in the harsh glare of the morning sun.
A catapult struck the lift squarely then and shattered it to
pieces. The outlaws on the bluff cried out as the lift fell apart.
But Padishar did not fall; he caught hold of the rope and dangled
there, arrows and stones flying all about him, a perfect target.
There was blood on his chest and arms, and the muscles of his
body were corded with the effort it required for him to hang on.
Swiftly the rope came up, Padishar Creel was hauled to the
edge of the bluff, and his men reached out to pull him to safety.
For a moment the battle was forgotten. Chandos shouted in vain
for everyone to get back, but the outlaws ignored him as they
crowded around their fallen leader. Then Padishar was on his
feet, blood streaming down his body from his wounds, arrows
protruding from deep within his right shoulder and through the
fleshy part of his left side, his face pale and drawn with pain.
Reaching down, he snapped the arrow in his side in two and
with a grimace pulled the shaft clear.
“Get back to the wall!” he roared. “Now!”
The outlaws scattered. Padishar pushed past Chandos and
staggered to the breastworks, peering down at the Creeper.
The Creeper was still hanging there, still not moving, as if
glued to the rock. The Federation archers and catapults were
continuing their barrage on the outlaw defenses, but the effort
had become a halfhearted one as they, too, waited to see what
would happen.
“Fall, drat you!” Padishar cried furiously.
The Creeper stirred, shifting slightly, edging right, trying to
maneuver away from the glistening sheet of oil. Claws raspe
as it hunched and squirmed to keep its hold. But the oil hac
done its job. The creature’s grip began to loosen, slowly at first
then more rapidly as one after another of its appendages slippec
free. A howl of dismay went up from the Federation ranks &
cheer from the outlaws. The Creeper was sliding down more
quickly now, skidding on a track of oil that followed after it
relentlessly, coating its tubular body. Its grip gave way alto
gether and down it went, tumbling, rolling, falling with a crunch
of metal and bone. When it struck the earth at last, dust rose in
a massive cloud, and the whole of the cliff face shook with the
impact.
The Creeper lay motionless at the base of the cliffs, its oiled
bulk shuddering.
“That’s more like it!” Padishar Creel sighed and slid down
the breastworks into a sitting position, his eyes closing wearily.
“You’ve finished him sure enough!” Chandos exclaimed, drop-
ping into a crouch beside him. His smile was ferocious. Morgan,
standing close at hand, found himself grinning as well.
But Padishar simply shook his head. “This doesn’t finish
anything. That was today’s horror. Tomorrow will surely bring
another. And what do we do for oil then, with the last of it
spilled out today?” The dark eyes opened. “Cut this other ar-
row out of me so I can get some sleep.”
The Federation did not attack again that day. It withdrew its
army to the edge of the forest, there to tend to the dead and
wounded. Only the catapults were left in place, sending their
loads skyward periodically, though most fell short and the as-
sault proved more annoying than effective.
The Creeper, unfortunately, was not dead. After a time, it
seemed to recover, and it rolled over sluggishly and crawled off
into the shelter of the Parma Key. It was impossible to guess
how badly it had been damaged, but no one was ready to predict
that they had seen the last of it.
Padishar Creel was treated for his wounds, bound up, and
put to bed. He was weak from loss of blood and in no small
amount of pain, but his injuries would not leave him disabled.
Even as Chandos was seeing to his care, Padishar was giving
instructions for continuing the defense of the Jut. A special
weapon was to be built. Morgan heard Chandos speak of it as
he gathered a select group of men and sent them off into the