Stormrider (6 page)

I think he admires you.
Strongheart turned and trotted off.

No, he appraises me. He may admire the bow. But more importantly, he wonders how much power is left in the gun.

Cynic.
Strongheart tossed the thought over his shoulder as he padded into the surrounding trees.

Realist.
Tanith shot back and went after him.

Chapter 4

Despite the burden of food slung over her back, Tanith ran with a loose, graceful stride, arms pumping gently at her sides, hurrying for home, gratified Strongheart had been able to hunt successfully. When they had a dependent member of the pack, which was what she had to consider Raptor Simic for the moment, there was always much more work involved in everyday survival for the rest, much more work to be done than when each member carried his own weight. With the plants and fish she had been able to collect, combined with the game Strongheart had brought in, there would be plenty for all of them for the next couple of days. After that, perhaps Raptor would be of more use. And after t
hat
she hoped he would leave.

She had taken the time to scout a little as well. No sign of any craft, intact or in pieces. Where was his ship? She would dearly love the opportunity to examine it while he was in no position to protest. Given more time she knew she would be able to find it with Strongheart’s aid. Maybe in another day or two.

Warmth from the combination of daytime heat and her own exertion caused Tanith to pause, divesting herself of her leather leggings and stuffing them into her pack. She remained clad only in the loose leather tunic, belted at the waist, falling to mid-thigh and soft-wrapped moccasins coming up to her knees. The smooth, worn, hilt of the large knife snug in her boot-moccasins was even more exposed now that it did not have to stick through the hole she had cut in the side of her leggings.

Relieved, Tanith hoisted her load again across her back and stepped out to continue on when a high, wailing howl etched its way across the rarefied crystalline air, sending Tanith’s guard hairs stiffening against her skin.

The eerie sound stopped both Tanith and Strongheart dead in their tracks.

“Littlefoot,” Tanith breathed.

Warning. Danger.
Strongheart pricked ears forward, reaching into the breeze to catch more of the wolf communication.

“But I don’t feel her. She’s not touching me. Why isn’t she reaching into the bond? We can glean little from her howl.”

Her howl tells me much. You have not been of the pack long enough. She does not know if we are near enough for the connection of the pack bond. And, there are times . . . .
Strongheart lifted his head, cocked it, ears swiveling, and twitched his nose into the rising wind.

“What is she trying to warn us of . . . what is there..?”

One Eye’s lower, more mournful howl drifted through the rustle of the leaves and the moan of the rising wind, a more solid backdrop to Littlefoot’s thin cry.

Storm.
Strongheart, as if the single word were explanation enough.

The wind rose instantly to a shriek. White clouds rose in a column, its mushroom topping above the green trees an almost painful contrast.

“Littlefoot is warning us of a storm?” Tanith bellowed above the sudden rush of the wind, appalled by both its heat and its ferocity, then opened herself entirely to Strongheart’s mind touch.

The information rolled across her like an uncontrolled wave, Strongheart channeling it as irrigation ditches directed the flow of great waters.
She is not warning us of the storm. The storm complicates matters. The bond between us is created of energy. The storm disrupts the flow of energy. Her howl is to warn that warriors of The People have invaded your campsite. They are too many for Littlefoot and One Eye. When the warriors of The People realize the nearness of the storm they will want to finish their errand quickly and be gone to find shelter. They will probably kill him rather than leave behind a possible threat they cannot closely examine. Your man is again in danger.

“Again? Does he do anything else? And he isn’t my man.”

Strongheart, starting to move with the wind at his back, its force ruffling the depth of his pelt.
In his condition it would be hard to accomplish much else. And he is your man in that you have accepted the responsibility of his welfare and that is now at risk.

“You got all this from a couple of howls, huh?”

It was not difficult. Our howls are our life song. There is no mystery. When you have been among us longer, you will understand as well as I. For now, we must hurry. The storm is closing.

Hurry wasn’t the word for the headlong dash through the forest, leaping just ahead of the wind’s pummeling fists, that Strongheart and Tanith executed. It was foolhardy and a break-neck risk, Tanith refusing to give up the hard-won food in her pack. Strongheart tempered his stride, pushing Tanith to her limits, but remaining with her, not drawing far ahead as he was tempted to do. It wouldn’t be good for him to arrive far ahead of her. She would lose face before The People.

Skipping over a fallen log, and pressed by driving winds, Tanith drew herself up short just before careening into the clearing topped by her cave. There she divested herself of her pack, eyes combing the area hurriedly for some sign of One Eye and Littlefoot. She swept up her bow and arrows, hung them over one shoulder, slung a small part of her plunder over the other shoulder, drew a deep breath, and stalked with calm authority into the clearing.

Her eyes fell first on Raptor Simic where he lay sprawled in the rippling grasses on his back, a position which could have been nothing less than exquisitely painful. He, in turn, stared up at several razor-tipped lances held in the hands of the uninvited warriors. Those lances flattened him even closer to the ground at his back, his belly sucked down to backbone, the sheen of sweat on his forehead in obvious salute to the pain such a maneuver was causing his back.

Inwardly, she cringed. The warriors of The People wouldn’t be pleased with her appearance, being a stiff-minded people. Her smoothly-muscled, richly tanned legs exposed beneath the short tunic’s uneven hem would put a glint like that of broken glass in their eyes.

There wasn’t time to worry about the social amenities. The warriors who held him pinned to the ground were liable to split his gullet while she was still deciding on the socially correct approach. She unlimbered her bow and strode forward boldly, with purpose, Strongheart moving like silver silk at her side.

“You and your men are welcome in my camp, Grey Wanderer, but not with weapons drawn.” Again the bluntness which usually served to gain any male member of The People’s attention, and more importantly, to cause hesitation which she manipulated to her advantage.

She wasn’t disappointed. Every eye in the group turned to stare at her as Littlefoot and One Eye slipped up on the edges of the gathering, silent as phantoms, their presence nonetheless felt. The wolves flowed closer, open air between them. They uttered a few short yips and a low abbreviated howl, solemn golden eyes flicking from warrior to Tanith to Raptor.

Raptor was staring at Tanith, craning his neck to peer up at her from his supine position in the grass.

She returned his regard, relived he displayed the good sense to keep his mouth shut, though the expression in his fox-eyes spoke volumes, most of which would probably have translated into curses. Rapidly, her eyes swept the group, her instincts vibrating like sensitive antennae, sampling her surroundings. So far her encounters with the males of The People, the people of her birth, had been to fend off attempts subtle or violent, to draw her into the tribe as slave or wife. Repelling attack was one thing . . . this was quite another. She was of The People, but not. Were they going to accept her authority, she being a woman alone, here, in her own camp? Her gaze flickered again. The stun gun was still attached to her belt. Its power was very low, but would pack enough of a wallop to put a considerable dent in the ranks of these men if it came to that. She hoped it would not and faced Grey Wanderer who had turned from Raptor at her words. He appeared as always, unchanging as the rock which his face so closely resembled.

“Song Dog told us of him.” A short nod at Raptor. “He is not of The People, Tanith Aesir,” Grey Wanderer spoke her Antarian name in his usual aloof manner—as if it tasted bad—for it was not a name of The People. Her other-world name had not set too well with anyone here. “We had to be sure he was not
Jaiqi
. We are still not sure he is not.” The leader of the People did not move from Raptor’s side and knifed his words into the shriek of the superheated wind. “We will not leave him here if we are not sure.”

Jaiqi
—the name The People had given to the slavers; slavers who were viewed by The People as a combination of myth and bitter reality. Was Grey Wanderer making a threat or merely looking for reassurance? A bounty hunter was not good news in her estimate, but he was not in the same slime bucket with the slavers.

“He is not
Jaiqi
.” Tanith drew herself up to her full height and continued to face the tall headman unflinchingly.

Grey Wanderer’s dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on her. Slender streaks of gray flashed in waist-length hair so black it appeared purple, whipping in the wind rising rapidly to howling strength. His dark skin gleamed red, and his broad, ribbed forehead—the distinctive mark of most males of The People—furrowed even deeper as he frowned. His granite jaw flexed. He did not appear convinced.

Tanith’s hand dipped a little closer to the stun gun at her belt while seeming to caress the line of her bow as Strongheart edged nearer beside her. He bristled in warning stance but she heard nothing from him. It was troubling that she could see all three wolves, yet heard nothing from any of them. The mind touch was absent. The emptiness of the sudden void left by their silence in her mind frightened her. That silence, caused by the power of the storm according to Strongheart was a disruption of their abilities to mentally communicate. It was surprising, even a little unsettling, how she was coming to expect Strongheart’s advice, even when wryly delivered.

Grey Wanderer repeated himself, impatient. “He is not of the People.” His high, wedge-shaped cheekbones prominently reddened even darker by the wind’s blast, managed to darken yet another shade leaving no doubt as to his solution. A dead problem was no longer a problem. He dared Tanith with his eyes.

Here goes, Tanith thought, one chance to divert Grey Wanderer’s obvious intention of murder where Raptor was concerned and avoid using her stun gun. “He is mine.”

The firmness of her voice, the challenge of her statement quite plainly took the leader of the warriors aback. Piercing black eyes regarded her from beneath heavy black brows, weighing, analyzing.

Tanith saw in every movement that Grey Wanderer and his men made that they were anxious to be on their way, preferably after gutting Raptor Simic since he was not easily explainable. But Grey Wanderer waited and his warriors waited.

The imposing headman of the People mulled Tanith’s statement over with a look closely akin to horror on his face. Anger was a little longer in coming. After a moment he shot back. “He is small.”

“He is lying on the ground. He is taller when he is upright, also not so thin with no lance point pressed against his belly.” Tanith returned dryly.

“He is weak,” Grey Wanderer said with heated disdain and no little discomfort, finding himself in the absurd position of defending the questionable stranger. He needed to defeat this woman’s claim of ownership over a man in the only way which came quickly to him. He belittled the intruder’s strength, his prowess as a man, in an attempt to dissuade her from her claim. It was a claim he could not, as a man of The People, allow to stand. He fixed Tanith with a cold stare.

Tanith raised a slim, golden eyebrow. “He has been injured. When he is recovered he would make a formidable enemy.”

Grey Wanderer frustrated now, abrupt. “You cannot keep a man. It is not for a woman of The People to do such a thing. Women do not have men. It is the men who have women. Yet you say he is yours. I do not understand and I will not accept this. It is better for him, as a man, to be dead among men rather than to be possessed by a woman. Why do you want him? Why do you claim he is yours?”

“He owes me a blood debt.”

That much the men of The People would understand. A blood debt was to be taken very seriously. It could not be forgiven.

It would have to be expunged by way of some service in return. It did not do much to raise Raptor’s standing among the gathered men of The People, but it might just keep him alive—for now, as the storm continued to rise around them.

The howl of the wind through the trees and around the cliffs made it nearly impossible to stand up, let alone converse. Its heat tossed color into all their cheeks. Smaller trees bent almost double before the onslaught and leaves were stripped from limbs and sent swirling in a green blizzard across the clearing. In that swirl Grey Wanderer stood firm.

His sharp black eyes stared at Tanith for long moments while he weighed her last words. He swayed slightly in the wind, the tip of his lance at Raptor’s breastbone drawing a single glistening bead of blood, which darkened immediately. Grey Wanderer frowned, but at the same time gave a solemn nod of what Tanith interpreted as approval.