th feathers, and plaques of sculptured wood

coloured with dyes that Mute clans used to mark the boundaries of their

turL Grasping the long pole with two hands, Cannonball lifted it high

into the air and drove the point deep into the ground.

'We have now,' growled Shakatak. He turned to Cadillac.

'So, coyote - if you would take meat back to the stinking yellow cubs

you call clan-brothers, you will have to show me how sharp your teeth

are."

Cadillac stepped in front of Clearwater. 'Sharp enough to tear your

liver out,' he snarled.

Shakatak smiled. 'Hot words, coyote. Does your knife speak as

boldly?" He pulled out his long blade and sprang back, dropping into

the crouching, wide-legged stance of a knife-fighter.

Cadillac fumbled for his blade and stepped back, adopting the same

fighting pose. His throat was dry. He had fought mock duels, wrestled

and undergone trials of strength with his clan-brothers; his body was

lithe and well-mus.cled, his reflexes sharp, his mind alert, but up to

this moment, he had never faced anything more lethal than a sheathed

blade. Now he found himself staring at a weaving eight-inch blade with

a vicious, dished top cutting edge and suddenly realised that he was

about to get himself killed very painfully. He imagined Shakatak's

blade sinking into his groin and ripping upwards through his bowels.

His stomach became a ball of ice; the skin on the back of his neck

quivered. If only he had stayed on the far side of the river. If only

Once again Clearwater moved between them, thrusting a raised hand at

the fearsome Shakatak. 'Put up your blade!

There is no standing in this fight. This is not a warrior you seek to

kill, but a wordsmith!" Shakatak paused, clearly surprised by the

news.

'Are the Lion-Hearts of the D'Vine so weak that they must hunt down

those who have not chewed bone?"

Clearwater laughed, but there was a note of desperation in her voice.

'That would make a fine fire song!" Shakatak growled angrily and

looked at his companions, uncertain of his next move. Before he could

reply, Cadillac hurled Clearwater aside and slashed the air in front of

Shakatak's face with his knife. 'Even a wordsmith who has not chewed

bone is worth ten warriors from a clan like the D'Vine whose name is

dirt, and whose bravery can be recounted without the taking of a single

breath!" He spat on the ground at Shakatak's feet.

Shakatak's eyes almost popped out of his head with rage.

He bared his teeth and jabbed a blunt forefinger at Cadillac.

'You are going to eat those words, coyote - along with your scrawny

little nut-bag. Torpedo! Draw the circle!" Cannonball and Freeway

grabbed Clearwater by the neck and arms and dragged her to one side.

Torpedo put down Shakatak's crossbow, reversed his knife-stick and

quickly drew a fifteen-foot circle in the earth around Shakatak and

Cadillac.

Shakatak indicated the circle. 'Each time you step over that line,

Torpedo will take a slice off the fox. Do you understand?"

Cadillac replied by making another slash at the air in front of

Shakatak's face. Torpedo threw his knife-stick aside and helped pinion

Clearwater by the arms.

'Cut him slow? yelled Freeway.

'Don't worry,' gloated Shakatak. 'I'm going to unpick this mother one

stitch at a time. I'll leave his eyes till last so he can watch us

grease the tail of that fox -' His knife flashed from his right to his

left hand with frightening rapidity and slashed forward under

Cadillac's guard, slicing along Cadillac's rib cage with surgical

precision.

Clearwater's scream was choked off by Cannonball's hands on her mouth

and throat.

A spasm of pain shot up through Cadillac's chest as the blood welled