"I have heard the alien tapes," she blurted conspiratorially. That reached past Doworn.o.bb's discomfiture.

"The tapes from the Astronomical Inst.i.tute? But most of it is not spoken communication," he replied. "The transmissions are all over the spectrum."

"Oh, I have listened to only the audio range," she said. "His Excellency wants us to work together, so you can explain to me what else is on the tapes."

"Hmm," Doworn.o.bb pondered. "We cannot do much without a data link."

"No, His Excellency is not expecting that on this trip. Our objective is to examine the wreckage. Master Mirrtis and Master H'Aare are rocket propulsion and technology experts. I am to look for artifacts and doc.u.mentation which might help to reconcile the language. I am also an accredited archaeologist."

Doworn.o.bb' s respect for Kateos was growing, not so much from her words, but from her demeanor, the strength of her personality. "Mistress Kateos," he said. "Your credentials are impressive, but please..." and he moved closer. "Control your opinions. The Supreme Leader has ears everywhere." He signaled with his eyes.

She gulped, features firming. She peeked at the soldiers.

"Master Doworn.o.bb," she said quietly, squeezing the corners of her mouth. "I am sorry. Of course, my opinions deserve not the light of day. It is just that I am so excited with the prospect of working with you."

"You are excited...by working with me?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!" Her deep brown eyes stared brazenly through her visor. "You have been most kind. You helped me with my bag, the day we landed, after I shamelessly blurted out my feelings. That took courage. You seem interested in my well-being, unlike the others. I have never been treated thus. You even smiled at me-in a public place! You are most kind."

Doworn.o.bb blushed. Kones did not often give or receive complements, except empty, formal ones. He was confused. The warm feeling on his face spread to his heart, and-alarmingly-to his gland bladder.

"And you are so intelligent," she continued, moving closer. She touched his arm. "Et Avian said you have risen rapidly in your science. You are considered among the most elite astrophysicists and astronomers. He called you a genius."

Doworn.o.bb was becoming infatuated. He had never received such praise. He was aware that the inst.i.tute published reports under Director Moth's name, occasionally with credits to his research, but he did not know the authorities recognized his primary role in their authorship. He was immensely gratified.

"And you are so bold!" She would not stop, nor would Doworn.o.bb dream of stopping her. "His Excellency was appreciative of your initiatives in discovering the crash site."

Kateos stopped talking. She stared fully into Doworn.o.bb's face, and her gaze was far more compelling than any words. Doworn.o.bb gave thanks that he was wearing a sealed suit and that everyone was wearing helmets and air filters, for his gland bladder at that moment erupted, the essence of his emotions literally exploding from his body. Doworn.o.bb was in love.

"We are landing for the night," Et Avian said. They had spent hours covering a mult.i.tude of topics and issues. Doworn.o.bb could tell that Et Avian was impressed with his and Mistress Kateos's depth and breadth of knowledge, and their budding cooperation.

"We are descending quite low," Doworn.o.bb indicated, his helmet pressed to the thick window, feeling the vibrations of the powerful engine. The terrain was mountainous, although the peaks were less numerous. Pockets of snow and grimy glaciers clung to the mostly dry and barren slopes, and hazy cloud formations shrouded the lower ranges. The pulsating glow of fiery-red lava peeking through the haze made Doworn.o.bb soberly conclude the clouds were steam and ash spewing from a chain of volcanoes. Calderas marched across his view, the terrain tortured and broken with faults and ejecta.

"It is most spectacular at night," Et Avian said from the window seat behind Doworn.o.bb. "At night the landscape is traced with intertwining ribbons of hot red, and the magma ejections are beyond words."

"Must we land so close?" Doworn.o.bb gulped.

"We will not land so close as it seems." The n.o.blekone laughed. "You may wish we had landed closer, for it is warmer near those infernal rocks."

The landscape transformed abruptly from ash-colored lava flows to flowing fields of gra.s.s. Knife-edge ridges lifted high into the air, enclosing the gra.s.ses and the low-flying airplanes in a steep-sided valley. A scintillating stream ran parallel with their flight path. The aircraft banked sharply into the brisk afternoon wind, and as the abat leveled its wings it seemed to stand still. The pilot applied heavy power, the engine overhead vibrated strongly, and the ground floated up to join the wheels. The abat bounced slightly and rolled to a stop.

It was bright and sunny, the sun still high in the west, yet ice-cold air rushed in when the doors were opened. Though the kones were forewarned, the temperature plunge took their breath away. In near panic, they adjusted their temperature settings higher. Power units consumed fuel faster. The suddenly dismal scientists realized they were going to be outside in these conditions for over a week- a prison sentence! Et Silmarn and Et Avian herded their charges into action. The other pilot, Lollee, industriously drove stakes into the ground to use as tie-downs for the airplanes. The ground trembled and swayed beneath their feet.

"Do not worry about the seismic tremors. It is a permanent condition at this site. The sooner you get your tents up, the sooner you get out of this wind," Et Silmarn shouted, the gale whipping his words away. Using the airplanes as windbreaks, they erected and securely anch.o.r.ed three tents. Et Avian and the pilots claimed one tent, the four soldiers quickly disappeared in another, and the four scientists occupied the third. The conditions were crowded, but everyone appreciated the additive nature of body heat.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Et Silmarn asked as he came through the thermal lock. The four scientists huddled in their Genellan suits and dolefully watched him. "It is unseasonably moderate," Et Silmarn continued. "The air in the tents is warming quite nicely. Turn off your breathing units. You cannot eat with helmets on. The first thing we are going to do is prepare a meal, so watch carefully and learn. You must know how to cook for yourself."

Et Silmarn organized the cooking equipment, setting up a stove in a vented alcove, despite the rolling tremors. The meal was quickly prepared and consumed. The air in the tent warmed, the scientists grew relatively comfortable, and, with hunger quelled, their anxieties diminished. A conspiratorial conversation common to shared adventure erupted spontaneously. Scientist H'Aare allowed himself to converse with Mistress Kateos. Scientist Mirrtis talked with animation, still only to the males; however he did not object or react with even a hint of revulsion when Mistress Kateos cautiously partic.i.p.ated.

"We have a ch.o.r.e: we must refuel our abat," the n.o.blekone announced. "We do this every day, so the better we get at it, the less time it will take. Listen carefully!" Et Silmarn explained tasks and a.s.signed duties. They listened to the instructions, put on helmets and suits, and followed the pilot into the cold. Although it hadgrown cooler, the kones were able to antic.i.p.ate the breath-stealing temperature drop. With only a few well-intentioned shoves and shouts, barrels of fuel were rolled from staging areas and their contents pumped into wing bladders. Their job done, the scientists piled good-naturedly into their warm tent, feeling a sense of teamwork that heretofore had been missing. They resumed their conversation, and all four partic.i.p.ated as equals.

"You will post guard around the clock," Et Avian ordered, his regal patience wearing thin with Corporal Longo. He removed his helmet to scratch his broad nose.

"It is too cold, Your Excellency," Longo whined. "We cannot withstand these conditions. We were not told-"

"Your mission is to protect us," the n.o.blekone continued. "What are you going to do, hide in your tents? Who is going to protect you?"

"From what is there to be protected-besides the cold?" Longo asked impudently.

"You have Genellan experience," Et Avian said, his exasperation surfacing. "Surely you know the dangers. This continent has bears and predator lizards, pack scavengers and abats, catamounts and blackdogs. The cold is the least of your worries."

"P-predator lizards, Your Excellency?" Longo swallowed.

"Yes, predator lizards. What field experience have your men had?"

"We were facility guards at Goldmine Station, my lord, nothing more."

"What?"Et Avian said.

"That is all, Your Excellency," replied the lead corporal. "None of us has spent more than a few nights in the field, Your Excellency."

Et Avian stared at the soldier. "Post a guard," the n.o.blekone commanded. "I will check on it. Be prepared, but do not be afraid. It is unlikely anything will come close to our tents. The animals are wary. If something comes snooping, fire your weapon into the air. That will scare anything that lives on this planet." Et Avian turned, stooped, and crawled from the tent, not bothering to put on his helmet, anger providing sufficient heat to get him to his own tent.

Longo knelt in the tent's center. The wind fluttered its thick walls.

"Do you think he suspects, Colonel?" one of the black-clad soldiers asked.

"Corporal, you idiot!" Longo snarled. The soldier dropped his head. "Perhaps," Longo replied. "B'Aane, you have the first watch. Two hours. Lootee will be next, and then Rinnk. What he said is true-they are just animals. Loud noises will scare them." you idiot!" Longo snarled. The soldier dropped his head. "Perhaps," Longo replied. "B'Aane, you have the first watch. Two hours. Lootee will be next, and then Rinnk. What he said is true-they are just animals. Loud noises will scare them."

"Only if you see them," Lootee said.

"Shut up and obey!" Longo snapped.

The scientists of Ocean Station made a weekly fishing trip up the wide river. The ocean sh.o.r.e teemed with fish, crustaceans, and sea mammals, but one particular fish, called a speckle fish, was everyone's favorite. It was caught only in the fresh water of the great river. Scientist Kot and Technician Suppree had been a.s.signed the duty of taking the motorized skiff upriver to replenish the supply of that fish. It was pleasurable duty, a day off from the monotonous data checking and compiling that characterized their research work. Officially, they were to take meteorological readings and collect biological samples.

With the sun still below the horizon, Kot and Suppree loaded the skiff and headed up the slack current of the great river, aided greatly by the first stages of a flood tide. Their destination was far upriver, to a place where the great ribbon of water took its last wide meanders before splitting into the sloughs and marshes of the brackish delta. The long ride in the frigid morning air was punctuated by sunrise-a stately metamorphosis of night into day- and a welcome rise in temperature. The river banks came alive with the morning; herds of long-legged gazelles grazed placidly in the frequent clearings, mult.i.tudes of river birds screeched at the pa.s.sing skiff, and aquatic animals splashed in and out of the water, seeking refuge in all directions. They came upon two schools of round-backed river monsters. The broad white dorsals rolling gently across their path were the only impediment to their speedy trip north.

The kones finally beached their skiff on a familiar islet; its crescent beach, a favorite place, was swept by the direct rays of the sun throughout most of the day and shielded from the northerly breezes by a low bluff. The river ran wide and deep to both sides, providing ample protection from field predators, although a clutch of furry, flat-tailed animals had taken up recent residence.

While Technician Suppree shooed away the varmints, Scientist Kot unloaded the equipment and set up fish traps. Once the nets and traps were set, the kones took fishing poles and cast their lines out into the current. The hard work done, they commenced to relax. With the sun high enough to provide the necessary warmth, they took turns removing suits and helmets for half-hour stretches. The sun-baked sand held the chill winds at bay, permitting them to soak their great muscular bodies in the marginal warmth. After a half hour the chilled sunbather would don suit and helmet and check the traps and nets for any catch, while the other scientist would undress and bravely recline in the soft sand. Occasionally, a pole tip would dip and bend nervously, and the suited kone would lumber over and reel in a wriggling fish. These biological samples were acc.u.mulated in a well in the hold of the skiff.

Fishing was good and the fish tank was filled by early afternoon. The sun no longer overhead, the afternoon breezes swirled around the bluff protecting the sandy cove. The day was ending and the pleasantly sun-burnished kones, both fully suited, collected the fishing equipment.

"I will load the nets, Suppree," Kot said. "Start the afternoon readings?"

"Real work!" Suppree whined. He grabbed the instrumentation satchel from the boat and walked a hundred paces upriver, disappearing around the low bluff. The technician immediately reappeared, lumbering through the sand on all fours, yelling unintelligibly. Kot dropped the nets, wondering whether to jump in the boat and start the engine, but Suppree stopped. "Come! Quickly!" he shouted, heading back up the sand. Kot followed at an uncertain trot.

A section of raft remained tied together, grounded on the beach at the foot of the bluff, the long bitter end of a line trailing in the clear current. Two tiny green helmets and a single pack were lashed tightly to the logs. A miniaturized weapon was firmly strapped to the pack. Suppree and Kot stared down at the foreign objects, circling the sunken raft, even walking in the icy water.

"A helmet," Kot said, figuring out the latching mechanism and lifting it from the raft. "But it is so small." It rested easily in the palm of his hand.

"A weapon, no doubt," Suppree stated, unbinding the rusted rifle from the pack. His thick finger was too wide by half to fit through the trigger guard.

"Et Avian will want to see this when he returns."

Chapter 22.

A week later Doworn.o.bb held the helmet in his hands, fascinated with its miniature size. How could a being with a brain so small travel between the stars? Maybe its brain was not held in its skull. Maybe it had two heads. After all there were two helmets, and only one pack.

"Ironic," Et Avian said, holding the other helmet as if it were a holy relic. "We fly across the continent to examine debris that tells us nothing, while the best clues wash up on our front door."

"No, Your Excellency," H'Aare interjected. His enthusiasm for the search had steadily developed, escalating his personal emotions to almost a fervor. "We learned much from the wreckage."

"And we are better prepared for next year," Mirrtis added with surprising enthusiasm. Mirrtis had suffered more than most from the harsh elements.

"What His Excellency means is we found no clues to the aliens-no writings, no pictures, no tools," Kateos said, her voice firm. Doworn.o.bb felt a strange pride in the female's a.s.sertion.

"Yes, Mistress Kateos," Et Avian added. "We now have a clue to their appearance. But we also know two facts that are even more important: one, they are on Genellan. And two, we can narrow the search to the river valley."

"That remains a large search area," Scientist Lollee said. "We cannot search any more before the cold season. They will probably die in the winter, if they are not dead already. Only dumb brutes can live through a Genellan winter."

Doworn.o.bb glanced at Et Avian, who stared resolutely at the equipment. The Genellan winters, incomprehensibly vicious, were beyond hope. Doworn.o.bb shifted his attention and noticed Corporal Longo standing silently in the corner.

Outbound Young Brappa was selected for the autumn salt expedition, a warrior's rite of pa.s.sage. When Kuudor informed Braan of his son's selection, the hunter leader's paternal instincts filled him with foreboding: many sentries never returned. But Braan quickly dispelled his paternal anxieties. Salt missions were fraught with problems; he would not be distracted by selfish worry. The size of the expedition was Braan' s concern. The elders had proclaimed the salt requirement, and the p.r.o.nouncement tore at Braan' s heart-one hundred full bags. Braan sighed and swallowed his protests; there would be many hunter abodes to visit. As their leader, it was his responsibility to notify the warriors of their obligations to volunteer, and since hunters never refused duty, Braan' s visits were received with grim respect.

Delicate chimes heralded the eve of the salt mission; young sentries with thin silver bars dangling about their necks glided along the cliffsides, the clear tinkling sounds too cheerful for the intended purpose. Braan and his lieutenants followed the chimes, attending to their calls. Their mission done, the golden skies of evening darkened to night, and hunter families celebrated with somber thanksgiving. The selected warriors and sentries slept well, secure in their courage and proud of their responsibility. Braan' s slumber was less serene.

At dawn all hunters, young and old, dressed for battle and ascended the cliffs, their straggling mult.i.tudes clogging the pathways and tunnels of the colony. By midmorning thousands of warriors crowded the cliff rim, a sea of black eyes and leather wings. Pikes and bows p.r.i.c.kled above the horde, a field of pointed blades. In the center of the ma.s.sed hunters, arrayed in precise ranks, a hundred battle-armored sentries stood proudly, graduating sentries, awaiting their final test. At their head was ancient Kuudor, captain-of-sentries. Five second-year sentries maintained a ceremonial tattoo, beating granite rocks with tuned metal bars, while all other sentries posted vigilant guard along the cliff rim. At Craag' s signal the beaters became still.

As always the winds freshened with the rising sun. Braan stood alone and silent atop the rocky rise overlooking the common. Pivoting with dignity, the leader-of-hunters raised his wings to embrace the four winds. As Braan turned, he screamed ancient chants, powerfully, beautifully. Hot blood rushed through the veins of every hunter; the fur on their spines bristled with emotional electricity, with antic.i.p.ation and apprehension. They joined fervently in Braan' s harmonics, creating a resonant vibration. The strings of their shortbows vibrated, and dust elevated from the ground-an ecstasy of hope and fear.

The prayer completed, Braan screeched fiercely and thrust his black pike, pointing at Kuudor. The captain-of-sentries marched to the front of his arrayed charges, halted, and ceremoniously whistled the names of fifty sentries, including Brappa, son-of-Braan. The drummers initiated a marching beat. The named sentries hopped forward, picked up a dark bag, and fell into formation facing the edge of the cliff, expressions stoic and movements precise. The ma.s.sed warriors chirped raucously to the marching beat, acknowledging the suppressed fears of the young sentries, reminiscing over their own first times. Braan signaled, and the beaters halted with a flourish. Clicking in unison, the sentries not called closed ranks smartly, looking simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

Braan brandished his pike and pointed sternly, this time at Craag-the-warrior. With grave authority Craag sang out more names-the names of sixty warriors. One by one the sixty stepped forward, most grabbing salt bags. The first ten, master warriors, including Tinn'a and Bott'a of clan Botto, shouldered only their weapons. As scouts and guards, they formed the first rank. The next fifty warriors were experienced but less seasoned. Each would a.s.sociate himself as an instructor to a novice, responsible for the sentry's survival and training. They formed ranks with the sentries.

The sentry common roiled with nervous movement and sound. Braan raised his arms. Silence fell; the gurgling noises of the nearby stream drifted across the redoubt. Braan screeched l.u.s.tily,demanding praise, and the cliffside was drowned in ritual bedlam. With explosive volume the a.s.sembled hunters screeched the death song. All sang for death, a death of honor, a pa.s.sage to final peace: the hunter's plaintive acknowledgment that life was over, that he had fought to the limits of his strength-that he was ready to die.

The hideous screaming built level upon level, to pitches and frequencies known only to dumb brutes and cliff dwellers. In the continuing din, Braan raised his pike and the drummers initiated a rhythmic marching tempo. The hunter leader glided from the hilltop and joined Craag at the formation head. The two hunters marched over the edge, cracking their wings with explosive power. The formation followed, one rank at a time, to the whistling cheers of the mult.i.tude. As the salt mission rose on fresh updrafts, their formation altered, the ranks sliding outwards and joining until a large vee formed, giving each hunter undisturbed air. The whistles and screams from those left behind increased in intensity and volume. Thousands of hunters followed the salt expedition into the air, leaping out over the river and rising vertically on convection currents heaving upwards against the face of the plateau. A billowing horde of black bodies soared majestically and noisily upwards, as the wavering vee of the salt mission faded to a faint line on the northern horizon.

"Look!" MacArthur shouted. He pointed ahead, toward the plateau's edge. A thin black cloud drifted skyward. Buccari lifted binoculars to her eyes while MacArthur and the other patrol members-O'Toole, Chastain, and Jones-stared at the ascending column.

"Our friends," Buccari said, taking the gla.s.ses down. "Thousands of them." She handed the binoculars to MacArthur. The humans took turns watching the wheeling ma.s.s. Gradually the clouds of animals thinned and spread, dissipating, individual motes gliding down the cliff face.

"What that's all about?" MacArthur asked.

Buccari glanced at the corporal and shrugged.

"Maybe they're waiting for your letter, Lieutenant," he persisted.

"It would be nice," Buccari replied. She was impatient to drop off the next batch of pictographs. Nothing had been received from the cliff dwellers since the initial tease. She scanned the skies to the north and west. The weather was changing. Her patrol was headed for MacArthur' s valley, a last foray before the snows of winter. Buccari stifled her frustration. She had wanted the entire crew moved to the valley before winter struck. According to MacArthur, in the valley tundra gave way to topsoil, temperatures were warmer, wildlife abundant, and the forests thicker and more diverse.

Yet Quinn had elected to winter on the plateau. Buccari worried about the commander's decision-making abilities, concerned that his emotional distress was infecting his judgment. He spent long hours alone and made decisions only when pressed. On most issues he seemed indifferent or distracted, but for some reason, he had taken a strong stance on not leaving the plateau. Two st.u.r.dy A-frame log structures and a solid meat house had been constructed downhill from the cave; a magnificent woodpile for the winter's heating and cooking requirements had been acc.u.mulated. And there was the cave. The cave provided an element of permanency and an essence of security. The crew was emotionally attached to their first campsite. Quinn, seconded by Sergeant Shannon, proclaimed they were prepared for winter.

The arrival of winter was mysteriously uncertain. There was already a bite in the wind, and the air smelled different, but Buccari had insisted on one last patrol before winter snowed them in, tugging at Quinn's mantle of leadership, cajoling and badgering. Quinn conceded, if only to stop her harping. Buccari organized the patrol and set out immediately. She was going to be prepared for the spring, and learning more about the valley was imperative to those preparations.

"We got some cold weather coming," she said now.

"It's d.a.m.ned cold now," Jones said.

"What's the matter, Boats?" O'Toole asked. "I thought you liked playing Marine."

"Yeah, Boats," MacArthur said. "Act like a man. Right Lieutenant?"

"Yeah, Boats," Buccari said. "Act like a man. Move out, Corporal!"

"Aye, Cap'n," MacArthur replied, stepping out toward the horizon.

Braan glided along, measuring alt.i.tude by the pressure in his ears. The thermals were unseasonably strong, and the autumnal southwesterlies pushed the hunters rapidly over the plains. An auspicious start.

Hours pa.s.sed. Thermals lifted them high, yet Braan' s initial well-being was tempered by the changing elements. An innocent parade of puffy c.u.mulus had exploded into a threatening line of towering nimbus. Concentrations of billowing turbulence blossomed upward, fluffy white tops curling ever higher, their bottoms black and heavy with rain-thunderstorms. Braan veered west, hoping to slide behind the rain giants. Hours of soaring remained, but flying into the crazed craw of a thunderstorm would not get them to the salt flats. Ominous booming of thunder rattled sensitive nerves in Braan' s sonar receptors, and searing blue streaks of lightning arced between the roiling mountains of moisture. The hunters pressed forward, skirting the bruised clouds, but the course ahead grew solid with storm. The hunter leader set a sinuous detour, descending slowly through a dark valley of rumbling behemoths. Braan screamed a command along each wing of the echelon, and Craag, leading half the hunters, descended, falling behind and forming a separate vee. Wispy vapors and occasional raindrops sailed through the formation, and high overhead, dark clouds cut off the last bright rays of the sun. The hunters accelerated their descent, fighting increasing turbulence and decreasing visibility.

Sonar pulses of frightened hunters discharged randomly, their locating organs firing off sonic feelers. Braan in the lead, with nothing to guide him except eyes and instincts, remained quiet. Turbulence rocked him. A pelting rain started. And then hail. Braan screamed: every hunter for himself. A nimbus cell had swallowed them. There was no telling which way the powerful and turbulent drafts would throw them. Braan held his glide straight ahead, increasing his rate of descent, hoping the formation would stay with him. His hopes evaporated. He felt powerful updrafts. The longer the hunters remained in the air the more scattered they would become. Braan repeatedly screamed the dive command and pulled in his membrane wings, bunching them behind his back. The elevator updraft pressed him but could not hold him; the lead hunter pointed his nose downward and knifed through upwelling winds.

He fell through the bottom of the clouds, black grayness suddenly brightening to the midnight green of rain-soaked plains, rising to meet him. Braan flattened his body and allowed his membranes to ease into the rushing slipstream, bleeding off vertical velocity. Halting his descent, he struggled to keep his wet body in the sky, beating the air with powerful strokes. He circled relentlessly downward in driving rain, screaming for rendezvous. Answering cries came from all around, and as he drifted to the hail-strewn tundra, other hunters hopped and glided to his location, marshaling to his cries. Miraculously, after a half hour of whistling searches, everyone was on the ground, regrouped and without serious injury. Their adventure had started.

The line of thunderstorms pa.s.sed, harbingers of a fast-moving front. The flint-edged wind shifted to a firm northerly, and temperatures dropped sharply; hail stones crunched underfoot, and bright gashes of cold blue sky sailed overhead. The hunters would have to march; the cold, wet air would not lift their weight. His warriors formed in two columns, ten spans apart, Braan deployed experienced pickets on each flank, and ordered Tinn'a to take two warriors forward as advance guard. Craag dropped back with the remaining experienced warriors; growlers usually attacked from the rear. The vast number of plains carnivores were to the east, where the great herds were beginning their migrations, but straggling buffalo remained in the area, and even small herds had packs of four-legged death stalking them. Braan screeched and the hunters hopped forward. The hunters' short steps moved the columns doggedly across the wet tundra. Braan proudly watched his son waddle by.

Cast-iron squalls swept the rolling plains, unloading gray sheets of icy rain on the hunters' bent backs. A deluge had just pa.s.sed when Tinn' a's warning cry drifted to his ears. Braan halted the columns and moved forward. Tinn'a was on the point, crouched on a low ridge, slightly below the crest. As Braan approached, a great eagle gliding easily in ground effect lifted above the low elevation of the ridge. Braan screamed for Tinn'a and his scouts to retreat, for they were too few to thwart the monstrous killer. He was not worried about the hunter columns to his rear; their firepower would discourage a dozen eagles.