The Iron Breed (39 page)

“Sooo—” In his mouth the word became a hiss, almost akin to the warning one uttered when entering a hunting country. “Let us lay hands upon those records and perhaps we can hold the lairs. Even if the Barkers continue to be our enemies.”

“Continue?” Dolar clicked his claws. “Think you it can be otherwise? Do you also fear that they might swear truce with Rattons?”

“Not impossible. In times of war it is best never to say in advance this can be, that not. Be prepared for any danger. And I say to all of you, though perhaps I have said it so many times before that the words will have no effect, with Rattons one cannot be sure of anything! Remember that well, Furtig, if and when you go into ways where they can be found.”

Furtig thought he needed no warning. His hatred for the creatures, together with his earlier brush with them, had been enough to arouse all his caution. No warrior ever trusted anyone or anything, save his own clan brothers and the lair which gave him shelter.

He listened, impatiently but curbing the outward show of that, to all the information and instructions which those who had explored the ways could provide. Foskatt gave him directions—vague enough—as to what he sought. He was to watch for certain marks on walls—which might or might not be there—and would have the use of a secondary guide.

This was a cube similar to that with which Foskatt had summoned the rambler. But its buzzing had another use. They had discovered a season back that this sound was emitted when the cube was brought near Demons' record disks.

With this instrument, and trail supplies, Furtig at last descended to the lower runways of the lairs. As yet they had no knowledge as to how far the Rattons had penetrated, though they had stationed scout-guards at important checkpoints to warn of any spillover into their home territory. Metal servants of the Demons could also be used for this service and Furtig passed some of these on the way.

At last he slid into the dark of those tunnels, which could be runways for either the People or their enemies. There were doors here, but he wasted no time in exploring. This was not the area of the reputed cache. He moved noiselessly along, depending upon both ear and nose for warnings. The smell of Ratton he would never forget, and that warning the enemy could not conceal.

As a hunter he knew that many of the wild creatures had senses of smell far superior to his own. The Barkers did. But his hearing and his sight, which was hardly limited by the dim grayness of these ways, were his own weapons.

There was not complete darkness here. At long intervals small vertical bars were set in the walls to emit a dull light. Whether those had once been brighter and had dimmed through the years was not known. It was enough that the light aided the sight of the People.

Furtig had eaten, drunk, and slept before he had set out on this quest. At his belt a packet of food was balanced by a container of water. They did not expect him to be away too long, but he was prepared for possible delays.

Under his feet dust formed a soft carpet, but he trod so lightly that little of it was disturbed. His one hand was never far from the butt of a new weapon Dolar had given him out of their small store. The difficulty was that it was too big to handle with ease, having been fashioned to fit a hand much larger than his own. In order to use it at all (one leveled the barrel and pressed a firing button on the butt), Furtig had to discard his familiar and useful claws.

But having seen it demonstrated, Furtig was certain that the results might well outweigh those disadvantages. For when the button was pressed a vivid crackle of white (as if the Demons had indeed tamed lightning and compressed it into this weapon) shot forth like a knife of light. What that touched ceased to exist at all! It was indeed a fearsome thing. But, like all the Demon treasures, it was erratic. Explorers had found many of these, yet only a small number worked. It was as if they had been drained of life during the long time they had lain unused.

Furtig turned from the main passage into a narrower one and began to count the dim lights in the wall. At the fourth he stopped to look down. There was a grating such as had given him entrance to free the prisoners—that was Foskatt's first guidepost.

Kneeling, Furtig slipped on his claws. With their added strength he was able to hook into the grating, work it out of place. Foskatt had warned him how sound carried and he was sure it had been his own handling of that grating which had alerted the Rattons, so Furtig moved very slowly.

As he worked he thought about Foskatt, hoping that their practice had proven the truth: that the other was now picking up the picture of where he was. Having held that concentration on his part as long as he could, Furtig found the grating loose, laid it on the floor, and ran his hand into the lightless space beyond.

It was large enough for him to crawl into, but Furtig hesitated. If the Rattons were suspicious, they might well have rigged another trap. Yet this was the only known way in since the fall of roof and walls had closed off the corridor passages ahead.

Carefully Furtig lifted the grating, fitted it back into place. He had made his decision. To follow exactly in Foskatt's path was folly. During his time of instruction in the lairs he had been shown various types of Ratton traps. Some of them were practically undetectable. Therefore he must find another way in. Or Foskatt must be able to suggest a possible other trail, knowing the ways of the lairs.

Furtig squatted on his heels and once more concentrated on a mental picture, this time not of what he was doing, for Foskatt's pickup, but of Foskatt himself.

The picture was vivid in his mind. Furtig closed his eyes—now, he might be looking directly into the other's face. He shaped his need for further information. This was something entirely new he was trying. Could he communicate this way—even with Foskatt's see box as an aid?

Ways—

Furtig could not be sure of that. Was he receiving a message from the other, or was it only that he wanted an answer so badly that his mind deceived him?

“On—right—down—”

Furtig opened his eyes. He was certain that was not his own thought. On—right—down—On along the passage, right—down—Well, it was either believe that to be a message or try a passage which could be a trap. And of the two alternatives, he would rather believe that he had received a message.

So he left the grating that had been Foskatt's entrance and padded on. The passage ran straight, with no breaks except a few doors. Then Furtig could see a wall at the end—a dead end with no turn right or left, only a last door to his right.

Furtig turned in there. The room was bare of any furnishing. The only break in its walls was the door through which he had entered. There were two floor gratings; a distinct current of air flowed from one of those. Furtig went to his knees to better sniff at it.

No Ratton stench, nothing but the acrid odor common to all these levels. There was a good chance that he had bypassed the dangerous territory. At least he must now chance this or fail without even trying.

The grating resisted his efforts to free it. Furtig had to use force with his claws to lever it out. When he lowered it to the floor and swept his hands within, he discovered that this was even more spacious than the area beneath the first grating.

He crouched for a long moment before he entered, once more making a picture that Foskatt might or might not be able to pick up. Then he took from his belt one of the tools Gammage had provided. It was no longer than the palm of his hand when he pulled it from the loop, but when he pressed it here and there it unfolded longer and longer, until he held a slender pole twice his own height in length. This detect was his only protection against traps, and he must use it with all the skill he could.

Resolutely he crawled into the duct. The interior was large enough for him to go on hands and knees, but it was too dark for his sight to aid. Instead he must depend on that thin rod as he edged slowly forward, sweeping it back and forth, up and down, to test for any obstruction. Explorers had used these successfully to set off traps in confined spaces. But they had failed, too. And at that moment such failures were to be remembered vividly.

Suddenly the point of the device struck against solid surface ahead. A crosswise sweep, a second vertical one met opposition all the way—There was a wall ahead, yet air continued to flow—

Side walls? Furtig tapped right and left: only solid surface. Which left only up or down—and down had been Foskatt's message. Furtig slid the detect along the flooring of the duct. There was an opening. By careful tapping he measured it to be a wide one. He edged closer, hanging his head over the rim, trying to discover the length of the drop, what might be below.

He folded the detect, put on his claws, and swung over. There were places in the walls to set claw tips so that he did not slide down too fast. But it was a chancy trip, and he had no idea how long that descent lasted. It seemed to his aching arms, his tense body, far too long. Then he came, not to the end, but to another cross passage leading in the right direction.

Thankfully, Furtig pulled into that and lay panting, his whole body sweating and weak. It was not until some small measure of strength returned that he pulled out the detect rod, stretched it again to explore by touch.

The new passage was smaller than the one from which he had come. It was necessary to wriggle forward on his belly. But it pointed in the right direction, there was no smell of Ratton, and he had no excuse not to try it.

It was prod, slide, prod, a very slow advance. But his detect found no more barriers. Now there was even a faint glimmer of light to be sighted ahead. It was so welcome, Furtig hurried more than he had dared since he had entered the ducts.

Soon he peered through what could only be a grating. But, like that of the Ratton prison, this was set not at floor level but near the ceiling, so that he had to squeeze close to it in order to get even a limited view of the floor.

He was just in time to witness action. Rattons! Even before he saw them, their foul smell arose. Furtig froze, afraid of making some sound. But with that stench came the smell of blood and that of his own People. His stiff whiskers bristled.

He could hear sounds almost directly below his perch, but the angle was such that he could not view what was happening. There was a low moan of pain, a vicious chittering in the Ratton tongue. Then a body rolled out far enough for him to see it.

Though the fur of the prisoner was matted with blood, he was able to recognize Ku-La. So the stranger had not made his escape after all! He was not only back in Ratton claws but had suffered their cruel usage. That he still lived was no mercy. And his end would mean only one thing, food for the Rattons.

Plastered against the grating, Furtig listened, as if he could do that not only with his ears but with his whole body. He could hear small scuffling noises, a few chitterings. Then those grew fainter, stopped. He was certain after a long wait that the Rattons had gone, leaving no guard here.

Ku-La's own actions proved that. He was striving to raise his battered head from the floor, making efforts, which brought cries of pain out of him, to somehow reach his bonds with his teeth. But the Rattons were no fools; he had been well and skillfully tied. His struggles did not last long. With a last moan he went limp as if even that small effort had finished him.

Ku-La was not of Furtig's clan, and one did not champion strangers. But—common blood—he was of the People. And his fate might be Foskatt's, or Furtig's.

Furtig started to move away from the grating, but he discovered that something would not let him go in comparative safety, leaving Ku-La to Ratton-delivered death. He edged back and began to feel about the edge of the grating. At first he thought that too tightly set, that fate had decided for him, giving him no choice.

Then there was a click which startled Furtig into instant immobility. After listening, and hearing nothing to suggest the enemy had returned, he began once more that patient prying and pulling.

To work the grating loose in those confined quarters was difficult, but Furtig managed it. Once more he had recourse to his belt and the various tools and aids he carried. Wound there was a length of cord, seemingly too thin and fine to support even a youngling. But this was another of the Demons' wonders, for it could take greater weights than Furtig.

He used the grating to anchor one end. Then, as he had used vines in the trees, he swung out and down. Furtig hit the floor in a half-crouch, ready to take on any Ratton. But the door was closed; there were none there.

Sighing with relief, he moved to the captive in a single leap. Ku-La stared up at him in wide-eyed amazement but made no sound. Nor did he attempt to move as Furtig slashed through his bonds. The extent of the other's injuries made Furtig sick, and he was not sure he could save him. If Ku-La was unable to follow him into the duct, perhaps it would be his choice to ask for a throat slash and go out as a warrior should, rather than linger in the enemies' hold.

Furtig extended his hand that the other might see his claws and understand the choice it was his to make. Ku-La's blue eyes regarded those claws. Then he moved, slowly, painfully, levering himself up, looking not to the promise of a clean and speedy death, but to the cord dangling beyond. He had made his choice, and Furtig was forced to accept it.

For a moment he was bitterly resentful. Why did he have to turn aside from a vital mission to aid this warrior who was not of his clan, to whom he owed no duty at all? He did not understand the impulse that had brought him to Ku-La's aid, he only mistrusted it and the difficulties into which it had plunged him.

Ku-La could not get to his feet, but he crawled for the end of the cord with such determined purpose that Furtig hurried to help. How he could get the almost helpless warrior aloft he had no idea. And he was driven by the fear that at any moment the Rattons might return. In the end he managed by looping the cord about Ku-La, then returning aloft to pull with all the strength he could summon.