Again, she shook her head. “Not once, Sir Ahrthur, not by anyone, for all that we had killed a good number of your cavalrymen before we were captured. Aside from the facts that we were disarmed and our movements restricted, we might well have been your guests rather than your prisoners.”
The old man nodded slowly. “Just so, madam, just so. I can but imagine that Potter’s evil poison infected young Hollister to his detriment, for I have known many Hollisters over the years and never have I found one to be aught save a decent, honorable gentleman. Immediately you have departed, I think I must have a few serious words with the boy. Potter can wait, he’s under strict arrest in his tent. He’ll keep for the nonce.
“But now, madam doctor, to the reason I had in mind for having you and your men wagoned up here. These rifles of yours—how far can they cast a projectile and still kill a man with it? Understand, we Skohshuns had such weapons at one time, but that was centuries ago, at the least, and our old legends don’t really impart much of a serious, military nature with regard to our ancient firearms.”
Erica shrugged. “I know of kills that have been made with rifles of this type at ranges of two thousand meters. You see, Sir Ahrthur, the bullets have a small but most effective explosive charge incorporated in them. A hit almost anywhere on a human body will kill quickly from shock alone, while the chunk of flesh that would be blown out of an arm or a leg would lead to almost certain death from loss of blood. But as I have already told you, I could no more make or show you how to make these weapons and ammunition than I could flap my arms and fly. Nor are there enough rifles to arm even a squad of your troops, and I think that there’s all of some hundred rounds of ammunition left for the rifles we do have.”
The brigadier said dryly, “One hundred and fourteen of the, longer, slenderer ones. And I take it that that man of yours I had armed, mounted, supplied and released never returned from his journey to this place wherein he might find more of the projectiles for these rifles?” At her negative headshake, he asked bluntly, “Do you think, then, that he deserted you and his mates? That he went hotfooting back to wherever you all came from?”
She replied, “No, I don’t think so, Sir Ahrthur. For one thing, there’s no longer any place for him to return to. The New Kuhmbuhluhners exterminated those of the Ganiks they did not or could not intimidate into moving south, out of New Kuhmbuhluhn. No, I’m more of the opinion that Bowley is dead. After all, it offered to be a very dangerous trip, especially for one lone man, no matter how well mounted and armed. He was a brave man, a very brave man, to undertake the trip at all.”
“It may be as you say, the man is dead,” nodded the old officer. “Then I must make such use of you and your men and rifles as the limited number of projectiles will allow. If you agree to my plans, you will no longer be prisoners, but rather my allies. Remember, we Skohshuns are at war with the very kingdom that drove out or slew your own folk.”
It was on the tip of Erica’s tongue to state flatly that the bestial Ganiks certainly were not her folk, thank God, but instead she asked, “What did you have in mind, Sir Ahrthur?”
The creature’s eyes were of no use in the stygian dark of the labyrinthine corridors. Claws clicking on the stone pave, it followed the conmingled scents of the various twolegs—human and humanoid—that had trod these ways before it. It was weak with hunger; its long-empty stomach rumbled and growled. At last, there was a dim glow of light from far up the corridor, light ... and an odor of fresh blood.
Softly whining in starved anticipation, the creature padded in the direction of that light, following the mouth-watering scent of the blood, only to stop in frustration bare yards from where its sensitive nose told it was the source of the delightful odor.
Not only was the way obstructed by a pair of massive metal-bound and -studded doors, but on this side of those doors stood no less than six big twolegs. Their bodies, their heads and parts of both pairs of their extremities were all sheathed in shiny metal, while their forepaws held the shafts of deadly-looking spears and poleaxes.
Snarling its disappointment, the creature finally found a way to pass these big, dangerous twolegs unseen. Within its primitive mind, it harbored but the one image: food, hot spurting blood and tender, quivering flesh to fill the gaping, demanding emptiness of its shrunken belly, to give renewed strength to its pitifully weak body and legs. Mayhap the very next twolegs it encountered ... ?
But there seemed to be no small, weak, vulnerable twolegs anyplace the creature went, only more and more of the big, strong, metal-sheathed ones, always several of them together. It was getting desperate enough to attack even one of these, could it find a single one, alone. At last, it did find a lone twoleg and was upon the very verge of rushing in for a quick kill when the twoleg victim-to-be suddenly opened one of the movable wooden barriers, took two short steps into the dark night beyond that barrier and abruptly began to swiftly ascend a wooden device that quickly put him beyond the reach of the creature’s jaws and teeth. But the barrier had not swung shut and the creature was quick to slink through the opening.
Bili of Morguhn and his entourage did not go their usual route on the morning after the birth of his twins; rather did they follow the city guardsmen through the streets to the spot whereon what was left of a body had been discovered. And there was not much of it left—the partially defleshed and tooth-gouged skull, a few vertebrae, the pelvis, the still-shod feet, a gnawed and incomplete femur and the scattered, shredded, blood-soaked clothing.
Although many guardsmen and curious citizens had tracked about the area since the grisly discovery just after dawn, some few of the presumed killer’s paw prints, stamped on the smooth stone in dried blood, still were in evidence. Bili and two of his officers squatted around one of these.
“Wolf, right enough,” said the young thoheeks. “But did ever you see wolf spoor so large? I’ve hunted the most of my life and I’ve never seen such. Why, that beast’s feet are more than a hand in length!”
Freefighter Captain Fil Tyluh nodded agreement with his leader. “But how does my lord suppose the thing got over the walls, and them both lit and patrolled, then out again without someone seeing it?”
“I don’t know ... yet,” said Bili grimly. “But I mean to find out, and that soon. Send a runner up to the palace and fetch back a brace of the late king’s tracking hounds. We’ll find out what part of the walls that damned wolf went out over, at least.”
But he did not. The veteran hounds refused to track. After a brief, tentative sniff or two of the ensanguined area, they both tucked tails between legs and huddled close together, their sleek bodies trembling, hackles raised, whining in clear terror.
“What the hell kind of mongrels did you bring me?” Bili demanded of the royal hunter who had fetched the canines to the scene.
The grizzled hunter shook his head in obvious puzzlement. “M’lord Champion, Bearbiter and Bruindeath, here, they be King Mahrtuhn’s favoritest bear dogs. It’s many a big bear—six-hunnerd-, seven-hunnerd-pounders, too—they’s held till the hunt could come up to them. Afore this here today, I’d’ve laid my life that they wasn’t no critter in all these mountains neither one of them hounds was afeered of.”
Bili shrugged his armored shoulders. “Well, take them back to their kennels. They’re no good for my purposes.” Then he mindcalled, “Whitetip, cat brother?”
The powerful mindspeak of the prairiecat responded. “I have just seen and mindspoken your new kittens, brother. If they had the proper amount of fur, I could possibly admire them, for they are assuredly big enough. The Lady Rahksahnah is learning, at least. This time she had only the two, but that still is better than one. Maybe next time she will throw you a respectable litter—three, four, perhaps five.”