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in order to save a paltry remnant of the Lohvians of Hiclantung.
Like some bursting summer storm cloud we broke away down the grassy slope. The nactrix hooves
pounded. Arrows crisscrossed. Men and beasts shrieked and reared and fell away. We went bounding
on, bouncing in our saddles, and yet maintaining that incredible accuracy of shooting that is the pride of
the Lohvian.
Seg spurred up with me, his bow bending and releasing with a smooth inflexible rhythm. He controlled
his mount with his knees, as did most of the men of Erthyrdrin, although some cavalrymen of Hiclantung
tended to gather up their reins in the hands that grasped their longbows. I had followed the example of
Seg, although my training stemmed from those far-off days riding with Hap Loder and my Clansmen
across the Great Plains of Segesthes. Had I a phalanx of voves at my back now we would smash like
a roller of the gods across the Harfnars of Chersonang!
Seg turned his tanned flushed face toward me. Every thing about him was instinct with the passion of
battle. I saw his face change; the expression of absolute horror and then of fanatical determination that
crossed his features told me, without the need of personal verification, what had happened.
With a tremendous shout Seg swirled about. He thrust his great longbow away as he spurred cruelly
back.
Back there Thelda s nactrix had taken an arrow in the belly.
She was sprawled across the grass to one side of the following wedge of cavalry. Arrows nicked the air.
Arrows feathered into men and beasts. The carts rolled and bucked as they bounced after the cavalry
wedge, their wounded occupants shrieking in time to the jouncing. Dust spurted. In all the crazed uproar
I knew Seg could see only Thelda.
As he reached her a flying wing of Chersonang cavalry swept over them. I saw his long sword shining
red; then he was down.
Somewhere in that melee of spurring beast-men and trampling nactrixes, of cutting steel and thrusting
lances, lay Seg and Thelda.
I thought of Queen Lilah, and of my place at the apex of the wedge but we were in retreat, we were
not charging to victory. I brought the nactrix around with as much cruelty as Seg had shown, dug in my
spurs, sent the half mad beast crashing back.
Harfnars with their flashing weapons reared before me.
Arrows cut the plumes from my helmet. Arrows clanged away flintily from the armor. One sank deeply
into the neck of the nactrix. It went on and over in a somersault. I flew from its back, turning over, still
grasping my long sword. I did not see Seg and Thelda again in that maelstrom of barbaric savagery.
Then, for a space, I did not see anything at all save a red-flaming blackness.
During this period of misted movement and dulled perception I was aware of a voice speaking in the
common language of Kregen, so I knew it would be an indigo-haired Ullar talking to a Harfnar of
Chersonang.
Bring him. He will furnish sport for a while.
There followed movement and the sensation of flying and the thrashing sounds of great wings beating the
air. The ache in my head diminished to proportions just short of bearable and I came back to my senses
chained and bound and strapped up to a granite wall in a dark dungeon.
Dungeons are dungeons, as I have remarked before, and some are worse than others. This particular
specimen contained all the unpleasant features a human-operated dungeon would have, plus a few the
Harfnars had thought up out of their own culture of bestiality.
A groaning and moaning sound told me there were others of the men of Hiclantung with me, reserved for
sport. There was no need to elaborate on what was in store for us. Cultures approximate, given the
original dark impulse that began the gene trail.
By the time the first set of jailers flung open the lenken door and descended the greasy steps toward us I
had freed my left wrist and partially broken away the links chaining my right. Under the impression that it
was now or never I exerted all my force. My shoulders are not only wide, they are blessed with roping
muscles that can surprise even me. The last link parted with a ringing ping.
In the fresh dazzlement of light I blinked and caught two of the Harfnar jailers about their throats and
squeezed and flung them into their companions. All the time a low bestial growling rumbled and raged in
the dungeon. The Harfnars hoisted themselves up, yelling, and their swords flicked out. They approached
me warily. I was still securely fastened by my legs, so that between fending off the beast-men with swung
chains I bent and tried feverishly to unfasten my legs, only having to straighten up and lash out again to
make them keep their distance.
Put down your chains, you Hiclantung cramph!
I ll slit your belly up to your throat, rast!
At first I did not deign to answer them as they yelled at me and I worked on my bonds and swung the
chains and all the time that sullen bestial roaring boomed and thundered in the dungeon.
Keep them occupied! shouted a Hiclantung cavalryman. The other captives were attempting to break
their bonds, but they could not succeed. I still do not recall the exact strengths I exerted to snap those
chains.
Smash him over the head! screeched the guard commander.
They danced in, one went down with his face ripped off, then they had entangled the chains, were
bringing up spears to strike at me.
Come on, rasts, and by the Black Chunkrah, come to your deaths!
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