Cursing, Craig circled far ahead of the raiders—searching the rolling hills below, praying for some miracle of terrain, some inspiration.
But no miracle came. There were only the grasslands, the great straggling herds of the djevoda.
The djevoda—!
Craig came up short. Here was his miracle! Here his allies!
Sideslipping his disc in a flashing arc, he surveyed the ground beyond the column.
The vehicles were following the low ground, moving towards a pass of sorts in the hills that sprawled east and west across their path.
Craig raced south again. A long way south, till at last he passed above the distant range and swept down on its far side.
How long did he have? An hour? Or only half that?
A knot of djevoda moved restlessly as his disc's shadow fell across them.
Craig slashed back closer.