The Elstani had found a way of flying like birds, or at least floating down from the cliffs above the Kettle of the Winds like leaves from a tall tree. As they came, they dropped fire among the rolghas, who were going mad with fear. From what Efroin had seen and heard, at least two thousand were already dead or crippled, or had run off beyond any hope of getting them back.

However, if they could save the rest, the army might survive to fight another day. That day might not come this year, but it would come. So Efroin ran back and forth through the camp, until someone was able to saddle and bridle a rolgha for him. Then he continued his work mounted, surrounded by a slowly increasing band of guards. He hadn't pulled on his armor before he mounted, in order not to be slowed down. Now he couldn't take the time, at least not until he no longer had to be everywhere at once. If only Tressana were here!

Efroin rode from the ford to the corral wall and back again, shouting orders for the rolghas to be saddled as fast as possible, for a party of mounted men to go out and ride down the Elstani bird-men who were landing on this side of the river, for another party to support the patrol at the ford.

«Lord Efroin, could I take some of your men to the ford?» asked one noble when he heard this last order. Efroin nodded. He knew that the noble wanted men to help him seize the glory of defending the ford, but didn't care. If the ford was defended, the glory did not matter, and certainly he could spare the men. He waved to the thirty-odd men on his left and watched them ride off after the noble.

His rolgha was beginning to cough from the smoke. He reined in between two tents and dismounted to look for some water. Then a man stepped out from behind the tent. He was naked, dark-skinned, and held a short spear. With more irritation than fear, Efroin recognized an Elstani prisoner. Were they escaping in the confusion?

Then suddenly the spear was not in the Elstani's hand, but sticking out of Efroin's stomach. He looked down at it, then at his remaining guards as they ran past him to cut the Elstani to ribbons. He let his rolgha go. After a moment he felt a dull ache in his stomach, and realized that his feet wouldn't go where he wanted them to.

Then his world was torn apart in pain, and he heard nothing except screams that he vaguely recognized as his own.

Chapter 21

Blade knew he'd have problems soaring, even with the rising wind, unless he stayed in the updraft along the face of the cliffs. The sun hadn't been up long enough to create thermals from heated rocks on the ground. As long as he stayed close to the cliffs, though, he would be flying a thin line between stalling out at high altitude and crashing into the rock.

Blade made three complete circles in the updraft, twice skimming within a few feet of disaster. He lost only a hundred feet of altitude, but found it hard to pay attention to what was happening below. Fortunately the wind was still blowing the veil of smoke away, so when he could look down he could see fairly clearly. The Jaghdi were scurrying around frantically, but they also seemed to be getting at least some of their rolghas under control.

Then the pilots with unlighted pots started going off the cliffs and dropping their loads. Blade watched the blue flames flare up in a dozen new places every minute. The gamble of dropping the pots unlighted seemed to be paying off. The smoke rose faster than the wind could carry it away, and so did the unmistakable smell of burning flesh. Blade hoped it was rolghas rather than men.

Blade stopped looking down, and instead looked across the river. Some of the woodcutters were moving up to the ford, but not enough to hold it if the Jaghdi really tried to break out. The Elstani would need all the woodcutters and most of the refugees, formed into a battle line.

Time to go on down himself and take command on the ground. The battle was half won, but the second half was going to be much more complicated and dangerous than the first half unless the Jaghdi completely lost their nerve. So far they hadn't shown enough signs of doing that. He swung his glider into a gentle turn until its nose was pointing toward the river, then straightened out.

As Blade straightened out, he heard a distinct pop, just a little louder than the sigh of the wind or the muted uproar from the ground a thousand feet below. Blade waited until the glider was completely set on its course for the river, then cautiously turned his head from side to side. He saw that some of the cloth was pulling loose from the left-hand reed spar. The stitching must have been faulty. Fortunately the Elstani cloth was much stiffer than anything used in Home Dimension gliders. It should hold its shape well enough to keep him safely in the air for a while.

He was still on the horns of a nasty dilemma. Should he lose altitude fast and risk more strain on the stitching? Or should he let the glider descend naturally and risk its coming unstitched high in the air? He decided to risk a natural descent. Until he got over the river, it didn't matter if the glider collapsed at five hundred feet or at fifty. He'd hit the ground much too hard from either height. Blade settled down to steering the straightest course he could, to put the least strain on the stitching from any more maneuvering.

He heard several more pops as the glider bumped and jolted its way over the camp. The sun wasn't creating updrafts yet, but the fires were now hot enough to do so and getting hotter every minute.

By the time Blade was out of the updrafts, enough stitching was gone so that his glider was losing a serious amount of lift. He still had enough control to fly a straight course, but he was sinking rapidly. It was like being on an immense escalator sliding down through the sky. Before he'd covered half the distance between the camp and the river, Blade knew he was never going to reach the riverbank. That wouldn't have bothered him so much if he hadn't seen Jaghdi cavalry riding out of the camp to sweep their bank of the river clean of surviving glider pilots.

If there'd been any large band of gliders visible, Blade might have steered for it. As it was, the pilots who hadn't made it to the river were scattered across nearly two miles of ground. Once a glider was down, it was every man for himself.

So Blade kept his glider on a straight course, trying only to stay out of bowshot of the ground. He didn't entirely succeed-one Jaghd put an arrow through the right corner of the glider. In spite of this, Blade was able to bring his glider down to a safe landing at least fifty yards from the nearest enemy.

He lay down as his glider collapsed around him, then shifted position carefully. Now he could see the nearest Jaghdi and also be ready to get up in a hurry. The four riders were sitting motionless on their rolghas. The smoke was now drifting out over the flatlands thickly enough to make it hard to judge distances.

Blade took only shallow breaths to keep from coughing from the smoke. If all of the riders came over at once, he'd be in trouble. But if one or two came over, and got close enough

A rolgha neighed as its rider dug in spurs and turned its head toward Blade. The Jaghd pulled his lance out of the saddle bucket but didn't lower it all the way to striking position. Blade lay still, not even blinking as the enemy trotted toward him. The Jaghd reined in just out of lance-reach. He studied Blade, who tried to keep his eyes unfocused and take the shallowest possible breaths. Then the Jaghd made his rolgha step sideways, leaned out of the saddle, and thrust his lance down at Blade.

Instantly Blade snapped himself up to a sitting position and gripped the shaft of the lance at the same time. The Jaghd neither straightened up nor let go of his lance fast enough. Blade tightened his grip and pulled. The Jaghd lost his balance, fell headfirst out of the saddle, and broke his neck.