Jake pushed a body over on its back with his foot. ?Knifers,? he said, pointing a bare toe at two long-healed zigzag scars on the dead man?s cheek like parallel thunderbolts, evidently some tribal mark.?Shig-man?s boys, all three bunches got together fer dis. Bettuh we git outta here.?

One of the others snorted.?Runs allem till dark-dark aftah dis comin?.?

They?ll still be running at sundown tomorrow, Rudi translated mentally.

Jake shrugged.?Mays they come back. Tuk, Samul, git gowin.?

The other two Southsiders had a family resemblance to their leader, save that one was naturally dark brown of skin with tight-curled hair and broader features and the other pale blond. The ragged blankets all three had thrown over their saddle bows were probably their only other garments, and their bare feet were broad, callused enough that they likely went so always unless the weather was freezing. As the leader spoke, his companions were collecting any weapons worth having and making sure of the enemy wounded.

Rudi grimaced slightly to himself. That was sometimes needful, but never pleasant-much harder than killing in the white-hot savagery of battle. He noticed with relief that the wild-men were going about it with a rough mercy, taking care to make the final stroke as quick as possible. The sounds of agony died down into an echoing silence. ?Youze got free of our turf,? Jake went on to the Mackenzie clansmen.?Come Southside fires anytime y? want, sit down?nd put a hand in the pot like a Freedom Fighter stud.?

Rudi had to strain for a moment to understand the words through a thick accent, harsh and slurred and nasal at the same time, that turned these into deeze and are into ur. ?My thanks to you, Jake son of Jake,? he said, slowly and clearly. ?My name?s Rudi Mackenzie, of the Clan Mackenzie; my sept totem is Raven. This is my blade-brother and sworn man Edain Aylward Mackenzie, called the Archer, of the Wolf sept. And you saved my life with that last spear-cast, as well, so I?m thinkin? we?re even, so.?