Джеффри Лорд - Return To Kaldak

It did not help either that the Kaldakans and the Doimari between them had slain or driven away much of the game. Shangbari still brought back more than any other hunter, but not as much as before. Often it was not enough to feed all the hungry mouths in the villages of the Red Cats.

However, it was neither his reputation nor Ikhnan's nor the shortage of game making Shangbari uneasy today. As he walked softly under a sullen gray sky, his rifle held ready, he would have given much to know what kind of man he was tracking. Not knowing this was what made him uneasy.

Once he'd seen a footprint, where the man had stepped on soft ground without knowing it. The footprint showed a City boot, whether of Kaldak or of Doimar Shangbari could not tell. That should mean a City man, for the Tribes had never taken to City clothing as they had to City weapons.

Yet he'd seen only that one footprint. No City man had ever left so few traces of his passage. Only a hunter of the Tribes could do that. In fact, Shangbari wondered if the man had left the footprint deliberately, as a sign for those tracking him. Did he want to be found? Was he mad? Or was he playing with Shangbari like a Red Cat with a mouse?

Shangbari drove that last thought from his mind. Soberly, he had to admit that he was closer to losing the trail than he'd ever been with a human quarry. Death Pigs were shrewder than a man in covering their trails, although if tracked down they could be trusted to charge headlong. It was a good thing that Death Pigs had no hands to hold rifles or even spears. Otherwise they would rule the land, not men.

Shangbari stopped at the edge of a field of long grass sloping down to a little stream. He raised his head and sniffed the air, then spread his ears as wide as he could. Any scent, any sound from his opponent would be more than he'd had for some time. As he sniffed and listened, he watched the field and the trees bordering it on three sides. He did not expect to see anything, but perhaps he could discover some of the places where the man had not gone. He felt foolish at hoping for so little, he, Shangbari, hunter of the Red Cats, but-

He heard the sound, and a heartbeat later knew that it was behind him. He had no chance to do anything with this knowledge. A knee crashed into the small of Shangbari's back. A leg scythed his feet out from under him. And an arm like the branch of a great tree went around his throat, choking off his breath. Something went yeeeeep! shrilly in his ear.

He did have one last thought before he heard nothing more: had he been tracking a wizard, who could send his body from one place to another without touching the ground? Or had he even been tracking something which was not a man at all?

When Shangbari's senses returned, he was lying on his back in the grass, bound hand and foot. The bonds were snug but not painful, as if his captor wished him helpless but not uncomfortable.

At least it was good to think that. A wizard would not have needed ropes to tie a captive. A nonhuman or a hostile Tribesman would have probably killed him outright. So his captor might be none of these things.

Or at least he could hope so.

Shangbari studied his captor. He was certainly a City man, from the way he dressed, but he was paler-skinned than anyone Shangbari had ever seen. He was also half a head taller than the hunter, with muscles in proportion. Certainly he'd have needed no wizardry to bring Shangbari down. He had a Doimari Oltec rifle across his knees, and he was munching on a piece of Newtec food from a pack beside him.

Shangbari's rifle also lay beside him, apparently undamaged. Then Shangbari saw who or what was sitting by the rifle, which started him thinking about wizardry again.

The creature was shaped like a man, except for its tail, but it was only about two feet high. Also, though it had no sign of wings, it was covered with feathers like a bird. The City man might be human, but surely his companion was not. Might the companion be the wizard, and the City man his servant? That frightened Shangbari all over again.

Then he remembered tales of the Little Men, who lived fat in the south after the Burning Time. It was said that some Tribes had made friends with them, although no one living had ever met a man from one of those Tribes-or one of the Little Men, either. To be sure, the Little Men had been covered with fur, not feathers. But perhaps the tales did not tell everything about them?

Yes. It made sense. This was a man from the lost Tribes. He and the Little Man had come north, seeking-what? Impossible to guess. At least they had not killed him as he lay helpless.

The warrior's ears were sharp enough to catch Shangbari's sigh of relief. He looked at the hunter and smiled. «So you're awake. I'm sorry I hit you so hard, but I was in a hurry. I didn't want you to call for help.» From the man's speech, he seemed to have learned the True Tongue in Kaldak.

«You have honor, then, to fight one against one?» If he did not, then Shangbari would have to force the man to kill him quickly.

«I have that honor. I also have no wish to fight you at all, without reason.» That made sense, if he was seeking a new home in the north. Or perhaps his Tribe was so weak that his chief had sent him out with orders like Ikhnan's, not to fight unless there was good cause. Then for the first time the man seemed to notice Shangbari's ears.

«Do all your people have ears like yours?»

Shangbari had to laugh, and wiggled them. «Many, at least.»

«Does your chief have them?»

Shangbari frowned. He did not understand what the man wanted, but so far the questions were not dishonorable. He nodded.

«And is your chief a young man, about twenty years old, with a wife and a baby?»

Again Shangbari thought of wizardry, and his frown deepened. There was still no dishonor, but could the warrior or the Little Man be drawing his thoughts from his head? Finally he nodded again.

«I hoped so. And did your chief once call himself a friend to the Seekers of Doimar, until a night when the Kaldakans came out of the sky to attack the Seekers? On that night, did not a warrior of Kaldak spare your chief and his wife and child, and tell them to flee because this was not their fight?»

Shangbari could barely breathe. Either his mind was being torn open by wizardry, or this warrior was nothing which any of the Tribes had any name for. No one outside the Red Cats-and only a few of them-knew the whole tale of the Night of the Seekers' Death. It was that Night which later brought the Doimari sky-killers, and broke forever the peace between the Red Cats and Doimar. Indeed, the men of Doimar were now greater enemies than those of Kaldak, until the blood debt was paid-if it ever was. Could this man have knowledge which would help the Red Cats pay that debt?

Shangbari decided he should lead this man to Ikhnan. This was a chief's and Grandfathers' matter, not one for even the finest hunter.

The man picked up Shangbari's rifle. «I want to go to your chief. I have things to say he must hear, and soon. If you will swear the most sacred oath you know, not to harm me or lead me astray, I will give you back your weapon. Two guns are always better than one, and also two sets of eyes.»

He spoke like an experienced warrior, and Shangbari saw no reason to doubt that he was one. «By the spirits of my prey, the true shooting of my rifle, and my faith in the hunter's oath, I swear to guard you as I would my brother, until you have said all that you have to say to Ikhnan, Chief of the Red Cats,» Shangbari replied.

The Little Man jumped up and down, clapping his hands and going yeep-yeep-yeep as though he understood and approved. With a City knife, the warrior cut Shangbari's bonds, then pulled him to his feet with one hand and gave him his rifle with the other.