'He is a religious man. He is praying.'
'We need his prayers,' remarked a fourth.
Fenn knew what he was attempting and stood close to him, screening him with her own body and adding her psychic force to his.
After such fierce fighting, it took much effort for Taita to compose himself, but at last he broke free of his body and his astral self soared above the mountain peaks. He overlooked the battlefield and saw the massed Jarrian army, three thousand men or more thronging the track from the plain. He saw the next assault forming just below the fort but still out of sight of the walls. Then he passed over the mountain tops and looked down to the Kitangule river, and the distant blue of the lake.
He saw Tinat's men in the boatyards at the head of the river. They had overpowered the garrison, and were assembling and launching the boats down the slipways into the swift flow of the river. Already the first refugees were embarking and the men were taking their places on the rowing benches. But hundreds more were still trudging down the mountain path. He sank closer to earth and hung above the deep gorge that split the flank of the mountain. The suspension bridge that crossed it seemed tiny and insubstantial against the massif of grey rock. The last of the refugees were venturing out on to its frail timbers to make the perilous transit of the gorge. Tinat's men were helping the weak and elderly, and his axemen stood ready to cut away the bridge pylons and let the timbers fall into the dark void beneath. Taita jerked back and swiftly regained full control of his body, then uncovered his head and sprang to his feet.
'What did you discover, Taita?' Fenn asked quietly.
'Most of our people have crossed the gorge,' he replied. 'If we leave the fort now the rest should be over the bridge by the time we get down to them. Fenn, you and Sidudu will make ready the horses.'
He left her to it, and strode down the parapet to Meren. 'Rally the men. Set fire to the walls and take to the path before the next Jarrian attack develops.'
The men's spirits rose when they understood that the fight was over.
Within a short time they were marching out of the rear gates of the fort in tight order, carrying their weapons and the wounded. Taita stayed back to supervise the lighting of the fires. The Jarrian garrison had used rushes as a floor covering and sleeping mats. Now they were stacked along the base of the walls. Meren's men had sprinkled them liberally with lamp oil from the quarter-master's stores. When the lighted torches were thrown on to them the flames shot up immediately. The wooden walls caught fire with such ferocity that Taita and the torchmen were forced to run for the gates.
Fenn was already mounted on Whirlwind, holding Windsmoke for him to mount. They trotted down the track together, following the last platoon, which was headed by Meren and Hilto.
When they reached the suspension bridge they were dismayed to find that at least a hundred refugees had still to make the crossing. Meren forced his way through the throng to find out the reason for the delay. Five old but vociferous women were refusing to venture out on to the narrow planks that crossed the deep gorge. They were lying flat in the middle of the path, screaming with terror and kicking anyone who came near them.
'You want us to die!' they howled.
'Leave us here. Let the Jarrians kill us, rather than throw us into the pit.' Their terror was contagious. Those coming up behind them were hanging back now, and holding up the rest of the column. Meren seized the ringleader round the waist and threw her over one shoulder. 'Come, now.' She tried to scratch his face and bite his ear, but her crooked black teeth made no impression on the bronze visor of his helmet. He ran with her on to the narrow way, the planking trembling beneath them, the drop on each side seeming bottomless. The old woman wailed with fresh voice and Meren realized suddently that his back was wet. He roared with laughter. 'It has been hot work. Thank you for cooling me.' He reached the far side and set her down. She made one last effort to claw out his eyes, then collapsed in a whimpering heap on the path. He left
her and ran back to pick up the others, but Hilto and three of his men were already coming across the gorge, each with an old woman struggling and screaming on his back. Behind them, the traffic was flowing once more over the bridge. However, the delay had cost them dear. Meren pushed his way back through the throng until he found Taita at the tail of the column.
'The flames at the fort will not hold Soklosh much longer. He will be on us again before we can get them all across. We dare not begin to cut away the supports until the very last of our people is over,' he told Taita.
'Three men could hold an army on this narrow path,' Taita said.
'Hilto and we two?' Meren stared at him. 'By the festering sores on Seth's buttocks, Magus, I had forgotten how things have changed. You now have the strongest and craftiest sword arm of any.'
'This day we shall have a chance to put that statement to the test,'
Taita assured him, 'but make certain that we have good stout fellows behind us to fill the gap if one of us should fall.'
There were still fifty or more refugees waiting their turn to cross the bridge when they heard Soklosh's men behind them: the tramp of their feet, the rattle of their weapons on shield and scabbard.
Taita, Meren and Hilto took up station, shoulder to shoulder, across the path. Taita was in the centre, with Hilto on his left and Meren on the outer verge with the cliff face dropping away below him. Nakonto and ten picked men waited behind them, ready to jump forward if they were needed. A little further down the track, Fenn and Sidudu sat their horses, holding Taita's and Meren's on lead reins. They had unslung their bows and had them at the ready. Sitting high in their saddles they had a clear view over the heads of Taita and the others.
The foremost rank of the Jarrian brigade came round the bend in the pathway and halted abruptly when they saw the three men confronting them. The ranks following bunched behind them, and there was momentary confusion until they had recovered their formation. Then they stared in silence at the three defenders. It lasted only as long as it took the Jarrians to realize the strength of the opposition. Then the burly sergeant in the leading rank pointed at them with his sword, threw back his head and bellowed with laughter.
'Three against three thousand! Ho! Ha!' He choked with laughter.
'Oh! I am dirtying myself with fright.' He began to thump the blade of his sword against his shield. The men around him took up the beat, a menacing staccato rhythm. The Jarrians came on, stamping and banging their shields. Fenn watched them over the fletching of the arrow
