The Blood of Ten Chiefs Read online

  Then where was her error? As she mulled it over, she

  knew what it was. She had ignored Wreath's motives. Oh, of course Wreath had no more choice than did Prunepit; Recognition accepted no motive but its own, as it went single-mindedly after the best combinations for the breed. But Wreath had always wanted to better her status, in whatever manner status existed among the elves. If she could have fascinated a chief, so as to be the lifemate of the most influential member of the tribe, she would have. But there had been no male chief of her generation.

  Now, however, Prunepit might become chief, if his idea for hunting allos worked. If he became chief, he would be suitable material for Wreath's interest. Her interest, once aroused, was apt to be devastating. She would, quite simply, take him for her lifemate. Prunepit had settled for Softfoot partly because it had never occurred to him that a woman like Wreath would be interested in him. Indeed, she had not been, and would never have been, but for the Recognition. But what was planned as a strictly temporary tryst was in danger of becoming more than that, and Softfoot could do nothing to prevent it. Wreath's beauty, and her total self-interest, and the Recognition, made that clear.

  Yet what could Softfoot have done? She was sure she had made a mistake, but she could not see how she could have avoided it. Maybe if she had slept on it she would have found a way. Now she was stuck; she loved Prunepit, and would always love him, but perhaps would lose him.

  She laid her head against Hardfoot's furry shoulder and let the tears flow. The wolf ran on, completing the scouting without her direct guidance. He was aware of her misery, but did not fathom its source, so he let it be.

  Prunepit and Wreath emerged and mounted their wolves. Physically, they seemed unaffected; it was as if nothing had happened. But mentally everything had changed; the compelling hunger of the Recognition had abated.

  Another woman had made love to Softfoot's lifemate, and had done it better than Softfoot had ever been capable of. Cold as Wreath was, she was always good at what she put her mind to, and Recognition made it easy. No, there was no way Softfoot could compete-if Wreath decided on more than mere mating.

  Prunepit joined Silvertooth, setting his hand on the great wolf's head for the strongest contact, explaining the role required of her. The wolf understood: she would run and dodge and feint, never truly attacking, and her actions would be scored as attacks. She was weak, but this she could do. She accepted a piece of leather; this she would protect with her mock-life.

  Now Prunepit conferred with the others. "You must not try to guide your wolves," he told the two women. "You must use your weapons only as the opportunity arises; it will seem like chance, for you will not know how your wolves will move."

  "I don't like that," Wreath said. "It will be like riding a strange wolf."

  "I know. But my plan is to link the minds of the wolves to the mind of the prey, so that they can maneuver as fast as it thinks. No wolf-and no rider-will be in danger as long as that is the case. Then the riders will be able to strike at will."

  "If they don't fall off their mounts!" Wreath exclaimed. "I'm glad this isn't a real allo!" She could readily have added that she would have been even happier if she hadn't had to undertake a real mating.

  Now they started the test. The three riders on their wolves surrounded the mock-allo, who growled and snapped convincingly, but never let go of the banner. But when Silvertooth lunged, the wolf before her dodged away, while the two others moved in closer. She snapped to the side, but again the target was moving at the same time she did, avoiding her without effort.

  Then Prunepit reached forward just as Silvertooth hesitated, and caught away the banner. It had been almost too easy; it seemed like sheer chance. Had the prey reacted differently"Let me be the allo," Wreath said, dismounting. "Anything I tag is dead." She took the banner from his hand and held it aloft.

  "No, we could not take it from you, without suffering losses," Prunepit said. "I cannot relate well enough to elfin minds, only to animals. But the allos are animals."

  Wreath nodded. "I think it will work," she said. "We must try it with the rest of the tribe."

  Prunepit grimaced. "They will resist the notion. No one likes to have any other person between him and his wolf."

  "Not if six of the finest young elves show how well it works," she said confidently. "Then the women will believe, too."

  "Six young men?"

  "I will ask them," she said. "They will not refuse."

  They did not refuse. No male elf refused anything Wreath truly wanted, however crazy it might seem. Not even this. The elves were openly skeptical, but the demonstration worked.

  "Now we must go and tackle an allo," Prunepit said. "Only when we have proven that we can kill allos without taking losses, will we know that we can handle this crisis." For the numbers of the elves were not great, and had been depleted by the recent disaster; they could not spare any more lives without throwing the viability of the tribe into question.

  They rode out the next day, a party of their best remaining hunters. They did not have far to go, for the allos had forged steadily toward the holt. All too soon they encountered the first one.

  It was a giant of a reptile. Its hide was knobby rather than scaly, but tougher man any ordinary leather. Its color was

  faintly reddish, as if heated by the sun. But this was morning; the sun's full heat had not yet come, and the trees shaded the ground. The creature moved somewhat lethargically. Even so, its huge claws and teeth made it formidable. It outmassed the elfin party, and it had no fear.

  Prunepit stared at the monster, daunted. The thing was so big, so ugly, so sure of itself! It did not flee them; instead it came purposefully toward them, taking them to be prey. It did not move as fast as the wolves, but no elf afoot would be safe.

  Would his system of mind-linkage work on such a monster? Prunepit quelled his doubt. It had to work!

  "Remember," he called. "Let the wolves guide themselves."

  The elves nodded. They had seen it work in the rehearsal; they did not feel easy with it, but they knew what to do.

  The group of them spread out to surround the allo. Prunepit reached for the reptile's mind-and was appalled. The thing was a nest of sting-tails, concerned with nothing but hatred and hunger. Hatred for all other creatures, and hunger for their flesh. This was simply an attack entity, with no concern for danger, indeed hardly any awareness of it. Charge, bite, tear, swallow-that was its desire.

  The allo leaped for a wolf-but the wolf was already moving out of the way, while three on the other side moved in close, their riders lifting their weapons. A spear plunged toward the monster's ear region, and an arrow winged toward its eye.

  The spear slid off; the ear was armored, and the point was unable to penetrate. The arrow seemed about to make a perfect strike-but the monster's heavily ridged brow squinted, and the arrow bounced off and was lost.

  The head whipped back to snap at the three attackers. As before, the three were moving before the head did, retreating, so that the great teeth closed on air. Simultaneously, the

  wolves on the far side moved in close, and their riders attacked.

  A spear sought the monster's nose. But this too was armored, and the teeth caught the spear and crunched it to splinters. The allo bit at anything it could reach, whether flesh or wood. If it ever caught any part of a wolf or elf, that would be the end of that creature.

  The allo lurched this way and that, thinking to snap up its tormentors, but they were impossibly elusive. Prunepit had linked the minds of the wolves to the mind of the reptile, and the wolves had better minds. They reacted more swiftly to the allo's thoughts than it did itself, so that any action it tried was useless. The system was working!

  Or was it? The attacks and counters continued, but the allo was taking no significant injuries, and the longer the action proceeded, the more alert the reptile was becoming. It was really a standoff, with neither side able to harm the other. Prunepit had assumed that once they nullif
ied the reptile's attack, it would be only a matter of time before they killed it. Now he saw that this was not the case.

  What good was it to harass the allo if they couldn't hurt it?

  There was a growl from the side. A second allo was coming!

  "Withdraw!" Prunepit cried.

  The elves resumed contact with their wolves. The group fled from the allos, outdistancing them. But the field of battle belonged to the reptiles.

  They drew up in a glade. The wolves were panting; they had been working hard. The elves were in good order, but they had lost a number of spears and arrows.

  Prunepit was dejected. "The thing is too tough," he said. "Our weapons won't dent it!"

  "But it couldn't touch us!" Softfoot exclaimed. "We were like ghosts to it!"

  "Ghosts can't hurt real folk," he reminded her. As a general rule, elves did not believe in ghosts; a dead elf was dead, with no apologies. But the five-fingers believed, and so the concept was known, if not respected.

  "We just have to find its weak spot," Softfoot said. "If we strike there, then we'll have it!"

  The discussion lapsed. There had been no evidence of any weak spot. The allo was protected at every point.

  There was a crashing in the brush. Another allo was coming! Hastily the elves mounted, and the wolves fled the glade. If there had been any doubt who controlled the terrain, this removed it. It was becoming increasingly evident why the allos had defeated Rahnee; the elves had never before encountered so tough an enemy.

  Prunepit found himself riding next to Wreath. She beckoned him closer. Did she want another mating? This was hardly the time, even if the Recognition was developing its imperative again.

  But she had another matter on her mind for the moment. "I think the allo must be soft inside," she said as Prunepit's ear came close.

  He laughed bitterly. "I do not care to go inside it!"

  "But if we could attack it from inside-"

  "How? Without first encountering its teeth?"

  "By getting something inside it," she said. "I notice that it bites at anything it reaches. Suppose it bit a burning ball of tar?"

  Prunepit's mouth dropped open. "The tar pit's not far from here!"

  "Yes. Why don't you tell the others?"

  "But it's your idea!" he protested. "You should have the credit for it!"

  "I want you to have the credit."

  "Why?"

  "Because if it works, you will be chief."

  "Yes! So you could be-"

  "I am no leader," she said. "You know that. But you could be."

  Prunepit was not at all certain that she lacked qualities of leadership. Wreath had fought well and kept her poise throughout, and now she had an idea that well might turn the tide of battle.

  She was also infernally beautiful, and his Recognized.

  Her wolf veered away. The dialogue was over.

  Prunepit shrugged. Of course Wreath did not want to be seen with him. They had agreed that no one would know of their Recognition. Still, she could have given her notion to another hunter. Why had she wanted him to have the best chance to be chief? He was sure that she had a selfish reason, and it bothered him to be the beneficiary of a gift whose motive he did not understand. Still, Wreath was Dreamkeeper's grandchild and she remembered things even Zarhan had forgotten.

  Softfoot rode close. She did not speak; she just glanced at him. He knew she had observed his dialogue with Wreath. Surely she misunderstood its nature!

  He beckoned her. "She has a notion!" he called as she came closer.

  Softfoot made a moue.

  "Not that one!" he exclaimed. "She-"

  But Softfoot's wolf diverged, and he could not finish. He had hurt her, without meaning to. If only he could send to his own kind as well as he could to animals!

  Well, perhaps his action would clarify it. "To the tar pit!" he cried, gesturing in its direction.

  At the tar pit they drew up again. There were no allos here, yet.

  "If we gather tarballs, and light them, and feed them to the allos, that should kill them," Prunepit said.

  The elves considered. "How can we feed the monster a

  tarball?" Dampstar asked. He had come by his name when traveling at night, seeing a star reflected in the river.

  "With an arrow," Prunepit said. He picked up a stick, dipped it in the thick tar, and got a blob on the end. "We must have the tar-arrows ready, and light them when we approach the allos, then shoot them in when the time is right."

  "But only the wolves know when the time is right," Softfoot pointed out. "We cannot connect to the mind of the reptile."

  "I might do it, if Curlfur warns me," Wreath said. She was an excellent shot with her bow. "But I will need some help in setting up my arrows."

  Several male elves volunteered immediately to help. Prunepit was left alone for a moment with Softfoot.

  "It was a good notion," she said. "I'm sorry for what I thought."

  "But I don't understand why she gave it to me," he said. "She said it was because she could not be chief, but I could. Does that make sense?"

  "She wants her child to be the offspring of a chief," Softfoot said, biting her lip.

  "But if no one knows the father-"

  "The blood knows."

  He looked at her. "You know I could not resist the Recognition. But my feeling for you-"

  She turned away.

  "It's your child I want to have!" he cried.

  "I cannot give you what she can."

  "How do we know that? Breeding is not limited to Recognition! Maybe-"

  She faced him. "I have not denied you," she said. "I would have your child if I could. But it may not be possible. That may be why the Recognition struck. It knows."

  "If only-" he began. But then the elves returned with Wreath's arrows, each dipped in tar.

  "We must have a firepot, too," Wreath said.

  They filled a container with the tar, and the elf who had the fire-talent struck flame, lighting it. The tar burned with guttering vigor, throwing up thick smoke. The wolves shied away from it, apprehensive about the fire, but Prunepit touched their minds and showed how this fire was their friend. Curlfur even consented to carry the firepot, smoking in its harness, so that Wreath could have it ready without delay.

  It was now midday. Prunepit hesitated. Was it wise to tackle the allos again now, when they would be most vigorous? Yet if they waited another day, the reptiles could be almost at their lodge. It would be better to do it here, where there was still room to retreat.

  They rode slowly back to intercept the allos. It did not take long; the horde was in full motion, on its search for what little prey remained.

  "We must strike quickly, and retreat," Prunepit warned them. "We don't know how long it will take the tar to do the job. It doesn't have to be fast, just sure. Now turn over your wolves to me."

  The elves did so with better grace than before; though they had not succeeded in killing the allo, they had appreciated the perfect coordination of the wolves, and had understood its necessity.

  They rode up to meet the first allo. This one was larger than the one they had tackled in the morning, and faster, because of the heat of day. It screamed and charged them with appalling ferocity, its jaws gaping.

  Wreath stood her ground. Calmly she touched an arrow to the firepot, waiting for its gooey tip to blaze up. Then she fitted it to her bow and took aim.

  Prunepit saw that Wreath was going to be overrun, but he couldn't even yell; he had to keep the wolves connected.

  Wreath fired her arrow. The aim was perfect; the missile shot right into the throat of the monster.

  Then Curlfur moved, almost slowly, for Wreath was not holding on. He carried her just that minimum required to avoid the charge of the reptile, while wolves to either side crowded close, harassing the creature.

  But the allo had abruptly lost interest in the wolves. Smoke was issuing from its nostrils, making it look like a beast from a sky-mountain nightmare. It
swallowed-then screamed, as the burning material coursed down its throat.

  The agony hit Prunepit like a savage storm. The allo was burning inside! Quickly he broke his mind free-and suddenly the wolves were on their own, the connection broken.

  But the job had been done. The allo whipped about, trying to free itself of the pain. It rolled on the ground, its tail thrashing wildly.

  The commotion alerted another allo. It charged in, intent on the first. Without hesitation it bit, needing no inducement other than helplessness. The elves watched, horrified yet fascinated by the savagery.

  "Kill one, distract one," Softfoot murmured.

  "But we have no meat for our wolves," an elf pointed out. "We need a kill we can butcher."

  "We'll get it," Prunepit said. "Now we know how to kill the allos."

  They closed on the feeding reptile. It growled, warning them off, but did not stop feeding. Wreath readied another arrow.

  Prunepit linked the minds of the wolves with that of the second allo. They circled close. The allo growled again and made a feint, opening its mouth wide-and Wreath dipped her arrow and fired it.

  She scored on the inside of the mouth. Now the allo roared, trying to spit out the fiery barb but only burned its tongue. The tar was stuck in its mouth, blazing.

  Unfortunately, this new commotion attracted several other allos. They came in a monstrous wave, big ones and small ones, smelling the blood. The elves had to flee.

  "There are so many!" Softfoot exclaimed. "Every time we kill one, more come!"

  Prunepit nodded. This problem was so much more complicated than he had supposed it could be! He had thought that when they killed one allo, that would be the turning point. Instead, the problem had grown with each success.

  Wreath rode close again. "You know why you're having so much trouble?" she asked. "It's because you're not thinking like a chief."