Casca started to move back and away, content to leave them the waterhole until they finished and moved on. The odds were they wouldn't stay there very long. As he started to crawl back on his belly, a movement in the pile of bodies caught his attention. One wasn't dead. He watched as the figure twisted and tried to sit up, arms and feet bound with strips of rawhide. Something about the man stopped him from retreating. The way he held his head, the set of the jaw, something? Then it came to him. Jugotai! Jugotai, the youngster who had been his guide when he first came to the east from across the mountains. From this distance it was hard to be certain but it damned sure looked like him, and thosewere Kushanite dead stacked up down there. It bothered him, because the young man down there could not be old enough to have been his guide. That had been nearly thirty years ago. Sighing deeply, he grunted. "Well, if that's the way of it, I might as well get started."
He laid his quiver of arrows beside him and looked over the situation again. Not so good; there were still a lot of Huns down there, and while he might get three or four before the rest got up and moving, it was still risky.
No, he'd have to do something really dirty to get the boy free. Alright, first off I have to reduce the odds a bit, he thought. From where he was perched, there was only one exit for the Huns to take on horseback. All the horses were tied in a line near some dry brush they had been feeding on. There's only one thing that Huns really hate to do, and that is to walk. There were sixteen horses, counting those of the Kushanites. Casca doubted that he would have time to kill them and handle the Huns too! Besides, he wasn't an expert marksman. He could hit the broad side of the target usually, but nothing fancy. The Huns were heavy into sleep. When they awoke, they would have some bad heads from the fermented mare's milk. He knew from personal experience the aftereffects of a nightof drinking Kvass. Taking a thatch of dry grass, he pulled some threads from his tunic, tied the grass around the shafts of two arrows, and then laid out the rest of the shafts on the ground, close at hand. The horses were only about one hundred feet away so he wouldn't have any trouble hitting the brush beside them, and, as dry as it was, it should catch on fire pretty fast and still leave him enough time to shoot down at least a couple from the back while they were still sleeping. He struck off a spark from his flint and tinder, blowing it into a small smokeless flame, and touched off the fire arrows. Quickly he sighted, rose to his knees, and drew the cord almost to his ear, letting fly first one, then the other. The twanging of the bow wasn't loud enough to be heard.
The arrows smoked their way into the brush where the horses were tied. As he expected, it didn't take but a few seconds before the brush burst into a rapidly burning flame. The horses shied away from the licking flames and Casca picked new targets. A snoring, sleeping Hun. This time he drew the string all the way back to his ear and the arrow pinned the sleeping man to the earth. He got off two more shots before the whinnying of the horses, combined with the screaming of one of the Huns he had shot, roused the rest of the sleepers. They stumbled to their feet, red-eyed and hung over, reaching for their weapons in confusion. He shot another in the groin, the flat-bladed arrow taking off one testicle.
"Shit," he cursed. He had been aiming at the man's stomach. The horses broke and began to shy away from the flames, but they weren't running. So he took the time to send a couple of shafts into the nearest of the animals' rear ends. This served to give the rest of them the needed impetus to break and run, as did the Huns on their twisted legs, looking for cover and trying to locate their enemy. Casca took one more out with a lucky shot that hit the man squarely between the shoulder blades and exited at hands-length out the front of his chest. By then, he'd had to dodge a couple of arrows himself. He had the advantage of being on the high ground or they probably would have nailed him right off. They were, he admitted, all damned better bowmen than he was.
Yelling down to them, he spoke in the language of Chin. One called back to him, "What is it that you want and who are you that hides from us likea pariah dog? Come down and fight."
Casca grinned, his eyes never leaving the Huns in the rocks. "I'm glad to see at least one of you has the ability to speak in more than grunts, grunts that are the natural tongue of your tribes. What I want is to make a deal."
The Hun leader yelled back. "I'm listening."
"Unless you bowlegged little bastards would be fond of walking out of this place and across the desert, I would suggest that you give my offer careful consideration."
"Why should we listen to you? We have you outnumbered and it would be just a matter of time before you're laid out to be properly butchered."
"Normally, that would be true, you ugly little bastard, but not right now. If you won't deal with me, then I'm going to leave you here, take my horse, and go after yours and kill them all. Thatwill guarantee that you will leave your bones on the trail with no one to sing your death song except the flies."
The Huns below realized that what he said was true. He would have the advantage and from what he had just done, there was no doubt that he would do exactly as he said. And it was a long way to the felt yurts of their tribes.
"What is your offer?"
"Let the captive go. Give him a full skin of water and another of good food from his own supplies. Once he is in the clear, we'll leave. Your horses will return before long. They have to come back to drink sometime so you'll just have to wait a little while for them. By then I'll be long gone and you can continue your journey with more horses then you started with. Is that fair enough?"
The Hun below thought about it for a moment. He really had no other choice. "So be it. We'll let you have the Yueh Chih pup and the water and food. But no weapons for him. That would increase your advantage too much."
"I agree," called back Casca. "Send him on up."
Keeping a wary eye on the rocks, one of the Huns slid and waddled over to the Yueh Chih warrior and freed him from his bonds. The young man had heard all that had transpired between the Huns and his hidden ally in the rocks above. He wasted no time in getting a skin of water and a sack of food from the pile of looted goods. He looked longingly at his personal weapons but made no move towards them. Throwing his load on his shoulders, he rapidly began to climb up to his protector's perch. A scarred hand reached out to help and pulled him up to safety. A strong shove and he was clear of the ledge.
Casca gave a curt, "Get your ass to the back and down the ridge. I have a horse there. Give him some water and we'll get our butts out of here while we have the chance." He called back to the Huns, "Now, you girls just be patient. If I see just one inch of your scabby hides away from the water-hole, I'll kill the horses."
He backed away, still careful not to give the Huns a bow shot. By the time he'd made his way back to his horse the young warrior had allowed the animal to sip a large measure of their water supply, and the fluid already had imparted a little life to his lackluster eyes. But it still lacked the strength to carry a double load, so they moved out on foot. Casca leading, they half-walked, half-trotted away from the hole, following the tracks of the panicked horses. After about an hour, and another dose of water followed with a handful of grain from the food sack, Casca's horse was ready to be ridden, but still only by one. The youngster held onto the tail and they were still moving in this manner when they came on the first of the horses resting in the shade of some boulders. The Yueh Chih warrior gave a low whistle and the beast stayed put until the young man gained its reins. It was his own horse. As the youngster swung up into his saddle, Casca asked him, "What is your name? It wouldn't be Jugotai by any chance?"