dwarf cedar trees, where she could be alone.
There was a spring of clear sweet water amongst the cedars and when her
body had purged itself and she had it under control again, she knelt
beside the rocky pool and bathed her face and neck. Using the surface
of the shining water as a mirror, she combed her hair and rearranged
her clothing.
The reaction to extreme fear had left her feeling lightheaded and
slightly apart from reality. She picked her way out of the cedar
thicket, and down to where the car stood upon the track. The Galla
horsemen had arrived and they and their mounts crowded the entire
area,
back up the track for half a mile, and in a solid mob about the
armoured car.
Those nearest the car had dismounted, and when she tried to make her
way through their ranks they gave her only minimal passage, so that she
must brush close to them.
Suddenly she realized with a fresh lunge of fear in her chest that the
Harari bodyguard of Lij Mikhael was no longer with her and she stopped
uncertainly and looked about her, trying to find where they were.
An aching silence had fallen on the Gallas, and now she saw that their
expressions were tense also. The faces, with their handsome,
high-boned features and beaky noses, turned towards her with the
predatory expectation of the hunting hawk, and the eyes burned with the
same fierce excitement with which they had watched the old crone do her
bloody work the previous night.
The Harari, where were the Harari? She looked about her wildly now but
could not find a familiar face and then in the silence she heard the
clatter of distant hooves from far down the gorge and she knew without
any shade of doubt that they had left her, they had been driven away by
the threats of their ancient enemies, who outnumbered them so
heavily.
She was alone and she turned to go back, but found that they had closed
about her, cutting off her retreat and now they pressed gradually
closer about her, with the same smouldering, gloating expression on
every face.
She had to go forward, there was no way back and she forced herself to
walk slowly on towards the car. At each step a tall robed figure stood
to block her way. She knew she must show no sign of fear,
any show of weakness at all would trigger them, and she had a single
brief image of her own pale body spread-eagled upon the rocky earth,
plaything for a thousand. She thrust the image firmly aside and walked
on slowly. At the last possible instant, each tall figure moved
aside,
but there was always another beyond to take its place and each time the
throng pressed closer upon her.
She could feel their heightening expectation, almost smell it in the
hot musk of their packed bodies the change in the faces was there too;
they watched her with a growing excitement, teeth grinning, breath
shortening and eyes like claws in her flesh.
Suddenly she could go no further; a figure taller and more compelling
than any other blocked her path. She had noticed this, man before. He
was a Gerazmach, a high Galla officer. he wore a sharnma of dark blue
silk wrapped about his throat and falling to his knees.
His hair was fluffed out in a wide halo about the lean, cruel face and
a scar ran down from the outer corner of his eye to the point of his
jaw.
He said something to her in a voice that was thick with lust, and she
did not understand the words but the meaning was clear. The crowd
around her stirred and she heard the sound of their breathing and felt
them press even closer towards her. A man laughed near her, and there
was something so ugly in the sound that it struck her like a physical
force.
She wanted to scream, to turn and try and claw herself free but she
knew that was what they were waiting for. It needed just that
provocation and they would hurl themselves upon her. She gathered what
was left of her reserves and put it all into her voice.
"Get out of my way," she said clearly, and the man before her smiled.
It was one of the most terrifying things she had ever seen.
Still smiling, he dropped one hand to his groin, opened the fold of his
shamnia, and made a gesture so obscene that Vicky recoiled, and she
felt the scalding blood burn her throat and her cheeks. There was no
control in her voice now as she blurted, "Oh, you swine you filthy
swine," and the man reached for her, his robe still open. As she
shrank back, she felt the others behind her thrust her forward again.
Then another voice spoke. The words were banal but the tone hissed
like the sound of a scimitar swung at the cut.
"All right, chaps. That's enough of that nonsense." Vicky felt the
pressure of bodies about her ease, and she spun around with a sob
catching in her throat.
Gareth Swales strolled down the passage that opened for him through the
dense press of robed bodies. His whole carriage seemed indolent, and
the white open-necked shirt with an Zingari scarf at the throat was
crisp and immaculate but Vicky had never before seen the expression he
wore. The rims of his nostrils were ice-white and his eyes burned with
a controlled fury.
