and the lurking fear of it, was a real morale sapper. It was little

wonder that it had been ruthlessly stamped on by the First Family. In

the world they had laboured unceasingly to create, all was explained

and inexorable logic prevailed. Despite the odd, occasional doubt,

Jodi had clung stubbornly to the official viewpoint.

She refused to consider the possibility that 'summoners' really

existed. The idea that the Plainfolk clans had people who could

manipulate the weather at will was plainly ridiculous.

As this thought passed through her mind, Jodi heard an ominous rumble

of thunder. She looked up through the clearview panel in the wing.

The sky was clear. But it had been hot and humid for days. When that

happened you often got a build up of pressure and static and then...

Jodi checked the movement of the rifle mount and the ease with which

she could pull the weapon into her shoulder and take aim, squeezing off

imaginary shots on the uncocked trigger at rocks on the slopes of the

mountain below. Satisfied, she stretched out her arms and pointed

three times at Booker and Yates. They veered away obediently, opening

out the formation to fly three wingspans from their section leader. As

they assumed their new positions and turned their faces towards her,

Jodi raised her right hand and brought it down in a slow chopping

motion over the nose of her Skyhawk. It was the signal to go into what

was known as a free-firing attack. Jodi brought her dark visor down

over the chin piece of her helmet, grasped the pistol grip of her rifle

and pulled the butt into her shoulder. Booker and Yates did the

same.

With their propellors windmilling silently behind their backs, they

swooped down over the western flank of the Laramie mountains like three

giant birds of prey. The tops of the forest of red trees that carpeted

the lower slopes rushed up to meet them.

To the south, The Lady continued to advance cautiously, still blinded

by the heavy mist. Unknown to Hartmann, the wagon train had wandered

two or three miles off course.

What he took to be the eroded remains of Interstate 80 which had once

run from Cheyenne, through Laramie and then westwards to Rawlins, was

actually a dry, shallow, river bed. As they followed its winding

course northwestwards, Hartmann noted that the ground on either side

was rising steadily. He made his second mistake of the day in thinking

that they were passing through a cutting.

From the hour before dawn when the mist had formed round the wagon

train, a small group of Mutes camouflaged with scrub had been trailing

it, sending reports of its progress to Mr Snow by runner at regular

intervals. Mr Snow knew of Hartmann's navigational error. Indeed,

with the knowledge Cadillac had given him, Mr Snow had reached into

Hartmann's mind and. had created the confusion that had made the

mistake possible and then prevented the wagon master from realising

what he had done. The rumble of thunder that Jodi had heard when she

turned west over the mountains had been a trial blast by Mr Snow,

clearing his throat for the big event.

Escorted by ten Bears, Mr Snow ran, Mute-fashion, some way behind the

two large groups that Jodi had spotted. Cadillac and Clearwater had

been ordered to stay hidden in the forest with the She-Wolves - the

female warriors - the M'Call elders, the den mothers and the

children.

The remaining Bears were moving under cover of the trees to a point

nearer the wagon train. This much larger group constituted the clan's

strategic reserve and would be committed to the battle as conditions

required.

The whole of Mr Snow's remarkable mind was concentrated on the task he

had set himself. He had produced the cloud and sown a degree of

confusion in Hartmann's mind but he was worried about his ability to

summon, control and ultimately survive the immense power he was about

to draw from the earth and sky. As a consequence, the soundless volley

of rifle fire that mowed down the running warriors around him came as a

complete surprise.