had made the settlers’ holdings safe to them allowed only that one place of landing and departure for off-world ships. To let the rumour get started that there was a second port right in the heart of their mountains would be enough to break every drink-blood tie on Arzor.
Storm let his lenses swing from their strap, held out his hands to focus Gorgol’s attention.
“I warrior –” He underlined that statement by drawing his index finger along the faint scar line on his shoulder. “Gorgol warrior –” With the same finger he touched the other’s bandaged forearm gently. “I get warrior scar, not from Nitra, not from other tribe like mine – I get wound fighting evil men –of that tribe!” He made a spear of his finger, stabbing the air toward the grounded space ship. “Gorgol wounded by those evil men – from there!” Again he pointed. “They are of those who eat THE MEAT –” He added the worst symbol the sign language contained.
Gorgol’s yellow eyes held the Terran’s unblinkingly before he signed:
“Do you swear this by Those-Who-Drum-Thunder?”
Storm drew his knife from his belt, pushing its hilt into the Norbie’s hand and then drew it up by the blade until the point pricked the skin encircled in the necklace on his breast.
“Let Gorgol push this home if he does not believe I speak true,” he signed slowly with his free hand.
The Norbie drew back the knife, reversed it with a flip of his wrist and proffered the hilt to the Terran. As Storm took the blade from him, he replied, “I believe. But this – bad thing. Faraway man fight evil men his kind – or oath broken.”
“It is so. What I can do, I shall. But first we must know more of these men –”
Gorgol looked down into the valley. “Nitra hunts – and the night comes. In the day we can move better – you have not the eyes that see in darkness –”
Storm knew an inward relief. If the Norbie had wanted to keep up with the scout, now it would have been hard not to agree. But this suggestion coming from the native fitted in with the Terran’s own wishes.
“Big cat –” Storm suggested, “get well – be able to hunt Nitra while we watch evil men –”
Gorgol agreed to that readily, having seen Surra in action. And with a last detailed examination of the concealed ship, which told him no more than he had learned earlier, Storm started back to the outer valley, to plan an active campaign.
10
Although it was close to dark when they returned to the outer valley, Storm set about building a screen of rocks behind which they could shelter a night fire, with Gorgol’s one-handed aid. There was, of course, the cave in which he had been imprisoned. But that was the width of the valley away. And, in addition, he shrank from experiencing again its turgid air and the faint exhalation of stale death he recalled only too vividly.
Rain had been turned loose to graze. Should the stallion be sighted from the heights by any lurking Nitra or outlaw sentry he would be thought a stray from the destroyed Survey camp. And with Surra on guard there was no danger of a thief getting close enough to steal the mount. Perhaps he could even be used as bait in some later plan.
Storm suggested as much to Gorgol and the Norbie agreed with enthusiasm. Such a horse as Rain was a treasure – a chief’s mount – a trophy to be flaunted in the faces of lesser men.
There remains the road –” Storm’s fingers moved in the firelight after they had eaten. The path that we found today is not for herd-driving. We must discover their other road –”
“Such a way does not lie through this valley,” Gorgol answered with conviction.
Their explorations before the flash flood seemed to confirm that. The Survey party had discovered no evidence of frawn-grazing around the mounds. Storm drew his knife and with the point began to scratch out a map of the valley as he knew it – in its relation to the outlaws’ hold. He explained as he went and the Norbie, used to his own form of war and hunting maps, followed with concentration, correcting, or questioning.
When they had pooled their knowledge of the terrain Storm could see only one explanation for the lack of a connecting link between the valleys – save for the narrow cleft they had explored that day. There must be a way from the southeast or southwest, running between the heights that separated the two cups of lowland.
“In dark – Nitra maybe raid –” Gorgol had been watching their handful of fire thoughtfully. “In dark Norbie see good –night raid big trick on enemy – good against Butchers.” He glanced at Storm. “You no see so good in dark –? Maybeso not. But cat – she does!”
The Terran aroused at that half-hint for more immediate action. Norbie scouts would not hang about the outlaw camp too long. The Nitra they had sighted on watch today might well hole up for the first part of the night and then raid the horses of the Xik hideout in the early hours of the morning, a favourite trick of the natives. If a man were on the spot, then he could learn a lot in the ensuing confusion.
However, it was a very thin chance, depending so much on luck and on factors over which Storm had no control. He had taken slim chances before and had been successful. This was like the old days. A well-remembered prickle ran along the Terran’s nerves, and he did not know it but the yellow light of the flames gave him something of the look of Surra, Surra when she crouched before taking off in deadly spring.
“You will go.” Gorgol signed. “We shall try for the lower way now – wait then for the zamle’s hour –”
“You too?”
The Norbie’s thin grin was answer enough, but his fingers added:
“Gorgol is now a warrior. This is a good trail with much honour on it. I go – seeing ahead our path –”
They ate of the frawn meat methodically. And to that more
tasty food Storm added two of the small concentrate tablets from his service days. If they had to go without food for a full day or more, they would not feel the lack.
He gave Surra her silent orders, noting that the dune cat moved with much of her old strength and litheness, and swung Hing on his shoulder. Night exploits were not for Baku, but the Terran knew that with the coming of light the eagle would be up and questing. Should her aid be required then he could summon her.
They reclimbed the frawn pass and came out once more upon the plateau. Surra charged forward and something half her size scuttled away from the body of the yoris, leaving a musky odour almost as strong as the hunting reptile’s stench hanging in the air. The dune cat coughed, spat angrily, plunging on into the growth below as if she must wipe that contagion from her fur.
Storm had to admit to himself within five minutes that, had it not been for Surra and the Norbie’s excellent night sight, he would have had to call off his ambitious plan. The thick growth on the ancient terraces cut off the sky, doubled the gloom of the night. He locked hands with Gorgol, his other arm protecting Hing against his body lest she be swept from her hold by low-swinging branches. But somehow, with raw scratches on his face and the welts of lashing boughs crisscrossing his shoulders and ribs, Storm made it to the floor of the valley.
By day he could have used the terraces for cover, and indubitably now both cat and Norbie could have taken that way with ease. But the Terran knew he must keep to the fringe of the open land or give up entirely. Luckily the frawns would bed down for the night well out in the open. Though they would gallop away from a mounted man, to meet them on foot was a different matter, as Dort and Ransford warned him during his early days on Arzor. Frawns were curious and they were hostile, especially in calving season. A man fronted by a suspicious bull and caught afoot was in acute danger.