They loped along for a mile or so. Then B’uorgh suddenly raised one long, spotted arm and signaled a halt. The catman turned and sped across the trail and took Hiero urgently by the arm, at the same time holding his other hand to a furry ear. They all stopped, and Hiero listened for the sound that the catman’s better hearing had detected. Presently he caught it also, a distant surge and roar, with an occasional higher, more piercing note at intervals. It was the sound of a battle, or he had never heard one. Occasionally there came a heavy crash through the other noises, as if a building or a great tree had fallen. All animal sounds around them seemed hushed now, as if the forest were stilling itself in fright at the unaccustomed uproar in the distance.
Hiero signaled for more speed, and they began this time really to run, though still avoiding the trail’s center. It was a risk, but, Hiero thought, not much of one. All mental activity was enmeshed in the swirl of combat ahead of them, and he could pick up individuals more clearly with every step. The thoughts of frightened women and children were coming through now, as well as those of men who were not fighting and who were baffled by what was happening. The Unclean Masters of Neeyana had stayed pretty well hidden in the past, and the sudden surge of fighting men and Leemutes had come as a shock to a lot of traders and townsfolk who had never known—or preferred not to investigate—who actually ran the whole place. Now these neutrals or noncombatants were panicking, terrified by the fighting and running about trying to get out of the danger zone.
As they drew nearer and nearer, Hiero could pick out with his ears the screams of the unfortunate population whose world had suddenly been overturned. What he could not pick out were any thoughts of the Unclean Masters of Neeyana. He knew the reason was that they were shielded by their mechanisms. Any hope of learning anything from them of what went on was useless. He tried again to reach the attacking forces, whoever they were, but they too remained shrouded by their large, protective shield. He could feel the weight of them out there, but that was all.
Trying to keep watch on his own immediate way was growing wearisome, and he could not scan everything continually without exhausting himself. The physical drain of constant mental search was a very real one.
The roar of battle was now loud in the ears of his group. As the forest drew to an. end in front of them, they began to smell smoke, acrid and greasy. Veils of it were sifting through the last trees, and it grew constantly thicker, cutting off much of the sunlight and making the catfolk choke and sneeze. They were skulking and running through brush now, with Hiero in the lead, his sword in. hand, his spear and shield slung on his back. Killing would be close work, but he hoped to escape without fighting at all. Through the shouts and yells ahead of them came the roaring of fire and another noise, the echo-crashing sounds he had caught earlier. At times these were regular, but at others seemed to be spaced irregularly. Mixed with the burning wood smoke was another unfamiliar smell, sharp and bitter, a reek of something he had never scented before.
Almost before they knew it, they were in the town itself. One moment found them in a sea of low bush, and the next they were in a narrow lane between rows of shabby huts, half-blanketed in the heavy smoke. The smell of filth and ordure was strong enough to contest with the burning wood.
B’uorgh hissed, and they all tensed as several shapes loomed out of the murk ahead. At the same time, a gust of wind, driven down the alley from the sea, revealed the two parties to each other.
Two of the great Man-rats, hung with weapons and carrying sacks filled with either loot or supplies, stood blinking in amazement at the blade of the man and the four scowling masks of the first Children of the Wind they had ever seen—or ever would see. Before the great ears could twitch or the greasy paws even loosen their hold on whatever they carried, they were dead, throats cut and naked-tailed bodies jerking on the grass in death agony. The incredible speed of his allies once again left Hiero gasping. Za’reekh and Ch’uirsh had moved so fast that they were back on guard, daggers ready for a fresh assault, even as the two loathsome were still falling to earth!
Kill anyone armed, Hiero sent. We must get on and try to find a place from which we can see. Look for something tall. There will be no trees, but these folks build tall huts, many times our height. There are too many minds here and too much excitement for me to listen with my own. We must use our eyes and ears instead.
He was trying to remember what Gimp and Brother Aldo had told him long ago about Neeyana. Luchare, too, had been there, on her way to be sold as a slave. What had they told him? It was a very old town, so old that it might even have existed in some form before The Death. The Unclean were everywhere in the town, but usually hidden. And there were some old churches, decayed-looking, with no priests about. These were stone-built and had towers. Such towers would probably have an Unclean garrison, if only for purposes of observation. Still, something had to be tried. Everything was a risk in this smoky maze full of foul odors and the panic of the inhabitants.
Even as he weighed various chances, another of those explosive crashes came from ahead of him. Something heavy fell to the ground, making it shake beneath his feet. Farther off, he heard other booming noises. What could they be? He had to find some place from which he could seel He glanced at the catfolk. They stood silently behind him, then-ears laid back and their neck ruffs bristling. It must, he mused remotely, be terrifying to be brought from the clean forest air into this stench and murk, filled with horrid sounds and unknown dangers. But they were not flinching and were ready to fight. He found the trust heartening, though he wished, not for the first time, that he did not have the responsibility for them on his shoul-
Slowly and carefully, they began to grope their way through the dirty clouds of smoke, testing each comer before they crossed it, straining every sense to locate any possible foe before they themselves were discovered. A particularly heavy wave of black fog engulfed them all, and Hiero signaled, though he was increasingly nervous of using telepathy. Link hands with me and stay close. B’uorgh, you bring up the rear. Kill any not of us.
The flat command made him regretful, but he could take no chances in this foul dark. The enemy had held Neeyana for too long, and their only hope was to remain unseen and unsuspected. He felt his way along a wooden fence of palings, now shutting out the multifarious cries, both in his mind and in his ears, trying only to locate some more substantial structure. He could feel the trembling of the hand, a delicate one, clasping his, and he tried to send strength down his arm to the Speaker-to-be. M’reen had never anticipated all of this, or indeed any of it.
He halted in one moment as his left hand, outstretched, encountered something new. He was touching smooth, greasy stone, worn and slippery in a way that only age can create. He paused and he knew the others down the line were also halting, feeling his excitement and the hesitation.