Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [227]
Skynx agreed. “A peculiar and rather ostentatious appointment, but that is the case. Those several larger characters there in the center give the vessel’s name.” He turned bulbous red eyes to them. “It’s the Queen of Ranroon!”
In the middle of a tumult of voices—human, non-human, and electronic—Han stood imagining the treasure of entire worlds. Though cold, near exhaustion, pursued, and starved, he suddenly found himself charged with limitless energy and a dramatic determination to live and to claim the Queen’s wealth.
They were interrupted. Han’s thoughts and the confused conversations springing from Skynx’s revelation were cut short by a long note sounding in the night, a wail from a hunting horn or other signaling device.
That brought them all up short. The bobbing lights of the pursuing Survivors’ column were now well down the slope. Now and then one would drop from the line and disappear as its bearer lost footing on the treacherous snowfield and fell tumbling.
Led by Han, the escapees set out in a staggering string, helping one another as well as they could; fortunately, the snow wasn’t very deep. They reached down to scoop up handfuls of the stuff to melt in their mouths, trying to relieve the dehydration of their captivity. Beating his gloved hands together, Han considered what the hatch cover might mean. Were the Survivors guarding Xim’s treasure in their mountain warren? What had become of the Queen of Ranroon?
Hasti caught up to him in the struggling line of march. “Solo, I’ve been doing some thinking. The congregation back there isn’t just tooting their horns to hear the echoes and let us know they’re coming. I think they have patrols out and are calling the forces out on us.”
He stopped, deriding himself for having been preoccupied with the treasure. Hasti repeated her reasoning to the others. “We’re not too far from the snow line,” Badure observed. “Perhaps that’s the limit to their territory.”
Han shook his head. “We messed up church for them and left quite a few of them in some pain. They’re coming for blood and they won’t stop just because the snow does. We’d better take up a better formation. Chewie, walk the point.”
The Wookiee padded off quietly; cold and snow didn’t bother him. Protected by his thick pelt, he slipped off, keeping to the cover of the increasingly frequent rocks and boulders. The others followed more slowly in his wake, slowed because they were bereft of his giant, supportive strength.
But within minutes the Wookiee was back to draw them down into the cover of a particularly large boulder and tell Han, in quick gutterals, what he had encountered.
“There’re more of them, coming up this way,” Han translated. “Chewie thinks we can hide here and wait them out. When they’re past, we go on. Still and quiet, everybody.”
They waited for oppressive minutes, straining to make no noise, no shift of position or other movement that might betray them. Han slowly turned his head to check the progress of the Survivors from their base. The lights had made their way to the gentler part of the slope and fanned out for a ground search.
There was a slight sound, the smallest movement of rock and crunch of ice. Everyone tensed. A shape moved stealthily into view, keeping to available cover. The approaching Survivor was uncostumed but wore a hood and heavy clothing. The scout’s head turned slowly, searching the area carefully as he went. Moments later another sentinel appeared, farther across the valley on a parallel course.
Han thought he understood. The valley widened abruptly from here, and a few sentries, farther along, might not be able to stop the escapees from getting past. The sentries kept moving warily. When they were well past the escapees’ position, Han—using hand-touches to alert his companions and dictate the order of march—slipped out from behind the boulder. The servo-motors of Bollux’s body were