As the ravine got deeper, it seemed to get even darker, probably because it was exposed to less sky and less starlight. Where there were clumps of trees in the bottom, it was darker still. It got stonier, too, with lots of boulders that had rolled down from above. The upslope on my right had quite a lot of clumpy brush and scrubby trees, probably because it faced away from the sun. The other side was pretty bare, as if it faced into the sun and dried out too badly during the dry season.

About halfway down the ravine I came to what seemed like a good place. When the moon came up, visibility would be pretty good in the bottom there-no trees, no tall boulders. And on the brushy side of the ravine, the lower slope was clear along there, a slant of naked rock. I scrambled up it on all fours, to take cover above it between two clumps of stiff-twigged scrub. From there I'd have an open shot at anyone riding up the bottom, at a range of only about twenty or twenty-five yards.

Of course, I couldn't know for sure that any Saracens would come along, but it seemed as if they would. If they hadn't shown up by the first Sight of dawn, I'd just have to take off for the knob-that or hide out and try to make it to Norman territory on my own. No way was I going to tiy ambushing a Saracen scouting party by daylight, when they'd be able to spot me. And any who got out of effective stunner range-maybe fifty yards- would be able to sit back and shoot arrows at me in total safety.

Meanwhile, I had some waiting to do, and something occurred to me that I hadn't thought about before: I was going to have to stay awake. If I went to sleep, Saracens might ride past without waking me up. Right away I started worrying. Turning off my remote, I took it out of my ear so it wouldn't interfere with my hearing.

Staying awake turned out to be easier than I'd expected, because it was getting pretty cold again, and just sitting there didn't keep me warm like hiking had. After checking by feel the setting on my stunner-at this range, narrow beam and just above medium intensity seemed about right-I shoved my hands inside my cape to keep them warm in my armpits.

I wondered what Jenoor would think if she could see me here, then imagined that she could see me, and what we might say to each other. After a while I dozed in spite of the cold-dozed and wakened, dozed and wakened-and didn't worry about it. In as shallow a sleep as that, I told myself, I'd wake up if any horses came along.

Finally I awakened with a start, and thought sure some sound must have done it-maybe horseshoes on rock. I sat still, hardly breathing, but couldn't hear a thing, and after a couple of minutes decided it had just been nerves. The sky down the ravine was lighter, but it didn't seem to be the graying of early dawn. Besides, I was sure I hadn't slept nearly that long. Moonrise, I told myself. Of course. After a few minutes I could see moonlight shining on the upper slope across the ravine; the moon had climbed above the next ridge east. Now I could see quite a bit better, although my side of the ravine was out of direct moonlight, in heavy shadow.

If the Saracens were going to move that night, they'd probably have started by now. If they'd reached our first stopping place, chance was that they'd followed our trail down off that ridge to camp by the creek in the little valley below it; there were even some empty huts there. And if they'd done that, I told myself, I shouldn't have to wait too much longer.

So I was ready when, maybe ten minutes later, I heard faint hoof sounds. I lay down on my stomach and crept forward a couple of feet so I could look farther down the ravine, I saw movement, and seconds later a horseman rode out of the shadow of some trees fifty or sixty yards away.

There were three of them, their armor covered by robes-advance scouts I suppose. They rode one behind the other, twenty or thirty feet apart. I Set the first ride past my position before I pushed the firing stud. He slumped at once, falling without even grabbing to hold on, and while he was slumping, I shifted my aim to the second. That one was falling too, as I moved for a shot at the third, who had wheeled his horse and was spurring it back the way they'd come. I pressed the stud a third time at maybe fifty yards and saw him reel in the saddle, fall forward, and ride out of sight clinging to his horse's neck.

Then, without even thinking, I let go with my impression of the wail of a Thargonian ghost tiger. It was supposed to be the spookiest sound on the known worlds. Us kids had learned it watching holo-dramas when we were, like, ten years old. And practiced it on shadowy evenings playing "hide from the tiger," a game that's been big on Evdash for generations. Whoever was "it" would make the sound while they hunted for the other kids.

On a still night like this one, I suppose you could hear it for a quarter mile or more. I don't know what the Saracen thought of it, but I'll bet he didn't slow down. I realized I was grinning like crazy.

I didn't go down to check the guys I'd zapped. I was pretty sure the first two were unconscious but proba-ly not dead. The third one was my best product. He knew something had happened to him. He was probably half numb, and when he came out of it later he'd tingle with pins and needles. Yet he hadn't seen anything, no arrow had touched him- And there'd been this terrible noise! Meanwhile the other two horses- first one, and after a moment the other-had turned and clattered back down the ravine out of sight, apparently only buzzed a bit by the stunner.

If the Saracens sent another scouting party, it would probably be bigger, and maybe strung out farther apart. If I was the Saracen commander, that's what I'd tell them to do. But if they were nervous enough, they might bunch up anyway.

They bunched up anyway. Maybe half an hour later I heard their horses. Two had passed me, fifteen feet apart, and the third was about even with me, when I zapped them quickly, one after another, then got up in a crouch and stepped out to where I could shoot at the others. Most were in a confusion of trying to turn back, getting in each others way. But one was sitting off to one side, looking around, and his eyes locked on me. I zapped him first and he fell like a sack, till a foot caught in a stirrup. His horse was turning, and I didn't want it to drag him away so I flipped the setting to high and zapped it too. It stopped, shuddered, and I zapped it again. It collapsed. I turned the stunner on the hindmost of the others as they galloped off. He fell. The others, three at least, had disappeared, with the wail of a Thargonian ghost tiger, or a reasonable imitation, in their ears.

One thing I did not want was the Saracens to know it had been a man who had ambushed them. I wanted them worried about devils and demons. So I moved along behind the shadowed fringe of scrub to where I could plainly see the man who'd spotted me. Then, with the intensity still on high and the beam at its tightest, I zapped him again.

I didn't feel very good about it. I'd killed men before, in Normandy, but that had been in self defense, or to free Deneen. They hadn't been lying helpless.

It was time to go back to the Varangians, but it didn't seem like a good idea to go back up the ravine. The Varangian lookouts would have heard my tiger impression; they had bows, and they'd be nervous. What I did instead was clip my stunner on my belt and start up the steep slope. The top had to be a spur ridge that would slope upward to join the main ridge ahead.

The side of the ravine was almost too steep to climb; the dirt kept slipping away beneath my boots. In places I grabbed the scratchy, stiff-branched bushes to pull myself along through the dark, squinting and flinching, hoping I wouldn't get a twig in the eye.

After a while I reached the top, breathing hard from the exertion. I scrambled out of the scrub onto the open crest of the spur ridge, then heard hooves and looked up. A rider had been coming along the crest in my direction, and seeing me, had spurred his horse into a galloping attack.