The murgu were close, the dust cloud now roiling up from the last valley that the sammads had climbed. Kerrick stretched full length behind the trunk of the large tree, the hèsotsan resting on a fallen branch. The grass on the slope swayed as the breeze moved across it. A flock of birds rose up from the grass and winged overhead. The rumble, like distant thunder, grew louder.

A row of dark forms came suddenly into view on top of the ridge, moving slowly but steadily. Kerrick lay motionless, pressed to the ground, aware of the rapid thudding of his heart.

The riding beasts were large, looking a bit like epetruk, striding forward on their thick hind legs, heavy tails swishing through the grass behind. Each of them had a Yilanè rider straddling its forequarters. Now they paused, looking up at the slope and the trees beyond. Waiting there as the rumbling grew louder.

Kerrick gasped as the crest of the ridge darkened with the running figures, low beasts with too many legs. They stopped as well, milled about, armed fargi on their backs. Four legs to a side, eight in all. Tiny heads on thick necks. Raised and bred to carry, to bring the fargi here, more and more of them all of the time. They surged and crowded each other — then started ahead.

The wind blew from them, carrying the cries of the Yilanè, the loud hammer of feet, shrill animal screams, the sour, bestial smell of the creatures.

Closer and closer, looming high, coming forward along the track straight towards the handful of hunters hidden beneath the trees. Every detail of their spotted hides was now clear, the fargi clutching their weapons and blinking out through the dust, the Yilanè on their larger mounts forging ahead.

Herilak’s warbling cry was small against the loud thunder of the attackers.

The first death-sticks cracked out.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kerrick fired at the nearest Yilanè, missed, but hit her mount instead. The creature reared up — then fell heavily. The rider dropped to the ground, unhurt, aiming her hèsotsan. Kerrick’s next dart caught her in the neck and she crumpled into the grass.

It was a slaughter. The first row of attackers fell before the concentrated fire from the trees. Many of the lumbering, eight-legged beasts were hit, dropped as well, spilling the fargi from their backs to the ground. Those few that kept coming forward were killed well before they reached the line of trees. The survivors fell back, became entangled with the riders who were still coming forward. The darts flew into the jumbled mass and the bodies piled higher. The attack stumbled to a halt, encumbered by the dead, the air filled with the pained cries of wounded fargi crushed beneath the fallen beasts.

Orders were being called out now by mounted Yilanè grouped to the rear of the attackers. Under their direction the fargi struggled to seek cover, to fire back. Kerrick lowered his own weapon to listen, understanding some of what was being said. One of the riders rode free of the attackers, calling for attention, issuing orders. Kerrick raised his hèsotsan but saw that she was carefully staying out of range. Her voice was clearly heard now, making order out of chaos. It was clear to Kerrick as well.

He froze. Eyes wide, hands clenched and muscles locked. That voice. He knew that voice.

But Vaintè was dead, he had killed her himself. Stabbed deep. Killed her. She was dead.

Yet it was undeniably her voice; loud and commanding.

Kerrick leaped to his feet, trying to see her clearly, but she was facing away from him. Then, as she was turning back in his direction, he was hit hard in the back, tumbled to the ground, dragged back into cover. Darts rustled in the leaves around him. Herilak released him, sought cover himself.

“It was her,” Kerrick said, his voice tight with the effort. “The one I killed, the sammadar of all the murgu. But I killed her, you saw me.”

“I saw you stab a marag. They can be very hard to kill.”

Still alive. There was no doubt. Still alive. Kerrick shook his head and lifted the hèsotsan. There was no time to think about that now. Unless he could kill her again. Still alive. He forced his thoughts back to the battle.

So far few darts had been fired by the attackers, so sudden and overwhelming had been the disaster. But now they found shelter behind the bodies of their dead and began to fire back; the leaves rustled and stirred at the impact of the numberless darts.

“Don’t expose yourself!” Herilak called out. “Stay down. Wait until they attack.”

The Yilanè who had survived the first charge now kept their large tarakast safely behind the mass of uruktop and fargi. There were loud cries as they ordered the attack to be pressed home. Reluctantly, the fargi rose and ran forward, died. The attack was broken even before it began.

“We stopped them,” Herilak said with rich satisfaction, looking out at the corpse-strewn slope. “We can hold them.”

“Not for too long,” Kerrick said, pointing down the hill. “When they attack from the sea they use a formation called the outstretched-arms. They go out to both sides, then come in behind. I think they are doing that now.”

“We can stop that.”

“For a little while. But I know their strategy. They will attack on a wider and wider front until they turn our flanks. We must be ready.”

Kerrick was correct. The fargi climbed down from the eight-legged uruktop and spread across the face of the hill, coming forward slowly. They died — but more were ordered up behind them. The slaughter was great, but the Yilanè commanders did not care. More and still more fargi advanced, sheltering behind the dead, some even reaching the edge of the forest before they fell.

It was midafternoon when the first fargi found protection among the trees. Others joined them and the Tanu defenders had to draw back.

A different, yet equally deadly, battle now began. Few of the fargi had any experience in woodcraft. When they left their cover death usually sought them out. Yet still they advanced. There was no front to the battle any more, hunters and hunted mixed together in the gloom beneath the trees.

Kerrick fell back with the others, the pain in his leg almost gone now, trying to keep the bulk of the trees between himself and the fargi. Yet when he straightened up there was a sharp crack and a dart hit the bark of the tree close to his face. He spun about, his spear ready in his left hand, sinking it into the fargi who had come up behind him, wrenching it free then hurrying deeper into the forest.

The retreat began again. Whispered commands started the mastodons along the escape route, the hunters gathered behind them and guarding their backs. There were other, harsher commands being called through the forest now and Kerrick stopped, cupping his hand to his ear. He listened carefully, then turned and ran back through the trees to find Herilak.

“They are withdrawing,” Kerrick said. “Without seeing them I can’t be sure of everything that they are saying, but there are bits of it I could make out.”

“Are they retreating, beaten?”

“No.” Kerrick looked up at the darkening sky above the trees. “It will be night soon. They are regrouping in the open. They will attack again in the morning.”

“And we will be long gone. Let us now fall back and join the sammads.”

“There is one thing that must be done first. We must search the forest, find as many of the death-sticks as we can. Then we can leave.”

“You are right. Death-sticks and more darts. We have fired too many.”

Night had fallen by the time they had searched out the weapons and returned with them to the sammads. Kerrick was the last. He stood looking back down the slope until Herilak called after him. He waved the big hunter to him, pointing.

“Let the others return with the weapons. I want both of us to get closer to the murgu camp. They don’t like the dark. Perhaps there is something that we can do there.”