Part 2 (2/2)

Suddenly the moans turned into a shrill scream. Twana writhed and twisted, her mouth pouring out wild, meaningless sounds, her legs clamped tight around Blade and her nails raking his back. He could feel her twisting within as well, as every part of her body threw itself into a wild convulsion of released desire.

Then Twana's convulsion drew Blade up to his own peak and pushed him over. She cried out again as she felt him pouring himself hotly into her, and a third time as his arms tightened around her like steel bands. Then Blade was sagging down on her, as though all his strength had poured out of him along with all his desire. His head came to rest between Twana's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and her hands drifted down to rest lightly in his tangled hair.

It was a while before they found the strength to untangle themselves long enough to pull the blankets over them. Even that strength didn't last long. Both of them were asleep within a few minutes, and it didn't matter whether the Shoba's men and sniffers were one mile away or a thousand.

They lay snugly together until just before dawn. Then Blade woke, crept out from the blankets without waking the sleeping girl, and drank some water. He woke Twana, and together they collected their gear and headed toward the hills.

Twana's face grew more strained as the hills and the Wall on top loomed higher and higher above them. She stayed quiet until they'd reached the very foot of the nearest hill. Blade unslung his pack and turned toward the slope, and that drew a wild cry from her.

”No, Blade! Do not! You must not go up there! The Watchers will take you. You must not die and leave me alone!”

Blade turned. This seemed as good a time as any to find out what made Twana so fearful of the hills and the Wall. ”What are the Watchers, Twana, that a warrior needs to be afraid of them? The Shoba's men found me hard to kill. Why should the Watchers have it any easier?”

”You do not understand, Blade. The Watchers who defend the Wall are not men. You are strong against men, but. . . ”

Blade held up a hand to interrupt her. ”The Watchers are not men? Then what are they?”

Twana swallowed. ”It-they-no one can say for sure. Those who could know-they are dead. The Watchers killed them.”

”How?”

Once more Blade had to piece together a picture out of Twana's disjointed answers to a series of questions. When he'd finished, he understood why the Watchers of the Wall, like the Shoba's sniffers, were something to be feared.

The Wall had marched along the crests of the hills to the west as far back as the memory of Twana's people went. During all that time, it had been protected by the Watchers. These were not men, but great monsters that seemed to have something of the shape of a man. They were many times the size of the largest man though. They moved in ways no living creature ever could, and they shone all over as if they were made of metal.

They caught and killed anyone who came too close to the Wall. This was certain, for they had been seen to do it. No one knew exactly how they killed or why, but it was certain that they did. No one who had gone up to the base of the Wall had ever come back down. Even the Shoba's men would not go where they might have to face the invincible Watchers. They would not even light fires or post sentries when they were close to the Wall, for fear of drawing the anger of the Watchers.

Twana's story of the Watchers still further aroused Blade's curiosity. Like the Wall itself, the Watchers hinted at an advanced civilization lying somewhere to the west. Unlike the Wall, which could have stood a thousand years after the last of its builders vanished, the Watchers suggested that civilization still survived.

For the moment this would make no difference to Blade's plans. He would cheerfully risk his own neck many times over to satisfy his curiosity, but he would not put Twana in danger if he could avoid it. They would continue their flight as if the Wall and the Watchers didn't exist, until either they were safe or the Shoba's men overtook them.

”Very well. We shall not go near the Wall unless the Shoba's men are about to catch us. Then we will go up the hill and take our chances with the Watchers.”

”But. . . .”

”Twana, the Shoba's men will kill us when they catch us, won't they?” She nodded, shuddering. ”Then what do we have to lose? Even if the Watchers do kill us, it will surely be a quicker, cleaner death than the Shoba's men would give us. And who knows? The Watchers may not kill us after all. Perhaps the men who went up to the Wall found a rich land, with beautiful women and rivers of beer. They didn't come back because they didn't want to.” It was a feeble joke, but enough to make Twana smile. She was still smiling as Blade turned to the slope and began scrambling upward.

The smile died swiftly when he returned, his face set as hard as the rocks of the hillside. ”They are coming after us, aren't they?” she said.

”Yes. Mounted men, light carts, and two things that move low along the ground.”

The sniffers. Neither of them said the word, because it wasn't necessary. Blade had a brief, bleak moment of realizing that Twana had been right. If the Shoba's men had been willing to follow this far, they were not easily discouraged. If the sniffers could follow such a faint trail, they were as good as Twana said they were. The odds were not good.

They weren't hopeless either. If the Shoba's men weren't easily discouraged, neither was Blade. Sniffers might have supernatural powers of scent, but not after they were dead. If all else failed, there was still the Wall.

Blade slung his pack and took Twana's hand. The chase was on again, deadlier than before.

Chapter 7.

The next three days were exhausting, but also a challenge to Blade's skill and experience. He could almost have enjoyed it if Twana hadn't been with him and if the stakes hadn't been so high. If they were caught, the best they could hope for was a swift death.

Blade used every trick that he'd ever learned and a few he made up on the spot. He sought out the rockiest ground, where there was nothing to show a footprint or hold a scent. He zigzagged and doubled back whenever he could afford the time and distance. He marched for miles in his bare feet, carrying Twana on his back. He led the chase through every stream and pond that was shallow enough to wade. Once they even took off their clothes and swam a mile down a small river. Another time they came to a stand of trees that grew close together. They climbed the nearest tree and covered several hundred yards by swinging from branch to branch, like Tarzan of the Apes. They did everything except walk on their hands, and Blade would have done that if possible.

It was not enough.

The sniffers never lost the trail, at least not for more than an hour or two. Every time Blade climbed the hill to look to the north, the Shoba's men were a little bit closer.

Fortunately, the enemy could only pursue at the speed of the sniffers. The sniffers could move only a little faster than a man on foot, and there were only two of them. They had tremendous endurance though-like machines of steel and rubber, rather than creatures of flesh and blood. Slowly the gap between the pursuers and the pursued closed.

On the evening of the third day, Blade knew that he and Twana had reached the end of their running. Their pursuers were so close that sometimes he could hear the high-pitched whistling cries of the green riding animals, the druns. Fortunately, the ground was turning rugged, cut up with low hills and ravines that provided plenty of cover. Without that cover, the enemy would long since have been able to charge forward and ride down their prey with no further help from the sniffers.

Blade knew that in another day or two he and Twana would no longer be able to afford the time to sleep at night. Then exhaustion would bring them down swiftly and make them an easy, even helpless, prey for their pursuers.

Fight or climb the Wall? The Wall was still with them, although they must have come more than a hundred miles from where Blade first saw it. A half-hour's brisk climbing, and they would be at its base. Then Blade could climb any of the overgrown stretches and haul Twana up with the rope. He'd worry about the Watchers when and if he had to.

Blade decided to fight. ”They seem to be only twelve men and two sniffers,” he said. ”Even if we do not kill all the men, we may kill the sniffers, and then the men will have to give up the pursuit. There are no other men of the Shoba for many miles around. Then we can stop running, regain our strength, and return north to h.o.r.es.

”I will go in at night,” he went on. ”Even if they have some warning from the sniffers, I won't be an easy target. Also, they may be slow to use arrows or guns in the camp for fear of hitting friends.”

”Yes,” said Twana. ”While you fight, I can creep close to the druns and cut them loose, so they will run off.”

Blade opened his mouth to tell the girl she wouldn't be anywhere near the fight, but she shook her head firmly. ”No, Blade. I will not sit in the darkness and hear you die. I can cut the druns loose. I can watch your back. I can set fire to the tents. I cannot fight a soldier of the Shoba as you can, but I can kill those you have wounded. We do not want to leave any of them alive if we can.” There was chill hatred in those last words, a hatred built up over many generations and now entirely sweeping away her fear. ”We are together in this, Blade. We must be. We must be together in this battle as we were in the love we shared last night.”

Blade swore mentally, but there was a smile on his face. Such courage moved him. Twana would hardly be in more danger coming with him than staying behind, and an extra pair of eyes and hands would be useful.

”Very well, together,” he said, and kissed her.

The night was totally black, and a brisk north wind blew stinging dust into Blade's eyes. Since he would be coming up on the enemy camp from the south, the wind would blow his scent away from the sniffers and any sound he might make away from the ears of the sentries.

Blade reached out and ran his fingers over Twana's face. She was almost invisible in the darkness. Like Blade, she had put on her darkest clothing and then rubbed dirt on her hands and face. They would be as hard to see as black cats, and Blade hoped they could move as silently.

They crept forward. The wind brought them the cries of the tethered druns, but no human voices. There were certain to be sentries posted, but not many. With surprise and darkness on his side, Blade was certain he could take care of these before their comrades could wake.

The approach to the camp seemed to take hours, although they had barely a mile to cover. Blade was half-expecting dawn to appear in the eastern sky before they reached striking range of the camp.

From the hillside the evening before, Blade had watched the enemy settling down for the night. He'd carefully noted the lay of the land and the best approach to the camp. Now he led Twana behind a low rise in the ground, just high enough to conceal them. Twana lay still while Blade crept out into the open. After a while, his night vision could make out the dim shapes of the druns and the wagon that held the sniffers. He could also make out three sentries. No tents, no fire. As before, the Shoba's men would not light a fire this close to the Wall and its Watchers.

Blade twisted on to his side and drew an arrow from his quiver. Then he sprang to his feet and, in almost the same motion, aimed, drew and let fly. The arrow whistled through fifty yards of wind-whipped night air to find a target in the sentry's chest. He was dying before his ears registered the whistle of the arrow that killed him. Blade nocked a second arrow. The second sentry turned toward him, and the man's white face gave him a fine aiming point. The man died with a gurgling scream.

The scream startled the druns into shrill cries and alerted the third sentry on the far side of the camp. He raised his musket and let fly with a thundering crash and a flare of orange-red flame. His ball sailed off into the night, but the noise brought every man in the camp awake.

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