the moonlight, were three silhouettes. If he had not recognized one as a man, he would not have believed the scale. Drandor had been small, but even so, a dog on all fours should come no higher than his waist, not halfway to his shoulder. The mastiffs' limbs were not long and spindly like a racing hound's, but muscled and full. Their heads were all snout beneath slight ridges that marked the eyes and ears. Jemidon saw the trader point in his direction, probably at the imp light, and then let go of the rein. The larger mastiff howled. With a surge of strength, it jerked its huge body to charge down the hill. The other answered and quickly followed behind.
Jemidon pulled Delia to her feet and randomly selected which direction to flee down the trail. They sprinted by the lattice, and Delia bent to scoop up the imp bottle as they passed.
'Not that!' Jemidon shouted. 'The rain is washing away all of the scent. When the moon clouds over again, that light is all they will have to track us by.'
He looked back over his shoulder to gauge how much time they had to find a place to hide, and his heart sank. The dogs seemed to skim down the slope in great bounding strides. They had already covered half the distance between them, while he and Delia had moved hardly at all. Jemidon ran for another few steps and then halted, shaking his head.
'It will be to no use,' he gasped. 'They will run us to ground in the end. Whatever we do, it may as well be here.'
'But what?' Delia's eyes widened. 'I have seen what has been left of the carcasses from the times before.' She pointed back to the cliff top. 'See, Drandor is following so that he can savor what they will do.'
For a moment, Jemidon watched the shadowy rushing hounds and the trader moving more slowly behind. He saw them disappear into blackness as the moon again winked out and he shook himself into action. He ripped off his cape and began to wrap it in a thick bundle about his left forearm. He felt a small, hard lump in one of the pockets; with a grunt of recognition, he removed the metal puzzle he had purchased from Delia a few days before.
'Your hem,' he said in sudden inspiration. 'Tear me a strip and then get low to the ground.'
Delia opened her mouth to speak, but Jemidon motioned her to silence. In a brief moment, the mastiffs came rushing up to the bottle, howling at their discovery.
The sky was now totally black. Only the glow of the imp cast any light. The chorus of clicks and pops of the rain against the pebbles of the path masked the noise as Delia ripped her gown. Together, she and Jemidon crouched to the earth and held their breath, watching.
The dogs circled the bottle, and one gave it a push with its snout. The imp's incandescence flickered brighter, bathing the heads of the hounds in a ruddy glow. Jemidon saw lips pulled back to expose long rows of ghost-white teeth, the canines slender and pointed, extending to the chin. Tiny eyes darted to and fro, cruel searchlights scanning for their prey. Clouds of steamy breath pumped from their nostrils into the humid air. The larger mastiff growled in frustration. It pushed at the imp bottle a second time and then put its nose to the ground, slowly sniffing the trail that led in the other direction.
Jemidon and Delia lay perfectly still, huddled behind a low rock beside the path. Scarcely breathing, they watched the hound wander off in the dimness. The smaller one circled the bottle and shook its coat, holding its head high, testing the wind. It hesitated a moment longer and then turned in the opposite direction from the other.
With a slow, deliberate step, one paw at a time, it walked down the trail, eyes scanning and ears cocked for any suspicious sound. Delia's hand tightened on Jemidon's padded forearm as the dog drew closer. He touched her hand in reassurance and then quickly began to wind the strip of cloth around the clump of metal. The hound drew abreast of the rock, just as Jemidon finished and ceased all his motion. He gripped the small wad tightly in his fist and tensed the muscles in his legs. He would have one chance; if he missed, there would not be another.
The hound stopped and growled. It was a low and guttural sound, extending into the subsonic, seeming to vibrate even the boulder behind which they crouched. Cautiously, Jemidon rocked himself forward and raised his head. With a barely perceptible motion, his eyes cleared the horizon of the granite and he peered out onto the path.
The hound was looking the other way in a sweeping scan of the darkness, its ears still tensely erect. Gradually it turned back full circle to stare in Jemidon's direction.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Jemidon and the dog stood frozen, separated by the obscuring rain. Then, in a sudden blur, the mastiff leaped forward. With a roaring growl, it vaulted the rock, jaws wide and front legs extended. Jemidon stood up to meet the onslaught. He took aim through the opaqueness and at the last possible moment hurled the cloth-wrapped weight into the gaping mouth. The mastiff plunged onward, grabbing Jemidon about the shoulder and tumbling them both to the ground.
Jemidon felt a stab of pain as the teeth cut through his wet tunic and into his arm. He rolled to one side. With his protected forearm, he tried to pound on the dog's nose. The first two blows skittered harmlessly aside, but the third landed on target. Instinctively, the mastiff snorted to clean the passage and then inhaled to test the result.
Immediately, it released its grip and coughed, trying to dislodge the puzzle sucked into its throat. Jemidon whirled free of the flailing paws and stumbled back on Delia beside the rock. The hound steadied itself to charge, but only a muffled bark escaped from its jaws. Its eyes began to bulge. With great heaves of its chest, it sucked the wad of cloth deeper into its windpipe.
Deliberately, it marched to where Jemidon had fallen, but each step was slower than the last. The mastiff faltered on one foreleg and then collapsed in a heap. With eyes staring in pain, it pawed the ground, struggling for air.
Jemidon rose to his knees, just as another growl warned him to look behind. He whirled and flung up his left arm as the larger mastiff bounded over the rock. The hound bit into the cape-wrapped sleeve and surged forward, landing on top of Jemidon with a rib-jolting crash. Jemidon reached up with his free hand, but his shoulder was already starting to stiffen. His blow stopped short in a stab of pain.
He locked his legs around the dog's barrel chest and tried to tip the mastiff to the side. In response, it spread its front legs in a wide vee and settled its rear to form a stable tripod. Even through the protection of his cape, Jemidon felt the pressure of the teeth and the spasm of the jaw muscles as they gritted down harder on the cloth. The hound jerked Jemidon's arm from side to side, with each tug pushing it backward and up over his head.
For a second, Jemidon ignored the tactic. He concentrated on twisting his arm as much as he could in order to pry it from the viselike jaws. But the hound's grip was too firm; in a moment, Jemidon's arm was well extended above his brow. The dog then suddenly let go and dove for Jemidon's exposed throat. Jemidon reacted instinctively and brought his arm flying back down across his face. In the last split second, he managed to interpose it as a barrier to the gnashing teeth.
Again the mastiff began to work Jemidon's arm aside. This time Jemidon clenched his muscles tight and tried to keep his arm between the foam-flecked mouth and the arteries pulsing in his neck. The beast growled at the resistance. It stopped the jerking back and forth and clamped its grip tighter. The sinews in its neck and shoulders knotted. Then, with a mighty heave, it flung Jemidon's arm aside like a discarded bone.
Jemidon pulled his arm back, but a massive paw stomped on his elbow, pinning it to the ground. Jemidon twisted to the opposite side, but he could not break free.
He tugged and pulled, but he was held fast. The hound saw the end of resistance and howled with success. In desperation, Jemidon flung his other hand palm upward across his throat. The mastiff stared down at Jemidon, clicking its teeth in anticipation. Jemidon closed his eyes for what would happen next.
Suddenly the hound barked with pain. It lurched backward and turned its head to snap at what had dropped onto its back. Jemidon opened his eyes to see Delia astride the huge beast, clutching a small, bloody dagger. The hound's motion threw her to the side; but as she fell, she slashed again between the ribs. The thrust plunged true. In a burst of gore, the mastiff staggered and fell to the ground next to its strangled comrade.
Jemidon rose to his feet. He looked at Delia and pointed at the blade dangling at her side.
'It was to be my last resort, if Drandor had his way,' she said vacantly, still not comprehending what she had done.
Jemidon nodded. He looked back to the dead hounds at his feet. Impulsively, he opened the jaws of the one closer. 'Fifty-six teeth,' he said slowly after a moment. 'No wonder they looked so savage.' He dropped the head and frowned in thought. 'A latticework can be from any smith's shop and an imp from across the sea, if from nowhere else. But there is no breed from which could come such as these.'
