Hackles risen, a cold lump in the pit of his stomach, Mark eyed a possible escape route among the rocks below and to the right. If he moved quickly enough there might still be a sufficient margin....

He breathed deeply, vaulted to the ground and twisted his ankle beneath him. Rising, limping, he headed toward the rocks. He heard a sharp whistling noise behind him and an increase in the scratching sounds. He dodged as best he could, thinking of the spear in the thing's hand.

He looked back once and saw that he seemed to be holding his own. The spear-arm was cocked, but the rocks were right before him now. He dove and heard the shaft clatter on stone behind him. Recovering immediately, he continued on, heading obliquely back in the direction of the ruin he had visited earlier.

The noises behind him did not diminish. Apparently, the monstrosity could move at a faster pace than that at which he had first seen it coming.

He darted among rocks, keeping the sounds to the rear and the ruin roughly ahead. There had been places to climb, places to hide there--places better suited for defense than the open ground of this rock maze.

He rounded a huge boulder, froze, and barely had time to bring his blade into play. Another of the things, also bearing a rider, appeared to have been searching or waiting for him. It was reared upright only feet away, and the spear was already descending.

He parried, driving the shaft aside, and swung a backhanded cut toward the swaying creature. It rang like a bell and dropped forward. He stepped aside, feeling a sharp pain in his right ankle, then thrust upward toward the gnarled rider. There came a scream as his blade connected and entered, somewhere. He dragged it free, turned, ran.