A whizzing sound in the air warned them a scant second before another rain of darts pelted them. Erik tried to get his bulk below his shield. A shout and curse told him someone hadn’t covered up quickly enough as darts rained off shields and the surrounding rocks.
“How bad are the wounded?” asked Greylock.
“The wounded aren’t too bad,” answered Erik. “One of the men has a dart in the leg, but it’s down in the fleshy part of the calf—he can walk with help. A couple of broken arms, and Gregory of Tiburn dislocated his shoulder.”
Greylock said, “Well, we can’t outwait them here and find out how many of those damn darts they’re carrying.” In frustration he added, “Hell, we don’t even know how many Gilani there arc.” The little men had swarmed over the front of the column, then vanished back into the grass when Calis’s company had turned out to be willing to stand and make a fight of it. Since then they had been launching random flights of darts.
Looking around, Greylock said, “Erik, try to get back to the rear and start the men heading back up toward the cavern. We’ll see if we can find another way down that won’t bring us back into this hornets’ nest.”
Erik crouched as he moved along and twice had to flatten himself against the rocks to avoid missiles. The darts were rude things, but cleverly fashioned. Long reeds, little more than heavy grass stalks, were tied together in tight bundles until they were as rigid as arrows, and fitted with tips of sharpened glass or stone. The tied reeds were surprisingly strong, and they rained down with enough impact that they could punch through any unarmored part of the body. Praji had mentioned that the Gilani used a throwing stick, called an atlatl, to propel them in a high arc over their victims’ heads, causing them to fall with great force. Erik would attest to their effectiveness.
He reached the end of the line and started the men moving back up once more. In less than ten minutes, Greylock, Praji, and Vaja came into view, the last of the forward element climbing upward.
Erik looked after and saw no sign of pursuit. “They don’t seem anxious to come up here after us,” he said.
Vaja said, “They’re not stupid. They’re little fellows. In an open fight we’d chew them up in less time than it takes to tell of it—but coming after us from tall grass, well, there’s no one who can fight out there better than the Gilani.”
Erik wouldn’t argue that. “What has made them so hostile?”
Praji looked back. “Usually, they simply don’t like strangers; they could be coming after us for the pure hell of it. Or maybe the Saaur are pushing them south and they’re just mad.”
Erik said, “But the Saaur who came after us couldn’t have mounted enough of a force to clear out these grass-dwellers. They’d need an army as big as the one mustering on the Vedra to do that.”
Vaja tapped Erik on the shoulder and pointed up the hill. Calis and de Loungville were hurrying downward to meet them.
When the Captain reached the men, Erik could see by more than one face in the company that many were relieved to see the Eagle of Krondor back among them. He retrieved his long-bow from the man who held it for him and said, “Why are you climbing back up?”
Greylock quickly explained, and Calis said, “We can’t get over the mountains. There’s nothing like a pass up there I could see on the way down, and we can’t risk going back into the cavern to see if there is a way through.” He thought it best not to tell anyone of what he had seen until he compared notes with Nakor.
Turning to de Loungville, he said, “Send Sho Pi and Jadow ahead. Tell them to find us a trail heading south. If we can move along the face of these mountains, then down behind these Gilani so we can then cut across to Maharta, we still may get through this without too much more damage.”
De Loungville nodded and went up the line to give the order to the men who would scout for them. “How’s our water?” asked Calis.
“We’re fine if we can find a source every day or two,” answered Greylock. “We’ve got eight fewer men who need to drink than we did a couple of hours ago.”
Calis nodded. “Praji, what’s water like out there?”
“Might as well be a desert,” came the answer. “The Plain of Djams has some streams and water holes, but if you don’t know where they are you can wander by one, never see it through the grass, and die of thirst.”
“Any birds you can follow?”
“A few, but damn me if I know what they look like,” admitted the old mercenary. “If we get far enough to the south, the foothills along the coast are kinder. Lots of springs, lakes, and creeks, from what I’ve been told.”
“South it is,” said Calis.
Ignoring his own fatigue, he hurried past the men in line so he could take over his position at the head of the column.
Erik trudged upward, trying to be equally stoic as his legs burned with fatigue. Each step up the slope took its toll, and he was more than grateful when Calis at last ordered a rest.