第25节

to judge by the accompanying procession -were

carried shoulder-high in lavishly decorated palanquins. Iron Master

society obviously had a pecking order just like the Amtrak Federation,

running down through the ranks from their version of the First Family

and the high-wire Execs in the Black Tower to' the greaseballs in the

A-levels. Despite the vast cultural and technological gap, Trackers

and the Sons of Ne-Issan were cast from the same mould. The arms and

accoutrements of the samurai showed they were gripped by the same

unbridled passion for hardware: they also subscribed to the idea of a

master race - and thought they were it. But despite this potential

source of conflict it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that, at

some point in the future, the Iron Masters might decide to cut out the

middleman and deal directly with the Federation. If they did, Talisman

and the Plainfolk would have to get their act together. Fast.

Keeping to the western flank of the mountain - still shaded from the

sun - Steve headed in the direction of the highway. It lay at the

bottom of a man-made gorge whose smooth sloping sides were now covered

by a tangled carpet of vegetation. At some time in the past, a wide

band on either side of the highway had been cleared of trees, but the

forest above was slowly reclaiming the lost ground. Several

generations of saplings had sprung up amid the bushes and the long

grass, and the strongest were beginning to elbow the weaklings out of

the way in the race to grab the biggest chunk of sky.

Before Steve could select a proper hiding place, a motley group of

horsemen burst out of the trees on the far side of the highway and

zigzagged down through the belt of saplings. Caught on the wrong foot,

Steve froze awkwardly, 'unsure whether to duck or run. His surprise

turned rapidly to panic as the riders clattered across the road and

came thundering up the slope towards him, their slung weapons bouncing

off their backs. The fact they kept looking over their shoulders

suggested that they, and not he, were the quarry but Steve was not

about to hang around for confirmation. It was time to get the hell

out. MOVE it, Brickman.t Powered by a surge of adrenalin, Steve turned

and sprinted back up through the trees, pausing to check the scene

behind him as he reached the crest. The rising steepness of the slope

had obliged the riders to cut back and forth across its face, slowing

their mad gallop to a laboured canter. The wild bunch had become a

strung-out line and now the home team - approximately double in number,

and decked out with banners and matching armour - were streaming out of

the woods, firing volleys of arrows across the gorge as they galloped

down towards the highway.

And scoring hits. Ouch! A horse reared up and fell backwards on top

of its rider. Steve accelerated rapidly.

There was no point in getting caught in the crossfire. His frantic

dash through the trees reminded him of the afternoon he had been chased

through another forest by a posse of Mutes. He had given them the slip

by diving into a rock pool and hiding close to the bank among the

reeds.

Given the chance he'd have done the same thing now but he was too high

up. Every stream he came across was no more than ankle-deep. The only

thing he could do was keep going. He settled down into the loping

stride he'd picked up from running with the M'Call Bears. The

accumulated aches and pains of the past weeks merged, becoming an

exquisite burning sensation that enveloped him from head to foot as he

pushed his body to the limits.

It went past the point of being unbearable and induced a strange kind

of euphoria that damped down all physical sensation. He could barely

feel his feet thudding against the ground, or his pain-wracked lungs

that, only moments before, had felt as if they were about to explode

inside his chest. He was conscious of being outside himself. It was

as if his brain had parted company with his body and was floating just

above and behind him, saying, 'You go right ahead and do what you have

to do, fella. Don't worry about me. I can't feel a thing."

Steve had been there before and knew from experience that he could