Lawrence Watt-Evans - Denner_s Wreck

The sun was high in the heavens at mid-secondlight, shining fiercely down on the shadeless plain. Bredon could feel its light clearly, bright and warm on his back, pouring over him like honey as he crouched in the tall grass.

He blinked away sweat, then cautiously raised himself up to peer over the waving blades.

The plain lay palely green before him, flat and even to the mountain-rimmed western horizon. Warm wind hissed and muttered around him, through grass already half-bleached by summer and well on its way to becoming golden hay.

His gray hunter's vest lay crumpled on the ground at his heel, dropped there when he had stopped to crouch. The thin leather garment had been designed for comfort and convenience and had served him well in the year he had worn it, but in the long wakes of pursuit it had begun to chafe him, to feel unbearably hot and confining by light and heavily clammy in the cool darks. He had removed it a couple of hours ago, just after the wake's second sunrise. He now wore only short bleached cotton breeches, but he had carefully dragged the vest along rather than risk losing it.

His companion crawled up, eerily silent in the tall grass, and lay beside him. The newcomer followed the first youth's gaze to where a magnificent grey mare stood quietly grazing, then whispered, “Give it up, Bredon. The horse is bewitched, probably a creature of one of the Powers-no ordinary mare could have eluded us this long. You'll never catch her."

“Oh, yes, I will,” Bredon hissed back. “I don't care if I have to chase her all summer, I'll keep after her until I catch her. Look at her! With a horse like that I'll have my pick of any girl in the village. Riding her I could be the greatest hunter in the grasslands. I'll be rich enough to be an Elder inside a year."

The other stifled a sigh. “Bredon,” he said, “she's chewed through our ropes, dodged our traps, outrun us and outwitted us for six lights and five darks. What's left to try? How do you plan to catch her?"

“I'm not sure yet, but I'll do it somehow. If you want to give up you can go home without me."

The answer was quick and definite. “Walk back a hundred kilometers alone and unarmed? No, thank you!"

Bredon rolled over and looked at his comrade with mingled affection and annoyance. “Mardon, has anyone ever told you that you're a coward?” he asked politely.

Mardon shrugged. “No more often than you've been called a stubborn fool,” he replied, plainly unoffended.

Bredon smiled. “That's probably true,” he admitted. “Well, if I'm a fool, O Wise One, then why don't you devise some means for trapping that mare?"

Considering the challenge, Mardon peered dubiously about at the empty grassland and asked, “Have you ever been here before?"

Bredon glanced back over his shoulder at the mare. “I think so,” he said. “I believe my father and I came near here hunting rabbits once. It's hard to be sure, out here, but I think this was the place."

“Rabbits?” Mardon was puzzled. “Why did you come so far?"

Bredon shrugged. “Why not?"

Mardon had no answer to that. He knew, but did not understand, that Bredon and other members of his family often acted on whim. He ignored the question and asked, “Did you get as far as those mountains?” He waved vaguely in the direction of the peaks that adorned the western horizon.

“No,” Bredon answered. “I'm not really sure we even got this far, but I think we did. It looks familiar. And those mountains are further away than they look. My uncle said he rode for five full wakes once, lights and midwake darks both, and only got to the foothills."

Mardon wiped sweat from his cheek and waved a hand to dismiss any thought of traveling so far. “It's probably just as well,” he said. “I don't think I'd care to meet the Powers of the mountains, Gold and Brenner and the rest. It's said they're an unfriendly lot."

Bredon snorted. “The mountain people probably say that the Powers of the plains are a nasty bunch."

“Well, it doesn't matter, anyway,” Mardon said. “The mountains are too far away to do us any good."

It was Bredon's turn to look puzzled. “What use could mountains be?"

“In the mountains we could trap the horse in a canyon or a cave,” Mardon explained patiently.

“I guess that's true,” Bredon said. “We could trap it somewhere, couldn't we?” His expression turned thoughtful as he considered for a moment.

“That gives me an idea,” he said. “If I remember correctly, if this is the place I think it is, there's a waterhole back that way a bit, with deep, sticky mud under about five centimeters of water. I got my hand stuck in it when I tried washing off the blood after I gutted a rabbit. If it's still there, and we can find it, maybe we can herd her into the mud. It won't stop her completely, but it should slow her down enough for us to get a rope on her that she can't chew off."

Mardon mulled that over for a moment, then admitted, “It sounds good."

“Good. It's northeast of here, I think. You circle around and we'll start the chase."

“Right.” Mardon slithered back through the grass and vanished.

Bredon waited patiently for Mardon to reappear. Finally, just as he was beginning to grow uneasy, Mardon suddenly jumped up from the grass on the mare's far side, yelling and waving his arms wildly.

The mare shied and started toward Bredon. He, in his turn, jumped up and shouted.

The horse started, then turned and galloped northeast, in exactly the direction Bredon wanted her to take.

Grinning and yelling, he set out after her. Mardon followed less enthusiastically. By staying well apart and varying their noise they controlled the mare's direction fairly well; if she attempted to turn to either side the man on that flank would shout more loudly and pursue more closely.

Whenever she was actually galloping she would quickly gain on her tormentors, who would fall silent and lower their arms. Each time this happened she would slow and stop, thinking she was safe, only to be forced into a new burst of speed when the humans drew near again and resumed their noise.

There was little danger that the mare would flee further than her hunters could pursue. Bredon and Mardon both knew that men are far more persistent than horses.

During one slow amble toward the tiring mare Bredon paused, his vest hanging from one finger, and sniffed the air. “I smell water,” he said. “We're getting close."

Mardon sniffed, and nodded agreement.

A few moments later, as Bredon scanned the plain, he noticed a break in the even green of the grass. “There,” he said, pointing.

Again, Mardon nodded without comment, and circled out a little further, correcting the mare's intended course.