Kiteman of Karanga Read online

  Leaving his water sack behind to shed weight, Karl soared out over the grassy slopes and felt his way among the rising currents of air. He rode them to the top of the first ridge and then turned south and flew along the crest looking for antelope.

  As Karl's hunter's eyes searched the landscape, he flew along faster than a hawk. All afternoon he moved up and down the ridge, but he could find no animals of any kind. At last he was compelled to land where he had left his water sack. He spent the final hour of daylight setting out rabbit snares with thin strips cut from his extra sheet of terry leather. Then he built a fire and went to sleep, weak and sick from lack of food.

  In the morning his snares were empty. He drank some water, then found a few berries and caught a small lizard the size of his finger which he ate raw. As he retrieved his snares he looked at the green mountains farther west. Surely among them he would find antelope.

  After climbing in the thermals over the foothills, Karl headed away from the desert. He was amazed that he hadn't seen any animals to hunt. These green slopes should have provided sufficient forage for many times the number of antelope that lived in Karanga's mountains, yet they were barren of game. It didn't make sense. A moment later he flew over a village nestled into the mountainside. Unlike the white, pueblo-like dwellings of Karanga, these houses were built of stone and had steep thatched roofs. Then he saw flocks of sheep spread out over the pastures and tiny figures driving them. Flying on, Karl saw flocks of sheep everywhere and spied dozens of other villages. Now he knew why he had not found antelope or any other animals in these densely inhabited mountains: the sheep were grazing on every available clump of grass.

  When he came to the snow-covered peaks, Karl turned back. With the total absence of game he would have to land and ask for food. It was that or starve. As he turned toward one of the villages, Karl noticed movement in a nearby field. He dropped down lower for a better look and then gasped with astonishment. Two riders, mounted on dread lizards, were chasing a man. The riders wore helmets and carried shields that glinted in the sun. Karl stared aghast as the lizards caught the fugitive at the end of the field, seizing him in their jaws and devouring him alive. Karl's anger rose with the dying mans cries. If only he had an extra spear, he would have loosed it at the lizard riders instantly.

  Sickened, Karl turned his wing into the first lift he found and sped back toward the desert. If being eaten alive by a dread lizard was what awaited him should he try to make contact with these people, he would not risk it. He would continue alone. However, the ache in his stomach reminded him that he must eat something substantial soon or else grow too weak even to fly.

  Soaring high over the first village, which provided him the closest retreat to the desert, Karl carefully noted the position of a flock near the top of the ridge. He landed farther along the same high ground and hid his kitewing. After dark, he would creep down to the pasture, and with all the stealth of a hunter he would take a young sheep. Then, while his strength held, he would run back to the ridge with it, get into his wing, and glide down the slope. There would be no thermals at night, but by gliding all the way to the bottom of the ridge he would gain several miles on any pursuers. And, with luck, he wouldn't be pursued.

  As twilight changed to darkness Karl knotted and unknotted the length of terry rope that he had planned to use to carry the sheep. He was weak, but he hoped he had strength enough to make the run from the pasture back to the ridge without stopping. He shuddered to think what would happen if he were caught, but he had to eat. Once he had rested and had dried the lambs meat, he would travel north or south along the mountain range until he found a place where there were no people, or where there were no dread lizards.

  Karl waited until the half-moon came up and then started down the mountain toward the pasture, keeping as much in shadow as possible. When he had come within a few hundred yards of the flock, he dropped to the ground and covered the remaining distance on his stomach. He stopped close to the sheep and studied them until he had picked out the animal he wanted. Now was the time. Rope in one hand and spear in the other, Karl raced across the moonlit pasture.

  To Karl's astonishment the sheep only lifted their heads and stared at him as he came closer. They didn't scatter and run as he expected. But there was no time to think about this now. With a quick thrust Karl speared the lamb he had chosen. It let out a bleat and started to run, but Karl caught it by the hind leg, flipped it over, and cut its throat with a knife. While it was still kicking, Karl cinched the terry cord to its feet and drew them together. He lifted it onto his shoulders and started running up the pasture when a voice accosted him.

  "You, sheep thief, stop!"

  Karl ran faster. He had almost reached the stone wall at the edge of the pasture when the voice came again, this time close behind.

  "Halt, thief!"

  A hard staff struck the backs of his legs, and he went down. Instantly he scrambled to his feet and crouched, his spear ready. In the moonlight he was surprised to see that his adversary was a girl who didn't look much older than himself.

  "Leave the lamb," she ordered. Her voice was sharp and angry.

  "I'm taking the lamb," Karl said in deadly earnest as he lifted it back onto his shoulder. "If I have to kill you, I will." Balancing the lamb with one hand, his spear ready in the other, he advanced toward her.

  With a cry of rage the girl attacked him with her long staff, whacking, prodding, and striking with a fury that he could not counter. He parried frantically and was forced backward step by step. At last he saw an opening. He sidestepped around her and started running for the edge of the pasture. Then everything went black.

  When Karl came to, he was stretched out on the ground. His hands were bound together and a short length of rope was tied between his ankles to prevent him from running. The girl was kneeling beside him. He knew from the pain at the back of his head that she had knocked him out.

  "Who are you? Where are you from?" she demanded.

  "I'm from Karanga," he answered, "across the desert."

  "No one has ever crossed the desert," the girl said skeptically, "but you don't look like one of the Northmen who usually steal our sheep. You're lucky I was guarding the sheep tonight. Someone else might have killed you."

  Karl nodded. He was amazed by this girl who had captured him with nothing more than a blunt staff.

  "Can you walk?" she asked.

  "I think so," Karl said, though his head still throbbed with pain.

  "Good. Pick up the lamb and follow me."

  Karl groaned as he lifted the lamb to his shoulders with his bound hands. The girl walked down the mountain slowly so Karl would be able to keep up. At the bottom of the pasture the path joined several others, widening into a footway which continued on down toward the village. Before long, they stopped at a house at the edge of the village. She told Karl to put the lamb down, then she led him inside the house.

  In the darkness Karl wondered if this was his chance to escape, but he knew he was too feeble to run. Then an oil lamp flamed up and lit the room. Karl saw a broad bench and sank down upon it.

  "Who's there?" cried an old man's voice.

  "It's Rika, Grandfather. I've captured a sheep thief."

  The lamp was brought nearer. Karl looked up at his captors—the black-haired girl whose round, ruddy face and sharp black eyes still examined him, an old man with many wrinkles, and a boy whom Karl judged to be several years younger than himself.

  "I hope you tied him tightly, Rika," said the old man as he tested Karl's bonds. "We don't want him to escape before we can deliver him to Athgar in the morning."

  Rika looked at the boy. "Rolf, bring him some food."

  "Not too much," the old man called after the boy. Then he turned to Karl. "Where are you from, thief?"

  "Karanga," Karl answered. "Far to the east. I came across the desert."

  "You are a liar as well as a thief," said the old man. "You are from the north. I can tell by your fur vest and leather
leggings."

  Rolf brought Karl a small loaf of bread and a piece of cheese which he ate ravenously.

  When he was done, Karl looked up at the old man. "I was starving. That's why I killed your sheep," he said. "When I crossed the desert, I could find no game. And once I got here I didn't dare show myself and ask for food because I didnt want to be fed to one of your dread lizards."

  "It's the Hrithdon who have the lizards, not us," said Rika.

  "What tribe is this?" Karl asked.

  "This is the village of Eftah, chief village of the Nation of Eftah," said the old man proudly. "And we don't suffer sheep thieves. We turn them over to the Hrithdon."

  "And you will give me to these Hrithdon?"

  "We may," said Rika. "In the morning we will go to Athgar, the village leader, and he will decide what is to be done with you."

  For a moment Karl considered grabbing his spear, cutting the rope that hobbled his legs, and trying to fight his way out of the house. If he could only make it back to the top of the ridge and get into his wing, he knew his escape was assured. But exhaustion overcame him, and he leaned back for a moment on the wide bench. Without realizing it, he fell asleep.

  Bright sunlight flooding through the open doorway woke Karl up. A blanket had been put over him during the night. For a while he lay still, observing his surroundings. Though much smaller than his father's adobe house in Karanga, the stone cottage was cheerful and cozy. However, as Karl watched Rika and the others, he realized that these shepherds were far poorer than the hunters of Karanga. In Karanga, a couch to sit on would be covered with sumptuous hides. Here the couch was a bare wooden bench with a wooden back. Nor did Karl fail to notice that his captors were barefoot, while he still wore his sturdy sandals. The only thing they seemed to have plenty of was firewood, and he watched in amazement as Rika heaped it on the fire in a way that would have been considered wasteful in his homeland.

  As Karl tried to rise he discovered that he had been bound to the bench in his sleep. While he wriggled to get the circulation going in his stiff limbs, Rika came over to him. She stood staring at him, and Karl realized what a sorry sight he was—smelly, grimy, and unwashed. But as she stared she smiled a little.

  "I believe that you came from across the desert, even though Grandfather does not," she said. "Your spear and knife are made of black glass. We have no black glass; neither do the Hrithdon or the Northmen. And you seemed to be telling the truth last night."

  "I was telling the truth," Karl replied with a sudden hope that if this girl believed him, he might somehow be spared. "I know crossing the desert sounds impossible because my people also believe the desert is endless."

  Quickly bending down, she undid the rope that tied Karl to the bench and loosened the ropes on his wrists and ankles.

  "What should we call you?" she asked.

  "My name is Karl," he answered.

  He could now hobble about slowly. Rika gestured to him to follow her to the table where her brother and grandfather were already sitting.

  The breakfast was meager, a chunk of bread and a little rendered lamb's fat to spread on it, followed by a mug of steaming tea that smelled of mint. When the meal was done, Rika stood up and got Karl's spear from the next room. Then, retying his hands and undoing the rope on his ankles, she led him outside to where Rolf and her grandfather were waiting.

  "Come on now," her grandfather shouted impatiently. "We don't want to waste any more time. We've got to deliver this sheep thief to Athgar for lizard fodder and get back to work."

  Lizard fodder! Karl's slight hopes sank. He had survived the desert only to end up being thrown alive to dread lizards! He strained against his bonds, but Rika had tied them well. There was no escape. The only thing he could do was follow his captors and discover what fate the village leader would mete out to him. As they started off, Karl fought to control his mounting dread and the trembling in his limbs. If he had to die, he at least didn't want to be judged a coward again.

  6. A Test

  The path led steeply downhill, winding between the stone cottages and barns. Growing here and there on the walls of these stone buildings were patches of gray-green lichen exactly the color of the dread lizard. As they continued, a number of curious shepherds began to follow them.

  The leader of Eftah was standing on the wide stone stoop in front of his house, the largest in the village. He was a big man with intense green eyes and a short, grizzled beard. And though he was not young, Karl could see that he was as lean and hard as any of Karanga's hunters. In contrast to his shabby, barefoot kinsmen, he wore a pair of soft leather boots, a gray tunic, and a magnificent wool cape hung over his shoulders. Karl looked at him with apprehension.

  "Athgar, this is the thief that Rika caught," the grandfather said, speaking loudly in order to be heard by the shepherds who were gathered around them.

  "Well done, Rika," said Athgar as he stepped down from his front stoop. "The Hrithdon reduce our tax by fifty sheep for each thief we turn over to them. Your catch here will help the village considerably."

  Rika paled, but the village leader seemed not to notice. He walked over to Karl and looked him up and down while Rika's grandfather told him Karl's story.

  "To the Hrithdon with him," hooted one of the shepherds.

  "Patience," commanded Athgar. He looked at Karl. "How were you able to cross the desert?"

  "I hiked across on foot," Karl said.

  "That's impossible," said the village leader. "You're just another sheep thief from this side of the desert after all. The Hrithdon will know how to deal with you."

  "No, I am from Karanga," Karl insisted.

  "Then tell me how you crossed the desert," Athgar demanded.

  "I flew my kitewing," Karl admitted. Briefly he explained what a kitewing was and how the Karangans used them to hunt and travel.

  A chorus of disbelieving shouts came from the onlookers.

  "Then what was your purpose in coming here?" Athgar continued, ignoring the unruly shepherds. "Certainly it was not to steal our sheep?"

  "I came here by accident," Karl answered, wishing to hide the fact that he had been banished. "I was hunting near the edge of Karanga when a windstorm came up, and I was blown miles into the desert. When I finally landed, I could see mountains in the west, so I headed toward them on foot. After many days I arrived here."

  "And where is your kitewing now? Did you leave it on the desert?" Athgar asked.

  Karl shook his head. "No Karangan would leave his wing behind. I have it. Its up there." Karl pointed to the ridge high above the village.

  The jaw muscles in Athgars cheeks tightened as he stared at the spot Karl had pointed out. He looked back at Karl with a frown, and Karl felt he was being examined under Athgars stern eye. "You've told us a tale beyond belief, but thieves will say anything to avoid punishment. To prove your story, you will go under guard and retrieve this kitewing. If you've told us the truth, I will not deliver you to the Hrithdon. But if you've lied to us, you will probably fill a lizards belly before sundown."

  A short while later, Karl was climbing up the mountain with a half dozen sturdy shepherds, who guarded him as if they were protecting a lamb from the wolves. To Karl's relief, his wing was exactly where he had left it. Soon they were back in the village, and he was setting up in front of Athgar and an audience of amazed shepherds. The morning sunlight blazed on the bright orange and yellow Asti pattern dyed into the wings smooth surface.

  Athgar walked around the kitewing, examining it admiringly. "I no longer doubt your story. But for reasons of my own, I want to see you fly."

  Surprised, Karl looked up and Athgar caught his eye. The older man's strong gaze held him and seemed to tell him many things. To Karl there was some memory of Bron in Athgars look.

  "Karangan," the village leader continued, "I want your promise that you will not use this opportunity to escape."

  For a moment Karl hesitated, but then he nodded his assent. Athgar stepped back, and Karl g
ot into the harness of his kitewing. He walked over to the edge of the steep meadow that fell away from the village. The heated valley air was rising up the slope from far below, and he knew that there would be an abundance of thermals. With a few running steps Karl launched himself and glided down across the meadow, hardly a foot above the grass. Then, pulling up sharply to miss the stone wall at the bottom, he soared out into the mountain air.

  Free! He was free! He would not be tied up or ordered about any longer. It would be a simple matter to circle back to the ridge and pick up his hunting kit, which was still hidden in the bushes. Then he would push far, far to the west until he had left this land of shepherds and lizard riders behind.

  As he found a thermal and began riding it higher and higher, Karl remembered his promise to Athgar not to escape. But he had been a captive, he reminded himself, and a promise made under those circumstances wasn't a real promise. Athgar might decide to take his wing and turn him over to the Hrithdon anyway in order to save fifty sheep from the village tax. But as Karl remembered the look that Athgar had given him, he realized that perhaps he was being put to a test, that if he broke his word and flew away, he might not fare so well. And something in Athgar's gaze had reminded Karl of Bron. Like Bron, Athgar was giving Karl a chance to prove himself. Karl decided to return. He did not know what Athgar was going to do, but he was willing to take a chance and find out.

  Reaching the top of the thermal, Karl rolled off into a steep spiral, which he then straightened out into a dive. A few hundred feet below, the villagers watched him intently. Picking up speed, Karl pulled his wing up into a loop. As he came out of it, pointing at the ground again, he could see the astonished expressions below. He dove straight at the crowd and swooped over their heads. Then he pulled up and around and floated back slowly to land a few feet from where he had taken off.