“There!” he heard Bone Eel shout furiously. Ghan looked about wildly and then saw them: a trio of horsemen above, blocking the way up.

“Surrender,” Ghan hissed. “We're doomed otherwise.”

“No! Look!” And Bone Eel pointed again at the men above.

Ghan did see, then. They were not Mang; beneath their helms, pallid faces gleamed, and the cut of their clothing and armor was strange. They were—had to be—Perkar's people.

His horse slipped, and a stone flew from beneath its hooves, out and down. Ghan hoped it struck one of their pursuers on his helmeted head. He glanced up again. Would they make it? It was so steep, so far…

Beyond the three riders was a fourth, very small, not dressed in armor at all but in some sort of yellow skirt. The distance was too great for him to make out any features, only the delicate brown wedge of her face. But he knew. He knewl

“Hezhi!” he shouted with all of the strength in his lungs, and he heard his voice repeating in the hollows of the mountain. The rider paused, but as her name began to come back to him, she suddenly spurred back into action, plunging dangerously down the trail toward them. “Hezhi!” he shouted again, clapping his beast's flanks with real force now, his old heart suddenly new with fierce determination. He was here now, she was alive, and even with an army below them there was hope; he knew it as surely as he knew her.

He felt a twinge of pain in his back, wondered why his old joints had protested no more than this up until now. He could make out her eyes now, though the light seemed to be fading. Were there clouds blocking the sun?

The pain in his back was worse, and an odd numbness spread through his limbs, dizziness. He reached back and felt the stickiness of blood, the wooden shaft sunken into his kidneys.

“Bone Eel …” he began. He wanted to tell someone how surprising it was, to have something in you. He had always imagined the pain would be greater.

The mountain wheeled around him, as if his mount had begun to fly and roll about in the air. It seemed to him that he should cling tightly to something, but his hands had lost their ability to grip. The whirling became floating, and he watched, astonished, as his horse, Bone Eel, Qwen Shen, and the other riders seemed to fly away from him, and only then did he guess that he had fallen, that he was plummeting down the mountainside.

Then he struck something unyielding, and light vanished. Oddly he could still hear a sort of grinding and snapping, a vague and distant pummeling, and then that faded away, as well.

XXXIV The Teeth of the Host

“GHAN isn't dead,” Hezhi explained to herself in a hushed voice. ”Ghan is in the library, with his books. Nothing could ever compel him to leave them.”

Then who was it she had seen? Whose toylike figure had pitched almost comically off of the trail, bounced thrice on the rough slope before vanishing into the growth of the lower valley?

Not Ghan, that was certain, though she heard someone mention his name—one of the newcomers, dressed in Nholish fashion—gibbering like everyone else in some incoherent tongue.

Why don't you all learn to speak? she thought bitterly. They probably weren't even saying Ghan. It was probably gan or gaan or kan or ghun. Who cared, anyway? They kept saying “Mang” a lot, too, but that was unambiguous; she saw Mang warriors clustering at the base of the slope, heard their far-off whoops of challenge.

One of the white men took her gently from her horse and placed her up on his. She let him; she was too busy thinking to ride, and it seemed that they were in a hurry. Thinking about who that could have been, who so resembled her teacher. Because he was safe in Nhol.

“Is she wounded? What's wrong?” Perkar shouted, when he saw Hezhi's blank expression, and that she was mounted not on Dark but up behind one of Karak's people.

“No,” the warrior replied. “She isn't hurt. She just saw someone die.”

Perkar had already dismounted and was rushing toward her, but Tsem beat him to it, plucking her from the back of the mare. She was mumbling something to the half Giant, as if trying to explain to him the most important thing in the world. Tsem only looked puzzled.

Two strangers came behind Hezhi, a man and a woman. Both were striking, beautiful even, and both—as far as he could discern, from his limited experience—were dressed in the fashion of Nhol: colorful kilts and blouses. The man wore a cloth wrapped upon his head, though it was so disheveled that it hung nearly off one side. When that man saw Karak, he quickly dismounted and knelt.

“Get up, you fool,” Karak—still, of course, in the guise of Sheldu—commanded.

Looking a bit confused, the man straightened and waved up the woman who had also begun to bow.

A man and woman from Nhol who recognized and bowed before Karak. What did that mean?

He was tempted not to care, and it seemed he had little time for it anyway.

“Mang, blocking the valley. I'm sure some will come up for us.”

“Single file,” Karak said. “They can be slaughtered easily.”

“Until the rest of them work up the more charitable slope behind us,” Ngangata shouted as he rode over. “They can be here before the sun has moved another span.”

“This is the quickest way,” Karak insisted.

“Only if we get there. How many Mang? A few hundred? Thirty-five of us, Sheldu. We must go over the spine and ride to our destination through another valley.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Ngangata knows these lands, Sheldu,” Perkar interrupted.

“As do I!” Karak roared, his eyes flashing dangerously yellow.

“Yes,” Perkar hissed meaningfully, striding close. “But Ngangata knows these lands from horsebackl”

“Oh.” Karak blinked. “Oh.”

Perkar turned to see Ngangata smirking at the exchange. He was certain the half man knew by now who their “guide” was.

“Over the spine,” Perkar grunted. He turned to Karak. “Unless you are ready to be more than guide.”

The Crow God slowly shook his Human-seeming head. “Not yet Not until we are too close for him to stop us.”

“Then Ngangata and I lead; the place you describe can be reached other ways than the one we are going. If the way is longer, then we must go now rather than argue. Leave a few of your men here with plenty of arrows to stop the Mang from coming up that trail. Tell them to give us a good head start and then leave, before they can be surrounded.”

Karak pursed his lips, annoyance plain on his face, but then he nodded brusquely and shouted the orders, moving off to choose his men.

“Well,” Ngangata appraised, “I wondered if you had left us again.”

“Soon enough, friend,” Perkar told him. “But not just yet.”

A moment later they were back on the move, their mounts scrambling across the trackless ridge. Mang war whoops seemed to be everywhere, and Perkar watched the tightness gather in Brother Horse's face. Difficult as it was, moving in and amongst trees, Perkar maneuvered close enough to the old man to hold a shouted conversation.

“You've done more than anyone can expect of you,” Perkar shouted. “I urge you to leave us now. No one should have to fight his own people.”

“I know what I am about,” Brother Horse snapped back at him, though he was plainly agitated. “Save your concern. I will not turn on you; I have cast my lot. If I am fortunate, I will not have to slay any of my kinsmen. But what goes on here is more important than any claims on blood.”

“I never thought to hear a Mang say that,” Perkar admitted.

Brother Horse set his face in a deep scowl. “If you search for an enemy among us,” the old man growled, “best to start in your own heart.”

“What do you mean by that?” Perkar shouted.

Brother Horse lifted one hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I don't know,” he answered. “But the last few leagues have brought me uneasiness about you.”