The Horsemasters (38 page)

“It is growing late and I must be getting back to camp,” Ronan said. “Nel, take Siguna into the cave with you and keep her there. I do not like her wandering around by herself.” He gave Siguna one of his hawklike stares. “It is not safe.”

“Go ahead, Siguna,” Nel said softly. “I will be right with you.”

Siguna needed no more encouragement to walk toward the safety of the tunnel entrance. Just before she reached it, however, she turned and looked back over her shoulder.

Nel and Ronan stood there in the open, framed by the moonlight. His hands were on her shoulders, and she was looking up into his face, listening to what he was saying. She said something in return, and then, as Siguna watched wonderingly, he bent his head, and his mouth came down on Nel’s, and her head tilted back so that her long shining braid fell over the arm that had pulled her so hard against him. Her arms went up to circle his neck.

Siguna turned and went by herself into the cave.

Chapter Twenty-six

The Horsemasters are coming!!! The words ran through the assembled men of the Federation like wildfire. Dai and Tyr had come galloping in a short while before, shouting for Ronan. Then the news began to spread through the camps. At long last, the enemy was on the trail again.

Ronan immediately moved into action. Over the course of the last few weeks, he had plotted precisely the course he wanted his confrontation with the Horsemasters to take, and his first challenge was to lure them down the river Volp.

He had spoken to Arika about this, for the Volp was the river that flowed through the sacred cave of the Tribe of the Red Deer.

“I want to catch them in the gorge that lies a morning’s walk to the north of the cave, Mistress,” Ronan had explained. “The men of the Red Deer would often make a great reindeer slaughter there, and it is a good place to trap a large number of men and horses.”

Arika had been silent, obviously picturing in her mind the dark, almost sinister gorge that had been cut by the Volp as it rushed through the mountains north of the sacred cave. “Sa,” she had said at last. “That is a good place to set a trap.”

“They will not get through us, Mistress,” Ronan promised. “I could hold the pass that leads out of that gorge with half the number of men that I have. The sacred cave will be safe.”

Arika had looked at him for a moment in silence. Then she asked, “What do you think they will do when they have once seen that we mean to stand against them?”

“I think the first thing they will do is change their ground, That gorge is impossible to cross, and their leader is too smart not to see that. They will go back to the River of Gold. But I am hoping to wound them badly enough at the gorge to somewhat reduce their numbers.”

Arika nodded. “And a victory might put heart into the tribes of the Fox and the Bear and induce them to join with us.”

“I hope so,” Ronan said grimly. “They are fools if they think they are situated too far down the River of Gold for the Horsemasters to find them.” He gave Arika a genuinely puzzled look. “I do not understand them. How can they not want to fight?”

Arika had risen. “They do not have the strength of the Mother, as we do,” she said. “That is the cause of their fearfulness.” And she had walked away, leaving her son staring after her with strained and shadowed eyes.

* * * *

Ronan knew he could not count on the Horsemasters to choose of their own volition to follow the Volp. In all of their previous scouting expeditions, the Horsemasters had always bypassed the smaller river in favor of continuing down the River of Gold. Ronan had to give the invaders a reason for proceeding along a path they had not previously explored, and he planned to do that by stealing their horses.

In order to accomplish this maneuver, Ronan had hand-picked three handfuls of riders from the Tribe of the Wolf.

“I do not want any fighting,” he repeated to his chosen raiding party on the night before they left the Great Cave. “We are simply going to gallop into their horse-herd and stampede it. We’ll carry leather thongs and try to drive some of the horses before us when we return up the Volp, but I do not want anyone putting themselves into a situation where they could be captured.” His eyes went from Thorn to Mait to Kasar. “Do you understand?”

The young men all nodded.

“Beki?” Ronan said. “Yoli? Do you understand?”

“Sa, Ronan,” said two feminine voices softly. “We understand.”

“If we do our job, and scatter their horses, the enemy will not be able to follow us immediately,” Ronan said. “They will have to catch their horses first. We should have plenty of time to return to the gorge and get ready for them.”

“I am thinking it will not be too difficult,” said Beki, her jaunty tip-tilted nose turning toward her husband, Kasar. She grinned. “They can have no idea that we have horses also.”

“I do not think they can,” Ronan replied gravely. “When they see that we do, I think they will be interested enough in us to follow us. If they do that…then we will surprise them at the gorge.”

“The biggest problem is going to be that their horses are mares, and ours are stallions,” Nel warned.

“You already had us build a big corral to hold whatever mares we may come back with, Nel,” Dai pointed out.

“I know. But it is not going to be as easy to handle your horses in the midst of a herd of mares as it usually is,” Nel said. “I am just telling you to be prepared.”

Solemn nods came from all around the circle.

Ronan said, “I have chosen only the best riders for this job, because the best riders also have the most obedient horses. If there is anyone who does not think he or she can control a stallion under these circumstances, please say so now.”

Silence.

“Good,” said Ronan. “We will leave tomorrow at dawn.”

* * * *

The Horsemasters made camp for the night not far from the place where a smaller tributary branched off from the wider river they were following. The men pastured the horse-herd in a nearby meadow; the women set up the tents and lit the cookfires. He would remain for another day or two in this place, Fenris thought, so the men could do some hunting. Then he would move the tribe once again down the River of Gold, toward the settlement of people his scouts had discovered earlier in the year.

Rich tribes dwelled upon the shores of the River of Gold, the scouts had said. The caves and huts were comfortable, the hunting grounds rich in deer, and there was plenty of grazing for the horses.

Fenris knew that his men were growing restless. They had had no fighting since last summer, and their blood was heating up. They were beginning to fight among themselves; it was more than time for them to redden their spears with the blood of their enemies.

There was a wind blowing off the river, and Fenris hunched his shoulders against it as he walked slowly toward his tent.

He missed Siguna. He had not realized how often his eyes had rested upon her silvery fair head until it was no longer there to gaze upon.

She had been so brave, he thought. And so foolish. A girl who dreamed she could do the things that belonged to a man.

His fault. He had thought that more than once. It was his fault for indulging her, for allowing her to ride horses, for giving her some of the freedom that she was always so wild for. If he had made her live the life she was born to lead, she would be alive now.

Fenris regretted very little in his life, but he regretted that he had not successfully protected Siguna.

He pushed open the flap of his tent and walked in. Silence fell at his entrance, and he lifted his hand. Once more his children began to babble, his women to scold, his anda to boast among themselves. Nothing had changed, he told himself. He was a fool to allow himself to be so sad.

* * * *

They came at dawn the following morning. A stallion’s scream pierced the quiet air of the camp, and Fenris sat bolt upright in his sleeping skins.

“What is it?” gasped Kara, who was once more sharing his bed.

“A stallion has got in with the mares.” He was on his feet, pulling on his boots. Outside, he heard the sound of men running. “I will have the hearts of the men on herd duty,” Fenris said through his teeth as he ran for the door.

The air outside his tent was gray and cold and smelled of the fear of horses.

“Father!” He turned and saw his second-eldest son running toward him. “Horsemen, Father! They are scattering the mares!”

“Name of the Thunderer!” Fenris began to run toward the corral where his own horses were penned. His stallion, the only stallion kept by the tribe, was going berserk.

There was the sound of thundering hooves behind him, and Fenris whirled around to see a pack of about fifteen of his own horses pounding toward him. In the midst of them, whistling and shouting and swinging a leather thong, was a black-haired man on a gray stallion. The stallion’s ears were laid flat back and his head was low and snaking as he slashed at the mares with his bared teeth.

Fenris stared in absolute shock at the man on the stallion’s back. The bastard rode as well as he did! The horses were almost on top of him before Fenris took his only option and ducked inside the corral fence, out of the way of the stampeding herd, The mares swept by, and Fenris’s shock was multiplied when he saw another horseman bringing up the rear, riding a white-legged stallion and expertly keeping any stragglers from falling behind. Only this horseman was a girl!

“Name of the Thunderer,” Fenris said again.

Fenris’s stallion, named appropriately Thunder, was frantically screaming after his disappearing mares. The mares in the corral were racing around, trying to keep out of the stallion’s way. Fenris ducked back out of the corral before he was trampled. It would be a while before he would be able to catch and halter any of these horses, he thought furiously.

A group of his men were running toward him, and he recognized Surtur in the lead. “Are any of our men mounted?” Fenris shouted.

Surtur came running up. “Vili was grooming his mare and managed to hold on to her. He has ridden after them to see which way they go.”

Fenris scowled. “Who was on guard at the horse-herd?”

“They came so fast, Kain, that no one had a chance to do anything against them,” one of the other men said. “It was not the fault of the men on guard.”

“They were not on guard if they let themselves be taken by surprise,” Fenris said uncompromisingly. “Who were they?”

Surtur gave him the names.

“Did the thieves drive off all the horses?” Fenris asked next.

“They scattered all the horses, but many of them are still in the vicinity.”

“We shall have to get them back, then,” Fenris said grimly. “The men will have to go out on foot.”

“Aye, Kain.”

“When Vili gets back,” Fenris said, “send him to me,” and he strode off angrily toward his tent.

* * * *

“They went up the small river, Father,” Vili said an hour later, after he had returned to camp and had sought out the kain to report to him. “There were several small groups of them, and they got about six handfuls of our horses.”

Fenris was astride one of his own mares, keeping count of the horses as they were brought in. He stared at his son, his thick golden eyebrows drawn together, his eyes as darkly gray as the northern sea from whence his people had come.

“Up the small river,” he repeated.

Vili nodded. “I followed them for a short way to make certain.”

Fenris stroked his finger lightly up and down the cleft in his chin, something he only did when he was very perturbed. “In the name of the Thunderer, where did these people come from? Our scouts have never seen any sign of a tribe that rides horses.”

Vili, who did not have an answer, prudently held his tongue.

“You saw no signs of habitations?” Fenris asked next.

“No, Father. There were many caves in the hillsides, but I saw no sign of life. I did not follow for very long. I thought it was more important to report back to you.”

Fenris nodded. “You were right. You did well, my son.” He reached down to put a hand on Vili’s shoulder. “The only man to keep his horse. I am proud of you.”

Vili’s fair-skinned face, a thinner, younger, less-handsome version of the kain’s, glowed with pride.

“What shall you do, Father?” he ventured to ask.

“Go after them,” Fenris replied grimly. “I do not allow anyone to steal my horses and live.”

* * * *

Excitement in the Federation camp rose to fever pitch when Ronan and his raiding party came galloping in, driving before them a milling, whinnying group of mares and foals.

Crim immediately ran to open the corral gate, and the riders urged the bewildered, frightened newcomers into the sturdy pen the tribes had built to hold them.

After a bit of a struggle, the mares were inside, and the stallions outside. The riders could finally dismount.

“Dhu!” Thorn said, wiping a hand across his dirty, sweaty brow. “That was not a ride I’ll soon forget.”

“Nor I.” Mait grinned at him, his teeth showing very white in his filthy face. The boys had been riding at the back of the herd, where the dust was thick. “My legs are shaking.”

“You did it.” The voice was Siguna’s. She came up beside them and looked at the familiar mares milling around in the corral. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “My father will be furious.”

Ronan was leading his stallion in their direction, and he heard Siguna’s comment. “I hope that he is,” Ronan said, and then added, “Whoa, Cloud. Whoa, fellow,” as his gray stallion suddenly began to plunge and rear. The people near the horse’s lashing feet moved back quickly. Ronan jerked once, sharply, on the noseband of the halter and said again, very sternly, “Whoa.” The gray rolled his large, brilliant dark eyes and snorted, but his feet remained on the ground. “He is excited by the mares,” Ronan said to Siguna, keeping a close hold on the stallion’s halter.

Thorn was looking at the gray stallion’s splendid, strongly arched face. He had drawn Cloud several times, and he considered one picture in particular, a large one he had painted in the valley cave, among his very best. It was a picture of Ronan and his horse together, standing side by side much as they were now. Thorn had tried to convey the similar lordly look of pride and command that marked both those aquiline faces. He looked now at the stallion face and the man face before him, remembered his picture, and saw a small change he could make.