Authors: Chad Oliver
There
was
a
sudden
hush
among
the
Danequa.
The mammoth
poised
himself
triumphantly
on
the
edge of
the
cliff,
his
trunk
lashing
out
angrily.
He
stamped his
huge
foot
and
trumpeted
loudly,
his
red
eyes sweeping
his
enemies
with
hatred.
For
a
long
moment no
man
moved.
Then
Nranquar
walked
proudly
out
of
the
group of
warriors
and
advanced
on
the
waiting
mammoth. He
was
determined
to
force
him
back
before
more damage
was
done,
and
he
had
a
still-burning
torch in
his
hand.
He
held
it
before
him
like
a
shield,
and his
step
did
not
falter.
Ashamed
by
this
display
of
raw
bravery,
Mark
stepped
out
and
followed
his
enemy. Without
a
word,
Tlaxcan
walked
at
his
side.
Nranquar
was
still
in
the
lead,
and
marching
steadily.
The
mammoth
watched
him
come,
his
red
eyes glittering
as
they
reflected
the
flames
from
the
burning
torch.
He
snorted,
hesitated.
He
did
not
like
the torch,
and
he
was
not
keen
about
charging
the
massed Danequa
warriors
waiting
in
the
rear.
But
the
three men
coming
at
him
were
a
different
story.
If
they thought
they
were
going
to
scare
him
into
stampeding off
the
cliff,
they
were
sadly
mistaken.
He
would stampede,
and
do
it
willingly
enough.
But
he
was going
forward.
With
a
trumpeting
bellow,
the
mammoth
charged.
Time
seemed
to
freeze
as
the
mammoth
hurled
his |
tons
of
fighting
fury
away
from
the
cliff’s
edge
and
I
toward
the
three
men
who
had
dared
to
challenge
I
him.
Mark
had
no
time
to
think,
but
his
mind
registered
every
tiny
detail
as
the
monster
came
toward him.
lie
saw
the
place
where
one
of
the
mammoth’s curving
tusks
was
chipped
slightly
on
the
tip,
he
saw the
red
tongue
exposed
when
the
trunk
snaked
upward
in
the
air,
he
saw
distinctly
the
four
large
toes on
the
mammoth’s
raised
foot.
He
heard
the
harsh, whistling
breathing
of
the
beast.
He
smelled
its
rank animal
smell.
He
felt
the
earth
shake
under
its
charging
tread.
Nranquar
desperately
backed
away,
but
he
could not
possibly
move
fast
enough
to
get
out
of
the
mammoth’s
path.
He
hurled
his
torch
and
the
monster brushed
it
aside
with
his
trunk.
Nranquar
stopped
dead for
a
long
instant,
poised
himself,
and
threw
his
spear with
all
his
might.
The
shaft
lanced
through
the
air and
imbedded
itself
in
the
mammoth’s
left
shoulder. It
was
a
good
throw,
and
it
hurt
the
beast,
as
was
evidenced
by
a
snort
of
rage
and
pain.
But
it
did not
stop
him;
on
the
contrary,
it
speeded
him
up.
The
mammoth
rushed
at
Nranquar
who,
defenseless,
turned
and
ran.
The
man
was
not
fast
enough. The
mammoth’s
deadly
trunk
whipped
out
with
lightning
precision
and
slashed
sideways,
knocking
Nranquar
down
like
a
club.
The
warrior
moaned
once,
and was
still,
though
he
was
still
breathing.
The
mammoth stopped,
trumpeted
angrily,
and
lifted
one
massive foot
to
finish
the
job.
Mark
and
Tlaxcan
charged
as
one,
shouting
at
the top
of
their
lungs
to
distract
the
great
beast
from
his task.
The
mammoth
hesitated,
his
foot
hanging
in
the air
over
the
prostrate
Nranquar,
his
eyes
beadily watching
the
two
rash
animals
who
dared
to
charge him.
Mark,
somewhat
lighter
in
build,
outdistanced Tlaxcan
by
a
few
steps
and
raced
right
at
the
mammoth
without
pausing.
He
was
actually
between
the long,
curving
tusks
when
the
surprised
monster
backed up
a
step,
freeing
Nranquar,
who
struggled
to
get
up but
could
not.
Mark
knew
that
he
was
very
close
to
death,
but he
was
determined
to
show
his
friends,
and
most
particularly
Nranquar,
the
stuff
he
was
made
of.
Death was
no
stranger
to
him
now,
and
he
faced
it
calmly.
The
mammoth
had
moved
back
one
step,
but
that was
all.
He
was
not
going
over
that
cliff,
and
that
was that.
He
braced
himself,
bellowing.
Mark,
planted
between
the
monster
and
the
fallen
Nranquar,
so
close to
the
mammoth
that
he
could
see
the
crooked
red veins
in
his
eyes,
took
a
deep
breath,
aimed,
and lunged
with
his
spear,
every
ounce
of
his
power
and every
pound
of
his
weight
behind
the
thrust.
He
felt the
shock
in
his
arms
when
the
spear
rammed
home, and
he
heard
the
mad
trumpeting
of
the
bull
mammoth.
He
could
see
the
red
blood
staining
the
monster’s
woolly
coat—and
he
caught
a
sudden
glimpse of
mighty
ivory
tusks
tossing
angrily,
their
sharp
points digging
at
him
furiously.
That
was
all
that
Mark
remembered
with
any
degree of
clarity.
A
fiery
pain
stabbed
through
his
side,
and as
he
twisted
away,
something
slammed
into
his
skull with
paralyzing
force.
He
crumpled
in
front
of
the enraged
mammoth,
his
face
buried
in
the
grass. Vaguely,
as
from
an
infinite
distance,
whispering
down from
the
stars,
he
heard
shouts
and
trumpetings
as a
battle
to
the
death
raged
over
his
body.
He
heard Tlaxcan
barking
orders,
and
old
Roqan
telling
everybody
to
stand
aside
and
let
a
man
in
there.
Something
caught
hold
of
his
feet
and
he
felt
himself
pulled along
the
grass,
away
from
the
fight.
His
brain
began to
spin,
and
whirled
faster
and
faster,
in
many-colored circles
and
bubbles
of
light.
His
whole
body
seemed to
be
whirling,
around
and
around,
and
now
the colored
light
all
flowed
together
and
was
shot
through with
darkness.
Someone
was
running
crazily
through his
brain,
wearing
a
billowing
cape
of
black
velvet
…