Naghan had picked up Sosie, too, as the Fristle man had picked up the Fristle woman. We were all hunted slaves, no longer simply men or halflings.
I flung a glance back.
The manhounds were terribly close. Beyond them rode zorca-mounted hunters, yelling, waving their weapons, having a fine old time. I ran.
We plunged into the first outlying trees and I picked a gully and ran up it, dodging tree branches, hurdling fallen trunks. Naghan, carrying Sosie, ran with me. We plunged on into the thicker trees, clambering over rocky patches, diving into underbrush, scratched and torn, plunging on and on. Of course, my every instinct impelled me to dump Lilah down and, knives in fists, turn and battle these filthy manhounds, these high and mighty hunters. But I quelled that primeval instinct. My mission was to rescue Lilah, not to get myself killed in however enjoyable a way slaying manhounds and devilish hunters astride their zorcas.
Now we could hear the high excited keening of the jiklos. They were men! Men! Yet they were more fiercely predatory hunters than any bloodhound, any wersting, and to fall into their clutches would mean a hideous death.
We struggled and scrambled on, and came to a wall of rock.
“Put me down, Dray. We must climb.”
“Get started, Lilah. When you are at the top, I will follow.”
Sosie was already climbing, and Naghan following. Of the others I could see or hear nothing. Lilah sprang at the rocks, began to haul herself up by ridge and crevice, her long golden hair very bright in the waning light of the twin suns.
I waited.
After what seemed a very long time I heard Lilah call, and about to wheel about and follow her, I caught the feral movement in the greenery opposite, the dagger-bright flash of jagged teeth. A manhound sprang out from the trees, hurtled straight toward me.
And then — something for which I had not been prepared, the jiklo shouted to me, shouted words of a thick local language that, through the gene-manipulative pill of Maspero’s in far Aphrasoe, I was able to understand.
The manhound spoke in a thick rasping whine, a hoarse and bloodthirsty howl.
“You are done for, you two-legged yetch!”
He bounded straight for me. The long mane streamed back from the central crest. His nails glittered. His eyes were bloodshot. And his teeth — could they ever have been the teeth of normal man? Sharp and jagged, serrated, as he opened his mouth to snarl at me those teeth looked like the teeth of risslaca honed to rip hot flesh and blood!
I poised, let fly one of my knives.
He tried to duck, but he was not quick enough.
The knife buried itself in one eye.
The jiklo let out an insane scream.
He was bounding into the air, rearing, his face a demoniac mask of hate and blood-lust. He pawed up at the knife hilt.
He twisted, he toppled, he fell.
There was no time to recover the knife.
Up those rocks I went like a grundal.
From the open space the fresh sounds of a second jiklo struck over the slobbering shrieking of the first. Lilah screamed something incoherent. If that had been my Delia up there she wouldn’t have been screaming, telling me something I already knew; my Delia would have been hurling rocks down to protect the back of her man.
Without looking back I lashed out with my foot and felt my heel jar into something hairy and hard, and the howling changed key into a yowling. I scrambled up the last few yards of the rock face and swung about at the top, on all fours like a damned jiklo myself, and so peered over the lip. The bounding demoniac shapes of more manhounds ferreted through the trees and sprang into the space before the rocks.
“Sink me!” I said. I stood up and grabbed Lilah’s wrist. “The rock won’t stop them. By the Black Chunkrah, woman, stop that blabbering and run!”
Oh, yes, I, Dray Prescot, ran.
We fled through the rock gullies with the overhanging trees making the way alternately dark and light, shot through with the last rays of the sinking suns, so that all the world turned an angry viridian blood color, most unsettling.
Farther on I caught up with Naghan and Sosie, who ran, gasping and panting, in a way distressing to me. We paused for a quick breather and in that space of hard-drawn breaths we heard the click and patter of jiklo claws following us. Sosie screamed again, and Naghan clapped a hand across her face — but gently.
“If we split up we will stand a better chance,” said Naghan, the young man who claimed with so much pride to come from Hamal.
“Agreed,” I said. Then: “I wish you well, Naghan, and you, Sosie. May Zair go with you.”
Of course they had no idea what or who Zair was, that was quite clear, but they understood, and commended me to the care of Opaz.
“Remberee!” we shouted, and then ran as fast as we might over the rocks and splinters up separate gullies.
After only a short time I hoisted Lilah to my shoulder and was able to progress at a faster rate. Only a short time after that we heard the most horrendous screams and shrieks, the snuffling howling of jiklos, the blood-crazed shrieking, and we knew that Naghan and Sosie would never return home to Hamal. There was nothing I could do about that, and I thrust all thoughts of the despicable way I had been acting lately out of my mind. I had to free this Princess Lilah, otherwise the Star Lords would hurl me back to Earth.
This I knew.
She of the Veils rose into the sky and very quickly the Twins added their combined pink light so that we could press on without fear of falling into a crevasse or pitching over the precipice of a river bank. The trees thinned away and we had to decelerate our rapid onward march as the land trended downward. We skidded and rolled in a great sliding whoosh down a sheer scree-clad slope — highly dangerous, is scree, to one without experience — and at the bottom we found rocky inclines which led us out onto the hard banks of a river. Perforce, we had to turn south and follow the river, seeing its waters slide and gleam below us in the encompassing pink light. Occasional rocks and falls interrupted the river’s flow, but I made Lilah walk on all night, with stops to rest now and then, and in the end carried her, fast asleep on my shoulder.
There was no question of my being tired.
By morning the river banks had sunk to a nice level meadow-like embankment. Through the early morning mists I could see the supple sheen and glide of the river, smooth and unmarred, and presently, after a little rise and a few gorse-like bushes, we came to the sea. The sea.
Well, I wondered if that harsh interdiction of the Star Lords against my venturing out onto the sea still prevented me from doing what I had for so long missed.
As to that, ever since my cruel transition here to the manhounds’ island of Faol I had not been acting as Dray Prescot would ordinarily act, and I had rationalized that out. I was most dissatisfied. Lilah let out a cry of joy.
“Look, Dray! Across the strait! The White Rock of Gilmoy!”
I looked across the sea. Over there the dark bar of land penned in a strait which was, so I judged, in flood. Standing proudly forth, like a sentinel finger, was a tremendous pillar of rock on that opposite shore, white and blinding on its eastern edge where the light struck it, shadowed on the west.
“You know where we are, Lilah?”
“Yes! That white rock is famed throughout Havilfar. It stands on the northern shore of Gilmoy and I have flown over it many times. I had no idea Faol was close.” She shivered at this.
“Then we must find a boat.”
The notion struck my fancy. The Star Lords had forbidden me to journey by sea; they had also bidden me rescue Princess Lilah, and to do that I must take to a boat. Now let the Star Lords unravel that knot
— I cared not a fig for them. We walked along the beach. I could see no boats at once, and in that I felt disappointment.
A house, set back against the line of gorse-covered hills backing the beach, showed a thread of smoke from
