Chapter 3: Advance Scout

"Worked up an appetite riding, did you?"

He looked up warily at the sound of the hoarse voice, but Snurl was looking positively jovial.

"Sure did," he answered, keeping his expression blank. "Felt good to be working the kinks out of my riding muscles."

"That's good, because I've got a job for you tomorrow that'll take a lot of riding." Snurl's smile grew even broader. "We need to know what shape the water supply is in where we'll be camping tomorrow night, so you'll lead a scouting party to find out. I'll give you two good men who know the country. They can show you three places we can reach where there should be water. It'll be up to you to decide which one is best. Get word back to us by noon, so that we can take the right fork in the trail."

As Snurl walked away, Shantar looked at Gortai with a raised eyebrow. "What's he so happy about, all of a sudden?"

"Aw, he's just hoping that you'll run into some bandits, and get your head chopped off. Not that he's got anything against you personally, it's just his way. Nothing makes him happier than to let someone else stick his nose into a tiger lizard's nest. I've gotta admit, though, he's loyal to Balik and he knows his job. He ain't about to let his feelings get in the way of doing what's best for the caravan, but he ain't about to not enjoy it, neither."

The sky was only faintly gray behind the mountain peaks when they set out the next morning. Snurl had assigned two brothers to him, short round faced Hill men whose slanting eyes crowded close to their flat noses. Seen from the side, each gave the impression that as a small boy he'd run his face into a stone wall.

"We go this way." Ch'Wing, the older brother, pointed to a cleft in the hills.

"Shortest way," his brother Ch'Dan added. "We go to first camp site, then cut across hills to others."

They rode along in silence, spread out far enough not to hamper each other, yet close enough that they couldn't be separated by a sudden attack. Once or twice they had the feeling of being watched, but nothing happened. If anybody was around, they weren't about to take on three armed men with little or no chance for loot.

The first camp site seemed all right at first glance, but a closer look showed green scummed pools of water, a nauseous odor proclaiming its unfitness. With an impatient shake of his head, Ch'Wing led them off up a side canyon. In the heat and silence, the clatter of their ponies' hooves seemed to echo far and wide, saying for any ear that listened; "Here we come!"

In spite of Shantar's forebodings, the hills seemed deserted. The sun was half way up the sky, and their ponies were visibly tiring when they arrived at the second camp site. The spring here was still flowing, but its trickle of water was scant. The pool it fed showed rings of white where its level had dropped, and Ch'Dan muttered uneasily behind his drooping moustache.

"Bad. This is bad. So early the springs die this year."

Ch'Wing only shook his head angrily, urging his pony up the side of a towering ridge. "Come on," he called back impatiently. "We can use this one if we have to, but we still have another one to check."

Their flagging ponies had drunk thirstily of the cool spring water, and now trotted willingly up the steep slope. The far side of the ridge was more level, and they made good time for a while, but the feeling of being watched was back again even more strongly. Shantar kept glancing uneasily at every bush and boulder, until at last Ch'Wing called back to him, "Yes, eyes are on us, Warrior. Remember, word must get back to the caravan."

Nothing happened as they trotted along, but the sense of being watched grew ever stronger. They at last broke over the crest of a low hill, and Shantar caught his breath at the vista unfolding before them. In a tiny green valley, a narrow lake threw back a picture of hills and sky done in deeper colors. A spring burst forth from the face of a sheer bluff, tumbling a lacy curtain of white into one end of the lake, and a sparkling brook escaped from its other end to vanish down a narrow, winding canyon.

"Why isn't there a village here," Shantar wondered aloud.

"Was," Ch'Dan replied, tersely. He pointed with outflung arm at the floor of the valley, and Shantar suddenly could see the tumbled remains of buildings in what had seemed only random piles of stones.

"What happened?"

"They claimed taxes too high. Wouldn't pay. Soldiers tore down village, killed the people. Priests cursed it. Now, nothing there. A place of ill omen. No one comes, unless springs go dry." He whirled his pony to follow his brother, who had angled off toward where wheel ruts could be dimly made out near the lower end of the valley.

Shantar followed in silence. He could see in his mind the small but thriving community, with children playing in the dirt, the smoke from cooking fires curling lazily upward. Then came the killing, the burning, leaving shattered homes, trampled fields, and bloody corpses. He thought grimly that the ceremonies of the green clad priests had not really been necessary. The dying thoughts of the villagers were curse enough to blacken the place.

A shrill yell split the air as a mass of horsemen poured over the top of the ridge at them! Drumming their booted heels on their ponies' flanks, the three hurtled down the slope at an angle that should get them to the trail before their pursuers caught up with them. More yells lifted behind them as the bandits saw their mistake. Guessing that the travelers' horses would be nearly exhausted, they had pounced a bare moment too soon. Now, with a little luck, their prey might escape. The three scouts thundered down the hillside, the wind of their going whipping their braids out behind them. Shantar could not hold in a shout of pure delight!

As they swung onto the trail, a smaller group of outlaws met them, but speed was in their favor and the bandits had no time to set themselves for the shock of their arrival. Shantar saw one of his arrows strike home, another arrow drove through a bandit's throat, and then it was sword against sword! Shantar was in the lead now, his long sword licking out like a living flame. Heads, hands, whole arms even, seemed to fly in all directions. They were past like a living tornado, leaving none alive and whole behind them.

Shantar pulled his pony to a trot as Ch'Dan swayed in his saddle. The stocky rider was clinging to his pony's mane with one hand, the other arm hanging limp. With Ch'Wing's help, Shantar stripped away the jacket from the wound, revealing the jagged stub of a broken arrow jutting out of Ch'Dan's upper arm. With a quick movement, he forced the point on through, studying it carefully before throwing it away.