Skiljan admitted. “To show
courage. Behind the ear
is
a good spot, though. For an
arrow.” Skiljan cocked her head, sniffed the breeze. A
definite, strong smell preceded the kropek. “Only place an
arrow will kill one of them. Not counting a low shaft upward into
the eye.”
“Why use bows, then?”
“Enough hits will slow them down. It will be stragglers
mostly, that we get. The old, the lame, the stupid, the young that
get confused or courageous or foolish.” She looked at Marika
with meaning. “You stay outside me. Understand? Away from the
herd. Use your bow if you like. Though that will be difficult while
running. Most important, make plenty of noise. Feint at them when I
do. It is our task to keep them running.” As an afterthought,
“There are some advantages to hunting in the forests. The
trees do keep them scattered.”
Skiljan had to speak loudly to be heard over the kropek. Marika
kept averting her gaze from the brown line. So many of them!
The tenor of the rumble changed. The herd began moving faster.
Faintly, over the roar, Marika heard the ululation of meth
hunting.
“Ready,” Skiljan said. “Just after the leaders
come abreast of us. And do what I told you. I will not carry you
home.”
“Yes, Dam.” All those venturesome thoughts she had
had back at the packstead had abandoned her. Right now she wanted
nothing more than to slink off with Kublin, Zambi, and the
males.
She was scared.
Pobuda gave her a knowing look.
The roar of hooves became deafening. The approaching herd looked
like a surge in the surface of the earth, green becoming sudden
brown. Lean, tall figures loped along the near flank, screaming,
occasionally stabbing with javelins.
“Now,” Skiljan said, and dashed toward the herd.
Marika followed, wondering why she was doing such a foolish
thing.
The Degnan rushed from the woods shrieking. Arrows arced in
among the herd leaders, who put on more speed. Skiljan darted in,
jabbed a male with her javelin. Marika made no effort to follow. At
twenty feet she was as close as ever she wanted to be. The eyes of
the ugly beasts held no fear. They seemed possessed of an evil,
mocking intelligence. For a moment Marika feared that the kropek
had plans of their own for today.
Distance fled. With speed came quick weariness. The meth who had
been running the herd fell away, their hunting speed temporarily
spent. They trotted while they regained their breath. The kropek
seemed incapable of tiring.
There was endurance and endurance, though. Meth could move at
the quick trot indefinitely, though they were capable of only a
mile at hunting speed.
A male feinted toward Skiljan. Pobuda and Gerrien were there
instantly, ready to slip between it and the herd if it gave them
room. It moved back, ran hip to shoulder with another evil-eyed
brute. Marika shuddered, imagining what would become of someone
unlucky enough to fall in their path.
Another male feinted. Again huntresses darted in. Again the
beast faded back.
Marika tried launching an arrow. She narrowly missed one of the
huntresses. Her shaft fell with no power behind it, vanished in the
boil of kropek. She decided not to try again.
Her lungs began to burn, her calves to ache. And she was growing
angry with these beasts who refused to line up and die.
A third male feinted. And she thought,
Come out of there,
you! Come out here where I can
—
It wheeled and charged her, nearly falling making so sudden a
turn.
She did not stop running, but neither did she try to evade its
angry, angling charge. She froze mentally, unable to think what to
do.
Pobuda flung past, leaping over the kropek. She planted her
javelin in its shoulder as she leapt. A second later Gerrien was on
the beast’s opposite flank, planting her own javelin as the
kropek staggered and tried to turn after Pobuda. It tried to turn
on Gerrien, then. Barlog jabbed it in the rear. It sprang forward,
ran farther from the herd.
Then it halted and swung around, right into
courage. Behind the ear
is
a good spot, though. For an
arrow.” Skiljan cocked her head, sniffed the breeze. A
definite, strong smell preceded the kropek. “Only place an
arrow will kill one of them. Not counting a low shaft upward into
the eye.”
“Why use bows, then?”
“Enough hits will slow them down. It will be stragglers
mostly, that we get. The old, the lame, the stupid, the young that
get confused or courageous or foolish.” She looked at Marika
with meaning. “You stay outside me. Understand? Away from the
herd. Use your bow if you like. Though that will be difficult while
running. Most important, make plenty of noise. Feint at them when I
do. It is our task to keep them running.” As an afterthought,
“There are some advantages to hunting in the forests. The
trees do keep them scattered.”
Skiljan had to speak loudly to be heard over the kropek. Marika
kept averting her gaze from the brown line. So many of them!
The tenor of the rumble changed. The herd began moving faster.
Faintly, over the roar, Marika heard the ululation of meth
hunting.
“Ready,” Skiljan said. “Just after the leaders
come abreast of us. And do what I told you. I will not carry you
home.”
“Yes, Dam.” All those venturesome thoughts she had
had back at the packstead had abandoned her. Right now she wanted
nothing more than to slink off with Kublin, Zambi, and the
males.
She was scared.
Pobuda gave her a knowing look.
The roar of hooves became deafening. The approaching herd looked
like a surge in the surface of the earth, green becoming sudden
brown. Lean, tall figures loped along the near flank, screaming,
occasionally stabbing with javelins.
“Now,” Skiljan said, and dashed toward the herd.
Marika followed, wondering why she was doing such a foolish
thing.
The Degnan rushed from the woods shrieking. Arrows arced in
among the herd leaders, who put on more speed. Skiljan darted in,
jabbed a male with her javelin. Marika made no effort to follow. At
twenty feet she was as close as ever she wanted to be. The eyes of
the ugly beasts held no fear. They seemed possessed of an evil,
mocking intelligence. For a moment Marika feared that the kropek
had plans of their own for today.
Distance fled. With speed came quick weariness. The meth who had
been running the herd fell away, their hunting speed temporarily
spent. They trotted while they regained their breath. The kropek
seemed incapable of tiring.
There was endurance and endurance, though. Meth could move at
the quick trot indefinitely, though they were capable of only a
mile at hunting speed.
A male feinted toward Skiljan. Pobuda and Gerrien were there
instantly, ready to slip between it and the herd if it gave them
room. It moved back, ran hip to shoulder with another evil-eyed
brute. Marika shuddered, imagining what would become of someone
unlucky enough to fall in their path.
Another male feinted. Again huntresses darted in. Again the
beast faded back.
Marika tried launching an arrow. She narrowly missed one of the
huntresses. Her shaft fell with no power behind it, vanished in the
boil of kropek. She decided not to try again.
Her lungs began to burn, her calves to ache. And she was growing
angry with these beasts who refused to line up and die.
A third male feinted. And she thought,
Come out of there,
you! Come out here where I can
—
It wheeled and charged her, nearly falling making so sudden a
turn.
She did not stop running, but neither did she try to evade its
angry, angling charge. She froze mentally, unable to think what to
do.
Pobuda flung past, leaping over the kropek. She planted her
javelin in its shoulder as she leapt. A second later Gerrien was on
the beast’s opposite flank, planting her own javelin as the
kropek staggered and tried to turn after Pobuda. It tried to turn
on Gerrien, then. Barlog jabbed it in the rear. It sprang forward,
ran farther from the herd.
Then it halted and swung around, right into
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