Pliocene Exile - The Adversary Part 8

Yos.h.i.+ beware! came Anket's mind-shout. Bear-dogs crazy!

Maybe sabrecats-maybe Foe-maybe Tanaknowswhat"Heads up!" the samurai cried to his companions, and at the same moment Vilkas broke into vicious swearing as his chaliko reared. Something big and black hurtled out of the soup. A single amphicyon zigged to avoid the claws of Vilkas' chaliko and disappeared under the bed of the high-wheeled wagon.

Another pair, whoofing and shambling, approached the wagon from Yosh's side, intent on using the same shelter. A bedlam of howls and snarling broke out. The four giraffids in the hitch plunged and squealed. Beneath the lurching vehicle the beardogs, weighing nearly 200 kilos each, thrashed and fought and banged against the enormous wheels.

"Look out!" Jim yelled, hauling back on the reins. "We'll get upset!"

Vilkas jabbed futilely at the furry bodies with the b.u.t.t of his long lance. His curses were lost in the tumult. Jim clung for his life as the wagon heaved like a lifeboat on the high seas and the valuable cargo thumped the side panels.

Two Tanu coercers and an operant human gold, their gla.s.s armour glowing fuzzy blue in the swirling fog, galloped up on their chalikos. But their mental efforts were unavailing in the face of the bear-dogs' frenzy.

Move back! Yosh ordered. He unsheathed his Husqvarna and now thumbed it to widest angle. The stun-gun sizzled, sweeping the ground with its beam. There were throttled yelps and moans.

One ma.s.sive shape lashed out in a final paroxysm, shattering the right front wheel of the Conestoga.

Suddenly, it was very quiet.

A tall form, luminous violet, the trappings of his mount s.h.i.+ning with the same eerie light, materialized out of featureless opacity. It was Ochal the Harper, grandson of the ruler of Bardelask and leader of the relief column.

He silenced Yosh's attempts at explanation and the excuses of the coercer knights. "I have found the source of the madness-and the sense of unease that has plagued us all morning." He pointed to the east. "Out there. On the opposite bank of the Rhone. Behold!"

His powerful fa.r.s.ense projected a vision. For the shortersighted people in the train, it was as if the mysterious fog had abruptly become transparent, and the bottomland forest beyond the river as well.

Pouring out of one of the steep tributary valleys that formed corridors into the Alps came an army, arrogant in strength. It quick-marched through the ghostly fa.r.s.een jungle casting no shadows, its members dark and numberless as a horde of predatory ants, unidentifiable until Ochal's mental eye magnified them and proved them to be Firvulag. They were some four kilometres away, not generating illusion-camouflage as was their usual custom, perhaps trusting in the fog to conceal them-or perhaps not caring whether or not they were detected. They came, giants and dwarfs and medium-sized warriors clad in obsidian battledress, bearing their traditional arms and holding standards draped with festoons of gilded skulls. As they marched they hummed a war chant with notes far beyond the threshold of audibility for Tanu or humans.

But the bear-dogs heard.

The track that the Firvulag army followed led straight into the Rhone bottomland, intersecting the narrow east-bank trail to Bardelask, not half a day's march upstream.

There were at least 8000 warriors.

"It's the main host of Mimee of Famorel," said Ochal, letting the terrible picture fade. "Now the raids and the pretence of Howler responsibility for the outrages committed against my grandmother's city are at an end. The Little People violate the Armistice openly! Doubtless the death of Nodonn Battlemaster served to embolden them."

One of the Tanu coercers said "This is the opening offensive in that conflict that certain of us feared to be inevitable. I cannot speak its name! But we all know Celadeyr's prediction. Tana have mercy!"

Ochal said, "I have already farspoken Lady Armida. My kinfolk, although hopelessly outnumbered, will defend the city to the end."

"Shoo!" breathed Jim. "Never saw so many spooks in my life!"

"Compared to the army that hit Burask, it's a skeleton crew,"

Vilkas growled. "But it'll do. Bardelask's doomed-and the best d.a.m.n brewery in the Pliocene along with it! Now we'll drink nothing but plonk and jungle juice."

Yosh sat slumped in the saddle. "Well, Ochal-our infrared eyeball system and load of Milieu arms aren't worth a mousefart to Bardy now."

The fa.r.s.ensor leader nodded grim agreement. He addressed the entire column on the command mode: Companions! There is no way we can reach my home city before the Firvulag do. They would surely fall upon us as we attempted to cross the Rhone to the Bardelask docks. I have bespoken the King, pleading with him to allow us to die with my Exalted Grandmother. But for strategic reasons, he has forbidden it"G.o.d save Aiken Drum!" muttered Vilkas.

-so we must regroup, then return at once to Sayzorask. Our King has told me that the futuristic equipment we carry must be safeguarded from the Foe at all costs. We will wait in Sayzorask for his orders ...

"And with our luck," came Vilkas' sotto voce snarl, "we'll end up marching on Famorel itself."

Ignoring him, Ochal addressed Yosh. "Have this wagon repaired as quickly as possible while I inspect the rest of the column. There's small chance of the Foe crossing the river to engage us, but we must not present an overly tempting target by lingering. They doubtless know that we're here-and they may suspect what we carry."

Yosh gave the Tanu salute. Ochal the Harper beckoned mentally to the waiting coercer knights, and the glowing purple shape and the three blue ones faded away into the fog. Their departure revealed how much darker it had become. Sunset was less than an hour away and the miasma seemed thicker than ever.

Yosh slipped the Husky back into its sheath. "Well, let's get on with it. Unpack a spotlight, Vilkas, and we'll study the damage."

As the Lithuanian complied, Jim slid cautiously down and soothed the four h.e.l.ladotheria in the team. They stamped their feet and swivelled their tufted ears. When the solar-powered lantern went on, Jim hunkered down and inspected the broken wheel. "Too bad we can't make our armour glow from mindpower, like Lord Ochal an' the other op'rants. Be handy in a sitch-ashun like this."

"You don't glow unless you got the power," said Vilkas.

"The psychoactive microbes sandwiched in the gla.s.s armour laminations don't light up for grunts like you and me." He paused, then added pointedly, "Or for golds like Lord Yos.h.i.+mitsu, who aren't genuine latents."

"But who nevertheless earned their privileges," Yosh said.

"If the King had kept his promise, all of us humans would be wearing gold!" The Lithuanian's voice was bitter.

Jim looked up at Vilkas and winked. "Hey-I like my grey torc just fine. Specially on lonely nights!" To Yosh he said, "Chief, we gone need a PK-head to lift this sumb.i.t.c.h wagon outa the dirt. A human-not some Tanu 'ristocat who'll screw up. And you'd best bespeak ol' Maggers to bring us a spare wheel."

Yosh nodded. "Get the team unhitched. I'll ask Lord Raimo to give us a hand."

He guided his chaliko back behind the wagon a few metres, dismounted, and said, "Matte, Kiku. Good girl." The great animal was like a dappled statue in the vaporous dusk. Standing on tiptoe, Yosh opened a saddlebag and took out the kawanawa, a stout rope joined to a set of wickedly sharp ganghooks.

Returning to the wagon, he summoned Vilkas and indicated the stunned bear-dogs still bunched over the canted bed. "We'll have to drag these brutes away and finish them off. One of those h.e.l.lads that Jim's uncoupling can do the hauling. But you'll have to crawl under and make fast."

Vilkas groaned. His tans had been fresh that morning and his bronze and green-gla.s.s cuira.s.s and greaves freshly polished. For an instant, he hesitated, a mutinous protest on the tip of his tongue. And then he felt the faintest pulse of electricity in the metal at his throat.

"Yes, Yos.h.i.+-sama."

"Thank you, Vilkas." Yosh turned away to deal with the h.e.l.lad while Vilkas dropped to his knees in the b.l.o.o.d.y dust and crept under the Conestoga with the hook end of the rope. The stunned and badly slashed brutes were all in a tangle. One had voided with the shock of the stun-beam. Retching, Vilkas sank the big barbs into the creature's shoulder.

"Ready?" Yosh sang out.

"Ready." Without the slave-torc's amplification, the Lithuanian's reply would have been inaudible. Fortunately for him, his samurai master was unable to decipher the deeper nuances of the telepathic message.

Vilkas hauled himself out from under the wagon as the rope tightened and the first amphicyon body began to move.

Standing, he cursed with revulsion. b.l.o.o.d.y mud and excrement stained his arms and legs.

Jim tried to sympathize. "Wot th' hey, guy-leastways we ain' fightin' for our lives upriver at Bardy-Town. Things could be lots worse."

"They will be. Just wait!"

Yosh reappeared out of the fog leading the draft h.e.l.lad.

"Monku, monku, monku," he chided, handing the hooks back to Vilkas. "That's enough b.i.t.c.hing. Down you go again, my man. I'll program extra goodies for you on the torc tonight to compensate."

"Thank you, Yos.h.i.+-sama." Vilkas' manner was completely civil. He ducked back under the wagon, took a firm grip on the kawa-nawa, and drove the daggerlike points into the throat of the next bear-dog.