"But all of the barbarians did not manage to die with Alon in the land of the fires. Here and there across the land remained small pockets of them, and those who were not killed were forced to work in the mines, or in the clearing of the forests. From these, who were, obviously, made of lesser stuff than those who followed Alon, came the pongs of today."
"These pongs," Duwan said, "do they have those odd differences, too?" The priest nodded. "This is why we must remember our history. The barbarians called themselves Children of Du, or Children of the Light. They were prideful, and they were dangerous opponents, once they began to adapt to the use of our weapons. We, the priests of Ahtol, are constantly warning that the potential for violence exists now, since we have allowed the growth of the pong population."
"They seem harmless enough," Duwan said. "I have had pongs. I own two now. They know nothing of getting nourishment from the sun, for example, but cover themselves head to foot to avoid its rays."
"Yes, because they are taught as young ones in the pens that the sun kills, just as they are taught, with vivid lessons—a pong is fed poison and dies rather painfully—that the green, growing things are poison. However, should one desperate pong disregard our teachings, should he discover that he can grow fat eating the green things and drinking of the sun, then, with their numbers—there are more pongs in Arutan than masters—they could become dangerous, especially since our prosperity has made it unattractive to follow the profession of arms."
"They seem too stupid to figure out these things for themselves," Duwan said.
"Yes, they are animals," the priest said. "But in the pens, at night, there are whispers. There members of a mystical society tell of free Drinkers in the far north. They know so little that they can actually believe that Drinkers could survive the cold and could pass through that land of fire. The myths speak of a master who will come from the north to lead all pongs to freedom. We've peeled a few of the mystics, and their eagerness to talk as their hides are removed a strip at a time tells us all. It's nonsense, but it is a hope for the masses. We waited too late to be able to eradicate this hope. We should have destroyed every pong in Arutan when it first arose, this myth. And our greatest fear, among the priesthood, is that the escaped pongs carried that myth with them and that they have rediscovered their abilities to live off the land."
"Well," Duwan said, "a conspiracy of slaves would give occasion for some exercise of the sword arm." He laughed. "I think, priest, that you make too much of the danger."
The old man shook his head. "So do they all," he said, "and I pray to Ahtol that they are right."
Duwan, having seen the pongpens, and having seen many of the slaves, doubted that any uprising could ever happen. Perhaps, with a free Drinker army in the field, pongs could be recruited to do labor, to carry supplies, but it would take much to turn any of them, even such as Tambol, into a fighting Drinker. He was a bit discouraged, but full of thought, as he went back to Elnice's quarters to open the door to her bedroom. His blood was already running hot, and his conscience cold, when he opened the door to see Elnice's lovely backside protruding into the air as she squirmed atop a muscular male.
Duwan halted in surprise. He felt a flash of anger, then of relief. He made a sound and, without stopping her graceful, sensuous movements, Elnice looked over her shoulder and gave him a flashing smile.
"I take it, High Mistress," Duwan said, "that I am now free to resume my business?"
"As you will," she said. "Go. Wander. When your fires are rebuilt sufficiently, come back to me."
Duwan found Jai and Tambol in the slave quarters. They both looked well fed, and each had new slave clothing. When Duwan had led them out of Elnice's mansion, he halted in a little traveled place.
"Jai, in the pongpens, did you hear talk of a deliverer, a master who would come from the north to free the pongs?"
"Yes, it was whispered. From the earth, some said, as you know."
"Should such a master come, would pongs fight?"
"With their hands?" Tambol asked.
"If that was all they had."
"Some would," Tambol said.
Jai shook her head. "Not many."
Duwan had made his decision. "Tomorrow we will leave Arutan," he said. "For the rest of the day, and as long as you can find pongs to talk with tonight, I want you to wander the streets, whispering this myth, telling any who will listen that the Master is coming, that he is coming with an army, that he will free all, and that he will provide weapons for any who will fight at his side."
He had given the idea much thought. The risk was that a pong would tell what he had heard and that the enemy would, forewarned, begin preparations. However, his observations, his talk with the priest of Ahtol, made him believe that this, too, would be ignored by the complacent enemy as just another myth among the pongs. He could not seriously imagine a man like Captain Hata fearing a pong uprising, or even believing that such a thing could happen. The chances of the story doing any good were slim, considering the totally downtrodden state of the pongs, but if it encouraged even a few, and made them ready to learn to fight, then it would have been worthwhile.
While Jai and Tambol wandered the city, Duwan spent his time in the inn, where he drank a little of that tangy fruit juice that had been his downfall in Elnice's house. He questioned travelers about Devourer cities to the north. When, as Du peeked up in the east, he led his loyal pongs out of the city, he had his route planned. It would take him to three of Farko's cities, one on the shores of the great eastern sea, before his way led him into the thinly populated forests of the north.
It was growing late in the year, and he knew that he would have to winter somewhere to the north, and then make his dash for home as Du's renewal time moved up from the south. He had told Alning to wait for two passings of the time of the long light, and then speak for another. That thought, now, now that he knew the goodness and sweetness of grafting, now that he knew the joys that would be his with his own Alning, was a pain, and he was tempted to travel as quickly as he could and risk being caught in the iron cold.
He kept Tambol and Jai with him as he visited the city on the sea, to find it much like Arutan, but smaller, and with a less impressive garrison of uniformed guards. The other two, farther north, were still smaller, and even less well defended. He would sweep down from the north, taking villages and cities as he came, and then, his forces swelled by recruited pongs, he would face Arutan.
The chill of the change of seasons forced him to use coins, somehow always in supply, thanks to a skill for confiscation developed by Tambol, to buy furs, and he told himself that the animals were already dead, that he had not killed them, and that their hides were serving a good purpose. Their lives had been lost, but he would avenge them, and, the Land of Many Brothers in Drinker control again, there would be no more killing of green or animal brothers.
With the first snowfall, he was in the changing lands, the deep forests of tall brothers not far to the north. He found a cave in a rocky canyon, stocked it, with the help of Tambol, with firewood and dry, preserved foodstuff, and then, as Tambol shivered and longed for the warmer lands to the south, he told both of them that they were to leave him now, to rejoin the free runners in the western hills, there to await his summons when he returned with the Drinkers. Tambol was only too eager to go. Jai wept, but obeyed, and he sent them off dressed warmly, and went into his cave to think of home, of Alning, of how he would tell the wise ones of his people all of his knowledge of the enemy and of the beauty and bounty of the Drinkers' native land.