Blade saw that its course was going to bring it right opposite him. He unslung the crossbow, dropped a bolt into place, and had it cocked and raised by the time the elk was in range. Sighting carefully for a head shot-he didn't trust anything else to bring down such a large animal-he counted to three, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.
The elk stopped as if it had run into a stone wall. Then it shook its head, and for a moment Blake feared he'd shot only a glancing blow. As he snatched another bolt from his belt he saw the elk stagger, then topple sideways so violently that part of its antler broke off. As he finished reloading, the elk gave a final twitch, then lay still.
It was a minute or so before anyone on the far bank noticed either Blade or his work. They were all standing around the hunter who'd let the elk through, or else guarding the dead elk from the Bigfeet. Blade used this time to quickly disassemble his crossbow. He didn't want to take the chance of arousing anyone's suspicions. At last someone looked along the bank and saw the last elk lying dead for no apparent reason. He did a perfect double-take and started looking around frantically for his gods only knew what. It was then that he saw the tall man standing on the far bank of the river. He started waving his spear and let out a screech that sounded to Blade like a cat with its tail caught in a door.
The others promptly did the same. Blade held out both hands, palms outward, in the standard gesture of peace. As long as the hunters were only waving their spears instead of throwing them, Blade was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. Even if they did start throwing, the closest man was a good fifty yards away.
Eventually several of the hunters put down their spears and matched Blade's gesture. One who appeared to be in command pointed upstream, then pointed at himself and the men around him. Blade assumed he was indicating a way to cross the river, so he picked up his bow and told Cheeky to climb aboard.
They reached a ford about half a mile downstream, clearly marked by water boiling white around half-submerged rocks. Blade was glad the river was no more than knee deep here, since the water was icy cold and flowing fast.
Three of the hunters met him on the other bank, all with loinguards and daggers. Seen close up, they looked even more like American Indians. They didn't look too well fed-not exactly starved, but with no fat on their lean and sinewy frames. They also smelled as if they hadn't bathed since the day they were born.
The hunters were silent and impassive all the way back to the main party. Blade began to wonder how he was going to be able to communicate in the local language if they didn't say anything!
Normally the transition into Dimension X affected Blade's brain so that he understood the local language as English and the natives understood his English words as their tongue. This phenomenon probably had something to do with telepathy, and certainly Blade would have been dead a good many times over without it. He was good at learning languages, but not that good.
By the time they got back to the main party, the two riders who'd chased the elk up the canyon were back, triumphantly waving bloody lances. Everyone else was busily at work, skinning and cutting up the carcasses into manageable chunks. Off to one side, a pile of guts and bones grew steadily.
The man who'd seemed in command came up to Blade, walked around him several times, then sniffed at him like a dog. He said nothing, but Blade could make out enough of the conversation among the hunters to know he'd be able to understand the local language as well as ever. That didn't mean he could understand what it was they were talking about, but that was always a separate problem.
Finally the leader frowned. «Are you of the Idol Makers?»
Blade shrugged. It was his habit in new Dimensions to go along with whatever story was suggested to him. «I have not seen your Idol, so I do not know if it is the work of my people or not. It would not be lawful for me to look upon your Idol without your leave.»
This show of respect for their taboos went over well. The chief smiled and nodded. «This is so. Indeed, you would need more than my leave to look upon the Idol. The Wise One of the Rutari must look upon you first.»
«Will you take me before the Wise One?»
The chief laughed. «I think she would have me thrown to the Great Hunters if I did otherwise. There is great magic in you; your weapons-magic is powerful. The Wise One seeks to know all she can of magic, wherever it comes from or whatever its purpose, and she will want to know if your magic is good or evil.»
«Then she deserves her name.»
At this point the chief seemed to notice Cheeky for the first time, peering over Blade's shoulder. He raised a hand in an obvious gesture to ward off evil spirits, and several of the hunters raised their spears. Before anything more could happen, an earsplitting burst of squeals, roars, and, growls made conversation impossible.
The Bigfeet-the Great Hunters-were feeding. Turned loose on the pile of bones and entrails, they were squabbling over the tidbits, punching each other, cracking bones for the marrow, and throwing away anything they didn't want. The chief led Blade away from the Great Hunters until they could talk without shouting or being hit by flying bits of elk gut.
«Is that a-a First Friend, like the Wise One's Moyla?» the chief asked, pointing to Cheeky.
«Again, I cannot say. Certainly I had other friends before I met Cheeky, but we are close and do each other much honor. He is part of my magic, and I am part of his.»
«Then indeed he is very like Moyla,» said the chief. He seemed to hesitate. «Is there a name I may call you, that will give away none of your magic?»
«Among my people there is no magic in a name alone,» said Blade. «So my true name is my only name. Call me Blade.»
«To give away your true name and not fear losing much of your magic must mean that the magic of your people must be as strong as that of the Idol Makers, even if you are not of them,» said the chief. «Will you forgive me if I do not do the same?»
«Certainly,» said Blade. «You have no reason to trust me that much.»
The chief laughed. «I have a very good reason to trust you.» He pointed downstream to where Blade's kill lay. «Whatever else may be said of your magic, it has done good work for the Rutari this day.»
«I thank you,» said Blade. As he'd expected, he'd got off on the right foot with these people-the Rutari? — by adding meat to the tribal larder. Hunting peoples never had so much food that a little help in getting more didn't go over well.
«You may call me Teindo,» said the chief. «Now, do you know the art of dressing out one of the Red-Horns, or may one of our hunters aid you? If there is shame-?»
«There is no shame in admitting that my magic does not tell me how to do everything,» said Blade. «In my own land I have hunted ones like the Red-Horns, but not the same. I would not waste the meat or the hide of the Rutari's Red-Horns out of mere pride.»
«You are long past your first kill, I can tell,» said Teindo. «Are you a Blue Hunter of your people?»
«No,» said Blade. «Hunting is not my true work. My work is to travel to distant lands and seek out the wisdom of the people living there.»
«Giving them something in return, of course?» said Teindo. He was still smiling, but his eyes were suddenly hard.
«Of course. I said I was a traveler, not a thief.» Teindo laughed. Then Blade continued. «I can travel faster and farther if I gather my own food as I go. I was taught by the Blue Hunters of my people, though I am not one of them. «
At a signal from Teindo, a young naked hunter, one of the Red Hunters, stepped forward. Blade signaled Cheeky to hop down, unslung his pack, and started taking off his own clothes. Dressing out big game was a messy job, he had few changes of clothing, and the nearest laundry was a long way off.