Read Online World without Stars by Poul Anderson - Free Book Online

year or so, we will find out if this is good for our two sides.”
    “Gr-r-um.” Ya-Kela rubbed his muzzle thoughtfully. “You utter no ill word there. But let me think on the matter before I say
     anything to the Pack at large.”
    That period, shortly before sleep, ya-Valland spoke into a little box he carried. It answered him, as had often happened before.
     But this time ya-Kela saw him grow tense, and his voice was chipped sharp and his smell became acrid.
    “What is wrong?” asked the One, with hand on knife.
    Ya-Valland bit his lip. “I may as well tell you,” he said. “I know you still keep watchers, who will send word here as soon
     as they can reach the drums. Vessels have landed by the camp of my people, and some from the crews have entered the stockade
     to talk.”
    “The Herd does not use the laguage of the Pack,” ya-Kela said. Dampness sprang forth on his skin. “Some have learned it, true.
     But none of your folk save you have mastered any but a few shards of Azkashi. How can there be talk?”
    Ya-Valland was silent for a long while. The waning fire spat a few flames. That light picked out the shes and youngs, crouched
     frightened in the inner cave.
    “I do not know,” ya-Valland said. “But best I return at once. Will you give me a guide?”
    Ya-Kela sprang to the cave mouth and bayed after help. “You lie!” he snarled. “I can tell that you hold something back. So
     you shall not leave before we have the entire truth from your downdevil mouth.”
    Ya-Valland could not have followed every word. But he rose himself, huge and strange, and clasped the weapon that hung at
     his belt.

IX
    W E ALWAYS left one man on the guard tower while the rest were at the ship. What Valland had radioed—good thing our gear included some
     portables!—suggested that attack by certain rivals of the Azkashi was not unthinkable. He hadn’t learned much about them yet,
     except that they belonged to quite a different culture and must have sent those canoes we’d spied at sunset.
    No doubt the Azkashi were prejudiced. They were … well, you couldn’t call them simple hunters and gatherers. A Pack was only
     vaguely equivalent to a human-type tribe; Valland suspected that rather subtler concepts were involved. He was still unsure
     about so elementary a matter as what “Azkashi” meant. It referred collectively to the different Packs, which shared out the
     inland hunting grounds and lakeside fishing rights, spoke a common tongue and maintained a common way of life. But should
     the name be translated “hill people” as he thought at first, or “free people,” or “people of the galaxy god,” or what? Maybe
     it meant all those things, and more.
    But at any rate, the Shkil, as ya-Kela called them, sometimes preyed on the Azkashi; and in the past, they had driven the
     Packs out of lands on the far side of Lake Silence. This, and certain other details which Valland got during his struggle
     for comprehension, suggested a more advanced society, agricultural, spreading at the expense of the savages. Which in turn
     made me wonder if the Shkil might not be potentially more useful to us. On the other hand, they might be hostile,for any of a multitude of reasons. We took no chances. A man in the tower, with gun and searchlights, could hold off an assault
     and cover the landing of his friends.
    By chance, I was the sentry when the Shkil arrived. The galaxy was hidden in a slow, hot rain; my optical equipment could
     show me nothing beyond the vapors that steamed under our walls. So I had to huddle cursing beneath an inadequate roof while
     they maddened me with snatches of radioed information from the spaceship. Finally, though, the data were clear. A large band
     of autochthones had appeared in several outsize canoes and a double-hulled galley. They wanted to confer. And … at least one
     of them spoke the Yonderfolk language!
    I dared not let myself believe that the Yonderfolk still maintained an outpost