Champion of the Last Battle

XII

Whitetip did not return for three full days. When at last he did, he was not alone. With him was a female of his species, this cat some half his weight and less than two thirds his height; her coloring was that of the native treecats and her cuspids were not much larger than theirs, mere shadows of the huge, cursive dentition of the male prairiecat.

“Chief Bili,” beamed Whitetip formally, “this retarded, deformed number-cat cannot remember simple orders for long, it would seem. She was told to remain with her cubs at the den of Count Sandee, yet I found her wandering the plain near to the mountains, trying to find a way to sneak past the Skohshuns.”

“We’ll get to Stealth in a minute,” Bili replied sternly. “Chief Whitetip mentions the obeying of orders, yet he chose to be gone for three days in utter disobedience of his orders. I had feared him slain by the long-long-spear-men.”

Leaving the big cat to squirm and stew for the nonce, Bili beamed to the newcomer, “Greet the Sacred Sun, Stealth. How is my cub, and your own?”

Her delight was obvious; she paced to Bili’s side and laid her neat head against his knee, purring her joy while beaming, “Greet the Scared Sun, chief of cat brothers. Your cub is well, though not yet ready to join mine own in hunting lizards and voles. As for your orders, all the other fighters you left at the den of Count Sandee were marching north to join you, so I asked the advice of Count Sandee himself, and that of my wise twoleg cat sister, Zainehp, and they both assured me that you would assuredly welcome even one more proven fighter, beset as you were by enemies. Were they wrong in their counsel, cat brother? Should I have stayed behind and let them ride to aid you without me?”

Bili ruffled the cat’s neck fur reassuringly. “No, my sister, they were not wrong; when the horn is winded, all charge as one. How many horsemen and Maidens ride with Count Sandee?”

“Almost as many hundreds as I have claws on all my paws, cat brother,” she replied.

“Sun, Wind and Sacred Steel!” beamed Bili in consternation. “Where did old Sir Steev come up with almost two thousand men?”

“Those of Count Sandee and the others of Kuhmbuhluhn are but half or less, cat brother. The others are strange Moon Maidens and strange Ahrmehnee, many, many of them, along with certain of your fighters I remember from the long march and the battle before the earth moved and the burning rocks set the forests all ablaze. They are led by a twoleg called Sir Geros.”

“Geros! Sir Geros Lahvoheetos? Here, in New Kuhmbuhluhn? But how? Why? No, no need for you to try to answer, Stealth. I think I know the answers to those questions, though what I ever did to deserve such a degree of loyalty ... I wonder just how many long months that brave, faithful man has ridden these mountains in search of me.”

He beamed again to Whitetip. “This will teach you, I hope, brother chief, not to jump to erroneous conclusions ... if that’s what you did, this time. Nor shall I inquire further as to the reason for your lengthy absence from your assigned duties. For now, your assignment is to see Stealth here well fed and furnished a comfortable place to rest until I am ready to again meet with you two. A Skohshun herald is due this day, and I must welcome him and entertain him. When I am free to do so, I’ll mindcall you. Dismiss.”

Thoheeks Bili’s mindcall, however, came far sooner than either the sulking Whitetip or Bili himself had expected. It was issued hard on the heels of the young commander’s initial meeting with the Skohshun herald, Sir Djahn Makadahm.

“Chief Whitetip,” Bili beamed urgently, “immediately it is dark enough to hide you, hie you down to the Skohshun camp and bring me back a report on the following: how badly the camp was damaged, if there are significantly fewer twolegs, and how many of those twolegs seem to be seriously hurt—that is, unable to easily stand or walk about without help.

“When you return, I’ll probably still bet at meat with Skohshun, the old one. Don’t come into our presence. I still don’t wish him to know that the bane of their herds is one of my valued warriors. Instead, beam the information to me. Then stand ready to cross the plain into the southern mountains. I need to be in communication with Sir Geros as soon as possible, and only my loyal cat brother’s mind is powerful enough to allow for such distance.”

“Must Whitetip take that useless number-cat with him on his scouting tonight, cat brother?” inquired the prairiecat.

“No,” Bili replied, “Stealth lacks your endurance for long-distance travel. Tell her she is to go up to my suite and bide therein with my own female and our cubs until I return abovestairs. That strange killer still stalks, it seems—it killed and ate a man on two of the last three nights, despite a bad wound it suffered on the night you left to stampede the herd of the Skohshuns.”

The great furry brown beast slowly, softly approached the cradle wherein lay the two youngest Morguhns. Cruel, sparkling white fangs gleamed as the two infants were sniffed thoroughly from end to end. Olfactory investigation completed, Stealth gently licked those skin surfaces she could easily get her wide tongue at.

“They are good-sized cubs, cat sister,” she mindspoke Rahksahnah. “But still are they both smaller than was your first cub, last year. It is not the usual for your kind to birth more than one at the time?”

Forgetting that she was mindspeaking, Rahksahnah shrugged, beaming, “That varies with strains and individuals, I think, my sister. My own mother, who was the brahbehrnuh before me, never bore more than one child at the time, but one of her blood sisters bore three, although two later died before reaching maturity. Another of their kin bore two sets of two; so I suppose that the possibility of bearing more than one is a part of my bloodline.

“But what of your own little cubs, sister? My Bili tells me that they are said to be well on the way to putting Count Sandee’s stoats out of business.”

With sharp knife and strong teeth, Sir Djahn Makadahm stripped the tender meat from off the bones of the young goat, repeatedly complimenting the consistency and delicate flavor of the whole-roasted kid.

“Meat of any fresh kind, not full of brine and pickling, is pleasing to me just now, Sir Bili, mightily pleasing. On the very night of your shrewd attempt to damage our camp, a huge mountain cat which has plagued us intermittently since first we went into camp stampeded our entire beef herd. The bawling bastards scattered to the four winds, and since then fresh meat has been rare and dear, leaving us usually with only salt pork and suchlike, that and the occasional stringy wild hare.”

“We have our own animal problems, here, Sir Djahn,” Bili remarked morosely, “but of a somewhat more serious nature than yours. Near every night for over a week now, a lean, reddish wolf has killed and eaten a man or woman in the burk.”

Sir Djahn leaned closer, saying excitedly, “Perhaps, Sir Bili, it is the same creature? This cat hunts only by night, too, as I think I said.”

“No.” Bili shook his shaven head emphatically. “No, there was clear spoor at the first kill we discovered, and there has been more since, as well as sightings, and it is truly a wolf. But such a wolf—a wolf as big as a small bear, that leaves paw prints a hand and a half long and at least a hand broad.

“And tough! Why, Sir Djahn, the beast slew and was eating a baker’s apprentice—a grown man, sizewise—one night last week when a party of cooks and bakers surprised him at it. One of them gashed the monster deep in the neck with a hard-flung cleaver and another ran a steel spit a good inch and a half in thickness some two feet into the creature’s body, yet still he not only managed to get away, but killed and ate again on the very next night, seemingly none the worse for being hacked and pierced. What do you make of that?”

The herald laid down the bone and the knife, dipped his fingers in the bowl of warm water and floating rose petals, then carefully wiped them on the cloth provided to the purpose, before answering softly and in a most serious tone.

“Have you considered the possibility, Sir Bili, that you might be dealing not with a proper, natural beast, but with a werewolf?” At Bili’s blank stare, he asked, “Does this wolf ever slay and eat other beasts?”

“No, Sir Djahn, and that has been an almighty puzzlement to us. The creature will pass directly in front of, leave spoor all around, a pen of helpless sheep or goats, then go into a house to kill and eat a grown man. Certain chambers back in the mountain, wherein we think he dens—for all that a thorough search failed to turn up trace of him—are all stacked high and hung with smoked flesh of all descriptions, yet he has never touched one flitch, that we could tell. He seems to crave only fresh-killed human flesh.”

“Just so, Sir Bili,” the elderly Skohshun nodded sagely. “When in his beast form, human flesh is all that a werewolf will ingest. And I find it understandable that you could not discover his lair, for he has none and needs none; in daylight hours, he passes freely and unsuspected among you, as one of you. Perhaps he even trod that dark warren beside you, or behind you, secretly laughing as he “aided” you in your search for that which he well knew did not exist.”

Bili did not try to repress or hide his shudder. “Then, Sir Djahn, is there no way to recognize, to detect, such a murderous monster in daylight?”

“A few,” answered Sir Djahn, “but they are not hard and fast or accurate in all cases, I have been informed; quite often, in fact, one or more of them will be possessed by men and women who are as normal as are you and I, so be most exceeding careful lest you make a hasty and erroneous judgment.

“When in their human guise, werewolves often are excessively hairy of body and limbs, with fast-sprouting beards and thick, coarse hair on their heads. More werewolves, it is said, have red or auburn hair than any other coloring. Their teeth are large and the upper cuspids are said to be noticeably longer than the other front teeth, and sometimes they are sharply pointed, as well. Often the two eyebrows of a werewolf will, when he is in his man form, grow thickly together above the nose, so that he appears to have but a single eyebrow. Men and women who are secret werewolves are exceeding strong and agile. The ears of these human monsters are said to be always small and laid flat against the skull, and sometimes they are pointed at the upper tip, as well. The third finger of their hands is right often as long or even longer than the middle one, whilst the nails of all the fingers are rounded rather than flat and very strong.

“Please understand, Sir Bili, I have never that I know of met or even seen a true werewolf. The knowledge that I pass on to you here is but a compendium of the ancient legends of my folk. The Skohshuns, long centuries agone, lived for a few years in a far northern land where real wolves were a constant menace and werewolves a hidden threat. But in my own life, I have known or at least met men and women bearing one or more of those supposed telltale traits who were no more werewolves than am I.

“I wish you luck, Sir Bili, whether you discover your manslayer to be natural or unnatural beast. But that discussion is not, you must know, the reason why my superior sent me back to enjoy your most generous hospitality.”

When the Skohshun herald had stated his case, he sat back and waited for what he was certain would ensue—probably polite refusal, possibly a refusal verging upon insult. He had been steeling himself for this latter possibility since he had ridden across the booming timbers of the bridge, for what he was here proposing was, indeed, ludicrous, all things considered. And so he was shocked to the innermost core of his being when his host answered.

Rolling the stem of his gold-washed silver goblet between his broad fingers, Bili regarded Sir Djahn for a longish moment, then nodded brusquely. “That which you suggest is not out of all reason, sir. Certain of my garrison, especially so the noblemen of New Kuhmbuhluhn, are become quite bored with the dragging aspects of siege warfare, and our sally the other night seemed rather to increase their thirsts than to slake them. What would you say to planning this set battle for next week?”

Old Sir Djahn felt as if the flat of a poleaxe had crashed upon his balding pate. But as it had been years in the forging, his steely self-control immediately asserted itself and his voice and outward demeanor rang calm and assured in tone and appearance.

“I believe that Sir Ahrthur was thinking more in terms of two weeks hence, Sir Bili, or perhaps even three.”

Bili shook his head. “Two weeks, Sir Djahn, no more. The autumn is short hereabouts, as well you should know, and the winter snows follow quickly upon autumn’s heels. Are my noble New Kuhmbuhluhn officers who are landholders to get back to their fiefs and properly prepare the earth for next spring’s planting, it must be done soon.”

Sir Djahn’s white eyebrows rose a careful half inch. “You assume that New Kuhmbuhluhn arms will triumph over somewhat superior numbers, then, Sir Bili?”

“Why not?” grinned Bili. “You obviously assume that your quantity will triumph over our superior quality. Expect you not a near rout of Kuhmbuhluhn arms such as you Skohshuns enjoyed when last we met at swords’ points, either, Sir Djahn. The late King Mahrtuhn in his dotage and senility deliberately crippled that field force, denying us the use of what are the most effective means of dealing with schiltrons and similar formations. Neither his present majesty nor I will be so foolish and deluded in our own choices of strategy and tactics, you may believe that. We will meet you armed with every advantage we may possess, expecting no less from you and your army.

“So, where shall we fight, Sir Djahn? On the plain between the base of the mountain and your camp, perhaps? I think me that that would be the logical place.”

Sir Djahn smiled fleetingly. “Logical, maybe, but not a safe place for Skohshun regiments to group, you must admit; not with the range of your engines to be considered or the weights they can throw for that range. No, let us meet on the other side of the camp.”

“I march my men into the jaws of no traps,” Bili stated flatly. “Nor do I commence a battle with foemen both before and behind, not if I have the ordering of it.

“But, too, I can empathize with you, so let us plan it in the following way. . . .”

“That was the very best that I could do, Ahrthur,” Sir Djahn told the brigadier immediately he returned to the Skohshun camp. “It is not the three weeks I know you would have preferred, but it is not either the bare single week that Duke Bili originally suggested; we compromised on that as well as on other matters.”

The brigadier just sat listening and fingering idly the small, blunt-ended dagger he used to ream out his pipes. When Sir Djahn was done, he said, “You seemed so certain when you departed that those New Kuhmbuhluhnburkers would refuse at the very least, might even laugh you out of the city, yet this so canny war leader of theirs apparently accepted our outrageous—patently outrageous, all things and conditions considered, and I’ll now be the first and the foremost to admit that fact-proposal. Now I want to know why, Djahn. Why did this man willingly toss away a brimful basket of real advantages and agree to meet our regiments openly, on the plain, where the clear advantages are ours?”

The herald shrugged. “It’s a true gamble to take for gospel what any opposing war leader says, especially if he happens to be a known professional, a mercenary with damnall ties to the troops he commands. You are not wrong to suspect that this mysterious Duke Bili of Morguhn may well be dicing with a tapered cup or may well have a double bushel of aces up his sleeves, but I, who have met and talked with him, am a bit more inclined to believe the explanations he gave for wishing to get it all over and done with now.

“For one thing, he is saddled, afflicted, with a gaggle of noble fire-eaters of Kuhmbuhluhn who are growing bored and dissatisfied with the inactivity of a siege. For another, even the steadier vassals of King Byruhn are all a-itch to get back to their lands and prepare them for the planting season, next year. For the last, Duke Bili gave me the impression that he would like nothing so well as to leave New Kuhmbuhluhn with his condotta and go on to a new contract elsewhere, which is, one supposes, understandable in a professional.

“But the crowning reason, the one which leads me to believe all of the rest is truth, is the unpleasant fact that there appears to be a werewolf preying upon the burkers and the garrison of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk. The descriptions Duke Bili rendered of the habits of the creature, the various attacks, the fact that hounds become hysterical and refuse to trail the beast, not to mention the evidence that it survives what would be death wounds to a less uncanny animal, these all lead me to the belief that this bane of that unhappy burk can be nothing save a werewolf.”

The brigadier shuddered. “No wonder he and they are more than willing to sacrifice advantages to get out of that city.

“All right, Djahn, I’ll dispatch another galloper to our glen, and then you and I will go render your formal report to my staff and the regimental commanders. Did you bring back anything decent to drink, by chance?”

“Indeed, yes,” smiled Sir Djahn. “Duke Bili gifted me a small keg of an old and potent applejack.” He produced his silver flask and proffered it.

The third night on the road from Skohshun Glen, Johnny Kilgore’s big, bred-up pony ambled into camp with the old Ganik in the saddle and a hogtied captive jouncing uncomfortably belly-down, across the withers. “Guess whut I founded back up the trail a ways, ginrul,” he crowed good-naturedly. “A pegleg Skohshun, thet’s whut. Too bad I ain’ still a bunch-Ganik—he’s a young ’un and’d be raht tenduh and tasty, I ’low.”

General Jay Corbett set aside his tin plate of rabbit stew and stood up to regard the fine-boned, one-legged young man standing unsteadily before him. The pale face was drawn with strain and pain, but it still bore the stamp of firm resolution and the gaze of the eyes was steady, purposeful.

“Ensign Thomas Grey, I presume,” he said wryly. “Does your mother know where you are, Tom?”

“Of course she does, sir,” the boy snapped. “Not that it is needful for her to know, for I am no child, if that is what you meant to imply, General Corbett, sir.”

“How the hell did you get here so fast?” Corbett demanded. “Those charges blocked that defile solidly, of that I’m more than certain. And no man could have gotten a horse over any part of those mountains—of that I’m equally certain.”

A smile flitted briefly about young Grey’s lips. “No, sir, no horse, but a mountain pony; one of those ponies ridden into the glen from without, last spring, by one of Dr. Arenstein’s wild men. Had I been able to be astride a decent horse, your rearguardsman there would never have caught me. But those little ponies have no endurance, no heart. The cursed beast foundered yesterday.”

Corbett nodded. “So you came on afoot, despite all the odds. Knowing full well that your chances of getting through us and on to the field army ahead of us ranged from infinitesimal to nonexistent, still you hobbled along that deep-rutted trace for more than twenty-four hours. Unless you stopped long enough to sleep, which I doubt.” Thought of the suffering the boy must have endured brought a lump into Corbett’s throat. Gruffly, he demanded, “So, now, what am I to do with you?”

The young man drew himself up to rigid attention. “Sir, I was aware of what you told his lordship you would do to any Skohshun messengers, aware of my fate if caught. If I’ve a choice, I would prefer the sword or the axe to the rope. I have made my peace with God, sir. I am ready to ... to die.”

Corbett’s throat contracted painfully around the still-present lump and he found it necessary to noisily clear it before he said, “Lord love you, lad, I have no intention of killing you. Give me your parole, and I’ll set you on a mount and let you ride back to the glen, after breakfast, in the morning.”

But Grey shook his head stubbornly. “I would that I could, sir, but I cannot. I have undertaken a grave responsibility and I shall not willingly rest or tarry until my obligations are discharged.”

Jay Corbett sighed. He should have known better, he reflected. Of course such a young man as Thomas Grey would not give a parole unless he intended to abide by its conditions.

The officer shrugged. “All right, Gumpner, we now have a prisoner. Get him fed and bedded down for the night ... under guard, of course. And please have the corpsman take a look at the stump of his leg, too. I’ll give long odds it’s rubbed raw and bleeding after all that walking on this abomination of a wagon track.”

As the mindspeak abilities of Sir Geros Lahvoheetos were at best marginal, the initial contact with Bili of Morguhn and all subsequent ones needs must be of a roundabout nature. Bili farspoke the prairiecat Whitetip, who then mindspoke one of the Kindred warriors who had ridden out in search of Bili with Geros, Hari Danyuhlz, who then spoke to Geros and mindspoke that night’s reply back to Whitetip for farspeak transmission to Bili. Even so, it was far and away faster and easier than would have been the only alternative—trying to get gallopers the full width of the plain through the Skohshun lines and back again the same distance.

“The battle is set,” beamed Bili, “for the second hour after dawn, eleven days from today, and I want your force to stay just where you now are until the last possible moment, and give yourselves just enough time to reach the battlefield by the third hour after dawn of that day. It is imperative that no one of you come out of those mountains, for if these Skohshuns even suspect your existence so close, they will surely call off the battle; the only reason they are willing to fight it at all is that they think to win it, considering that they outnumber us.

“Now when you attack them, Geros, whatever you do, don’t just charge in, hell for leather, and try to hack your ways through that pike hedge. That’s just what they will want you to attempt, and it cannot be done. No, sit off at easy dart range and let your archers and Ahrmehnee dartmen and the Kuhmbuhluhn axe throwers whittle the formations down a bit, disorganize the bastards, take out their front ranks, their sergeants and any officers you can spot and range. Then you charge.

“These Skohshuns seem to basically scorn missilemen of any sort and they number no archers in their ranks. They do have a few crossbowmen, prodmen and slingers, but hardly enough of them to worry about, and they will probably be on camp guard, anyhow. They have also three highly unusual, very long-range missile weapons called ryfulz which are invariably fatal and very accurate, so if you lose a few men at seemingly impossible distances, don’t be surprised.

“That’s all for now, Geros.

“Now, Whitetip, please mindspeak Count Sandee.”

Near noon of the day after the capture of Ensign Grey, the vanguard, hearing fast-approaching hoofbeats from up ahead, ambushed and captured another Skohshun. The man they hustled back to the head of the main column was about five years the senior of Thomas Grey, but looked and acted to be of the same breed and kidney.

Corbett questioned the galloper briefly. Again, he offered a parole that was courteously refused. So, then, he pushed on with two captive Skohshuns rather than one. Early the next morning, that number became three and the officer wondered if he might run out of men to guard the prisoners, if this pace continued. Like it or not, he might have to begin executing captured Skohshun messenger riders.

But the next stranger, brought in by Merle Bowley, would require no guard. He was another Ganik, he was armed with a Broomtown rifle and he was mounted upon a finely bred, most spirited riding horse. His name was Counter Tremain.

It had rained every nightlong for the best part of a week, and Bili hoped that the residents of the Skohshun camp—their tents and huts mostly burned up or holed by Kuhmbuhluhnburk engines—were thoroughly miserable. Although dry and well fed, he was none too happy himself, what with the endless rounds of inspections, supervisory duties, receipt of and evaluation of reports, arbitration of the seemingly endless disputes among members of the royal council and similar tedious minutiae of command. His days stretched from dawn until late into every night, so he sometimes slept in one of the side chambers of his huge suite rather than take the chance of awakening the twins and Rahksahnah at midnight or beyond.

For her own part, Rahksahnah was not overfond of her mate’s lengthy absences, either. She had become accustomed to the warm, familiar nearness of his big body whether sharing with him a campaign pallet, a camp bunk or a palace great-bed, and the inability to reach out and touch his flesh, to listen for his steady breathing, to lie with her nostrils full of the dear, unmistakable scent of him caused her to be even more wakeful than she ordinarily would have been through constantly listening with at least half an ear for the twins, who slept in their cradle in one of the side chambers with their wet nurse, a strapping peasant girl whose own baby had been born dead. Pah-Elmuh had used his mental accomplishments to ease the girl’s mind of that tragedy, so that she now was smiling and cheerful in addition to producing quantities of rich milk for the two ravenous young Morguhns.

The creature was again abroad, after an enforced four days of fasting. So weak was it become that it could barely place one huge paw ahead of the other, and the digestive organs within its shrunken belly were a gnawing, growling, ceaseless torment. They demanded food, instantly—hot, rich, red, still-quivering manflesh. But in its present sorry state, the creature knew without consciously thinking that it was no match for any adult man, armed or no. So it prowled the dark, benighted corridors and stairwells seeking prey less able to defend itself.

Finally, from far off, borne on air currents circulating in the drafty corridors and open stairwells, it caught the mouth-watering scent of blood, fresh-spilled blood, along with the scent of milk. The creature found previously unknown reserves of energy and, keen nose held high to keep the scents, it began to walk faster, following the odors back to their source, almost loping as they became stronger, only slowing its pace as the scent trail led it closer and closer to an area of corridors lit by chain-hung metal lamps and iron-sconced pine torches. Thereabouts, the blood-milk smells were almost overlaid with other smells, smells of danger to the enfeebled creature—adult men, several of them, along with the stinks of polished leather, oiled steel and, distantly or in very small amounts, a hint of something that bred a vague, ill-defined and uneasy dread in the furry breast of the hungry creature of the night.

But then that hunger drowned every other thought and emotion, saving only immediate caution in the stalk. This near, the creature could more closely identify the blood smell. It was moon-blood, and moon-blood meant a female twolegs, most of which were smaller and weaker than most males, thus more easily killed—a partial compensation for the lesser amount of edible flesh on such a carcass, such a compensation as the creature could appreciate in his present lack of full strength.

Moreover, the milk was twoleg milk, and that meant the availability of at least one young or infant twoleg, even easier, more vulnerable prey than a female. And its nose told it that all of this hot, tender flesh was just beyond the brightly lit place where stood the males with the long, sharp-pointed things of steel and wood. There were just too many of them to chance a rush at them.

But then, somewhere deep, deep down in a near-forgotten portion of its mind, there emerged the memory of another way, a secret way to safely pass those dangerous male twolegs and attain to the presence of its foreordained victims, its night’s kill and its much-needed meal. Turning about, it slunk back up the corridor, head and tail lowered, bound for a certain dimly remembered spot. Its stomach gnawed and growled and gurgled on, but the creature now knew that soon the organ would be stilled while digesting a full filling of tender, bloody flesh.

At the first sounds from the twins, the wet nurse had arisen, padded over to the hall door, lit a splinter from the wall torch outside that door, then closed it again, padded back over to light the lamp and taken up the infants. Sitting upon the sinfully soft bed that was hers so long as her milk lasted, she gave each little pale-pink mouth one of her brown, hair-fringed nipples and sat contentedly, rocking slightly on her ample rump and humming softly the strains of a folk dance of New Kuhmbuhluhn, while the babes filled their little bellies, sucking avidly at her engorged breasts.

A squeal of metal on long-unused metal startled her, and she looked in the direction of the sound in time to see a section of the old polished oaken paneling swing open and a huge, horrible, shaggy-furred beast stalk snarling from out the very wall of the chamber, the lamplight making hellish red coals of its eyes, deadly menace in its every movement.

In the brief moment before stark terror paralyzed her, she uttered a single, piercing scream, clutched her innocent charges close to her breast and stared helplessly at the slavering predator, now bare yards distant.