Ralph, you know the law as well as I do, and we have both been lax about enforcing it. This is certainly not the first time a trader to the City went inside the taboo circle. But it shall be the last. From now on, the law of the Dales shall be carried out to the full. And that law says—for breaking the taboo on ancient works and magic, the penalty is death!”
Chapter 7
THE DALESMEN GO TO WAR
Looking into the wrathful eyes of Donn, Carl dared not argue further. He knew that this old man, who, in other times, had held him on his knee, given him , toys and gifts, taught him the arts a Chief should know, would not hesitate to order him killed if he thought it was demanded by the gods. Tom and Owl shrank into the half-darkness beyond the firelight, afraid even to whisper. Ralph himself dropped his gaze and muttered surrender.
Donn’s power was great in a very practical sense: he was the absolute ruler of the order of Doctors, which owned great lands and wealth; and his hold on the people was such that he could stir them up against anyone who dared oppose his stiff will. But more than that, he was the one who spoke for the gods. He was the agent of those great shadowy powers of sky and earth, fire and water, growth and death and destiny, before which men quailed. Even Carl felt a shiver in his flesh at thought of what might be stooping over the world and listening to this man’s words. For the moment, bitter disappointment was lost in a tide of fear, the inbred fear of many generations, and Carl bowed his head in submission.
It was Lenard who laughed, a hard, ringing bark which jerked their attention back to him.
“Dalesmen!” he jeered.
Ralph’s thick, fair brows drew into a scowl. “What do you mean?” he rumbled.
“I mean that living in this fat land has made women of you,” said Lenard. “No sooner is one of your people bold enough to seize the only chance you might have— and it was a good thought you had there, boy—than you throw it away in panic fear of gods you’ve never seen.
It’ll be no wonder when the Lann kick you out of your homes.”
“You’ll find how cowardly we are when it comes to battle!” flared Tom.
“Nor are your own folk exactly brave where it comes to the City,” murmured Owl. “We, at least, dared to enter the place.”
Lenard frowned. “That may be true. But it isn’t the City that will decide this—nor are all my warriors afraid of taboos.”
Carl leaned forward, seeking that gaunt, brown face out of flickering shadow as if to read a meaning in its lines and scars. “Why are you attacking us?” he asked. “We never harmed you.”
“The Lann go where they please,” said Lenard haughtily.
“But why?”
“It is simple.” The prisoner shrugged. “As long as our Doctors remember, we of the north have wrung a scanty living from a harsh and barren land. We have been hunters, herdsmen, small farmers ever at the mercy of cold and rain and blight. We have battled each other to death over what little there was, brother falling on brother like wild dogs. Yet every year more are born, there are more to feed. Meanwhile, it has grown yet colder and stormier; the harvests have been more thin each year. It was too much for men to stand! So we have gathered ourselves and turned the warlike skill we gained from fighting each other against those who hold better lands. That is all. And it is enough!”
“But there is room here,” protested Carl. “There are forest tracts which need only be logged off and plowed—”
“So we should come as beggars?” Lenard tossed his head like an angered stallion. “None of that for a warrior people. Nor do I think there is enough room for two such large tribes here, even when you count in the forests. No, there is space for only one tribe to live decently, and we mean to be that tribe.”
“And what is your intention, then?”
“Why, we will scatter your armies before us and divide your lands among our men, who will then send for their families. Most of the Dalesmen will have to go, of course; where, I don’t know or care. Perhaps you can, in your turn, overrun someone else. Some of your people may be allowed to stay as servants of the Lann. That depends on the will of our Chief, my father.” There was scorn in Lenard’s voice. “And among the Lann, the Chief is Chief—none of this cumbersome nonsense about voting.”
“You speak boldly for a prisoner,” said Ralph with dangerous gentleness.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Lenard grinned. “I know you won’t hurt me. Even if I thought you would, I’m not afraid to die. We’re a fighting people, we Lann, and you’ll soon find it out.”
The army of the Dalesmen was ready to march.
In the two days since Carl’s return, scouts had brought word that the Lann host was assembling in full strength well to the north, on the edge of the rugged Scarpian district. It seemed clear that they would move against Dalestown, hoping to seize it. Once they held that fortress, it would be easy for them to reduce whatever outposts were left and bring the whole country to heel. Ralph meant to forestall them, catch them on the border, and defeat them in open combat and drive them north again.
“And what will we do if we win, Father?” asked Carl.
The Chief’s golden-bearded face was sober. “I don’t know,” he said. “They could just go home and wait for another chance. I imagine the best thing for us to do would be to follow up our victory—next summer, or even this winter, but in any case we’ll have to wait till after harvest. We can’t be really safe till we’ve brought them into subjection. Yet the thought of being a conqueror leaves a bad taste in my mouth, nor are we a soldier-folk who would be well fitted for such a task.” He shrugged. “But let’s win the first battle first.”
There had been no answer, or only an evasive one, from the small neighbor tribes to whom Ralph had appealed for help. They were afraid to anger the Lann if those should win; and they knew that if the Dalesmen won, they would not be punished for their refusal.
Ralph’s plea that the northerners would soon gobble them up if the Dales fell had not impressed anyone. It was all too true what Lenard had remarked one day: these loose assemblies of quiet farmers and craftsmen had no idea of war or politics.
Now the Chief stood on the porch of his home in a gray misty dawn, looking at the troop of mounted guards who waited for him in the market square. These sat their horses like statues, lances raised, metal polished, plumes and banners agleam with dew. The Chief was dressed like his guardsmen: a wool tunic under his breastplate of hammered steel, leather cloak and breeches, spurred boots, sword and dagger and signal horn belted at his waist. Carl, Tom, and Owl were more lightly armored, in reinforced bull’s-hide cuirasses and flat helmets; they had quivers and longbows hung from their shoulders, for they, with the other warriors not fully grown, would be archers. Beyond the silently waiting men, a dense and unspeaking throng of women and children and old folk milled about, looking and looking.
Lenard, armored in leather, but without weapons, smiled in thin scorn. This would not have been the farewell given an army by his fierce people. The Lann had been cheered out, and the town had been gay with flags and trophies.
Ralph was taking him along under guard, still hoping to use him as a hostage; but he had given no promise not to try escaping, and none had been asked of him.
Old Rob carried Betty out in his arms. The child’s face was still cloudy with dreams, and she smiled sleepily at her father as he lifted her. “Come back soon, Daddy?” she whispered.
“Yes—oh, yes!” He held her very close for a moment. Then he gave her back to Rob, who was weeping silently, and spun on his heel. The plumed helmet, in the crook of his arm, he lifted and set on his head. The nose guard gave his face a sudden, strange, inhuman look. He drew on his gloves and walked rapidly to his horse. Carl squeezed Betty’s small, curled-up hand and ran after his father, a stinging in his eyes.