She turned and gave both of them searching stares. “You come from far, far away. Far beyond my range of sight. But I do not concern myself with where you have been. You look only ahead, dreaming golden dreams.”
Doc stirred uneasily. “Madam”
The crone laughed, but there was little mirth in the sound, only a smug, cackling mockery. “It is a poor gift, this doom sight. But it keeps me safe from harm.”
Mildred shifted on the bench. “Our companions are waiting for us. We can’t stay long.”
As if she hadn’t heard, the woman went on. “My sight does not work on command. I see only when my mind is clear and untroubled. Then, I may glimpse the deaths of others. Of late I have seen colorsred for blood, gold for greed, black for doom.”
She gazed at Doc and Mildred with a steady, penetrating gaze. “For instance I have known for some time that your company of travelers would be passing this way. More, I knew that you two would be the only ones foolishor ignorantenough to come here.”
Doc and Mildred said nothing.
“Unfortunately,” she continued quietly, “my sight is frequently dimmed. And then others must arrange the dooms I cannot see.”
Some soft sound or some scent goaded Doc to bound to his feet and reach for his holstered Le Mat.
Behind him a narrow portal covered with an animal pelt was swinging open. Before he could draw his blaster or Mildred could get to her feet, the razor-keen point of an arrow was thrust into the room. It was followed half a heartbeat later by a crossbow. Two men stepped inside quietly, rail-thin Indians wearing wolf skins, the hollowed-out, furry skullcaps resting on their heads like hoods.
“They see your dooms,” the crone went on. “Whether it is a true vision or merely a wish that will never be fulfilled is too soon know.”
Doc opened his mouth and the warrior with the crossbow growled, ” Inila !”
“He wants you to be silent,” the crone said helpfully.
“What else does he want?” Mildred murmured.
The unarmed Wolf Soldier spoke rapidly, quietly.
“He wants the old one to go to the door and beckon your comrades,” the old woman translated.
“Madam,” Doc said firmly, “our comrades are very well armed. This pair would not stand a chance against them.”
“They want only Yutan-kin-Mahipiya. Do not make it difficult for yourself and your fellow physician.”
Doc didn’t move. The warrior with the crossbow mumbled something to his companion, and the Indian approached Mildred. Drawing a knife from his belt, he placed the edge against the side of her neck.
“They can kill you,” the old woman said calmly. “Your people would hear nothing and only much later find your corpses.”
The Indian pressed the edge of his knife into Mildred’s flesh. She didn’t cry out, but she bit her lower lip.
Doc held up a hand. “Very well,” he said wearily, his voice thin and reedy. “I shall do as they ask.”
Shoulders slumped, he shuffled painfully toward the open door, leaning heavily on his cane. When he reached the opening, he ducked his head as if to go through it, then he paused and half turned, a questioning look in his eyes. He opened his mouth.
The warrior with the crossbow snarled, ” Hoppo !”
Sighing, Doc lifted the cane as if to administer an admonishing wag, then he snapped his wrist and whipped the black sheath from the blade of gleaming Toledo steel. In the same motion he hurled the sword point first at the Wolf Soldier.
The blade traveled only three feet before the point struck into the warrior’s open mouth and became fixed in his brain stem. With the sword hanging out like a ghastly metal tongue, the Wolf Soldier’s eyes bugged, his knees buckled and his fingers closed convulsively on the crossbow’s trigger. The string hummed as the tension was released, and the long shaft drove past Doc’s head, close enough to feather-whip his right ear.
The reaction of the other warrior was almost comical. He gave a great leap backward, dragging the edge of the knife along the side of Mildred’s neck and drawing a thread of blood.