Authors: Chad Oliver
Quite
suddenly,
the
rout
stopped.
Without
any warning
of
any
sort,
six
of
the
half-men
stopped
short, turned,
and
charged
their
attackers.
The
rest
cut
off down
a
hidden
trail
out
of
the
valley,
neatly
evading the
trap
that
had
been
set
for
them
in
the
mouth
of the
valley
where
more
Danequa
bowmen
waited.
Mark
and
Tlaxcan,
a
moment
before
trotting
along in
the
flush
of
victory,
found
themselves
fighting
for their
lives
in
the
twinkling
of
an
eye.
The
six
Mroxor, swinging
their
stone
axes
in
vicious
circles
around
their bestial
heads,
plunged
into
their
midst
with
snarls
and cries
that
were
more
than
animal-like
in
their
ferocity. Savagely,
they
lashed
out
around
them,
and
the
Danequa
line
crumpled
and
stopped.
Tlaxcan
threw
away
his
bow
and
went
after
a
Mroxor
with
his
knife.
Mark
jabbed
one
half-man
with his
lance,
and
then
fell
flat
on
his
face
to
get
out
of the
way
of
a
whistling
stone
ax
wielded
by
another. Fang
jumped
the
monster,
sinking
his
strong
white teeth
into
his
throat,
and
old
Roqan
stepped
coolly back
and
pierced
the
shrieking
Mroxor
with
an
arrow. Mark
got
up
and
turned
to
help
Tlaxcan,
but
there was
no
need.
Tlaxcan
had
downed
his
antagonist, although
he
himself
was
smeared
with
blood
that
was not
entirely
his
enemy’s.
It
was
all
over
in
seconds.
The
six
Neanderthals
lay dead
on
the
field,
and
four
of
the
Danequa
were
seriously
injured.
The
Mroxor
suicide
attack
had
failed, as
they,
of
course,
had
known
it
would.
But
the
heroic rear
guard
action
had
served
its
purpose.
During
the milling
confusion,
the
rest
of
the
half-men
had
made good
their
escape
from
the
valley.
Mark’s
heart
sank
within
him.
The
Mroxor
had
fled out
of
the
valley
to
the
north,
out
across
the
great plains.
They
were
doubly
dangerous,
maddened
as they
were
by
the
loss
of
their
friends,
and
they
were still
between
Mark
and
the
space-time
machine.
“Come
on!”
shouted
old
Roqan,
his
eyes
blazing. “Are
the
Danequa
women
that
they
will
let
the
Mroxor slip
through
their
fingers?
After
them!”
A
roar
of
approval
went
up
from
the
assembled warriors,
and
they
charged
in
a
mass
out
of
the
valley to
pursue
the
fleeing
half-men.
Once
more,
however, the
Mroxor
had
fooled
them.
They
were
not
all
fleeing.
As
the
Danequa
raced
through
the
mouth
of
the valley,
huge
boulders
pounded
down
on
them
from the
hills
above.
There
were
not
many
of
them,
and the
few
half-men
who
had
stayed
behind
promptly ducked
back
out
of
sight,
but
even
a
few
boulders bouncing
down
into
a
pass
choked
with
men
are
no joke.
The
shattering
explosions
of
the
smashing
rocks threw
the
Danequa
into
momentary
confusion
again, and
two
warriors
were
crushed
like
bugs
under
the murderous
barrage.