The Iron Breed by Andre Norton

Author:Andre Norton [Norton, Andre]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781451638585
Amazon: 1451638582
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2013-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

2

The visitors had been in sight of the cave scouts since midafternoon, but their party did not file into their usual campsite until after nightfall. This was the alternate season when the western clans came to the caves. Next season Furtig's people would cross country for the Trials.

All the young unmated warriors who were to take part in the coming contests scattered along the in-road (unless their Elders managed to restrain them with other duties). Though it was ill mannered to stare openly at their guests, there was naught to prevent their watching the travelers from cover, making comparisons between their champions and those marching in the protect circle about the females and younglings, or, better still, catching glimpses of their Choosers.

But to Furtig none of those were as attractive as Fas-Tan of the cave of Formor. And his interest was more for probable rivals than for the prizes of battle the other tribe could display. Not, he reflected ruefully, that he had much chance of aspiring to Fas-Tan.

Through some trick of heredity which ran in her family, she had odd fur coloring which was esteemed, along with the length of that fur, as beauty. The soft fur about her head and shoulders was nearly three times the length of that sprouting from Furtig's own tougher hide, and it was of two colors—not spotted or patched as was often the case but a dark brown shading evenly to cream. Her tail, always groomed to a silken flow, was also dark. Many were the fish-bone combs patiently wrought and laid at the message rock to the fore of Formor's cave, intended by the hopeful to catch the eye of Fas-Tan. And to know that she used the work of one's clumsy hands was enough to make a warrior strut for a day.

Fas-Tan would certainly have first choice, and with her pride, her selection of mate would be he who proved himself best. Furtig had not the least chance of catching her golden eyes. But a warrior could dream, and he had dreamed.

Now another thought plagued him. Fal-Kan's revelations concerning the folly, almost the treachery of Gammage, hung in his mind. He found himself looking not at the females of the westerners, but at the fringe of warriors. Most had hunting claws swinging at their belts. However, Furtig's eyes marked at least three who did not wear those emblems of manhood, yet marched with the defenders. A warrior could gain his claws in two ways, since they no longer came from Gammage. He could put on those which had been his father's if his sire had gone into the Last Dark, or he could challenge a claw wearer and strive for a victory that would make them his.

Furtig's claws had been his father's. He had had to work patiently and long to hammer their fastenings to fit his own hands. If he were challenged tomorrow by one of the clawless and lost—He dropped his hand protectingly over the weapons at his belt.

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