“Little black-haired female,” said the Horse-King gravely, “I was foaled on the Plains. For twenty years have I carried clansmen into battle. My forehooves are as sharp as a steel ax-head. They gained me my name and have sheared full many a helmet and the skull beneath. My teeth, too, know well the feel of man-flesh. But man-flesh, little one, only ma«-flesh. I am neither as bull nor bear nor wolf. I do not war on females and foals. You need fear neither horse nor man, not when Ax-Hoof the Horse-King is near.”
With that, the speaker sank onto his haunches that Aldora might more easily mount him, bidding her not fear falling as, if fall she must, the grass was soft and thick and she would come to no harm.
When Ax-Hoof bore her, who was now his oath-sister, back to where he had met her, it was settled. She had oath with a presently-barren brood mare named Soft-Whicker—a patient, easy gaited, motherly one Ax-Hoof felt would be a perfect learning-mount for the gentle, likable little two-leg. He had had her oath an as-yet-unnamed filly of his own line as well, promising that if the filly had not finished her war-training by the time Aldora had finished hers, he personally would serve as her war horse until the white-stockinged sorrel proved ready.
For Aldora, it had been a long and highly informative ride. She had met, exchanged greetings and compliments and idle chitchat with all of Ax-Hoof’s wives and with a number of the King-Horse’s progeny as well.
Ax-Hoof and Aldora were within sight of the place they had left Beti when an elderly male cat and two younger ones raced up to them.
Without greeting or preamble, the elder cat addressed the stallion. “Horse-King, keep your kind away from the hidden portions of the east-flowing creek. It is possible that danger lurks there.”
“What kind of danger, One-Fang?” queried the horse. “Lop-Ear, here,” the cat indicated one of the younger males—about twelve moons and all paws and head, but beginning to fill out—“became suspicious of a strange thought-pattern and went to investigate. He found no creature, but he did find a strong bad odor and some odd tracks. He called me and I don’t like the looks of it. Both the scent and the tracks are too much like those of a very large Blackfoot to suit me! I am sending Lop-Ear to Green-Walls to fetch the Cat Chief and some two-leg Cat-brothers with bows and spears. So, warn your kind away from anyplace a Blackfoot might hide.”
The cat then mindspoke Aldora. “Have you bow or spear or even sword, Cat-sister?”
“No,” replied Aldora, “only a small dirk.” “Then,” the cat went on officiously, “you, too, would be well advised to keep away from streams or low, hidden places; the Blackfoot tribe aren’t choosy; meat is meat to them.”
As the three cats bounded off, the older and one of the younger in the direction of the cut of the creek; the one called Lop-Ear flat-racing for Green-Walls, Aldora asked Ax-Hoof, “What does he mean, Horse-King? What is a Blackfoot?”
Ax-Hoof, who was now moving as fast as he felt he safely could considering the state of Aldora’s horsemanship, did not answer in words, but the picture which reached her mind was of a furry—albeit, snaky-looking—body, about the color of dry dead grass, with four black feet and a black mask-like across its eyes. Its face looked like a cross between that of a cat and a fox. When it opened its mouth, she shuddered, for it was supplied with a plenitude of long sharp teeth. It was built low, so its height was unimpressive, but from nose-tip to base of tail, it was a good fifteen feet in length and the tail was close
to five!
Then Ax-Hoof spoke. “That, Aldora, is a Blackfoot. Added to the fact that they are ever-hungry, they are as fast as a cat for short distances and strong enough to drag off a full-grown horse. And, they are very hard to kill. Years ago on the Plains, I saw one so filled with arrows that he looked like a porcupine, and still not dead! None have been heard of since we crossed the Great River. Everyone had hoped that their kind did not inhabit this land.”
By that time, they were up to Beti, who had seen them coming and was sitting Morning-Mist, waiting. “Well, Horse-King, what took so long? Did you have her horse-oath half your tribe?”
“No, Chiefs-wife, she oathed only me and an old mare and a filly of my get,” he answered her curtly. Aldora had discovered that he took all things seriously and had little sense of humor.
Bed’s eyebrows rose. “You exchanged horse-oath with our Aldora? I thought that you retired after Chief Djahn of Kahnuhr was killed?”
“Djan was my brother, Chiefs-wife. So close were we that we might have been dropped by the same dam on the same-day. Until today, I had never thought that there would be another two-leg for Ax-Hoof; but this one is different from most of you. Her mind is different. I have spoken but one other like it, so she is now my oath-sister, care for her well… or fear you my hooves and teeth!”
“Threats are unnecessary, Horse-King,” Beti reassured the serious stallion. “She is as dear to her clan as to you.” When Aldora had slipped down behind Beti, the big horse advised both woman and mare. “Go not near the flowing water. One-Fang fears that a Blackfoot is about. He and one of the cubs smelled where it had been, below the lip of the cut.”
Smiling, Beti slapped her bow case. “Never fear, Horse-King, though no longer a maiden, still I can draw a bow.”
Though he was galloping toward a knot of young stallions, he beamed back, “Be not oversure of yourself or the value of your bow, Chiefs-wife. You have never hunted the Blackfoot as I have!”
14
At the very moment Beti had been first greeting the Horse-King, Milo, Mara, the Chief of Mercenaries, Hwil Kuk, and Horsekiller were closeted with four other mercenaries of Milo’s following. It had taken days to find three of these men, as Aldora’s mind retained no clear image of them, and the fourth—Djo-Sahl Muhkini—had, at the time, been too drunk to remember to whom he had traded his Ehleenoee child-captive. Finally, after each and every man of one hundred-fifteen had denied any connection with the incident, Milo and Hwil became mildly exasperated and commenced subjecting the mercenaries to the Test of the Cat. They so tested twenty-eight before they struck pay dirt. Now they had them all—Pawl and Deeuee Shraik and Hahnz Sahgni—three northern barbarians from the Kingdom of Harzburk and former troopers of the Theesispolis Kahtahphraktoee. Inseparable, they referred to themselves as “The Triple Threat” (though no man could remember ever having seen them in the van of any charge or battle).
“Now heed me well!” Milo commanded. “Despite the fact that when you swore oaths to me, you placed yourselves under the jurisdiction of Tribal Law, I’ll not quote it to you here; there’s no need to invoke it, as—so your chief informs me—in all lands, sexual abuse of children is as heinous an offense as it is with us. You must have known that what you did was wrong, else you’d not have lied when Hwil and I questioned you.
“My wife and Hwil would like to see your blood—here and now—but I am going to free you. On this table are four purses of silver, your wages for the time you have served me. You may retain your armor and gear and weapons, but not the war horses you now use. Outside are a number or horses and mules who are anxious to return to the dominion of man. They cannot stomach true freedom and slavery appeals to them. Of them, you may take your choice. By the time that the sacred Sun goes to rest, I expect you all to be a long day’s ride from this place.”
Shortly, the four—secretly happy to have escaped with even their lives—clattered out of the citadel-barrack and trotted their animals through the city streets. All were well mounted, even though the horses they bestrode were not war-trained, and Djo-Sahl led a fifth animal—a mule, on which were packed their food and waterbags, plus a small tent and cooking pot. Even the youngest of them had been a mercenary for nearly ten years and all had long ago learned to accept the bitter with the better, so no recriminations—self or otherwise—were voiced.