Indomitus Est (The Fovean Chronicles) (38 page)

    
As expected.  Never pick a fight with an ambidextrous man because he doesn’t have a weak side.  I held my left back and lead with my right, holding it up in front of me like a shield.  When he tried to sidestep it for a shot at my stomach, I turned my hips and caught him square on the side of the head with that same right hand.  He fell again and leapt back to his feet in a second, this time bleeding from his left cheek.

    
Now he seemed confused, because he had been hit from both sides.  Before he could decide how to counter, I waded in as I had in a hundred bars in dozens of cities in countries all over my world.  Left to the ribs, block with the right, block with the left, right to the face, left to the face, right to the face, knee to the stomach leaving him wondering “Where the hell did
that
come from?” as I dropped him a third time and, a third time, he leapt back up in a second.

    
He was reeling now, blows coming in from both directions and above and below as well.  This time he set his feet and telegraphed his shot to my stomach.  Because I saw it coming, I raised my fists to protect my face and I took it.

    
That
hurt
, but it wasn’t penetrating – more like a slap to me than a punch.  Stomach muscles are strong by nature and riding and fighting make them stronger.  His right fist stopped on my stomach with an audible
thud
and the left followed right behind it, then the right again while, like a boxer, I tucked my elbows and let him wail.  The flesh and bones of a weakened man flailed against my ready stomach.

    
When he couldn’t break me, he stepped back and I immediately brought both fists down on the bridge of his nose, holding my shoulders steady as I snapped out with my elbows.  His feet leapt out from under him as he fell for the fourth time.

    
He was a boxer, not a street fighter.  He had expected me to posture and make fancy, impressive moves and be a showman.  I just wanted to beat him. 

     This time
he stayed down.  When I felt sure he was staying down, I held out my hand to him and helped him to his feet.

     “I withdraw my
comments,” I told him, looking him in the eyes.

    
“That is good,” he said, his gaze unwavering “because I would hate to have to kill such a fighter!”

    
I laughed and he laughed with me.  There was a difference between beaten and defeated.

     By then the sun had started to set and my stomach growled at me.  Supposedly the women had been cooking since the moment we got there and were ready for some hungry bucks.  We men ate on wooden plates out in the open around the huge campfire as well as several smaller ones.  The women served us, running from the cook fires to the men with plates of steamed vegetables and roasted meat.  A man sat at the campfire, and his position at it marked a point of honor.  I sat with Nantar and Thorn alongside Kills With A Glance.  Where the men of the Long Manes favored tooled armor and leggings, their women wore tight-fitting skins, usually a halter and a skirt that reached to mid-thigh or a one-piece leather garment down past the butt, with a hole cut for the head and stitching on the sides.

    
I asked that my friend from the ring sit beside me and was formally introduced to Two Spears, whose eyes had swelled shut and whose lips and cheeks I’d cut.  He asked me where I had learned to fight and I told him mostly in bars.

    
“You don’t fight like a drunkard,” he told me.

    
I reached for some of their putrid mare’s milk and said, “But I drink like a fighter!” and they all laughed.

    
A girl of about sixteen had been assigned to attend me for the meal.  She had long black hair and dark, brown eyes.  A halter that strained to contain her showed off her sweet figure and very large breasts, and she seemed to like making eye contact, then looking away.  If these women ate at all I didn’t see it – they appeared only to serve the men.

    
I had hoped that there would be some sort of dancing or something after the meal, but the only dancing was to a sanitary ditch dug off by the cattle herd and the only music was what accompanied such a trip.  I sat with Nantar and Thorn, and Kills and Two Spears and a few of their best warriors.  From my place, I hoped that I could keep an eye on Blizzard and not look too rude by doing so.

    
The girl sat on the ground next to me, watching me eat.  Kills looked at her and laughed, bringing a blush to her sunburned skin.

    
“I must know about that horse, White Wolf,” Two Spears insisted.  They ate with their hands from their bowls, beef right from the side of the fire.  The flavor exploded in my mouth, not because of the mean fare I had been eating since leaving Outpost IX, but for the wild, outdoor taste of beef cooked over coals, marinated for hours and rubbed with wild herbs. It was chewy without being tough and greasy enough that my hands and face were covered in the natural gravy.

    
“What must you know?” Thorn asked.

    
“How does a man tame a stallion from the Herd that Cannot be Tamed?”

    
Two Spears looked at me earnestly, the light from the campfire burning in his swollen eyes with the question.  Kills, behind him, his mustachios wet with grease from the meal, looked on as well. 

    
If I gave him an answer, then half the tribe would be on their way to invading the Great Dwarven Nation tomorrow.  If I didn’t, I dishonored them – this much I could tell without Thorn’s look of dire warning.  I could lie, but I had learned that there were ways to detect liars here and I never knew where I would find them.

    
So I stood.  I had entrusted my armor to Thorn, who had set us up a tent of our own.  I wore my familiar leather pants and homespun shirt and boots, feeling oddly light in the simple clothes.

    
I whistled for Blizzard.  He ran to me, sidestepping or pushing those who were in his way.  He had kept away from the herd as he had always kept away from other, smaller horses, and as I usually kept away from large groups.

    
He came to my side and he nuzzled me.  The plains were calling him and we both knew it.

    
I looked at Two Spears, right into his eyes, and said, “With respect, Two Spears.”

    
He knit his brows.  “We all respect horses here.”

   
“Are they your equals?” I asked.

    Several of the men laughed.  Two Spears smirked and said, “The horse serves the Andaran, White Wolf.  That is how it is, that is how it is meant to be.”

    
“Then know that Blizzard is not
my
horse, Two Spears.”

    
I held the big stallion around the neck and scratched him on the spot behind the ears that he liked.  He smacked the side of my head with his cheek and regarded me with a big, brown eye.

    
“Blizzard is my best friend.  The Herd that Cannot be Tamed is called that because it is a herd that cannot be tamed.  But they can be loved and respected and, if they desire, then they
may
chose you.”

    
“Then if he is not yours…” Kills drawled, the speculation clear. 

    
If he isn’t mine, then he is theirs for the taking.

    
I smiled.  “He and I are a tribe of two,” I said to him.  “What would you do if someone tried to walk away with one of yours?”

    
Kills laughed.  That made it clearer.  Mine but not my property.

    
I walked Blizzard back to where he had been and returned to the fire.  This would be the best shot that I had, I thought.  No buck would travel a thousand miles to the Wild Horse Plains to stand and feel love for the herd in hopes that one of them would single him out – but at least I took the mystery out of the trick to taming them.

    
The whole truth being that I had no answer for him – Blizzard
had
chosen me – but whom could I expect to believe it?

Chapter Eighteen

She Runs Swiftly

    
“My daughter seems to like you, Lupus,” Kills said.  Thorn chuckled, as did Nantar a moment later. 

    
I didn’t get the joke but I didn’t care.  Two Spears and Thorn and I had run the plains yesterday and today.  We had picked a fight with five raiders from another tribe, Hard Hooves, and kicked them up one side and down the other.  In the local traditions here men didn’t fight to the death, they fought for
coup
, or points of honor.  Defeating another meant
counting coup
and mine was high already.

    
Much as I still ran and fought and still tried to figure out what the hell War wanted of me here, this came as close to a vacation as I had managed to have.  The bills had been paid and the road paved for me to actually not do anything for my designated week off, and I really enjoyed it.  I had practiced with my bow and flirted with tribal girls and ridden Blizzard to his mighty heart’s content.  He had recovered finally and it showed in him.

    
I had noticed a girl, about sixteen years old, with long dark hair and haunting eyes.  Her skin was bronzed from the sun, her body firm like a dancer’s.  When we ate, she made sure that she served me, and not just brought me meat but made sure that I received it before any other, so that I had to politely hold my food until Kills took the first mouthful.  A mark on her cheek showed where another girl had vied for the honor and lost.

    
Women counted different coup, but they counted it as well.

    
She had served me on that first night.  I really liked to look at her, and I liked the idea of her looking at me.  I liked very much how the fire played over her – not just in her eyes but also on her body, as if she were a part of the flames outside of the fire pit.  Sunburned and fire-born. 

    
I like pretty girls, but they always did me wrong.  I was still recovering from Genna and too smart to play here. I was just looking.

    
“I wondered about her name,” I admitted, finally.

    
We were sitting at dinner around the campfire.  The tribe still didn’t dance at the dinner feast - so much for the Discovery Channel.  The rich food had had my bowels running yesterday but today I did better.  Kills and Two Spears and Nantar and Thorn and I sat in our same group that we were always in.  I had yet to see a woman eat.

    
Kills nodded.  “She is She Runs Swiftly,” he said.  “She has no man, and she has had no man.”

    
I nodded.  I could guess the fate of anyone who dallied with Kills’ daughter, such as being dragged from the most convenient saddle. 

    
She sat on her hip about five feet from me, apparently waiting for me to need something, stretched out dangerously close to the fire.  She listened to herself being discussed without a care in the world, confident in her own way of what would happen.  I could tell that something had been discussed beforehand and I could guess what.

    
Kills had discreetly sent mares in heat by way of Blizzard and he had done nothing but snort them away.  He wanted that horse, but he didn’t have the means to take him from me.  After the battle with Two Spears, there were none who would stand against me, and to just have me slaughtered would be a huge point of shame to his tribe.

    
If he couldn’t have the stallion, he would settle for its seed.  Thorn had warned me that these were a people who bartered.

    
I saw the dance of fire on her untamed skin.  Ruddy firelight bathed her body, accentuated her curves and burned in her eyes.  When people say that rubies burn, I think they mean like her.

    
Aileen had been home – a wife, born and bred.  A strong woman like her is the sort that makes a man.  A different me could have loved Aileen.  Had I met her in college I would have never ended up in the Navy.  She would have been my anchor and given me the direction and the stability to make it through those four years and on to a respectable job.

    
Genna had been dangerous before the poison ruined her – a killer and a recon marine.  Her daggers, which I still wore, hid an oddly vulnerable heart and a quick mind.  Women like her crave love but don’t want it, at least not in my limited experience.  Genna had been a dalliance.  If she lived to make the fire bond I would be stuck with her, and that’s how I felt.  The battles that her sickness created were precursors to what a relationship with her would be like.

    
I saw the fire in She Runs Swiftly, just in the way she sat there.  She had control of the situation without saying a word or doing anything.  I didn’t kid myself into thinking of her as some demure serving girl; she had as much of her father in her as was possible.

    
“I would trade her for that stallion of yours, White Wolf,” Kills said and, as I opened my mouth, added, “but that would not be a fair trade.  I have a mare in heat, however, and that is nothing to you – though I would take it as the price for this one.”

    
No, no, no, no,
no!
  My mind screamed.  No good can come from this.  You are the champion of a jealous god.  You are not from here, you do not know these people, and you do not know this girl. You, Randy Morden, have been down this road and it is paved with agony, loss and betrayal.  It hurts a
lot
and gives back nothing in return.

    
And Genna would be devastated.  She told me to go find another slut and it would look like I did just that.

    
That would make Genna “just another slut.”

    
I looked into She Runs Swiftly’s eyes, wondering how best to refuse her.  I saw the fire mirrored there, almost that feral gleam that wild animals have.  She hunted me with those eyes, with that skin which could ignore the flame.  She lay between the fire and me, in a heat that had my skin baking.  How could she stand it?

    
She just looked at me, knowing the decision had been made.  What an enormous, painful shock to this girl would suffer if I refused her.

    
I stood.  “Excuse me,” I said to them.

     Thorn straightened.  Nantar reached for his sword, which he’d forgotten to bring.  The girl just watched me from beside the fire.

     I couldn’t help thinking that this had to be a huge insult to the tribe.  Well, maybe they shouldn’t have ambushed me with it, then.

     My boots took me away from the circles of Long Manes eating by their fires, past the horse herd and the cattle herd, past the tee-pees to where my horse was grazing and a couple warriors watched him.

     They nodded to me but I ignored them.  I whistled for Blizzard and he trotted up to me, making me smile as he batted me with his head.  I rubbed his nose and then his jaw line when he pressed his head against me.

     “Am I offensive to you?” the girl asked me from behind.

     I’d have been more surprised if she
hadn’t
followed me.

     Again – why lie?  “You’re an amazing beauty,” I told her.

     “You prefer men, maybe?” she pressed me.  “Or your horse?”

     Nice try, cutie. 

     “Horses don’t talk too much.”
     I felt her fingers on my back, still hot from the fire.  This girl actually
burned
.  Blizzard yanked his head back up and stared at her, wary of any living thing that wasn’t me. 

     When I’d broken up with that first girl, the one who’d broken my heart, I’d actually prayed for another girl, someone whom I could love, who would love me back.  In a few months I actually
met
a girl like that, and I just humiliated her for no reason – to get back at the other girl, I think.

     I used to have faith before that.  I used to believe in God.  If He could send me someone like that, though, and I could be that way to her… no.  I stopped having faith then. 

     Now I didn’t need faith.  Now I had proof.  War had spoken to me, and he’d made it clear that I was a solo act.

     I turned, and she dragged her finger tips over my shoulder to my chest, tucking her fingers into the head-opening to my shirt.

     Her brown eyes sparkled, her head tilted back, looking up to me without a smile or a frown, regarding me like a horse-trader sizing up a stud, nothing more.

     “There’s a saying among my people, White Wolf,” she told me, stepping close to me, her breasts
just
touching me, her breath tickling my skin. 

     “A lonely soul is an empty vessel, and wants the rain to fill it,” she said. 
“Leave it out too long, though, and it collects dust first, and then the rain just fills it with mud, and no one wants it.”

     “So you’re saying I’m a dirty, lonely soul?” I asked her.

     That got her to smile.  “No,” she told me.  “I’m just saying you could become one.”

     “And why do you want this, girl?” I asked her.  I think this summed up my biggest worry: ulterior motives.  Genna had hers, I didn’t know about Aileen.  Other women had – I’d be crazy to think that this girl didn’t.

    “What’s in this for you?”

     She took her hand away, and she looked into my eyes, and past them, as if she could see right into my brain, as if she could seek out where I was the most vulnerable.  I didn’t like it, but I didn’t turn away, either.  I think I needed to know what that answer would be.

     “I want this, because I think this needs to be, White Wolf,” she informed me.  “I think that you came to this nation, that you came to my people, to get what you don’t have, and that what you don’t have is me.”

     I smiled wide, tilted my head and opened my mouth as if to laugh, but didn’t.  I felt her hand back on my chest, cool now, not warm.  I lowered my he
ad and felt her gaze on my face, searching for my eyes.

     When she caught them again, she looked back deeply into them, and she said to me, with a little smile, “It’s good enough if you don’t believe me yet, White Wolf.  All I ask of you, is that you have a little faith.”

     There’s a lot of things that she could have said right then, and I really had to wonder why she chose that.

     “She’ll need a horse,” I said.

    
“She has three that are hers,” he father informed me, still sitting at the cook fire, where we’d found him, walking back hand-in-hand. “None are the mare I plan to use tonight.”

    
Tonight
?  I thought.  The noose pinched me as it closed and the fall came fast.  They wanted to do this tonight?

    
Such things
do
depend on timing.  Mares don’t stay in heat forever.

    
I looked at Thorn and Nantar.  The latter grinned ear to ear.

    
“I am sure you have noticed already that Blizzard doesn’t mate casually,” I said.

    
Kills grinned and turned his head from me.  Two Spears jabbed his ribs with his elbow. 
Busted!
  At least they didn’t pretend that they were trying to get for free what they knew they should pay for.