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zest to the hunt; in fact, he had turned to face them, his back to an enormous
gnarled torquil. Fantastic! He waved a blade. Did he challenge them, the
Excellences? Launch forward, leap on him, rend him to the ground, with the
trophy to the first to touch him! But!
shock!-the ground collapsing, the forest falling; a delirium of confusion! And
look: submen coming forth with blades, to hack, to stab! Mind-bursting rage, a
frenzy of struggle, hissing and screaming-then the blade.
There were four slaughters that day, four on the next, five on the third day,
by which time the process had become an efficient routine. During mornings and
evenings the bodies were buried and the gear repaired. The business seemed as
passionless as fishing-until Reith recalled the hunts he had witnessed and so
restored his zeal.
The decision to halt the operation derived not from the diminution of
profit-each party of hunters carried booty to a value of as much as twenty
thousand sequins-or any lessening of fervor on the part of the three. But even
after sorting out the clears, milks and sards the booty was an almost
unmanageable bulk, and Anacho's pessimism had become apprehension. "Sooner or
later the parties will be missed. There will be a search; how could we
escape?"
"One more kill," said Traz. "Here now comes a group, rich from their hunting."
"But why? We have all the sequins we can carry!"
"We can discard our sards and some emeralds, and carry only reds and purples."
Anacho looked at Reith, who shrugged. "One more band."
Traz went to the edge of the forest and performed his now well-schooled
simulation of panic.
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The Dirdir failed to react. Had they seen him? They advanced with no
acceleration of pace. Traz hesitated a moment, then once again showed himself.
The Dirdir saw him; apparently they had also seen him on the first occasion,
for instead of leaping into immediate pursuit, they continued
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txt their easy jog. Watching from the shadows, Reith tried to decide whether
they were suspicious or merely sated with hunting.
The Dirdir halted to examine the track into the forest. They came into the
wood slowly, one in the lead, another behind, two holding up the rear. Reith
faded back to his post.
"Trouble," he told Anacho. "We may have to fight our way out."
" 'Fight'?" cried Anacho. "Four Dirdir, three men?"
Traz, a hundred yards down the trail, decided to stimulate the Dirdir.
Stepping into the open, he aimed his catapult at the foremost and fired a bolt
into the creature's chest. It gave a whistle of outrage and sprang forward,
effulgences stiff and furiously bright.
Traz dodged back, went to stand in his usual spot, a grin of irrational
pleasure on his face.
He brandished his blade. The wounded Dirdir charged, and crashed into the
pitfall. Its yells became a weird keening of shock and pain. The remaining
three stopped short, then came balefully forward, step by step. Reith pulled
the net release; it dropped, capturing two; one danced back.
Reith came forth. He yelled to Anacho and Traz. "Kill those under the net!" He
jumped through the tangle to confront the remaining Dirdir. Under no
circumstances must it escape.
Escape was remote from its mind. It sprang upon Reith like a leopard, ripping
with its talons.
Traz ran forward brandishing his dagger and threw himself on the Dirdir's
back. The Dirdir rolled over backward, and tearing Traz's legs loose, made
play with his own dagger. Anacho leaped forward; with one mighty swordstroke
he hacked apart the Dirdir's arm; with a second blow he clove the creature's
head. Staggering and tottering, cursing and panting, the three finished off
the remaining Dirdir, then stood in vast relief that they had fared so well.
Blood pumped from Traz's leg. Reith applied a tourniquet, opened the first-aid
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