Read Online Kiteman of Karanga by Alfred Reynolds - Free Book Online
Authors: Alfred Reynolds
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to be different. That's impossible," Rika interjected almost sharply. "Wish for the future, Karl. It has done me no good to wish that my parents hadn't been killed by the Hrithdon when they were conquering Eftah. I only wish that someday we will find a way to drive them away."
Forgetting his own distress, Karl was in awe of the fierce energy that Rika displayed. And he felt easier now that Rika knew the truth behind his trek across the desert, yet still had tried to comfort him.
"Rika, are you all right?" Gardo's call came from the shadows nearby.
The wolf's cries had frightened the flock and they were crowding into the protection of the campsite.
Rika nudged Karl. "You answer him," she whispered.
"We're over here," Karl called back. "The wolf is dead." Getting up, Karl gave Rika a hand and lowered her over the edge of the boulder. Then he jumped down beside her. The wolf lay still, but Karl took no chances. Coming around carefully from behind, he wrenched his spear from the carcass and readied it for another thrust, but it was not necessary.
Rika bent down and felt the wolf's ribs. "Karl," she cried, "this wolf was starving. That's why it was so bold."
Karl squatted and felt the wolf's side, noting how little flesh was on the poor creature's frame. Its fur was dry and coarse, not the coat of a healthy animal.
"This is a bad sign," Rika said, addressing her grandfather and Rolf, who had come up. "This wolf is nothing but fur and bones. It means game is scarce and that the Northmen are starving too."
"Don't jump to conclusions," Gardo reproved. "It might also mean that the wolf was sick."
"A sick wolf wouldn't be hungry," retorted Rika. "Northmen will be all over this country. We'll lose the flock for sure."
"Granddaughter," said the old man, "I've been herding sheep in these mountains for sixty years. I would hope that I know what I'm doing. I'll watch for the rest of the night. Everybody go back to bed. We've a big day tomorrow."
At dawn Karl awoke to find Gardo rubbing ointment onto the neck of the lamb. To everyone's surprise, the lamb had suffered only a few scratches on its woolly throat. Karl and Rika walked over to look again at the wolf, and in the daylight the animal's pitiful condition was even more apparent.
Rika shook her head. "Grandfather's too stubborn for his own good. We had some losses last year, and he wants to make up for them. But there's so little to be gained by going ahead of the other flocks like this. I have a bad feeling about what could happen to us."
Karl saw the concern in Rika's eyes. "I could fly in my kitewing and scout ahead," he said. "I'll go as soon as the air is warm enough for thermals."
"Karl, that would be wonderful," Rika said with relief. "I'd feel much better."
After breakfast, they broke camp and started north again along the rolling mountain ridge line. Karl had seen no signs of hunters the day before and felt sure they were safe from any attack, yet Rika kept eyeing him nervously. At last the morning sun had heated the valley air, and in a few minutes Karl was flying ahead along the route the flock was to take.
The terrain changed as a jagged outcropping of basalt ran across the ridge at right angles. To the left a splintered spire of the hard rock jutted several hundred feet into the air. Karl continued searching for signs of the Northmen. Suddenly he saw motion in the distance and sped up his flight by diving towards it. The moving figures were a band of hunters, all well armed with spears and bows. He leveled off and circled to look at them more closely—more than thirty men, thin and worn and dressed in ragged furs. Their determined walk was almost as fast as the wolf's lope. From the lack of spring in their movements, Karl guessed that they must have been moving all night. He knew that thirty was far too large a number for any normal hunting party. They were the starving, desperate hunters Rika had feared they would meet.
The hunters spotted Karl and
Forgetting his own distress, Karl was in awe of the fierce energy that Rika displayed. And he felt easier now that Rika knew the truth behind his trek across the desert, yet still had tried to comfort him.
"Rika, are you all right?" Gardo's call came from the shadows nearby.
The wolf's cries had frightened the flock and they were crowding into the protection of the campsite.
Rika nudged Karl. "You answer him," she whispered.
"We're over here," Karl called back. "The wolf is dead." Getting up, Karl gave Rika a hand and lowered her over the edge of the boulder. Then he jumped down beside her. The wolf lay still, but Karl took no chances. Coming around carefully from behind, he wrenched his spear from the carcass and readied it for another thrust, but it was not necessary.
Rika bent down and felt the wolf's ribs. "Karl," she cried, "this wolf was starving. That's why it was so bold."
Karl squatted and felt the wolf's side, noting how little flesh was on the poor creature's frame. Its fur was dry and coarse, not the coat of a healthy animal.
"This is a bad sign," Rika said, addressing her grandfather and Rolf, who had come up. "This wolf is nothing but fur and bones. It means game is scarce and that the Northmen are starving too."
"Don't jump to conclusions," Gardo reproved. "It might also mean that the wolf was sick."
"A sick wolf wouldn't be hungry," retorted Rika. "Northmen will be all over this country. We'll lose the flock for sure."
"Granddaughter," said the old man, "I've been herding sheep in these mountains for sixty years. I would hope that I know what I'm doing. I'll watch for the rest of the night. Everybody go back to bed. We've a big day tomorrow."
At dawn Karl awoke to find Gardo rubbing ointment onto the neck of the lamb. To everyone's surprise, the lamb had suffered only a few scratches on its woolly throat. Karl and Rika walked over to look again at the wolf, and in the daylight the animal's pitiful condition was even more apparent.
Rika shook her head. "Grandfather's too stubborn for his own good. We had some losses last year, and he wants to make up for them. But there's so little to be gained by going ahead of the other flocks like this. I have a bad feeling about what could happen to us."
Karl saw the concern in Rika's eyes. "I could fly in my kitewing and scout ahead," he said. "I'll go as soon as the air is warm enough for thermals."
"Karl, that would be wonderful," Rika said with relief. "I'd feel much better."
After breakfast, they broke camp and started north again along the rolling mountain ridge line. Karl had seen no signs of hunters the day before and felt sure they were safe from any attack, yet Rika kept eyeing him nervously. At last the morning sun had heated the valley air, and in a few minutes Karl was flying ahead along the route the flock was to take.
The terrain changed as a jagged outcropping of basalt ran across the ridge at right angles. To the left a splintered spire of the hard rock jutted several hundred feet into the air. Karl continued searching for signs of the Northmen. Suddenly he saw motion in the distance and sped up his flight by diving towards it. The moving figures were a band of hunters, all well armed with spears and bows. He leveled off and circled to look at them more closely—more than thirty men, thin and worn and dressed in ragged furs. Their determined walk was almost as fast as the wolf's lope. From the lack of spring in their movements, Karl guessed that they must have been moving all night. He knew that thirty was far too large a number for any normal hunting party. They were the starving, desperate hunters Rika had feared they would meet.
The hunters spotted Karl and
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