Mack Reynolds: The Space Barbarians

He thought he understood what must have happened. The group of four, counting the girl, had been a small unit of a larger group of the Clann Thompson, a major raiding party rounding up Clann Hawk cattle. After John had stolen their horses they had recontacted the other Thompsons and followed him to take their revengement at the disgrace of three of their clannsmen being counted coup upon.

Their luck had been better than they could have hoped. When they arrived at the Hawk pastures, they had found that there were but a handful of guards. Almost the entire population of Aberdeen had been at the muster to gape at the visitors from Beyond.

Somehow, in the heat of combat, John had shaken off the better part of his fatigue, and he was among the first of the defending clannsmen to arrive on the scene of action. It was a debacle.

The Aberdeen clannsmen and young men who had been guarding the herds had been cut down or driven off, and the Thompson raiders, ever top men in this sort of thing, had decided upon an off-beat strategy. All had dismounted from their own tired horses and thrown their saddles upon fresh mounts. Each was now busily rounding up a half dozen or more captured steeds and driving them off, leaving their own jaded mounts behind.

Here and there, hand to hand combat was taking place, claidheammors flashing, as the Thompson clannsmen attempted to break off the action and make their escape. They knew themselves outnumbered, representing but one clann, whilst in Aberdeen there were a full eight. Those who were escaping were scattering, heading in a dozen different directions, rather than remaining in a single, easy to pursue group.

John of the Hawks gritted his teeth even as he dashed into the fray. On wearied horses, the Aberdeen clannsmen would have their work cut out catching up with all the raiders. And those whom they did successfully trail would, when caught up with by revenging clannsmen, simply de-sc-it their booty and ride for it back to the safety of their own town of Caithness.

Aüi! He came up upon one of them who was having trouble with a Clann Clark steed he had captured. John knew the animal well, a highly trained stallion that fought against having any other on his back save his master.

Shouting the battle halloo of the Hawks, John brought up his carbine to fire. The other rode toward him, swinging his claidheammor, desperately fighting the animal, tearing its mouth with the heavy bit the animal suffered, a raiding bit, deliberately designed for use on captured steeds. Ho shouted the halloo of the Clann Thompson and slashed at the man on foot.

John caught the blade on the barrel of the carbine, which he only now found was empty. He dropped the gun and tore his own claidheammor from its scabbard.

The horse reared up, shrilling its fear and anger at being dominated by a stranger.

John darted under its belly, coming up on the other side of the desperate enemy clannsman. He slashed upward, cutting deep into the other’s side, and slashed again, before the man could turn to defend himself.

The other’s sword dropped from his hand. For the briefest of moments, he tried to keep his seat on the plunging animal. Then he fell, crashing to the ground.

John of the Hawks was up and onto the steed, taking over the position of stranger in the saddle. But at least he knew the animal’s name and had, in his time, petted it in admiration.

Now, even as he battled, he spoke soothingly, calmly, called it by name, resorted to knees, rather than heavy use of the bit. Around him, as he fought to dominate the horse, the battle faded off.

Most of the Clann Thompson were escaping, heading in all directions as the Aberdeen clannsmen attempted to catch horses, saddle them and get on with the pursuit. Unhappily, little harness was available, most of it being back in the town. The Hawks, Clarks, Fieldings and other defenders of Aberdeen scrambled up bareback in excited attempt to pursue the thieves.

John was one of the few with a saddled mount and a fresh one at that. He darted his eyes over the ground, looking for his carbine. He couldn’t see it. He and the horse had moved over a considerable area in the past few minutes.

No matter. He had claidheammor and skean, weapons enough for any clannsman. He headed after the foe at full gallop, blade in hand.

But then his eyes narrowed. This was what the enemy had in mind. At best with such tactics, he would catch one, or at the very most two, of the raiders. And even then, he might be fought off by a Thompson who still retained his firearm.

His mind raced. There must be something more effective than chasing off after a retreating enemy and vainly shouting his battle halloo. In fact, there was a ludicrous quality to it all, and without doubt at the next meeting of the Dail, when the clannsmen of all the confederation’s phyla recited their victories, there would be great laughter on the part of the Clann Thompson at the expense of the men of Aberdeen.

And it suddenly came to him that much of the laughter would be directed at him, John of the Hawks, who, although he had stolen three horses, had not been able to retain them for more than a few hours, so quick had come the revengement.

There must be something more effective…

And yes, there was! The raiders were scattering, but in order to return to their own town, they must sooner or later head toward it, after they had eluded the Aberdeen pursuit.

As a Hawk scout and a young herder of the cattle, John knew this countryside as well as he knew the long-house of his birth. He cast his eyes around quickly, trying to spot one or more fellow clannsmen he could bring into his plan, but there simply were none. His fellows who had also acquired mounts were taking off after the enemy in all directions. He must go it alone.

John shrugged and dug heels into flanks and headed out over the countryside. Any of the Aberdeen clannsmen who saw him must have thought him either daft or a slink, for there were no enemies, herding their booty, going in this direction. He grimaced, knowing the dishonor that would be his, did his plan fail.

He rode hard, pushing his newly acquired and dominated animal. Over field, over heath, through clumps of trees, up and over the hills. Aüi. He knew this land well, but never had he ridden it at such breakneck speed.

The hills grew higher as the horse began to weary, and shortly he was in a narrow valley. Narrower and narrower.

Until at last, he reached his destination. Reached it and passed through the narrow way.

On the far side of the pass, he leaped from the horse’s back, took its reins, hurried it into the shelter of the patch of trees to one side and tethered it. He momentarily considered binding its mouth so that it could not whinny at the sound of other horses approaching. But no, the animal was too weary from its hard gallop to be interested in the company of its fellows.

John took in hand the scabbard of his claidheammor, to keep it from tripping him up, and began his ascent of the steep hill at a trot.

At the top, at the spot he’d had in mind from the first, he looked back over the way he had come. And doubts hit him. There was nothing in sight—not so much as a flurry of dust. Perhaps he had miscalculated.

But no, how could he have? Given scores of Thompsons scattering, and then converging again on their hometown of Caithness, surely at least one enemy clannsman and his stolen horses must come through here. Simply must. If not, all was disgrace for John of the Hawks.

He settled himself down to wait, sitting on a rock. At this stage he would not be spotted. He considered his plan ol action, when and if the raider or raiders did appear. He cursed himself now, for not having taken the few more moments of time it might have taken to locate his carbine. A more beautiful ambush than this could hardly be asked. The fleeing raiders would not be thinking in terms of Hawk clannsmen before them but would undoubtedly be constantly looking over their shoulders. Given a carbine, John could knock at least two off their horses before they could take defensive measures. But there was little profit in dwelling upon that. The fact remained that all the weapons he had were his heavy claidheammor and his skean.