Another shot came close. Madden crawled to a tree trunk, anger rising in place of his panic and fear.
He had been pushed around and threatened for years by Brigands of every sort. Now they thought they had him — just another farmer to torture and kill. Madden moved round the tree, then ducked low and sprinted from cover. Two shots came from his left and he hit the ground, rolled and fired left and right of the gun flashes. A man screamed. Madden was up and moving, even as other guns opened up. A wicked blow hit his thigh and he went down. A black figure leapt from the undergrowth, but Madden shot him in the face and his attacker disappeared. Pushing himself to his feet, Madden dived into the undergrowth. Above him the owl silently swooped to a thick branch, but Madden had been waiting for it. His shot blew it apart and feathers drifted down to where he lay.
'Get to your horse,' whispered the voice. 'You have less than a minute.'
With a groan Madden levered himself upright. His thigh was bleeding badly, but the bone was unbroken. He limped to the hollow and pulled himself into the saddle. Ripping the reins loose he swung the horse and thundered from the hollow. Then a bullet took him low in the back and pain seared him like hot irons. Leaning forward over the saddle, he urged the horse into a full gallop towards the west.
His eyes drifted closed.
'Stay awake,' came the voice. To sleep is to die.'
He could not sit upright for the pain in his back, and could feel the blood drenching his back and leg. Doggedly he hung on until he crested the last hill, seeing the settlement spread out below him.
The horse galloped on and Madden passed into darkness.
Shannow and Batik stripped the corpses of ammunition and supplies, but when the Jerusalem Man made to transfer the Zealots' dried meat to his own saddlebags Batik stopped him.
'I do not think you would find it to your taste,' he said.
'Meat is meat.'
'Indeed, Shannow? Even if it is stripped from the bodies of young children?'
Shannow hurled the meat aside and swung on Batik. 'What kind of a society do you come from, — Batik? How could this be allowed?'
'It is meat from the sacrificial offerings. According to Holy Law the flesh, when absorbed by the pure Zealots, brings harmony to the departed spirit of the victim.'
'The Carns were at least more honest,' said Shannow. Taking his knife, he cut hair from the tails of the Hellborn horses and began twisting it into twine. Batik ignored him and moved to the outer circle of rocks, staring out over the plain.
He felt humbled by Shannow's outburst following the attack; he felt young and stupid. The Jerusalem Man was right; he had no experience of being hunted, and would be an easy prey to the Zealots. And yet if Ruth was right — and he believed she was — then to stay with Shannow meant death anyway. Foolish and arrogant he might have been, but Batik was not without intellect.. At present his chances of survival rested with Shannow; the real trick would be timing the moment of their parting to give him a chance at life. Perhaps if he observed the Jerusalem Man for long enough, some of his innate skill would rub off on the young Hellborn.
He scanned the plain for sign of movement, but there was nothing suspicious. No birds flew, no deer moved out on the grass. As dawn lightened the sky Shannow and Batik rode from the rocks, veering east along the mountain's foothills. After an hour they came to a curling pass cutting through the peaks and Shannow urged the gelding up over the scree and into the narrow channel.
Batik swung in the saddle to study the back trail. His eyes widened — just short of the far horizon twelve riders were galloping their horses.
'Shannow!'
'I know,' said the Jerusalem Man. Take the horses into the pass. I'll join you later.'
'What are you going to do?'
Without answering, Shannow slid from the saddle and clambered into the rocks high above the pass.
Batik rode on, leading Shannow's horse. The trail widened into a bowl-shaped valley, edged with forests of spruce and pine. Batik led the horses to a stream and dismounted; Shannow joined him almost an hour later.
'Let's move,' he said and the two men rode across the valley, scattering a herd of heavy-horned buffalo and crossing several small streams before Shannow called a halt. He glanced at the sun, then turned his horse to face the west. Batik joined him, saying nothing. It was obvious that Shannow was listening and concentrating. For some time nothing happened, then a gunshot split the silence. Two more followed. Shannow waited, his hand raised, three fingers extended.
Another shot. Shannow seemed tense. A fifth shot.
That's it,' said Shannow.
'What did you do?'
'I set up tripwires and wedged five Hellborn pistols into rocks overlooking the trail.'
Batik smiled. They'll rue the day they started hunting you, Shannow.'
'No, they'll just get more careful. They underestimated me. Now let's hope they overestimate my talents — it will give us more time.'
'I wonder if we hit any of them,' said Batik.
'Probably one. The other shots might have hit horses. But they'll proceed now with caution. We will ride through every narrow channel we can, whether it be between rocks or trees or bushes.
They will have to stop and check every one for possible ambush and they won't catch us for days.'
'Aren't you overlooking something?'
'Like what?'
'Like we are heading west, back into Hellborn country. They'll have patrols ahead of us.'
'You are learning, Batik. Keep at it.'
Towards dusk Batik spotted some buildings to the north and they swung their horses and cantered down a gentle slope towards them. They were of white stone and spread over three acres. Some were more than single-storey, with outside staircases winding up to crenellated marble towers.
Shannow eased his gun into his hand as they closed on the town. But there was no sign of life.
The streets were cobbled and the iron horseshoes clattered oh the stones.
The moon came out from behind dark clouds, bathing the scene in silver light, and suddenly the town took on a ghostly look. As the two men rode into a central square, Shannow drew rein alongside a statue of an armoured warrior wearing a plumed helmet; his left arm was missing, but in his right he held a short broad-bladed sword.
On the other side of the square was a broad avenue, lined with statues of young women in flowing robes, which led to a low palace with a high oval doorway.
There is no wood anywhere,' said Batik, riding up to the doorway and running his hands over the stone.
Both men dismounted and tethered their horses and Shannow stepped inside the palace. Statues ringed the central hall and moving to each in turn, he studied them. Some were regal women, others young men of lofty bearing. Still more were older men, heavy-bearded and wise. On the far wall, past a raised dais, was a mosaic in bright-coloured stones showing a king in a golden chariot followed by an army of plumed warriors bearing long spears and bows.
'I have never seen clothes like these,' said Batik. The warriors appear to have worn skirts of wood or leather, studded with bronze.'
They could be Israelites,' said Shannow. This might be one of the old cities. But why no wood?'
Batik wandered to another wall, then called Shannow to him. In an alcove, piled against a corner, were crushed goblets and plates of solid gold. Flowing script had been engraved on the goblets, but Shannow could not read it. Near a doorway he found a golden hilt, but with no dagger attached. He pressed his finger inside the hilt and withdrew it; the faintest red stained his skin.
'Rust,' said Shannow. 'No wood, no metal. Only stone.'
'I wonder why no one lives here,' said Batik. 'It wouldn't take much to restore this place.'
'Would you live here?' asked Shannow.