Artemis Awakening (12 page)

Remembering the plan of the village as he had seen it from the bluff above the river, Griffin understood. Adara and Bruin were taking the long way around, partly, he thought, in deference to how their neighbor’s livestock might react if bear and puma prowled through the narrower back roads, partly to give time for the word to spread that the stranger was coming forth to be met.

Griffin’s supposition was confirmed when, soon after they crossed from road into green, the door to a large house set just off the main street flew open and a plump, well-dressed woman emerged. Her bustling manner reminded Griffin of one of the hens, but her course possessed nothing of their erratic scattering. The woman was followed by a flock of young women and small children. She bore down upon them, arms outstretched in welcome.

“Well, Bruin, my girls have been buzzing all the morning about your visitor,” she said, as soon as she was close enough that she could not be said to be shouting. Nonetheless, there was a booming quality to her voice that could not be ignored. “You selfish man, keeping him to yourself all the morning. You know how we all look forward to fresh faces after a winter of being snowed in with only ourselves to look at. Is this the first of your students, then?”

Although this was phrased as a question, the matron did not pause for an answer, being, as Griffin did not need to be told, certain of the answer. What else would he be? As Adara had reported, the river was too rough to bring the merchants and there was little other reason for anyone to come to Shepherd’s Call.

The woman turned her attention to Griffin. Sand Shadow had moved to one side and now lolled on the grass, her manner one that Griffin knew all too well indicated amusement. Unimpeded, the woman bore down on Griffin. From where it rested upon her formidable bosom, she removed a wreath made from a many-petaled white flower with a golden yellow center.

“Welcome! Welcome!” the woman exclaimed, draping the wreath around Griffin’s neck. “I am Mistress Cheesemaker. I have the honor of being the spokesperson for our little community. Let me have the pleasure of being the first—other than your hosts, of course—to welcome you to Shepherd’s Call. What shall we call you?”

“Griffin,” he managed around a potential sneeze. The flowers had a strong, not completely pleasant odor, as might be expected of an early spring blossom that wanted to keep from being eaten before the bees might find it. “Griffin Dane.”

Mistress Cheesemaker seemed a bit puzzled by these few words—although whether it was Griffin’s accent or his name that caused her face to go momentarily blank, Griffin could not guess. Nevertheless, she was not so puzzled that the flow of her speech slowed for more than a breath. “Griffin … Let me introduce you to my daughters. This is Martine and this is Laura and the one with the baby on her hip is Suzie.”

Other people were pressing forward now. Griffin, struggling against the impulse to sneeze, saw with alarm that several others bore floral tributes. Adara and Bruin had dropped back a few paces, but weren’t so far that they couldn’t help him if more than his name was asked. However, the people of Shepherd’s Call seemed starved for talk, though not nearly so starved for listening.

Griffin had just shaken the rough, callused hand of Master Miller and accepted a wristlet of violets from his doe-eyed wife when he caught a glimpse of the first face that did not look particularly welcoming. It belonged to a strongly built man with shoulder-length dark brown hair. The man looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, but otherwise wasn’t unduly untidy. From how his blue eyes flickered between Griffin and Adara, this was one person who was not pleased by the idea of them both residing beneath Bruin’s roof.

Having helped Bruin set up the dormitories, Griffin understood why. Most of those who came to learn the hunter’s trade from Bruin and Adara would be between ten and twelve years old. Even by the standards of this culture (and certainly by Griffin’s own), these were mere boys. By contrast, Griffin was definitely a man—and a man, he would guess, apparently this one’s own age and therefore a potential rival.

The two men’s gazes locked in mutual appraisal. Mistress Cheesemaker immediately caught the scent of acrimony. Showing herself no fool, she set about defusing it with introductions.

“Griffin, this is Terrell the Factotum,” she said, “who came to us last autumn to study the finer points of riding with our resident equestrian. Terrell’s a relative newcomer, so I’m sure he’ll be glad to show you around when you have some free time.”

Griffin wasn’t at all so certain but, under Mistress Cheesemaker’s authoritarian gaze, there was nothing he and Terrell could do but clasp hands. If Terrell’s clasp met one stronger than he expected, he gave no sign. Griffin had too many brothers not to recognize the challenge offered by Terrell’s gripping fingers, but he only gave as much as he was offered, no more. After all, Griffin wasn’t looking to make an enemy, even if this Terrell seemed inclined to think of him as one from the start.

With Terrell’s advent, another element of village dynamics fell into place. Not surprisingly, given that this was the middle of the day, most of those who had flooded out to meet the new arrival were either females or older men. Doubtless the rest of the menfolk were out getting in the crops or whatever it was men did in a farming and sheep-herding village at this time of year. From how the girls giggled and looked between Griffin and Terrell, it was quite evident that Terrell was a favorite with the ladies. However, it was also apparent that at least a few thought the new arrival might be even more interesting.

Great,
Griffin thought as yet another floral tribute was draped around his neck.
Just what I need. On the other hand, what does it matter? Adara and I will be leaving soon for Spirit Bay. I probably won’t need to deal with this Terrell for months—maybe never again—and I certainly don’t plan to start courting the local ladies.

He wished he thought the young ladies didn’t seem to think otherwise. Even Mistress Cheesemaker was examining him appraisingly, as if contemplating which of her daughters he might suit.

As Griffin was exchanging handclasps with the village’s senior cobbler, a high, shrill scream ripped through the pleasant chatter. The scream stilled all sound in a single breath. Adara’s voice sounded a moment later.

“What’s that? Sand Shadow! No! Don’t!”

Turning, Griffin saw Adara running in the direction of the tree beneath which Sand Shadow had been lounging. With a graceful leap, the huntress was up into the branches, climbing to where she could get a better look at whatever had so disturbed the great cat.

Long body in a tense line, Sand Shadow remained near the tree. It was evident from the puffing of her fur and the lashing of her heavy tail that she’d been about to take on whatever it was that had made her let forth that blood-chilling caterwaul.

Ignoring the babble around him, Griffin noted that Adara was looking in the direction of the forested mountain slopes from which they had descended—was it only the night before? At first he saw nothing but the vari-hued greens of the mixed evergreen and deciduous foliage. Then, where a gap in the trees marked a clearing of some sort, he saw a flash as of light reflecting back from metal or glass.

Adara’s vantage point gave her a clearer view.

“There’s something,” she said, “something large—at least the size of a cow—coming through the forest. I can’t see all of it, but it’s moving fairly quickly, on long legs, like those of a spider.”

She paused, checked again, then added. “I don’t ask you to believe me, but whatever it is seems to be made all of metal.”

Interlude: TVC1500

Target found.

Hasten!

Peace comes with success.

Peace comes with death.

7

Metal and Fire

At Sand Shadow’s scream, the villagers had fallen silent. Now the babbling resumed, cordial gossip vanishing beneath the shrill notes of panic.

Mothers began hurrying small children toward the houses. Most of the older children went scurrying after, but a few—bolder or maybe just less wise than their fellows—were copying Adara and climbing up the trees that shaded the edges of the green.

Bruin, Griffin saw, was also up a tree. He was momentarily surprised that such a bulky man could climb so easily, but then he remembered how well bears were said to climb. Honeychild was guarding the base of Bruin’s tree as Sand Shadow was Adara’s.

Some few villagers remained on the green. Mistress Cheesemaker and the old cobbler were hurrying toward the space between two of the larger houses. Remembering his earlier conjecture that the village might be defensible if the areas between the houses were blockaded, Griffin wasn’t completely surprised to see the pair tugging at what looked like segments of an old gate. Glancing to one side, he saw Terrell helping the miller with a similar task.

Griffin wished he felt confident of his ability to climb, but tree climbing was a skill he had never mastered. The trees where he had grown up had been of the sort that shed their lower limbs to create a clear understory, not a trait that invited climbing.

He settled for clambering up on a large, roughly cut block of stone that, from its proximity to a long watering trough, was probably a mounting block. At last he could get a clear look at what had just crashed out of the fringes of the forest and into the cleared lands that surrounded the village.

By the standards of the world Griffin had left behind him, this wasn’t a very large machine. Adara had compared it in size to a cow, but that description only worked if the cow was taller than usual and had very long, thin legs holding up a flattened, roughly ovoid body and no head at all. Griffin thought her second comparison to a spider was better. Of course, this spider was shaped from a silvery-grey metal, dulled and dented, though whether from abuse or neglect he could not say.

The machine paused in midstride, extending a probe which it used to inspect the area around it.

Adara said, “Is that a machine?”

Bruin replied. “It is. I have seen pictures of such in the Old One’s library. Once, when I was about your age, a diving pro found the carcass of something like that stuck in a reef.”

Griffin called. “That’s a machine. Absolutely. It may look like a spider, but it’s a machine. What is it doing here?”

As he spoke, the machine sucked the probe back into itself and began to move purposefully toward the village. When Griffin had first glimpsed it, the metal spider had seemed to move quickly. Now he saw that the front limbs were damaged, causing the whole construct to sway from side to side. However, despite this handicap, the metal spider moved with deliberation and purpose.

The gates between the houses on the side of the village nearest to the spider had been closed. The one with which the cobbler and Mistress Cheesemaker had been struggling showed evidence of weather warping that had left a gap between the two sides of the gate. Nonetheless, the heavy, metal-bound wooden planks would have provided a considerable obstacle even to mounted warriors.

“That should slow it down,” said Terrell with satisfaction, peering out through an arrow slit.

“Maybe so,” the miller retorted, “but we’ve other gates to close. Come along.”

Terrell did so. As he turned away, a hiss followed by a crackling reverberated through the air. Between one breath and the next, the gate that had sheltered Terrell burst into flames.

*   *   *

Adara gasped as the massive wooden boards caught fire as if they were no more than fine shavings. The metal straps that bound the boards melted like wax.

The spider did not wait for the flames to die back, but came forward through the fire, staggering past the burning gate onto the village green. Once again it stopped and extended that long limb—she wondered if this was some sort of nose—and began feeling the air.

“Clear the green! Clear the green!” yelled Master Cobbler, his cracked voice breaking as he raced toward the ancient bell that for so many years had rung alarm. These alerts had been for fire or flood—never once for raid or attack.

“Don’t touch the bell!” Bruin bellowed, thudding from his tree onto the turf. “What good would bringing in the men do? That thing would cook them. Take cover and leave dealing with this spider to us.”

Master Cobbler might well have asked what Bruin thought he and his students could do, but he had good sense not to argue. He turned toward his house, still crying the alarm. Mistress Cheesemaker’s strong voice could be heard giving orders—sensible ones about closing shutters and getting pails of water ready. She also sent some of the swifter children to warn the men in the fields not to come into the green. Adara, leaping down from her tree, appreciated the woman’s practicality as never before.

As Adara landed, she heard a shrill whistle, followed almost instantly by the thundering of hooves on the turf. She knew that Terrell had summoned Coal, his favorite mount. A second rumble of hooves announced the coming of Helena the Equestrian, doubtless astride dapple-grey Moquino.

“Stay spread out,” Bruin ordered. “If that thing snorts fire again, best we give it small target. Griffin Dane, do you know anything about how we might kill this thing?”

“Not this one in particular,” Griffin replied, his voice level. “Not enough to tell you its strengths or recite its specs.”

“Weaknesses?” Bruin said.

“It’s broken,” came the quick reply. “Certainly no one crafted it to move in that halting fashion.”

“Can it spit more than fire?” Adara asked.

“Possibly,” Griffin said. “I’m sorry. You want one of my brothers, not me.”

He sounded despairing, but Adara noted with approval that Griffin made no effort to run or hide. Unarmed, unarmored, as ignorant as any of them, still, he would hold his ground.

Helena the Equestrian came to a halt near where Terrell had just swung up onto Coal’s bare back. Unlike her student, who bore no weapons, she carried a short lance.

“I was practicing,” she said. “Something in the urgency with which Coal jumped the fence told me I should not come empty-handed. What is that thing?”