The gogarin reacted with sickening speed, dropping to all six limbs and propelling itself forward with incredible power. Ulmenetha stood stock still as it raced towards the wagon. Then it veered after the horse. Its mighty shoulder struck a young tree, uprooting it. Then it was gone behind them.
The horse galloped on, then Ulmenetha heard its death cry.
She could not move, and stood trembling beside the team. Nogusta dismounted and carefully felt his way to her side. ‘We must move,’ he whispered. Ulmenetha did not reply. Yet even through her terror she maintained the spell. Nogusta led her to the front of the wagon and lifted her to the seat beside the near invisible Bison. Remounting his horse Nogusta rode to the head of the team and reached down for the bridle. At his encouragement the horses moved forward.
Ulmenetha could not stop the trembling in her hands. Her eyes were tight shut, and she almost cried out as Bison’s large hand reached out and patted her leg. He
leaned in to her and whispered. ‘Big whoreson wasn’t he.’
His voice was so calm, and the strength of the man seemed to flow with the sound. Ulmenetha felt herself growing calmer. She swung on her seat, gazing fearfully back down the trail. The wagon was moving very slowly, and, with every moment that passed the priestess expected to see the huge, white form of the gogarin lumbering out behind them.
They covered another half mile. Slowly the road began to rise, and they climbed to a second ridge road. The wagon filled almost two thirds of it. The horses were tired, and twice Bison was forced to lash them with the reins, forcing them on. The power was almost gone from Ulmenetha now. She tried to draw fresh strength from the mountains, but the old stone would not surrender its magick.
Licking her finger she raised it to the wind. It was blowing from behind them. Their scent could no longer carry back to the forest. With relief she let fall the spell.
‘By Heaven, that’s better,’ whispered Bison.
The ridge road levelled out and Bison paused the team, allowing them to catch their breath. The moon was shining brightly now, and the forest was far below them.
A thin piping cry came from the back of the wagon, as the hungry babe awoke. Bison swore and swung round. Axiana was unbuttoning her dress. The babe’s cries echoed in the mountains. The queen tore at the last two buttons, exposing her left breast. The infant calmed down and began to suckle. Bison swore again, and pointed back to the forest.
Far behind them the gogarin had emerged from the trees and was moving swiftly along the road.
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Nogusta leapt from the saddle. ‘Everyone out of the wagon!’ he yelled. ‘Kebra, help me unhitch the horses.’ The bowman urged his horse forward, then dismounted. He did not even try to release the traces, but drew his dagger and cut them clear. Dagorian edged his horse around the wagon, then jumped down to assist him. Pharis helped the queen down, while Conalin swept up little Sufia and climbed over the side. Bison scrambled into the back of the wagon, picking up food sacks and blankets and hurling them to the roadside.
The giant glanced back down the steep incline. The gogarin was running towards them. It seemed small at this distance, a white hound against the moonlit grey of the rock road. The team clattered clear. Nogusta climbed to stand alongside Bison. In his hand was the heavy lance, tipped with a razor sharp throwing knife.
‘You know what needs to be done,’ said Nogusta. Bison looked into his friend’s pale blue eyes.
‘I know. Let me take the spear.’
‘No! The talisman will protect me from the terror it radiates. Now get down – and set the wagon rolling on my signal.’
Bison jumped to the roadside and summoned Kebra and Dagorian. ‘What is he doing?’ asked the young officer, as Nogusta settled himself in the back of the wagon.
‘He’s going to ram it,’ said Bison. Stepping back he dropped down behind the front wheels, judging the line which the wagon would follow once they started it down the slope. There was a slight curve to the right some 60 yards ahead. That would be the point where – if they misjudged the speed – the wagon would roll over the edge and plunge hundreds of feet down the mountainside. Sweat beaded Bison’s brow and he wiped his sleeve across his face.
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