Chapter 9: Council of Warriors

"Sounds like a pack of tigers, cheerin' on a cat fight," Charley chuckled, but he couldn't help wincing at a particularly loud yowl from the council building. They had been escorted here by a file of grimly alert warriors soon after daybreak. The small cottage they waited in was close by where the council met, and Phil strained to hear what was being decided.

"Can you understand what they are saying?" Luana peered out a window, looking fetching indeed in the furry kilt she had fashioned for herself from a well tanned hide. "They sound so angry."

"Only a word here and there, but it's a normal enough meeting so far. Their idea of formality isn't quite the same as ours. It's when thing quiet down that you can start to worry."

The citizens of Klaamet village seemed to be going about their normal affairs, paying little or no attention to the strangers in their midst. Fuzzy cubs tumbled about in the dusty paths that meandered aimlessly among clustered houses, leaving their play to dash madly up nearby trees. Older children played hide-and-seek, while sleekly furred matrons looked on tolerantly or exchanged gossip with their neighbors. If it hadn't been for the burly warriors with ready spears lounging unobtrusively around their cottage, there would have been nothing to indicate that four of the terrible creatures from another world were actually present.

"Hey!" Charley's head snapped around. "They've stopped yellin' at each other."

An electric silence descended on Klaamet village. Cubs scampered for their mothers, children froze in the midst of their play, and all heads swiveled to face the council building. With the faintest of sighs the double doors swung open and an aged attendant trotted toward them.

"The councilors will see the... the strangers," he quavered.

Fully aware that they were still prisoners, not honored guests, they were escorted into the shadowy interior of the council chambers. Belying its rough exterior, the building was cool and spacious. A vaulted ceiling arched high over a sunken floor, affording plenty of room for the times when the councilors for the entire region would meet here.

"Approach the council bench." The Speaker, who was also the head councilor, was a magnificent warrior only slightly past his prime. He scowled at them, his nostrils quivering at their hated scent. "What do you... you creatures call yourselves? What do you do in our realm?"

"We are called 'humans', your honor." The Speaker, startled by Phil's perfect accent, leaned forward to peer more closely at him. "We came on a mission of great importance to all life on this world. Your people have been killed, mutilated. If the evil ones who did this are not stopped, they will kill and steal and destroy until nothing is left of the Shadow-People, not even a memory."

"And the People of the Plains? What of them?"

"They know not their danger," Rowlf spoke up. "They are being led by the evil ones in a fight against other humans. This, too, we wish to stop."

"And just how do you plan to accomplish this grand scheme of yours?" The question came from an elderly female who crouched at one end of the council bench, her hands busy roughing out an intricate carving from a beautifully grained piece of wood. "Also, you have not said how it is that you came here."

"If I can but reach my own people, they will catch and punish the evil ones. We too have a government with laws against what they are doing. As for how we came here, that is a long story. For now, it is enough to say that we were hurled forth from this world to another. We were able to return, but could not choose where we came out. It was sheer chance that brought us here, and not to some other place. We have no weapons but the fangs of our friends Rowlf and Harg."

"How far away are your friends?" This from a plump councilor whose fur showed streaks of gray outlining old scars.

"Far away indeed. It will take us at least a season, perhaps two seasons, to walk that far." He spread his hands to include the six of them. "We have only our own legs to carry us, and we must gather food along the way."

"And so we must suffer and die for so much longer? I think that this is a lie to make us let you go!" The Speaker roared his outrage at them, the mane of hair down his upper back erect with anger. "You have spied out our village, and now you would run and tell the evil ones where to find us. You should die here and now!"

"If we die, there is just that much less hope for your people," Phil answered boldly. "The evil ones may be stopped by others, but there is also the chance that they may not. If we succeed, they will certainly be stopped. We ask for your help that we may in turn aid you. If you will not help us, then at least let us go on our way in peace."

"But can you do nothing to help us meet the attacks of the evil ones?" The woman councilor looked up from her carving. "Men, women, little cubs all die when they strike."

Phil turned to Charley, speaking in English. "Is there any way to tell when a portal is operating nearby? Jordan said that there was danger in using one too near the World Traders' base, that it might be detected."

"Well, yeah, I guess it could be done. I just dunno whether these folks have what we'd need to do it."

"Just what would it take?"

"Mostly just a real sensitive compass needle. The portals generate one helluva strong fluctuating magnetic field when they operate. It can be picked up for a hundred kilometers or more by the right sort of equipment, but even a good compass needle will twitch, a klick or two from where one pops up."

"Do you know how to make a... a needle that points always the same way?" Phil turned back to face the council once more, searching his new vocabulary for words to describe what he wanted. "The needle made of iron that pulls other iron to it?"