第76节

hub with one swift jerk of his huge hands, examined the two pieces

briefly then dropped them at Steve's feet. 'Now it flies like a lump

of crow-shit."

Steve looked down at the broken blades and knew that there was no

chance of walking away from this one. He had one good chance. If

Motor-Head didn't know what was rolled up inside the mat, he could get

to his rifle and drop all three of them. He raised his head and met

the Mute warrior's challenging gaze. 'Well, you should know. You're

full of it."

Motor-Head bared his fang-like teeth in a tight smile.

How he regretted his promise not to cut open this carrion!

He spat on the ground. 'You have a quarterstaff. Beat it out of me!'

This could work out just fine, thought Steve. 'I might just do that,'

he said coolly. He took a couple of steps backwards then edged

sideways under the wing towards the spot where his quarterstaff lay

next to the rolled straw mat.

Motor-Head pulled his staff out of its carrying sling and whirled it

around in a brief, flashy display.

That's right. Come on, sucker...

Steve took another couple of steps towards the hidden rifle. He looked

towards the edge of the bluffand was able to recognise the two shadowy

figures as Black-Top and Steel-Eye.

Black-Top was' holding a loaded crossbow. Steve considered his chances

of grabbing his rifle and blowing them away before Black-Top nailed him

with a bolt. Not good. Not good at all.

And it got worse. As if reading his mind, Motor-Head tossed his own

quarterstaff towards Steve. 'Take mine.

Your little arms will need a big stick."

Steve caught it across his chest, conscious that the odds against him

getting out alive were lengthening by the second. Motor-Head fixed him

with his beady eyes then bent down and scooped up Steve's

quarterstaff.

Up to now, everything had gone so wrong, he was half-expecting

Motor-Head to pull open the matting roll, but the big Mute ignored

it.

Steve knew that, provided the fight was limited to quarterstaffs, he

had a hope of winning. He had already beaten Motor-Head seven times in

a row, and he had the ribboned plaits to prove it. Motor-Head could

have despatched him easily with a knife but his reputation as a warrior

was at stake. He had to win with Steve's chosen weapon to regain his

position as paramount Bear. Steve now realised that, for Motor-Head,

swapping staffs was a symbolic act through which he took some of

Steve's 'power' into himself. If he could hold him off long enough,

the Mute's psychological need to win might make him angry. It was this

aggression that Steve had exploited in the past.

Once Motor-Head lost control it would all be over. The trouble was,

Steve didn't have all day to play around. He had to floor this hulking

piece of lumpshit in the next fifteen minutes. Some chance!

It was one contest Steve would have been prepared to concede, but he

knew that if he took a dive the result would be the same as if he were

beaten to the ground. Sooner or later, Motor-Head was going to kill

him. It was galling to think that the speedy solution to all his

problems was lying so near at hand. But the six feet that separated

him from the hidden rifle might just as well have been six miles.

Forget it, Brickman, he told himself. You're going to have to solve

this one the hard way. Christo, what a pill!

Grasping the quarterstaff firmly in both hands, Steve backed away from

Blue-Bird to give himself some fighting room. A vague battle plan was

beginning to coalesce in his mind. It was no good just winning. He

had to finish up on his feet, fit enough to fly and within reach of the

rolled-up rifle. Maybe if he could manoeuvre this big lump to the edge

of the bluff and somehow topple him over...

Motor-Head threw aside the sling of his borrowed staff, flexed it to

test its condition, then assumed the opening, wide-legged stance.

Steve faced up to him, the tip of his quarterstaff angled across that

of his opponent. BlackTop and Steel-Eye split up, moved back several

yards and crouched down facing each other halfway between BlueBird's

wingtips and the edge of the bluff.

The use of the six-foot long qua