Once among the rocks the Iftin set the off-worlders at the back of that small space and faced outward, their swords drawn and ready.
V
They had chosen, to the best of their ability, that temporary fortress, and, it would seem, with luck they had chosen well. The off-worlders were backed by rocks, and nothing could come at them from that side, while—before the sword-armed Iftin—the passage was narrow. Not more than two of the wytes could storm them at a time. There could be no pack maneuver there to drag them down. Only—perhaps servants of another species followed. Would it be this day that the true Iftin faced the false?
Ayyar listened until it seemed to him that his whole body was one giant ear. For a long moment now the wyte had not given tongue. He could hear the murmur of the river, other sounds all normal. Why were the Enemy running mute?
Then he drew a sharp breath. From here they could see the flitter. Something slim, white, narrow of head, long and bony of leg, pattered into the open and rounded the flyer to sniff at the open cabin door, thrusting its head and shoulders into the interior in search. The wyte withdrew to nose the ground over which the off-worlders had stumbled. Now it swung around to stare at the rocks and sighted the waiting Iftin. Its jaws opened; a thin, pale tongue showed. The creature flung back its head, voiced one of the shrill howls that hurt Iftin ears and rang inside Iftin minds.
So having summoned, it trotted forward to hunker down well beyond the range of any prudent sword. A movement beside Ayyar caught his eye. Rizak fumbled at the belt of the off-worlder he had guided. His hand moved jerkily, force of will tensing his body until his fingers closed about the butt of the blaster holstered there. With strained, clumsy movements, he brought that hand around, as though the light weapon in his grip was an almost intolerable weight. The barrel rested on a rock top, pointing at the wyte. Rizak fired.
Fire sped to dazzle and hurt their eyes, their goggles notwithstanding. There was no cry from the wyte—the beam had been too swift. It left death behind in a twisted thing resembling the gnarled roots of a long dead tree. Ayyar rubbed his smarting eyes, goggles pushed up. As he snapped them back into place he waited, tense, for some answer to the summons the wyte had voiced. Rizak had finished off the pack scout, but it was only one of many. And could blasters deal as well with robot Iftin?
“Riverside—to the south—” Jarvas ordered suddenly.
Ayyar was dismayed. To leave this shelter, small as it was, for the open was rank folly. But—perhaps to wait for untold odds could be stupid too.
“Come!” Jarvas spoke in Basic to the off-worlder of the police. He raised the other’s limp arm, placed its hand upon his own shoulder. But now Ayyar saw the eyes in that slack face move, fasten on Jarvas. And surely there was dawning intelligence—awareness in them!
With each of them guiding one of the off-worlders, the Iftin went down slope to the ice-packed gravel of the water’s edge.
“Look!” Ayyar whirled, knocking his charge back and down. But Rizak needed no warning. He sprayed the beam of the blaster, and the things that had moved in upon them from the south twisted in its flame. Wytes—three of them—running mute.
“What—what— Who—are—you?”
The voice speaking halting Basic startled Ayyar. He had come, even in that short time, to think of the off-worlders as semi-inanimate, without any claim to a share in this, mere burdens for the Iftin. Now he looked at the man he had knocked to the ground. He was older than the flyer and his face was no longer blank. He raised a hand, reaching for a weapon; Jarvas spoke first.
“Get on your feet, if you can. Here they come again!”
No warning bay from the wyte, nothing but a flicker of movement from among the rocks. Rizak cried out. In his forearm hung the quivering shaft of an arrow. He dropped the blaster, and in the same second Ayyar stooped to scoop it up. He rayed a green-clad figure standing among the rocks, but it did not fall, though the beam crisped away its clothing.
“The head!” Jarvas shouted. “Aim for the head!”
Aim? It was hard to hold this alien weapon at all. It shook and wavered. He rested the barrel on his forearm to steady it, shivering at its touch. But the second sweep of that beam went in across the head of the archer. The false Ift did not stagger, but it began to run back and forth with small jerky steps—until its erratic course brought it to the top of a small cliff and it crashed over and down, to be hidden from their sight. Another arrow clattered against the stone at Ayyar’s shoulder. There was no going south into that.
“Back—upstream—”
The off-worlder who had spoken got to his feet and obeyed Jarvas’ order as if he were one of them. He had his blaster out and accounted for the second silent rush of wytes as they flowed down upon the party. Ayyar’s hand shook so he could not aim properly, only sent a beam spraying across the rocks.
Then, as suddenly as the attack had lipped toward them, it was finished. Nothing stirred among the rocks, and even that heaviness of spirit that had been a cloak about those who served That lifted from them, though whether this could be depended upon as a signal of the Enemy’s retreat Ayyar could not be sure.
“Who are you?” Again came that demand from the off-worlder. His blaster was now covering the three of them.
“We are Iftin—of the Forest,” Jarvas replied.
“More robots—” The pilot’s hand struck the blaster from Ayyar’s hold.
“Not so. Your robots are out there.” Jarvas pointed to the west. “You have just seen them and their hounds in action. We left you one of them to let you know the truth—”
“As if we believe you—”
“Hanfors!” The third of the flitter crew—he of the police—cut in sharply. “Who signaled thus—” He repeated a stream of numerals.
“Two, seven, nine,” Jarvas added. “Pate Sissions, First-in Scout.”
“Where is he?” the pilot demanded.
“He is with us; he sent that message,” Jarvas said. “We are not the robots, nor do we have any alliance with That which controls them. They are being used to create ill feeling between us and you off-worlders.”
The man who had halted Hanfors’ outburst lowered his blaster an inch or so. He looked to the oldest of their number inquiringly and the other spoke:
“You brought us down—to tell us this?”
“No. That brought you down, to be an easy kill for Its servants.”
“And just what is That?”
“I can give you no answer. Only It is a power which has existed for ages, which has always stood as an enemy to my people, and which moves against us now through you.”
“Through us?”
“You fire the Forest, grub out its roots—why?”
Hanfors snorted. “Why? To uncover the burrows of the vermin who raid the garths—you—you Iftin, if that is what you call yourselves.”
“We Iftin have not raided you.”
“We have these now, at any rate!” Hanfors spoke to the others. “We can take them in and get the real truth—with a snooper. I will set the flitter on ready; you bring them up—”
He holstered his blaster and ran up slope to the machine.
“Those swords,” the older man said. “Suppose you drop them now.”
Rizak supported his wounded arm with his other hand. There was a dark patch growing around the arrow shaft. Jarvas unbuckled his shoulder belt, dropped the sheathed blade on the ground as he asked:
“Will you let me see to his wound?”
“All right. But disarm him first!”
Rizak’s sword followed Jarvas’. Then Jarvas laid hand on the protruding shaft.
“You!” The off-worlder pilot looked to Ayyar. “Put yours down, also.”
But as Ayyar raised unwilling hands to put off his weapon, there was a call from the flitter. Hanfors came out of the cabin and down slope with greater speed than he had gone up.
“The controls are dead. We cannot raise her.”
“Send in a call—” suggested the older man.
Hanfors was already shaking his head. “Everything is dead, no motor, no com—nothing—”
“Can you repair it?”
“Repair what? Hanfors demanded. “There is nothing wrong that one can see.”
“Nothing wrong except that it will not work,” commented the third man. “If that is so, we are also off the port beam, and they will come looking for us.”
“Just when, Steffney? And”—the older man glanced to where Jarvas was dealing with Rizak’s wound, snapping the shaft to draw through the point—”we cannot believe that this is a particularly healthy spot in which to be grounded. I would suggest we start north. The clearing squad working on this side of the river must have put a com-find on us as we went over. They will be looking for us first. Also”—he tapped one finger against his blaster—”we have these. It would seem that the weapons mustered against us”—he looked pointedly at the swords, the broken arrow—”are less efficacious. And we now possess three hostages.”