And so it did. The gritty white powder it contained, strewn on the water upstream, kept off the tif until the Terran force was across. Whether the poison had a permanent effect the Combatants never learned, but as the rearguard trailed through the shallows tif bodies bumped the stepping stones and washed ashore on the spit.
Hansu identified the insignia of the Llor dead as that of the Household Corps. But he was more interested in the trouble between the Ventur and the guardsmen. The great deference paid the hooded ones on the march of Skura’s troops east had underlined the belief that then the Llor wanted in no way to antagonize their silent transport specialists. Yet now a Llor noble had calmly ordered one of the Venturi thrown to a horrible death. Somehow the balance of power must have shifted amazingly during the days when the Horde had been fighting across the mountains—shifted to embolden the Llor to show an arrogant contempt for those they had respected for generations. Events certainly suggested that the Llor now had backing so strong that they believed they could make themselves the undisputed rulers of all Fronn. And was that support more than a renegade Mech Legion?
As the Combatants marched on, through valleys which spread out to the level lands of the plains, their alert uneasiness increased. Here the armored, moving fortresses of the Mechs could operate to the greatest advantage. Scouts spent hours each day watching the sky as well as the country before them for signs of aircraft. But since the clash with the party of Llor at the tif river they sighted no enemy. This land appeared to be left to the ttsor, the byll, and the wild khat upon which the two preyed.
On the second day after the Terrans had crossed the river their scouts sighted a village. It was a small frontier settlement, semifortified, ringed with corrals. Here the wild guen of these northern plains were rounded up once a year, sorted, and the duo-yearlings sold after a minimum of training. The pens were full now and a mounted force could move faster. Hansu decided it was wise to turn cavalry and the Combatants altered their line of march, heading for the town.
10 — TO THE SEA
As the Horde spread out in a half-arc across the eastern approach to the town, the first signs of life, other than the restless guen in the corrals, showed in a band of Llor, some riding, some trudging humbly on foot, headed from the domed houses toward the Terran lines. The foremost rider waved over his head a hastily constructed parley flag.
Remembering the fate of Yorke and his officers, neither Hansu nor any other of the Combatants moved from the cover they had taken on the first sight of the Llor. Apparently disconcerted by meeting with only empty landscape the Llor leader reined in his gu and sat, waving the flag at the brush and trees, his followers clustered timidly about him—trying to face in all directions at once.
“Lords—War Lords of Terra—” called the leader, addressing the empty air. And his words lengthened oddly until “Terra” might well have been “terror.”
Without rising to view Hansu answered:
“What would you, Corban?” giving the other the honorary title of a headman of a city.
“What would you, Lords of Terra?” countered the Llor. He handed the flag to one of his companions and sat, his hands on his thighs, facing in the direction of the Blademaster’s voice. “Do you bring us war?”
“We war only when it is offered us. Where open hands hold no swords, we show palms in return. We but wish to travel the road to our homes.”
The Llor swung out of his saddle and started to the Terran lines. One of his followers attempted to detain him, only to be pushed aside as the Fronnian, his hands held ostentatiously before him, advanced.
“My hands are open, Lord. I close no road to you.”
Hansu arose to meet him, holding his own palms up.
“What would you then, Corban?”
“Word that my village will not be trodden into the earth, nor the blood of my people shaken wet from your swords, War Lord.”
“Has not the war banner been raised against us?” countered the Blademaster.
“Lord, what have little men to do with the fine words of Gatanus and nobles? He who sits on the hork-winged bench means little to us—there are always those to gather taxes in his name, whatever it may be. We wish only to live and depart not into the Dark Mists before our time. And stern things have been said of you off-world ones—that you fight with fire those who deny you what you would take. Therefore come I to treat with you for the life of my village. Grain is yours, and the fruits of our fields—and whatever else you wish. Guen also—if it be your will to strip our pens of the newly caught wild ones. Only take your fill and go!”
“Then what if the Gatanu’s men come and say unto you, ‘You have fed the enemy and given him guen to ride upon. You are one with him’?”
The Corban shook his head. “How can they in truth say that? For you are an army of men trained in strange and horrible forms of warfare. Nay, all of Fronn knows that nothing can stand against the might of your swordarms. For you fight not only blade to blade after our custom, but with fire which sears from a great distance and with death rained from the air. Some of you crawl in mighty fortresses of metal, lying snug within their bellies as they creep across the ground and crush your enemies under their weight! These things are widely known. So the Gatanu’s men cannot believe that a village guard would dare deny you anything you desired. Therefore, I entreat you, Lord, take what you will and go—leaving us our lives!”
“You have seen the Terran fortresses which creep, the machines which fly through the air?”
“Not with my eyes, Lord. For I am an outland man—though Corban of men who do not flinch from hunting the ttsor on foot, nor from snaring the guen of the dales. But in the south all men have seen these wonders and the word has spread to our ears.”
“These are then to be found about Tharc?”
“Yes, Lord, there are many of your wonderful machines there now. You wish to join them? It is well. But I entreat you—take what you want and go.”
Hansu dropped his empty hands. “Good enough. We shall not invade your village, Corban. Send us supplies and one hundred guen—those broken to saddle use. And we shall not be deceived if you give us wild ones, but if you do we shall come and choose for ourselves.”
The Corban raised his hands to his breast and then to his forehead in the salute a vassal renders his lord. “War Lord, it shall be even as you say. We shall bring you a conqueror’s share and thank you for your mercy.”
The Llor party went back to the village and Hansu addressed the shrunken Horde.
“—that’s the picture. From this fellow’s description there must be a full Mech Legion at Tharc. They have heavy stuff as well as wings with them.”
“What about Truce Law?” called a voice from the ranks.
“Let’s face it. Truce Law was broken when they flamed Yorke and the rest. Mech renegades aren’t alone in this—they couldn’t have brought in heavy stuff without help—a lot of it. And now they believe they can settle us whenever they wish. I don’t care how much backing they have—they don’t dare let any news of this get back to Prime. So their first move will be to shut us away from the ships at Tharc.”
Shut off from Tharc—bottled up on Fronn—unable to get away. Kana watched the uncertainty mirrored on the faces of those about him begin to change to something else—a grim determination. Generations ago the weaklings, the irresolute, had been weeded and bred out of the Combatant strain. The mercenaries were, by the very nature of their trade, fatalists. Few lived to retire, or even to go into semi-service at the base. And they had followed many lost causes to the end. But this was a new experience. The code which to them was a creed, an unshakeable belief, had been flouted. And for that someone was going to pay!
“We’ll get ’em—” The words were drowned out in a growl of assent.
But Hansu’s gesture silenced that. “We’re not alone,” he reminded them. “Once Combat Law is broken here, what will happen? Others will begin to set Mech against Arch.”
He did not need to continue. They knew what that would mean—vicious civil war on half a thousand planets, one Terran force pitted against another, bleeding their own world white—