"Rascar...." I heard a gasp, a groan. I whirled and saw Kyral go down,
struggling, drowning in half a dozen or more of the fierce half-humans.
I leaped at the smother of bodies, ripped one away with a stranglehold,
slashed at its throat.
They were easy to kill.
I heard a high, urgent scream in their mewing tongue. Then the furred
black things seemed to melt into the forest as silently as they had
come. Kyral, dazed, his forehead running blood, his arm slashed to the
bone, was sitting on the ground, still stunned.
Somebody had to take charge. I bellowed, "Lights! Get lights. They won't
come back if we have enough light, they can only see well in the dark."
Someone stirred the fire. It blazed up as they piled on dead branches,
and I roughly commanded one of the kids to fill every lantern he could
find, and get them burning. Four of the dead things were lying in the
clearing. The youngster I'd helped loading horses, the first day, gazed
down at one of the catmen, half-disemboweled by somebody's skean, and
suddenly bolted for the bushes, where I heard him retching.
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