“Don’t faint,” Haplo told him. “You’ll fall off and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop and put you back on.”
Alfred nodded, clutched the dog’s fur even more tightly.
Haplo pointed toward the woods. “Take him there, boy,” he ordered. The dog, realizing this was serious work now, cast a baleful glance at the tiger-men and then stared at the forest with fixed determination. Haplo drew in a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
They plunged down the side of the ridge. Almost instantly, wild cat screams rose on the air—horrible sounds that raised the hair on the back of the neck, sent shivers through the body. Fortunately, the ridge was made of granite, solid and hard, and they were able to scramble down it swiftly. Moving at an angle away from the tiger-men, the small band reached the level plains ahead of their pursuers.
The ground was now smooth and flat; whatever type of vegetation had once covered it appeared to have been deliberately cut down, allowing them to run unobstructed. The thought occurred to Haplo, bounding swiftly over the dark black dirt, that he might have been dashing across lush farmland perched high in the mossbeds of Pryan. The idea was ludicrous, of course. His people were hunters and gatherers, fighters and roamers, not farmers. He put the thought out of his mind, put his head down, and concentrated on pumping his legs. The level ground was an advantage to Haplo and his group, but it was also a distinct advantage to the tiger-men. Haplo, glancing behind, saw that the creatures had dropped to all fours, their powerful limbs galloping with ease over the dirt and plant stubble.
Their slant-eyes glittered green; the glistening fangs in their panting mouths were spread wide in grins of blood-lust and the thrill of the chase. The dog had raced on ahead, Alfred bumping and jouncing, his legs flung up and back and sideways. The dog easily outdistanced those on foot. Casting a worried backward glance at its master, it started to slow, waited for him to catch up.
“Go on!” Haplo shouted.
The dog, though seemingly unhappy about leaving him behind, did as it was told. It sped for the woods.
A clunk at Haplo’s left side caused him to look down. The wicked sharp edges of a cat’s paw shone white against the soil. The weapon had fallen short of its mark, but not by much. He increased his speed, using his magic to enhance his body’s strength and stamina. Marit was doing the same.
Hugh the Hand was keeping up gamely when suddenly he pitched forward and lay face down in the dirt. Blood dribbled from a wound on his head. A cat’s paw lay at his side. Haplo veered off course to help. Another cat’s paw whined through the air.
Haplo ignored it. The assassin was out cold.
“Marit!” Haplo called.
She glanced back, first at him, then at their pursuers gaining on them. She made a swift motion with her hand that said, Leave him! He’s finished!
Haplo had his hand under Hugh’s left shoulder, was dragging the unconscious man to his feet. Marit appeared at the human’s right side. Something struck Haplo in the back, but he paid little attention to it. A cat’s paw, but it had landed the wrong way, claws outward.
“Join the circle!” he told Marit.
“You’re crazy!” she retorted. “You’ll get us all killed! And for what? A mensch!” Her tone was bitter, but when she looked at Haplo, he was startled and warmed to see grudging admiration in her eyes.
Catching hold of Hugh the Hand, she whispered the runes beneath her breath. The blue and red glow from her body flowed over the human as Haplo’s magic flowed over him from the other side. Hugh the Hand began to stumble forward, legs acting at the magic’s command, not his own. He ran in a sleepwalking stupor, reminding Haplo of the automaton back on Arianus.
Their combined magic kept the human going, but only at a cost to both the Patryns. The forest appeared to be farther off than it had at the beginning of their mad dash. Haplo could hear the tiger-men close behind them now, hear the thud of their paws in the dirt, the low growls and whines of pleasurable anticipation of the kill.
No more cat’s paws were thrown. Haplo wondered why at first, then realized grimly that the beasts had decided their crippling weapons were no longer necessary. The prey was obviously wearing out.
Haplo heard a snarl. Marit screamed a warning; she let Hugh fall. A heavy weight hit Haplo from behind, dragged him down. Fetid breath on his face sickened him; claws tore at his flesh. His defensive magic reacted—blue rune-fire crackled. The tiger-man howled in pain; the weight on top of Haplo lifted.
But if one tiger-man had caught him, others wouldn’t be far behind. Haplo levered himself up with his hands, struggled to regain his feet. He could hear Marit’s shrill battle cries, caught a glimpse of her jabbing at one of the tiger-men with a wooden spear. Haplo drew his dagger as another tiger-man struck him, this time from the side. He and the tiger-man went down, rolling over and over, Haplo stabbing with the knife, the tiger-man tearing at the Patryn’s unprotected face with ripping claws.
A loud booming bark, roaring like thunder, erupted from overhead. The dog had dropped off Alfred, returned to join the fray. Grabbing hold of the tiger-man on top of Haplo, the dog yanked the beast off and began to shake it back and forth, hoping to break its spine.
And suddenly, astonishingly, Haplo heard calls and yells coming from the forest. Arrows whistled above him; several of the tiger-men shrieked and slumped to the ground.
A group of Patryns emerged from the trees. Hurling spears and javelins, they drove the tiger-men away. Another flight of arrows sent the beasts fleeing back across the plains in thwarted rage.
Haplo was dazed and bleeding; the cuts on his face burned like fire. “Marit,” he said, trying to find her in the confusion.
She stood over the body of a tiger-man, her bloodied spear in her hand. Seeing her unhurt, Haplo relaxed. Several Patryns had hold of Hugh the Hand, and, although obviously perplexed at the sight of a man bereft of tattoos, they were carrying him gently but hastily into the shelter of the woods. Haplo wondered wearily what they must think of Alfred.
A woman knelt down beside Haplo. “Can you walk? We caught the tiger-men by surprise, but a pack that large will soon get its courage back. Here, I will lend you my help—”
The woman reached for Haplo’s hand to assist him to his feet, perhaps to share her magic with him. But someone moved in front of the woman. Mark’s hand clasped his.
“Thank you, Sister,” said Marit. “He has help already.”
“Very well, Sister,” said the woman with a smile and a shrug. She turned to keep an eye on the tiger-men, who had retreated but were prowling about at a safe distance.
Haplo, with Marit’s assistance, rose stiffly to his feet. He’d fallen with one knee bent at an angle, and when he tried to put his weight on it, pain shot through his leg. Reaching up his hand, he gingerly touched his face, drew his fingers back red with blood.
“You were lucky, the claws just missed your eye,” Marit told him. “Here, lean on me.”
Haplo’s injury wasn’t serious; he could have managed to walk on his own. But he didn’t particularly want to. He draped his arm over Marit’s shoulder. Her strong arms encircled him, supported him.
“Thanks,” he said softly. “For this and—” She cut him off. “We’re even now,” she returned. “Your life for mine.” And though her voice was chill, her touch was gentle. He tried to see into her eyes, but she kept her face averted from his. The dog had transformed back to its normal size, was gamboling happily at his side.
Looking ahead, into the forest, Haplo saw Alfred standing on one foot like an ungainly bird, peering out at them, wringing his hands in anxiety. The Patryns had carried Hugh the Hand into the woods. He had regained consciousness, was already attempting to sit up, waving off both their aid and their baffled and curious inspection.