02 Quetzals Flock

QUETZAL'S FLOCK
Motya let out a yell which carried across the torrid air of the plain. He waved
an arm which did not have a sword at the end of it. It was a good sign. Hammadi
altered course so as to converge with him. Dagh, on the other flank, turned his Picun
and urged it to greater speed. Motya had stopped and was looking down into the broad
expanse of the valley beyond. Kane pursed his dry lips into a noiseless whistle. The
surface was moving, it rippled. There was a dull roar and the surface shuddered more
than usual. A vast herd was on the move but not at a slow pace. Hammadi looked
critical.
"Something must have spooked them!"
Around the front of the herd, riders were urging their Picun to cut across,
trying to turn the mob. It was like a scene out of hell, a purple dust pall hung over
them all. The riders were shrouded in their voluminous grey Kous, which made them
look like ghouls herding souls into torment. Kane half expected the devil to appear
and then remembered, he bore another name on Jubal. He felt a surge of humour from
the inner man. He was left to wonder whether he would meet the Shaita of Lynxe in
another form, to continue the perpetual battle. If he did, no doubt he would bear the
name, Sharta.
Hammadi and his two companions looked as if they were itching to get mixed
up in the melee. It seemed opportune to remind them of their priorities.
"Where's the Encampment?"
They turned away from the spectacle reluctantly. Dagh answered proudly.
"Always upwind of the dust."
"How far?"
Motya's answer was beyond Kane's conversion abilities.
"One hundred thousand heartbeats!"
"Perhaps, we'd better press on - before my heartbeats silt up with all the dust!"
CHAPTER 9
They skirted round the perimeter of the herd. There was a good deal of waving
between them and the herders. The dust was appalling, it was hard to breath until they
got upwind. They moved on to the area which the herd had grazed. The little
Schwarm which had survived the chomping jaws, had been flattened into the dust.
They increased their pace, the Picun, urged to greater efforts. It added to Kane's acute
discomfort.
Hammadi seemed to have a speciality about arriving at a breakneck gallop.
Kane was reminded of earlier days when he had owned a souped up Skimmer, with
which he drove the tolerant authorities at Mars/4 to distraction. He would shriek into
the vacuum tunnels system, which kept the city air in and the dust laden atmosphere
out, wrecking the carefully controlled seals. One day, they declared war and
complained to his mother. He had been fifteen, or thereabouts and considered himself
an adult. He had, by that stage, tumbled a couple of girls and discovered it to be a way
of life he enjoyed. It hadn't saved him from getting his arse well and truly whipped.
Mother had had a strong hand.
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