Kit nodded, pleased that she was finally able to admit she lacked knowledge or skills she needed. "That's all right. Lots of city kids don't. As for respecting animals, there isn't a hunter alive that doesn't respect hell out of major predators. And most hunters respect game animals, too. It's a different mindset, maybe, from what you're used to, but the respect is genuine. Now ... if you plan on stepping through unexplored gates, you'd better know how to forage off the land. Not to mention knowing how to keep local four-footed critters from having you as a light snack between meals. So we'll start you on hunting techniques to get you ready for your first attempt at catching your own food."
"Okay."
"Just remember one thing: try to avoid putting fourfooted creatures on some moral pedestal that bears no resemblance whatsoever to reality. Misjudging animal behavior and motives does the animal no favors and can be fatal to you. I think," he stood up, "I'll head back upstairs now. You're making good progress," he allowed, "but you still have a lot of work ahead of you. Ann, thanks. I'll see you at dinner, Margo. Meet me at the Delight."
"Really?" Margo's face lit up.
"Yes, really," he grinned. "See you this evening."
As he left the range, he heard Ann saying, "Now, this is a very early type of firearm called a pole gun ... ."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Margo was on her way to the Delight when the bones behind her ears began to ache. She frowned and peered toward the nearest chronometer for the scheduled gate postings. "London ... Primary ... Rome ... Denver..." She ran down the whole list, but nothing was due to open. The sensation worsened.
"Oh, no, not again ..."
'Eighty-sixers began to converge. Margo decided she'd better skedaddle, post-haste. She put on a burst of speed-and propelled herself straight through a black rent in the air that appeared smack in front of her. She screamed and plunged through the gate before she could halt her forward momentum. She had a brief, tunnel-vision view of a broad, silver river in flood stage, long low banks that sloped gently up to what appeared to be a vast flat plain, and a walled city. A two-part fortified bridge with a tower spanned the river. Standing at the crest of a low, open hill, the city clearly commanded a strategic position overlooking the river. Twin spires of a white stone cathedral were visible above the city walls. Between Margo and the walls ...
It looked like a battle.
Then she was through the gate. Margo stumbled right into the thick of it. Men in medieval-looking armor hacked at one another with swords. Horsemen on heavy chargers rode down men on foot. Volleys of arrows fell like black rain, pinioning anything unfortunate enough to be under them. A man right in front of her screamed and clutched at a steel crossbow shaft that appeared from nowhere and embedded itself in his chest armor. He went down with a terrible cry and was trampled by a screaming warhorse. Blood and mud and screams of dying men and wounded horses spattered her from all sides.
Her gaze focused abruptly on a man who'd skidded to a halt right in front of her. Wide, shocked eyes took her measure. He's younger than I am .....e carried several sheaves of arrows like firewood under his left arm, a bow slung across his back, and a wicked knife in his other hand. He said something and lunged, knife held loosely in an overconfident grip. She whipped around, right side to him, then seized his wrist and yanked forward on it while turning into him. His elbow straightened across her hip. He yelled in pain. Margo kept the elbow forcibly straight and kicked his near ankle with a sweeping blow. She jerked him forward at the same instant. His face slammed into the ground. The knife popped loose.
Thank God. Margo whirled, looking for the gate.
And found an older, far stronger man charging right at her, wild-eyed. He swung a massive wooden maul at least four feet long straight over his head, ready to crush her skull. Margo screamed and ran. The gate pulsed unevenly ahead of her. Two men crashed into her path, slashing at one another with long swords. Margo dodged past and hurtled toward the gate. Then risked a glance over her shoulder. The madman with the maul was still back there.
He snarled something that sounded like Shaun Dark! Shaun Dark! A heavily armored horsemen nearby jerked around at his shout-and charged him. The rider's shouts made no sense at all. Margo put on a burst of speed. She could just see the Commons as the gate shivered inward and outward again, a quivering hole in the light.
Don't close-oh, God, don't close yet-
Margo dove through to safety. And found herself running down a corridor, straight for a concrete wall. The wild-eyed right behind her, chased by a suddenly panic stricken horse. She heard the animals scream of terror as she turned and flattened against cold concrete.
The soldier charged, wooden maul right over his head, ready to strike. Trapped on either side by milling, confused tourists, Margo saw only one way out. She ran at him. Margo lunged with both hands at the butt of the maul handle. Her double-handed blow connected, jarring her to the elbows. The heavy wooden mallet popped loose and clattered on the concrete. The badly startled soldier crashed full-tilt into the concrete wall. He staggered back, dizzy and confused, just as the armored rider came loose from his terrified horse. The animal bucked and shrilled a trumpeting cry. The rider landed with a heavy clang on the concrete floor.
He rolled and came awkwardly to his feet, surprising hell out of Margo. Good grief, they could move around in that armor ... He took one look at Commons through a slitted visor then broke and ran back through the gate without his horse.
The charger reared again, caught sight of the open gate and shied away. A ten-year-old girl in a Frontier Town long skirt tripped directly in its path. Margo reacted without thinking. She grabbed the charger's trailing reins. Margo dug in and hauled its head around just before it could trample the child. The horse screamed savagely and reared to full height. Margo swore and dodged murderous hooves. Someone else grabbed for the bridle and missed. Margo lunged and grabbed the bridle by the cheek strap-and learned why war horses were so valuable.
The bit was a wicked affair, with long, pointed steel shafts on either side. The horse reared with her, hauling her off the floor. Then it gave a nasty toss of its head. Margo lost her grip on the bridle. She came loose, falling backwards and flailing for balance. The horse eyes gleaming wickedly-raked that damned bit straight down her arm, catching her thigh for good measure on the way down.
She impacted the concrete floor with a muffled cry of pain.
Someone else snatched the trailing reins, forcing it around before it could strike with murderous hooves.
"Head it into the gate!- someone yelled.
"My God, do you know what that horse would be worth to a guide? Let me try to control him!" In a blur, Margo watched a man leap into the saddle. The horse sunfished, screaming savagely. The rider came adrift with a yell. The warhorse ended facing the pulsing gate. Someone much smarter gave the animal a mighty smack on the hind quarters. It bolted straight through and vanished into the melee beyond. The gate shrank rapidly closed within seconds.
A disturbance somewhere behind them caught Margo's attention. She turned her head to look
Oh, shit ...
That wild-eyed soldier hadn't gone back through. Clad in woolen hose, pointed leather shoes, and a quilted leather tunic to which metal plates had been sewn, he was facing down the crowd with that heavy wooden maul of his. Blood snaked downward from his nose and a cut on his brow. An empty quiver for arrows and a bow at least five-and-a-half feet tall lay on the floor.