02 Quetzals Flock

QUETZAL'S FLOCK
eventually give the game away. He hoped to get close enough before the opposing
side could develop any counter measures.
A lone, black cloaked rider came into view as they breasted a rise. He saw
them at the same moment. He raised a horn to his lips, but before it could be sounded,
an arrow from one of the advancing troop, found its mark. Hammadi sent some of his
troops back, it was time for the final play. He led the rest of his men off to one side at
a mad gallop. Another black cloak saw them, this time, it didn't matter. He sounded
off the alarm and nobody tried to stop him. Hammadi looked over his shoulder to
where the herd was, and saw the great cloud of purple dust beginning to swirl. The
herd was on the move, goaded out of control by the troopers and the herders. They
were in full flight, a wild stampede which nothing could stop until they had spent the
frantic energy of their panic.
At the top of one of the low rises of ground, which was the only vantage point
the terrain could offer, Hammadi reined in his Picun and held the trembling animal in
check. The rest of his men had the same problem. Their mounts sensed the panic of
the rest of the herd and instinctively wanted to be part of the mad onrush of beasts.
They were sweeping down on the grazing herd of Eridos. Hammadi saw the black
cloaked riders stung into alertness, firstly by the sound of the blaring horn and then,
by the sight of thousands of Picun, screaming and bellowing, bearing down on them
from the Schwarm desert.
The herds collided, like the crashing together of two surging flood waves.
Black cloaked riders were caught between them and went down into the pulping maze
of pounding hooves. Hammadi felt a little sick - they couldn't escape. The grazing
herd began to waver as the insurge of frenzied Picun communicated their blind panic
to the others. The whole mass began to gain momentum. They broke and stampeded.
Nine thousand or more of the herd of Obeid, triggered more than twelve thousand of
the herd of Eridos and they began to run in a wild, uncontrollable surge towards the
not too distant tents of the enemy.
Hammadi's men whooped with glee. Their uncertainty about the mental state
of their leader evaporated. They clapped him on the back - it was a master stroke!
Hammadi contrived to smile and tried not to look where the herd has passed. Here and
there, was something unrecognisable on the ground. Black and bloody shapes, which
appeared impossible to have been men. He steeled himself, there was no time for
sentiment, now came the hard riding. They took their positions on the flank of the
racing herd. The onrush had to be channelled. The impetus of the onslaught could not
be allowed to dissipate by dispersal - it had to be controlled for the greatest effect.
The herd thundered on, goaded by the mad screams of the herders. Two miles
of uncontrollable Picun flesh, with a solid phalanx behind the leaders, all of five miles
deep, surged on towards the Encampment. It was an awesome weapon directed at the
heart of Eridos.
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