Grass

  She turned, saw what was coming, and cursed. She had thought the horses could outdistance the wounded beasts, but the Hippae had kept pace. That made the odds six Hippae to five humans. Even though four of the Hippae were slightly wounded, it wasn't good. Not good enough.

  From the east came a great crumping sound, a concussion of air, like thunder. The ground shivered. The two Hippae on the hill screamed in rage, realizing before Marjorie did what had happened. Alverd Bee's men had blown up the tunnel. The tunnel. For the first time, Marjorie realized that the tunnel had been too narrow and low to allow a sudden, full-scale invasion. If the Hippae had been planning their attack for long, there were probably other tunnels. There was that great trail out there in the grass. There had to be other tunnels … "We're looking," said Someone. "We haven't found any others yet." Which didn't mean there weren't any.

  "Are you going to help?" she demanded. "Are you going to let us get killed doing this all by ourselves?" There was no answer.

  Rigo had heard the explosion. Now he leaned over Octavo's neck and urged him forward. Her Majesty and Millefiori fled along behind him, moving like the wind, opening the distance between them and the Hippae.

  Marjorie turned more to the north. It would do no good to come up behind the other riders. Now they had simply to outrun their pursuers. Get to the stony ridges of Com, get to the gate. "If it were your people, I'd try to help," said Marjorie.

  "Humans have been helping the Hippae kill foxen," came the answer, snappishly, not at all allusively, in clear words. Not the familiar voice, another one. "All along."

  "You know damned well that's not so," she cried. "Humans have been used by Hippae to kill foxen. That's entirely different." At least partly a lie, too. Humans had been all too willing to lend themselves to that Hunt. No answer.

  They ran. Quixote was lathered, breathing harshly. It had been a long hill and the armor was heavy. Marjorie held the reins in her teeth, took her knife from her pocket, and cut the straps that held the armor, one around Quixote's breast, two on each side. The plates dropped off and the horse made a noise that sounded like a prayer. Tony saw what she was doing and did likewise.

  Rigo had been watching. He nodded and called to the other two. Sylvan followed suit, as did Rigo himself. Rowena cried out in dismay. She had no knife. She had come last, and no one had thought to give her one.

  As though distracted by this cry, Millefiori stumbled and fell. Rowena went rolling away, coming up wild-eyed. Then she was up, running toward the horse, mounting all in one fluid motion as Millefiori struggled to her feet, limping. Then the mare was running again, though awkwardly, slowly, with a wide space opening between Rowena and the others.

  Sylvan saw. He turned Her Majesty and made a tight circle which brought him to his mother's side. He reached out, pulled her onto the saddle before him. Now Her Majesty was carrying double. She slowed. Millefiori slowed. Sylvan edged back to give his mother room. One of the Hippae leapt forward with stunning speed and gaping jaws, snatching him from Her Majesty's back. Another ran even with Millefiori, ready to leap. Rowena, face like death and mouth wide with an unheard howl, rode on.

  Sylvan had vanished. Where he had been was nothing, no movement. Marjorie screamed in anger and pain, tears streaking her face. "I'll begin by burning the swamp forest. It won't burn easily, but we'll do it somehow. Then the grasses, all of them. That will take care of the plague and the Hippae. There'll be no more Hippae."

  "What about us?" voices cried.

  "What about you?" she snarled. "If you're no help, you're no help. You don't care about us. Why should we care about you?"

  A whine. A snarl. A slap, as from one being to another being. Then, suddenly, there was something behind Millefiori, rising to confront the approaching. Hippae Mauve and plum and purple, a lash of tail and ripple of shoulders, a moving mirage of trembling air.

  "If He has to do it alone," Marjorie cried, "I'll still burn the forest, even if I have to do it by myself."

  "The ones behind us are gaining," Tony called. "Blue Star's exhausted."

  "We're all exhausted," she cried, tears running down her face. Where Sylvan had been was a tumult of beasts. "Turn more toward the road." She looked behind her, then up at the sun. They'd been running for well over an hour. Perhaps two. Thirty miles, more or less, all of it over rough ground and a lot of it uphill. With another twelve or fifteen miles to cover before they got back to the gate. "If I die out here," she threatened, "my family will burn the forest, I swear to God they will."

  "What's going on down there?" cried Tony. "The Hippae have stopped."

  They had stopped. Stopped, turned, were running away. Not back the way they had come, unfortunately. Uphill. Toward Marjorie. "Foxen," Marjorie cried. "Not quite where I would have wanted them, but better than nothing, I suppose."

  She was trying to feel philosphical about dying, not managing it, trying not be frightened, and not managing that, either. "Tony, we have to take out the two behind us before those others reach us."

  He turned a stricken face upon her.

  "We have to! If the other four reach us first, we'll have them all around us."

  He nodded, biting his lip. She saw blood there, the only color in his face.

  "Turn on your lance."

  He'd forgotten about it. He thumbed it on. looking at the humming blade almost as though hypnotized.

  "Tony! Pay attention." She motioned, showing him how she wanted him to circle – the two of them wide, in opposite directions, coming back to hit the wounded Hippae from both sides.

  They broke from one another, circled tightly, and were running back toward the pursuing monsters before the Hippae understood what was happening. Then they, too, broke, one headed for each of the horses. Marjorie tried to forget about her son, concentrate on what she was doing. Lance well out in front, the blaze of its blade apparent even in the light of day.

  There was a roar above her. She looked up to see Asmir Tanlig and Roald Few beckoning from an aircar, screaming at her. She lip-read. "We'll pick you up, pick you up."

  Leave Quixote and Blue Star to face these beasts alone! She shook her head, waved them off. no. Only when the car rose did she realize what she had done. Oh, God, how silly. How silly. And yet …

  The Hippae was before her, circling just out of reach, darting forward, then back. He could maneuver more quickly than Quixote could. Quixote kept his head toward the beast, dancing, as though he wore ballet shoes, as though he stood on tiptoe. Behind her she heard Tony yell. She didn't dare look. Again dance, dance. Then Quixote charged. She hadn't signaled him to do it. He simply did it. There was an opening, the lance found it, and they were dancing away again while the Hippae sagged before them, yammering at the sky, its neck half cut through.

  Five, her mind exulted as she tried to find Tony. Five. Six was standing over her son while Blue Star fled toward the distant gate as though she knew where it was, as though she had been told it meant safety. Great jaws wide, the crouching Hippae howled at the boy, ready to take off his face in one huge bite. Quixote raced forward, screaming …

  There was a furry blur on the Hippae's back. Another between the jaws and the boy. Another at its haunches, clawing at it. Three foxen. The screaming battle tumbled to one side and rolled toward the hill. Tony lay still.

  She dismounted and struggled to get him onto Quixote's back. The horse knelt to receive him, again without a signal to do so. Then Marjorie was up once more, holding her son before her, and they were running the way Blue Star had gone. Not really running. Moving, at least.

  Down the hill, other foxen had taken on the other Hippae. Rowena was just behind Rigo. Millefiori came behind, limping badly.

  "Now," thought Marjorie. "Now bring out your damned aircar or airtruck or what-have-you. Now."

  And it was there, only a short distance from them all, with Persun Pollut driving it and Sebastian Mechanic dropping out a ramp for the horses.

  "I knew you wouldn't leave the horses," Persun ca
lled as they came aboard. "I told Asmir you wouldn't, but Roald said you wouldn't be that silly."

  Silly, she said to herself. Silly. As though that were the answer to a problem that had bothered her for a very long time. In her mind she sensed an enormous, unqualified approval.

  Headquarters had been set up in the order station under James Jellico's watchful eye. A dozen eager volunteers offered to rub down the horses. Aside from Millefiori's bad leg they seemed to be all right. In one corner Dr. Bergrem was looking at Rowena with an expression of concern. Rowena had broken something in that fall. Her shoulder, maybe. Something inside her had broken as well. She sat still and white-faced, unresponsive. When Marjorie went to her, she was whispering Sylvan's name, over and over.

  "We found him," Marjorie said. "We went out and found him, Rowena."

  "What?" she asked. "How?"

  "He's dead, Rowena. The fall broke his neck. They didn't touch him."

  "He's not … oh, he's not – "

  "No, Rowena," she cried. "He's not. We brought his body back to be buried."

  She returned to Tony, who was sitting white-faced in a corner, slowly coming to himself. Beyond him she saw Brother Mainoa seated at the tell-me. Marjorie fumbled awkwardly at her pocket flap with hands that seemed frozen from their long grip upon lance and reins.

  Her fingers were made of wood. Eventually she got the pocket open and the letter out.

  She laid it before Brother Mainoa. "I think this should be sent to Semling," she said.

  He read it, his face turning gray as the sense of it reached him. "Ah … ah," he murmured. "Ah, yes … but – "

  "But?"

  He rubbed his forehead, started to speak, stopped to think again. "If you spread this around now, there will be panic, rebellions, riots. Then, if we find a cure, the authorities will be so occupied with maintaining order, they won't be able to disseminate the cure. This letter shouldn't be made public until there's a cure, Marjorie."

  "All right," she agreed. "But I'm concerned that it might not get out at all if we wait. Who knows what those – "

  "Devils," he offered. "Sanctified devils. The Hierarch and his retinue."

  "It's your faith. I didn't want to … "

  "It's what I was born to," he admitted. "What I was given to. That's not the same thing. No. This was written by someone unworthy of any faith, Marjorie."

  She threw up her hands. "You know what I'm saying, Brother. What's-his-name, Zoe, may miss this letter at any time. May come looking for it. May take steps to stop its getting out."

  "We'll make copies," Brother Mainoa offered. "Merely sending the text off-planet wouldn't do. The Hierarch could disclaim any such. Copies in his own hand, that's what's needed. And since this says the Hierarch is on his way here, we should get someone to take copies off-planet. There's a Semling freighter in port, ready to leave. The Star-Lily."

  "How long to the nearest … how long to Semling?"

  "Two weeks, Grassian time."

  "Thirty days," she murmured. "How wonderful if we could have a cure by then."

  "We who?"

  "The doctor here. She's remarkable, Brother Mainoa. She studied on Semling. She studied on Repentance. She's got some young helpers just back from school. She got interested in immunology, because of something she found here on Grass when she was a girl."

  "Something?"

  "A – I'm no scientist. She wrote a book about the stuff. It has a long name I've forgotten. It's a nutrient. Something our cells have to have in order to grow and reproduce. And here on Grass it exists in two forms, the usual one and one that's inverted. Nowhere else. Only here."

  "When did she tell you this?"

  "When I was visiting Stella. She was only talking to distract me, but she sounded so competent it gave me hope, some hope." She took the letter from him, stared at it, still finding it hard to believe. "I suppose you're right about this. If we don't find a cure, what difference does it make whether people know? But if we do? Then people need to know about this letter. People are entitled to know what Sanctity intended to do!"

  "All right, Marjorie. We'll send copies off-planet, just in case. The Star-Lily still plans to leave tomorrow. Now that the tunnel is blown up, we'll ask Alverd Bee to get the crew and the warehousemen back over to the port to get it ready to lift."

  "Tony," she said. "We'll send Tony." It would be a good idea to send Tony. He was too vulnerable to the Hippae. She had to get him away before he was tainted by them, as Stella was. Except … there might be plague on Semling. Which risk was greater? All risks were equal. All were life or death. "Tell the crew to be careful. There must be another tunnel. Why else that great Hippae trail leading here!"

  He nodded, patting her hand. "If the men keep someone on watch and an aircar or two standing by, they should be safe enough. And, just in case the Hierarch starts looking for me – which he may do, if Zoe tells him about me – I'll hide myself away somewhere. I'll go back to the forest, that's what. Rillibee will come along to take care of me. If they come looking for me, tell them I went back into the forest. If they come looking for the letter, you never saw it. Rigo never saw it. When a cure is found, Tony will see that the letter is widely disseminated, just as the cure is."

  Rillibee was beside them. "I'll go," he said. "I'll get Brother Mainoa up in a tree somewhere, and we'll wait until one of the foxen comes to get us."

  She found herself trying to think of an excuse why she should go herself. She wanted to go herself. She wanted to be there, among the trees, not here with all these people. She looked around, seeking some reason, and turned back to find Rillibee already gone.

  Damn. She felt unutterably sad but forbade herself to cry. "Does everyone accept that there's probably another tunnel?" she asked Roald Few, trying to distract herself.

  "Oh, yes," Roald said. "Probably more than one. Probably not finished yet, or they'd be all over us."

  "A tunnel could just as easily come in on this side of the wall," she whispered, looking around to be sure that no one else heard her. "It could come out below the town. Have you thought of that?"

  Roald nodded wearily. "Lady Westriding, we've thought of that and of three or four other things that would be equally dreadful. People are beginning to talk about the winter quarters, how long they could hold them against a Hippae assault."

  "So, if the tunnel isn't finished, what will the Hippae do next?"

  "Burn the estancias," he replied, "just as they did Opal Hill. That's one of the things we figured out while you were out there enticin' the Hippae. We all agreed. Given their nature, if they can't get in here yet, they'll start fires."

  "Has anyone warned the estancias?"

  He buried his head in his hands. "Nobody's had time! And who are they going to listen to? Obermum bon Damfels? They might believe her. They certainly won't believe me."

  Marjorie went away to make copies of the letter, to get Tony onto the Star-Lily, and to find Rowena.

  No one answered the tell-me at Klive. At the bon Laupmons', someone answered but declined to respond either to the information that Taronce had survived or that the estancia should be evacuated. At Stane, however, after learning that both Dimoth and Vince were dead, Geraldria bon Maukerden begged Rowena to send whatever help would come from Commoner Town to evacuate the house and village. Mayor Bee already had all available aircars and trucks going to all the villages, the bon Damfels village included.

  "The damned bons can char on their own griddle if they want to," he snarled. "But we'll get our village people out."

  It was too late to get them out of Klive. Even before the tunnel had been blown up, Hippae had attacked Klive. There were no people left alive there, not in the estancia, not in the village, except one man, Figor, found wandering among the charred houses, a laser knife in his hands.

  When she heard the news, Rowena wept, wiping the tears away with her left hand. The right arm and shoulder were in a Heal-all, mending. "Emmy's here," she said. "Amy's here. Shevlok's here, alive
in a way. Figor will be all right. But oh, I grieve for Sylvan. And my cousins. And old Aunt Jem."

  No one had time to grieve with her. There had been a trail leading from Klive to the swamp forest. All the Hippae on Grass seemed to be congregating there.

  The evacuation fleet shuttled back and forth across the prairies, continuing even after fires sprung up at Stane and at Jorum, the estancia of the bon Bindersen's. Obermun Kahrl and Obermum Lisian refused to leave the bon Bindersen estancia, but their children, Traven and Maude, left willingly enough with the people of the village and many others from the big house.

  At the bon Haunser place, Eric joined the evacuees along with Jason, the Obermun's son. Felitia had died outside the bon Laupmon walls, during what Rigo had come to remember as "The Joust."

  The bon Laupmon place was totally destroyed before the cars arrived, though the commoners had cut a fire break around the village and, armed with harvesting knives, were standing fast with their livestock. At the bon Smaerloks', the drivers were told that the bons had gone hunting with the bon Tanligs. All of them, even the old folks. A vast crowd of hounds and mounts had showed up early on Hunt morning, and every occupant of the estancias had gone a-hunting. The only people left in the estancias were children. The children and the villagers were evacuated; a wide Hippae trail led from the estancias toward Commons.

  The order station became the nerve center for Commons. From there one could see what went on at the port and receive messages from approaching ships. From there one could direct the defenses if Hippae came in through some other tunnel-In the winter quarters below the order station a makeshift hospital was set up to house Rowena, Stella, Emmy, Shevlok, Figor, and a dozen others who had been badly injured before or during the evacuation. People with only superficial injuries were treated and dismissed. When the last of them had been attended to, Lees Bergrem insisted upon going back through the gates to the hospital with several of her assistants.