Like an uncoiling spring the beast spun, tail whining through the air, lashing beneath Dumarest's boots as he jumped high into the air. Landing he threw himself forward, the knife like a sword as it stabbed at the junction of a rear leg with the body, the point reaching the soft portion and burying itself deep in the gut.
A savage stab which freed a shower of blood, a shower which gushed into a flood as, twisting the blade, he jerked it free.
Again the olcept screamed. It reared high on its back legs, turning, tail and snout and talons ripping the air in a circle of rending destruction. Dumarest felt the blow across his chest as, too late, he hurled himself backward. A blow which stripped plastic from the buried mesh as the claws gouged deep.
He landed hard against the side of the raft and threw himself over it, snatching at a spear and lifting it as the creature, vicious with pain, came after him. The long blade stabbed at the jaw, sank into the soft flesh beneath the chin, was torn free as the beast shook its head, stabbed again at the eyes.
Stabbed and hit and sank deep into a socket as the front talons ripped splinters from the shaft, smashing the weapon from Dumarest's hands as, desperately, he jumped from the far side of the raft.
The knife was gone, the spear, the gun lying beside the boy was probably empty. And facing him was a half-blind animal savage with pain and determined to kill. One which paused and, with head cocked, snuffed at the air.
One eye was gone, its sense of smell impaired, only its acute hearing remaining intact. Cautiously Dumarest stooped and, sheltered by the body of the raft, gathered up a handful of stones. Rising he threw one to land beyond the creature. It hit with a harsh rattle and, as the head turned towards it, he threw another with the full force of arm and back and shoulder.
A primitive missile which hurtled through the air as if flung from a sling to hit the remaining eye, to pulp it, to leave the olcept blind.
Dumarest was moving as it reared, screaming. Rounding the raft he snatched up the spear and lunged forward, the blade lifted, extended, the point held at an angle to the ground. As it pricked the underside of the throat he dropped, ramming the butt against the side of his boot, forcing it hard against the ground. The shaft bent as the weight of the creature drove the point up and into its throat, its brain, the weakened shaft snapping as, threshing, it flung itself from side to side.
Releasing his grip on the spear Dumarest threw himself to one side, rolled, climbed to his feet. In the glow of the flashlight he could see the glimmer of his knife and, as the beast turned away from him, he snatched it up. The olcept was badly hurt, perhaps dying, but it could still take revenge. Dirt rose in plumes from beneath its feet as, the shattered spear dragging from beneath its jaw, it spun and twisted in blind agony. Blood sprayed to spatter the raft, the ground, the limp figure of the boy. Another step and it would be on him, claws ripping at the unconscious figure, tearing the flesh as they tore at the ground.
Dumarest shouted, moved, shouted again, drawing the thing towards him, backing, darting in to sting with the knife, to back again until, at the edge of the promontory, he gave a final yell then darted aside as, blindly, the olcept rushed, to fall over the edge, to crash down the sheer slope and pulp itself on the ground far below.
Navalok groaned, stirred, suddenly reared where he lay in the body of the raft.
"Earl! I-Earl!"
"Steady." Dumarest was beside him, one arm thrown comfortingly about his shoulders. "It's all right, Navalok. It's all right."
"The olcept?"
"Dead." Dumarest added, casually, "You killed it."
"I killed it?" The boy echoed his incredulity. "But how? The gun? Did I shoot it?"
"No. You missed each time."
"The light was bad and it came so fast there was no time to aim. I remember it coming for me and then there was a blow and I saw stars and… and… ?" He frowned, trying to remember. "My foot twisted under me. I remember that. Then-I killed it, you say?"
"Yes."
"But how, Earl? How?"
Dumarest lifted a canteen wet a cloth and held it to the injured temple. The raft hovered thirty feet above the ground and a dozen from the edge of the promontory where the beast had fallen. It was late, the stars bright in the sky, the air still with a sleeping hush.
"Earl?"
"Lie back and relax. Just do as I say." As the boy obeyed Dumarest switched on a flashlight and, in the reflected light of the beam, lifted each eyelid in turn and studied the whites of the boy's eyes. They were clear of bloodclots and the bone at the temple was unbroken. "You were lucky, Navalok. No real damage and nothing but a minor concussion. Can't you remember what happened?"
"Only that I was hit, Earl and that I fell."
"Then you managed to get to your feet again and-" Dumarest broke off, shaking his head. "Are you certain you can't remember killing the olcept?"
"Did I?"
For answer Dumarest lifted the tunic he had removed from the unconscious youth. It was smeared and stained with blood. More blood marked the hands, resting in the quick of the nails, lying thickly on the boots. Traces he had purposely made.
Frowning the boy shook his head. "Earl, I-"
"You were hurt and probably dazed," said Dumarest quickly. "But I had no time to worry about that. The thing came for me after you'd been hit and I had to run. When I turned you had a spear and were moving in to the attack. I yelled out, but you didn't answer, and the next thing I knew you were stabbing at the beast. You got it in the guts and then, as it reared, you managed to get the point under the chin. The shaft snapped then and the olcept charged. It was dying and must have been desperate. Anyway, it went over the edge. You'd collapsed and, at first, I thought you were dead. I guess we were both lucky."
"And you carried me into the raft and lifted?"
"Yes, there could have been others." That, at least, was no lie. "I washed you down as best I could and made you comfortable. You were breathing so all I could do was to wait."
Wait and whisper in the unconscious boy's ear, his voice directed at the subconscious, implanting the suggestion of false memories and bolstering the story he had just been given. Words spoken and reinforced as the lad had turned and muttered prior to waking.
A lie which had given him the proof of manhood he craved.
"You've won your trophy," said Dumarest. "When it's light we'll collect the head. Now I want to get back to the cave."
Nothing had changed. Outside there had been blood and death, pain and violence, but within the chamber silence still held sway and the ghosts of the past thronged close as if to whisper their message.
Dumarest stood at the foot of the dirt blocking the opening, the beam of the flashlight bright as it impacted against the rayed disc of the depicted sun. A symbol which he was certain held more than it seemed.
For a long moment he studied it, hearing the small sounds from outside where Navalok, in the raft, washed the blood from his clothes and body. Happy sounds, the boy was vibrant at his gain, the trophy, the gun he could now wear with authority, the place which soon would be his as a leader of the Family. A happiness Dumarest had given; one he wished he could share.
The sun.
Guardians of the Sun.
The message, if there was one, had to be connected with the symbol dominating the chamber. Again he stepped close to it, seeing the play of light over the surface, the interplay of shimmering colors as the beam was refracted from the grating.
A code? Tiny dots formed to spell out words? An equation of some kind? A set of coordinates? A recording hidden somehow in the disc itself?