broken with the bulk of spires, gulleys, narrow catwalks, all touched with the fitful light from clouded stars.
The light deluded and robbed the eyes of clear perspective. He bumped into a cowled ventilator shaft, almost tripped over an upraised section of peaked tiles, halted barely in time to prevent stepping into the mouth of a dark cavity.
In it something chittered and scrabbled as it rose.
It was black, touched with the gleam of reflected starlight, chiton gleaming like oiled and polished iron. A creature he had disturbed now rose from its lair. Mandibles rattled like castenets and fitful light revealed gleaming, faceted eyes, a spined and rearing head. A mutated insect ready to rip and tear at the intruder. A beetle-like spider fully seven feet long which attacked with a sudden rush.
Dumarest dropped to his left knee, steel whining as he whipped the blade from his right boot, the edge slicing up and outward to leave a questing antenna lying on the roof. One minor injury quickly followed another as again he slashed to hack at a hooked limb, to roll as mandibles snapped where he had been, to feel space opening beneath him as he halted on the edge of the pit.
It wafted a noisome, acrid stench accompanied by thin stridulations. Sound drowned in the rasp of the creature's legs, the clash of its pincer-like mandibles. Dumarest rose, backing, his left hand extended behind him, searching for the railed catwalk he had spotted earlier. The fingers found metal, closed around the bar as the insect rushed at him. The charge would have knocked him down had it not been for the rail, which sent him hard against it as he ducked to rise under the jaws and send the knife sliding over the armored thorax. The point found a juncture, a softer fold which yielded beneath the thrust of the sharp steel. Dumarest straightened his arm, turning the knife into the metal extension of the spear he'd made of flesh and bone, the insect's own fury driving the blade deep into its body.
The wound sent it backing, head lifted, to turn and dive back into the safety of its lair.
'Dumarest!' The voice came from the window he had left. 'Don't move, man. Stay where you are! Just don't move!'
The warning had come too late but told him there could be other dangers. The roof made a good place for mutated creatures to stay and they, in turn, would serve better than human guards. Dumarest climbed over the rail and moved along the catwalk. It ended at a humped bulk and he edged around it, the tip of his knife rasping the stone as he sent it before him. Beyond lay triple ridges supporting flying tresses designed to hold the weight of the chambers below. He moved along them, eyes searching the far side of the courtyard, windows bright in the reflected glow from the light streaming from the dormer. As he watched it darkened as if occluded by a shape.
Someone following him? If so he was wasting his time but if the man wanted to risk his neck it was to Dumarest's advantage. If nothing else he would provide a target for any lurking dangers.
A second courtyard lay behind the first and Dumarest studied it. The small windows running along the edge of the sloped roof were all dark aside from one at the far end. A point of light which he used as a marker, crouching low as he moved along the tiles so as to silhouette anything against it. A slender shaft came into view, passed, was replaced by a bulkier ventilator which, in turn, yielded to a humped and rounded mass.
From it came the sudden hum of wings.
Hornets, each as large as a pigeon, rising in a swarm from their hive as they sensed his nearness, the sweat or heat from his body, the vibration of his tread. Shapes which darted, seeming to hover, to vanish as they darted again, living missiles armed with strings oozing venom.
Dumarest ran, risking a slip, a fall in the desperate need to find a place of relative safety. In the open he was too vulnerable-attacks could be made from all sides-but if he could manage to guard his back he could make a stand. A high coping reared before him, set with alcoves bearing figures of stone. He reached the nearest, tore it from its pedestal, sprang to take its place. As the statue went rolling down the slope of the roof to fall and crash into shards on the ground below, the first of the hornets struck.
It came from above, aiming for the head, missing as Dumarest ducked, to hit the shoulder with the impact of a swung hammer, sting ripping at the plastic, poison staining the bared mesh beneath. The determined and vicious creature died in a mass of pulp as Dumarest threw himself back against the stone. As it fell another joined it, chiton broken, wings shredded beneath the swing of a hand stiffened to form a blunted axe. A weapon paired by the other hand, both weaving, slashing, lifting to stab, to strike, to beat off the mass of droning, spiteful menace.
The coping saved him, that and his speed, the reflexes which allowed him to beat an attack from midair, to knock stings to one side, to send a rain of twitching, broken insects to fall and roll and plummet to the ground. But as fast as they fell others took their place, rising from the hive to wheel, to hover, to dart in with vicious intent. To die in turn beneath the edges of his palms, the thrust of stiffened fingers, to pulp against the shielding stone as he ducked and weaved to dodge and delude.
The battle could only have one end. Already he was aching with fatigue, his left forearm a burning torment. Sweat ran down to sting his eyes and blur his vision, making it even harder to see the attacking hornets. Only their hum saved him at times, the instinct which told him where and when to strike.
And, sometimes, he was too late.
Pain burned on his scalp where a sting had slashed the skin through his hair. Hooked legs had ripped a cheek and his left hand was puffed from injected venom. Beneath the ripped plastic his body ached from accumulated bruises and the right side of his throat oozed blood.
Soon a sting would find an eye, the pain ruining his concentration, causing him to flail wildly at the air, leaving himself open to more successful attacks. Within seconds he would be falling, rolling to join the shattered statue, the pulped bodies of the hornets he had sent after it.
Here, in the nighted darkness, on the summit of a roof, he could die.
Would die unless something happened to his advantage. Unless the luck which had saved him so often before served him once again.
A hum and pulp on his swinging hand. Another and a shadow blocking the vision of one eye as his hand stabbed upwards to drive fingers deep into the winged body. More as, like rain, the hornets fell from the sky. 'Dumarest!'
He heard the voice, the sudden glare of light which rilled the air with scarlet gossamer from shimmering wings, with red and yellow from mutated bodies. 'Down man! Down!'
An order yelled from beyond the glare of light, one he obeyed, hearing the whine of missiles as he dropped, a hail of darts which blasted the hornets from above where he crouched.
'Hold your breath!'
Vapor this time, a swirling fog which chilled the air and frosted the stone, the tiles, the fallen bodies with a thick, white film. The gas numbed his attackers and sent them to land, swaying on thin, spindle-legs, wings drooping, eyes glassy with disorientation. 'All right, Earl, get aboard.'
The raft edged closer, a figure standing before the searchlight, others at the instrument, the controls. As Dumarest rose and stepped forward to grip the rail Dino Sayer came into clear view.
'You were lucky,' he said. 'Damned lucky. If we'd arrived a couple of minutes later you'd be jelly by now.'
Dumarest said nothing, waiting until he was safe, his boots on the deck of the raft, one hand gripping the rail as it lifted up and away from the roof.
'You should have waited,' said the old man. 'Didn't you hear the call? The roofs no place to be at anytime especially at night. A man needs to be covered, coated with repellents, armed with a spray before he can venture out. Those hornets will attack anything which comes into their area-and there are other things.'
'I met one,' said Dumarest. He straightened, easing his muscles, his right hand falling casually toward his right boot, the knife it contained. 'Her idea?'
'Charisse? No, Armand pet the guards, but she lets them be. No point in clearing them when they've become established and they're no trouble usually.' Sayer gave a dry chuckle. 'But we don't usually have intruders on the roof.' To the driver he snapped, 'That's high enough. Back to the station and check in the equipment. Brice, kill that light.'
The night closed around them as the man obeyed. At the controls the driver was illuminated by the small gleams from ranked dials and the vehicle would be equipped with riding lights fitted beneath, but in the body there was nothing to reveal who was where. Dumarest moved, stooping to watch silhouettes against the star-brightened sky. Sayer hadn't moved. He grunted as Dumarest rose to stand beside him.
