Firehand # with Pauline M. Griffin Read online

  Luroc eyed him curiously. "Any relationship there?"

  "Somewhere way back, I suppose… No, you'll find no greats or near greats among my kin," he responded with perfect honesty. The question had been reasonable considering the similarity in name and profession. It was this closeness in the sound of Terran and Dominionite names that allowed the Time Agents to retain so close an approximation of their own, as all preferred to do whenever possible. That reduced the chance of accidentally reverting to them in moments of stress or illness.

  Murdock's expression darkened. "I bear my father's name and the name he gave me at my birth. If the Commandant has a problem with that…"

  "Not at all," his host told him hastily. His voice gentled. "You are usually not so quick to take offense, my Friend."

  "I was being a buck's tail," he apologized. "I'm sorry, Ton I Loran."

  The other chuckled. "At least, you can admit it."

  A flagon of wine stood on a small table near the Ton's hand. Luroc took it up and handed it to his companion along with one of the horn cups conveniently placed beside it. "Come, drink that to wet your throat and then give me your report. This proved a singularly profitable raid, and I would like to hear the details."

  Murdock complied readily, concluding his account with his own speculations about the significance of all they had seen and taken.

  "You talk of victory," I Loran said when he had finished. "Do you see it as coming?"

  The Terran nodded. "Yes. I don't deal in hope and wishful thinking, especially not with you. I believe the crest has come in Condor Hall's war. Unless we fall under some ghastly cast of fortune or are guilty of an almost impossibly gross blunder ourselves, we'll conquer."

  "You have not mentioned this before."

  "No. It was the discovery of the gold that made me feel sure enough to speak about what had been only a thought. Token payments are frequently made to mercenaries during the course of an exceptionally long campaign, but never anything on this scale." He smiled grimly. "For one thing, the dangers inherent in transporting large sums of specie are normally too great."

  "Yet Zanthor did risk it."

  He nodded. "To quiet his troops, I believe. He depends heavily on hirelings and must keep those he now has with him. He knows he won't be getting any more."

  The older man frowned. "He has had no trouble thus far in drawing columns to his standard."

  "That will no longer be true. He'll continue to pick up companies, individuals, right enough, but he can't reward any additional columns amply enough with gold or with land even in the event of total victory, and that's been uncommonly slow in coming. Those already with him will have secured full spoil-rights to whatever domains he can expect to seize and can spare. The peripheral profits which remain simply aren't sufficient to bind potential newcomers to what still promises to be a long and arduous campaign."

  "By the same token, his current commanders and those with them are beginning to tire and to grow impatient for their long-deferred reward?"

  "Even so, unless I'm reading it all wrong, which I very much doubt. The cheaper, more basic foodstuffs and the alteration in the frequency and the manner of their delivery give evidence of difficulties that weren't present at the outset of his assault, and, as further evidence that he's in some trouble, many of our prisoners seem more disgruntled than angry now."

  He paused to refill his cup and to pour one for the Dominionite. "All this is based on what I've observed in the Sapphirehold area. Conditions could be enough different on the front to alter the accuracy of my conclusions. What does Ton I Carlroc say?"

  "He sees it as do you, although he is a trifle less optimistic. He believes there is still a hard campaign before us."

  "Hard and probably long," the agent agreed. "I said we'll conquer, not that we have done so. Condor Hall isn't going to lie down before us."

  Luroc detailed what the Confederate commanders had told him of their plans and repeated their plea that Firehand's partisans continue their efforts, increasing them if possible.

  The older man's eyes glowed as he relayed the latter request. "It appears that they regard Sapphirehold's contribution to the war as greater than even we had imagined."

  Ross's head lifted a little. He was proud of his command's achievements, and it pleased him to know that the Confederate leaders respected them as well. "We'll keep the pressure on Zanthor," he promised. "As for increasing it, that depends on him. If he provides us with additional targets, we'll attack them. We have the capability of doing so."

  "We can be fairly assured of ample prey these next couple or three months."

  "Very likely," Murdock replied. "The Ton of Condor Hall has to have realized by now how little will get past both the snows and our people. With fall already on him, he'll have to move fast to send down all he can of warriors to replace those he'll lose in the final spurt of fighting and goods enough to maintain the whole lot during the winter halt. We should have excellent hunting right to the first blizzards."

  "Your targets may be well guarded," he warned.

  "No doubt. We'll still do well enough to multiply his troubles for all that."

  The gray eyes sparkled as they swung toward the packs now resting on the floor not far from them. "Don't count on many more prizes like this last, though."

  Ton Luroc chuckled. "I shall excuse you from producing that, Firehand."

  "You'll have it removed to the village?"

  "Yes, as soon as possible. We have other work here besides minding treasure. —How would you like to have your portion stored?"

  The supposed mercenary shook his head. "Let it be. You have greater need of it. Sapphirehold must not only be free but prosperous as well. If you don't rebuild quickly, you may be seen as a potential prize by some other land-hungry would-be Ton. This'll go far in helping you to reestablish yourselves." I Loran studied him speculatively. "This is a small portion compared with what we will get once Condor Hall falls. Sapphirehold shall have full compensation then and an equal war share with the Confederate domains besides. That, too, was affirmed in our meeting."

  "Treasure possessed is worth many times that held only in hope," he quoted the Dominionite proverb.

  Luroc smiled. "You are a cautious man, Firehand, though I cannot fault a trait that has done us such good service."

  He grew grave once more. "Understand this, Rossin, I will not see you ride from my domain poorer than when you came. Your swordbelt was well crusted with jewels then. It is plain now."

  Murdock straightened, his eyes flashing. "That was a loan given in our mutual need…"

  "And as such must be repaid."

  "Not at the cost of risking again everything we've all fought so hard to save! When you can cover your contract with me and your debt without injury to yourselves, you'll do it. I'm not going to be a drain on you before then."

  The Ton's eyes narrowed, but he raised his hands in surrender. "Peace, Warrior," he said with a trace of exasperation. "I consider myself a stubborn man, but in you, I have met my equal… Very well. Since there is little opportunity to spend gold on these slopes, I yield to you for the moment."

  Ross laughed softly, so that the other looked at him in surprise. "Peace indeed, Ton Luroc. We've been arguing as if we were sitting safely in Sapphirehold's reconstructed hall instead of still hiding out in the mountains. We may believe victory will be ours and be right in so believing, but we're a long way yet from achieving it. At this point in time, Zanthor I Yoroc has no intention of ceding any of his hoard or his ill-won lands to us. My portion will do little good until he does."

  Now I Loran laughed as well. "I am glad no other was present to hear us just now! —Thank you for that, my Friend. Your work and my people's has often given me good news to savor, but a chance to laugh is a rare treasure."

  He sobered once more. There might be the shade of a bright dawn glimmering on the future's horizon, but the present remained stark and hard, and its demands pressed sternly upon them. They would have to k
eep their attention fixed on the war that had become the central focus of their lives for the foreseeable time to come.

  9

  THE SUN WAS setting by the time Murdock quitted the Ton's quarters once more. There had been a great deal to discuss as they laid their plans for the coming weeks and for the following year's campaign should the conflict not be resolved before then.

  Both were determined to strike again very quickly and to keep as much pressure as possible on the invaders throughout the weeks to come. The war would probably not end with this season, but if they could so disrupt Condor Hall activity that its army would be forced to take to the field for the spring campaign less than perfectly prepared, Zanthor might well then be on the full defensive, maybe battling entirely within his own borders, or have gone down in defeat before the arrival of another winter.

  The evening chill was rising, but it felt good to him, and he resolved to remain outside a while rather than seek his cabin immediately.

  He did not want company, and the Terran moved away from the campground into the trees beyond. He wanted to think a little after that strange interview.

  Ross had said a great deal, too much, maybe. Mercenaries were one breed, whatever their world of origin. They did not make a habit of refusing gold or its equivalent, or of postponing getting a sizable hunk of it into their possession, either.

  His pace slowed, and his eyes lowered to the already leaf-strewn ground. He had taken oath to Sapphirehold as part of the role he was playing, but he had realized in there as he had attempted to renounce his share of the war prize that he had meant that vow in fact. He cared deeply about this domain and its cause, not merely for its eventual effect upon Dominion of Virgin's history, but for its own sake and that of its fine, valiant people. He had not been able to bring himself to claim a resource he knew would be needed, maybe desperately needed, in the hard work of rebuilding that must follow the war.

  A strange tightening tugged his chest and throat, and he increased his pace once more, instinctively hoping activity would dispel the unwelcome emotion gripping him.

  The Time Agent continued walking for some minutes longer, slowing again as he gradually slid back into deep thought.

  Suddenly, the sound of loud cheers brought him to a halt.

  Ross realized he had been circling the camp rather than moving away from it and had nearly come upon the training field, the large natural meadow his comrades had set aside for working with their springdeer. He hurried toward it, curious to learn who was using it at this late hour and in what manner that such enthusiasm should be roused in what sounded like a good number of people.

  He had his answer in another moment as he stepped from the surrounding forest to find the open place occupied by a sizable gathering of his partisans.

  Allran and Eveleen were among them with the two wardeer they had taken in the raid. They were in the process of putting them through the series of tests which would determine whether they were suitable for the kind of service required by the hard-riding partisans or not.

  That explained the crowd. If none of the raiding party exercised the right of first claiming, the buck would be given to one of the other Sapphirehold soldiers. The doe was already Allran's.

  The latter had finished her course. The Lieutenant was standing beside her, surrounded by a number of the other warriors, and their mood could not be read as less than jubilant.

  Murdock nodded appreciatively. She was a fine, clean-limbed animal. He could well appreciate her beauty as well as her value as a war weapon, although something within him made him hunger to see a horse there in her place, a charger out of the past of his own kind.

  The doe was not one of Terra's little white tails, of course, but she was close enough in physical type for Terran minds to view her as kindred with that species of the mother world. She had a deer's soft, large eyes and long ears and ran with a leaping gallop peculiar to those three-toed hooves, only the center of which came into play when she jumped or moved at her top pace. There were no horns, and her head and neck were graced with a ridge of short and very soft but amazingly strong hair. The tail was bovine in form, a long, thin whip tufted with a brush of coarse hair at the end.

  His attention flickered to the second deer. The weapons expert had mounted him and was circling the hurdles, letting him see the lay of them before she took him across.

  The attention of the others had swung to her as well, for she was about ready to begin.

  Eveleen Riordan was worth watching when she sat a springdeer, her fellow Time Agent thought. Her ability ranged well beyond even the excellence that was the norm among their on-world allies, and she rode with a grace particular to her which made her seem one with her mount.

  That last effect was heightened by the fact that she had set aside her saddle for the stirruped pad used in such testing, permitting her to feel the wardeer's every movement, to sense when he hastened and when he hesitated, to experience the rhythm of his gates, to detect any fault or flaw in him, to recognize where he excelled.

  They took the first jump flawlessly, so flawlessly that those watching were stricken silent by the pair's perfection. Eveleen tossed her head in exultation. Her usually tightly bound hair was flowing free. She had apparently washed it since their return, for it wisped up under the teasing of the sharp breeze, forming a marvelous halo around her as she passed between her commander and the westering sun. He could see that she was flushed with excitement and pleasure.

  Ross stood perfectly still. She was beautiful, he thought, more beautiful than any of those suddenly poor measurements by which the men of Terra set their standards of loveliness.

  He shrugged then and laughed at himself. Ross Murdock waxing as eloquent as an earnest but not terribly able young poet?

  He shook his head in half amused, half really annoyed dismay. What was the matter with him today? First, he had tried to refuse a battle-won fortune—albeit one he could not have expected to keep in any event—and now this sense of sudden revelation over his chief officer's beauty, which had been open for the seeing from the first time he had laid eyes on her.

  Eveleen, ignorant of the reaction she had provoked, saw him and raised her hand in greeting.

  Ross hastily composed himself and returned it but remained where he was, watching while she completed the intricate course.

  The buck performed well, very well. He finished in exceptional time without mishap or refusal. Indeed, he seemed not troubled at all by his trial.

  When Eveleen at last drew rein, Murdock began walking toward her. She saw him approach and, taking her leave of those gathered around her and her mount, hastened to meet him.

  Her step was both light and quick, especially so with the joy of the ride still on her, and she had joined him before he had half crossed the big field.

  Both paused to look upon the chestnut buck, who was now in a groom's care, before turning back in the direction of the camp.

  "A fine deer," Ross commented. "He did remarkably well."

  "Fine? He's no less than fabulous, a steed out of dream!"

  "Take him."

  Her head snapped toward him so that Murdock smiled. "Who's got better right?" he asked. "You fought well in winning him. Besides, you're perfect together. Everyone who saw you here has to confess that."

  "I did want him," she admitted, "yet somehow I didn't think to place a claim."

  "That hasn't been your habit… Go on. You'll be using him to advance our mission."

  The large eyes twinkled. "I accept him most gladly, and since he's sort of Firehand's gift, I think I'll name him Spark."

  She was mildly surprised when the anticipated scowl did not follow that announcement, but it faded from her consciousness even as it was born. Other matters filled her mind, and now that they were well within the wood, away from the others, she looked gravely up at him. "You were a long time with Luroc. You were discussing what he learned in the south?"

  He nodded. "And our own surmises. It's the general conse
nsus that we're no longer merely fighting to survive and that we'll be able to start thinking about putting our affairs to real rights again in the reasonable future."

  "Only Sapphirehold's freedom and the overthrow of that tyrant will ever accomplish that," she told him fiercely.

  Murdock looked at her in surprise. "I'm not arguing that. Neither is anyone else."

  She sighed. "I know, Ross. It's just been such a long haul."

  "Well, the end's coming, even if we do still have a damn hard fight ahead of us."

  He detailed for her what had passed between I Loran and himself on the subject and then, speaking more slowly, outlined his plans—as yet only ideas—for sharpening their campaign against the invaders, clarifying his thoughts even as he spoke.

  Eveleen questioned a few points, added to others, inserted ideas of her own which Ross, in turn, parried and tested. Time passed as their conversation became more and more intricately involved until both realized with a start that full night had fallen unnoticed while they had talked.

  They had instinctively stopped at the edge of the camp, which was now outlined in the flickering light of the fires.

  All the weariness of the past days seemed to settle over Murdock in that moment. He flexed his shoulders to ease the ache of which he had suddenly become aware. "I'll call the others to council tomorrow. For now, I think we'd both benefit from some sleep."

  She offered no protest to that, and they walked quickly in the direction of their quarters, silent now, each busy with thoughts of the work before them.

  After seeing his companion to her cabin, Murdock made no delay in seeking out the small building housing both his own sleeping chamber and his office.

  There was light inside, dim, cast by a candle left standing on the table that served him as his desk.

  This, he took up without glancing at any of the papers neatly piled there awaiting his attention and went directly to the inner room. He automatically touched the burning wick to that of the taper fastened to the wall by the door. The latter took fire, flickered, and then steadied.