The single shot managed to fry two of the Derrits and bum the leg of a third. Those monsters who were still alive stayed back in the mine.
Moments later, Gallen hurried up to Orick and the others, sweat dripping from his face, fresh blood spattered all across his robes. Behind him, the plasma fires from his rifle were still burning.
“They had a guard,” Gallen said, shaking his head, stopping to catch his breath. He glanced back. “They sure don’t like the incendiary rifle. Too bad we have only one shot left.”
“Maybe this little display will have them thinking better about following our trail,” Orick said hopefully.
Ceravanne shook her head. “Derrits are not easily dismayed, and they are a cunning people. They will try to outwit us.”
Gallen merely grunted. “They will have to catch us first,” he said and set off at a run.
That afternoon their trail took them through a land of broken hills, a wild land, with little game in it. They did see some rabbits from time to time, and once they saw three dark wolves fading away into the shadows under some trees.
Gallen and the women were wilting from lack of food and from the fast pace, so Orick made it his job to find something edible. Often that day, he imagined himself in Gallen’s shoes, playing the hero. But he wasn’t Gallen, he realized, and food is what they were lacking now.
While Gallen watched for wingmen and Derrits, Orick watched for mushrooms and pine cones, wild onions and berries. So it was that he managed to scrounge some snacks on the run, and near sunset, as he crossed a large stone bridge over the river, he smelled wild blackberries, and led the others upriver a hundred yards to a patch of berries that hung thick from the vines.
They picked what they could, stuffing as many berries as possible into their mouths, and when they set off again a few minutes later, it was with renewed vigor.
At dusk the road left the riverbanks and began to meander up through some dark hills, thick with scrub and the stone ruins of old buildings.
Gallen kept them running till well after dark. Clouds were blowing in, and it looked as if it would rain.
An hour after sundown, they topped a rise and found themselves once again on a high canyon wall. Gallen called the others together for a council.
“If I guess right,” he said, “the Derrits cannot be far behind us. We can either leave the road now and try to hide, or we can hope that the bridge is down at Farra Kuur, and try to fend them off there. Either plan may fail, so I ask you, which do you prefer?”
Orick looked down the cliff toward the river, then looked up at the sky. Their trail was still fresh, and the rains had not come yet, and might not come for hours. To run in hopes that the Derrits would lose their scent seemed foolhardy. Yet the path ahead was unknown. What if the bridge wasn’t down, or what if it had been destroyed over the centuries? What if Derrits also lived in this fortress? There seemed to be no easy solution.
“The river here is not as wide as it was last night in the woods, and there are fewer places to hide,” Ceravanne said. “You still have one shot for your rifle, and the Derrits will be loath to charge us so long as you wield that weapon. I think we should go ahead.”
“I’m not sure,” Orick grumbled. “How long could the bridges last at Farra Kuur before they weather away? At least if we leave the road now, we know what kind of a mess we’ve gotten ourselves into!”
Gallen looked at Maggie, who just shrugged.
“Farra Kuur, I vote, then,” Gallen said. “Even if we get backed into a corner, the road behind us offers little room for the Derrits to maneuver. I think that up there, I might be able to hold them off until morning.”
He nodded ahead, and Orick worried. Gallen had slept only lightly the night before. He was in no shape for battle. Still, Gallen had six thousand years of experience on this world, and Orick had but a few weeks. Orick had to bow to Gallen’s wisdom.
They ran then. Blackberry vines crossed the road under their feet, attesting to the fact that even the game did not use this road as a trail, and as they ran, a burrow owl glided ahead before them, watching for any mice that they might disturb.
The moons were up enough so that they shed some wan light, and the four of them ran with their hearts, until at last they rounded a bend and saw a huge cliff face jutting out from the arm of the mountains, with broken towers crumbling along its rim, and all of the towers were riddled with dark holes that once had been windows. It was difficult at first to see much else, for the moonlight shone only on the upper towers, while the valley before them was in shadow, but the towers looked almost like living things, like giants tall and ready for battle, and Orick realized that indeed the whole face of the cliff was sculpted with their images. Four giants, their eyes hollowed out by age, their great beards hanging down to their belts, stood ready with huge axes in their hands, ever vigilant, ever ready for battle. Orick’s eyes focused on those images.
As they ran, Gallen shouted in triumph, “The bridge is down! Hurry across!”
Behind them Orick heard the roar of Derrits.
Gallen spun about and shouted at Maggie, “Take the light. I’ll hold them off!” He passed her the globe from his pocket.
Maggie squeezed the glow globe, and its bright white light flooded over the ridge. Then Ceravanne and Maggie rushed headlong, running faster than before, their stained cloaks flapping in the breeze, carrying a piece of the sun in their hand as they raced toward the dark tower.
Orick stayed beside Gallen. It was dark, with a thin blanket of clouds above, but not too dark for a bear to see by.
The Derrits were rushing uphill toward them in a disorganized pack, growling and hissing. They moved at a loping pace, sometimes lurching forward on their knuckles more than their feet, yet they moved at an incredible speed, so that a span of road that had taken Orick twenty minutes to cross took the giants only two. In the darkness, the Derrits’ crude gait reminded Orick of nothing so much as that of an otter, with its head bobbing down and up as it ran. He counted seventeen of the brutes.
Yet when they were a hundred yards away, Gallen shouted at them. “Siisum, gasht! Gasht!”
The Derrits stopped, and stood gazing at Gallen and Orick. The ones in front would not move forward, but those in the back came inching up, shoving the others aside to get a look at the prey.
“Siisum s gasht! Ooongu s gasht!” Gallen shouted, and his voice was a snarling roar that mimicked that of the Derrits.
One of the Derrits called out to Gallen quizzically, a sound of grunts and snarls, yet Orick was sure that he heard words mingled in that growling.
“I told them to stop or die,” Gallen said. “But their leader says that we are warriors of great power, and they want to eat us, to gain our power, so that even in our deaths our power will live on in them. He says that he will not be hungry for me, however, if I only give him you and a woman to eat.”
Orick snarled and stood up on his hind feet. “Siisum a gasht!” he growled.
The Derrits lurched forward a step, as if angered, and Gallen fired his last shot into the pack. The plasma arced up into the night, then dropped in a spray. The whole side of the cliff lit up like noonday, and some of the Derrits screamed and toppled off the road in their haste to escape while others roared and lurched, trying to brush the flaming magma from them. In the light, their yellow hides were suddenly revealed, the white flashing of their fangs.
“Gasht!” Gallen roared, and he held his rifle up menacingly.
Those Derrits who could rushed backward down the hill at full speed, but four of the tribe were either killed outright by the blast, or were burning slowly, or had already toppled over the cliff.
Orick and Gallen turned and headed back toward Farra Kuur, and by the wavering light of the plasma fires, Orick could now see the great stone bridge spanning the chasm ahead, with its ancient guard posts still intact.