Firehand # with Pauline M. Griffin Page 6

  The land itself gave them their work and gave them, too, the opportunity to wreak real vengeance for all they had lost. Zanthor had not been able to strike at the southland without passing through the Sapphirehold lowlands and the single, narrow slit of the Corridor, and he was now forced to keep his army supplied through that same area.

  It was a large region in itself, although small in relation to the total of Luroc's lands, too large to be even partially garrisoned with any real effect, and it was rugged. Above all, it was intimately known to I Loran's warriors and the whole of it was potentially within reach of the daring, fast-riding raiders operating out of the highlands.

  The partisan leader made good use of every opportunity offered him, whether to strike the supply trains moving south to the embattled invaders or to slash at troop columns again and again until they were either forced to retreat to their northern lair or else to continue on to the front.

  Even the Time Agents had not at first realized the extent of the importance their work would gain.

  The two mighty forces had begun their bloody contest about equally matched in strength and in resources, but as time went on, Zanthor I Yoroc found that maintaining his forces adequately was becoming an increasingly heavy strain, far more so than was the case among his opponents.

  The southern domains were rich and well managed, and others not actively involved in the war gave freely to their support, fearing what was likely to follow if the Confederacy were to fail.

  Condor Hall's empire did not enjoy the same solid base. The domain was a good one but could not begin to sustain its Ton's huge war effort by itself. The others he had conquered most assuredly could not. They had been raped in the first heady weeks of easy victory which had marked the opening of the war without regard to possible future difficulties, a wasting he now bitterly regretted but whose consequences he could not undo, not until peace gave him the time and resources to devote to their restoration.

  With his own holdings producing a bare third of his needs, Zanthor was compelled to import the remainder. At first, it had come readily from distant neighbors fearful of sparking his wrath, but as victory in the south seemed to draw no nearer, help became scantier and more grudgingly offered, and he had to pay well to fill his army's wants.

  Be that as it might, those needs had to be met and met promptly. He had bound his mercenaries to him through the liberal use of gold and the promise of rich southern holdings, but they were not willing to starve or freeze for his sake, not with their rewards as far from secured now as they had been the day they had given oath to him. The frequent, consistently effective raiding by the Sapphirehold forces was wearing enough on their morale without their falling into actual want because of it, and every wagon burned or stolen, every springdeer driven off to serve against them, had to be replaced quickly, whatever the difficulty or expense of doing so.

  Thus far, I Yoroc had in the greater part succeeded in meeting that challenge, but there had been times when the mercenaries had been less than content, and each new success Firehand's people tore from them reduced their dependability as fighters and, more and more frequently, their very ability to fight as well.

  Because of this unending pressure, Zanthor was forced to keep large numbers of men back from the front to ride patrol and to mount guard on the baggage trains or lose control of the area entirely, and he was beginning to sorely miss the service they should be giving against his primary foes, who were not slow in their turn to read his budding difficulties and press all the harder to exploit them.

  Murdock straightened. Soon now.

  He glanced at those on either side of him, Gordon on his left, Eveleen on the right. Allran, the Dominionite Lieutenant who was second in place to Eveleen and one of those who customarily rode with them, waited farther back, out of his immediate line of sight.

  His thoughts snapped back to the present. Riders were just topping the low rise to the northeast.

  His sharp eyes fixed on them. He counted quickly. Twenty-five, thirty, deermen riding guard on a dozen large pack animals. They were moving rapidly but cautiously as well, taking care not to skyline themselves any more than necessary, but the guerrillas had been expecting their coming and knew where to watch for them.

  Ross glanced at Ashe, who caught his gaze and raised his hand in the old Terran gesture of victory. Their scout had not failed them. Their enemies would come directly to them; they would not have to so much as alter their present position to receive them.

  The agent could feel the familiar surge of fear well up within him, but he kept face and body impassive as he raised his once-bright battle horn to his lips. It was a dull black now so that neither sun nor moon could reflect from it.

  The invaders seemed to advance with agonizing slowness, as if they moved through water, although he knew they were actually riding at a good pace.

  The thirty made a small column, but that gave it both a speed and an ease of concealment a larger unit would lack. Fortune had been with them in discovering it. They had missed many of its like since their foes had begun moving supplies thus.

  Zanthor was anything but a stupid man. He had learned from his opponents' tactics and had soon realized that more supplies would get through in the long run if he utilized such compact trains as well as the more massive conveys which, although safe from destruction in the event of a single assault, were, by their very nature, slow and visible and subject to harassment along the whole of their route, however strong their guard upon setting out.

  Murdock mounted, and the others followed suit. No noise escaped them, no sudden flash of motion that might have been spotted by those travelers still a little below them on the slope.

  The partisan commander continued to carefully study the column, watching the way the individual riders sat their mounts.

  He nodded after a few minutes, satisfied. They were wary but not extraordinarily so. They would not know of their danger until it was upon them.

  The two units were fairly evenly matched in number, thirty of them, twenty-seven with him, but with surprise to aid him and barring some foul turn of chance, he was confident his party would be able to overpower and take most or all of their foes quickly, before the invaders could settle themselves into an extended battle costly to both sides.

  The column had been steadily ascending and had at last reached the level of the waiting guerrillas.

  The partisans remained motionless, scarcely breathing, until it was parallel to them, then Ross touched his lips to his horn.

  Arrows rained upon the Condor Hall force before the low, soft note had finished sounding.

  A few struck true, but most glanced harmlessly off the strong helms and the shields so borne as to face outward from the column's center.

  It was usually thus on such a raid, and he felt no disappointment. His archers aimed high to minimize the danger of striking the valuable springdeer. Their purpose was rather to unsettle their victims before battle was joined than to fell any great number of them outright. In other circumstances, when different objectives were before them, his bowmen could wreak terrible damage and had done so many times during these last months.

  Only that one volley was sent. The charge followed almost instantly upon it, well before the invading mercenaries could recover from their surprise to bring themselves and their animals into order.

  They did attempt to defend themselves. They, too, had bows and brought them quickly to bear, but their aim was off, and they were given no opportunity to fire a second round.

  The Time Agent felt a plucking at his right sleeve as he raced toward the column. He had no time even to glance down. The first of his foemen was before him.

  There was no resisting the force of the Sapphireholders' charge. The skirmish was briskly, even savagely, fought for a few tense minutes, then it was over, leaving Murdock's warriors masters of the field.

  Five of the enemy were dead, another eight wounded, one of them seriously. The majority of the rest were captives along w
ith their mounts and baggage animals. The latter had been roped together for ease of handling and had, therefore, been unable to scatter during the battle. Four of the mercenaries had broken from the fray and had succeeded in making their escape.

  The Sapphirehold party had suffered no damage save for a slight scrape across one fighter's hand and an equally insignificant injury to Allran's mount.

  Because part of the column had won free, the partisans made no delay in quitting the battleground save that necessary to stanch the wound of the gravely hurt man.

  They rode hard and fast for the next hour until Ross at last felt they had put enough distance between themselves and possible pursuers and permitted a halt.

  His eyes glowed as he looked over the fruits of the raid. Twenty-six of the enemy were prisoners or casualties, bringing with them their equipment and mounts, not to mention a dozen fine dray deer. That were prize in plenty even discounting the bulging packs.

  Those last proved a rich take. The unit had been assigned to the front and had been carrying with it everything necessary to support itself until it should be able to settle in and establish itself with the regular supply lines.

  He watched with satisfaction the unloading of each animal. These goods would still reach the battle line, but they would enter into a very different service from that for which they had been intended.

  Some of his comrades, Allran among them, were less pleased than their commander with what they found in the baggage. "Jerked meat and corn!" the Dominionite Lieutenant grumbled. "We used to eat better at Zanthor's expense."

  His commander smiled. "So used his own soldiers… Stop scowling, Comrade. Gurnion will make good use of this."

  Eveleen overheard the exchange and joined them. "Pay no attention to him, Captain. He's just sulking over that cut Sundance took."

  Ross glanced at the animal. "He's not much hurt, but take the Sergeant's doe. She's a good mount and should serve you well enough until he's fully healed again."

  The other man nodded his thanks and moved to claim the gray.

  There was nothing irregular in that. Sapphirehold was not part of the Confederacy, and what they took in their fighting was theirs by war right. Ton Gurnion was still surprised even after their months of informal alliance by the amount of materiel and the number of mounts sent to him by the hard-fighting partisan warriors, knowing no claim of his but only the generosity of these people and their perception of his needs moved them to give as they did of their spoil.

  The weapons expert's expression was thoughtful, as was her voice when she spoke. "He's right, you know. There has been a change in the type of supplies Condor Hall is providing for its army."

  He nodded. "In kind, but the quantity remains unaltered, and quality's still high. No warrior has cause to complain of this fare."

  Ross felt her eyes on him as Eveleen searched him for sign of injury.

  Her fingers darted out to separate the rent left in the material by the Condor Hall arrow. "A good shirt in need of mending," she commented dryly.

  "Better that than the arm beneath it."

  Both turned in response to a low whistle.

  "Let's see what Gordon's found," the war captain suggested even as he began moving toward his partner.

  Ashe had just opened the packs borne by the last of the baggage animals and had obviously discovered something totally unexpected.

  His fellow Terrans joined him. He held one of the satchels open, and their eyes widened. Gold.

  "The other pack holds the same?" Murdock asked after a moment.

  "It does. Scant wonder the poor beast seemed to be lagging worse than the rest. There's enough here to pay off a small army."

  "Probably its very purpose," Eveleen remarked. "Some of the mercenary companies must be getting restive."

  "That's about the way I read it," Ross agreed. He grinned. "It seems they'll have to bear their discontent a bit longer thanks to our intervention."

  Ashe's blue eyes sparkled. "This won't be going south with the rest, I presume?"

  The other man made a show of pondering the question. "I think not. No, Ton Luroc deserves some little prize to gladden his heart now and then. —Do you believe this'll serve the purpose, Lieutenant EA Riordan?"

  "Very nicely, Firehand," she replied, matching the mock gravity of his tone.

  "You're in agreement, I presume, Doctor?"

  Ross glanced sharply at his partner when Ashe did not respond. "Gordon?"

  The archeologist's eyes seemed to be looking into the distance. His expression was puzzled. "Sorry, Ross," he said, recalling himself to his comrades, "but this is wrong."

  "Taking the gold?" he asked in amazement.

  "No. The fact that it's been made into bars."

  "They're easier to transport that way," Eveleen protested. "The same weight in links would be incredibly bulky."

  "Yes, and I wouldn't question it in our own time, but pretech and low-tech peoples generally don't abuse gold like this. They wear it or decorate with it or mint it into coins or some other convenient type of specie. Molding it into ugly blocks and stashing it away like so many spare bricks is usually the work of a more machine-oriented society."

  "On Terra," Murdock said slowly after a moment. "Zanthor's ahead of his time in other ways, too, remember. That's how he managed to overrun most of the north and would have taken the whole damn island in short order if we hadn't come back to spoil his game. He'd probably be classed a genius if he'd turned his attention to some decent project."

  "I suppose you're right," the other man agreed, although his eyes remained dark. He shrugged in the end. "I hope we manage to take Zanthor I Yoroc alive in the end. I want to have a long, close talk with that bastard, if only to add to the knowledge of our psycho people back home."

  The partisan unit did not delay much longer there. The pack animals were reloaded, and the prisoners were bound to their mounts with their arms fastened to their sides, all save the heavily wounded warrior, who was placed in a litter slung between two of the springdeer. His injuries were indeed grave, but if he survived the journey south, he would receive good care there until he healed and then, in company with his comrades, better treatment than Confederates or Sapphireholders falling into Zanthor's power could ever hope to find.

  Ross pressed them as much as possible without taxing the heavily burdened dray animals until they reached the base of the highlands, the point beyond which he would not suffer any outsider to come. Here, the party divided, most riding as guards with the captured column, the rest turning for their home base, bringing with them the gold and the animal carrying it plus the doe Allran had claimed and one other wardeer, a fine young buck that had captured Ross's interest.

  8

  THE DOMAIN RULER'S quarters were larger than any of the others in the camp and were marked by considerably more luxury. Furs covered a good part of the floor, and hangings of worked skins and cloth both decorated the walls and blocked the drafts which would otherwise have had free access to the rooms inside, a large public chamber and a smaller sleeping area. The furnishings, though sparse enough out of consideration for mobility, were of good quality, and several of the chairs were padded to provide for comfort as well as utility.

  Luroc himself was still a fine-looking man of his race, tall and broad-shouldered, with heavy and flat but regular features and steady black eyes that seemed to read a man's very soul. His hair was a slightly lighter shade of auburn than was the norm among most of his people and was liberally peppered with gray.

  Strength of mind and will were patently his, a strength nature had decreed should be matched in power of body. War had denied him that, however, and his legs now rendered him but poor service. He could walk no more than a few yards unaided, if his slow, painful shuffle could be so termed at all. To venture outside, he was forced to depend on the support of crutches or else take to a chair borne upon the shoulders of his warriors. Even to sit a springdeer was agony, but he could ride and did when strong enough nece
ssity, such as the conference with the Confederate Tons and their commanders from which he had just returned, called him from the camp.

  He was seated by the fire when Murdock entered, for the day was a brisk one for so early in the fall, and his inactivity rendered him sensitive to unaccustomed chill.

  His dark eyes fixed on the newcomer, noting every detail of his appearance, so different from that of his own kind. He relaxed at once, finding no indication that anything had gone amiss on the partisan's recent raid, even as the preliminary report he had already received had indicated.

  He returned the younger man's salute and motioned him into a seat near his own.

  Ross obeyed at once, knowing the Ton did not like having to look up at those with whom he spoke, particularly if their discussion was to be of significant length.

  Ordinarily, he would have launched at once into an account of his most recent mission, but he now studied Luroc closely, with no small concern. The journey south and the conference itself could not but have taken their toll. "You must be tired, Ton. I've got nothing to say that won't wait another day."

  "What of your curiosity?"

  A faint smile touched the other's lips. "I can stand it that long."

  Ross started to rise, but the Sapphireholder's hand lifted. "Stay, Captain."

  The black eyes pierced him suddenly. "Do you consider yourself disgraced before your own kind because of the sort of war you are waging for us?" I Loran asked him bluntly.

  "With the success we're having? Not likely!"

  The Dominionite smiled at his assurance. "Good, because Grunion has hired mercenaries, a huge column under Jeran A Murdoc."

  The Terran thought quickly, reviewing the sea of background information he had studied in preparation for this mission. A blank shield would know by repute every column Commandant…

  He remembered then and raised his brows. There was no larger or better force for hire on all the continent, or any other more expensive. "They can afford him," he remarked, "better than another year or two at war, at any rate."