Slow Turns The World Read Online Free PDF Page A

hunter, as ever we did.”
     
    There were other tribes whose paths crossed theirs from time to time.  If they met in lands or times of plenty, and if no old feuds smouldered, they would trade and sit before a common fire.   But if the land was lean or parched by drought, then they might quarrel and skirmish.   Always somewhere ahead, under a brighter sun, were the Asgal whose pathway was as theirs. There were times when one tribe hurried and another lingered, each for their own purposes according to their ways, and then they might meet.   There had been no bad blood between Vasagi and Asgal in living memory.
     
    Torrin led his companions up the final scramble, into the warm bright rays of the sun again.  Before them stretched a valley, a great trough that curved away between walls of snow-capped ridges.  Further down the valley, from somewhere unseen, rose several columns of smoke.  There was a distant ringing as of many metal hammerheads beating upon stone.   Stood between them and the downward path were a dozen Asgal.  Torrin had met the tribe once in his youth and knew much of their ways. They were hunters too, but hunters of many beasts; he remembered the pelts and skins they had worn when joining the Vasagi at the fireside.  But these Asgal were dressed differently and they did not carry bows or spears.  Each was clad the same, in dark leather bearing a strange emblem, a triangle within a circle.  There were long scabbards slung from their belts and each man held something that Torrin had never seen before, yet he sensed was a weapon; a crossbow.   And they all smiled, but not the smile of welcome, it was the smile of a predator seeing the prey is cornered, anticipating some cruel sport.
    “Where do you journey, Vasagi?”  asked one of their band, still smiling.
    “We seek the way for the tribe,” replied Torrin cautiously.  “We seek our path.”
    “There is no path for you here.”
    A silence followed for a moment before Turnal spoke.
    “This has ever been our path and well you know it.  Why do you linger here?  Can you not see the fires of the Ummakil yonder?”  
    “Why should we fear the Ummakil?” replied another Asgal,  “or any tribe?  We are stronger than we were, Vasagi.  Our ways have changed.  This land we take to be our own.  And none may pass unless we say, be they of any tribe.”  
    Turnal stepped forward, flushed with anger.
    “End this game and let us pass!” she demanded, “The wind grows cold and our people wait below….”
    The nearest Asgal grinned at her.  “You may pass, pretty one,” he said, “you may share all that is mine….”
    He walked towards her as he spoke and reached out to touch her breast.  A swift backward sweep of Turnal's foot pulled the Asgal’s legs from beneath him and he fell heavily on his back.  The others of his group each made a movement of their fingers upon the crossbows as with a click, safety catches were released.  Turnal was already kneeling upon the fallen man, with a bone dagger poised at his throat.
    “You may share this with me if it pleases you.  What shall I cut?  Your throat?  Or shall I take the blade lower and chop myself a trophy for the women to laugh at? You may choose.”
    “Turnal!  Leave him!”  ordered Torrin.
    “There is a lesson in manners to be taught first.”
    “Let him go.  We do not come to fight but to seek the passage which is our right.”  Torrin sensed that more menace and danger lurked around them than the others had realised.  Turnal gave him a bitter look but released the man, who rose again to face them.
    “Now we shall teach a lesson…” the Asgal said, picking his crossbow from the ground.
    “Enough of this!”  said Torrin. “I ask that you take us to your chieftain.”
    The man Turnal had released looked Torrin up and down.
    “The chieftain here does not waste time with such as you.  It is we who deal with thieves, beggars and savages…”
    It was then that