The figures were immobile. They watched. They must have been aware of his approach long before he saw them. Curd stood his ground, and growled.
Without looking back, Aoz Roon motioned Eline Tal up to stand with him.
“Scumbing fuggies,” Eline Tal said, cheerfully enough.
“They hate water—the downpour may keep ’em safe where they are. Move steady.”
He set the pace, a slow walk forward, called Curd to heel.
He would not turn back or show he was afraid. The marsh might be impassable. Best to go up the hillside. Once at the crest—if the phagors let them get that far—they could ride away hard. He was unarmed, except for a dagger at his belt.
The two men moved forward shoulder to shoulder, the dog continuously snarling behind them. To gain the slope, they had to make an oblique approach to the crude building. Because of the murk, it was difficult to be sure of anything; it looked as if no more than five or six of the monsters crouched in the miserable shelter. Behind it stood two kaidaws, rattling their heads to shake away the rain, occasionally clashing horns; they were held by a slave, either human or protognostic, who stared at Aoz Roon and Eline Tal apathetically.
Perched on the roof of the building were two cowbirds, huddling together. Two more were on the ground, fighting over a pile of kaidaw droppings. A fifth, some way off, perched on a boulder, shredding and eating a small animal it had caught.
The phagors made no move.
The two parties were less than a stone’s throw away, and the hoxneys were already changing pace to accommodate the slope of the hillside, when Curd dashed from Grey’s side and ran towards the shelter, barking furiously.
Curd’s action precipitated the phagors forward. They rushed from shelter and charged to the attack. As so often, they seemed to need a prod before they could act, as if their nervous system was inert below a certain minimum level of stimulus. Seeing them run forward, Aoz Roon shouted a command, and he and Eline Tal spurred their mounts up the slope.
It was treacherous riding. The trees were young, no higher than a man, their foliage spreading from their crowns like umbrellas. It was necessary to ride with the head low. Underfoot, broken boulders formed a constant hazard for the hoxney’s paws. Grey and Drifter needed vigilant guidance to maintain anything like a pace.
Behind them came the sounds of pursuit. A spear flashed near them and embedded itself in the ground, but no others followed. More ominous was the noise of kaidaws coming up, and the throaty shouts of their riders. On level ground, a kaidaw could outrun a hoxney. Among the low trees, the larger animals were disadvantaged. Yet fast as Aoz Roon went, he could not shake off the pursuers. He and Eline Tal were soon cursing, and sweating as freely as their mounts.
They struck a patch where water streamed down the hillside. Aoz Roon took the chance to glance round. Two of the shaggy white monsters on their steeds were plunging up behind, each with an immense forearm raised in front of its skull, warding off the backward lash of branches. In their free hand, they carried spears against the flanks of the kaidaws, controlling the animals with their knees and horned feet. The unmounted phagors were doubling up the slope on foot, a long way behind, and no threat.
“The fuggers never give up,” Aoz Roon said. “Move, Grey, rot you!”
They plunged on, but the phagors gained.
The downpour faltered, then came on more heavily. It made no difference. The trees flung water as they rode by. The going underfoot was better, but the boulders became more frequent.
Now the two mounted phagors were within spear throw.
Grasping the reins tightly, Aoz Roon stood in the stirrups. He could see above the umbrella trees. Over to the left, the solid ranks of saplings were broken. With a shout for Eline Tal, Aoz Roon wheeled to the left, and for a while lost the phagors behind piles of boulders, the outlines of which seemed to flicker in the weight of the downpour.
They struck a trail of some kind and took it gratefully, spurring upward again. The trees became sparser on either side. Ahead, the ground fell away, subsiding in sluices of mud.
Even as the men felt a flush of hope and goaded on their animals to greater efforts, the pursuing phagors broke from the umbrella trees. Aoz Roon shook his fist and burst ahead. The great yellow dog rushed along, keeping pace by Grey’s side, never faltering.
Then it was downhill, with fine gravel underfoot. Ahead lay an entire melancholy landscape, studded with rajabarals, shuttered with trees, its strong verticals counterbalanced by a broad horizontal of water. All was depicted in subdued greens.
Through the midst of this vista wound a turbulent river, overflowing its limits to push out spurs among the stands of larch, creating a maze of reflection. More distantly, dark lines of trees stretched until curtains of haze obscured the sight. Clouds rolled across the sky, dimming the land, hiding the two interlocked sentinels.
Aoz Roon dashed a hand across his face, wiping away rain and sweat. He saw where greatest safety lay. In the river was an island, covered with stones and black- foliaged trees. If he and Eline Tal could get across to tha—and its nearer shores were not too distant from the riverbanks—they would be secure from the monsters.
He pointed ahead, shouting hoarsely.
At the same time, he became aware that he rode alone. He turned in the saddle, bracing himself for what he saw.
The bright horizontal stripes of Drifter flashed some way to his left. The animal was riderless, galloping aimlessly towards the river.
Back at the top of the slope, where the umbrellas trees ended, Eline Tal sprawled on the ground. The two shaggy warriors circled round him. One jumped down from his kaidaw. Eline Tal immediately kicked out at him, but the phagor picked him up with an enormous heave. A stain of red showed on Eline Tal’s shoulder—they had brought him out of his saddle with a spear. He struggled feebly; the phagor brought its horns down and prepared to use them in a death thrust.
The other phagor did not wait for the coup de grace. It wheeled its steed with a nimble movement and set off downhill towards Aoz Roon, spear held high.
The lord spurred Grey immediately. There was nothing he could do for his unlucky lieutenant. With all speed, he made for the island, leaning forward encouraging Grey, for he felt the animal flagging.
Advantage lay with the pursuing phagor. The kaidaw made superior time over open ground, however willingly the hoxney ran.
Aoz Roon’s yellow cloak flapped in the wind as he goaded himself and his mount towards the riverbank. So near, so near, and ever nearer! The swirling waters, the dank foliage, the blur of distant natural features, a rodent scutting for safety in the grass—all flashed before his eyes. He knew he was too late. The pores of the skin between his shoulder blades seemed to turn to liquid as they awaited the fatal spear strike.
A quick glance back. The brute was almost on him, the sinews of the kaidaw’s stretched head and neck standing clear, like strands of creeper entwining a tree. It would draw level now, making sure to kill, the damned thing. Its eyes glared.
Old though he was, Aoz Roon’s responses were quicker than any phagor’s.
Suddenly he dragged on the reins, forcing Grey’s head up with savage strength, breaking its stride so that it slewed about in the path of the pursuer. At the same instant he humped from the saddle, rolling over on the sodden ground, absorbing impetus, then flinging himself quickly into the path of the kaidaw.
Grasping his sodden cloak from his shoulders, he swirled it about him and smartly upwards as the spear stabbed down. The coarse cloth folded itself about the enemy’s extended weapon arm. Aoz Roon pulled.
The phagor slid forward. With its free arm, it grasped the kaidaw’s mane. Tugging his cloak free, Aoz Roon grasped both ends and slammed it down across the beast’s throat. One pull, the phagor was jerked loose and struck the ground, its rust-coloured mount bolting onwards.