“There is deep cynicism throughout the League, my son. It is a great sadness that so few will take the soma and follow in the path of Lord Krishna.”
“Well, at least you’re having your big chance on Caledonia.”
One of the other orange robed ones spoke then, his words indistinguishable, and both Harmon and the guru moved out of range of the peep holes being utilized by John of the Hawks and Don of the Clarks.
The two clannsmen looked at each other.
Mystified, Don said, “But what is this soma?”
John shook his head. “Whatever it is, I will go down to black death before taking it. These are shameless, clannless men of evil.
Scowling Don said slowly, “No, not the old one. He is a holy man. Whether this new religion of his is a true religion, I will not say, but he is a holy man.”
John of the Hawks snorted. “He serves evil,” he growled.
Chapter Four
John and Dewey of the Hawks and Don of the Clarks rode hard. Each man was mounted on one war steed and led two more. Periodically, they changed horses.
Largely, they rode in silence, but Don broke it at last.
He said, “It is no time to be leaving Aberdeen, with the strangers there. Bertram, Bedel of the Fowlers, has announced that if this so-called guru can cure his blindness, he will take the soma.”
John said in irritation, “You know it is the only time. We have discussed and discussed, and there is no other time in which we could possibly force the city. Four years and more in planning this has taken. Another year and it might not work.”
Dewey of the Hawks growled, “This year it may not work. The more I think about it, the more I am of the opinion that we all play the fool.”
John didn’t answer him.
“Let’s change horses,” Don said. “Mine becomes jaded. We must preserve them. They must be fresh on the return, since we will have half the Clann Thompson on our trail.”
“We shall have all the Clann Thompson on our trail,” Dewey amended sourly.
Eventually, they reached their destination, a clump of trees overlooking the Caledonian town below. Even though the distance was still considerable, they fell into whispers as they dismounted.
John said, “Where is that confounded chart?”
Dewey brought a large piece of parchment from a saddlebag. “By the Holy, it had better be correct.”
John spread it out on the ground and hunkered down on his heels. “It is correct,” he growled. “It has taken four years to compile, from every source of information we could find.” He traced with a finger. “This is the longhouse of the Thompsons. These, the quarters of unwed lasses who do not live with their families. Here she must be, for she has no family, all having been killed in raid.”
Don of the Clarks said unhappily, “If we’re spotted by warders…”
John was impatient. “For all practical purposes there are no warders. All were at Aberdeen and the Dail.” He looked up at the sky. “Soon it will be dark enough. Listen!” He cocked an ear. “They are beginning to return. Hurry. The kilts.”
He and Don began to strip, as Dewey brought forth clothing from another saddlebag.
Dewey said, “Sally did a good job with the Thompson material. Aüi She must have been embarrassed. And imagine climbing into the kilts of another clann. Have you two no shame?”
Don laughed. “None at all. Give me that.”
They donned the disguises, and the Clark clannsman began to buckle his scabbard back around his waist. But John shook his head and hung his own sword and dagger over the pommel of his saddle.
“Are you daft?” Don blurted. “You mean to go down into Caithness unarmed!”
John of the Hawks brought his coup stick from its saddle sheath and tucked it in his belt. He said, “I cannot shed the blood of my bride’s kyn on the night I steal her. Especially since I steal her without honorable permission.”
Don rolled his eyes upward in supplication. “But I can! For many a year I have raided, and been raided by, the Thompsons. They know me well, and any of their clannsmen that see me in Caithness would—”
“No,” John said. “Besides, we will look less suspicious if we appear unarmed.”
Don silently and unhappily hung his own scabbard over Iris animal’s pommel. He said to Dewey, “When we come back, we’ll come back on the fly. Have all ready.” He took up a coil of rope from behind his saddle.
“I know, I know,” Dewey of the Hawks said. “If you come back. I still say we’re all three daft.”
John had started down the hill. Don followed him, after shooting one last longing glance at his sword and dagger.
They were already out of earshot when Dewey muttered, “There’ll be vendetta after this night. And a full year to go before a meeting of the Dail to reconcile it.”
From the far side of town, John and Don could hear the returning clannsmen entering the main gate, and they hurried. When they reached the wall, relieved that there had been no shout of a warder spotting them, John brought forth the parchment chart.
“Here. This is it,” he whispered, staring upward. This side of the longhouse was blank, being part of the wall defenses of the town.
Don had been carrying his coil of rope, a grapple tied to one end. Now he swung it, tossed the grapple up and onto the roof. The first time it failed to catch and made what seemed a considerable noise when it scratched across the roof and then fell with a clatter back to their feet. John groaned.
Don recoiled the rope, tossed again. It caught. He grinned success at his blood comrade and, without a word, started up the rope, hand over hand, his feet walking up the wall. When he was at the top, he looked about quickly, then turned and gestured for John. John followed him up the line.
On the roof, they checked their map again. “This way,” John whispered. “Over there should be the entry nearest to the quarters of the unwed lasses.”
“I know the way by heart,” Don muttered. They approached the roof entry and were relieved to find it open and a ladder in place. The nights were hot this time of year, and the occupants of the longhouse took full advantage of any breath of air that could be induced to enter their community home.
They descended quietly, reached the hall below and took a brief pause to orient themselves. The building was all but Identical to their own longhouses back in Aberdeen, so the problem was inconsiderable. “This way,” John whispered.
They found the area they sought. John of the Hawks took a breath and reached for the latch.
A voice said, “Where in the name of the Holy are you two going?” on whirled. A Thompson clannsman had stepped into the corridor from a room behind them. Even as the newcomer’s eyes began to widen, Don came in fast. His fist lashed out into the other’s belly. The Thompson doubled forward, his mouth trying to open in shout.
John stepped in close and slugged him mercilessly on the side of the head. The man collapsed. Don caught him, his eyes darting up and down the corridor.
“What’ll we do with him?”
“Back into the room he just came from,” John snapped. “And say praises to the Holy that there’s no one else in there.” He took a quick step to the door through which the enemy clannsman had stepped and threw it open. The room was empty. A small room, evidently some sort of storage area.
Don dragged the Thompson into the room and let him slump to the floor. He took his coup stick from his belt and looked down at the fallen clannsman.
He scowled and said, “Can you count coup on a man who is unconscious?”