Grim, tight-lipped, he set a course southeast, veering just far enough north of the village so that he might pass Vydys' serfs undetected. Their very numbers might slow them. There was at least a bare chance that a lone man might reach Narla ahead of them. Only then, as he sped on, he caught a sound. He hesitated, straining his ears. The noise came again--a muffled, rhythmic clanking. Craig veered a fraction; raced towards the sound. * * * * * Below Craig, dots appeared against the blue-grey shimmer of the grasslands ... dots that crawled grimly, steadily southward. He knew, then--knew what the dots meant, and the clanking. A chill ran through him. These were heavy vehicles in motion! This was Zenaor's column, grinding towards the village. They'd passed the barrier far ahead of Bukal. And Vydys' serfs would never stand a chance against their power, their numbers. That left it up to him. Only what could one man do? Cursing, Craig circled far ahead of the raiders--searching the rolling hills below, praying for some miracle of terrain, some inspiration. But no miracle came. There were only the grasslands, the great straggling herds of the djevoda. _The djevoda--!_ Craig came up short. Here was his miracle! Here his allies! Sideslipping his disc in a flashing arc, he surveyed the ground beyond the column. The vehicles were following the low ground, moving towards a pass of sorts in the hills that sprawled east and west across their path. Craig raced south again. A long way south, till at last he passed above the distant range and swept down on its far side. How long did he have? An hour? Or only half that? A knot of djevoda moved restlessly as his disc's shadow fell across them. Craig slashed back closer. Rumbling their irritation, the huge, ungainly beasts turned west, drifting towards the pass. Craig searched out another, larger group and turned it, too. Then another. Another. Across the hills, Zenaor's column was creeping closer. Sweat rilled down Craig's back. He crowded his growing herd of djevoda harder. The beasts were angry now--bellowing their rage through the stillness of the night; lunging at him, tusks high, when he swept too close. If he should slip or fall--! He shuddered. Then the first of the creatures began to funnel into the mouth of the pass. Craig raced his saucer back, moving up others to press in behind the leaders. Now, again, the clanking of Zenaor's carriers drifted to Craig. He maneuvered his disc in a tight spiral--climbing, climbing. The grasslands fell away below him. The range spread out like a problem in tactics set on a sand table: here were the djevoda, straggling into the pass. Beyond the hills, Zenaor's column twisted towards them, snake-like, as if hastening to join battle. Already, the lead vehicles were swinging south into the rift. Craig plummeted down ahead of the first djevoda. Roaring, they fell back.