Djoh nodded. “I’ve heard tell of them. What brought them across the river?”

“Outlaw band, maybe. They’re mostly men and a few women. The women fight too!”

Djoh smiled at the thought of Marthuh stuffed into a boiled-leather cuirass.

“How many?”

“Different reports. One peddler claims he saw five hundred. Sami Two Shirts says he only saw about a hundred or so. We do know they’re a war party. They’ve burned two villages and ask for food, weapons, and jewelry from every place they visit. When they don’t get what they want, they butcher the townsfolk, take what they want, then torch everything.” “What’s the Town Council want us to do?”

Djeffree snorted. “Half of them old geezers think this’ll blow away like a thunderstorm. Other half, they’re already buryin’ their silverware and sendin’ their womenfolk to kin upriver.”

“Cork that hole!” Kahrl snapped.

“Yessee, Captain sir.”

Rik looked ready to do a more permanent job of closing Djeffree’s mouth, but Kahrl’s look stopped him. “The Council’s still talking, not doing,” Kahrl resumed. “After all, it’s too close to spring planting to have half the young men in the area running around not knowing where to go. Considering what we might be up against, that makes some sense.

“What we need is reliable information. I’m suggesting that we send a small party down south to scout around. Your name came up during the discussion.” “Yeah,” Djeffree said, “your Pa-in-law said he wouldn’t miss a worthless gimp like—”

Djoh’s hands were around Djeffree’s neck before he realized that he’d moved. He felt the windpipe beginning to give under the pressure. It took both Kahrl and Rik to pull him off the bigger man.

Djeffree lay on the porch for a minute, his face the color of a fresh bruise, massaging his neck. When he had his breath back, Kahrl reached down and helped him to his feet.

“Apologize to the man,” the captain ordered. “Fuck you—”

A backhand from Rik knocked Djeffree down. He stayed seated, dripping blood from his mouth. As he spat out A tooth, Kahrl stood over him.

“Djeffree, you’re as dumb as the day is long. Right now, you stupid sodsucker, you’re about this far”—he held thumb and forefinger a crack apart—“from a court-martial. Now, you give Djoh that apology or I’ll have your ass slung in jail so long your pecker’ll dry up before you can use it again. Understand?”

Djeffree nodded. The look in the bully’s eyes told Djoh that the townies who hated his guts had just gained a new recruit.

“I—I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now, Djoh, I suggest you rein in your temper a bit too. I suspect a nice long trip might cool things down around here a bit for you.”

“Can’t do any harm. When do we leave?”

“Not for a while. I have another meeting with the Town Council. Two, three days likely. Not longer. The Council’s got the sense to know that Blue Springs is the biggest town for fifty miles. We’re going to get a visit from these Horseclans, whether we like it or not.”

I

The dirt-scratchers’ village was called Two Tanks. Or so Karee Marshul had heard, from those who had questioned the captured farmer last night. The man was too badly hurt to make up any lies, so it was probably true.

It did not really matter anyway; what the Dirtmen called a village that would not live to see dawn. Its doom had been sealed by another of Warchief Djimmi Marshul’s ruses. Some of the older warriors had dressed in captured Dirtmen clothing, cursing and grumbling every time a seam gave.

Karee studied Two Tanks while Djimmi inspected his sham Dirtmen. The village was little more than twoscore huts and buildings inside a wooden palisade with a gate and two towers. The wooden log walls were taller than her horse’s ears, and recently watered so that they would be hard to burn. She held her hand over her horse’s mouth when Chief Djimmi lifted his axe.

Moments later half a dozen of the decoys ran out of the woods that had grown too close to the gates of Two Tanks for safety. They were crying out in wordless fear.

The Two Tankers foolishly took pity on their fleeing fellows. They opened the gates. The instant the gates swung wide, a score of Clan Marshul’s fastest riders thundered from the woods.

Some carried ropes with hooks on the ends. These were the best climbers. Along with a half-dozen prairiecats, they mounted the walls and cleared them of archers. Others carried long poles. These they thrust into the gates as the Two Tankers struggled to close them.

Already the air was rent with the cries of horses and the screams of dying Dirtmen. Karee had to tighten her grip on the reins just to keep Yellow Tooth from bolting. “Wait your turn, my lovely,” she mindspoke. “Your time to send Dirtmen to Wind will come soon.” She did not understand how men could willingly enslave themselves to the land as these Dirtmen did. Was she perhaps freeing them from some terrible curse by killing them?

At last the chief of the Two Tankers did the only thing left to him. He opened the gates wide and led his folk out, matching his militia who’d fought only drunks and robbers against the picked warriors of Clan Marshul. There were more than Karee had expected, but doubtless the farmers and trappers nearby had rallied to the village.

The clansfolk gave ground just enough to draw the Two Tankers out from their walls. Then Chief Djimmi led a charge that cut in behind them, barring their last retreat. Karee joined in the ensuing melee, dispatching one Dirtman with her lance, then taking another’s head with her saber. For Dirtmen, the Two Tankers died well—Karee had a cut on one knee from a desperate knife slash. They still died.

Now their village was dying too. Karee heard flames crackling, almost as loud as the screams of the newly made widows. Karee stalked through the reeking back alleys of the village, in search of her own share of that particular pleasure of a sacking.

A barrel, rattled. She whirled, drawing her second sword. It was a short weapon, better suited than a saber for work inside a village’s walls. On horseback it was of little use, but on horseback Karee used bow and lance as well as saber.

The barrel rattled again, then rolled. A man sat behind it, a bandage on one arm showing why he’d not died beyond the walls. He could barely be older than Karee’s own twenty summers, and seemed handsome for one who had never ridden the Plains under Sacred Sun.

Footsteps sounded behind Karee. She whirled, nearly spitting Lewee Half-Thumb just above the manhood he’d so often offered to demonstrate to her.

“Peace, Karee,” Lewee said. “You wandered off, so I followed to be sure no one lay in wait for you.”

“No one did, save this dirt-scratcher here. And I know how to deal with him.”

“So do I. If that arm isn’t crippled, he’ll bring a fair price--”

“Lewee! It is told that among the Ehleenohee men love men. Have you taken to that strange way?”

Lewee choked, and even in the shadows she could see his face darkening. He had never been able to best her, at any contest of weapons or even in bandying words. Perhaps that was why he sought to bridle and saddle her for his bed. In no other way could he hope to defeat her.

“Lewee, is there anyone left in this Sun-forsaken hole you or I need fear at our backs? Truly?”

“Well—”

“I thought not. Find your own pleasures and leave me to mine!” She emphasized her words with a gentle prod of her sword. Lewee knew that the next prod would not be gentle. He left. Karee wished him luck and turned back to her own prey.

He hadn’t tried to flee, and another time Karee would not have cared for that. The seed of a coward or witling in her could bring no good fortune. As it was, she now not only heard the screams and flames, but smelled smoke thick enough to cut with her steel. She had little time for the pleasures of chasing down game.