(eng) P. C. Hodgell - Kencyrath 08 by The Gates of Tagmeth

Author:The Gates of Tagmeth [Tagmeth, The Gates of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter IX

A Lather of Yackcarn

Autumn 1—36

I

THE SNOW SOON MELTED and warmer weather returned in one last glorious burst of summer. The hillsides blazed as if splashed with sunset fire. Host trees cast their leaves up, veins flashing, to begin their southward migration. Above them honking gray geese and black swans spread their wings. Leaves already fallen rustled underfoot. Blades of cooler air slid through the moist, rich atmosphere, a promise of things to come.

Early on the morning of the autumnal equinox, Jame went out in search of Char. As she had expected, he was on the long slope opposite the keep, surrounded by cows, with Bene grazing nearby.

“Just look at them!” he said as she gingerly maneuvered through their ranks, around horns and haunches, between redolent cow-pies abuzz with flies. “I’ve seen stock about to calve who were smaller.”

A third of the herd did indeed look uncomfortably swollen, including Bene.

“I suppose it’s too late to ask Kells for an abortifacient,” said Jame.

“I should have thought of that earlier,” muttered Char, “but then I didn’t know what to expect until that blasted Merikit told us. Where is he, anyhow?”

“With Chingetai, who knows.”

Around them, one after another of the cows raised her head and stared toward the gorge above Tagmeth. Something huge was lumbering down the stairs that constituted the River Road at that level. It emerged from the mist as the foot of the cascades and paused to shake itself. Matted cords of black hair flew in a spray of diamond droplets.

“HUH,” it said, brandishing a four-foot span of horns and gnashing upper tusks against lower ones, all four as long as scimitars.

Then it trotted on, grunting with every stride.

The cows swung to follow the brute’s progress.

Someone on the other side of the keep gave a startled yelp, followed by a splash.

The cows swung back as another monster emerged from the spray. Trinity, it must be at least nine feet high at the shoulder. This one crossed the bridge to the New Road and lumbered down it.

“Squeee . . . huh!”

The yackcarn bull bolted out of the forest and galloped down toward the road, tail up, scrotum swinging so that he nearly tripped over it. He collided with the much larger newcomer, who knocked him down and plodded over him without missing a step.

“Poor bully,” said Jame. “They aren’t in season either.”

“What in Perimal’s name are those things?”

“Yackcarn cows. The fall migration must have started, late again. Quick. Run back to the keep and rouse our hunters, also horses, dogs, spears, bows . . .”

“Why?”

“More are probably coming. With luck—a lot of it—that’s our winter larder on the hoof.”

They both ran, Char turning right on the other side of the bridge, Jame left. Luckily, she didn’t encounter another yackcarn on the stair. It was odd, she thought, bounding up the slick steps, that the herd had made it so far south without scattering into the hills. Usually that happened between Kithorn and Tagmeth, so that most Riverland keeps weren’t even aware of it.

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