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enough warrior to see the use of confusing his foes.
"And we must have a double handful of patrols out," Batbaian said. "They'll be
running from so many shadows they won't know when we really move on them." He
gazed at Viridovix with something close to hero worship.
Feeling pleased with themselves, the scouts camped by a small stream. To
celebrate outfoxing the enemy, Rambehisht slit the throat of one of the
cattle. "Tonight we have a good feed of meat," he said.
Viridovix scratched his head. "I'm as fond o' beef as any man here, but how
will you cook him? There's no wood for a fire, nor a pot to seethe him in,
either."
"He'll cook himself," the plainsman answered.
"Och, aye, indeed and he will," Viridovix scoffed, sure he was the butt of a
joke. "And belike come morning the corp of him'll grow feathers and fly off
tweeting wi' the burdies."
After Rambehisht opened the cow's belly, a couple of nomads dug out the
entrails and tossed them into the stream. It turned to silvery turmoil as fish
of all sizes swarmed to the unexpected feast. A couple of large, brown-shelled
turtles splashed off rocks to steal their share. Another was staring straight
at Viridovix. It blinked deliberately, once, twice.
Rambehisht proved as good as his word. Arms gory to the elbows, he stripped
hunks of flesh from the beast's bones and made a good-sized heap of the
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latter. To the Celt's surprise, he proceeded to light them; with the marrow
inside and the fat still clinging to them, they burned well. The resourceful
Khamorth then threw enough meat to feed the patrol into a bag made of the
cow's raw hide, dipped up water from the stream and added it to the meat, and
hung the makeshift cauldron over the fire with a javelin. Before long boiled
beef's mouthwatering scent filled the air, mixing with the harsher smell of
the burning bones.
Most of the nomads stuck strips of raw meat under their saddles, to rough-cure
as they rode along. There the Celt declined to imitate them. "I'd sooner have
salt on mine, or mustard, thanking you all the same. Horse sweat doesna ha'
the same savor."
What Rambehisht had cooked, though, was delicious. "My hat's off to you,"
Viridovix said, and so it was with the coming of night he had laid aside the
bronze-studded leather cap he wore. He belched magnificently. As any plainsman
would, Rambehisht took it for a compliment and dipped his head in reply.
Patting his belly, the Gaul rose and ambled over to the creek, well upstream
from the offal in it a precaution the Romans had taught him. The water was
cool and sweet. He dried his mustaches on his sleeve and saw that same fat
turtle still sitting on its boulder. He flapped his arms, screeched, "Yaaah!"
Horrified, the little animal flapped its legs insanely, trying to swim before
it was in the water. After a moment it collected the few wits it had and dove
into the stream.
"Och, what a terror I am," Viridovix laughed. He remembered Arigh's joke with
the frogs at Prista, looked in vain for the turtle. "Puir beastie! If you were
but a puddock, now, you could take revenge on the lot of us wi' a single
peep."
Varatesh listened in consternation as the scout babbled, "It's a horde, I tell
you. From the dust, there must be hundreds of 'em coming this way. You'd best
believe we didn't stick around for a closer look, or I wouldn't be here to
warn you."
The outlaw chief bit his lip, wondering how Targitaus had conjured up such an
army. Seven patrols, now, had sighted big forces moving on his camp. Even
discounting their reports by half, as any sensible leader did, his enemies
were showing more vigor than they ever had before. If they kept pushing
forward, they would drive him back toward the Shaum or over it. He weighed the
risks, wondering whether Targitaus could be as dangerous as the Arshaum. A
raid was one thing, a fine piece of bravado, but to try to establish himself
in Shaumkhiil. . .
White robes swirling around him, heavy boots clumping in the dirt, Avshar
emerged from his tent and strode toward the outlaw chief. Varatesh could not
help flinching; the scout, who knew far less than he, cringed away from the
wizard-prince. "What lies is this coward grizzling out?" Avshar demanded,
cruelly disdainful.
Varatesh glanced up at the veiled face, not sorry he could not meet those
masked eyes. He repeated the rider's news, adding out of his own concern,
"Where are they getting the men?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]