Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986 by Cahena (v3.1) Read Free Book Online Page A

blankets fastened to javelins stuck all around, with
the light winking above. As Bhakrann and Wulf walked toward it, they saw a ring
of guards. One made a gesture of recognition and let them pass. Bhakrann found
an opening in the makeshift wall of cloaks and led Wulf inside.
    The enclosed space was a dozen yards across. Against
one screening cloak was set up a little tent, made by propping a dark cloth on
sticks. At the center a small fire burned down to coals, with several sitting
figures around it. Directly opposite the entrance sat the Cahena, on a folded
saddlecloth. The others were warriors, bareheaded, in jerkins strengthened with
chains and slices of iron.
    “Bhakrann,” said the Cahena’s rich, low voice. “Wulf. Come and eat with us.”
    Close to the fire were propped green twigs, strung
with bits of meat to roast. The various diners held their hands in their laps.
Wulf and Bhakrann found places to sit.
    “Wulf, this is Daris,” said the Cahena. “He’s a
Neffusa.”
    Daris was as gaunt as a rake, but sinewy. His
beard looked brown in the light of the coals.
    “This is Ketriazar,” the Cahena introduced
another. “A Mediuni.”
    Ketriazar sat, thick-chested. His face was pitted,
as though by an old plague of boils.
    “And Yaunis,” said the Cahena.
    Yaunis nodded. He had something of elegance about
him, for all his patterned cloak was shabby. His dark
beard was trimmed somewhat in a fashion Wulf had seen in Constantinople .
His eyes were long and humorous.
    “And Mallul,” the Cahena said, looking at the one
who sat next to her. “My son, a Djerwa like Bhakrann, like
me.”
    “Wulf,” said Mallul, the only one of the party to
speak. He was young, perhaps twenty or so. His soft-bearded face was handsome.
Across his knees lay a curved Arabian sword.
    Now Wulf looked at the Cahena. She sat
cross-legged, dressed in a loose dark skirt and tunic. Her scarf had been put
aside, and her long black hair fell like great wings upon her shoulders. It was
smooth, thick hair, with faint lights in it. Her face was a fine oval. Her nose
was short and straight, with flared nostrils. Her strong, delicate chin had the
slightest of depressions, not quite a dimple. Her slanted eyes held their own
radiance. Bhakrann had been right, she was beautiful.
    “Now let’s have our supper,” she said.
    As though the others had been waiting for her
word, they all reached for the twigs with meat skewered on them. Someone passed
a loose-woven basket of flat cakes. Wulf. took meat — it was goat, he saw — and a cake of. barley bread. Ketriazar offered him a leather bottle and a
brass cup, and he poured wine for himself. It was sharp but good. All ate
hungrily, except the Cahena.
    She took no meat. She barely nibbled at a handful
of dried figs and broken morsels of bread, and sipped slowly at her cup of
wine. Silence all around while they ate. At last the Cahena wiped her hands on
a white cloth and spoke.
    “Two scouts have come back,” she said. “They say
that three thousand or so Moslems are camped at the eastern end of that pass,
with their own scouts into it. We don’t have as many as that, but we’ll face
them.”
    “Yes,” agreed Mallul, as though dutifully.
    The Cahena turned to Wulf. “I knew you’d come to
us,” she addressed him. “I have voices to tell me things. I want to hear more
about the Moslems. Meanwhile, you’ve seen a little of us Imazighen. What do you
think about us?”
    “I ask myself about your weapons,” he said
carefully.
    “What about our weapons?”
    “I haven’t seen all your men, of course, but those
I did see haven’t enough javelins.”
    “Not enough javelins?” Yaunis half cried. “Every
man has two and hits what he throws at.”
    “Which leaves him only one javelin to stab with,”
said Wulf. “The Moslems have bows, and they’re good with them. But one missile
to a man doesn’t seem enough to me.”
    “We’ve always fought or hunted with two javelins,”
said big