Skoll smiled to himself as Daphnis pressed her moccasined foot on a patch of bare soil, leaving a clear footprint on it. This was the second day he'd had her as a captive, and she still hadn't noticed that he knew what she was doing. Her defiant spirit would have to be snuffed out when they reached the bandit camp, but right now he had a use for it.
He had promised his former clansmen that he would have his revenge on them, and what better way than by luring them into an ambush? He had come this way many times on hunting trips and he knew the area well. They were entering a ravine where a handful of men could rain death on an enemy force many times its size. All he had to do was make contact with the bandits before his pursuers caught up with him.
Fortunately Daphnis was as fast a runner as he was. If her hands hadn't been tied behind her back she might have long since gotten away from him just by running. Even without the balancing effect of pumping arms, though, she was fast enough on her feet that Skoll was confident he was still many miles ahead of those he had sworn to kill, who were slowed down by their need to search for the signs Daphnis was leaving.
She had tried to slow him down at first. At first by simply lying on the ground and refusing to move. She had wanted him to have to carry her. Instead he had threatened to cut out her eyes, telling her that she didn't need them in order to fulfill her function as his wife. All she needed, in order for him to be more than just a solitary man that the bandits would kill out of hand, was a heartbeat and a pair of hands to do her share of work around the camp.
She had tried to call his bluff, staring at the point of his knife as it came closer and closer, and only at the last minute had she given in, deciding that he wasn't bluffing, which he hadn't been. She had stood and walked, therefore, but had still tried to drag her feet. Skoll had cured her of that habit by running behind her and pricking her back and buttocks with the point of his knife. She had suffered several tiny cuts before picking up speed, and only when he was satisfied that she was indeed running as fast as her tied hands would allow had he tucked the knife back into his belt.
She had endured the rapes stoically, closing her eyes as he thrust inside her and refusing to allow any sound to escape from her closed lips. She was probably pretending it was Tarvos lying with her, he guessed. Only the tears that leaked from between her closed eyelids betrayed her failure to quite convince herself. Skoll, of course, didn't care about the suffering he was causing her. All that mattered was the pleasure he was taking, both from the act itself and from the fact that he was again proving his superiority over Tarvos, the one man in all the six clans he came close to regarding as an equal. He almost felt ashamed that he had needed to cheat to beat him in the fist fight. He had enough self knowledge to know that Tarvos might have beaten him in a fair fight, but now he was beating him every time he took his former betrothed as a wife. He had taken what his rival loved the most and made it his own, and the pleasure that gave him was almost as good as the sex itself.
The land was bare rocks now, rising in great piles on either side of them as they climbed into the Spine. Small creatures were basking in the sun, scurrying away as the two humans drew close. Large carrion skylords cruised in an updraft overhead. Skoll began looking for a source of water. In his haste to escape from Festival City, he hadn't had time to equip himself properly and he was growing thirsty. If not for the people pursuing them he could have made a water bottle from the hide of a wild gooth he'd killed the day before and filled it at the Now and Then River, but as it was he had no choice but to endure the thirst as best he could, as would Daphnis. At least she wasn't complaining about it. She had too much pride. Something else he admired her for.
Skoll looked ahead, where the path they were following wound its way higher up into the rocky hills. Already the rocks piled on either side had plenty of nooks and crannies where a man could hide and hurl slingstones down on people passsing by below. The temptation to wait for Tarvos and the others to pass by and kill him with an expertly thrown stone was almost too great to ignore. Even if they saw where the stone had come from, he'd be able to lose himself in the rocks before they could climb up after him and he might be able to get two or even three of them before they managed to encircle him. He smiled grimly. Tempting though it was, he wasn't ready to lose his life just yet. Better to wait until he had a new clan to hunt with him...
A pair of men came into view ahead of him, appearing from around a bend in the path. Bandits by the crude, ragged clothes they were wearing. A sound from behind made him spin around to see another two cutting off his retreat. He saw movement in the corner of his eye and saw more bandits up in the rocks, just where he'd been daydreaming of killing Tarvos from. He forced himself to remain calm. This was what he wanted, to make contact with these people, and it was happening sooner than he'd expected.
The two men ahead were lowering their spears to aim their points at him, so he spoke quickly. "I have been exiled from the Six Tribes for killing a man," he said. "I've come to join your tribe."
The bandits grinned at him. "Careful not to harm the woman," one of them said to the other. "She'll make a fine wife."
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"She is already a wife," said Skoll. "Mine. I killed four men taking her. I will gladly kill four more to keep her."
He heard the sound of slings being whirled, spinning up to speed for the throw, and he spoke again quickly. "I came because I thought the bandits were mighty warriors. It must have been some other tribe I heard of since you are clearly cowards."
The lead bandit scowled and made a hand signal to the men in the rocks. The sound of whirling slings stopped. Then the bandit handed his spear to the man beside him. "No man calls Mundilfan a coward," he said, stepping forward and drawing his knife. Skoll drew his own knife and stepped forward to meet him.
Mundilfan was big, he saw. Even bigger than him, with a great barrel chest and arms as thick as a man's thighs. Skoll remembered a tale told by a Siegfried clansman of a man that looked like him who'd taken part in a raid on one of their villages a few years back. The man had taken three hits from fist-sized slingstones without seemingly being bothered by them and had crushed a man's head between his hands. His trophy necklace had nearly two dozen finger bones on it and Skoll was prepared to believe that the only reason there weren't more was that there simply wasn't room for them. There was a broad grin of his face, as if killing Skoll was something he was going to enjoy very much.
Skoll knew that if he showed fear, the slingmen in the rocks would kill him without hesitation. His normal tactics when fighting a man bigger than himself, which was to goad him into attacking him and fight defensively until his opponent made a mistake, wouldn't do here. Instead he threw himself into an attack. As expected Mundilfan deflected his knife easily and launched an atrack of his own, which Skoll just barely fended off. Then they were trading slashes and parries, though, standing so close together that the slingmen couldn't attack him without risking hitting their own man, which gave Skoll the chance to dial back his efforts a little. He could now conserve his strength, dodging Mundilfan's increasingly furious attacks while waiting for him to exhaust himself.
Mundilfan saw immediately what he was doing, of course, and he launched an even more furious attack in an attempt to end the fight as quickly as possible. Skoll was forced to defend himself with all his skill, but as one attack followed another and the bandit's knife failed to draw his blood he began to feel hopeful. His opponent relied upon brute strength to overwhelm his opponent, but he was slow and that gave Skoll an advantage. Whether it would be enough of an advantage was another matter.
Skoll's knife drew a line of blood across Mundilfan's great, meaty arm and the bandit roared with rage. There was a note of doubt in his voice, though, as if be was beginning to question his wisdom in fighting this newcomer alone. Skoll pressed his advantage and threw himself at the other man, throwing him off balance, and Mundilfan tripped over a rock that had been lying on the ground behind him. He crashed to the ground and Skoll went with him, landing on the other man's stomach, and as Mundilfan tensed himself to throw him off Skoll plunged his knife deep into his chest.
He pulled the knife free and jumped back to his feet, spinning around to face the other bandits in case they suddenly attacked. "Now you have a vacancy," he said. "I'm offering to fill it..."
There was a bellow of fury from behind him and Skoll jumped out of the way just as a knife slashed at where his hamstrings had been. Mundilfan was climbing back to his feet, blood dribbling from the wound in his chest. "You think one little pinprick is enough to end me?" he said, staring at him with madness in his eyes. "You don't know Mundilfan."
"My knife has tasted your blood twice," Skoll told him. "Yours has yet to taste mine. You are going to die today."
His words had the intended effect and Mundilfan charged at him in wild fury. Skoll dodged to the side and his knife slashed across the other man's throat. There was a spray of blood and Mundilfan fell again, and this time when he hit the ground he stayed there.
Skoll turned again to face the other bandits. "As I was saying," he said. "I wish to join your clan. Will you have me? Your alternative is to try to kill me and see how many of you die before I go down." He pointed to the man who'd taken Mundilfan's spear. "You for certain," he said. "Those guys up in the rocks will probably survive because they're out of my reach, but you can be sure you'll drop before I do." He was satisfied to see the man's eyes widen with fear.
"And you guys," said Skoll, turning to face the other two men down on the path with him, one of whom had a firm grip on Daphnis's arm. "I'll take one of you to the spirit world with me, you can be sure of that. Maybe both of you. Or you can take me back to your camp and let your leader decide."
The bandits in the rocks had stones in their slings again and were whirling them around their heads, but then one of them stood up, facing east, shading his eyes with his hand as he gazed out across the lowlands. "Men, coming this way," he said. "About a dozen."
"They're chasing me," Skoll told them. "They want to get that lovely lady back. She's the daughter of a clan chief."
"How far away?" one of the men on the ground called up."
"Half an hour," the man in the rocks called back. "Maybe less."
"More of them than you," Skoll pointed out. "And unless your camp is very close they'll catch you before you can get there. Your best chance is to ambush them as they pass through here. I'll help you. I have a score to settle with them."
The bandits glanced at each other uncertainly. Mundilfan had been their leader, it seemed, and without them the others were uncertain who was in charge. Skoll grinned. This was an opportunity he hadn't dared dream of.
"You three," he said, pointing to the three men in the path. "Get up in the rocks with the others. Get your slings ready. Take the woman with you. Tie her up securely and gag her or she'll yell a warning. When the clansmen pass by, rain rocks down on them."
They just stood there uncertainly, though, until Skoll yelled at them. "Now!" That got them moving, and they scrambled up into the rocks. Skoll dragged Mundilfan's body around a corner in the path, out of sight, and skuffed some dust over the bloodstains with his moccasin. Then he followed the bandits into the rocks.
