There was nothing else to do but race like a madman for the zorca lines and fling myself across the first animal I laid hands on. She was a fine chestnut and she quieted instantly as I grasped her mane. Bareback, head low, feet tucked in, I roared off after that blasphemous rout.
Nath rode with me. Magically, Seg and Turko were there. Others joined us. Volodu was blowing his lungs out, shrilling the alarm over the entire camp.
In a straggling bunch, heads low, we raced after that streaming howling pack of werewolves.
Every man jack of us, I was sure, wore among the usual Kregan arsenal of weaponry a dudinter blade.
Nothing was going to outrun a zorca, on four, six or eight feet, or on two. Among the bunch of riders following me were men and wom……
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