To the others he spoke up. “The plan is to bring back knowledge, not scalps. If anyone here forgets that, he’ll answer to me!”

“All right!”

“Bye, Cap.”

“Remember, Djoh is in charge. You obey him.”

This time there were no “all rights.” Djoh knew this was going to be a long trip.

Karee Marshul knelt by the stream and scooped up another handful of mud. To the west the sky was the color of hot coals, all that remained of Two Tanks when Clan Marshul left it behind. Soon it would be dark enough that her clothes of dark leather and her mud-smeared face and hands would make her all but invisible.

Along the bank the other riders of the scouting party were doing the same. Only Djilz needed nothing to darken his skin. When he stripped off the fine white leathers he wore, he was darker than any mud could make him. So he was horse handler while his comrades turned themselves into creatures of the night.

“This mud stinks,” someone muttered.

Without raising her head, Karee snapped, “You’ll stink even worse after Chief Djimmi hears you disobeyed his orders. We are to slip south like prairiecats on the prowl, not make a din like challenging stallions.”

“Or like mares in heat,” came the reply.

Before Karee could shape her tongue to a reply both prudent and adequate, she felt the unmistakable ghostly touch of human mindspeak. It was as intangible as the urge to sneeze—and when it came where she expected none, it was far more frightening.

“Red Striker,” she mindcalled the prairiecat keeping watch. “Do you hear a two-legs’ thoughts?”

“I do. But—he is not of the clans! How can this be?”

“Sun and Wind only know.” Nor will they tell us, in time to save us the burden of facing this mystery unaided by anything save our own wits.

Now, \et us see if those wits are as good as I have always said they are.

“Red Striker, come here at once! Mask your thoughts as you come, as though your deadliest foe sought your life.”

“I have no such foes,” came the reply. “I have slain or driven off every one.”

Karee’s thought crackled with anger. “No doubt you have bred such vanity into all your cubs. Have you bred disobedience into them as well?”

This time the reply was silence, both physical and mental. The silence ended in the rustle of grass as the big orange cat slipped from his hiding place to stand beside Karee. Karee laid a hand on his head. That way he could read her thoughts and she his, with less chance of the mysterious mindspeaker overhearing them.

“Circle behind them, silently. Count them and tell me how many. Then use only eyes and ears and nose to guide yourself on their trail.”

“As you wish.”

Red Striker had vanished before Karee could even turn to her comrades and begin giving her orders. Djilz’s eyes grew white and round in his dark face as he listened.

“How have the gods allowed one of the dirtfolk to have mindspeak? The true gift is rare enough among the Kindred!”

“When I learn, I’ll tell you. Meanwhile, take it that they have done so, and mask your thoughts as you would against warriors of the clans.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s always been good enough in the past.”

Djilz’s teeth flashed white in a grin. He had a number of virtues, one of which was abundant manhood. Another was a willingness to obey orders.

In the time it would have taken Karee to examine the hooves of a horse, Red Striker reported that only four two-legs rode toward the stream. He added that he was staying downwind of them and smelled fear in both the men and the horses. He would doubtless have gone on if Karee hadn’t sent him a peremptory order to stop talking and start stalking.

With whispers and hand signals, Karee ordered her comrades into place. None of them had enough mindspeak for her to reach them mind to mind, even had it been safe to do so. She could reach prairiecats and horses with ease, but seldom a human without powerful mindspeak of his own. Nor could any save the most powerful mindspeakers reach her.

What this said about the man riding toward her was something she did not much like.

In the time it would have taken Karee to groom her mare, Yellow Tooth, the dirtfolk riders had approached close enough to hear. They were riding at a walk, seemingly loose-reined as they argued. Clearly the one with the mindspeak sensed danger but had been unable to persuade his comrades.

“What the horses smell is water!” came one voice. “All that talk about the big cats is so much owl dung!” “Djak’s right. How would the clansmen train a cat, anyway?” came a second voice.

“Maybe the clansmen can speak to them, mind to mind,” was the reply of a third voice. Karee swallowed. Something in the words matched what she’d sensed in the mindspeak touch. That third voice had to be the mindspeaker!

Laughter came, harsh and hostile, from three throats. “A whole folk of witches? Djoh, you’re dreaming! It’s hard enough to believe you can do what they say!”

“I didn’t—”

“Djoh, I don’t care what Kahrl said. One lucky guess about when the river pirates were coming doesn’t mean you know much about fighting. There’s no way you could have one of those big cats around horses without spooking them.”

Karee bit her lip to keep from laughing. She went on biting it until the sound of hooves slowed, then stopped. A thought came from Red Striker.

“Shall I prove to that fool that I am no tale?” “When we have them busy, yes. Take their horses, so they cannot escape.”

Beside her, a leaf rustled as Djilz drew his sword. “They all die?” he whispered.

“Save the one with mindspeak, if we can tell who he is in time.”

Djilz rolled his eyes but nodded. Karee drew her own sword and flattened herself on the earth as she would have done on a lover.

The voice who had dismissed the mindspeaker’s warning came again.

“I’d wager there isn’t anything more dangerous than a wolverine in half a day’s ride.”

Karee leaped to her feet, bow in hand. An arrow seemed to spring from its quiver to her string, then from her string to the throat of the speaker.

He lived long enough to hear Karee say, “You lose that wager, I think.”

Djilz sprang up beside Karee. From the opposite side of the clearing, another arrow flew. This one glanced from a rusty but stout breastplate. The breastplate’s wearer lifted a crossbow already cocked and loaded and shot Djilz in the chest.

“Red Striker!” Karee screamed.

In one breath the prairiecat was in the open. In the next he was on the rump of the archer’s mount. The man’s breastplate gave no protection to his throat, as Red Striker’s teeth closed on it.

Two of the other three horses were now rearing and shrieking in terror. The fourth horse was the mount of a middle-aged man, with no very warlike look to him save for the hunting bow he was unslinging. As she ran toward him, Karee noticed that he wore an elaborate boot on his nearside foot.

Her sword wasn’t long enough to reach him, but its razor edge did well enough in cutting his bowstring. He raised the bow to bring down on her head like a club. In her mind she heard a fierce, wordless command to stand and be struck down.

Exaltation filled her, at identifying the mindspeaker. It didn’t slow her as she danced aside from the descending bow. A quick slash made the mindspeaker’s horse dance wildly, in spite of his desperate efforts with both mind and body to command it. He couldn’t recover his balance before Karee gripped his arm and threw herself backward with all her weight.

He tumbled from the saddle and landed hard enough to knock himself senseless. Karee lurched to her feet, knowing that she’d risked the same fate herself by trying to take him alive. If any of the dirtfolk had remained ready to take advantage of this chance—

None did. Her surviving comrades all had red swords; one had a cut across the knuckles of his left hand. He sucked it as he knelt beside Djilz.