They chose the river rather than the forest because navigating through a forest at night is a difficult undertaking; with the need for speed, and the promise of pursuit, it becomes nightmarish. They could not go through the forest without leaving footprints and breaking branches; blundering round in the dark they would inevitably be noisy; they might run into a hostile Melski patrol, or walk round in circles, and they would certainly leave a clear trail for the pursuit to follow.
By taking the river they at least had a chance.
They could not go swiftly under cover of darkness, for the footing was uncertain. All of them were periodically dunked in the water when they slipped off rocks, bruising themselves in the process. They did not speak to each other; the only sound was the occasional splash and the murmur of water talking to water.
After hours of slow and painful progress, greyfaced dawn allowed them to see their surroundings and assess how far they had come. Lord Alagrace, who had not marched along this route before, was under the impression they had done very well, but the others knew better.
'We'll have to move faster,' said Draven.
Lord Alagrace yawned, tasting the cool clean early-morning air.
'Eat first,' said Lord Alagrace.
They were all ready to eat, though what they really wanted to do was sleep.
A brief rest, a bite to eat, and they were off again. But Jalamex and Resbit could not push themselves along at speed. They were afraid of the pursuit which they knew would have started by now, but they were also bone-weary after their night's exertions. Rests were needed frequently,
and the rests grew longer. Even so, both Jalamex and Resbit stumbled and fell as the day dragged on.
Lord Alagrace himself was feeling the distance. His left hip ached; the blood sang in his ears. Pausing while Resbit negotiated a difficult section of rock, he closed his eyes. His head nodded down, and he was instantly asleep. He swayed on his feet, woke, blinked, and shook his head. He was too old for this, and he knew it.
Late in the afternoon, they heard a shout behind them. Looking back, they saw a soldier by the riverbank, whooping with triumph. He must be the lead scout for the pursuit: the main body must be close behind him. Mobilized by fear, the five fugitives pressed ahead with speed. Ahead they saw shallows where the water rippled across stones and banks of shingle. Beyond that were two shoulders of rock, each ten times the height of a man, between which water cascaded through a narrow gorge.
When they had first come up the river, they had got here by tramping for one day and a bit of the following morning. This time, exhausting themselves by contending with the river by night, they had not done as well: it had taken them half a night and the better part of a day to get this far.
'We're finished,' said Lord Alagrace, surveying the obstacle ahead.
'We can get through,' said Yen Olass, 'then lose them. Maybe. Come on.’
'I'm not going to give up now,' said Draven. 'Come on, Jalamex.’
Draven led the way, and the others followed. Just before he entered the gorge, Lord Alagrace paused and looked back. He wiped sweat from his forehead then scanned the river. Already twenty men were in sight. And they were closing the distance.
Lord Alagrace turned and followed the others, but, when they had gone a little further, he halted. Draven looked back.
'Go on,' said Lord Alagrace, raising his voice above the buffeting water.
'Giving up?' yelled Draven, with a hint of a jeer in his shout.
Lord Alagrace drew his sword. 'I'll hold them,' he shouted. 'Your life,' called Draven. 'I know.’
'Luck, then,' said Draven.
And with the briefest of bows he continued his retreat, hustling the women along with him.
It was cold in the gorge. A fine, cold spray filled the air. Lord Alagrace coughed. His flesh was aching where he had sliced away his left ear as an offering for the funeral pyre. Looking up, he saw the walls on either side rising almost sheer to the sky. Here the gorge was kinked: any man attacking him would have to come round a sharp corner, seeking footing on smooth boulders drowned in the river-rush. Lord Alagrace had dry footing on larger rocks clear of the current, and room enough to swing his sword.
Lord Alagrace waited, leaning back against one wall of the gorge, for he was weary. He watched intently. His hearing would give him no advance warning: the rumble-roar of the river, jolting through this white-water chute, tumbled echoes from the walls. Beneath the boulders, the water was deeper than a man was tall.
The first man edged round the corner. Lord Alagrace styled his sword in the traditional position known as Waiting Hawk. Seeing him, the soldier started, slipped, and fell. The avalanche of water rolled his body under, forced it into a hollow where the river undercut the cliff, and held it there for drowning.
Lord Alagrace waited, trembling.
Two men peered round the corner. They conferred together. Then the boldest started forward, closing the distance. Lord Alagrace made the feint, slash and legsweep known as Shadow Avoiding Rain. His opponent moved to meet the feint, narrowly parried the slash, then went down as the legsweep hooked his balance out from underneath him. Embroiled in the water, he was swept away.
They came on, then, the heroes, one after another. Hacked, stabbed and gashed, they fell away, and the river took their bodies. Lord Alagrace, panting harshly, gasping, sweating, bleeding, took his death-count to nine, and snarled with satisfaction.
He waited for his tenth victim.
Suddenly, a wasp stung his shoulder, burned deep, seared home, driving him backwards. If it had not been for the cliff at his back, he would have fallen. He reached up, clutched the shaft of the arrow which had driven into his shoulder, and broke it off short, so it would not impede his movement.
Looking up, he saw the archer high up on the opposite side of the gorge, perched precariously on minimal footing. It must have taken some delicate climbing to get up there: and supreme skill to shoot from that position. As Lord Alagrace watched, the archer nocked another arrow and began to draw back the bowstring. There was no escape.
Lord Alagrace raised his sword in salute.
The arrow slammed home.
Lord Alagrace fell as if hit by lightning, his senses numbed by a shock which outmastered pain. Swamped by the river, he tried to rise, but could not find his hands. He found himself wedged between two rocks. Sheets of glass rushed over him: the glass was water. With rising terror, he gasped for light, but swallowed water. Pain monstered within his skull.
Then suddenly – easing away without warning – fear and pain were gone. And, for just a moment, Lord Alagrace experienced an access of grace, sufficient to allow him to recall just this:
'… and fix my eyes on horizons far receding.’
Then darkness filled his eyes, and he died.
Beyond the gorge, the river widened, and a stream flowing in from the east joined its waters. Further upstream, it narrowed again. A little more tramping, and they came to the first mushroom phallus of star-burning stone. Here they halted: they could not go much further.
Draven took a length of rope out of his pack, and began to make knots.
'What's that for?' said Jalamax.
'A trap,' said Draven.
He did not elaborate. Yen Olass was not interested: she doubted that anything could save them now. Even if they split up and ran in different directions, they were too tired to go far. And Chonjara had brought enough men upriver to split his people into four different hunting parties. Besides, Yen Olass doubted that Resbit could survive on her own. And Jalamex would not go much further unless forced by Draven.
Yen Olass let her head sink down on her knees. She was far too weary to indulge in luxuries like despair: instead, she promptly went to sleep. She was jerked awake as her arms were wrenched backwards. She tried to resist, but it was impossible. She tried to turn and bite. Draven slapped her.
'Any more of that and I'll kick your head in.' Yen Olass hissed.
'Hiss away,' said Draven. 'It won't do you any good. Resbit, come here.’
'Run!' shouted Yen Olass.
Resbit hesitated. Draven picked up a stone.
'Come here,' said Draven, 'or I'll batter you.’
Resbit surrendered herself. Draven tied her up, so that Resbit and Yen Olass were knotted together, back to back.
'A present for Chonjara,' said Draven. 'I hope it makes him happy.’
Then he set off upstream, with Jalamex at his side. 'I saved your life!' shouted Yen Olass. Draven turned.
'Did you hear me? I saved your life!' 'Well now's your chance to save it a second time,' shouted Draven.
And laughed, and went on his way.
'You worthless bastard!' screamed Yen Olass.
Then she swore at him, using the very worst words she knew. Unfortunately, these were all in Eparget, and Draven was unlikely to understand them. Besides, he was soon out of earshot.
Hissing and swearing, Yen Olass tested her bonds. She tried to work her fingers free, to find some slack in the rope, to get into a position where she could scrape the rope against a stone. But it was hopeless. Draven, a pirate for most of his Ife, was skilled at binding people so they would be helpless while they waited to be raped, killed, tortured or traded. As Yen Olass struggled, she only succeeded in tightening the rope.
Finally she gave up.
Resbit was crying.
Yen Olass tried to comfort her, but had little success. They were both tired, cold and hungry. And soon Yen Olass was crying herself. Eventually, night came, and she slept, dreaming restlessly, jerked awake from time to time when her head lolled sideways.
Toward morning, she woke from dreams of talking water to find herself cold. The cold was accompanied by cramps in her arms and legs. And, what was more… surrendering to the inevitable, she relaxed her control over her bladder, flooding her things with hot urine which would soon become cold and uncomfortable. A faint stink of urine eased itself into the night air then faded. Resbit moaned faintly in her sleep.
'Ule,' said an owl.
'Shut up, owl,' said Yen Olass.
Out in the night, a stick broke.
Yen Olass stopped breathing.
Was something out there? No, surely not. The stick must have broken on its own. Sleepwalking, no doubt. Yen Olass suppressed a hysterical giggle. She found that effort of discipline difficult. She was cold, she was still tired, her arms in particular were hurting her as the muscles cramped, she was humiliated by her predicament and entirely at the mercy of anything that wanted to come along and eat her. She thought of warks. And of those strange fox-fur creatures which had been seen in the forest. And of wolves. Were there any wolves in Penvash?
Maybe she was going to find out.
The hard way.
Yen Olass listened. No more breaking sticks. But the rustling river would conceal the sound of any soft cutthroat approach. Listening to the river, Yen Olass realized she was thirsty.
Something touched the back of her head.
Yen Olass started.
'Yoh!' said Resbit, waking from sleep. It was the back of her head which had touched Yen Olass.
'Hush,' said Yen Olass. 'Yen Olass, is that you?’
'No,' said Yen Olass, hissing. 'No, you groggy sluggin of smats, its Lork the Starhunter with his pack of fifty gropters. Now be quiet.’
'What's smats? An… oh. My arms. Yen Olass, can't you… no, I suppose you can't. Oh. I wish I could… Yen Olass, what was that? What is it? There's something out there! Yen Olass, what is it?’
'Who knows? But with the racket you're making, you're asking for a personal introduction. Now shut up!’
Hearing the vicious hiss of anger as Yen Olass spoke, Resbit was quiet. For a while, no untoward sounds intruded. Then, out in the night… the clear, unmistakable sound of teeth graunching into bones.
Resbit panicked.
'Yen Olass, Yen Olass-
'Resbit, shut up! There's a great galumphing mother of an arse-eating carnivore out there. You're just asking-' 'I'm sorry.’
'Don't be sorry, be silent!' Resbit was.
So were the teeth.
They had finished eating.
But they were still hungry.
Out in the night, the monster began to move. Smashing through twigs and leaves with an ominous deliberation, it advanced toward them. It sounded huge. They could hear a kind of groping snuffling snorting, suggesting some vast half-blind squashed-nose face. Mouthing toward them.
Yen Olass hissed softly. The monster was coming straight toward her. She drew her knees up to her chest, protecting her belly and her breasts.
The monster was almost upon them.
'Gaaa!' shouted Yen Olass.
Kicking out with all the force she could muster.
Hitting nothing.
She drew back her feet for another try – then thought better of it, and let her legs slump down. Spikes stabbed into her skin. She screamed. Her gut-wrenching cry of terror razored through the night. Resbit screamed in sympathy.
Then-
Silence.
Then…
'Shit,' said Yen Olass in disgust. 'What?’
'It's a hedgehog,' said Yen Olass, her voice rising as her anger mounted. 'A hedgehog. A shit-spawned arse-faced pig-buggered spit-licking dog of a snot-sticking hedgehog. I'll kill the bastard!’
'I don't think you've got much chance of catching it.’
'I've got him already. I've got the spavined little pervert between my legs. I'll kill him! I'll bite his balls off!’
Resbit laughed.
'What's so funny?' said Yen Olass. 'What's so arse-ripping funny, huh? Share the secret.' 'Bite his balls off. Oh, Yen Olass?' And Resbit went off in a fit of giggles. 'I will,' said Yen Olass, not relenting in the slightest.
'You can't hold him there all night.’
'All right, it's… it's soft enough. I can dig in with my heels, yes, like… yes. I can dig a hole and bury him alive. The little bastard won't climb out with me sleeping on top of him.’
'Yen Olass, you wouldn't!’
'I've started digging.’
'It'll run away.’
'He's not going anywhere. He's scared shitless. The ratshit little quirk is huddled into a ball, that's what.' 'Yen Olass… it might be a girl.' 'What? What's that?' 'It might be a girl.' 'No, it's a man.' 'How can you tell?’
'Of course it's a man. Raping around in the night without any clothes on. Crawling straight for my-’
'Oh, come on, Yen Olass. It's probably a mother hedgehog. A mother hedgehog with little baby hedgehogs back at her house, all little ones with white spines, really cute and soft, waiting for her to come back with lots of yums.’
'Hedgehogs don't have houses.’
'They do. They build houses so they can be all warm and cosy when they have their babies.’
'Hedgehogs don't have babies. They lay eggs.’
'They don't!' said Resbit, outraged at this slander.
'They do too, and the men eat them half the time, so this one should get put down.’
'It's a she,' said Resbit, positively.
'How do you know?’
'I know.’
'All right then,' said Yen Olass, 'we'll wait till it's daylight. Then we'll see.' Silence. Then a giggle. 'What is it now?’
'How do you sex a hedgehog?' said Resbit. 'With something sharp, I suspect,' said Yen Olass grimly. Silence. Then:
'It's probably got fleas,' said Resbit. 'What?’
'You know. Fleas. They probably think you're very nice and warm. You are nice and warm, Yen Olass. If I was a flea, I'd… I'd find a warm place.’
Out in the night, there was a piercing shriek.
'What was that?' said Resbit, in alarm.
'An owl,' said Yen Olass wearily.
'Oh… I wonder what it was doing
'Hunting,' said Yen Olass.
'Yes. Fleas, probably. Big ones with twenty legs and sharp biting things. Have they started to migrate yet?' 'Shut up.’
'I think there's one right now, crawling up your
Yen Olass thunked Resbit a couple of times with the back of her head. Resbit giggled, then was quiet. They sat there back to back. Yen Olass… began to itch. Surely it was imagination.
'Shit,' said Yen Olass, softly.
She spread her legs.
For a while, nothing happened. Then there was a snort, a tentative scrabble of feet. Then suddenly the hedgehog was blundering away through the night, making a staggering amount of noise in the darkness, which amplifies every fearsome sound stalking beneath the stars.
Resbit started to giggle again. Surrendering her anger, Yen Olass joined her. Soon, they sobered up. They eased themselves, this way and that, trying to soothe out the tensions in the muscles of their arms. Staggering a little, they braced against each other and forced themselves into a standing position. They took a few clumsy double-backed steps, kicked their feet, moved their hips, stretched their spines, and found sufficient freedom to work their arms a little.
Then they sat down again.
And now, warmed a little by their exercise, and weakened by the fatigue that follows episodes of absolute terror, they
found themselves drifting off to sleep again. Yen Olass, who had thought herself condemned to wakefulness for the rest of the night, was so surprised at this that she almost became wide awake again. However, conjuring up a soothing image… a bed with a cat sleeping on it… she eased herself into the territory of dreams.