tribes. Dangerous.’ Katrin was swaying slightly in the saddle as she spoke.
‘They eat people?’
She shook her head. ‘Mare’s milk. They tap veins in their horses and drink their blood. Raw meat they soften under their saddles.’
‘I don’t think I want to go to dinner at their place.’
They rode to the clifftop, terribly aware of the horse nomads’ eyes on their backs.
‘They going to attack?’
Woodcat shrugged. ‘Sometimes they attack, sometimes not. Who knows what a Patchie might do?’
Katrin looked at Mike, and spoke slowly and seriously, intent that he should understand that she meant what she said. ‘If they attack, and we can’t beat them off, don’t be taken prisoner.’
‘How do I not get taken prisoner?’
‘You die.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Die?’
She nodded.
‘Isn’t that kind of an extreme solution?’
‘I’ve met people who were captured alive by the Patchies and escaped later. They said dying would have been better.’
‘Yeah, well, there could be two opinions about that, you know.’ Mike wished Katrin would not always take things so seriously.
They were at the clifftop now. Woodcat dismounted, and Mike and Katrin did the same.
The Patchies reined in at the bottom of the hill, and watched them.
‘So what do we do now?’ said Mike. ‘Stop here and fight them?’
Woodcat shook his head. ‘No. We put your kite together, and you two fly to the Island.’
‘And leave you by yourself? No way!’ Mike heard the words coming out of his mouth and wished he had not said them, while knowing that what he had said was right. They could not leave the little man to face the Patchies alone.
Katrin nodded her approval of what Mike had said.
Woodcat looked at the Patchies, and then at his friends. ‘Put together the kite.’
The Patchies edged closer. Mike saw that their faces were tattooed in abstract patterns. He decided that the tattoos on their faces did absolutely nothing for their personal appearance.
Woodcat drew his sword. ‘Put the kite together and go, or I’ll cut you both down where you stand!’
There they went again, Mike thought, always taking extreme positions on things.
But Katrin was looking at Woodcat, and asking him a question. She used a voice which suggested that she had learned the question. ‘Have you chosen the day of your death, brother?’
Woodcat’s answer had the same ritual flavour. Katrin’s question had, it seemed, a special answer which fitted it. ‘Today is a good day to die,’ the little man said.
Katrin turned to Mike. ‘We go to the Island.’
Mike could not believe it. Katrin, willing to run out on a friend who had helped them?
‘If we don’t, we’ll have dishonoured him and he’ll have to kill us.’
‘But. . .’
‘Don’t argue about things you don’t understand! Do it!’
Mike looked at Woodcat.
Woodcat said, ‘Mike, hundreds of Murrays, women and men and children, died in the Covenant War. They died so that they’d not have a king, but also to keep us . . . the First Returners . . . free. We pay our debts.’
Mike hesitated, then turned to the packhorse, got the kite off it and started putting it together.
As he worked, the Patchies circled and watched, intrigued at this strange activity. Part of Mike wished they would charge before he finished. He could not get out of his mind the memory of Isolde telling them to keep Woodcat out of adventures. Well, Woodcat was in an adventure up to his neck now, and a dirty and dangerous one it looked like becoming.
CHAPTER 17
AIRBORNE AGAIN
When the kite was ready, Mike strapped Katrin into her side of it, and tied himself into his with the ropes he had borrowed from Woodcat the night they did the modifications.
He looked at Woodcat, and felt worse than he had ever felt in his life.
‘Go on,’ said the little man.
‘Do you want my bow?’ Katrin asked.
Woodcat smiled. ‘I couldn’t hit a barn with one of those newfangled things.’ He tapped his
‘They eat people?’
She shook her head. ‘Mare’s milk. They tap veins in their horses and drink their blood. Raw meat they soften under their saddles.’
‘I don’t think I want to go to dinner at their place.’
They rode to the clifftop, terribly aware of the horse nomads’ eyes on their backs.
‘They going to attack?’
Woodcat shrugged. ‘Sometimes they attack, sometimes not. Who knows what a Patchie might do?’
Katrin looked at Mike, and spoke slowly and seriously, intent that he should understand that she meant what she said. ‘If they attack, and we can’t beat them off, don’t be taken prisoner.’
‘How do I not get taken prisoner?’
‘You die.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Die?’
She nodded.
‘Isn’t that kind of an extreme solution?’
‘I’ve met people who were captured alive by the Patchies and escaped later. They said dying would have been better.’
‘Yeah, well, there could be two opinions about that, you know.’ Mike wished Katrin would not always take things so seriously.
They were at the clifftop now. Woodcat dismounted, and Mike and Katrin did the same.
The Patchies reined in at the bottom of the hill, and watched them.
‘So what do we do now?’ said Mike. ‘Stop here and fight them?’
Woodcat shook his head. ‘No. We put your kite together, and you two fly to the Island.’
‘And leave you by yourself? No way!’ Mike heard the words coming out of his mouth and wished he had not said them, while knowing that what he had said was right. They could not leave the little man to face the Patchies alone.
Katrin nodded her approval of what Mike had said.
Woodcat looked at the Patchies, and then at his friends. ‘Put together the kite.’
The Patchies edged closer. Mike saw that their faces were tattooed in abstract patterns. He decided that the tattoos on their faces did absolutely nothing for their personal appearance.
Woodcat drew his sword. ‘Put the kite together and go, or I’ll cut you both down where you stand!’
There they went again, Mike thought, always taking extreme positions on things.
But Katrin was looking at Woodcat, and asking him a question. She used a voice which suggested that she had learned the question. ‘Have you chosen the day of your death, brother?’
Woodcat’s answer had the same ritual flavour. Katrin’s question had, it seemed, a special answer which fitted it. ‘Today is a good day to die,’ the little man said.
Katrin turned to Mike. ‘We go to the Island.’
Mike could not believe it. Katrin, willing to run out on a friend who had helped them?
‘If we don’t, we’ll have dishonoured him and he’ll have to kill us.’
‘But. . .’
‘Don’t argue about things you don’t understand! Do it!’
Mike looked at Woodcat.
Woodcat said, ‘Mike, hundreds of Murrays, women and men and children, died in the Covenant War. They died so that they’d not have a king, but also to keep us . . . the First Returners . . . free. We pay our debts.’
Mike hesitated, then turned to the packhorse, got the kite off it and started putting it together.
As he worked, the Patchies circled and watched, intrigued at this strange activity. Part of Mike wished they would charge before he finished. He could not get out of his mind the memory of Isolde telling them to keep Woodcat out of adventures. Well, Woodcat was in an adventure up to his neck now, and a dirty and dangerous one it looked like becoming.
CHAPTER 17
AIRBORNE AGAIN
When the kite was ready, Mike strapped Katrin into her side of it, and tied himself into his with the ropes he had borrowed from Woodcat the night they did the modifications.
He looked at Woodcat, and felt worse than he had ever felt in his life.
‘Go on,’ said the little man.
‘Do you want my bow?’ Katrin asked.
Woodcat smiled. ‘I couldn’t hit a barn with one of those newfangled things.’ He tapped his
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