these days. They’d been coming out ever since things got tense with the Barahir. They were supposed to be keeping an eye out, but mostly they talked to the girls. That little breach of duty almost got us all killed.
Less than a mile away a huge herd of those big birds, which Sai called krae, wild cousins of the big-headed bastards that had pulled his coach, were grazing in the blue grass. That was pretty common. The krae were a prime source of meat for the tribe and hunters went out every few days to bring down a dozen or so. They weren’t dangerous if you kept your distance and didn’t provoke them. They looked like crazed carnivores, but they were really more like cows. They used those big snapping turtle beaks to steam-shovel up the same tubers we were digging for. We ignored them. Most of the time they ignored us. Not today.
I had just filled my first sack of tubers when I heard a rumble. The guards looked up from their flirting. The heads of the slaves and the women came up like prairie dogs. The krae were stampeding right for us. My heart jumped like a frog in a bread box. A big, gray wave of huge, shaggy birds a mile wide was about to crash down and drown us.
The krae are fast. Real fast. The tribe’s hunters almost never try to cut them down them on the fly. They get most of their kills sneaking up on them and using their bolos to bring them down, or trapping them in blind canyons and spearing them like fish in a barrel. In a straight race the birds win every time. We were in big trouble.
The guards, those brain-dead, bootie-blinded bone-heads, shouted a command—about two minutes too late—but we were already running, the Aarurrh girls screaming, the older, wiser women saving their breath.
Some of the slaves got left behind in the confusion, pumping away on their scrawny legs without a chance in hell. I would have revealed my leaping ability right then and there, but Queenie, the sweetheart, slung me up on her back and we raced for the ravine trailhead. I looked over and saw Kitten scoop up Sai and tuck him under her arm like a running back with the pigskin. Whew!
The birds were gaining. They’d been at a full run when we noticed them, a half mile away, and by the time we’d all got up to speed, the gap was closed by half, and the ravine didn’t seem any closer. I looked back, just in time to see a slave go down under the tide, claws wider than he was crushing him to the ground and ripping giant divots out of his back. I could make out individual feathers on the big bastards now, and the red of their wild eyes.
Then a glint made me look beyond them. I squinted into the huge cloud of dust those big chicken feet were kicking up and saw something back there that wasn’t a bird—a spear head, a spangle of jewelry, the silhouettes of broad shoulders and dreadlocks.
“Hur-Hranan! Look! There are Aarurrh back there! Behind the krae!”
Queenie shot a look back and growled low in her throat. She barked to the guards. “Barahir!”
They looked back too.
The ravine was only a hundred yards away now, but the krae were only fifty. The guards were dropping back and urging us ahead. Queenie was doing the same, shoving the other females ahead of her. I broke out in a cold sweat. It’s fine to play the noble den mother, but not when you’ve got a passenger. The first girls were sweeping into the hairpin turn of the steep trail down to the floor of the ravine. The trail hugs the cliff pretty tight in some places. The Aarurrh don’t usually go down it more than two abreast. The girls were taking it full tilt three and four at a time.
The first krae were twenty feet away when we all suddenly realized that they weren’t going to stop! Whatever the Aarurrh behind them had scared them with, it was enough to do a total lemming trip on them. Forget gravity. Forget flightless wings. The krae herd was about to become a mindless krae avalanche.
Queenie wheeled down into the trail as the first of the krae hit the
Less than a mile away a huge herd of those big birds, which Sai called krae, wild cousins of the big-headed bastards that had pulled his coach, were grazing in the blue grass. That was pretty common. The krae were a prime source of meat for the tribe and hunters went out every few days to bring down a dozen or so. They weren’t dangerous if you kept your distance and didn’t provoke them. They looked like crazed carnivores, but they were really more like cows. They used those big snapping turtle beaks to steam-shovel up the same tubers we were digging for. We ignored them. Most of the time they ignored us. Not today.
I had just filled my first sack of tubers when I heard a rumble. The guards looked up from their flirting. The heads of the slaves and the women came up like prairie dogs. The krae were stampeding right for us. My heart jumped like a frog in a bread box. A big, gray wave of huge, shaggy birds a mile wide was about to crash down and drown us.
The krae are fast. Real fast. The tribe’s hunters almost never try to cut them down them on the fly. They get most of their kills sneaking up on them and using their bolos to bring them down, or trapping them in blind canyons and spearing them like fish in a barrel. In a straight race the birds win every time. We were in big trouble.
The guards, those brain-dead, bootie-blinded bone-heads, shouted a command—about two minutes too late—but we were already running, the Aarurrh girls screaming, the older, wiser women saving their breath.
Some of the slaves got left behind in the confusion, pumping away on their scrawny legs without a chance in hell. I would have revealed my leaping ability right then and there, but Queenie, the sweetheart, slung me up on her back and we raced for the ravine trailhead. I looked over and saw Kitten scoop up Sai and tuck him under her arm like a running back with the pigskin. Whew!
The birds were gaining. They’d been at a full run when we noticed them, a half mile away, and by the time we’d all got up to speed, the gap was closed by half, and the ravine didn’t seem any closer. I looked back, just in time to see a slave go down under the tide, claws wider than he was crushing him to the ground and ripping giant divots out of his back. I could make out individual feathers on the big bastards now, and the red of their wild eyes.
Then a glint made me look beyond them. I squinted into the huge cloud of dust those big chicken feet were kicking up and saw something back there that wasn’t a bird—a spear head, a spangle of jewelry, the silhouettes of broad shoulders and dreadlocks.
“Hur-Hranan! Look! There are Aarurrh back there! Behind the krae!”
Queenie shot a look back and growled low in her throat. She barked to the guards. “Barahir!”
They looked back too.
The ravine was only a hundred yards away now, but the krae were only fifty. The guards were dropping back and urging us ahead. Queenie was doing the same, shoving the other females ahead of her. I broke out in a cold sweat. It’s fine to play the noble den mother, but not when you’ve got a passenger. The first girls were sweeping into the hairpin turn of the steep trail down to the floor of the ravine. The trail hugs the cliff pretty tight in some places. The Aarurrh don’t usually go down it more than two abreast. The girls were taking it full tilt three and four at a time.
The first krae were twenty feet away when we all suddenly realized that they weren’t going to stop! Whatever the Aarurrh behind them had scared them with, it was enough to do a total lemming trip on them. Forget gravity. Forget flightless wings. The krae herd was about to become a mindless krae avalanche.
Queenie wheeled down into the trail as the first of the krae hit the
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