Viruk ran on. The area was not thickly wooded and he could see no natural defensive point. He tried to picture exactly where he was in terms of the Luan and the many settlements along the border. He decided he was at least 10 miles from the nearest Vagar village and almost double that to Ammon’s capital. The ground was rising and Viruk pushed on. He could just see the soldiers entering the trees some 400 yards back. Reaching the top of the rise he came to a sudden stop. The ground dropped away sharply and he found himself standing on the brink of a cliff overlooking the Luan River 200 feet below. ‘Oh this is pleasant,’ he said, sourly. A series of shots sounded from behind him. Instinctively he ducked down, listening again for the whooshing of wind close to him. There was nothing, save that dirt spurted up from the ground some 20 feet behind him. Viruk grinned. Hefting the soldier’s zhi-bow he sent three bolts flashing through the trees. The first struck a branch, which exploded in a shower of sparks. The second took a man in the shoulder, ripping his arm from his body and puncturing his lung. The third thundered against a tree trunk. Fire spurted from the bark and black smoke began to billow from the hole.
The Almecs took cover behind the trees, occasionally darting forward to another hiding place closer to the fleeing man.
Viruk was not a man given to great angers, but he felt an exception was called for here. Ten Avatars were dead, he had no horse, and he was facing almost thirty warriors. Behind him was a murderous drop to a stony nverbed. Two shots whizzed by him. With a soft curse be rose and began to run along the cliff edge, looking for a way to climb down. A wicked blow took him high in the shoulder, ripping the skin. Dropping the soldier’s bow Viruk stumbled a few feet further. The Almecs ran from their hiding places, fire-clubs raised. Viruk jumped from the cliff edge. The Almecs swept forward, running to the edge and looking down. There was no sign of the man they were pursuing. They milled at the lip for some moments then, gathering up the zhi-bow, walked back into the woods. Ten feet down, his body hugging the cliff wall beneath narrow overhang, Viruk heard them move away. This has not been a good day,’ he said. ‘Not good at all.’ His arm was aching abominably. Swinging his legs sat upon the ledge, removed his green crystal from pouch and held it to the wound. The flesh began knit almost immediately, but the bone beneath was bruised. The collar of his black leather jerkin was ripped. Viruk lifted his hand to it – and felt something small and round lodged there. Pulling it clear he saw it was a blood-smeared ball of lead.
‘Foul weapons,’ he said. ‘No beauty in them at all.’ Viruk sat for some time, his long legs dangling over the ledge. From here he could see the red and gold cliffs opposite, rearing up against a blue sky. He scanned the landscape. It was rugged and deeply beautiful. Few flowers grew, but the pale green of the trees by the river’s edge and the different shades of gold in the cliffs was greatly pleasing to the eye.
Rolling to his knees he edged along the cliff, seeking hand and footholds to climb back to the top. It would not be possible to make the climb carrying his zhi-bow, but he was loath to leave it behind. From where he stood it was around 12 feet to the lip. Leaning out from the ledge he threw the zhi-bow high into the air. It sailed up and over the clifftop. Slowly and carefully he climbed the face. His shoulder throbbed with pain, but there was no lack of strength to trouble him. Heaving himself over the top he picked up his bow and walked back into the trees.
He knew the mission was over and that it would be foolish to go on. Ammon was either dead or in hiding. Either way there was little likelihood of finding him.