They left the city by way of the south gate, passed through the charred ruins of the outer habitations, and wove a way between the haphazardly located tents and wagons of the nomad encampment. When they were finally clear of the camp, they cut cross-country in a westerly direction, so as to strike the north-south Trade road. All were familiar with the road, having often patrolled it as Kahtahphraktoee, and as they were headed for Karaleenos to enlist under Lord Zenos’ green and crimson banner, it was the logical road to take.
After about a half mile, Djo-Sahl’s mount began to limp. Cursing, the brown-bearded trooper dismounted and, finding a pebble firmly lodged between hoof and shoe, began to work at its removal, telling bis companions to ride on ahead. It was for this reason that he was not with the three northerners when their path crossed that of Beti and Aldora.
The Triple Threat—Pawl, Deeuee, and Hahnz—did not need to communicate, nor did they hesitate!
Only Aldora’s frantic pleas had prevented the adventurous Beti from riding the creek bank in search of the mysterious animal. Grudgingly, the nomad woman turned back toward the camp. Nonetheless, she continued to grip her strung bow, a barbed hunting-shaft nocked and ready.
Morning-Mist had crested a low, rolling hill and was loping down its eastern face when the three scale-armored men came into view. Few of the nomads liked or really trusted any of Milo’s renegade mercenaries, so Beti urged Morning-Mist slightly northward, out of their path. They had been riding abreast, but when Beti’s course deviated, they extended their interval, cantering in file with the obvious intention of cutting her off.
Where another might have waited or even ridden on to see what the men wanted, Bed—nomad-born and bred and trusting nothing, especially a male not of the kindred—whirled her little mare and galloped back to the crest she had just crossed. There, she turned her left side to the oncoming men and extracted two more arrows from her case, clenching them with the fingers of her bow-hand.
“Aldora,” she said urgently in a tone that brooked no argument, “I will hold them here for as long as I can. Run! Back to the horses. Mindcall Ax-Hoof. He will protect you. Now, go!”
Obediently, Aldora slipped from the mare’s low crupper and raced down the western slope, broadbeaming, without being aware of it, a mindcall for help.
Old Hari sat in a sun-drenched court of the citadel. Beside him was a small brazier in which were heating a half-dozen short daggers. Horsekiller and Old-Cat with him. Employing Old-Cat’s eyes, the hot daggers, and a pair of tiny pincers, the bard was engaged in removing ticks from the Cat Chief’s hide, having just done the like for Old-Cat.
With a ghastly yowl, Horsekiller suddenly leapt ten feet, his mind filled with language he had heard Milo’s troopers use. Hari dropped the hot little knife, with which he had singed the Cat Chief, and he and the two cats raced toward Milo’s suite.
At that moment, Milo was astride Steeltooth and trotting through the south gate, trailed by the faithful Hwil Kuk. Brave and battlewise his mercenaries might be, but Milo was sure that none of them had ever hunted or confronted a giant ferret. Even under the best of conditions, it would not have been an experience to look forward to; but, if it had to be, Milo wanted men around him who knew what they were doing. So he was riding to gather a group of middle-aged nomads, who had faced the sinister creatures on the plains and prairies.
When the mindcall came to him, he at once recognized the sender; and, as her call was directed at Ax-Hoof, the Horse-King, she must not be far from the herd. Shouting for a clear passage ahead, he kneed Steeltooth into a gallop and turned his head in the direction of the Linsee clan-camp.
Mole-Fur had not mind-spoken with Aldora, so, did not recognize the source of the call; but it could only be a Cat-friend in dire straits. She left off her preening and jumped down from her knoll and tore off for the source of the amazingly powerful call.
Ax-Hoof, three or four horse-chiefs, and a dozen young war horses were trotting along the edge of the creek-cut, following the mind-patterns of One-Fang and his cub assistant, as they scent-trailed the Blackfoot creature upstream.
Two-Color-Tail—a six-year-old who was horse-oathed to a warrior of Clan- Hahfmun—was nowhere as intelligent as Ax-Hoof or many of his peers, but his mind was such that cat-calls could range him much more easily than most of the other horses and men. So, though they were a good three miles from the vicinity of the herd, he received the call and communicated it to his King. Leaving the party in charge of Armor-Crusher, one of the horse-chiefs, Ax-Hoof took to a ground-eating gallop—the horse-oath took precedence even over the excitement of a hunt.
By the time he reached the fringes of his herd, they were milling about and a thousand or so were trotting along the path that Mole-Fur had taken—they, like her, all-but-mind-blasted by the powerful urgency of the call.
When Hari and the cats reached her, Mara was just dropping her baldric into place.
“I know!” she said cutting them off abruptly. “I too have a mind, you know. I expect that every mind within ten square-miles has picked up that call. When next we council, Hari, you have my voice. Her mind has got to have training! Such power, uncontrolled, could be deadly.”
As Milo and Kuk came within sight of the Linsee chief-tent, Hwahlis was just swinging leg over horse. His sons and nephew-sons were already mounted and, like their chief, armored and fully armed. When his seat was firm in his kak, Tsheri passed up his shield and Gairee handed him a heavy wolf-spear.
“You heard?” shouted Milo, reining up. “Who didn’t?” came Hwahlis’ quick retort. “We—all of us—heard, even Kahl, and ere have the cats remarked him difficult to range. By my sword, that girl has power!” “We may need more fighters than this,” said Milo. “She’s calling old Ax-Hoof, which means she’s probably near to the herd; and One-Fang sent a cub in to say that he suspected a Blackfoot was nosing around out there.”
Hwahlis’ weathered face paled. “Blackfoot, you say? By Sun and Wind, I’d hoped I’d never hear that name again!” He turned to his eldest son. “Erl, raise all the clan, the maidens, too! Plenty of arrows, with spears as well, mind you. Then ride for the herd.
“Fil,” he said to his second-eldest nephew-son, “my compliment to Chief Sami of Kahrtr, tell him …”
“Tell me what?” Chief Sami drew up near them; at the edge of the clan-camp he had left a score of full-armed Kahrtr clansmen.
As Milo and the two chiefs commenced to lead their contingent of Linsee and Kahrtr clansmen through the other clan-camps, they found that their numbers were growing. Apparently the terror-stricken girl’s mind-call had reached every nomad capable of receiving it. Most had no idea who was calling, but only one of their kindred would call Horse-King, and kindred never called kindred hi vain. They did not wait for their chiefs, they simply armed, mounted, and rode. By the time Milo reached the edge of the tribal enclave, there were six chiefs and at least six hundreds of warriors behind him—and there would have been more, except for the fact that most of the horses were grazing with the herd.
“This,” Milo thought wryly, “is going to be a Blackfoot hunt to remember!”
Beti stole a glance to be sure that Aldora was well on her way. As she looked back, one of the ironshirts was starting up the hill, the other two close behind him.
She raised her bow and hooked thumb ring to string. “Halt, money-fighters!” she shouted. “Halt, or feel an arrow from the bow of Beti, wife to Hwahlis of Linsee!”