“We can stop that.”
“For a little while. But I know their strategy. They will attack on a wider and wider front until they turn our flanks. We must be ready.”
Kerrick was correct. The fargi climbed down from the eight-legged uruktop and spread across the face of the hill, coming forward slowly. They died — but more were ordered up behind them. The slaughter was great, but the Yilanè commanders did not care. More and still more fargi advanced, sheltering behind the dead, some even reaching the edge of the forest before they fell.
It was midafternoon when the first fargi found protection among the trees. Others joined them and the Tanu defenders had to draw back.
A different, yet equally deadly, battle now began. Few of the fargi had any experience in woodcraft. When they left their cover death usually sought them out. Yet still they advanced. There was no front to the battle any more, hunters and hunted mixed together in the gloom beneath the trees.
Kerrick fell back with the others, the pain in his leg almost gone now, trying to keep the bulk of the trees between himself and the fargi. Yet when he straightened up there was a sharp crack and a dart hit the bark of the tree close to his face. He spun about, his spear ready in his left hand, sinking it into the fargi who had come up behind him, wrenching it free then hurrying deeper into the forest.
The retreat began again. Whispered commands started the mastodons along the escape route, the hunters gathered behind them and guarding their backs. There were other, harsher commands being called through the forest now and Kerrick stopped, cupping his hand to his ear. He listened carefully, then turned and ran back through the trees to find Herilak.
“They are withdrawing,” Kerrick said. “Without seeing them I can’t be sure of everything that they are saying, but there are bits of it I could make out.”
“Are they retreating, beaten?”
“No.” Kerrick looked up at the darkening sky above the trees. “It will be night soon. They are regrouping in the open. They will attack again in the morning.”
“And we will be long gone. Let us now fall back and join the sammads.”
“There is one thing that must be done first. We must search the forest, find as many of the death-sticks as we can. Then we can leave.”
“You are right. Death-sticks and more darts. We have fired too many.”
Night had fallen by the time they had searched out the weapons and returned with them to the sammads. Kerrick was the last. He stood looking back down the slope until Herilak called after him. He waved the big hunter to him, pointing.
“Let the others return with the weapons. I want both of us to get closer to the murgu camp. They don’t like the dark. Perhaps there is something that we can do there.”
“An attack during the night?”
“That is what we will have to find out.”
They walked slowly, weapons ready, but the enemy were gone from the hillside. Yet they had not gone far: their encampment was clearly visible on the grassy slopes beyond. A vast collection of dark bodies drawn together, silent and motionless.
The two hunters took every precaution. Stooping low in the grass when they drew close, then crawling forward silently, weapons ready. When they were a long arrowshot away from the Yilanè camp Herilak stopped Kerrick with a light touch on the shoulder.
“This is too easy,” he whispered into his ear. “Don’t they have guards of some kind?”
“I don’t know. They all sleep at night. We must find out.”
They had crawled forward just a few paces more when Kerrick’s fingers touched something, a stick, a length of vine perhaps, hidden by the grass.
It moved sluggishly between his fingers.
“Get back!” he called to Herilak as the glow sprang up from the darkness ahead. A dim light that quickly grew brighter and brighter until they could see clearly. And be seen. There was the crack of weapons and darts rustled quick death into the grass around them. They crawled as fast as they could, stood and ran into the welcoming darkness as soon as they were out of range. Stumbling and falling, gasping for breath, they did not stop until they reached the ridge above.
Behind them the lights faded, died away, and darkness returned. The Yilanè had learned after the massacre on the beaches. They would not be attacked at night again.
When Kerrick and Herilak reached the sammads the darts and hèsotsan that had been retrieved from the battle had been loaded onto the travois; the retreat began once again. Herilak spoke to the sammadars as they walked.
Four hunters had not returned from the battle in the forest.
They went slowly, far too slowly to escape the attack that would surely come in the morning. They were all weary after two nights of traveling with little sleep. The mastodons screamed in protest when they were goaded on. Yet still the sammads stumbled forward, for they had very little choice. If they stayed, they died.
The ground was rough, rocky, and uphill most of the way. Their progress became slower and slower and well before dawn it ground to a halt. Sorli brought the message to Herilak.
“It is the beasts. They will not go on, even when we push spears into them.”
“Then we stop here,” Herilak said with great weariness. “Rest and sleep. We will go on again at sunrise to the next position.”
A chill wind came up at dawn and they shivered as they rose wearily from their sleeping furs. They were dispirited and still exhausted. Only knowledge of the sure advance of the enemy drove them forward once again. Armun walked at Kerrick’s side in silence. There was very little that could be said now. It was enough to put one foot in front of the other, to prod on the protesting mastodons.
A hunter stood beside the trail, leaning on his spear, waiting for Kerrick to come up to him.
“It is the sacripex,” he said. “It is his wish that you join him where he leads.”
With great effort, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg, Kerrick broke into a shuffling run that took him up the column, past the travois and marching sammads. The small children were walking now, the babies being carried by the mothers and older children. Even partially relieved of their loads the mastodons still stumbled with fatigue. They would not keep going much longer.
Herilak pointed at the hills ahead when Kerrick came shuffling up to join him.
“They have found a wooded ridge up there,” he said. “Very much like the one we stopped them in yesterday.”
“Not… good enough,” Kerrick gasped, fighting to catch his breath. “There are too many of the enemy. They will get around us again, push us back.”
“They may have learned their lesson. Even murgu aren’t stupid. They will hold back. They know they will be killed if they attack.”
Kerrick shook his head in an unhappy no. “Tanu might do that. They might see others die, be afraid for themselves. But not the murgu. I know them, know them too well. The Yilanè who are riding the large beasts, they will stay to the rear all right. They will be safe. But they will order the fargi to attack just as they did before.”
“What if they refuse?”
“They can’t. It is impossible for them. If they understand a command they must obey it. That is the way it is. They will attack.”
“Murgu,” Herilak said, and his lips curled back from his teeth with distaste as he said it. “Then what are we to do?”
“What else can we do but keep going?” Kerrick asked helplessly, his mouth gasping open, his skin ashen with fatigue. “If we stop here in the open we will be slaughtered. We must go on. Find some hill that we can defend, perhaps.”
“A hill can be surrounded. Then we will surely die.”
The track they were following rose sharply. They needed all their breath now to scramble up it. When they reached the ridge above they were forced to stop. Kerrick was bent double, racked with cramps. Behind them the slow procession toiled up the slope. Kerrick straightened up, gasping, and looked ahead, up the rise, they must climb to the hills beyond. Then stopped motionless, mouth gaping, eyes wide.