open, scattering embers. Several droplets of hot spray struck him, and he continued to roll. The waters streamed off toward the main ditch, missing him.
'Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you,' he heard himself repeating, and then he blacked out.
He smelled the smoke and heard the flames when he came around again. The wagon had taken fire from the embers. People stood about watching it burn. No one made an attempt to extinguish it.
'...Have to get a wise man to exorcise the demon now,' he overheard a woman saying. 'Don't no one touch it. You kids stay away!'
'Fools!' he muttered, and he struggled to rise.
A small hand on his shoulder pushed him back.
'No! Don't draw attention to yourself! Just lie still!'
'Nora...'
He looked up. He had not at first realized that she was there, holding a compress to his head.
'Yes. Rest a moment. Gather your strength. Then come back this way between the houses.' She gestured with her head. 'We'll move quickly when we do.'
'They didn't understand. ...'
'I know. I know. It was like the horse, when we were children ...'
'Yes.'
'... Something you just thought up because you think that way. I understand.'
'Damn them!' he said.
'No. They just don't think the way you do.'
'I'll show them!'
'Not now you won't. Let's just get ready and slip away. After that, I think it might be a good idea for you to stay out of sight for a time.'
He stared at the burning wagon and at the faces beyond it.
'I suppose you are right,' he said. 'Damn them. I'm ready. I want to get out of here.'
She took hold of his hand. He winced and drew it back.
'I'm sorry. It's burned,' she said. 'I hadn't noticed.'
'Neither had I. It will be all right, though. Let's go.'
She clasped his other hand. He rose quickly and moved with her, past shrubs, beyond the houses.
'This way.'
He followed her down a lane, through a barn.
When they paused to rest, he said, 'Thank you. You were right. I'm going away for awhile.'
'Where?'
'South,' he hissed.
'Oh, no!' she said. 'That's too wild, and--'
'I've got the name,' he stated.
She stared into his eyes.
'Don't,' she said.
He reached forward and embraced her. She was stiff for a moment, then relaxed against him.
'I'll be back for you,' he told her.
The trees were smaller, the land was drier here. There were fewer shrubs and more bare areas. This land was rockier and much, much quieter than his own. He heard no birdcalls as he walked and climbed, no insect-noises, no sounds of running water, rustling boughs, passing animals.
His hand had stopped throbbing several days ago, and the skin was peeling now. He had long since discarded the bandage from his head. His tread was firm despite weariness, as he neared the anvil-shaped peak through lengthening shadows. He wore a small backpack, and several well wrapped water bottles hung from his belt. His garments were dirty, as were his face and hands, but he smiled a tight smile as he looked upward and plodded on.
He did not feel that there were demons and assorted monsters in the area, as some people believed. But he bore a short sword across his pack--one he had forged himself years before, when he had been shorter and lighter. it seemed almost a toy now, though he could wield it with great speed and dexterity. He had spent months practicing with blades to obtain the feeling for edged weapons which alone would insure his producing a superior product when he came to forge them. He had picked his up at the smithy when he had returned there for the supplies for his flight. Now, hiking closer and closer to the forbidden area, he felt no great need for the blade in what he took to be a dead place, but its presence made him think of the effort which had gone into its manufacture, yet had still produced an item inferior in quality to some of the strange fragments of metal he discovered imbedded in the ground here.
He carried such a scrap in his hand and studied it now and again. He saw it to be some sort of tough, light alloy, once he had scraped and rubbed the dirt from it, uncor-rupted after all these years. What were the forces that had formed it? What heats? What pressures? It told him that something peculiar had once existed nearby.
That evening he walked through the still standing shell of a large building. He could not even guess what might once have been transacted within it. But twice he thought that he heard scurrying sounds near at hand as he explored. He decided to camp at some distance from the ruin.
He could not decide whether a fire would attract or repel anything that might dwell nearby. Finally, the lack of sufficient kindling materials to keep a blaze going for very long persuaded him to do entirely without. He ate dry rations and rolled himself into his blanket on a ledge eight feet above the ground. He placed his blade within easy reach.
How long he had slept, he could not say. Several hours, it felt, when he was awakened by a scratching noise. He was alert in an instant, hand moving toward the weapon. He turned his head slightly, muscles tensing, and beheld the thing which moved over the rocks below, coming in his direction.
Its dark, segmented body gleamed in the moonlight as it crept over the rocks on numerous tiny feet, its front end sometimes raised, sometimes lowered. It was three or four times his own size, and it resembled nothing so much as a gigantic, metallic caterpillar moving along the trail he had followed to this place. Mounted near the forward end was something small and twisted and vaguely man-shaped, clutching what appeared to be reins in its left hand and the shaft of a long spear in the other. The beast reared, rising as high as the ledge, swayed, then dropped to the ground once more and proceeded as if sniffing out his path.
Hackles risen, a cold lump in the pit of his stomach, Mark eyed a possible escape route among the rocks below and to the right. If he moved quickly enough there might still be a sufficient margin....
He breathed deeply, vaulted to the ground and twisted his ankle beneath him. Rising, limping, he headed toward the rocks. He heard a sharp whistling noise behind him and an increase in the scratching sounds. He dodged as best he could, thinking of the spear in the thing's hand.
He looked back once and saw that he seemed to be holding his own. The spear-arm was cocked, but the rocks were right before him now. He dove and heard the shaft clatter on stone behind him. Recovering immediately, he continued on, heading obliquely back in the direction of the ruin he had visited earlier.
The noises behind him did not diminish. Apparently, the monstrosity could move at a faster pace than that at which he had first seen it coming.
He darted among rocks, keeping the sounds to the rear and the ruin roughly ahead. There had been places to climb, places to hide there--places better suited for defense than the open ground of this rock maze.
He rounded a huge boulder, froze, and barely had time to bring his blade into play. Another of the things, also bearing a rider, appeared to have been searching or waiting for him. It was reared upright only feet away, and the spear was already descending.
He parried, driving the shaft aside, and swung a backhanded cut toward the swaying creature. It rang like a bell and dropped forward. He stepped aside, feeling a sharp pain in his right ankle, then thrust upward toward the gnarled rider. There came a scream as his blade connected and entered, somewhere. He dragged it free, turned, ran.
There were no sounds of pursuit, and when he glanced back he saw the beast, now riderless, groping aimlessly among the rocks. He began to draw a deep breath, and then the world gave way beneath him. He fell a short distance through darkness and landed shoulder-first on a hard surface. The blade fell from his hand with a clanging sound, and he immediately retrieved it. There came a sharp, slamming noise from overhead, and dust, gravel and
