Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986 Read Online Free PDF

stand. When the moon’s moved far enough, wake Bhakrann.”
    Wulf rose. Zeoui moved away to his own bed. Wulf
drew his cloak against the chill and mounted the brushy bank above the camp.
    He peered here and there across the softly lighted
plain. No movement. After a while he sought the well and slapped water on his
stubbly cheeks. Then he returned to the bank and again he looked in all
directions. Among the stones at his feet he found one that he liked and drew
his great sword to whet it. He sharpened the whole front of the blade, then edged the back.
    Swaddled in his cloak, he meditated on his present
situation and wondered if it was good or bad. Bhakrann had called him lucky
that he hadn’t had to fight with all four of these Djerwa. But fighting would
come with Moslems, and now that he was with the Djerwa he would be on their
side. He respected Moslem warriors, but did not fear them. He’d killed too many
for that, in Asia and here in Africa . As to that Imazighen chieftainess, the Cahena, Bhakrann
and the others seemed to worship the very mention of her name. How would it be,
fighting at a woman’s orders? Probably he’d find out, and soon. The Moslems
never let the road grow up in grass before they followed it.
    He strolled over to see where his horse drowsed,
its feet planted and head lowered. It had kept up all of a long day with the
hardy animals of his companions. He and the horse had more or less learned each
other, did well together. That horse would second him well against an enemy. He
went to put wood on the fire.
    The soaring moon flooded the plain and the heights
with pallor. When he judged it had moved westward for two hours, he sought
Bhakrann’s sleeping place. “Bhakrann,” he called, and at once Bhakrann woke,
grinning up.
    “Go back to sleep,” he said, and came to his feet
in a single swift motion. Wulf lay down again and slept as soon as his head
found the saddle. He felt safe with Bhakrann on guard.
    He woke to hear Bhakrann shouting. They all rose,
strapping on weapons and shaking out cloaks. Bhakrann dived into a leather bag
and brought out fistfuls of flat, dull-colored biscuits. “I saved these for
breakfast,” he said.
    Wulf’s biscuit was the size and shape of a clay
saucer and almost as hard to chew, but he managed with swallows of water. They
filled their bottles and rode away toward the mountains that did not seem so
far away in the dawn.
    They had ambled for something more than an hour
when Cham, riding at the rear, raised his voice:
    “Look back there!”
    Over a rise half a mile behind them came horsemen.
    “Are they some of us?” asked Tifan.
    “Hardly,” said Bhakrann grimly. “We’re the only
scouts sent here to study things. Look, they’re moving faster, want to catch
up.”
    Wulf reined half around, but Bhakrann caught his
bridle.
    “You said you don’t know any friends in a strange
place,” he reminded, “and we don’t know those riders. Six, it looks like — no,
seven. Head for the pass. Less room for them to surround us
there.”
    They kicked the flanks of their horses and went
swiftly onward. Behind them, the strangers also quickened their pace.
    “You have good eyes, Tifan,” called Bhakrann. “Can
you make them out?”
    Tifan set his bearded chin on his shoulder. “They
wear turbans,” he shouted back “And green and yellow and blue cloaks. Moslems!”
    “Make it to the pass!” thundered Bhakrann.
    They galloped for it, but Wulf did not urge his
horse to its utmost. He looked at the hurrying pursuers. One of them, perhaps
the lightest rider on the fastest charger, drew ahead of his mates. He waved
something like a purple banner on a stick Wulf checked his horse, to fall back
from his own companions.
    “Faster!” Bhakrann bawled at him, but Wulf paid no
attention.
    That Moslem rider scuffled toward him at top
speed. His fine chestnut horse ran like a gazelle. He had left his party behind
by many lengths and gained on Wulf, waving that stick that