CHAPTER 3 : NOMADS OF THE STEPPE
[Axo continuity insert]
Safely back from his nocturnal revel, and sobered by the fast action of the drug, Holman decided there was no more time to lose. He had to put his plan in action, and the first step was to leave Mesk. He spotted Kerbogha and asked him: How long will it take us to master the rudiments of hunge-riding?
[Martin]
That depends on aptitude, grinned the Ulani. However, to move at a moderate speed without falling off, would probably take an hour or so.
Good, I would be obliged if you would gather the beasts together and harness them.
Certainly.
Holman took himself off to the boat to gather weapons. As he walked, he pondered a problem. Dame Crowhurst would certainly not be put off from accompanying the expedition, this would mean that Loell would probably have to go too. It would be far too dangerous to leave her alone in a place like Mesk. Yes, despite the danger and uncertainty, the girl would have to come along.
He boarded the boat and descended into the hold. In a hollow in the false keel, covered by a disguised hatch, was a weapons stash. The Primarchonate disapproved of the importation of advanced weapons into Preserve Planets, but as this would be unlikely to concern the likes of Malik, Holman felt justified in this infringement. Besides he would have received sanction if he had gone through procedure, but due process took time and he had precious little of that to spare.
Kerbogha was well enough armed as it was; he chose a short-range disrupter for Dame Crowhurst and a disc gun* for Hust. He picked a long magnetic rifle** with a night sight for himself, plus a bagfull of Hemmerys Little Surprises. As an afterthought he took a small venomator for Loell, considering, as a grim stricture tightened his features, that if she fell into Malik's hands she could use it on herself. The venom was quick and allegedly painless. He took up the weapons in a holdall, placed wards on the boat, both metaphysical and mundane, to discourage interference or larceny, and returned to the inn.
He found the party already assembled, and Kerbogha at the head of a line of saddled hunges. Addressing the nomad Holman said : Would you lead the beasts out into the night awhile, we had better undertake our riding lesson away from the eyes of the town.
They made their way out into the slight chill of the night until the lights of the town were only a vague glow in the sky. When they stopped Hust laid out a few glims to shine light on the proceedings. First Kerbogha drew a small leather pouch from his pack and smeared each of the crew on the top of their heads with its contents.
This will make you smell more like the Ulan-waul, it will settle the hunges.
This was Holman's first contact with raw yest. In its unadulterated form, not attenuated by process, it had a powerful effect. He felt a surge of well-being wash over him, combined with a heightened sense of oneness with his companions. He almost laughed out loud, but managed to stifle the urge. From the faces of the others he could see they were experiencing similar effects.
Kerbogha then led each of the hunges up to their rider. The party had the unsettling experience of having a hunge sniff at them from close range. The thought of the large spatulate teeth and powerful fore-claws did not lead to great ease of mind, though the effect of the yest counteracted any real fear.
Following this introduction Kerbogha demonstrated the way to control the beasts.
To make them crouch, slap them on the shoulder with your quirt. The beasts variously gurgled and snorted but all obeyed the slap of the small whip.
Slip your foot into a stirrup loop and swing into the saddle. Again all the company did the same.
Before we make them rise, I will explain the way to control the beasts, said Kerbogha. The reins are attached to the base of their ears by rings. The ears are sensitive: pull the reins to one side and the hunge will turn to that side. To make them go forward, dig them in the ribs with your heels; to make them go faster, dig harder or kick. To stop them, pull hard on both reins. If they misbehave, pull on the strap to the front of the saddle, this digs a spur into their tender parts. Finally, to make them stand cry Hut! Hut!
At Kerbogha's stentorian cry all the hunges lurched to their feet. Then many things happened at once, particularly to Holman. His beast, probably the largest of them all, began a jinking dance from foot to foot, plainly aimed at unseating him. He managed to cling onto the back of the animal, but sawing on the reins and digging his heels into its flank had no effect on its behaviour. In desperation Holman felt for the narrow strap in front of his saddle and pulled sharply. The hunge uttered a strangled yelp and stood stock still, trembling. Holman was congratulating himself and starting to ease his hold on the strap when his mount shot downwards, gathered all its considerable muscular force and leaped prodigiously high. Holman left the saddle at the top of the leap but made sharp contact with it again after the animal had landed. A blaze of pain shot from his groin and he feared for his manhood.
After he recovered his senses and his wind, he found to his surprise that he was still on the back of the hunge and that it was standing with apparent docility. Swivelling its head the hunge regarded Holman with something akin to mirth.
From the corner of his misted eye Holman could make out Kerbogha shaking with silent laughter, tears glistening on his cheeks in the glim-light.
Looking round he saw that the others had fared rather better than him, and although their hunges were sidestepping and curvetting a little, they had obviously gained some measure of control over their mounts.
Holman tentatively squeezed with his heels: the hunge moved forward slowly. He pulled on the right rein: the beast turned right. Within a couple of minutes he had it turning pirouettes, and then running with a speed which made the air whistle in his ears.
* A disc gun is a hand-weapon which fires ultra-thin discs of synthetic diamond about the size of the palm of a hand. The discs are unnaturally keen-edged and cause horrendous wounds.
** A magnetic rifle fires slugs of steel at prodigious speeds, actuated by magnetic pulses. It is supremely accurate and totally silent.
[John split]
At last satisfied that each Unkh possessed some degree of control of their hunge, Kerbogha led them farther out into the night. They passed the hovels of the wretches that lived by picking and digging in the ever-smoldering town-refuse pit. This had been placed far enough from the town so that the good citizens of Mesk would not be forced to smell its stench. These doomed folk were so sick and infirm as to be worthless even to hard-eyed slave takers. The thought of the poverty, filth and disease within the huts enraged Dame Atrienne.
The nomad had tied to his own saddle the reins of the hunge bearing the large panniers, with the maturing pods on each side. Holman recalled when they had struggled to carry the pods from the boat and load them on the hunge. He had seen the girls beneath a web of membrane: both moved slightly and their skin had a faint green tint. Holman felt a wave of nausea pass though his gut at the memory. The pool of arrack, greasy sausage and roe tarts roiled in his stomach. As he vomited he nearly lost his grip on the reins.
Loell followed close behind Kerbogha, with Hust, Holman and Dame Crowhurst riding side by side at the rear. The steady rhythm of the hunges trot eventually induced Holman into a semi-hypnotic daze in which strange images swirled in his mind, some involving Loell. The pigments lingering influence was still strong
The hunge stumbled and Holman broke out of his reverie with a twitch and a jerk. Now, with the lights of Mesk glowing out of the mist of the river and with the clean, cool air of the steppe blowing over him, the hunge gently swaying, Tzigounie felt nearly recovered from the excesses of the long day.
[Aldi]
Several hours of hard riding followed and Holman sought to enliven the journey by engaging Kerbogha in conversation.
I have noticed that the Ulani children wear no colours. Do they commence to wear them at puberty?
The nomad looked around as if assuring himself there was nothing better to do, then nodded. At the age of 12 a boy is given a chambak and sent into the steppe. When he returns after one month he must present the hide of a slain ahulph to the elder, who then gives him a name, and sends him to the priest to be coloured.
Holman evinced mild surprise: The boy must survive a month in the wilderness, and return having slain a ferocious beast? You are doubtless a small tribe now?
Kerbogha laughed: Such would certainly be the result of a too rigid adherence to tradition. I will say only that there is a brisk market in Mesk for ahulphs and several excellent hostelries catering to a younger clientele.
What of the women? Do they too have their ritual?
Psha!", exclaimed the nomad, The women are the women. They do as they do.
Kerbogha suddenly signalled the party to remain silent. Holman listened, but apart from the chattering of marsh-grues and the occasional trill of a bird, he heard nothing.
The young nomad rode over to Holman and spoke quietly: The Engur-En are aware of our presence, their scouts have alerted the encampment.
Responding to Holmans baffled gaze, Kerbogha continued, They use skree*, as do we. Sounds carry far on the steppes, and outsiders hear only the songs of birds.
How can we signify to them the fact that we come in friendship? inquired Holman anxiously. By this time the Dame had ridden over to them.
Did I not warn of the folly of approaching them without the aid of Amaury Garzoon? Am I to be heeded only when more funds are required?
If truth were told, Holman too had his doubts about the wisdom of the course they were taking. The Engur-En were a notoriously mercurial tribe, given to sumptuously feasting their guests, making them the victims of macabre and cruel jests or slaughtering them out of hand. Or, indeed, all three. The Ulani chieftain had, however, assured him that the Engur-En wore Or at present, and would be at least approachable.
Madam, said Holman soothingly, rest easy! I am advised that the tribes aspect is calm at present, and, in any case, we are armed against all eventualities.
Kerbogha nodded assent. Had they been in Gamboge and Noire we would all be dead now, he added calmly.
Let us proceed, with caution.
The track now led gently upwards and, after some fifteen minutes riding, they crested the brow of the hill and looked downwards into a small valley, dotted with the distinctive Engur-En shents** clustered around a larger building which had a look of more permanence.
Riding forth to meet them came a group of Engur bravos, mounted on animals which resembled hunges, but were smaller and swifter. Kerbogha bared his teeth in an odd grin which Holman later learnt was an Ulani sign for contempt.
Keep a wary eye. All is rarely as it appears in the lands of the Engur-En.
With minimum ceremony the party were escorted through the village to the central lodge where they dismounted. Many of the inhabitants had come out of their huts to inspect them, and there was much muttering and stirring in the crowd as they noted the Ulani. Holman again marvelled at the intricate colouring of face and hair which he had first observed among the Ulanis. Could a people really be guided by the yests, their moods changing as they changed the colours? Could they be controlled by them, against their natural instincts? The answer seemed to be yes, and it was little wonder that the Primarchic, Malik, the Dame, all sought for the source of this wondrous substance. And, of course, himself.
* skree: a method of signalling over short distances using a high-pitched code resembling birdcalls.
** shent: the basic Engur-En dwelling.
[Martin]
As the curious crowd gathered, Kerbogha reached into his pack attached to the cantle of his saddle and drew forth a curious object made out of dry woven grass. This he held up high and declaimed something in the nomad tongue.
An Enguri elder with a seamed and weather-beaten face approached him and speaking the same tongue made a curious gesture towards the woven shape.
Holman, in some apprehension, asked in a whisper: Kerbogha, what is all this?
I have just claimed guest-brotherhood from the Enguri who are devotees of the Man-of-Grass fane. It is a fane shared by the Ulan-waul and the Enguri, and I am an initiate. This man is Tughril, he is the Fane-father here, and he has accepted my plea.
Is this guest-brotherhood significant for us?
Aye, now if we are harmed the Fane-father would have to seek recompense for the Brotherhood of the Man-of-Grass, replied the Ulani.
Then we are safe here, said Holman in some relief.
Mmm, safer certainly, but one is never truly safe in the presence of the Enguri. Besides, we might all have our throats cut and the Fane-father be content with the sacrifice of just one hunge at the fane in expiation, offered Kerbogha in a whispering laugh.
[Axo]
Holman turned to Tughril, and said Respected Fane-Father, we have come here impelled by matters of grave import and vital necessity. We wish to confer urgently with your Ethnarch. Could you now take us to his shent?
The elderly nomad frowned, adding ripples and creases to an already impressively wrinkled forehead.
Can you see a large shent, taller than the others, he said, richly decorated with symbols, and bearing a gonfalon of Argent and Azur?
No, replied Holman, looking all around him, no, I cant see it.
Well then, said the old nomad, can you see three tall poles, striped Carmin and Mauve, with many brightly-coloured skulls depending from them?
Again, Holman desperately squinted his eyes and scrutinized his surroundings. My eyesight must have been blurred by the strain of our night-ride, for I confess I cant see anything resembling what you describe.
All is normal, then, said Tughril, since our Ethnarch Jard Amber is not in this camp. Otherwise, you would have seen the Ethnarchic Shent in all its splendor, proudly displaying the Colours of Office, and Jard Ambers trophems*, justly famous across the Doussidalan Steppes.
* trophems: the nomad warriors of Doussala collect the skulls of their enemies as trophies, and display them on striped poles called trophems. Each trophem has distinctive colours whereby its owner is readily identified. The skulls themselves are painted according to complex patterns and codes describing the precise manner and circumstances in which the skull was won. A young warrior begins with a very short pole. A great warrior may have several of considerable height.
[Martin]
Do you have a chieftain? A camp of such size must be led by a man of some eminence.
We do indeed, replied the Enguri. You see before you those handfast to Jard Orokan, brother of the Ethnarch. I caution you not to praise the Ethnarch in the presence of the Pushtigmorahn*, there is blood between them.
This is not a war party though, interjected Kerbogha. There are women and children here.
You are right: this is not the Tribe-in-arms, we are the close kin of Jard Orokan and those sworn to his service. The Ethnarch has declared our lord narut**, and in turn the Pushtigmorahn has issued defiance and gathered all his folk together to oppose his brother. It will not be long before Lord Orokan sends for you. The Unkhin are not greatly in his favour at present.
Dame Crowhurst, who could overhear the conversation, took Holman by the arm. This is startling news, Tzigounie. If only we had Garzoon's understanding of the nomads, perhaps we could find some advantage in this situation.
Perhaps we shall find some advantage first in securing Garzoon's freedom. Malik and the Engur-en have been in close contact, this much we know.
This conversation was interrupted by Tughril. Would my guest-son like me to take care of his and his Unkhin friends mounts? My encampment is close by.
That would be a great kindness, Father.
Please do not touch the contents of the panniers! chimed Dame Crowhurst. They have religious significance concerning the Female Rites.
Have no fear, the Engur-en do not pilfer. I will consign the things you speak of to the womenfolk of my family, said Tughril with some distaste.
At this point four Enguri Moras pushed their way through the crowd. They were armed with toucifs, and had long knives and coiled razor-whips at their belts. Their tall stiffened war-bonnets were slit to allow fans of gaudily dyed hair to emerge at various angles. The foremost addressed Tughril: Revered Father, the Unkhin and the Ulani are to come with us to see the Lord Orokan, at once.
Tell the lord that I have taken the Ulani as guest-brother of the Man-of-Grass fane. He and his companions now have rights which I will enforce.
The Mora grunted, then replied, I will inform the Pushtigmorahn of your words, Father. Then turning to the company he said: Place any weapons you hold onto your saddle packs, leave your hunges here and follow me.
* Pushtigmorahn: the second most powerful man within a nomad tribe. He is usually a senior clan leader and, as his name implies, he leads the tribe's Moras when gathered for war.
** Narut: beyond the bounds, a person adjudged narut ceases to have any place in tribal society. He becomes a non-person with no rights, any man's hand may be turned against him without recourse to recompense for himself, his kin or his fane brothers.
[John]
As they followed the Moras Dame Atrienne whispered to Kerbogha, What will we do? Kerbogha shrugged. Show respect by bowing your head a moment, answer his questions truthfully. I would expect he and his retinue are taking their mid-day meal in the lodge house. They eat, they speak; there is no great ceremony involved.
They came to the building they had seen from the rise. Its walls and roof were made of slabs of bark, and it was painted in large bright swoops and swirls of chartreuse and crimson. One of the Moras gestured for them to enter through a low curtained doorway. The interior was gloomy and smelled of smoke. A single tube of bright light stabbed down to the ground from a smoke-hole in the center of the roof. The floor was covered with woven steppe-grass mats. The room was filled with the noise of people talking, yelling and laughing. Somewhere a baby cried.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Holman could make out four circles of about five people seated around trays of food and drink. He realized he was hungry. The Mora led them to one of the circles and stopped next to an older man with a brown leather face covered with a web of wrinkles. His long, steel-gray hair was pulled back from his face and hung down his back in a single simple braid.
The warrior announced: I have brought the Ulan and the four riverfolk. The five all nodded their heads. Tughril tells me he has given them rights as guest brothers. To Tzigounies surprise the old man laughed and said, Good, good. Sit and join us at our meal. You must be tired and hungry after your journey. He waved a long arm for the others seated at his ring to move back and make room for the newcomers.
We certainly are, said Dame Crowhurst. I, for one, could eat a boiled zimp. Jard Orokan patted the ground next to him and indicated that Dame Crowhurst should sit beside him. After the people that had been sitting left and joined other circles, the group sat down. I regret I have no zimp for you, my dear, said Orokan. Dame Crowhursts eyebrows shot up at this familiarity. He went on, Steppe-grass seed simmered with pepper pods and hunge meat are all I can offer. Dame Crowhurst bravely smiled.
A teen-aged girl brought Holman and the others brass spoons with long handles and long rectangular bowls. Holman had entered the lodge half expecting to have his throat cut, but now all thoughts of anything but the food and drink in front of him fled from Holmans head: he ate and drank steadily. As he ate he noticed Jard Orokan and Dame Atrienne talking and laughing and eating.
The Pushtigmorahn stood and everyone in the building stopped talking. Finish your meal, he said to Dame Atrienne and the others. He walked over to the nearest circle and sat, and the voices filled the room again. The young warrior came over and told them, I am to take you to the guest shent. You will rest and wait until you are sent for. The Pushtigmorahn will consult with the elders. Then he will decide what colors we are to wear.
He led them to a small shent and waved them inside. Wait, he said, and walked off. Holman stooped and entered the shent. He saw their saddlebags and a number of cushions and rugs lying on floor mats. Again he could not resist the needs of his body. He got down on the floor, put his head on a cushion, covered himself with a rug and fell asleep.
[Martin]
The noise of shouting and piercing war yells awoke the group.
What is this cacophony all about? cried Dame Crowhurst.
No doubt we will find out soon enough, replied Holman. He was trying to disentangle himself gently from Loell who had clasped him in her fright at the sudden eruption of yelling. He was also attempting to fight down the thought that the feel of her in his arms was more than ordinarily pleasant.
A group of four Moras suddenly pulled open the flaps of the shent. It was immediately apparent that a less than subtle change in their attitude had taken place. Three levelled their toucifs at the group while their leader barked: Out! You are to come with us. All of the Moras seemed agitated and the looks they gave the outsiders were far from friendly.
They were marched past shents and enclosures until they came to a large open space before one side of the lodge house. Jard Orokan sat on a pile of hunge saddles while the clan chiefs, elders and other important men gestured and argued in front of him. A heaving throng of Moras stood eagerly around the periphery. The uproar had quietened down from that which had first awakened Holman and his company, but when the outsiders approached a hiss and menacing low murmur greeted them.
One of the clan chiefs, a heavy-built belligerent-looking man wearing a war bonnet, shouted: Hau! The Unkhin spies and their Ulani lap-dog, now we will find out what they are doing here.
Orokan slapped the saddles he was sitting on with a quirt, and rose to his feet. The hubbub died down. Be quiet a while, Gmushteghin! Then addressing Holman and his group he said: News has just reached us that an enemy is encamped at no great distance from here, he is Unkhin like you, going by the name of Malik. It is a strange coincidence that a group of Unkhin unexpectedly enter our camp, riding hunge-back like nomads, and immediately following this we find our enemy camped close by. Can you explain this?
There is nothing to explain, interjected Gmushteghin, they are spies of Malik or worse. They are vile assassins!
Holman, quickly digesting the import of this unexpected news, pitched his voice so that all could hear, and replied: Nothing, noble lord, could be further from the truth. We share a common enemy in Malik. You can all see this scar upon my face: it is a memento of Malik's enmity. We came to the Engur-en to discover what interest Malik had in your people, to warn you against his duplicities, and perhaps gain your aid in driving him from the Great Dry Heart forever.
This was greeted by a snort of contempt from Gmushteghin. Jard Orokan looked Holman in the face as if trying to divine his thoughts and said: This places me in a dilemma, do I believe the words of a stranger, an Unkh, or do I place reliance on the counsel of a trusted clansman like Gmushteghin, and these others of like mind?
At this Tughril the Fane-Father, who had been standing to one side, moved to stand before Orokan. Lord Orokan, when doubt exists as to the truth between two men, cannot Morrighan, the Dark Lady of Strife, be invoked to decide? Here I see two men at odds. He indicated Holman and Gmushteghin.
Yes! spoke Jard Orokan. As ever the Revered Father casts light upon our dim uncertainty. Turning to Gmushteghin he asked, Are you willing to test the truth of your doubts of these Unkhin with your strength, with your blood?
Aye, I will flense the pale-faced loon! He is so much meat for my whip to cut. replied Gmushteghin, starting to make the ritual threat-posturing which preceded single combat amongst the nomads.
Turning to Holman, who suddenly found himself alone with a wide space around him and the distinct impression that a large stone had appeared in his stomach, Jard Orokan asked, And you, outlander, will you fight this man to prove your words are true?
Holman swallowed, and replied: Yes, I will fight if it is needful. He could hear Loell's gasp from behind him and sense the tension in his other companions. Dame Crowhurst exclaimed: But this is ridiculous! Holman turned and waved down her objections.
Addressing Orokan once more Holman said, One request I have, that we do not fight with razor-whips. They are weapons which are not used by my people and are unfamiliar to me.
This is a reasonable request, what do you wish to fight with?
Knives or bare-handed, at my opponent's choice.
Knives was Gmushteghins only response. He threw his razor-whip to a nearby Mora, and drew his knife.
Not willing to reveal the hidden weapon in his right forearm bracer, Holman held up his empty hands. Tughril stepped forward drawing his own long knife from its sheath, and handed it to Holman hilt first, saying: Use mine, it is an old blade with much honour upon it.
My thanks Father Tughril, I hope to use it with honour.
Holman hefted the knife to gauge its balance, which he found was perfect. Like all Engur fighting knives it had a broad double-edged blade the length of a forearm coming to an acute point, its hilt was of intricately carved human bone. Apt for thrusting or cutting, considered Holman, but not good for throwing.
Orokan asked both fighters if they were ready. At their assent he said, At my cry of start, you will begin to fight.
Holman and Gmushteghin squared off, the nomad making extravagant flourishes with his knife. The moment Jard Orokan shouted start Holman noted that Gmushteghin ceased his posturing and slipped into a very workmanlike crouch, his knife held low, blade angled to slip between Holmans ribs. Gmushteghin was broad shouldered and bull-necked, certainly powerful in his upper body, but Holman thought that he himself had the longer reach by a fraction.
After a few feints and some circling Gmushteghin lunged forward, slipped passed Holmans guard and struck for the pit of his stomach. Holman just managed to twist so that the knife sheared through his shirt and sliced a shallow cut into his side. The Engur side-stepped and was on his guard before Holman could cut down at him. Holman was aware that he had been cut but could feel nothing through the roar of adrenaline. Rather than reacting to his wound Holman was more concerned by the speed his opponent had shown. Any thoughts Holman had entertained about disabling his opponent fled, he would have to strike to kill if he were to survive at all. Gmushteghin was grinning, Holman knew he would go onto the attack again, but he had noted that the nomad led with his left foot extended. As the Engur launched another attack Holman dropped low and hooked his foes left foot with his right. Caught off balance Gmushteghin had to flip around to keep upright, momentarily presenting his back to Holman. Tzigounie struck, but the speed of the Engur ensured that the blade skittered off his ribs rather than striking deep.
Gmushteghin was no longer smiling, his face was white lipped with rage and pain. Holman hoped that his next attack would be less controlled than before. Roaring like a hunge stallion the nomad lunged forward; Holman batted his enemys blade aside using the hardened leather of his left arm-bracer to avoid a cut. Gmushteghins corded neck was open, Holman stuck with all his strength and his blade bit hilt-deep into the throat above the collar bone. The Enguri choked, raking Holmans shoulder with his left hand, then slipped to the ground in a welter of blood.
Holman Tzigounie stood almost sobbing with exertion, as the Engur-en Moras chanted a low Zhee-zhee in admiration.
Are my words vindicated? he gasped.
Jard Orokan replied Stranger you have spoken the truth. All here witness both the favour of the Dark Lady and your prowess. By custom all of Gmushteghins property is now yours, he was rich and owned many hunges.
I have no need of his property, let his kin take them, I ask only to have his knife.
Orokan addressed all the Enguri around, The Unkh is as generous as he is skilled, and he honours his enemy by taking his weapon to use. Take heed, no one is to doubt his word.
Holman picked up his opponents weapon and handed Tughrils knife back. It returns to me with greater lustre, said the old nomad.
My great thanks to you Father, it is a fine weapon, replied Holman.
Kerbogha sprang forward, a light of frank admiration on his face, and said, I will take the head, my lord, and prepare it as a fitting trophem.
Holman gasped But I have no use for a mans skull!
The Enguri would be insulted if they thought you considered one of their chiefs as not fitting to make a trophem, my lord.
Very well then, Kerbogha, just as long as I dont have to carry it around everywhere.
[Axo continuity insert]
Safely back from his nocturnal revel, and sobered by the fast action of the drug, Holman decided there was no more time to lose. He had to put his plan in action, and the first step was to leave Mesk. He spotted Kerbogha and asked him: How long will it take us to master the rudiments of hunge-riding?
[Martin]
That depends on aptitude, grinned the Ulani. However, to move at a moderate speed without falling off, would probably take an hour or so.
Good, I would be obliged if you would gather the beasts together and harness them.
Certainly.
Holman took himself off to the boat to gather weapons. As he walked, he pondered a problem. Dame Crowhurst would certainly not be put off from accompanying the expedition, this would mean that Loell would probably have to go too. It would be far too dangerous to leave her alone in a place like Mesk. Yes, despite the danger and uncertainty, the girl would have to come along.
He boarded the boat and descended into the hold. In a hollow in the false keel, covered by a disguised hatch, was a weapons stash. The Primarchonate disapproved of the importation of advanced weapons into Preserve Planets, but as this would be unlikely to concern the likes of Malik, Holman felt justified in this infringement. Besides he would have received sanction if he had gone through procedure, but due process took time and he had precious little of that to spare.
Kerbogha was well enough armed as it was; he chose a short-range disrupter for Dame Crowhurst and a disc gun* for Hust. He picked a long magnetic rifle** with a night sight for himself, plus a bagfull of Hemmerys Little Surprises. As an afterthought he took a small venomator for Loell, considering, as a grim stricture tightened his features, that if she fell into Malik's hands she could use it on herself. The venom was quick and allegedly painless. He took up the weapons in a holdall, placed wards on the boat, both metaphysical and mundane, to discourage interference or larceny, and returned to the inn.
He found the party already assembled, and Kerbogha at the head of a line of saddled hunges. Addressing the nomad Holman said : Would you lead the beasts out into the night awhile, we had better undertake our riding lesson away from the eyes of the town.
They made their way out into the slight chill of the night until the lights of the town were only a vague glow in the sky. When they stopped Hust laid out a few glims to shine light on the proceedings. First Kerbogha drew a small leather pouch from his pack and smeared each of the crew on the top of their heads with its contents.
This will make you smell more like the Ulan-waul, it will settle the hunges.
This was Holman's first contact with raw yest. In its unadulterated form, not attenuated by process, it had a powerful effect. He felt a surge of well-being wash over him, combined with a heightened sense of oneness with his companions. He almost laughed out loud, but managed to stifle the urge. From the faces of the others he could see they were experiencing similar effects.
Kerbogha then led each of the hunges up to their rider. The party had the unsettling experience of having a hunge sniff at them from close range. The thought of the large spatulate teeth and powerful fore-claws did not lead to great ease of mind, though the effect of the yest counteracted any real fear.
Following this introduction Kerbogha demonstrated the way to control the beasts.
To make them crouch, slap them on the shoulder with your quirt. The beasts variously gurgled and snorted but all obeyed the slap of the small whip.
Slip your foot into a stirrup loop and swing into the saddle. Again all the company did the same.
Before we make them rise, I will explain the way to control the beasts, said Kerbogha. The reins are attached to the base of their ears by rings. The ears are sensitive: pull the reins to one side and the hunge will turn to that side. To make them go forward, dig them in the ribs with your heels; to make them go faster, dig harder or kick. To stop them, pull hard on both reins. If they misbehave, pull on the strap to the front of the saddle, this digs a spur into their tender parts. Finally, to make them stand cry Hut! Hut!
At Kerbogha's stentorian cry all the hunges lurched to their feet. Then many things happened at once, particularly to Holman. His beast, probably the largest of them all, began a jinking dance from foot to foot, plainly aimed at unseating him. He managed to cling onto the back of the animal, but sawing on the reins and digging his heels into its flank had no effect on its behaviour. In desperation Holman felt for the narrow strap in front of his saddle and pulled sharply. The hunge uttered a strangled yelp and stood stock still, trembling. Holman was congratulating himself and starting to ease his hold on the strap when his mount shot downwards, gathered all its considerable muscular force and leaped prodigiously high. Holman left the saddle at the top of the leap but made sharp contact with it again after the animal had landed. A blaze of pain shot from his groin and he feared for his manhood.
After he recovered his senses and his wind, he found to his surprise that he was still on the back of the hunge and that it was standing with apparent docility. Swivelling its head the hunge regarded Holman with something akin to mirth.
From the corner of his misted eye Holman could make out Kerbogha shaking with silent laughter, tears glistening on his cheeks in the glim-light.
Looking round he saw that the others had fared rather better than him, and although their hunges were sidestepping and curvetting a little, they had obviously gained some measure of control over their mounts.
Holman tentatively squeezed with his heels: the hunge moved forward slowly. He pulled on the right rein: the beast turned right. Within a couple of minutes he had it turning pirouettes, and then running with a speed which made the air whistle in his ears.
* A disc gun is a hand-weapon which fires ultra-thin discs of synthetic diamond about the size of the palm of a hand. The discs are unnaturally keen-edged and cause horrendous wounds.
** A magnetic rifle fires slugs of steel at prodigious speeds, actuated by magnetic pulses. It is supremely accurate and totally silent.
[John split]
At last satisfied that each Unkh possessed some degree of control of their hunge, Kerbogha led them farther out into the night. They passed the hovels of the wretches that lived by picking and digging in the ever-smoldering town-refuse pit. This had been placed far enough from the town so that the good citizens of Mesk would not be forced to smell its stench. These doomed folk were so sick and infirm as to be worthless even to hard-eyed slave takers. The thought of the poverty, filth and disease within the huts enraged Dame Atrienne.
The nomad had tied to his own saddle the reins of the hunge bearing the large panniers, with the maturing pods on each side. Holman recalled when they had struggled to carry the pods from the boat and load them on the hunge. He had seen the girls beneath a web of membrane: both moved slightly and their skin had a faint green tint. Holman felt a wave of nausea pass though his gut at the memory. The pool of arrack, greasy sausage and roe tarts roiled in his stomach. As he vomited he nearly lost his grip on the reins.
Loell followed close behind Kerbogha, with Hust, Holman and Dame Crowhurst riding side by side at the rear. The steady rhythm of the hunges trot eventually induced Holman into a semi-hypnotic daze in which strange images swirled in his mind, some involving Loell. The pigments lingering influence was still strong
The hunge stumbled and Holman broke out of his reverie with a twitch and a jerk. Now, with the lights of Mesk glowing out of the mist of the river and with the clean, cool air of the steppe blowing over him, the hunge gently swaying, Tzigounie felt nearly recovered from the excesses of the long day.
[Aldi]
Several hours of hard riding followed and Holman sought to enliven the journey by engaging Kerbogha in conversation.
I have noticed that the Ulani children wear no colours. Do they commence to wear them at puberty?
The nomad looked around as if assuring himself there was nothing better to do, then nodded. At the age of 12 a boy is given a chambak and sent into the steppe. When he returns after one month he must present the hide of a slain ahulph to the elder, who then gives him a name, and sends him to the priest to be coloured.
Holman evinced mild surprise: The boy must survive a month in the wilderness, and return having slain a ferocious beast? You are doubtless a small tribe now?
Kerbogha laughed: Such would certainly be the result of a too rigid adherence to tradition. I will say only that there is a brisk market in Mesk for ahulphs and several excellent hostelries catering to a younger clientele.
What of the women? Do they too have their ritual?
Psha!", exclaimed the nomad, The women are the women. They do as they do.
Kerbogha suddenly signalled the party to remain silent. Holman listened, but apart from the chattering of marsh-grues and the occasional trill of a bird, he heard nothing.
The young nomad rode over to Holman and spoke quietly: The Engur-En are aware of our presence, their scouts have alerted the encampment.
Responding to Holmans baffled gaze, Kerbogha continued, They use skree*, as do we. Sounds carry far on the steppes, and outsiders hear only the songs of birds.
How can we signify to them the fact that we come in friendship? inquired Holman anxiously. By this time the Dame had ridden over to them.
Did I not warn of the folly of approaching them without the aid of Amaury Garzoon? Am I to be heeded only when more funds are required?
If truth were told, Holman too had his doubts about the wisdom of the course they were taking. The Engur-En were a notoriously mercurial tribe, given to sumptuously feasting their guests, making them the victims of macabre and cruel jests or slaughtering them out of hand. Or, indeed, all three. The Ulani chieftain had, however, assured him that the Engur-En wore Or at present, and would be at least approachable.
Madam, said Holman soothingly, rest easy! I am advised that the tribes aspect is calm at present, and, in any case, we are armed against all eventualities.
Kerbogha nodded assent. Had they been in Gamboge and Noire we would all be dead now, he added calmly.
Let us proceed, with caution.
The track now led gently upwards and, after some fifteen minutes riding, they crested the brow of the hill and looked downwards into a small valley, dotted with the distinctive Engur-En shents** clustered around a larger building which had a look of more permanence.
Riding forth to meet them came a group of Engur bravos, mounted on animals which resembled hunges, but were smaller and swifter. Kerbogha bared his teeth in an odd grin which Holman later learnt was an Ulani sign for contempt.
Keep a wary eye. All is rarely as it appears in the lands of the Engur-En.
With minimum ceremony the party were escorted through the village to the central lodge where they dismounted. Many of the inhabitants had come out of their huts to inspect them, and there was much muttering and stirring in the crowd as they noted the Ulani. Holman again marvelled at the intricate colouring of face and hair which he had first observed among the Ulanis. Could a people really be guided by the yests, their moods changing as they changed the colours? Could they be controlled by them, against their natural instincts? The answer seemed to be yes, and it was little wonder that the Primarchic, Malik, the Dame, all sought for the source of this wondrous substance. And, of course, himself.
* skree: a method of signalling over short distances using a high-pitched code resembling birdcalls.
** shent: the basic Engur-En dwelling.
[Martin]
As the curious crowd gathered, Kerbogha reached into his pack attached to the cantle of his saddle and drew forth a curious object made out of dry woven grass. This he held up high and declaimed something in the nomad tongue.
An Enguri elder with a seamed and weather-beaten face approached him and speaking the same tongue made a curious gesture towards the woven shape.
Holman, in some apprehension, asked in a whisper: Kerbogha, what is all this?
I have just claimed guest-brotherhood from the Enguri who are devotees of the Man-of-Grass fane. It is a fane shared by the Ulan-waul and the Enguri, and I am an initiate. This man is Tughril, he is the Fane-father here, and he has accepted my plea.
Is this guest-brotherhood significant for us?
Aye, now if we are harmed the Fane-father would have to seek recompense for the Brotherhood of the Man-of-Grass, replied the Ulani.
Then we are safe here, said Holman in some relief.
Mmm, safer certainly, but one is never truly safe in the presence of the Enguri. Besides, we might all have our throats cut and the Fane-father be content with the sacrifice of just one hunge at the fane in expiation, offered Kerbogha in a whispering laugh.
[Axo]
Holman turned to Tughril, and said Respected Fane-Father, we have come here impelled by matters of grave import and vital necessity. We wish to confer urgently with your Ethnarch. Could you now take us to his shent?
The elderly nomad frowned, adding ripples and creases to an already impressively wrinkled forehead.
Can you see a large shent, taller than the others, he said, richly decorated with symbols, and bearing a gonfalon of Argent and Azur?
No, replied Holman, looking all around him, no, I cant see it.
Well then, said the old nomad, can you see three tall poles, striped Carmin and Mauve, with many brightly-coloured skulls depending from them?
Again, Holman desperately squinted his eyes and scrutinized his surroundings. My eyesight must have been blurred by the strain of our night-ride, for I confess I cant see anything resembling what you describe.
All is normal, then, said Tughril, since our Ethnarch Jard Amber is not in this camp. Otherwise, you would have seen the Ethnarchic Shent in all its splendor, proudly displaying the Colours of Office, and Jard Ambers trophems*, justly famous across the Doussidalan Steppes.
* trophems: the nomad warriors of Doussala collect the skulls of their enemies as trophies, and display them on striped poles called trophems. Each trophem has distinctive colours whereby its owner is readily identified. The skulls themselves are painted according to complex patterns and codes describing the precise manner and circumstances in which the skull was won. A young warrior begins with a very short pole. A great warrior may have several of considerable height.
[Martin]
Do you have a chieftain? A camp of such size must be led by a man of some eminence.
We do indeed, replied the Enguri. You see before you those handfast to Jard Orokan, brother of the Ethnarch. I caution you not to praise the Ethnarch in the presence of the Pushtigmorahn*, there is blood between them.
This is not a war party though, interjected Kerbogha. There are women and children here.
You are right: this is not the Tribe-in-arms, we are the close kin of Jard Orokan and those sworn to his service. The Ethnarch has declared our lord narut**, and in turn the Pushtigmorahn has issued defiance and gathered all his folk together to oppose his brother. It will not be long before Lord Orokan sends for you. The Unkhin are not greatly in his favour at present.
Dame Crowhurst, who could overhear the conversation, took Holman by the arm. This is startling news, Tzigounie. If only we had Garzoon's understanding of the nomads, perhaps we could find some advantage in this situation.
Perhaps we shall find some advantage first in securing Garzoon's freedom. Malik and the Engur-en have been in close contact, this much we know.
This conversation was interrupted by Tughril. Would my guest-son like me to take care of his and his Unkhin friends mounts? My encampment is close by.
That would be a great kindness, Father.
Please do not touch the contents of the panniers! chimed Dame Crowhurst. They have religious significance concerning the Female Rites.
Have no fear, the Engur-en do not pilfer. I will consign the things you speak of to the womenfolk of my family, said Tughril with some distaste.
At this point four Enguri Moras pushed their way through the crowd. They were armed with toucifs, and had long knives and coiled razor-whips at their belts. Their tall stiffened war-bonnets were slit to allow fans of gaudily dyed hair to emerge at various angles. The foremost addressed Tughril: Revered Father, the Unkhin and the Ulani are to come with us to see the Lord Orokan, at once.
Tell the lord that I have taken the Ulani as guest-brother of the Man-of-Grass fane. He and his companions now have rights which I will enforce.
The Mora grunted, then replied, I will inform the Pushtigmorahn of your words, Father. Then turning to the company he said: Place any weapons you hold onto your saddle packs, leave your hunges here and follow me.
* Pushtigmorahn: the second most powerful man within a nomad tribe. He is usually a senior clan leader and, as his name implies, he leads the tribe's Moras when gathered for war.
** Narut: beyond the bounds, a person adjudged narut ceases to have any place in tribal society. He becomes a non-person with no rights, any man's hand may be turned against him without recourse to recompense for himself, his kin or his fane brothers.
[John]
As they followed the Moras Dame Atrienne whispered to Kerbogha, What will we do? Kerbogha shrugged. Show respect by bowing your head a moment, answer his questions truthfully. I would expect he and his retinue are taking their mid-day meal in the lodge house. They eat, they speak; there is no great ceremony involved.
They came to the building they had seen from the rise. Its walls and roof were made of slabs of bark, and it was painted in large bright swoops and swirls of chartreuse and crimson. One of the Moras gestured for them to enter through a low curtained doorway. The interior was gloomy and smelled of smoke. A single tube of bright light stabbed down to the ground from a smoke-hole in the center of the roof. The floor was covered with woven steppe-grass mats. The room was filled with the noise of people talking, yelling and laughing. Somewhere a baby cried.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Holman could make out four circles of about five people seated around trays of food and drink. He realized he was hungry. The Mora led them to one of the circles and stopped next to an older man with a brown leather face covered with a web of wrinkles. His long, steel-gray hair was pulled back from his face and hung down his back in a single simple braid.
The warrior announced: I have brought the Ulan and the four riverfolk. The five all nodded their heads. Tughril tells me he has given them rights as guest brothers. To Tzigounies surprise the old man laughed and said, Good, good. Sit and join us at our meal. You must be tired and hungry after your journey. He waved a long arm for the others seated at his ring to move back and make room for the newcomers.
We certainly are, said Dame Crowhurst. I, for one, could eat a boiled zimp. Jard Orokan patted the ground next to him and indicated that Dame Crowhurst should sit beside him. After the people that had been sitting left and joined other circles, the group sat down. I regret I have no zimp for you, my dear, said Orokan. Dame Crowhursts eyebrows shot up at this familiarity. He went on, Steppe-grass seed simmered with pepper pods and hunge meat are all I can offer. Dame Crowhurst bravely smiled.
A teen-aged girl brought Holman and the others brass spoons with long handles and long rectangular bowls. Holman had entered the lodge half expecting to have his throat cut, but now all thoughts of anything but the food and drink in front of him fled from Holmans head: he ate and drank steadily. As he ate he noticed Jard Orokan and Dame Atrienne talking and laughing and eating.
The Pushtigmorahn stood and everyone in the building stopped talking. Finish your meal, he said to Dame Atrienne and the others. He walked over to the nearest circle and sat, and the voices filled the room again. The young warrior came over and told them, I am to take you to the guest shent. You will rest and wait until you are sent for. The Pushtigmorahn will consult with the elders. Then he will decide what colors we are to wear.
He led them to a small shent and waved them inside. Wait, he said, and walked off. Holman stooped and entered the shent. He saw their saddlebags and a number of cushions and rugs lying on floor mats. Again he could not resist the needs of his body. He got down on the floor, put his head on a cushion, covered himself with a rug and fell asleep.
[Martin]
The noise of shouting and piercing war yells awoke the group.
What is this cacophony all about? cried Dame Crowhurst.
No doubt we will find out soon enough, replied Holman. He was trying to disentangle himself gently from Loell who had clasped him in her fright at the sudden eruption of yelling. He was also attempting to fight down the thought that the feel of her in his arms was more than ordinarily pleasant.
A group of four Moras suddenly pulled open the flaps of the shent. It was immediately apparent that a less than subtle change in their attitude had taken place. Three levelled their toucifs at the group while their leader barked: Out! You are to come with us. All of the Moras seemed agitated and the looks they gave the outsiders were far from friendly.
They were marched past shents and enclosures until they came to a large open space before one side of the lodge house. Jard Orokan sat on a pile of hunge saddles while the clan chiefs, elders and other important men gestured and argued in front of him. A heaving throng of Moras stood eagerly around the periphery. The uproar had quietened down from that which had first awakened Holman and his company, but when the outsiders approached a hiss and menacing low murmur greeted them.
One of the clan chiefs, a heavy-built belligerent-looking man wearing a war bonnet, shouted: Hau! The Unkhin spies and their Ulani lap-dog, now we will find out what they are doing here.
Orokan slapped the saddles he was sitting on with a quirt, and rose to his feet. The hubbub died down. Be quiet a while, Gmushteghin! Then addressing Holman and his group he said: News has just reached us that an enemy is encamped at no great distance from here, he is Unkhin like you, going by the name of Malik. It is a strange coincidence that a group of Unkhin unexpectedly enter our camp, riding hunge-back like nomads, and immediately following this we find our enemy camped close by. Can you explain this?
There is nothing to explain, interjected Gmushteghin, they are spies of Malik or worse. They are vile assassins!
Holman, quickly digesting the import of this unexpected news, pitched his voice so that all could hear, and replied: Nothing, noble lord, could be further from the truth. We share a common enemy in Malik. You can all see this scar upon my face: it is a memento of Malik's enmity. We came to the Engur-en to discover what interest Malik had in your people, to warn you against his duplicities, and perhaps gain your aid in driving him from the Great Dry Heart forever.
This was greeted by a snort of contempt from Gmushteghin. Jard Orokan looked Holman in the face as if trying to divine his thoughts and said: This places me in a dilemma, do I believe the words of a stranger, an Unkh, or do I place reliance on the counsel of a trusted clansman like Gmushteghin, and these others of like mind?
At this Tughril the Fane-Father, who had been standing to one side, moved to stand before Orokan. Lord Orokan, when doubt exists as to the truth between two men, cannot Morrighan, the Dark Lady of Strife, be invoked to decide? Here I see two men at odds. He indicated Holman and Gmushteghin.
Yes! spoke Jard Orokan. As ever the Revered Father casts light upon our dim uncertainty. Turning to Gmushteghin he asked, Are you willing to test the truth of your doubts of these Unkhin with your strength, with your blood?
Aye, I will flense the pale-faced loon! He is so much meat for my whip to cut. replied Gmushteghin, starting to make the ritual threat-posturing which preceded single combat amongst the nomads.
Turning to Holman, who suddenly found himself alone with a wide space around him and the distinct impression that a large stone had appeared in his stomach, Jard Orokan asked, And you, outlander, will you fight this man to prove your words are true?
Holman swallowed, and replied: Yes, I will fight if it is needful. He could hear Loell's gasp from behind him and sense the tension in his other companions. Dame Crowhurst exclaimed: But this is ridiculous! Holman turned and waved down her objections.
Addressing Orokan once more Holman said, One request I have, that we do not fight with razor-whips. They are weapons which are not used by my people and are unfamiliar to me.
This is a reasonable request, what do you wish to fight with?
Knives or bare-handed, at my opponent's choice.
Knives was Gmushteghins only response. He threw his razor-whip to a nearby Mora, and drew his knife.
Not willing to reveal the hidden weapon in his right forearm bracer, Holman held up his empty hands. Tughril stepped forward drawing his own long knife from its sheath, and handed it to Holman hilt first, saying: Use mine, it is an old blade with much honour upon it.
My thanks Father Tughril, I hope to use it with honour.
Holman hefted the knife to gauge its balance, which he found was perfect. Like all Engur fighting knives it had a broad double-edged blade the length of a forearm coming to an acute point, its hilt was of intricately carved human bone. Apt for thrusting or cutting, considered Holman, but not good for throwing.
Orokan asked both fighters if they were ready. At their assent he said, At my cry of start, you will begin to fight.
Holman and Gmushteghin squared off, the nomad making extravagant flourishes with his knife. The moment Jard Orokan shouted start Holman noted that Gmushteghin ceased his posturing and slipped into a very workmanlike crouch, his knife held low, blade angled to slip between Holmans ribs. Gmushteghin was broad shouldered and bull-necked, certainly powerful in his upper body, but Holman thought that he himself had the longer reach by a fraction.
After a few feints and some circling Gmushteghin lunged forward, slipped passed Holmans guard and struck for the pit of his stomach. Holman just managed to twist so that the knife sheared through his shirt and sliced a shallow cut into his side. The Engur side-stepped and was on his guard before Holman could cut down at him. Holman was aware that he had been cut but could feel nothing through the roar of adrenaline. Rather than reacting to his wound Holman was more concerned by the speed his opponent had shown. Any thoughts Holman had entertained about disabling his opponent fled, he would have to strike to kill if he were to survive at all. Gmushteghin was grinning, Holman knew he would go onto the attack again, but he had noted that the nomad led with his left foot extended. As the Engur launched another attack Holman dropped low and hooked his foes left foot with his right. Caught off balance Gmushteghin had to flip around to keep upright, momentarily presenting his back to Holman. Tzigounie struck, but the speed of the Engur ensured that the blade skittered off his ribs rather than striking deep.
Gmushteghin was no longer smiling, his face was white lipped with rage and pain. Holman hoped that his next attack would be less controlled than before. Roaring like a hunge stallion the nomad lunged forward; Holman batted his enemys blade aside using the hardened leather of his left arm-bracer to avoid a cut. Gmushteghins corded neck was open, Holman stuck with all his strength and his blade bit hilt-deep into the throat above the collar bone. The Enguri choked, raking Holmans shoulder with his left hand, then slipped to the ground in a welter of blood.
Holman Tzigounie stood almost sobbing with exertion, as the Engur-en Moras chanted a low Zhee-zhee in admiration.
Are my words vindicated? he gasped.
Jard Orokan replied Stranger you have spoken the truth. All here witness both the favour of the Dark Lady and your prowess. By custom all of Gmushteghins property is now yours, he was rich and owned many hunges.
I have no need of his property, let his kin take them, I ask only to have his knife.
Orokan addressed all the Enguri around, The Unkh is as generous as he is skilled, and he honours his enemy by taking his weapon to use. Take heed, no one is to doubt his word.
Holman picked up his opponents weapon and handed Tughrils knife back. It returns to me with greater lustre, said the old nomad.
My great thanks to you Father, it is a fine weapon, replied Holman.
Kerbogha sprang forward, a light of frank admiration on his face, and said, I will take the head, my lord, and prepare it as a fitting trophem.
Holman gasped But I have no use for a mans skull!
The Enguri would be insulted if they thought you considered one of their chiefs as not fitting to make a trophem, my lord.
Very well then, Kerbogha, just as long as I dont have to carry it around everywhere.
