the mining operation.”
“Patience,” Jason said. “This operation is going to have to take a little time, but I guarantee that there will be plenty of fighting so it will have its high spots. Let me fill in some of the things I have discovered since I talked to you last.
“Temuchin has most of the plains tribes behind him, at least all of the ones that count. He is a damn intelligent man and a shrewd leader. He intuitively knows most of the military-textbook axioms. Keep the troops occupied, that’s a basic one. As soon as they chased the first expedition away, he talked around among the clans and found the one or two tribes that the majority were feuding with. They wiped these out and split up the loot. This has been the process ever since. You’re either with him or against him, and no one is neutral. All this in spite of the nomads’ natural tendency to align and realign and go their own way. The few leaders who have tried to get out from under the new regime have met such violent deaths that all the others are very impressed.”
Kerk shook his head. “If he has united all of these people, then there is nothing we can do.”
“Kill him?” Meta suggested.
“See what a few weeks among the barbarians will do for a girl?” Jason said. “I can’t say that I’m not tempted. The alliance would fall apart, but we would be back to square one. If we tried to open the mines, some other leader would appear and the attacks would start again. No, we have to do better than that. If it is possible, I would like to take over his organization and turn it to our own ends. And, Kerk, you’re not quite right. He has not united all the tribes, just the strongest ones on the plains. There are a number of smaller ones around the edges that he is not bothering about; they pose no threat. But there are a lot of hairy-necked mountain tribes in the north who pride themselves on their independence, most of them from the weasel clan. They fight each other, but they will work together against any threat from the outside. Temuchin is that threat, and that will be our big chance to take over.”
“How?” Rhes asked.
“By being better at the job than he is. By covering ourselves with glory and doing better than he does in the mountain campaign. And arranging it so that he makes a couple of mistakes. If we work it right, we should come back from the campaign with Kerk either in the highest councils or an equal of Temuchin. This is a rough society and nobody cares how great you were last year, but what you have done for them lately. A real barnyard pecking order is in operation, and we are going to arrange it so that Kerk is top pecker. All of us except Rhes, that is.”
“Why not me?” Rhes asked.
“You are going to organize the second part of the plan. We never paid much attention to the lowlands, below the cliffs, because there are no heavy metal deposits. However, there appears to be a fairly advanced agrarian culture at work down there. Temuchin found a way of sending down a raiding party, an expedition I do not wish to try again, to get some gunpowder. I’m sure he wants to use it against the
hill tribes, an ace in the hole to assure victory. Those mountain passes must be hard to attack. I helped Temuchin bring the gunpowder back and kept my eyes open at the same time. Aside from the gunpowder, I saw flintlocks, cannon, military uniforms and bags of flour. That’s strong evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” Kerk was irritated. He preferred to work with simpler, more familiar chains of logic.
“Isn’t it obvious? Proof that a fairly advanced culture is in operation here. Chemistry, single-crop culture, central government, taxes, forging, large casting, weaving, dyeing…”
“How do you know all that?” Meta asked, astonished.
“I’ll tell you tonight, dear, when we’re alone. It would just appear like bragging now. But I know that my conclusions are correct. There is a rising middle class down there in the lowlands, and I’ll wager that the bankers and the merchants are rising the fastest. Rhes is going to buy his way in. As an agrarian himself, he has the right background for the job. Look at this, the key to his success.”
He took a small metal disk from his pouch and tossed it into the air, then handed it to Rhes. “What is it?” Rhes asked.
“Money. Coin of the lower realm. I took it from one of the dead soldiers. This is the axle on which the commercial world rotates, or is the lubrication on the axle, or whatever other metaphor you prefer. We can analyze this and forge up a batch that will not only be as good, but will be richer and better than the original. You’ll take them to buy yourself in, set up shop as a merchant and get ready for the next move.”
Rhes looked at the coin distastefully. “And now I’m supposed to play this wide-mouthed question game like everyone else here and ask you what is next move?”
“Correct. You catch on quick. When Jason talks, everyone listens.”
“You talk too much,” Meta said primly.
“Agreed, but its my only vice. The next move will be to unite the tribes here, with Kerk in control or close to it, to welcome Rhes when he sails north with his trade goods. This continent may be bisected by a cliff that normally prevents contact between the nomads and the lowlanders, but you can’t convince me that I won’t find a place somewhere here in the north where it might be possible to land a ship or small boats. One little bit of beach is all we need. I’m sure that seagoing contact has been ruled out in the past because it takes an advanced technology to make floating ships out of iron. Hide — and bone-framed coracles are a possibility, but I doubt if the nomads have ever even considered the possibility of traveling on water. The lowlanders must surely have ships, but there is nothing up here to tempt them into exploration. Quite the opposite, if anything. But we’re going to change all that. Under Kerk’s leadership the tribes will give a peaceful welcome to traders from the south. Trade will enter the picture and a new era will begin. For a few tired furs, the tribesmen will be able to gather the products of civilization and will be seduced. Maybe we can hook them on tobacco, booze or glass beads. There must be something they like that the lowlands can supply. And this will be the thin end of the wedge. First a landing on the beach with trade goods, then a few tents to keep the snow off. Then a permanent settlement. Then a trading center and market, right over the spot where our mine is going to be. The next step should be obvious.”
There was plenty of discussion, but only about the details. No one could fault Jason’s plan; in fact, they rather approved of it. It sounded simple and workable, and assigned parts to all of them that they enjoyed playing. All except Meta, that is. She had had enough of dung fires and menial manual labor to last for the rest of her life. But she was too good a Pyrran to complain about her assignment, so she remained silent.
It was very late before the meeting broke up; the boy, Grif, had been asleep for hours. The atomic heater had been turned off and locked away, but the aura of its warmth remained. Jason collapsed into the fur sleeping bag and let out an exhausted sigh. Meta rolled over and put her chin against his chest.
“What is going to happen after we win?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” Jason said tiredly, letting his hand run through her short-cropped hair. “Haven’t thought about it. Get the job done first.”
“I’ve thought about it. It should mean the end of the fighting for us, forever I mean. If we stay here and build a new city. What will you do then?”
“Hadn’t thought,” he said blurredly, holding her close and enjoying the sensation.
“I think I would like to stop fighting. I think there must be other things to do with a person’s life. Did you notice that all the women here take care of their own children, instead of putting them into the nursery and never seeing them again as on Pyrrus? I think that might be a nice thing.”
Jason jerked his hand away from her hair as from molten metal and his eyes sprang wide open. Dimly, in the far distance, he could hear the harsh ringing of wedding bells, a sound he had fled from more than once in his life, a sound that brought out an instant running reflex.
“Well,” he said with what he hoped was due deliberation, “that sort of thing might be nice for barbarian women, but it certainly isn’t the sort of fate to be wished on an intelligent, civilized girl.” He waited tensely for an answer, until he realized from the evenness of her breathing that she had fallen asleep. That took care of that, at least for the time being.
Then he held the solid warmth of her body in his arms and he wondered what exactly it was he was running from and, while he wondered, the drugs and exhaustion hit and he fell asleep.
In the morning the new campaign began. Temuchin had issued his orders and the march got under way at dawn, with a freezing, bonechilling wind sweeping down from the mountains in the north. The carnachs, the escungs, even carrier inoropes were left behind. Every warrior brought his own weapons and rations, and was expected to take care of himself and his mount. At first the movement was very unimpressive, a scattering of soldiers working their way through the camachs, among the shouting women and the ragged children running in the
