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Perks gave the Tartessian's face one last tear with his jaws and then rose, trying to walk toward her. He nearly fell, then hunched along with one foreleg drawn up to his chest; the blood was black in the night. She hesitated for a single second, torn… but Jared gave a squall, and the dog weighed more than she did. Even if she could get him slung across one of the horses, it would take far too long. The crackle of shots around the encampment of the people of the land was already dying down, and she could see the ruddy light of flame there.
"Guard, Perks!" she said.
The saddle was already on the horse, loosely fastened. She quieted the eye-rolling nervousness of the animal, threw the saddlebags over its withers, and jerked the girths tight, then strapped her child into the carrying basket. Grim concentration got her into the saddle, and feet into stirrups already shortened for her. A quick slash left the lead line of the other horse free, and she wound it around her free hand.
"Hi, eeeeya go't" she shouted, then her heels thumped into the flanks of the horse, and it turned its head into the north and ran.
Alantethol took the pistol in his hands. It was of the type that his own folk had copied for some years, a twin-barreled flintlock, not the damnable six-shot repeaters the Eagle People had come to use lately. There were enough differences to show where it was made, though; the machining was smoother than any shop in Homeland could yet produce, the wood of the butt was one he didn't recognize, and the stamp on the locks showed the rampant Eagle of the Republic, rather than the crowned mountain of Tartessoss.
"Curse them," he whispered. "Curse them, is there nowhere in the world they will leave us in peace?"
He shook his head, looking around at the trampled remains of the camp. Two leather tents-six men, at most. Twelve horses, unshod ponies, some of them with colts at heel. Surprisingly little gear… except that they would have hidden most of it before they left. From the reports, only one of the Amurrukan had been here when his band attacked.
A scream came from the ground a little eastward, toward the river. He walked over. The captive was proving surprisingly stubborn; the file leader questioning him gave another twist to the stick in the knotted cord twisted around the native's brow. Blood ran down from the leather, and the black eyes bulged. The tame guide bent and shouted a question in the man's ear, listened to his answer, then shrugged.
"He says the Eagle People made canoes and went downstream," he said at last.
Alantethol felt the usual itch of discontent that came of working through badly trained interpreters; you might get the general sense of what someone said, but there was always a slippage of meaning-and you never got the little details that could be so crucial.
"How many? Where?" he grated.
The answers came, slow and unwilling and unsatisfactory, although they flowed a little better once the questioner had brushed burning liquid sulfur over the savage's crotch. At last Alantethol turned away and paced back and forth, hand on the hilt of the sword whose scabbard slapped at his boot. Scowling, he kicked at a tuft of the long grass and thought. The problem was that the savages here didn't know anything to speak of. The Eagle People had been even more handicapped by lack of the local tongues than he was. They hadn't told their allies overmuch because they couldn't.
Four of them downstream with some natives, he thought. Best send a messenger to the ship, although there were far too few of the enemy to attack there. Still, with the Eagle People…
"They are not more than us!" he muttered to himself. "A man of Tartessos with a rifle is the equal of any of them."
Yes, they were probably trying to make the great bay on the coast. Ships of theirs did put in there now and then. He gri
Hmmm, what of the woman they left here? he thought. Only a woman… but it was well to be cautious where Amurrukan women were concerned; they were more like men, in many respects. But this one is a savage, the description was clear. The Eagle People mostly looked like Albans or other northerners; this one was short, black of hair and brown of skin and flat-faced, from the descriptions. But she did escape, probably killed two of my men. Best to track her down, and see what she knows. Even if she was nothing but some chance bedmate-servant picked up along the way, she might know more than the local idiots. He would leave good men on it, and return to the Hidden Fort to keep his hand on things.
"There will be revenge for you, Tarmendtal son of Zeurkenol. By the Hungry One, by the Lord of Waves, I swear it."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
November, 10 A.E.-West-central Anatolia
October, 10 A.E.-Cadiz Base, southern Iberia
November, 10 A.E.-Eurotas Valley, Kingdom of Great Achaea
October, 10 A.E.-Cadiz Base, southern Iberia
Raupasha daughter of Shuttarna tapped Iridmi on the shoulder. "Pull up here," she said.
The allied forces had been moving to an intricate dance since Troy fell and Walker sent Great Achaea's armies east into the Hittite lands. This Nantukhtar marching camp was on the edge of a small lake, set amid pinewoods. Mountains lay about, the broken northern edge of the Hittite lands, looming over the dry plains to the south. The cold air was full of a strong scent of pine and the smoke of fires; within was an orderly bustle, troops less clean and neat than they had been, but still showing that Islander air of purposefulness. And the weapons gleamed.
"Brigadier Hollard, ma'am?" the aide in the headquarters tent said. "He and the visiting VIPs are up at the springs… the hot springs, ma'am; you're the last. It's the first time in a while anyone's had a chance at a hot bath."
Raupasha flushed, conscious despite the chilly air that an odor of woodsmoke and old sweat hung about her. The Nantucketers thought the peoples of these lands repulsively filthy in their persons, she knew-if you understood their tongue, you overheard things you were not meant to. And it was important that her people be represented in such meetings, through her. And Ke
"I have a gift," she said.
It was the loin of a forest pig wrapped in cloth, and one of her people had even found some wild garlic and herbs to rub it with. These hills were thick with game, and there had been a little time to hunt since they'd pulled back from the valley lands to the south.
"They'll be glad of it, ma'am," the aide said cheerfully. "Sort of a picnic di
The Islanders had not been here long enough to fell much of the forest; it made the gridwork of streets and tents look a little odd, among the ancient pines. Wagons rolled and working parties marched, but most of the soldiers were sprawled by their tents, cooking, working on their gear, or just catching up on sleep after weeks of grinding forced marches.
The way was pointed by a series of rough-hewn arrows on trees. The springs turned out to be a set of pools, steaming in the cold air, with a strong mineral smell about them. Some had signs on pieces of split tree trunk posted next to them, with writing in red letters: WATER TOO HOT DANGER DO NOT BATHE with an odd symbol covering the last word, a circle with a slash across it. Some of those were full of uniforms, being stirred by workers with wooden poles. The safer pools were full of Islander troops, splashing about in horseplay, throwing handfuls of the hot mineral-rich water and ducking each other, or simply blissfully soaking away the grime and aches.