Read Online Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986 by Cahena (v3.1) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cahena (v3.1)
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camp with
you.”
“You overwhelm me,” he said, and her laugh
trilled.
“I doubt if you’ve ever been really overwhelmed,”
she said.
A scout trotted to them to report a stream just
ahead.
“Stream?” repeated the Cahena. “Tell the other
scouts to stop where they are and send to the other columns. We’ll pause at the
stream. The horses can drink and the men can eat breakfast, if they have food.
Later, we’ll have dinner from whatever we take away from the Moslems.”
She sounded as if she counted it already done.
At the crawling thread of water, the horses dipped
grateful noses. Wulf did not choose to drink where they drank, and sipped from
his water bottle and ate morsels of stale barley bread. The Cahena talked to
another scout, who said that the pass was directly ahead.
“It’s not far from dawn,” the Cahena said, gazing
expertly at the stars. “Now we move forward slowly. Send to Yaunis and
Ketriazar to come close, but keep distance for their flanking movements. Bhakrann? Wulf? Ride with me
again.”
Up ahead, the starry sky had a wash of paleness.
The jagged, dark hunch of the high ground rose against it.
“We’re almost there, and probably the Moslems are
almost there, too,” said the Cahena. “How do we maneuver now, Wulf?”
“Draw closer still, but not so close that we can’t
retire. When we fall back, do it quick in column, then
spread out in line.”
“Forward again,” she commanded over her shoulder.
“Bhakrann, ride to the rear and pass the word of what’s to be done.”
They moved at a walk. Wulf was glad that the
horses seemed fairly fresh for what was coming. He touched the neck of his own
horse, and it made a rippling sound with its lips.
As the sun showed rosy promise above the height,
the Cahena halted them yet again. Wulf felt his heart race, as always before
action. There was light enough to show Bhakrann’s bearded face, tensely
scowling. The Cahena gazed, as though she had ridden out to see the dawn.
Behind her, a rider carried the red banner.
Time crawled. The sun’s rim crept dazzlingly into
view. Wulf saw the pass, a broad, dark jowly mouth. Bhakrann spat.
“All right, where are they?” he demanded
impatiently.
“Wait,” the Cahena said. “They want to be sure
what they’ll find.”
“We’re in plain sight as they come out, this
middle column anyway,” growled Bhakrann. “They’ll see us before we see them.”
“There they are,” said Wulf, and there they were.
Tiny figures appeared, a
scatter of them first, then more. They looked like little mounted chessmen with
fluttering robes. As they emerged, they moved off to left and right, with
disciplined rapidity. Wulf hoped that the Imazighen could act as purposefully.
More emerged, hundreds. They spread into a close-drawn line that looked to be
half a mile long.
“Look, a standard,” said Wulf. It was green on a
long staff.
“They’re going to charge,” said Bhakrann tensely.
“Let them,” said the Cahena, not at all tensely.
She poised a javelin as though she knew how to use
it. Mallul, behind her, also had a javelin at the ready.
The distant riders had formed their close line.
Wulf judged that there must be four hundred of them. From somewhere at their
center came a faint, tremulous note of music.
“That’s a signal trumpet,” said Wulf.
“They’ll charge before they’re all out on this
side,” said the Cahena. “Just as Wulf said. Mallul, ride back and get us ready
to retire in formation.”
Still other Moslems came into view behind the
line, forming groups. Another faraway trumpet blast, a concerted
cry of voices. The line moved forward at a well-controlled walk. Wulf
watched for tense moments. Above either side of the pass appeared dark dots,
dismounted men up there, those who had scouted the way. They wouldn’t get into
this fight.
The advancing riders quickened their pace to a
trot.
“Fall back!” called out the Cahena, and the order
was passed along. Wulf was
you.”
“You overwhelm me,” he said, and her laugh
trilled.
“I doubt if you’ve ever been really overwhelmed,”
she said.
A scout trotted to them to report a stream just
ahead.
“Stream?” repeated the Cahena. “Tell the other
scouts to stop where they are and send to the other columns. We’ll pause at the
stream. The horses can drink and the men can eat breakfast, if they have food.
Later, we’ll have dinner from whatever we take away from the Moslems.”
She sounded as if she counted it already done.
At the crawling thread of water, the horses dipped
grateful noses. Wulf did not choose to drink where they drank, and sipped from
his water bottle and ate morsels of stale barley bread. The Cahena talked to
another scout, who said that the pass was directly ahead.
“It’s not far from dawn,” the Cahena said, gazing
expertly at the stars. “Now we move forward slowly. Send to Yaunis and
Ketriazar to come close, but keep distance for their flanking movements. Bhakrann? Wulf? Ride with me
again.”
Up ahead, the starry sky had a wash of paleness.
The jagged, dark hunch of the high ground rose against it.
“We’re almost there, and probably the Moslems are
almost there, too,” said the Cahena. “How do we maneuver now, Wulf?”
“Draw closer still, but not so close that we can’t
retire. When we fall back, do it quick in column, then
spread out in line.”
“Forward again,” she commanded over her shoulder.
“Bhakrann, ride to the rear and pass the word of what’s to be done.”
They moved at a walk. Wulf was glad that the
horses seemed fairly fresh for what was coming. He touched the neck of his own
horse, and it made a rippling sound with its lips.
As the sun showed rosy promise above the height,
the Cahena halted them yet again. Wulf felt his heart race, as always before
action. There was light enough to show Bhakrann’s bearded face, tensely
scowling. The Cahena gazed, as though she had ridden out to see the dawn.
Behind her, a rider carried the red banner.
Time crawled. The sun’s rim crept dazzlingly into
view. Wulf saw the pass, a broad, dark jowly mouth. Bhakrann spat.
“All right, where are they?” he demanded
impatiently.
“Wait,” the Cahena said. “They want to be sure
what they’ll find.”
“We’re in plain sight as they come out, this
middle column anyway,” growled Bhakrann. “They’ll see us before we see them.”
“There they are,” said Wulf, and there they were.
Tiny figures appeared, a
scatter of them first, then more. They looked like little mounted chessmen with
fluttering robes. As they emerged, they moved off to left and right, with
disciplined rapidity. Wulf hoped that the Imazighen could act as purposefully.
More emerged, hundreds. They spread into a close-drawn line that looked to be
half a mile long.
“Look, a standard,” said Wulf. It was green on a
long staff.
“They’re going to charge,” said Bhakrann tensely.
“Let them,” said the Cahena, not at all tensely.
She poised a javelin as though she knew how to use
it. Mallul, behind her, also had a javelin at the ready.
The distant riders had formed their close line.
Wulf judged that there must be four hundred of them. From somewhere at their
center came a faint, tremulous note of music.
“That’s a signal trumpet,” said Wulf.
“They’ll charge before they’re all out on this
side,” said the Cahena. “Just as Wulf said. Mallul, ride back and get us ready
to retire in formation.”
Still other Moslems came into view behind the
line, forming groups. Another faraway trumpet blast, a concerted
cry of voices. The line moved forward at a well-controlled walk. Wulf
watched for tense moments. Above either side of the pass appeared dark dots,
dismounted men up there, those who had scouted the way. They wouldn’t get into
this fight.
The advancing riders quickened their pace to a
trot.
“Fall back!” called out the Cahena, and the order
was passed along. Wulf was
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