“Cantrul was a warrior—and as a warrior he entered on the long trail in a fitting fashion—taking a goodly number of the enemy with him. They have not yet raised up a new High Chief in his place.”
What else the Star Captain might have added was blotted out in a roll from the talking drums, a roll which wrung harsh echoes from the surrounding hills. And when those faded, Lanard edged forward, through he needs must lean upon the arm of his son to spare weight from a leg which was bandaged from knee to ankle.
“Ho—warriors!” His voice followed the drums’ beat in its force. “Here have we carried spears to a great killing and given the death birds a feast beyond the memory of our fathers’ fathers! From the south have we marched to this war and victory is ours. Our arrows have struck full upon their marks and our swords have been blooded to their hilts. Is this not so, my brothers?”
And out from the ranks of his tribe behind him came a low growl of agreement. Here and there some of the younger men cried the shrill war slogan of a family clan.
But from the ranks of the under chieftains in the mass of the Plainspeople arose another man and he answered with prideful words of his own:
“Lances bite as deep as swords, and the Plainsmen have never known fear of a fight. Death birds eat today from our providing also. We stand shame-filled in the sight of no man!”
Someone began the war song Fors had heard on his night of captivity among the tents. Hands were reaching for bows and lances. Fors got to his feet, forcing his body to obey his will. He pushed aside the hand the Star Captain put out to stay him.
“There is a fire breaking out here,” he said slowly. “If it comes to full flame it may eat us all up. Let me go—!”
But as he half staggered down the slope to the council fire, he sensed that the Star Captain was still at his back.
“You have foughtl”