“That has to be stopped here and now. One message to Combat Center and it will be!”
“We can’t face up to big stuff in the field!” someone shouted.
“We won’t try to. But we’ve got to get a messenger to Secundus or Prime. And the rest of us must hole up and wait for Combat to move.”
“Stay in the mountains?” There was no enthusiasm in that question. They had had enough of Fronn’s mountains.
Hansu shook his head. “We have an alternative. First we must learn more about what is going on. Now—set hostile country camp. Swordtans, scouts, report to me.”
They went to the duties in which they had been drilled. Kana joined the others at the cart where Hansu waited for them. The commander had spread out a much-creased sheet of skin and was frowning at the blue lines which crossed and re-crossed its surface.
“Bogate”—he turned to the head scout— “when that Corban comes out with supplies, round him up and bring him here. These guen hunters must know the land for miles, know it intimately. We want all the information about it we can pry out of them. Mechs can’t operate in rough territory—so we’ve got to keep to broken wilderness.”
“But all around Tharc is open plain,” one of the Swordtans objected.
“We have no intention of going to Tharc. They’ll be watching for us to try that.”
“The only space port—”
Hansu corrected him instantly. “The only military space port is at Tharc. You are forgetting the Venturi!”
Kana’s lips shaped a soundless whistle. The Blademaster was right. The Venturi! As hereditary traders of Fronn they had some centers of their own on the mainland. And not too far from the western sea was a small off-world space landing used by the few alien traders who had managed to establish contact with the Venturi for a limited exchange of goods—mostly exotic novelties the Fronnian merchants were suspected of reselling at fabulous profit. To reach there—to take control of one of the trading ships—that offered a better chance than to try to blast their way into the toothed trap which was now Tharc.
“There is a space port near the Venturi holdings at Po’ult,” Hansu was explaining. “There is no regular schedule of ships, but off-world traders do come. And we may have luck in making a deal for shelter with the Venturi. If we head straight west we should strike the sea not far from Po’ult.”
The Corban was only too willing to provide any assistance which would insure getting these dangerous Terrans out of his territory. Kneeling with two of his best guen hunters over the map Hansu had produced, he asked one question which the Blademaster had to parry adroitly.
“But why, Lord, must you seek out a path through this wilderness? To the south the road is wide and smooth and there your brothers await you.”
“It is our wish to visit the Venturi of the coast—and not to come upon them by a well-marked road—”
The Llor’s tiny circle of a mouth moved in the Fronnian equivalent of a smile.
“Ha. Then it is true—that which has been whispered from mouth to ear—that the day of reckoning with those is coming? No longer shall the hooded ones keep the trails, nor be the only buyers and sellers to carry goods from one village to the next! That is good to hear, Lord. Eat up the Venturi forts along the coast if you will—and all the Llor shall speak kindly of you to the Ruler of the Winds. For when those fall, then there shall be rich spoil for all.”
Eagerly he consulted the map. “Now here is a path—it lies among the western mountains and there may be Cos. But to you what are Cos—you may brush them out of your way as we brush the fas-fas beetles from our floors. And this path will lead you directly to the sea above Po’ult. May your hunting there prosper, War Lord!”
“Indeed may it,” piously returned Hansu. And he moved his fingers in the Three Signs of those air, fire, and water spirits who must be consulted on Fronn before any major undertaking.
The Corban warmed still more and became their champion with the guen herders, personally inspecting the stock his fellow citizens had run out from the village corrals, and rejecting ten animals, much to the bafflement of his men who were prepared to make a handsome profit from the ignorance of off-world men, for Hansu insisted on paying for the animals. That night he gave a feast, using a month’s supplies with the abandon of a Chortha of a province. To the future conquerors of the Venturi he would deny nothing. And a handpicked corps of guides, selected from the most hardy and far roving of the guen hunters, was detailed to accompany the Horde to the foothills of the western mountains.
That was a day and a half journey—mounted—and Hansu pushed them to the utmost, driven himself by the desire to get out of the dangerous level country before they were sighted by a Mech patrol.
On the morning of the third day when they were well on the mountain trail they found the Llor guides gone. Distant behind them was the smudge of smoke in the sky and bits of charred grass drifted down. The hunters had lighted a plains fire to drive the wild guen into a netting place. Hansu watched that haze with satisfaction. It would effectively cover their trail, which was perhaps why the Llor hunters had lit it.
Now began the old nightmare of climbing, climbing and being ever alert for an attack. Though the hunters had insisted that this route lay on the edge of Cos-held country and that the mountaineers had very seldom troubled the caravans which used it, they could not be sure of a peaceful penetration. And the Llor had been unable to answer Hansu’s questions as to whether the Venturi caravanmen had some pact with the Cos which insured that safety. However, the Terrans had no alternative but to advance.
The trail was marked with those narrow stone pillars erected by the Venturi, the pictographs on them untranslatable. And it was made for the use of guen.
That night they went without fire, camped in small groups, strung out with sentries between. But the hours of darkness were not broken by alarms and they sighted no beacons on the heights.
Kana had tramped behind Hansu for most of that day, and now, his blanket pulled about him for warmth, he crouched by an outcrop trying to snatch some sleep while the Blademaster sat cross-legged a yard away and listened to the reports of scouts.
“—no deal with these Mechs?”
“Not a chance.” Hansu’s voice brought him fully awake. “Mills said that Hart Device was in command.”
“Device! I still think Deke musta been wrong. Device wouldn’t go outlaw—”
“That’s just the point, Bogate. If Device is the commander at Tharc—and I see no reason not to trust information Mills died to bring us—then this is no matter of a Mech Legion gone outlaw. Hart Device is a new leader—just as Yorke was. His Legion is small but tough, well equipped, and Hart has the reputation of delivering. I’d be willing to lay half a year’s pay that he has a large percentage of vets—just as we have. I wonder—” His voice trailed off.
But Kana, tired as he was, caught that hint. A Legion, a Horde, both consisting of well-trained men, locked in a death struggle. No matter which won in the end, the death toll would be high. So many veterans removed from action. It was beginning to add up to an ugly sum.
“If the Code’s broke”—Zapan Bogate’s rumbling whisper had thoughtful undertones—“hell’s to pay! Why—Archs won’t have a chance!”
“Not at the old game, no. But that is no reason why we can’t start a new one.”
“But—we’re Combat men, Hansu—”
“Sure. Only there’s no rule about who or what we have to fight.” There was an absent note in the Blademaster’s voice as if he were thinking aloud.
“Anyways, now we got just one job.” Bogate heaved himself up. “To get outta these blasted hills and see the Venturi. We gonna try to take ’em, sir?”
“Not if we can help it. They may welcome us with open arms if what that Corban hinted is true and the Llor have turned against them. Their territory is too rough for the Mechs. This Po’ult of theirs is built on an island off the coast—sheer rock straight up from the sea. They have their own ways of getting ashore and you can’t bring up heavy stuff to batter it.”
“Good place for us to hole up—if they’ll let us.”
“That’s what we’ll have to arrange, Bogate. If we can make them see we have a common enemy, maybe they’ll make it a common war. Take scouts out in the morning as usual.”