settled down upon his chosen branch, leaning against the trunk. He slipped
his bow around from his back to string it, then took an arrow from his quiver
and set it against the string. Then he relaxed. Of course, Ulahane might have
brought him here a day or more before his quarry came—but somehow Lucoyo didn’t
think so. He settled down to wait.
The
sun was halfway down the sky when he heard the chanting. Looking up, he saw a
group of men approaching from the northeast—not a very large group, he counted
twenty as they came closer, and mere hunters, not even so advanced as his own ... as the people who reared me! he corrected himself angrily. But these hunters
were human, and he had no doubt that if it had been they who had reared him,
they would have treated him just as badly as his nomad clan. He raised his bow
and pulled back the string, taking aim at the leader, a big fellow with massive
shoulders and arms and a chest like a basin, if the archer was to judge by the
bulk of his furs. He couldn’t miss, Lucoyo thought.
Just
as he was about to loose, though, a shout broke his concentration—a shout from
the south. Lucoyo flinched, and barely managed to hold the arrow on the string.
Relaxing the bow, he turned to see . ..
A
troop of soldiers who came striding toward the crossroads, wearing the scarlet
kilts and bronze pectorals of Kuru, their heads protected by coiled-rope
caps—protected, and warmed; other than that, they had blankets draped around
their shoulders, but even from a bowshot’s distance, Lucoyo could see how thin
those blankets were. Those soldiers must be cold indeed! He was surprised that
the southerners had not learned to deal with this northern chill any better
than that. Of course, he could see their point—those pectoral tabards would
turn an arrow easily enough.
Fortunately,
their sides were unprotected under the flimsy cloth. Lucoyo raised his bow.
The
lead soldier, the one with his arms left bare so all could see his armbands of
rank, shouted angrily at the hunters and motioned his men to speed up. They
broke into a quick-step, leveling their spears.
Lucoyo
looked back and forth from one band to the other, delighted and confused. Which
should he attack?
Chapter 5
Ohaern
grinned—how considerate of the Kuruite soldiers to come to meet him, still two
days’ march from Byleo! “Charge!” he called to his men. “If they do not give
way, cut them in half!” He drew his sword, swinging it high then down, to point
at the soldiers as he leaped into a run.
The
soldiers arrived first and clustered at the crossroad, a rough oval of thirty
men, spears forward. “Halt!” the leader snapped. “Give way to the soldiers of
Kuru!”
“The
roads are free to all!” Ohaern shouted. “Give way before us, outlander,
for these forests are ours!”
“Brave
talk, from a bush-crawling barbarian!” the soldier sneered. “We are thirty to
your twenty! Surrender or die, and those who survive shall be permitted to live
as our slaves!”
“No
Biri warrior shall be a slave!” Ohaern roared, and in the tree above, Lucoyo
suddenly knew which humans to begin slaying.
The
two forces crashed together, the Biriae with wild war cries, the Kuruites with
ritualized shouts of anger. The Biriae beat the spears aside with axe and sword
and cut at their owners. The Kuruites, though, proved more adept than they
looked, blocking swords with the copper bands on their spear shafts, then
striking down with the sharpened edges of the points. Here and there a
spearhead found its mark, plunging deep or leaving a red trail behind—but there
and here an axe chopped through a spear shaft and a sword plunged past into
flesh. In minutes the two forces had become a churning melee of single combats.
Above
them Lucoyo swung his arrowhead back and forth, sighting along the shaft,
waiting for a clear shot at a Kuruite soldier . ..
There!
A Biri fell with a red gash along his upper arm, his sword falling from
nerveless
his bow around from his back to string it, then took an arrow from his quiver
and set it against the string. Then he relaxed. Of course, Ulahane might have
brought him here a day or more before his quarry came—but somehow Lucoyo didn’t
think so. He settled down to wait.
The
sun was halfway down the sky when he heard the chanting. Looking up, he saw a
group of men approaching from the northeast—not a very large group, he counted
twenty as they came closer, and mere hunters, not even so advanced as his own ... as the people who reared me! he corrected himself angrily. But these hunters
were human, and he had no doubt that if it had been they who had reared him,
they would have treated him just as badly as his nomad clan. He raised his bow
and pulled back the string, taking aim at the leader, a big fellow with massive
shoulders and arms and a chest like a basin, if the archer was to judge by the
bulk of his furs. He couldn’t miss, Lucoyo thought.
Just
as he was about to loose, though, a shout broke his concentration—a shout from
the south. Lucoyo flinched, and barely managed to hold the arrow on the string.
Relaxing the bow, he turned to see . ..
A
troop of soldiers who came striding toward the crossroads, wearing the scarlet
kilts and bronze pectorals of Kuru, their heads protected by coiled-rope
caps—protected, and warmed; other than that, they had blankets draped around
their shoulders, but even from a bowshot’s distance, Lucoyo could see how thin
those blankets were. Those soldiers must be cold indeed! He was surprised that
the southerners had not learned to deal with this northern chill any better
than that. Of course, he could see their point—those pectoral tabards would
turn an arrow easily enough.
Fortunately,
their sides were unprotected under the flimsy cloth. Lucoyo raised his bow.
The
lead soldier, the one with his arms left bare so all could see his armbands of
rank, shouted angrily at the hunters and motioned his men to speed up. They
broke into a quick-step, leveling their spears.
Lucoyo
looked back and forth from one band to the other, delighted and confused. Which
should he attack?
Chapter 5
Ohaern
grinned—how considerate of the Kuruite soldiers to come to meet him, still two
days’ march from Byleo! “Charge!” he called to his men. “If they do not give
way, cut them in half!” He drew his sword, swinging it high then down, to point
at the soldiers as he leaped into a run.
The
soldiers arrived first and clustered at the crossroad, a rough oval of thirty
men, spears forward. “Halt!” the leader snapped. “Give way to the soldiers of
Kuru!”
“The
roads are free to all!” Ohaern shouted. “Give way before us, outlander,
for these forests are ours!”
“Brave
talk, from a bush-crawling barbarian!” the soldier sneered. “We are thirty to
your twenty! Surrender or die, and those who survive shall be permitted to live
as our slaves!”
“No
Biri warrior shall be a slave!” Ohaern roared, and in the tree above, Lucoyo
suddenly knew which humans to begin slaying.
The
two forces crashed together, the Biriae with wild war cries, the Kuruites with
ritualized shouts of anger. The Biriae beat the spears aside with axe and sword
and cut at their owners. The Kuruites, though, proved more adept than they
looked, blocking swords with the copper bands on their spear shafts, then
striking down with the sharpened edges of the points. Here and there a
spearhead found its mark, plunging deep or leaving a red trail behind—but there
and here an axe chopped through a spear shaft and a sword plunged past into
flesh. In minutes the two forces had become a churning melee of single combats.
Above
them Lucoyo swung his arrowhead back and forth, sighting along the shaft,
waiting for a clear shot at a Kuruite soldier . ..
There!
A Biri fell with a red gash along his upper arm, his sword falling from
nerveless
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