open, with the pointed lower lip dangling, and Huy drew and loosed his shaft into the back of her throat. All five feet of the arrow disappeared into her gaping mouth, and he knew the point had found the brain for she reeled back onto her haunches, shuddering and quivering, a strangled gurgling cry bubbling from her throat. The lids of her eyes twitched violently and she fell forward and was still.
They killed forty-one cows, thirty of them with calf. However, nine of the calves were adjudged by the trainers too young for survival as orphans and they were put down with a single merciful arrow. The others were cut out and rounded up by specially trained nursing cows and led away from the mountainous bleeding carcasses of their mothers. By noon the work was done, and the slaves could busy themselves in butchering the carcasses and carrying the meat away to the smoking racks. The saucer was a reeking charnel-house, and the vultures turned overhead in a dark cloud that almost obscured the sun.
Lannon ate the midday meal with his nobles and hunt-masters. Fresh grilled elephant tripe seasoned with hot pepper sauce, broiled elephant heart stuffed with wild rice and olives, platters of golden corn cakes and the inevitable earthen amphorae of Zeng wine made it a meal fit for a hunter’s appetite.
Lannon was in a high good humour, striding amongst his men, laughing and jesting with them, picking out one or another for a special commendation. He was still wrought up by the excitement of the chase, and when he paused beside Huy he meant to chaff him when he said:
‘My poor Sunbird, you loosed but one arrow during the whole hunt.’ And Huy was about to answer lightly that one arrow for one elephant was as good a score as any, when suddenly Zadal the huntmaster from the middle kingdom laughed.
‘Was the bow too strong for you, Holiness, or the game too fierce?’
There was sudden and deathly silence on the entire group, and all their faces turned towards the lean dark man with the thin sneering mouth and bright acquisitive eyes.
It took a few seconds of the silence for Zadal to realize what he had said, then he glanced quickly about the circle of watching faces. With a small chill he saw they were looking at him with that same detached curious expression that men looked upon those doomed to sacrifice. Beside him a noble said softly but matter of factly, ‘You are a dead man.’
Swiftly, with real alarm, Zadal looked back at Huy Ben-Amon. Too late he recalled the reputation of this priest. It was said that no man still lived who had sneered at his back or his height or his courage. With relief he saw that the priest was smiling slightly, and delicately wiping his fingers on the hem of his tunic.
‘Thank you, great Baal’, Huy prayed silently, smiling a little. ‘It was right that you remind me of my promise. I held back from the hunt. Forgive me, great Baal. I will give you your chance now.’
Zadal’s relief was shortlived for when Huy looked directly at him he saw the smile was on the priest’s lips only. His eyes were bright and black and cold.
‘Zadal,’ Huy said softly, and the crowd pressed closer to hear his words. ‘Will you fly with me on the wings of the storm?’
They stirred at the challenge, a quick buzz of comment and they watched Zadal’s face. It had paled to a dirty yellow, and his lips compressed into a thin white line.
‘I forbid it,’ said Lannon loudly. ‘I will not let you do this, Huy. You are too valuable to me to waste your life in —’
Huy interrupted him quietly, ‘Majesty, it is a matter of honour. This one called me coward.’
‘But no man has hunted in that manner for fifty years,’ Lannon protested.
‘Fifty years is too long,’ Huy smiled, ‘is it not, Zadal? You and I will revive the custom.’
Zadal stared at him, hating his own unruly tongue.
Huy still smiled at him. ‘Or is it that the game is too fierce for you?’ he asked softly. For long moments it seemed that Zadal might refuse, then he nodded curtly, his lips still white.
‘As you wish, Holiness.’ And he knew they were right, he was a dead man.
In two large baskets, slaves had collected from one of the elephant carcasses the contents of the lower intestines. As Huy and Zadal, stripped naked, smeared their bodies with the yellow dung he overheard young Bakmor discussing the hunt with Mursil.
‘I do not believe it is possible to kill a full-grown bull elephant with a battle-axe. It sounds to me like an unpleasant form of suicide.’
‘That’s why they call it flying on the wings of the storm.’
The elephant dung had a rank odour, strong enough to mask the man smell. It was the one protection the hunters would have. Their one chance of getting into close contact with the great beasts without being discovered. The sharp sense of smell of the elephant is its main defence, for its vision is weak and near sighted.
Timon came over from the king’s entourage and assisted Huy, spreading the dung across his back. Quickly Timon had understood the method that they would use.
‘High-born, I fear for you,’ he said softly.
I fear for myself,‘ Huy admitted. ’Spread the dung thickly, Timon. I would prefer to stink, rather than die.‘
Huy looked down the steep slope which stretched down into the valley from the saucer. The elephant road zig- zagged up through the sparse forest. They would intercept the next herd here, before it was alarmed by the smell of blood in the saucer.
Huy glanced around him and saw that the huntsmen had spread out along the ridge, selecting vantage points from which to view the sport. His eyes met those of Zadal. The huntmaster was daubed with the yellow filth from his head to his feet, and he gripped the handle of his axe too hard. There was fear in those dark eyes, and tear in the taut manner in which he held himself. Huy smiled at him, enjoying his discomfort, and Zadal looked away. His lips quivered.
‘Are you ready, huntmaster?’ Huy asked, and Zadal nodded. He could not trust his voice.
‘Come,’ said Huy, and started down the slope, but Lannon stepped into his path. There was a foreboding in his
