* * * *

Even as he lowered his head a gargantuan blast shook the world below
him. He fell into a mob of zanphs, who were fortunately so demoralized
by the explosion that they ignored him till he could gain his feet and
begin to murder them once more. From the tail of his eye he saw a
mushroom cloud lowering just beyond the hill; he flicked his gaze
at the crest where his men had been stationed to guard the
_antiforcescreenthrower_--no human form showed against the gray sky. The
blast had hurled them to dust, together with every tree on the skyline.

Finally--the gods knew how long he had fought--he found with amazement
that no more foes were in sight. The buttons that had fallen were all
cleaned out. Zanphs lay thick in heaps and lines, emptied sacks of
globes dotted the bloody grass. He listened for the sound of firing from
the upper valley; yes, there were still isolated shots.

His forces there still held, then. He glanced again at the sky. No
buttons in range. They were giving John a respite--or was it a trick?
Revel's tired mind wondered if John and Nirea were dead, and the gods
playing with him this way....

He felt himself, his head, arms, chest, legs. He had been burned a dozen
times by energy auras, only his incredible animal quickness preserving
him, giving him the power to dodge away at first touch of the burning
and slay the golden globes. The zanph bites atop the thorn scratches and
hound gashes were rapidly stiffening his whole torso, his left arm, his
thick-thewed legs. But there were shots in the upper valley, and Revel
the Mink was needed there.

Wearily he gathered his men--twenty-six of them now, all as tired as
he--and trudged at a broken shuffling lope toward the light.

As he passed the rocks where the machine of John sat, he scanned it with
blood-shot eyes. A score of miners, perhaps thirty at most, stood around
it, and the man of the Ancient Kingdom sat on its surface, wiping his
face with a white cloth. Lady Nirea stood up beside him and waved her
hand as he passed. He swung his pick in a big arc to show he was still
hale and hearty, though the effort cost him much.

Through his dulled brain now ran one thought, one hope. It was a chant,
a prayer, a focus for his beaten spirit, for though he had won thus far,
he was so death-weary that he could not conceive victory coming to him
at the last.

_Just let me meet Ewyo. Only let me meet Ewyo without his horse. Give m