4 THE QUEST
close-packed rank. They were armed with wooden clubs, long throwing spears and shorter, stabbing assegais, tipped with sharp flint. Their rawhide shields were slung upon their backs, and their features were daubed with coloured clay to form warlike masks. They wore headdresses of fur and feathers, ivory pins pierced their nostrils and earlobes, while bracelets and anklets of ostrich shell and ivory beads adorned their limbs.
As Taita and Meren looked at them a hum, as though from a disturbed beehive, went up from the close-packed masses. With a single concerted movement they unslung their war shields and drummed upon them with their spears. Then they burst into their battle hymn. The deep, melodious voices soared and swelled with the drumming. Then the din was pierced by a shrill blast on an antelope-horn whistle. This was the signal for the ranks to leap to their feet and, in a mass, they started up the slope.
'Back to the horses,' said Taita.
Fenn saw them coming and galloped to meet them, bringing Wind smoke and Meren's steed. They mounted swiftly and had turned the horse's heads as the first rank of Basmara warriors burst over the crest behind them. They galloped back to where Habari and the remainder of the patrol were waiting.
'Already they have sent out men to try to head us off,' Fenn called, rising in the stirrups and pointing into the forest. Now they could make out figures among the trees, racing to surround them.
'Take my stirrup rope!' Taita called to Nakonto, as he kicked his left foot free of the loop. Nakonto grabbed it.
'Meren, pick up Imbali to cover your blind side.' Meren swerved and Imbali snatched the right loop. She and Nakonto were carried along by the horses, their feet skimming the earth.
'Ride hard!' Taita shouted. 'We must break through before they encircle us.' The fastest runners among the Basmara were streaking ahead of their companions. 'Fenn, stay between Meren and me. Don't allow yourself to be separated from us.'
Four of the racing Basmara cut in directly ahead of them, closing the gap for which Taita had been aiming. They turned to face the oncoming riders, their tall shields on their backs so that their hands were free to use their weapons. Taita and Meren slipped their short recurved cavalry bows, designed to be shot from horseback, from their shoulders as they closed in. They dropped the reins on to the necks of their mounts and, guiding them with the pressure of their feet and knees, rode straight at the spearmen. A Basmara hurled his spear. He was aiming at Meren, but the range was long. Meren had time to react. With a touch of his toe
he turned the bay and the spear flew past his left shoulder. He raised his bow and loosed two arrows in rapid succession. One flew high, almost an arm's length over the man's head and went on for fifty paces - at this close range the bow was massively powerful — but the second hit the Basmara in the centre of his chest and flew clean through him. It burst out between his shoulder-blades in a spray of blood. He was dead even before he hit the ground.
Out on the right the second spearman heaved back his throwing arm.
He, too, was concentrating on Meren, and he was in Meren's blind zone.
Meren did not see him so made no effort to defend himself. Imbali swung out on the rope stirrup and threw her axe, which cartwheeled through the air. The Basmara's weight was on his back foot - he was in the very moment of his throw, unable to dodge or duck. The axe struck him in the middle of the forehead and buried itself deep in his skull. Imbali leant down to retrieve it as they swept by. Taita shot an arrow into the body of the third spearman, who dropped the weapon he had been about to throw and tried to pull the arrow out of his belly but the barbs had bitten deep.
The fourth and last warrior stood his ground. He was poised to make his throw, the shaft of the spear resting on his right shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot with battle rage, and Taita saw that they were fastened on Fenn. She was sitting high on Whirlwind's back, a perfect target. The Basmara grimaced with the effort of launching the heavy spear at her.
Taita nocked another arrow from his quiver. 'Down, Fenn,' he commanded, in the voice of power. 'Lie flat!' She dropped forward and pressed her face into Whirlwind's mane. Taita threw up his bow, drew until the bowstring touched his nose and lips, then released the arrow.
The spearman was already swinging his body into the forward stroke, but Taita's flint arrowhead hit the notch at the base of his throat and killed him instantly. However, the spear had already left his hand. Taita watched, helpless, as it flew straight at Fenn. She had her face down and did not see it coming, but Whirlwind did. As it flitted across his nose he shied violently to one side and threw up his head so that Taita lost sight of the spear for a moment. He thought that it had missed her and he felt a leap of relief. But then he heard her cry out in pain and surprise, and saw her writhe on the colt's back.
'Are you hit?' Taita shouted, but she did not reply. Then he saw the shaft of the spear dangling down Whirlwind's flank, dragging along the ground behind him.
Taita turned Windsmoke behind the colt and saw at once that the
head of the spear was lodged in Fenn's bare thigh. She had dropped the reins and was clinging with both hands to the colt's neck. She turned towards him, and Taita saw that she was ash pale, her green eyes seeming to fill half of her face as she stared at him. The shaft of the spear was bucking and kicking as it bounced along the ground, and he knew that the razor edges of the head were working brutally in her flesh, worrying and enlarging the wound. It had lodged close to the femoral artery. If it severed that great blood vessel she would be dead within minutes.
'Hold hard, my darling,' he called, and glanced over his shoulder. He saw a pack of Basmara in full pursuit after them, baying as they raced through the forest. 'We dare not stop. If we do, they will be upon us in an instant. I am coming to get you.'
Taita drew his sword and came up beside the colt. He measured his stroke carefully. The sight of the girl in such anguish seemed to restore the strength he had thought lost so many years ago. He focused his mind on the jerking spear. As he swung the heavy bronze blade he shouted a word of power: 'Kydash!'
In his grip the weapon seemed to take on a life of its own. There is a spot on the cutting edge of a well- balanced blade where all the weight and energy of the blow is concentrated. It caught the hardwood shaft precisely a finger's length above the leather bindings that secured the shank of the head and sliced through it as though it were a green twig.
The shaft dropped away, and he saw the instant relief that lit Fenn's features.
