The raucous chanting, growing in volume and intensity as the ceremony approached, also served to mask the sound his party made while descending the sides of the valley. With the looseness of the earth, it was impossible for even Jak to maintain a complete silence. For the people with him, however, it seemed to be a case of how much noise they could make.
“Don’t see why we couldn’t just march in,” grunted the small, nut-brown and wizened figure who slid down beside the albino, slowing his descent so that he was level with Jak. He managed to blend in with the landscape, only the whites of his hazel eyes shining in the dark. His name was Blake.
“You’d like them to have any inkling we’re coming?” came a laconic voice from behind, indicated only by the flickering firelight that caught his spectacles. J.B. was slowing his descent with solid footfalls, reasoning that any noise he made was more than masked by the chanting. “We walk in and announce ourselves, just makes things harder,” he added.
Blake grunted noncommittally.
There was one main track in and out of the ville. It took the shallowest incline out of the valley, and consisted of beaten earth and the remnants of a bitumen road. Two poles, once probably part of a sign hanging over the road, or perhaps a gate system, stood stark against the bare earth around.
The surrounding incline took a sharp turn upward, until at the rear of the ville it formed an almost vertical wall. This made it easy for Harvey to split the group into two separate parties and assign one to take each side of the valley. Jak, J.B. and Blake were joined by Mildred, Ant and Dee and Doc. The latter was picking his way down with infinite care, and the others waited for him to join them.
“Old man’s too slow if you ask me,” Blake grumbled.
“Wouldn’t say that,” Ant replied, his twin nodding agreement. “He can move fast enough when need be.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Doc answered, settling himself beside the others. “When do we move?”
“Harvey signal,” Jak told him.
ON THE OTHER SIDE of the valley, Harvey and Downey picked their way down to a spot about twenty yards from the first ranch house. Dean and Krysty followed, joined by the rangy sec man with receding hair, who was named Rankine. They were a few yards in front of the next pack, with Ryan behind the bear-like Jake and the fat sec man, whose name was Bodie. For his size, Bodie was surprisingly nimble, and the one-eyed warrior noted this, in case he should ever come up against the sec man. His reason for taking the rear position was partly to keep a watch on the Raw sec men, partly to keep an overall view on Harvey’s tactics.
If Samtvogel had no sec forces or no blasters, then an attack from the sides, using the contrast between the dark hillside and the bright light of the ceremonial fires, should stand a good chance of success. Ryan had attempted a quick head count of the Sunchildren, and although there was too much movement for him to be certain, there seemed to be about seventy-five to eighty of them—five to one. Not good odds generally, but the blasters would even that up considerably.
Hit hard, hit fast, attain the target and retreat. The theory was sound, although the logic of carrying out the attack just to win back some chilled flesh was skewed. Better to do that than face the firefight in the forest, though. The odds were marginally better, and this could make them some progress toward their ultimate goal.
The one-eyed man joined the rest of the party, and they sat for a second watching the obscene celebrations beneath. One mutie, in a flowing and tattered robe dyed in many colors, had taken the center of the arena and seemed to be leading the chanting. The sound changed, a high keening note of blood lust now entering the massed voices.
“Think the others are in position?” Downey asked. His question was directed at his chief, but it was Dean who answered.