Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986 Read Online Free PDF Page A

inspect.
    “Soon there’ll be enough for the horses to drink,”
he decided. “You should see it here after the spring rains, Wulf; it runs deep
enough to drown a man.”
    “Can you always get water by scratching for it?”
asked Wulf.
    “Almost always,” Cham said.
    “Then wells could be dug all around and the land
could be farmed,” said Wulf. “All this earth needs is water.”
    “Farm here?” Cham sniffed. “Not me.”
    Tifan brought the half-filled water basin to the
fire, where big pieces of wood were burning down to coals. Zeoui took a slice
of dried meat from a pouch, wiped the blade of his knife, and chopped the meat
into the water. He set the basin on stones at the edge of the fire to heat “Do
you have any food?” he asked Wulf.
    Wulf found a big wad of dried dates in the wallet
of his captured saddle. His companions grunted their applause and broke off
bits of the mass to eat. Zeoui watched the meat in the basin, and when it began
to seethe he rummaged from somewhere an onion, which he minced up and added.
Tifan brought a package of pale-grained couscous. He measured handfuls into the
basin and stirred the whole with a peeled twig.
    “What I’d like is an ostrich egg,” he commented.
    “That’s for women and children,” said Cham. “I’ll
be satisfied with what we have here.”
    “A cucumber would help it along,” said Zeoui.
    “You never had a cucumber in your life,” Cham
sneered. “You’ve always lived on the mountaintop eating couscous, and if you
could get clabbered milk you’d think you were at a wedding.”
    The others laughed, and Wulf wondered why it was
funny.
    The sun had set behind the mountains to westward
and the moon had risen, almost full. The air grew chill. Zeoui dragged the
basin of stew away from the fire to cool. Bhakrann stooped above the tank where
the water had collected and called for the horses to be brought to drink. After
that, each rider noosed a line around his mount’s neck and tied it where it
could crop the scanty grass. Then the party squatted and ate from the basin,
using fingers to pick out bits of meat and pinches of couscous. The mealy
pellets had swelled and softened. They tasted good.
    Bhakrann, sitting with Wulf, wiped his mouth.
“That sword you wear,” he said. “I haven’t seen it yet.”
    Wulf rasped the blade from its sheath and handed
it across. It was a straight, heavy weapon, longer than Wulf’s arm, a good
three fingers broad at the cross hilt and tapering to a keen point. Both edges
were honed razor sharp. Bhakrann handled it respectfully.
    “Is this better than a curved sword?” he asked.
    “In some ways, yes. I’m used to it. It can stab to a heart or split a skull.”
    “These marks on it — writing, are they? I can’t
read writing.”
    “My name, in Greek. It was made for me in Constantinople .”
    Bhakrann passed it back. “I’ll be interested to see
you use it.” He gazed at the moon. “That’s light enough to travel by, but I
don’t expect any Moslems right away. And we can use some sleep.”
    “I’ll watch first,” volunteered Tifan.
    “And I’ll watch last, and wake us up at the first
ray of the sun,” said Bhakrann. “Our fire’s pretty much down to coals. Keep it
going, but not bright enough to make some stranger curious.” He looked at Wulf.
“If you’ve learned any prayers in all those places you’ve been, say them and
sleep well.”
    Wulf hollowed out the earth with his hands, into a
depression to fit his body, and wrapped himself in the captured cloak, with his
head on his saddle and his feet to the fire. Looking up, he studied the
patterns of the stars. Did they mean anything? He had heard astrologers talk
about them, but he could not remember what the talk had been, or if it had
sounded convincing. He drifted away into slumber.
    He woke to a touch on his shoulder and sat up
quickly, his hand on his sword.
    “It’s Zeoui,” said a quick voice. “This is next to
last watch, for you to