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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:29:09 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:29:09 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20788-0.txt b/20788-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..32e32b1 --- /dev/null +++ b/20788-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6943 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 20788 *** + + + + + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + +by + +ANDRE NORTON + +ACE BOOKS, INC. + +23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N.Y. + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + +Copyright ©, 1960, by Andre Norton + +An Ace Book, by arrangement with The World Publishing Co. + +All Rights Reserved + +Printed in U.S.A. + + ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ +| Transcriber's Note | +| | +| Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the | +| U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. | +| | +| Front matter consisting of a blurb and a list of other | +| publications by the author has been moved to the end of the | +| text. | ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + +1. DISASTER + + +The Throg task force struck the Terran Survey camp a few minutes after +dawn, without warning, and with a deadly precision which argued that the +aliens had fully reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base with methodical +accuracy. And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in the +heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, +nothing human would be left alive down there. His teeth closed hard upon +the thick stuff of the sleeve covering his thin forearm, and in his +throat a scream of terror and rage was stillborn. + +More than caution kept him pinned on that narrow shelf of rock. Watching +that holocaust below, Shann Lantee could not force himself to move. The +sheer ruthlessness of the Throg move-in left him momentarily weak. To +listen to a tale of Throgs in action, and to be an eye-witness to such +action, were two vastly different things. He shivered in spite of the +warmth of the Survey Corps uniform. + +As yet he had sighted none of the aliens, only their plate-shaped +flyers. They would stay aloft until their long-range weapon cleared out +all opposition. But how had they been able to make such a complete +annihilation of the Terran force? The last report had placed the nearest +Throg nest at least two systems away from Warlock. And a patrol lane had +been drawn about the Circe system the minute that Survey had marked its +second planet ready for colonization. Somehow the beetles had slipped +through that supposedly tight cordon and would now consolidate their +gains with their usual speed at rooting. First an energy attack to +finish the small Terran force; then they would simply take over. + +A month later, or maybe two months, and they could not have done it. The +grids would have been up, and any Throg ship venturing into Warlock's +amber-tinted sky would abruptly cease to be. In the race for survival as +a galactic power, Terra had that one small edge over the swarms of the +enemy. They need only stake out their new-found world and get the grids +assembled on its surface; then that planet would be locked to the +beetles. The critical period was between the first discovery of a +suitable colony world and the erection of grid control. Planets in the +past had been lost during that time lag, just as Warlock was lost now. + +Throgs and Terrans ... For more than a century now, planet time, they +had been fighting their queer, twisted war among the stars. Terrans +hunted worlds for colonization, the old hunger for land of their own +driving men from the over-populated worlds, out of Sol's system to the +far stars. And those worlds barren of intelligent native life, open to +settlers, were none too many and widely scattered. Perhaps half a dozen +were found in a quarter century, and of that six maybe only one was +suitable for human life without any costly and lengthy adaption of man +or world. Warlock was one of the lucky finds which came so seldom. + +Throgs were predators, living on the loot they garnered. As yet, mankind +had not been able to discover whether they did indeed swarm from any +home world. Perhaps they lived eternally on board their plate ships with +no permanent base, forced into a wandering life by the destruction of +the planet on which they had originally been spawned. But they were +raiders now, laying waste defenseless worlds, picking up the wealth of +shattered cities in which no native life remained. And their hidden +temporary bases were looped about the galaxy, their need for worlds with +an atmosphere similar to Terra's as necessary as that of man. For in +spite of their grotesque insectile bodies, their wholly alien minds, the +Throgs were warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing creatures. + +After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had endeavored to +promote a truce between the species, only to discover that between Throg +and man there appeared to be no meeting ground at all--total differences +of mental processes producing insurmountable misunderstanding. There was +simply no point of communication. So the Terrans had suffered one +smarting defeat after another until they perfected the grid. And now +their colonies were safe, at least when time worked in their favor. + +It had not on Warlock. + +A last vivid lash of red cracked over the huddle of domes in the valley. +Shann blinked, half blinded by that glare. His jaws ached as he +unclenched his teeth. That was the finish. Breathing raggedly, he raised +his head, beginning to realize that he was the only one of his kind left +alive on a none-too-hospitable world controlled by enemies--without +shelter or supplies. + +He edged back into the narrow cleft which was the entrance to the ledge. +As a representative of his species he was not impressive, and now with +those shudders he could not master, shaking his thin body, he looked +even smaller and more vulnerable. Shann drew his knees up close under +his chin. The hood of his woodsman's jacket was pushed back in spite of +the chill of the morning, and he wiped the back of his hand across his +lips and chin in an oddly childish gesture. + +None of the men below who had been alive only minutes earlier had been +close friends of his; Shann had never known anyone but acquaintances in +his short, roving life. Most people had ignored him completely except to +give orders, and one or two had been actively malicious--like Garth +Thorvald. Shann grimaced at a certain recent memory, and then that +grimace faded into wonder. If young Thorvald hadn't purposefully tried +to get Shann into trouble by opening the wolverines' cage, Shann +wouldn't be here now--alive and safe for a time--he'd have been down +there with the others. + +The wolverines! For the first time since Shann had heard the crackle of +the Throg attack he remembered the reason he had been heading into the +hills. Of all the men on the Survey team, Shann Lantee had been the +least important. The dirty, tedious clean-up jobs, the dull routines +which required no technical training but which had to be performed to +keep the camp functioning comfortably, those had been his portion. And +he had accepted that status willingly, just to have a chance to be +included among Survey personnel. Not that he had the slightest hope of +climbing up to even an S-E-Three rating in the service. + +Part of those menial activities had been to clean the animal cages. And +there Shann Lantee had found something new, something so absorbing that +most of the tiring dull labor had ceased to exist except as tasks to +finish before he could return to the fascination of the animal runs. + +Survey teams had early discovered the advantage of using mutated and +highly trained Terran animals as assistants in the exploration of +strange worlds. From the biological laboratories and breeding farms on +Terra came a trickle of specialized aides-de-camp to accompany man into +space. Some were fighters, silent, more deadly than weapons a man wore +at his belt or carried in his hands. Some were keener eyes, keener +noses, keener scouts than the human kind could produce. Bred for +intelligence, for size, for adaptability to alien conditions, the animal +explorers from Terra were prized. + +Wolverines, the ancient "devils" of the northlands on Terra, were being +tried for the first time on Warlock. Their caution, a quality highly +developed in their breed, made them testers for new territory. Able to +tackle in battle an animal three times their size, they should be added +protection for the man they accompanied into the wilderness, and their +wide ranging, their ability to climb and swim, and above all, their +curiosity were assets. + +Shann had begun contact by cleaning their cages; he ended captivated by +these miniature bears with long bushy tails. And to his unbounded +delight the attraction was mutual. Alone to Taggi and Togi he was a +person, an important person. Those teeth, which could tear flesh into +ragged strips, nipped gently at his fingers, closed without any pressure +on arm, even on nose and chin in what was the ultimate caress of their +kind. Since they were escape artists of no mean ability, twice he had +had to track and lead them back to camp from forays of their own +devising. + +But the second time he had been caught by Fadakar, the chief of animal +control, before he could lock up the delinquents. And the memory of the +resulting interview still had the power to make him flush with impotent +anger. Shann's explanation had been contemptuously brushed aside, and he +had been delivered an ultimatum. If his carelessness occurred again, he +would be sent back on the next supply ship, to be dismissed without an +official sign-off on his work record, thus locked out of even the lowest +level of Survey for the rest of his life. + +That was why Garth Thorvald's act of the night before had made Shann +brave the unknown darkness of Warlock alone when he had discovered that +the test animals were gone. He had to locate and return them before +Fadakar made his morning inspection; Garth Thorvald's attempt to get him +into bad trouble had saved his life. + +Shann cowered back, striving to make his huddled body as small as +possible. One of the Throg flyers appeared silently out of the misty +amber of the morning sky, hovering over the silent camp. The aliens were +coming in to inspect the site of their victory. And the safest place for +any Terran now was as far from the vicinity of those silent domes as he +could get. Shann's slight body was an asset as he wedged through the +narrow mouth of a cleft and so back into the cliff wall. The climb +before him he knew in part, for this was the path the wolverines had +followed on their two other escapes. A few moments of tricky scrambling +and he was out in a cuplike depression choked with brush covered with +the purplish foliage of Warlock. On the other side of that was a small +cut to a sloping hillside, giving on another valley, not as wide as that +in which the camp stood, but one well provided with cover in the way of +trees and high-growing bushes. + +A light wind pushed among the trees, and twice Shann heard the harsh, +rasping call of a clak-clak--one of the bat-like leather-winged flyers +that laired in pits along the cliff walls. That present snap of two-tone +complaint suggested that the land was empty of strangers. For the +clak-claks vociferously and loudly resented encroachment on their chosen +hunting territory. + +Shann hesitated. He was driven by the urge to put as much distance +between him and the landing Throg ship as he could. But to arouse the +attention of inquisitive clak-claks was asking for trouble. Perhaps it +would be best to keep on along the top of the cliff, rather than risk a +descent to take cover in the valley the flyers patrolled. + +A patch of dust, sheltered by a tooth-shaped projection of rock, gave +the Terran his first proof that Taggi and his mate had preceded him, for +printed firmly there was the familiar paw mark of a wolverine. Shann +began to hope that both animals had taken to cover in the wilderness +ahead. + +He licked dry lips. Having left secretly without any emergency pack, he +had no canteen, and now Shann inventoried his scant possessions--a field +kit, heavy-duty clothing, a short hooded jacket with attached mittens, +the breast marked with the Survey insignia. His belt supported a +sheathed stunner and bush knife, and seam pockets held three credit +tokens, a twist of wire intended to reinforce the latch of the wolverine +cage, a packet of bravo tablets, two identity and work cards, and a +length of cord. No rations--save the bravos--no extra charge for his +stunner. But he did have, weighing down a loop on the jacket, a small +atomic torch. + +The path he followed ended abruptly in a cliff drop, and Shann made a +face at the odor rising from below, even though that scent meant he +could climb down to the valley floor here without fearing any clak-clak +attention. Chemical fumes from a mineral spring funneled against the +wall, warding off any nesting in this section. + +Shann drew up the hood of his jacket and snapped the transparent face +mask into place. He must get away--then find food, water, a hiding +place. That will to live which had made Shann Lantee fight innumerable +battles in the past was in command, bracing him with a stubborn +determination. + +The fumes swirled up in a smoke haze about his waist, but he strode on, +heading for the open valley and cleaner air. That sickly lavender +vegetation bordering the spring deepened in color to the normal +purple-green, and then he was in a grove of trees, their branches +pointed skyward at sharp angles to the rust-red trunks. + +A small skitterer burst from moss-spotted ground covering, giving an +alarmed squeak, skimming out of sight as suddenly as it had appeared. +Shann squeezed between two trees and then paused. The trunk of the +larger was deeply scored with scratches dripping viscid gobs of sap, a +sap which was a bright froth of scarlet. Taggi had left his mark here, +and not too long ago. + +The soft carpet of moss showed no paw marks, but he thought he knew the +goal of the animals--a lake down-valley. Shann was beginning to plan +now. The Throgs had not blasted the Terran camp out of existence; they +had only made sure of the death of its occupiers. Which meant they must +have some use for the installations. For the general loot of a Survey +field camp would be relatively worthless to those who picked over the +treasure of entire cities elsewhere. Why? What did the Throgs want? And +would the alien invaders continue to occupy the domes for long? + +Shann did not realize what had happened to him since that shock of +ruthless attack. From early childhood, when he had been thrown on his +own to scratch a living--a borderline existence of a living--on the +Dumps of Tyr, he had had to use his wits to keep life in a scrawny and +undersized body. However, since he had been eating regularly from Survey +rations, he was not quite so scrawny any more. + +His formal education was close to zero, his informal and off-center +schooling vast. And that particular toughening process which had been +working on him for years now aided in his speedy adaption to a new set +of facts, formidable ones. He was alone on a strange and perhaps hostile +world. Water, food, safe shelter, those were important now. And once +again, away from the ordered round of the camp where he had been ruled +by the desires and requirements of others, he was thinking, planning in +freedom. Later (his hand went to the butt of his stunner) perhaps later +he might just find a way of extracting an accounting from the +beetle-faces, too. + +For the present, he would have to keep away from the Throgs, which meant +well away from the camp. A fleck of green showed through the amethyst +foliage before him--the lake! Shann wriggled through a last bush barrier +and stood to look out over that surface. A sleek brown head bobbed up. +Shann put fingers to his mouth and whistled. The head turned, black +button eyes regarded him, short legs began to churn water. To his +gratification the swimmer was obeying his summons. + +Taggi came ashore, pausing on the fine gray sand of the verge to shake +himself vigorously. Then the wolverine came upslope at a clumsy gallop +to Shann. With an unknown feeling swelling inside him, the Terran went +down on both knees, burying both hands in the coarse brown fur, warming +to the uproarious welcome Taggi gave him. + +"Togi?" Shann asked as if the other could answer. He gazed back to the +lake, but Taggi's mate was nowhere in sight. + +The blunt head under his hand swung around, black button nose pointed +north. Shann had never been sure just how intelligent, as mankind +measured intelligence, the wolverines were. He had come to suspect that +Fadakar and the other experts had underrated them and that both beasts +understood more than they were given credit for. Now he followed an +experiment of his own, one he had had a chance to try only a few times +before and never at length. Pressing his palm flat on Taggi's head, +Shann thought of Throgs and of their attack, trying to arouse in the +animal a corresponding reaction to his own horror and anger. + +And Taggi responded. A mutter became a growl, teeth gleamed--those cruel +teeth of a carnivore to whom they were weapons of aggression. Danger ... +Shann thought "danger." Then he raised his hand, and the wolverine +shuffled off, heading north. The man followed. + +They discovered Togi busy in a small cove where a jagged tangle of drift +made a mat dating from the last high-water period. She was finishing a +hearty breakfast, the remains of a water rat being buried thriftily +against future need after the instincts of her kind. When she was done +she came to Shann, inquiry plain to read in her eyes. + +There was water here, and good hunting. But the site was too close to +the Throgs. Let one of their exploring flyers sight them, and the little +group was finished. Better cover, that's what the three fugitives must +have. Shann scowled, not at Togi, but at the landscape. He was tired and +hungry, but he must keep on going. + +A stream fed into the cove from the west, a guide of sorts. With very +little knowledge of the countryside, Shann was inclined to follow that. + +Overhead the sun made its usual golden haze of the sky. A flight of +vivid green streaks marked a flock of lake ducks coming for a morning +feeding. Lake duck was good eating, but Shann had no time to hunt one +now. Togi started down the bank of the stream, Taggi behind her. Either +they had caught his choice subtly through some undefined mental contact, +or they had already picked that road on their own. + +Shann's attention was caught by a piece of the drift. He twisted the +length free and had his first weapon of his own manufacture, a club. +Using it to hold back a low sweeping branch, he followed the wolverines. + +Within the half hour he had breakfast, too. A pair of limp skitterers, +their long hind feet lashed together with a thong of grass, hung from +his belt. They were not particularly good eating, but they were meat and +acceptable. + +The three, man and wolverines, made their way up the stream to the +valley wall and through a feeder ravine into the larger space beyond. +There, where the stream was born at the foot of a falls, they made their +first camp. Judging that the morning haze would veil any smoke, Shann +built a pocket-size fire. He seared rather than roasted the skitterers +after he had made an awkward and messy business of skinning them, and +tore the meat from the delicate bones in greedy mouthfuls. The +wolverines lay side by side on the gravel, now and again raising a head +alertly to test the scent on the air, or gaze into the distance. + +Taggi made a warning sound deep in the throat. Shann tossed handfuls of +sand over the dying fire. He had only time to fling himself face-down, +hoping the drab and weathered cloth of his uniform faded into the color +of the earth on which he lay, every muscle tense. + +A shadow swung across the hillside. Shann's shoulders hunched, and he +cowered again. That terror he had known on the ledge was back in full +force as he waited for the beam to lick at him as it had earlier at his +fellows. The Throgs were on the hunt.... + + + + +2. DEATH OF A SHIP + + +That sigh of displaced air was not as loud as a breeze, but it echoed +monstrously in Shann's ears. He could not believe in his luck as that +sound grew fainter, drew away into the valley he had just left. With +infinite caution he raised his head from his arm, still hardly able to +accept the fact that he had not been sighted, that the Throgs and their +flyer were gone. + +But that black plate was spinning out into the sun haze. One of the +beetles might have suspected that there were Terran fugitives and +ordered a routine patrol. After all, how could the aliens know that they +had caught all but one of the Survey party in camp? Though with all the +Terran scout flitters grounded on the field, the men dead in their +bunks, the surprise would seem to be complete. + +As Shann moved, Taggi and Togi came to life also. They had gone to earth +with speed, and the man was sure that both beasts had sensed danger. Not +for the first time he knew a burning desire for the formal education he +had never had. In camp he had listened, dragging out routine jobs in +order to overhear reports and the small talk of specialists keen on +their own particular hobbies. But so much of the information Shann had +thus picked up to store in a retentive memory he had not understood and +could not fit together. It had been as if he were trying to solve some +highly important puzzle with at least a quarter of the necessary pieces +missing, or with unrelated bits from others intermixed. How much control +did a trained animal scout have over his furred or feathered +assistants? And was part of that mastery a mental rapport built up +between man and animal? + +How well would the wolverines obey him now, especially when they would +not return to camp where cages stood waiting as symbols of human +authority? Wouldn't a trek into the wilderness bring about a revolt for +complete freedom? If Shann could depend upon the animals, it would mean +a great deal. Not only would their superior hunting ability provide all +three with food, but their scouting senses, so much keener than his, +might erect a slender wall between life and death. + +Few large native beasts had been discovered on Warlock by the Terran +explorers. And of those four or five different species, none had proved +hostile if unprovoked. But that did not mean that somewhere back in the +wild lands into which Shann was heading there were no heretofore +unknowns, perhaps slyer and as vicious as the wolverines when they were +aroused to rage. + +Then there were the "dreams," which had afforded the prime source of +camp discussion and dispute. Shann brushed coarse sand from his boots +and thought about the dreams. Did they or did they not exist? You could +start an argument any time by making a definite statement for or against +the peculiar sort of dreaming reported by the first scout to set ship on +this world. + +The Circe system, of which Warlock was the second of three planets, had +first been scouted four years ago by one of those explorers traveling +solo in Survey service. Everyone knew that the First-In Scouts were a +weird breed, almost a mutation of Terran stock--their reports were rife +with strange observations. + +So an alarming one concerning Circe (a yellow sun such as Sol) and her +three planets was not so rare. Witch, the world nearest in orbit to +Circe, was too hot for human occupancy without drastic and too costly +world-changing. Wizard, the third out from the sun, was mostly bare rock +and highly poisonous water. But Warlock, swinging through space between +two forbidding neighbors, seemed to be just what the settlement board +ordered. + +Then the Survey scout, even in the cocoon safety of his well-armed ship, +began to dream. And from those dreams a horror of the apparently empty +world developed, until he fled the planet to preserve his sanity. There +had been a second visit to Warlock in check; worlds so well adapted to +human emigration could not be lightly thrown away. And this time there +was a negative report, no trace of dreams, no registration of any +outside influence on the delicate and complicated equipment the ship +carried. So the Survey team had been dispatched to prepare for the +coming of the first pioneers, and none of them had dreamed either--at +least, no more than the ordinary dreams all men accepted. + +Only there were those who pointed out that the seasons had changed +between the first and second visits to Warlock. That first scout had +planeted in summer; his successors had come in fall and winter. They +argued that the final release of the world for settlement should not be +given until the full year on Warlock had been sampled. + +But the pressure of Emigrant Control had forced their hands, that and +the fear of just what had eventually happened--an attack from the +Throgs. So they had speeded up the process of declaring Warlock open. +Only Ragnar Thorvald had protested that decision up to the last and had +gone back to headquarters on the supply ship a month ago to make a last +appeal for a more careful study. + +Shann stopped brushing the sand from the tough fabric above his knee. +Ragnar Thorvald ... He remembered back to the port landing apron on +another world, remembered with a sense of loss he could not define. That +had been about the second biggest day of his short life; the biggest had +come earlier when they had actually allowed him to sign on for Survey +duty. + +He had tumbled off the cross-continent cargo carrier, his kit--a very +meager kit--slung over his thin shoulder, a hot eagerness expanding +inside him until he thought that he could not continue to throttle down +that wild happiness. There was a waiting starship. And he--Shann Lantee +from the Dumps of Tyr, without any influence or schooling--was going to +blast off in her, wearing the brown-green uniform of Survey! + +Then he had hesitated uncertainly, had not quite dared cross the few +feet of apron lying between him and that compact group wearing the same +uniform--with a slight difference, that of service bars and completion +badges and rank insignia--with the unconscious self-assurance of men who +had done this many times before. + +But after a moment that whole group had become in his own shy appraisal +just a background for one man. Shann had never before known in his +pinched and limited childhood, his lost boyhood, anyone who aroused in +him hero worship. And he could not have put a name to the new emotion +that added so suddenly to his burning desire to make good, not only to +hold the small niche in Survey which he had already so painfully +achieved, but to climb, until he could stand so in such a group talking +easily to that tall man, his uncovered head bronze-yellow in the +sunlight, his cool gray eyes pale in his brown face. + +Not that any of those wild dreams born in that minute or two had been +realized in the ensuing months. Probably those dreams had always been as +wild as the ones reported by the first scout on Warlock. Shann grinned +wryly now at the short period of childish hope and half-confidence that +he could do big things. Only one Thorvald had ever noticed Shann's +existence in the Survey camp, and that had been Garth. + +Garth Thorvald, a far less impressive--one could say "smudged"--copy of +his brother. Swaggering with an arrogance Ragnar never showed, Garth was +a cadet on his first mission, intent upon making Shann realize the +unbridgeable gulf between a labor hand and an officer-to-be. He had +appeared to know right from their first meeting just how to make Shann's +life a misery. + +Now, in this slit of valley well away from the domes, Shann's fists +balled. He pounded them against the earth in a way he had so often hoped +to plant them on Garth's smoothly handsome face, his well-muscled body. +One didn't survive the Dumps of Tyr without learning how to use fists, +and boots, and a list of tricks they didn't teach in any academy. He had +always been sure that he could take Garth if they mixed it up. But if he +had loosed the tight rein he had kept on his temper and offered that +challenge, he would have lost his chance with Survey. Garth had proved +himself able to talk his way out of any scrape, even minor derelictions +of duty, and he far out-ranked Shann. The laborer from Tyr had had to +swallow all that the other could dish out and hope that on his next +assignment he would not be a member of young Thorvald's team. Though, +because of Garth Thorvald, Shann's toll of black record marks had +mounted dangerously high and each day the chance for any more duty tours +had grown dimmer. + +Shann laughed, and the sound was ugly. That was one thing he didn't have +to worry about any longer. There would be no other assignments for him, +the Throgs had seen to that. And Garth ... well, there would never be a +showdown between them now. He stood up. The Throg ship had disappeared; +they could push on. + +He found a break in the cliff wall which was climbable, and he coaxed +the wolverines after him. When they stood on the heights from which the +falls tumbled, Taggi and Togi rubbed against him, cried for his +attention. They, too, appeared to need the reassurance they got from +contact with him, for they were also fugitives on this alien world, the +only representatives of their kind. + +Since he did not have any definite goal in view, Shann continued to be +guided by the stream, following its wanderings across a plateau. The sun +was warm, so he carried his jacket slung across one shoulder. Taggi and +Togi ranged ahead, twice catching skitterers, which they devoured +voraciously. A shadow on a sun-baked rock sent the Terran skidding for +cover until he saw that it was cast by one of the questing falcons from +the upper peaks. But that shook his confidence, so he again sought +cover, ashamed at his own carelessness. + +In the late afternoon he reached the far end of the plateau, faced a +climb to peaks which still bore cones of snow, now tinted a soft peach +by the sun. Shann studied that possible path and distrusted his own +powers to take it without proper equipment or supplies. He must turn +either north or south, though he would then have to abandon a sure water +supply in the stream. Tonight he would camp where he was. He had not +realized how tired he was until he found a likely half-cave in the +mountain wall and crawled in. There was too much danger in fire here; he +would have to do without that first comfort of his kind. + +Luckily, the wolverines squeezed in beside him to fill the hole. With +their warm furred bodies sandwiching him, Shann dozed, awoke, and dozed +again, listening to night sounds--the screams, cries, hunting calls, of +the Warlock wilds. Now and again one of the wolverines whined and moved +uneasily. + +Fingers of sun picked at Shann through a shaft among the rocks, striking +his eyes. He moved, blinked blearily awake, unable for the first few +seconds to understand why the smooth plasta wall of his bunk had become +rough red stone. Then he remembered. He was alone and he threw himself +frantically out of the cave, afraid the wolverines had wandered off. +Only both animals were busy clawing under a boulder with a steady +persistence which argued there was a purpose behind that effort. + +A sharp sting on the back of one hand made that purpose only too clear +to Shann, and he retreated hurriedly from the vicinity of the +excavation. They had found an earth-wasp's burrow and were hunting +grubs, naturally arousing the rightful inhabitants to bitter resentment. + +Shann faced the problem of his own breakfast. He had had the immunity +shots given to all members of the team, and he had eaten game brought in +by exploring parties and labeled "safe." But how long he could keep to +the varieties of native food he knew was uncertain. Sooner or later he +must experiment for himself. Already he drank the stream water without +the aid of purifiers, and so far there had been no ill results from that +necessary recklessness. Now the stream suggested fish. But instead he +chanced upon another water inhabitant which had crawled up on land for +some obscure purpose of its own. It was a sluggish scaled thing, an easy +victim to his club, with thin, weak legs it could project at will from a +finned and armor-plated body. + +Shann offered the head and guts to Togi, who had abandoned the wasp +nest. She sniffed in careful investigation and then gulped. Shann built +a small fire and seared the firm greenish flesh. The taste was flat, +lacking salt, but the food eased his emptiness. Enheartened, he started +south, hoping to find water sometime during the morning. + +By noon he had his optimism justified with the discovery of a spring, +and the wolverines had brought down a slender-legged animal whose coat +was close in shade to the dusky purple of the vegetation. Smaller than a +Terran deer, its head bore, not horns, but a ridge of stiffened hair +rising in a point some twelve inches about the skull dome. Shann haggled +off some ragged steaks while the wolverines feasted in earnest, +carefully burying the head afterward. + +It was when Shann knelt by the spring pool to wash that he caught the +clamor of the clak-claks. He had seen or heard nothing of the flyers +since he had left the lake valley. But from the noise now rising in an +earsplitting volume, he thought there was a sizable colony near-by and +that the inhabitants were thoroughly aroused. + +He crept on his hands and knees to near-by brush cover, heading toward +the source of that outburst. If the claks were announcing a Throg +scouting party, he wanted to know it. + +Lying flat, with branches forming a screen over him, the Terran gazed +out on a stretch of grassland which sloped at a fairly steep angle to +the south and which must lead to a portion of countryside well below the +level he was now traversing. + +The clak-claks were skimming back and forth, shrieking their staccato +war cries. Following the erratic dashes of their flight formation, +Shann decided that whatever they railed against was on the lower level, +out of his sight from that point. Should he simply withdraw, since the +disturbance was not near him? Prudence dictated that; yet still he +hesitated. + +He had no desire to travel north, or to try and scale the mountains. No, +south was his best path, and he should be very sure that route was +closed before he retreated. + +Since any additional fuss the clak-claks might make on sighting him +would be undistinguished in their now general clamor, the Terran crawled +on to where tall grass provided a screen at the top of the slope. There +he stopped short, his hands digging into the earth in sudden braking +action. + +Below, the ground steamed from a rocket flare-back, grasses burned away +from the fins of a small scoutship. But even as Shann rose to one knee, +his shout of welcome choked in his throat. One of those fins sank, +canting the ship crookedly, preventing any new take-off. And over the +crown of a low hill to the west swung the ominous black plate of a Throg +flyer. + +The Throg ship came up in a burst of speed, and Shann waited tensely for +some countermove from the scout. Those small speedy Terran ships were +prudently provided with weapons triply deadly in proportion to their +size. He was sure that the Terran ship could hold its own against the +Throg, even eliminate the enemy. But there was no fire from the slanting +pencil of the scout. The Throg circled warily, obviously expecting a +trap. Twice it darted back in the direction from which it had come. As +it returned from its second retreat, another of its kind showed, a black +coin dot against the amber of the sky. + +Shann felt sick inside. Now the Terran scout had lost any advantage and +perhaps all hope. The Throgs could box the other in, cut the downed ship +to pieces with their energy beams. He wanted to crawl away and not +witness this last disaster for his kind. But some stubborn core of will +kept him where he was. + +The Throgs began to circle while beneath them the flock of clak-claks +screamed and dived at the slanting nose of the Terran ship. Then that +same slashing energy he had watched quarter the camp snapped from the +far plate across the stricken scout. The man who had piloted her, if not +dead already (which might account for the lack of defense), must have +fallen victim to that. But the Throg was going to make very sure. The +second flyer halted, remaining poised long enough to unleash a second +bolt--dazzling any watching eyes and broadcasting a vibration to make +Shann's skin crawl when the last faint ripple reached his lookout post. + +What happened then the overconfident Throg was not prepared to take. +Shann cried out, burying his face on his arm, as pinwheels of scarlet +light blotted out normal sight. There was an explosion, a deafening +blast. He cowered, blind, unable to hear. Then, rubbing at his eyes, he +tried to see what had happened. + +Through watery blurs he made out the Throg ship, not swinging now in +serene indifference to Warlock's gravity, but whirling end over end +across the sky as might a leaf tossed in a gust of wind. Its rim caught +against a rust-red cliff, it rebounded and crumpled. Then it came down, +smashing perhaps half a mile away from the smoking crater in which lay +the mangled wreckage of the Terran ship. The disabled scout pilot must +have played a last desperate game, making of his ship bait for a trap. + +The Terran had taken one Throg with him. Shann rubbed again at his eyes, +just barely able to catch a glimpse of the second ship flashing away +westward. Perhaps it was only his impaired sight, but it appeared to him +that the Throg followed an erratic path, either as if the pilot feared +to be caught by a second shot, or because that ship had also suffered +some injury. + +Acid smoke wreathed up from the valley making Shann retch and cough. +There could be no survivor from the Terran scout, and he did not believe +that any Throg had lived to crawl free of the crumpled plate. But there +would be other beetles swarming here soon. They would not dare to leave +the scene unsearched. He wondered about that scout. Had the pilot been +aiming for the Survey camp, the absence of any rider beam from there +warning him off so that he made the detour which brought him here? Or +had the Throgs tried to blast the Terran ship in the upper atmosphere, +crippling it, making this a forced landing? But at least this battle had +cost the Throgs, settling a small portion of the Terran debt for the +lost camp. + +The length of time between Shann's sighting of the grounded ship and the +attack by the Throgs had been so short that he had not really developed +any strong hope of rescue to be destroyed by the end of the crippled +ship. On the other hand, seeing the Throgs take a beating had exploded +his subconscious acceptance of their superiority. He might not have even +the resources of a damaged scout at his command. But he did have Taggi, +Togi, and his own brain. Since he was fated to permanent exile on +Warlock, there might just be some way to make the beetles pay for that. + +He licked his lips. Real action against the aliens would take a lot of +planning. Shann would have to know more about what made a Throg a Throg, +more than all the wild stories he had heard over the years. There _had_ +to be some way a Terran could move effectively against a beetle-head. +And he had a lot of time, maybe the rest of his life to work out a few +answers. That Throg ship lying wrecked at the foot of the cliff ... +perhaps he could do a little investigating before any rescue squad +arrived. Shann decided such a move was worth the try and whistled to the +wolverines. + + + + +3. TO CLOSE RANKS + + +Shann made his way at an angle to avoid the smoking pit cradling the +wreckage of the Terran ship. There were no signs of life about the Throg +plate as he approached. A quarter of its bulk was telescoped back into +the rest, and surely none of the aliens could have survived such a +smash, tough as they were reputed to be with those horny carapaces +serving them in place of more vulnerable human skin. + +He sniffed. There was a nauseous odor heavy on the morning air, one +which would make a lasting impression on any human nose. The port door +in the black ship stood open, perhaps having burst in the impact against +the cliff. Shann had almost reached it when a crackle of chain lightning +beat across the ground before him, turning the edge of the buckled +entrance panel red. + +Shann dropped to the ground, drawing his stunner, knowing at the same +moment that such a weapon was about as much use in meeting a blaster as +a straw wand would be to ward off a blazing coal. A chill numbness held +him as he waited for a second blast to charr the flesh between his +shoulders. So there had been a Throg survivor, after all. + +But as moments passed and the Throg did not move in to make an easy +kill, Shann collected his wits. Only one shot! Was the beetle injured, +unable to make sure of even an almost defenseless prey? The Throgs +seldom took prisoners. When they did.... + +The Terran's lips tightened. He worked his hand under his prone body, +feeling for the hilt of his knife. With that he could speedily remove +himself from the status of Throg prisoner, and he would do it gladly if +there was no hope of escape. Had there been only one charge left in that +blaster? Shann could make half a dozen guesses as to why the other had +made no move, but that shot had come from behind him, and he dared not +turn his head or otherwise make an effort to see what the other might be +doing. + +Was it only his imagination, or had that stench grown stronger during +the last few seconds? Could the Throg be creeping up on him? Shann +strained his ears, trying to catch some sound he could interpret. The +few clak-claks that had survived the blast about the ship were shrieking +overhead, and Shann made one attempt at counterattack. + +He whistled the wolverines' call. The pair had not been too willing to +follow him down into this valley, and they had avoided the crater at a +very wide circle. But if they would obey him now, he just might have a +chance. + +There! That _had_ been a sound, and the smell _was_ stronger. The Throg +must be coming to him. Again Shann whistled, holding in his mind his +hatred for the beetle-head, the need for finishing off that alien. If +the animals could pick either thoughts or emotions out of their human +companion, this was the time for him to get those unspoken half-orders +across. + +Shann slammed his hand hard against the ground, sent his body rolling, +his stunner up and ready. + +And now he could see that grotesque thing, swaying weakly back and forth +on its thin legs, yet holding a blaster, bringing that weapon up to +center it on him. The Throg was hunched over and perhaps to Taggi +presented the outline of some four-footed creature to be hunted. For the +wolverine male sprang for the horn-shelled shoulders. + +Under that impact that Throg sagged forward. But Taggi, outraged at the +nature of creature he had attacked, squalled and retreated. Shann had +had his precious seconds of distraction. He fired, the core of the stun +beam striking full into the flat dish of the alien's "face." + +That bolt, which would have shocked a mammal into insensibility, only +slowed the Throg. Shann rolled again, gaining a temporary cover behind +the wrecked ship. He squirmed under metal hot enough to scorch his +jacket and saw the reflection of a second blaster shot which had been +fired seconds late. + +Now the Throg had him tied down. But to get at the Terran the alien +would have to show himself, and Shann had one chance in fifty, which was +better than that of three minutes ago--when the odds had been set at one +in a hundred. He knew that he could not press the wolverines in again. +Taggi's distaste was too manifest; Shann had been lucky that the animal +had made one abortive attack. + +Perhaps the Terran's escape and Taggi's action had made the alien +reckless. Shann had no clue to the thinking processes of the non-human, +but now the Throg staggered around the end of the plate, his digits, +which were closer to claws than fingers, fumbling with his weapon. The +Terran snapped another shot from his stunner, hoping to slow the enemy +down. But he was trapped. If he turned to climb the cliff at his back, +the beetle-head could easily pick him off. + +A rock hurtled from the heights above, striking with deadly accuracy on +the domed, hairless head of the Throg. His armored body crashed forward, +struck against the ship, and rebounded to the ground. Shann darted +forward to seize the blaster, kicking loose the claws which still +grasped it, before he flattened back to the cliff, the strange weapon +over his arm, his heart beating wildly. + +That rock had not bounded down the mountainside by chance; it had been +hurled with intent and aimed carefully at its target. And no Throg would +kill one of his fellows. Or would he? Suppose orders had been issued to +take a Terran prisoner and the Throg by the ship had disobeyed? Then, +why a rock and not a blaster bolt? + +Shann edged along until the upslanted, broken side of the Throg flyer +provided him with protection from any overhead attack. Under that +shelter he waited for the next move from his unknown rescuer. + +The clak-claks wheeled closer to earth. One lit boldly on the carapace +of the inert Throg, shuffling ungainly along that horny ridge. Cradling +the blaster, the Terran continued to wait. His patience was rewarded +when that investigating clak-clak took off uttering an enraged snap or +two. He heard what might be the scrape of boots across rock, but that +might also have come from horny skin meeting stone. + +Then the other must have lost his footing not too far above. Accompanied +by a miniature landslide of stones and earth, a figure slid down several +yards away. Shann waited in a half-crouch, his looted blaster covering +the man now getting to his feet. There was no mistaking the familiar +uniform, or even the man. How Ragnar Thorvald had reached that +particular spot on Warlock or why, Shann could not know. But that he was +there, there was no denying. + +Shann hurried forward. It had been when he caught his first sight of +Thorvald that he realized just how deep his unacknowledged loneliness +had bit. There were two Terrans on Warlock now, and he did not need to +know why. But Thorvald was staring back at him with the blankness of +non-recognition. + +"Who are you?" The demand held something close to suspicion. + +That note in the other's voice wiped away a measure of Shann's +confidence, threatened something which had flowered in him since he had +struck into the wilderness on his own. Three words had reduced him again +to Lantee, unskilled laborer. + +"Lantee. I'm from the camp...." + +Thorvald's eagerness was plain in his next question: "How many of you +got away? Where are the rest?" He gazed past Shann up the plateau slope +as if he expected to see the personnel of the camp sprout out of the +cloak of grass along the verge. + +"Just me and the wolverines," Shann answered in a colorless voice. He +cradled the blaster on his hip, turned a little away from the officer. + +"You ... and the wolverines?" Thorvald was plainly startled. "But ... +where? How?" + +"The Throgs hit very early yesterday morning. They caught the rest in +camp. The wolverines had escaped from their cage, and I was out hunting +them...." He told his story baldly. + +"You're sure about the rest?" Thorvald had a thin steel of rage edging +his voice. Almost, Shann thought, as if he could turn that blade of rage +against one Shann Lantee for being yet alive when more important men had +not survived. + +"I saw the attack from an upper ridge," the younger man said, having +been put on the defensive. Yet he had a right to be alive, hadn't he? Or +did Thorvald believe that he should have gone running down to meet the +beetle-heads with his useless stunner? "They used energy beams ... +didn't land until it was all over." + +"I knew there was something wrong when the camp didn't answer our +enter-atmosphere signal," Thorvald said absently. "Then one of those +platters jumped us on braking orbit, and my pilot was killed. When we +set down on the automatics here I had just time to rig a surprise for +any trackers before I took to the hills----" + +"The blast got one of them," Shann pointed out. + +"Yes, they'd nicked the booster rocket; she wouldn't climb again. But +they'll be back here to pick over the remains." + +Shann looked at the dead Throg. "Thanks for taking a hand." His tone was +as chill as the other's this time. "I'm heading south...." + +And, he added silently, I intend to keep on that way. The Throg attack +had dissolved the pattern of the Survey team. He didn't owe Thorvald any +allegiance. And he had been successfully on his own here since the camp +had been overrun. + +"South," Thorvald repeated. "Well, that's as good a direction as any +right now." + +But they were not united. Shann found the wolverines and patiently +coaxed and wheedled them into coming with him over a circuitous route +which kept them away from both ships. Thorvald went up the cliff, swung +down again, a supply bag slung over one shoulder. He stood watching as +Shann brought the animals in. + +Then Thorvald's arm swept out, his fingers closing possessively about +the barrel of the blaster. Shann's own hold on the weapon tightened, and +the force of the other's pull dragged him partly around. + +"Let's have that----" + +"Why?" Shann supposed that because it had been the other's well-aimed +rock which had put the Throg out of commission permanently, the officer +was going to claim their only spoils of war as personal booty, and a hot +resentment flowered in the younger man. + +"We don't take that away from here." Thorvald made the weapon his with a +quick twist. + +To Shann's utter astonishment, the Survey officer walked back to kneel +beside the dead Throg. He worked the grip of the blaster under the +alien's lax claws and inspected the result with the care of one +arranging a special and highly important display. Shann's protest became +vocal. "We'll need that!" + +"It'll do us far more good right where it is...." Thorvald paused and +then added, with impatience roughening his voice as if he disliked the +need for making any explanations, "There is no reason for us to +advertise our being alive. If the Throgs found a blaster missing, they'd +start thinking and looking around. I want to have a breathing spell +before I have to play quarry in one of their hunts." + +Put that way, his action did make sense. But Shann regretted the loss of +an arm so superior to their own weapons. Now they could not loot the +plateship either. In silence he turned and started to trudge southward, +without waiting for Thorvald to catch up with him. + +Once away from the blasted area, the wolverines ranged ahead at their +clumsy gallop, which covered ground at a surprising rate of speed. Shann +knew that their curiosity made them scouts surpassing any human and that +the men who followed would have ample warning of any danger to come. +Without reference to his silent trail companion, he sent the animals +toward another strip of woodland which would give them cover against the +coming of any Throg flyer. + +As the hours advanced he began to cast about for a proper night camp. +The woods ought to give them a usable site. + +"This is a water wood," Thorvald said, breaking the silence for the +first time since they had left the wrecks. + +Shann knew that the other had knowledge, not only of the general +countryside, but of exploring techniques which he himself did not +possess, but to be reminded of that fact was an irritant rather than a +reassurance. Without answering, the younger man bored on to locate the +water promised. + +The wolverines found the small lake first and were splashing along its +shore when the Terrans caught up. Thorvald went to work, but to Shann's +surprise he did not unstrap the force-blade ax at his belt. Bending over +a sapling, he pounded away with a stone at the green wood a few inches +above the root line until he was able to break through the slender +trunk. Shann drew his own knife and bent to tackle another treelet when +Thorvald stopped him with an order: "Use a stone on that, the way I +did." + +Shann could see no reason for such a laborious process. If Thorvald did +not want to use his ax, that was no reason that Shann could not put his +heavy belt knife to work. He hesitated, ready to set the blade to the +outer bark of the tree. + +"Look--" again that impatient edge in the officer's tone, the need for +explanation seeming to come very hard to the other--"sooner or later the +Throgs might just trace us here and find this camp. If so, they are +_not_ going to discover any traces to label us Terran----" + +"But who else could we be?" protested Shann. "There is no native race on +Warlock." + +Thorvald tossed his improvised stone ax from hand to hand. + +"But do the Throgs know that?" + +The implications, the possibilities, in that idea struck home to Shann. +Now he began to understand what Thorvald might be planning. + +"Now there is going to be a native race." Shann made a statement instead +of a question and saw that the other was watching him with a new +intentness, as if he had at last been recognized as a person instead of +rank and file and very low rank at that--Survey personnel. + +"There is going to be a native race," Thorvald affirmed. + +Shann resheathed his knife and went to search the pond beach for a +suitable stone to use in its place. Even so, he made harder work of the +clumsy chopping than Thorvald had. He worried at one sapling after +another until his hands were skinned and his breath came in painful +gusts from under aching ribs. Thorvald had gone on to another task, +ripping the end of a long tough vine from just under the powdery surface +of the thick leaf masses fallen in other years. + +With this the officer lashed together the tops of the poles, having +planted their splintered butts in the ground, so that he achieved a +crudely conical erection. Leafy branches were woven back and forth +through this framework, with an entrance, through which one might crawl +on hands and knees, left facing the lakeside. The shelter they completed +was compact and efficient but totally unlike anything Shann had ever +seen before, certainly far removed from the domes of the camp. He said +so, nursing his raw hands. + +"An old form," Thorvald replied, "native to a primitive race on Terra. +Certainly the beetle-heads haven't come across its like before." + +"Are we going to stay here? Otherwise it is pretty heavy work for one +night's lodging." + +Thorvald tested the shelter with a sharp shake. The matted leaves +whispered, but the framework held. + +"Stage dressing. No, we won't linger here. But it's evidence to support +our play. Even a Throg isn't dense enough to believe that natives would +make a cross-country trip without leaving evidence of their passing." + +Shann sat down with a sigh he made no effort to suppress. He had a +vision of Thorvald traveling southward, methodically erecting these huts +here and there to confound Throgs who might not ever chance upon them. +But already the Survey officer was busy with a new problem. + +"We need weapons----" + +"We have our stunners, a force ax, and our knives," Shann pointed out. +He did not add, as he would have liked that they could have had a +blaster. + +"Native weapons," Thorvald countered with his usual snap. He went back +to the beach and crawled about there, choosing and rejecting stones +picked out of the gravel. + +Shann scooped out a small pit just before their hut and set about the +making of a pocket-sized fire. He was hungry and looked longingly now +and again to the supply bag Thorvald had brought with him. Dared he +rummage in that for rations? Surely the other would be carrying +concentrates. + +"Who taught you how to make a fire that way?" Thorvald was back from the +pond, a selection of round stones about the size of his fist resting +between his chest and his forearm. + +"It's regulation, isn't it?" Shann countered defensively. + +"It's regulation," Thorvald agreed. He set down his stones in a row and +then tossed the supply bag over to his companion. "Too late to hunt +tonight. But well have to go easy on those rations until we can get +more." + +"Where?" Did Thorvald know of some supply cache they could raid? + +"From the Throgs," the other answered matter of factly. + +"But they don't eat our kind of food...." + +"All the more reason for them to leave the camp supplies untouched." + +"The camp?" + +For the first time Thorvald's lips curved in a shadow smile which was +neither joyous nor warming. "A native raid on an invaders' camp. What +could be more natural? And we'd better make it soon." + +"But how can we?" To Shann what the other proposed was sheer madness. + +"There was once an ancient service corps on Terra," Thorvald answered, +"which had a motto something like this: 'The improbable we do at once; +the impossible takes a little longer.' What did you think we were going +to do? Sulk around out here in the bush and let the Throgs claim Warlock +for one of their pirate bases without opposition?" + +Since that was the only future Shann had visualized, he was ready enough +to admit the truth, only some shade of tone in the officer's voice kept +him from saying so aloud. + + + + +4. SORTIE + + +Five days later they came up from the south so that this time Shann's +view of the Terran camp was from a different angle. At first sight there +had been little change in the general scene. He wondered if the aliens +were using the Terran dome shelters themselves. Even in the twilight it +was easy to pick out such landmarks as the com dome with the shaft of a +broadcaster spearing from its top and the greater bulk of the supply +warehouse. + +"Two of their small flyers down on the landing field...." Thorvald +materialized from the shadow, his voice a thread of whisper. + +By Shann's side the wolverines were moving restlessly. Since Taggi's +attack on the Throg neither beast would venture near any site where they +could scent the aliens. This was the nearest point to which the men +could urge either animal, which was a disappointment, for the wolverines +would have been an excellent addition to the surprise sortie they +planned for tonight, halving the danger for the men. + +Shann ran his fingers across the coarse fur on the animals' shoulders, +exerting a light pressure to signal them to wait. But he was not sure of +their obedience. The foray was a crazy idea, and Shann wondered again +why he had agreed to it. Yet he had gone along with Thorvald, even +suggested a few modifications and additions of his own, such as the +contents of the crude leaf sack now resting between his knees. + +Thorvald flitted away, seeking his own post to the west. Shann was still +waiting for the other's signal when there arose from the camp a sound to +chill the flesh of any listener, a wail which could not have come from +the throat of any normal living thing, intelligent being or animal. +Ululating in ear-torturing intensity, the cry sank to a faint, ominous +echo of itself, to waver up the scale again. + +The wolverines went mad. Shann had witnessed their quick kills in the +wilds, but this stark ferocity of spitting, howling rage was new. They +answered that challenge from the camp, streaking out from under his +hands. Yet both animals skidded to a stop before they passed the first +dome and were lost in the gloom. A spark glowed for an instant to his +right; Thorvald was ready to go, so Shann had no time to try and recall +the animals. + +He fumbled for those balls of soaked moss in his leaf bag. The chemical +smell from them blotted out that alien mustiness which the wind brought +from the campsite. Shann readied the first sopping mess in his sling, +snapped his fire sparker at it, and had the ball awhirl for a toss +almost in one continuous movement. The moss burst into fire as it curved +out and fell. + +To a witness it might have seemed that the missile materialized out of +the air, the effect being better than Shann had hoped. + +A second ball for the sling--spark ... out ... down. The first had +smashed on the ground near the dome of the com station, the force of +impact flattening it into a round splatter of now fiercely burning +material. And his second, carefully aimed, lit two feet beyond. + +Another wail tearing at the nerves. Shann made a third throw, a fourth. +He had an audience now. In the light of those pools of fire the Throgs +were scuttling back and forth, their hunched bodies casting weird +shadows on the dome walls. They were making efforts to douse the fires, +but Shann knew from careful experimentation that once ignited the stuff +he had skimmed from the lip of one of the hot springs would go on +burning as long as a fraction of its viscid substance remained +unconsumed. + +Now Thorvald had gone into action. A Throg suddenly halted, struggled +frantically, and toppled over into the edge of a fire splotch, legs +looped together by the coils of the curious weapon Thorvald had put +together on their first night of partnership. Three round stones of +comparable weight had each been fastened at the end of a vine cord, and +those cords united at a center point. Thorvald had demonstrated the +effectiveness of his creation by bringing down one of the small "deer" +of the grasslands, an animal normally fleet enough to feel safe from +both human and animal pursuit. And those weighted ropes now trapped the +Throg with the same efficiency. + +Having shot his last fireball, Shann ran swiftly to take up a new +position, downgrade and to the east of the domes. Here he put into +action another of the primitive weapons Thorvald had devised, a spear +hurled with a throwing stick, giving it double range and twice as +forceful penetration power. The spears themselves were hardly more than +crudely shaped lengths of wood, their points charred in the fire. +Perhaps these missiles could neither kill nor seriously wound. But more +than one thudded home in a satisfactory fashion against the curving back +carapace or the softer front parts of a Throg in a manner which +certainly shook up and bruised the target. And one of Shann's victims +went to the ground, to lie kicking in a way which suggested he had been +more than just bruised. + +Fireballs, spears.... Thorvald had moved too. And now down into the +somewhat frantic melee of the aroused camp fell a shower of slim +weighted reeds, each provided with a clay-ball head. The majority of +those balls broke on landing as the Terrans had intended. So, through +the beetle smell of the aliens, spread the acrid, throat-parching fumes +of the hot spring water. Whether those fumes had the same effect upon +Throg breathing apparatus as they did upon Terran, the attackers could +not tell, but they hoped such a bombardment would add to the general +confusion. + +Shann began to space the hurling of his crude spears with more care, +trying to place them with all the precision of aim he could muster. +There was a limit to their amount of varied ammunition, although they +had dedicated every waking moment of the past few days to manufacture +and testing. Luckily the enemy had had none of their energy beams at the +domes. And so far they had made no move to lift their flyers for +retaliation blasts. + +But the Throgs were pulling themselves into order. Blaster fire cut the +dusk. Most of the aliens were now flat on the ground, sending a creeping +line of fire into the perimeter of the camp area. A dark form moved +between Shann and the nearest patch of burning moss. The Terran raised a +spear to the ready before he caught a whiff of the pungent scent emitted +by a wolverine hot with battle rage. He whistled coaxingly. With the +Throgs eager to blast any moving thing, the animals were in danger if +they prowled about the scene. + +That blunt head moved. Shann caught the glint of eyes in a furred mask; +it was either Taggi or his mate. Then a puff of mixed Throng and +chemical scent from the camp must have reached the wolverine. The animal +coughed and fled westward, passing Shann. + +Had Thorvald had time and opportunity to make his planned raid on the +supply dome? Time during such an embroilment was hard to measure, and +Shann could not be sure. He began to count aloud, slowly, as they had +agreed. When he reached one hundred he would begin his retreat; on two +hundred he was to run for it, his goal the river a half mile from the +camp. + +The stream would take the fugitives to the sea where fiords cut the +coastline into a ragged fringe offering a wealth of hiding places. +Throgs seldom explored any territory on foot. For them to venture into +that maze would be putting themselves at the mercy of the Terrans they +hunted. And their flyers could comb the air above such a rocky +wilderness without result. + +Shann reached the count of one hundred. Twice a blaster bolt singed +ground within distance close enough to make him wince, but most of the +fire carried well above his head. All of his spears were gone, save for +one he had kept, hoping for a last good target. One of the Throgs who +appeared to be directing the fire of the others was facing Shann's +position. And on pure chance that he might knock out that leader, Shann +chose him for his victim. + +The Terran had no illusions concerning his own marksmanship. The most he +could hope for, he thought, was to have the primitive weapon thud home +painfully on the other's armored hide. Perhaps, if he were very lucky, +he could knock the other from his clawed feet. But that chance which +hovers over any battlefield turned in Shann's favor. At just the right +moment the Throg stretched his head up from the usual hunched position +where the carapace extended over his wide shoulders to protect one of +the alien's few vulnerable spots, the soft underside of his throat. And +the fire-sharpened point of the spear went deep. + +Throgs were mute, or at least none of them had ever uttered a vocal +sound to be reported by Terrans. This one did not cry out. But he +staggered forward, forelimbs up, clawed digits pulling at the wooden pin +transfixing his throat just under the mandible-equipped jaw, holding his +head at an unnatural angle. Without seeming to notice the others of his +kind, the Throg came on at a shambling run, straight at Shann as if he +could actually see through the dark and had marked down the Terran for +personal vengeance. There was something so uncanny about that forward +dash that Shann retreated. As his hand groped for the knife at his belt +his boot heel caught in a tangle of weed and he struggled for balance. +The wounded Throg, still pulling at the spear shaft protruding above the +swelling barrel of his chest, pounded on. + +Shann sprawled backward and was caught in the elastic embrace of a bush, +so he did not strike the ground. He fought the grip of prickly branches +and kicked to gain solid earth under his feet. Then again he heard that +piercing wail from the camp, as chilling as it had been the first time. +Spurred by that, he won free. But he could not turn his back on the +wounded Throg, keeping rather a sidewise retreat. + +Already the alien had reached the dark beyond the rim of the camp. His +progress now was marked by the crashing through low brush. Two of the +Throgs back on the firing line started up after their leader. Shann +caught a whiff of their odor as the wounded alien advanced with the +single-mindedness of a robot. + +It would be best to head for the river. Tall grass twisted about the +Terran's legs as he began to run. In spite of the gloom, he hesitated to +cross that open space. At night Warlock's peculiar vegetation displayed +a very alien attribute--ten ... twenty varieties of grass, plant, and +tree emitted a wan phosphorescence, varying in degree, but affording +each an aura of light. And the path before Shann now was dotted by +splotches of that radiance, not as brilliant as the chemical-born flames +the attackers had kindled in the camp, but as quick to betray the unwary +who passed within their dim circles. And there had never been any reason +to believe that Throg powers of sight were less than human; there was +perhaps some evidence to the contrary. Shann crouched, charting the +clumps ahead for a zigzag course which would take him to at least +momentary safety in the river bed. + +Perhaps a mile downstream was the transport the Terrans had cobbled +together no earlier than this afternoon, a raft Thorvald had professed +to believe would support them to the sea which lay some fifty Terran +miles to the west. But now he had to cover that mile. + +The wolverines? Thorvald? There was one lure which might draw the +animals on to the rendezvous. Taggi had brought down a "deer" just +before they had left the raft. And instead of allowing both beasts to +feast at leisure, Shann had lashed the carcass to the shaky platform of +wood and brush, putting it out to swing in the current, though still +moored to the bank. + +Wolverines always cached that part of the kill which they did not +consume at the first eating, usually burying it. He had hoped that to +leave the carcass in such a way would draw both animals back to the raft +when they were hungry. And they had not fed particularly well that day. + +Thorvald? Well, the Survey officer had made it very plain during the +past five days of what Shann had come to look upon as an uneasy +partnership that he considered himself far abler to manage in the field, +while he had grave doubts of Shann's efficiency in the direction of +survival potential. + +The Terran started along the pattern of retreat he had laid out to the +river bed. His heart pounded as he ran, not because of the physical +effort he was expending, but because again from the camp had come that +blood-freezing howl. A lighter line marked the lip of the cut in which +the stream was set, something he had not foreseen. He threw himself down +to crawl the last few feet, hugging the earth. + +That very pale luminescence was easily accounted for by what lay below. +Shann licked his lips and tasted the sting of sap smeared on his face +during his struggle with the bushes. While the strip of meadow behind +him now had been spotted with light plants, the cut below showed an +almost solid line of them stringing willow-wise along the water's edge. +To go down at this point was simply to spotlight his presence for any +Throg on his trail. He could only continue along the upper bank, hoping +to finally find an end to the growth of luminescent vegetation below. + +Shann was perhaps five yards from the point where he had come to the +river, when a commotion behind made him freeze and turn his head +cautiously. The camp was half hidden, and the fires there must be dying. +But a twisting, struggling mass was rolling across the meadow in his +general direction. + +Thorvald fighting off an attack? The wolverines? Shann drew his legs +under him, ready to erupt into a counter-offensive. He hesitated +between drawing stunner or knife. In his brush with the injured Throg at +the wreck the stunner had had little impression on the enemy. And now he +wondered if his blade, though it was super-steel at its toughest, could +pierce any joint in the armored bodies of the aliens. + +There was surely a fight in progress. The whole crazily weaving blot +collapsed and rolled down upon three bright light plants. Dull sheen of +Throg casing was revealed ... no sign of fur, or flesh, or clothing. Two +of the aliens battling? But why? + +One of those figures got up stiffly, bent over the huddle still on the +ground, and pulled at something. The wooden shaft of Shann's spear was +wanly visible. And the form on the ground did not stir as that was +jerked loose. The Throg leader dead? Shann hoped so. He slid his knife +back into the sheath, tapped the hilt to make sure it was firmly in +place, and crawled on. The river, twisting here and there, was a +promising pool of dusky shadow ahead. The bank of willow-things was +coming to an end, and none too soon. For when he glanced back again he +saw another Throg run across the meadow, and he watched them lift their +fellow, carrying him back to camp. + +The Throgs might seem indestructible, but he had put an end to one, +aided by luck and a very rough weapon. With that to bolster his +self-confidence to a higher notch, Shann dropped by cautious degrees +over the bank and down to the water's edge. When his boots splashed into +the oily flood he began to tramp downstream, feeling the pull of the +water, first ankle high and then about his calves. This early in the +season they did hot have to fear floods, and hereabouts the stream was +wide and shallow, save in mid-current at the center point. + +Twice more he had to skirt patches of light plants, and once a young +tree stood bathed in radiance with a pinkish tinge instead of the usual +ghostly gray. Within the haze which tented the drooping branches, +flitted small glittering, flying things; and the scent of its half-open +buds was heavy on the air, neither pleasant nor unpleasant in Shann's +nostrils, merely different. + +He dared to whistle, a soft call he hoped would carry along the cut +between the high banks. But, though he paused and listened until it +seemed that every cell in his thin body was occupied in that act, he +heard no answering call from the wolverines, nor any suggestion that +either the animals or Thorvald were headed in the direction of the raft. + +What was he going to do if none of the others joined him downstream? +Thorvald had said not to linger there past daylight. Yet Shann knew that +unless he actually sighted a Throg patrol splashing after him he would +wait until he made sure of the others' fate. Both Taggi and Togi were as +important to him as the Survey officer. Perhaps more so, he told himself +now, because he understood them to a certain degree and found +companionship in their undemanding company which he could not claim from +the man. + +Why _did_ Thorvald insist upon their going on to the seashore? To +Shann's mind his own first plan of holing up back in the eastern +mountains was better. Those heights had as many hiding places as the +fiord country. But Thorvald had suddenly become so set on this westward +trek that he had given in. As much as he inwardly rebelled when he took +them, he found himself obeying the older man's orders. It was only when +he was alone, as now, that he began to question both Thorvald's motives +and his authority. + +Three sprigs of a light bush set in a triangle. Shann paused and then +climbed out on the bank, shaking the water from his boots as Taggi might +shake such drops from a furred limb. This was the sign they had set to +mark their rendezvous point, but.... + +Shann whirled, drawing his stunner. The raft was a dark blob on the +surface of the water some feet farther on. And now it was bobbing up and +down violently. That was not the result of any normal tug of current. He +heard an indignant squeal and relaxed with a little laugh. He need not +have worried about the wolverines; that bait had drawn them all right. +Both of them were now engaged in eating, though they had to conduct +their feast on the rather shaky foundation of the makeshift transport. + +They paid no attention as he waded out, pulling at the anchor cord as he +went. The wind must have carried his familiar scent to them. As the +water climbed to his shoulders Shann put one hand on the outmost log of +the raft. One of the animals snarled a warning at being disturbed. Or +had that been at him? + +Shann stood where he was, listening intently. Yes, there was a splashing +sound from upstream. Whoever followed his own recent trail was taking no +care to keep that pursuit a secret, and the pace of the newcomer was +fast enough to spell trouble. + +Throgs? Tensely the Terran waited for some reaction from the wolverines. +He was sure that if the aliens had followed him, both animals would give +warning. Save when they had gone wild upon hearing that strange wail +from the camp, they avoided meeting the enemy. + +But from all sounds the animals had not stopped feeding. So the other +was no beetle-head. On the other hand, why would Thorvald so advertise +his coming, unless the need for speed was greater than caution? Shann +drew taut the mooring cord, bringing out his knife to saw through that +tough length. A figure passed the three-sprig signal, ran onto the raft. + +"Lantee?" The call came in a hoarse, demanding whisper. + +"Here." + +"Cut loose. We have to get out of here!" + +Thorvald flung himself forward, and together the men scrambled up on the +raft. The mangled carcass plunged into the water, dislodged by their +efforts. But before the wolverines could follow it, the mooring vine +snapped, and the river current took them. Feeling the raft sway and +begin to spin, the wolverines whined, crouched in the middle of what now +seemed a very frail craft. + +Behind them, far away but too clear, sounded that eerie howling, topping +the sigh of the night wind. + +"I saw----" Thorvald gasped, pausing as if to catch full lungfuls of air +to back his words, "they have a 'hound!' That's what you hear." + + + + +5. PURSUIT + + +As the raft revolved slowly it also slipped downstream at a steadily +increasing pace, for the current had them in hold. The wolverines +pressed close to Shann until the musky scent of their fur, their animal +warmth, enveloped him. One growled deep in its throat, perhaps in answer +to that wind-borne wail. + +"Hound?" Shann asked. + +Beside him in the dark Thorvald was working loose one of the poles they +had readied to help control the raft's voyaging. The current carried +them along, but there was a need for those lengths of sapling to fend +them free from rocks and water-buried snags. + +"What hound?" the younger man demanded more sharply when there came no +immediate answer. + +"The Throgs' tracker. But why did they import one?" Thorvald's +puzzlement was plain in his tone. He added a moment later, with some of +his usual firmness, "We may be in for bad trouble now. Use of a hound +means an attempt to take prisoners----" + +"Then they do not know that we are here, as Terrans, I mean?" + +Thorvald seemed to be sorting out his thoughts when he replied to that. +"They could have brought a hound here just on chance that they might +miss one of us in the initial mop-up. Or, if they believe we are +natives, they could want a specimen for study." + +"Wouldn't they just blast down Terrans on sight?" + +Shann saw the dark blot which was Thorvald's head shake in negation. + +"They might need a live Terran--badly and soon." + +"Why?" + +"To operate the camp call beam." + +Shann's momentary bewilderment vanished. He knew enough of Survey +procedure to guess the reason for such a move on the part of the aliens. + +"The settler transport?" + +"Yes, the ship. She won't planet here without the proper signal. And the +Throgs can't give that. If they don't take her, their time's run out +before they have even made a start here." + +"But how could they know that the transport is nearly due? When we +intercept their calls they're pure gibberish to us. Can they read our +codes?" + +"The supposition is that they can't. Only, concerning Throgs, all we +know is supposition. Anyway, they do know the routine for establishing a +Terran colony, and we can't alter that procedure except in small +nonessentials," Thorvald said grimly. "If that transport doesn't pick up +the proper signal to set down here on schedule, her captain will call in +the patrol escort ... then exit one Throg base. But if the beetle-heads +can trick the ship in and take her, then they'll have a clear five or +six more months here to consolidate their own position. After that it +would take more than just one patrol cruiser to clear Warlock; it will +require a fleet. So the Throgs will have another world to play with, and +an important one. This lies on a direct line between the Odin and +Kulkulkan systems. A Throg base on such a trade route could eventually +cut us right out of this quarter of the galaxy." + +"So you think they want to capture us in order to bring the transport +in?" + +"By our type of reasoning, that would be a logical move--_if_ they know +we are here. They haven't too many of those hounds, and they don't risk +them on petty jobs. I'd hoped we'd covered our trail well. But we had to +risk that attack on the camp.... I needed the map case!" Again Thorvald +might have been talking to himself. "Time ... and the right maps--" he +brought his fist down on the raft, making the platform tremble--"that's +what I have to have now." + +Another patch of light-willows stretched along the river-banks, and as +they sailed through that ribbon of ghostly radiance they could see each +other's faces. Thorvald's was bleak, hard, his eyes on the stream behind +them as if he expected at any moment to see a Throg emerge from the +surface of the water. + +"Suppose that thing--" Shann pointed upstream with his chin--"follows +us? What is it anyway?" Hound suggested Terran dog, but he couldn't +stretch his imagination to believe in a working co-operation between +Throg and any mammal. + +"A rather spectacular combination of toad and lizard, with a few other +grisly touches, is about as close as you can get to a general +description. And that won't be too accurate, because like the Throgs its +remote ancestors must have been of the insect family. If the thing +follows us, and I think we can be sure that it will, we'll have to take +steps. There is always this advantage--those hounds cannot be controlled +from a flyer, and the beetle-heads never take kindly to foot slogging. +So we won't have to expect any speedy chase. If it slips its masters in +rough country, we can try to ambush it." In the dim light Thorvald was +frowning. "I flew over the territory ahead on two sweeps, and it is a +queer mixture. If we can reach the rough country bordering the sea, +we'll have won the first round. I don't believe that the Throgs will be +in a hurry to track us in there. They'll try two alternatives to chasing +us on foot. One, use their energy beams to rake any suspect valley, and +since there are hundreds of valleys all pretty much alike, that will +take some time. Or they can attempt to shake us out with a dumdum should +they have one here, which I doubt." + +Shann tensed. The stories of the effects of the Throg's dumdum weapon +were anything but pretty. + +"And to get a dumdum," Thorvald continued as if he were discussing a +purely theoretical matter and not a threat of something worse than +death, "They'll have to bring in one of their major ships. Which they +will hesitate to do with a cruiser near at hand. Our own danger spot now +is the section we should strike soon after dawn tomorrow if the rate of +this current is what I have timed it. There is a band of desert on this +side of the mountains. The river gorge deepens there and the land is +bare. Let them send a ship over and we could be as visible as if we were +sending up flares----" + +"How about taking cover now and going on only at night?" suggested +Shann. + +"Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But with time pressing us now, no. If we keep +straight on, we could reach the foothills in about forty hours, maybe +less. And we have to stay with the river. To strike across country there +without good supplies and on foot is sheer folly." + +Two days. With perhaps the Throgs unleashing their hound on land, +combing from their flyers. With a desert.... Shann put out his hands to +the wolverines. The prospect certainly didn't seem anywhere near as +simple as it had the night before when Thorvald had planned this escape. +But then the Survey officer had left out quite a few points which were +not pertinent. Was he also leaving out other essentials? Shann wanted to +ask, but somehow he could not. + +After a while he dozed, his head resting on his knees. He awoke, roused +out of a vivid dream, a dream so detailed and so deeply impressed in a +picture on his mind that he was confused when he blinked at the +riverbank visible in the half-light of early dawn. + +Instead of that stretch of earth and ragged vegetation now gliding past +him as the raft angled along, he should have been fronting a vast skull +stark against the sky--a skull whose outlines were oddly inhuman, from +whose eyeholes issued and returned flying things while its sharply +protruding lower jaw was lapped by water. In color that skull had been a +violent clash of blood-red and purple. Shann blinked again at the +riverbank, seeing transposed on it still that ghostly haze of bone-bare +dome, cavernous eyeholes and nose slit, fanged jaws. That skull was a +mountain, or a mountain was a skull--and it was important to him; he +must locate it! + +He moved stiffly, his legs and arms cramped but not cold. The wolverines +stirred on either side of him. Thorvald continued to sleep, curled up +beyond, the pole still clasped in his hands. A flat map case was slung +by a strap about his neck, its thin envelope between his arm and his +body as if for safekeeping. On the smooth flap was the Survey seal, and +it was fastened with a finger lock. + +Thorvald had lost some of the bright hard surface he had shown at the +spaceport where Shann had first sighted him. There were hollows in his +cheeks, sending into high relief those bone ridges beneath his eye +sockets, giving him a faint resemblance to the skull of Shann's dream. +His face was grimed, his field uniform stained and torn. Only his hair +was as bright as ever. + +Shann smeared the back of his hand across his own face, not doubting +that he must present an even more disreputable appearance. He leaned +forward cautiously to look into the water, but that surface was not +quiet enough to act as a mirror. + +Getting to his feet as the raft bobbed under his shift of weight, Shann +studied the territory now about them. He could not match Thorvald's +inches, just as he must have a third less bulk than the officer, but +standing, he could sight something of what now lay beyond the rising +banks of the cut. That grass which had been so thick in the meadowlands +around the camp had thinned into separate clumps, pale lavender in +color. And the scrawniness of stem and blade suggested dehydration and +poor soil. The earth showing between those clumps was not of the usual +blue, but pallid, too, bleached to gray, while the bushes along the +stream's edge were few and smaller. They must have crossed the line into +the desert Thorvald had promised. + +Shann edged around to face west. There was light enough in the sky to +sight tall black pyramids waiting. They had to reach those distant +mountains, mountains whose feet on the other side were resting in sea +water. He studied them carefully, surveying each peak he could separate +from its fellows. + +Did the skull lie among them? The conviction that the place he had seen +in his dream was real, that it was to be found on Warlock, persisted. +Not only was it a definite feature of the landscape somewhere in the +wild places of this world, but it was also necessary for him to locate +it. Why? Shann puzzled over that, with a growing uneasiness which was +not quite fear, not yet, anyway. + +Thorvald moved. The raft tilted and the wolverines became growly. Shann +sat down, one hand out to the officer's shoulder in warning. Feeling +that touch Thorvald shifted, one hand striking out blindly in a blow +which Shann was just able to avoid while with the other he pinned the +map case yet tighter to him. + +"Take it easy!" Shann urged. + +The other's eyelids flicked. He looked up, but not as if he saw Shann at +all. + +"The Cavern of the Veil----" he muttered. "Utgard...." Then his eyes did +focus and he sat up, gazing around him with a frown. + +"We're in the desert," Shann announced. + +Thorvald got up, balancing on feet planted a little apart, looking to +the faded expanse of the waste spreading from the river cut. He stared +at the mountains before he squatted down to fumble with the lock of the +map case. + +The wolverines were growing restless, though they still did not try to +move about too freely on the raft, greeting Shann with vocal complaint. +He and Thorvald could satisfy their hunger with a handful of +concentrates from the survival kit. But those dry tablets could not +serve the animals. Shann studied the terrain with more knowledge than he +had possessed a week earlier. This was not hunting land, but there +remained the bounty of the river. + +"We'll have to feed Taggi and Togi," he broke the silence abruptly. "If +we don't, they'll be into the river and off on their own." + +Thorvald glanced up from one of the tough, thin sheets of map skin, +again as if he had been drawn back from some distance. His eyes moved +from Shann to the unpromising shore. + +"How? With what?" he wanted to know. Then the real urgency of the +situation must have penetrated his mental isolation. "You have an +idea--?" + +"There's those fish we found them eating back by the mountain stream," +Shann said, recalling an incident of a few days earlier. "Rocks here, +too, like those the fish were hiding under. Maybe we can locate some of +them here." + +He knew that Thorvald would be reluctant to work the raft in shore, to +spare time for such hunting. But there would be no arguing with hungry +wolverines, and he did not propose to lose the animals for the officer's +whim. + +However, Thorvald did not protest. They poled the raft out of the main +pull of the current, sending it in toward the southern shore in the lee +of a clump of light-willows. Shann scrambled ashore, the wolverines +after him, sniffling along at his heels while he overturned likely +looking rocks to unroof some odd underwater dwellings. The fish with the +rudimentary legs were present and not agile enough even in their native +element to avoid well-clawed paws which scooped them neatly out of the +river shallows. There was also a sleek furred creature with a broad flat +head and paddle-equipped forepaws, rather like a miniature seal, which +Taggi appropriated before Shann had a chance to examine it closely. In +fact, the wolverines wrought havoc along a half-mile section of bank +before the Terran could coax them back to the raft. + +As they hunted, Shann got a better idea of the land about the river. It +was sere, the vegetation dwindling except for some rough spikes of +things pushing through the parched ground like flayed fingers, their +puffed redness in contrast to the usual amethystine coloring of +Warlock's growing things. Under the climbing sun that whole stretch of +country was revealed in a stark bareness which at first repelled, and +then began to interest him. + +He discovered Thorvald standing on the upper bluff, looking out toward +the waiting mountains. The officer turned as Shann urged the wolverines +to the raft, and when he jumped down the drop to join them, Shann saw he +carried a map strip unrolled in his hand. + +"The situation is not as good as we hoped," he told the younger man. +"Well have to leave the river to cross the heights." + +"Why?" + +"There're rapids--bending in a falls." The officer squatted down, +spreading out the strip and making stabs at it with a nervous finger +tip. "Here we have to leave. This is all rough ground. But lying to the +south there's a gap which may be a pass. This was made from an aerial +survey." + +Shann knew enough to realize to what extent such a guide could go wrong. +Main features of the landscape would be clear enough from aloft, but +there might be unsurmountable difficulties at ground level which were +not distinguishable from the air. Yet Thorvald had planned this journey +as if he had already explored their escape route and that it was as open +and easy as a stroll down Tyr's main transport way. Why was it so +necessary that they try to reach the sea? However, since he had no +objection to voice except a dislike for indefinite information, Shann +did not question the other's calm assumption of command, not yet, +anyway. + +As they embarked and worked back into the current, Shann studied his +companion. Thorvald had freely listed the difficulties lying before +them. Yet he did not seem in the least worried about their being able to +win through to the sea--or if he was, his outer shell of unconcern +remained uncracked. Before their first day together had ended, the +younger Terran had learned that to Thorvald he was only another tool, to +be used by the Survey officer in some project which the other believed +of primary importance. And his resentment of the valuation was under +control so far. He valued Thorvald's knowledge, but the other's attitude +chilled and rebuffed his need for something more than a half partnership +of work. + +Why had Thorvald come back to Warlock in the first place? And why had it +been necessary for him to risk his life--perhaps more than his life if +their theory was correct concerning the Throgs' wish to capture a +Terran--to get that set of maps from the plundered camp? When he had +first talked of that raid, his promised loot had been supplies to fill +their daily needs; there had been no mention of maps. By all signs +Thorvald was engaged on some mission. And what would happen if he, +Shann, suddenly stopped being the other's obedient underling and +demanded a few explanations here and now? + +Only Shann knew enough about men to also know that he would not get any +information out of Thorvald that the latter was not ready to give, and +that such a showdown, coming prematurely, would only end in his own +discomfiture. He smiled wryly now, remembering his emotions when he had +first seen Ragnar Thorvald months ago. As if the officer ever considered +the likes, dislikes--or dreams--of one Shann Lantee. No, reality and +dreams seldom approached each other. Dreams.... + +"On any of those shoreline maps," he asked suddenly, "do they have +marked a mountain shaped like a skull?" + +Thorvald thrust with his pole. "Skull?" he repeated, a little absently, +as he so often did in answer to Shann's questions unless they dealt with +some currently important matter. + +"A queer sort of skull," Shann said. Just as vividly as when he had +first awakened, he could picture that skull mountain with the flying +things about its eye sockets. And that, too, was odd; dream impressions +usually faded with the passing of waking hours. "It has a protruding +lower jaw and the waves wash that ... red-and-purple rock----" + +"What?" + +He had Thorvald's complete attention now. + +"Where did you hear about it?" That demand followed quickly. + +"I didn't hear about it. I dreamed of it last night. I stood there right +in front of it. There were birds--or things flying like birds--going in +and out of the eyeholes----" + +"What else?" Thorvald leaned across his pole, his eyes alive, avid, as +if he would pull the reply he wanted out of Shann by force. + +"That was all I remember--the skull mountain." He did not add his other +impression, that he was meant to find that skull, that he _must_ find +it. + +"Nothing...." Thorvald paused, and then spoke slowly, with a visible +reluctance. "Nothing else? No cavern with a green veil--a wide green +veil--strung across it?" + +Shann shook his head. "Just the skull mountain." + +Thorvald looked as if he didn't quite believe that, but Shann's +expression must have been convincing, for he laughed shortly. + +"Well, there goes one nice neat theory up in smoke!" he commented. "No, +your skull doesn't appear on any of our maps, and so probably my cavern +does not exist either. They may both be smoke screens----" + +"What--?" But Shann never finished that query. + +A wind was rising in the desert to blow across the slit which held the +river, carrying with it a fine shifting of sand which coasted down into +the water as a gray haze, coating men, animals, and raft, and sighing as +snow sighs when it falls. + +Only that did not drown out another cry, a thin cry, diluted by the +miles of land stretching behind them, but yet carrying that long +ululating howl they had heard in the Throg camp. Thorvald grinned +mirthlessly. + +"The hound's on trail." + +He bent to the pole, using it to aid the pace of the current. Shann, +chilled in spite of the sun's heat, followed his example, wondering if +time had ceased to fight on their side. + + + + +6. THE HOUND + + +The sun was a harsh ball of heat baking the ground and then, in some odd +manner, drawing back that same fieriness. In the coolness of the eastern +mountains Shann would not have believed that Warlock could hold such +heat. The men discarded their jackets early as they swung to dip the +poles. But they dared not strip off the rest of their clothing lest +their skin burn. And again gusts of wind now drove sand over the edge of +the cut to blanket the water. + +Shann wiped his eyes, pausing in his eternal push-push, to look at the +rocks which they were passing in threatening proximity. For the slash +which held the river had narrowed. And the rock of its walls was naked +of earth, save for sheltered pockets holding the drift of sand dust, +while boulders of all sizes cut into the path of the flowing water. + +He had not been mistaken; they were going faster, faster even than their +efforts with the poles would account for. With the narrowing of the bed +of the stream, the current was taking on a new swiftness. Shann said as +much and Thorvald nodded. + +"We're approaching the first of the rapids." + +"Where we get off and walk around," Shann croaked wearily. The dust +gritted between his teeth, irritated his eyes. "Do we stay beside the +river?" + +"As long as we can," Thorvald replied somberly. "We have no way of +transporting water." + +Yes, a man could live on very slim rations of food, continue to beat his +way over a bad trail if he had the concentrate tablets they carried. But +there was no going without water, and in this heat such an effort would +finish them quickly. Always they both listened for another cry from +behind, a cry to tell them just how near the Throg hunting party had +come. + +"No Throg flyers yet," Shann observed. He had expected one of those +black plates to come cruising the moment the hound had pointed the +direction for their pursuers. + +"Not in a storm such as this." Thorvald, without releasing his hold on +the raft pole, pointed with his chin to the swirling haze cloaking the +air above the cut walls. Here the river dug yet deeper into the +beginning of a canyon. They could breathe better. The dust still sifted +down but not as thickly as a half hour earlier. Though over their heads +the sky was now a grayish lid, shutting out the sun, bringing a portion +of coolness to the travelers. + +The Survey officer glanced from side to side, watching the banks as if +hunting for some special mark or sign. At last he used his pole as a +pointer to indicate a rough pile of boulders ahead. Some former +landslide had quarter dammed the river at that point, and the drift of +seasonal floods was caught in and among the rocky pile to form a prickly +peninsula. + +"In there----" + +They brought the raft to shore, fighting the faster current. The +wolverines, who had been subdued by the heat and the dust, flung +themselves to the rocks with the eagerness of passengers deserting a +sinking ship for certain rescue. Thorvald settled the map case more +securely between his arm and side before he took the same leap. When +they were all ashore he prodded the raft out into the stream again, +pushing the platform along until it was sucked by the current past the +line of boulders. + +"Listen!" + +But Shann had already caught that distant rumble of sound. It was +steady, beating like some giant drum. Certainly it did not herald a +Throg ship in flight and it came from ahead, not from their back trail. + +"Rapids ... perhaps even the falls," Thorvald interpreted that faint +thunder. "Now, let's see what kind of a road we can find here." + +The tongue of boulders, spiked with driftwood, was firmly based against +the wall of the cut. But it sloped up to within a few feet of the top of +that gap, more than one landslide having contributed to its fashioning. +The landing stage paralleled the river for perhaps some fifty feet. +Beyond it water splashed a straight wall. They would have to climb and +follow the stream along the top of the embankment, maybe being forced +well away from the source of the water. + +By unspoken consent they both knelt and drank deeply from their cupped +hands, splashing more of the liquid over their heads, washing the dust +from their skins. Then they began to climb the rough assent up which the +wolverines had already vanished. The murk above them was less solid, but +again the fine grit streaked their faces, embedding itself in their +hair. + +Shann paused to scrape a film of mud from his lips and chin. Then he +made the last pull, bracing his slight body against the push of the wind +he met there. A palm struck hard between his shoulders, nearly sending +him sprawling. He had only wits enough left to recognize that as an +order to get on, and he staggered ahead until rock arched over him and +the sand drift was shut off. + +His shoulder met solid stone, and having rubbed the sand from his eyes, +Shann realized he was in a pocket in the cliff walls. Well overhead he +caught a glimpse of natural amber sky through a slit, but here was a +twilight which thickened into complete darkness. + +There was no sign of wolverines. Thorvald moved along the pocket +southward, and Shann followed him. Once more they faced a dead end. For +the crevice, with the sheer descent to the river on the right, the cliff +wall at its back, came to an abrupt stop in a drop which caught at +Shann's stomach when he ventured to look down. + +If some battleship of the interstellar fleet had aimed a force beam +across the mountains of Warlock, cutting down to what lay under the +first envelope of planet-skin, perhaps the resulting wound might have +resembled that slash. What had caused such a break between the height on +which they stood and the much taller peak beyond, Shann could not guess. +But it must have been a cataclysm of spectacular dimensions. There was +certainly no descending to the bottom of that cut and reclimbing the +rock face on the other side. The fugitives would either have to return +to the river with all its ominous warnings of trouble to come, or find +some other path across that gap which now provided such an effective +barrier to the west. + +"Down!" Just as Thorvald had pushed him out of the murk of the dust +storm into the crevice, so now did that officer jerk Shann from his +feet, forcing him to the floor of the half cave from which they had +partially emerged. + +A shadow moved across the bright band of sunlit sky. + +"Back!" Thorvald caught at Shann again, his greater strength prevailing +as he literally dragged the younger man into the dusk of the crevice. +And he did not pause, nor allow Shann to do so, even when they were well +undercover again. At last they reached the dark hole in the southern +wall which they had passed earlier. And a push from Thorvald sent his +companion into that. + +Then a blow greater than any the Survey officer had aimed at him struck +Shann. He was hurled against a rough wall with impetus enough to explode +the air from his lungs, the ensuing pain so great that he feared his +ribs had given under that thrust. Before his eyes fire lashed down the +slit, searing him into temporary blindness. That flash was the last +thing he remembered as thick darkness closed in, shutting him into the +nothingness of unconsciousness. + +It hurt to breathe; he was slowly aware first of that pain and then the +fact that he _was_ breathing, that he had to endure the pain for the +sake of breath. His whole body was jarred into a dull torment as a +weight pressed upon his twisted legs. Then strong animal breath puffed +into his face. Shann lifted one hand by will power, touched thick fur, +felt the rasp of a tongue laid wetly across his fingers. + +Something close to terror engulfed him for a second or two when he knew +that he could not see! The black about him was colored by jagged flashes +of red which he somehow guessed were actually inside his eyes. He groped +through that fire-pierced darkness. An animal whimper from the throat of +the shaggy body pressed against him; he answered that movement. + +"Taggi?" + +The shove against him was almost enough to pin him once more to the +wall, a painful crush on his aching ribs, as the wolverine responded to +his name. That second nudge from the other side must be Togi's bid for +attention. + +But what had happened? Thorvald had hurled him back just after that +shadow had swung over the ledge. That shadow! Shann's wits quickened as +he tried to make sense of what he could remember. A Throg ship! Then +that fiery lash which had cut after them could only have resulted from +one of those energy bolts such as had wiped out the others of his kind +at the camp. But he was still alive----! + +"Thorvald?" He called through his personal darkness. When there was no +answer, Shann called again, more urgently. Then he hunched forward on +his hands and knees, pushing Taggi gently aside, running his hands over +projecting rocks, uneven flooring. + +His fingers touched what could only be cloth, before they met the warmth +of flesh. And he half threw himself against the supine body of the +Survey officer, groping awkwardly for heartbeat, for some sign that the +other was still living. + +"What----?" The one word came thickly, but Shann gave something close to a +sob of relief as he caught the faint mutter. He squatted back on his +heels, pressed his forearm against his aching eyes in a kind of fierce +will to see. + +Perhaps that pressure did relieve some of the blackout, for when he +blinked again, the complete dark and the fiery trails had faded to gray, +and he was sure he saw dimly a source of light to his left. + +The Throg ship had fired upon them. But the aliens could not have used +the full force of their weapon or neither of the Terrans would still be +alive. Which meant, Shann's thoughts began to make sense--sense which +brought apprehension--the Throgs probably intended to disable rather +than kill. They wanted prisoners, just as Thorvald had warned. + +How long did the Terrans have before the aliens would come to collect +them? There was no fit landing place hereabouts for their flyer. The +beetle-heads would have to set down at the edge of the desert land and +climb the mountains on foot. And the Throgs were not good at that. So, +the fugitives still had a measure of time. + +Time to do what? The country itself held them securely captive. That +drop to the southwest was one barrier. To retreat eastward would mean +running straight into the hands of the hunters. To descend again to the +river, their raft gone, was worse than useless. There was only this side +pocket in which they sheltered. And once the Throgs arrived, they could +scoop the Terrans out at their leisure, perhaps while stunned by a +controlling energy beam. + +"Taggi? Togi?" Shann was suddenly aware that he had not heard the +wolverines for some time. + +He was answered by a weirdly muffled call--from the south! Had the +animals found a new exit? Was this niche more than just a niche? A cave +of some length, or even a passage running back into the interior of the +peaks? With that faint hope spurring him, Shann bent again over +Thorvald, able now to make out the other's huddled form. Then he drew +the torch from the inner loop of his coat and pressed the lowest stud. + +His eyes smarted in answer to that light, watered until tears patterned +the grime and dust on his cheeks. But he could make out what lay before +them, a hole leading into the cliff face, the hole which might furnish +the door to escape. + +The Survey officer moved, levering himself up, his eyes screwed tightly +shut. + +"Lantee?" + +"Here. And there's a tunnel--right behind you. The wolverines went that +way...." + +To his surprise there was a thin ghost of a smile on Thorvald's usually +straight-lipped mouth. "And we'd better be away before visitors arrive?" + +So he, too, must have thought his way through the sequence of past +action to the same conclusion concerning the Throg movements. + +"Can you see, Lantee?" The question was painfully casual, but a note in +it, almost a reaching for reassurance, cut for the first time through +the wall which had stood between them from their chance meeting by the +wrecked ship. + +"Better now. I couldn't when I first came to," Shann answered quickly. + +Thorvald opened his eyes, but Shann guessed that he was as blind as he +himself had been, He caught at the officer's nearer hand, drawing it to +rest on his own belt. + +"Grab hold!" Shann was giving the orders now. "By the look of that +opening we had better try crawling. I've a torch on at low----" + +"Good enough." The other's fingers fumbled on the band about Shann's +slim waist until they gripped tight at his back. He started on into the +opening, drawing Thorvald by that hold with him. + +Luckily, they did not have to crawl far, for shortly past the entrance +the fault or vein they were following became a passage high enough for +even the tall Thorvald to travel without stooping. And then only a +little later he released his hold on Shann, reporting he could now see +well enough to manage on his own. + +The torch beam caught on a wall and awoke from there a glitter which +hurt their eyes--a green-gold cluster of crystals. Several feet on, +there was another flash of embedded crystals. Those might promise +priceless wealth, but neither Terran paused to examine them more closely +or touch their surfaces. From time to time Shann whistled. And always he +was answered by the wolverines, their calls coming from ahead. So the +men continued to hope that they were not walking into a trap from which +the Throgs could extract them. + +"Snap off your torch a moment!" Thorvald ordered. + +Shann obeyed. The subdued light vanished. Yet there was still light to +be seen--ahead and above. + +"Front door," Thorvald observed. "How do we get up?" + +The torch showed them that, a narrow ladder of ledges branching off when +the passage they followed took a turn to the left and east. Afterward +Shann remembered that climb with wonder that they had actually made it, +though their advance had been slow, passing the torch from one to +another to make sure of their footing. + +Shann was top man when a last spurt of effort enabled him to draw +himself out into the open, his hands raw, his nails broken and torn. He +sat there, stupefied with his own weariness, to stare about. + +Thorvald called impatiently, and Shann reached for the torch to hold it +for the officer. Then Thorvald crawled out; he, too, looked around in +dull surprise. + +On either side, peaks cut high into the amber of the sky. But this bowl +in which the men had found refuge was rich in growing things. Though the +trees were stunted, the grass grew almost as high here as it did on the +meadows of the lowlands. Quartering the pocket valley, galloped the +wolverines, expressing in that wild activity their delight in this +freedom. + +"Good campsite." + +Thorvald shook his head. "We can't stay here." + +And, to underline that gloomy prophesy, there issued from that hole +through which they had just come, muffled and broken, but still +threatening, the howl of the Throgs' hound. + +The Survey officer caught the torch from Shann's hold and knelt to flash +it into the interior of the passage. As the beam slowly circled that +opening, he held out his other arm, measuring the size of the aperture. + +"When that thing gets on a hot scent"--he snapped off the beam--"the +beetle-heads won't be able to control it. There will be no reason for +them to attempt to. Those hounds obey their first orders: kill--or +capture. And I think this one operates on 'capture.' So they'll loose it +to run ahead of their party." + +"And we move to knock it out?" Shann relied now on the other's +experience. + +Thorvald rose. "It would need a blaster on full power to finish off a +hound. No, we can't kill it. But we can make it a doorkeeper to our +advantage." He trotted down into the valley, Shann beside him without +understanding in the least, but aware that Thorvald did have some plan. +The officer bent, searched the ground, and began to pull from under the +loose surface dirt one of those nets of tough vines which they had used +for cords. He thrust a double handful of this hasty harvest into Shann's +hold with a single curt order: "Twist these together and make as thick a +rope as you can!" + +Shann twisted, discovering to his pleased surprise that under pressure +the vines exuded a sticky purple sap which not only coated his hands, +but also acted as an adhesive for the vines themselves so that his task +was not nearly as formidable as it had first seemed. With his force ax +Thorvald cut down two of the stunted trees and stripped them of +branches, wedging the poles into the rocks about the entrance of the +hole. + +They were working against time, but on Thorvald's part with practiced +efficiency. Twice more that cry of the hunter arose from the depths +behind them. As the westering sun, almost down now, shone into the +valley hollow Thorvald set up the frame of his trap. + +"We can't knock it out, any more than we can knock out a Throg. But a +beam from a stunner ought to slow it up long enough for this to work." + +Taggi burst out of the grass, approaching the hole with purpose. And +Togi was right at his heels. Both of them stared into that opening, +drooling a little, the same eagerness in their pose as they had +displayed when hunting. Shann remembered how that first howl of the +Throg hound had drawn both animals to the edge of the occupied camp in +spite of their marked distaste for its alien masters. + +"They're after it too." He told Thorvald what he had noted on the night +of their sortie. + +"Maybe they can keep it occupied," the other commented. "But we don't +want them to actually mix with it; that might be fatal." + +A clamor broke out in the interior passage. Taggi snarled, backing away +a few steps before he uttered his own war cry. + +"Ready!" Thorvald jumped to the net slung from the poles; Shann raised +his stunner. + +Togi underlined her mate's challenge with a series of snarls rising in +volume. There was a tearing, scrambling sound from within. Then Shann +fired at the jack-in-the-box appearance of a monstrous head, and +Thorvald released the deadfall. + +The thing squalled. Ropes beat, growing taut. The wolverines backed from +jaws which snapped fruitlessly. To Shann's relief the Terran animals +appeared content to bait the now imprisoned--or collared--horror, +without venturing to make any close attack. + +But he reckoned that too soon. Perhaps the stunner had slowed up the +hound's reflexes, for those jaws stilled with a last shattering snap, +the toad-lizard mask--a head which was against all nature as the Terrans +knew it--was quiet in the strangle leash of the rope, the rest of the +body serving as a cork to fill the exit hole. Taggi had been waiting +only for such a chance. He sprang, claws ready. And Togi went in after +her mate to share the battle. + + + + +7. UNWELCOME GUIDE + + +There was a small eruption of earth and stone as the hound came alive, +fighting to reach its tormentors. The resulting din was deafening. +Shann, avoiding by a hand's breadth a snap of jaws with power to crush +his leg into bone powder and mangled flesh, cuffed Togi across her nose +and buried his hands in the fur about Taggi's throat as he heaved the +male wolverine back from the struggling monster. He shouted orders, and +to his surprise Togi did obey, leaving him free to yank Taggi away. +Perhaps neither wolverine had expected the full fury of the hound. + +Though he suffered a slash across the back of one hand, delivered by the +over-excited Taggi, in the end Shann was able to get both animals away +from the hole, now corked so effectively by the slavering thing. +Thorvald was actually laughing as he watched his younger companion in +action. + +"This ought to slow up the beetles! If they haul their little doggie +back, it's apt to take out some of its rage on them, and I'd like to see +them dig around it." + +Considering that the monstrous head was swinging from side to side in a +collar of what seemed to be immovable rocks, Shann thought Thorvald +right. He went down on his knees beside the wolverines, soothing them +with hand and voice, trying to get them to obey his orders willingly. + +"Ha!" Thorvald brought his mud-stained hands together with a clap, the +sharp sound attracting the attention of both animals. + +Shann scrambled up, swung out his bleeding hand in the simple motion +which meant to hunt, being careful to signal down the valley westward. +Taggi gave a last reluctant growl at the hound, to be answered by one of +its ear-torturing howls, and then trotted off, Togi tagging behind. + +Thorvald caught Shann's slashed hand, inspecting the bleeding cut. From +the aid packet at his belt he brought out powder and a strip of +protecting plasta-flesh to cleanse and bind the wound. + +"You'll do," he commented. "But we'd better get out of here before full +dark." + +The small paradise of the valley was no safe campsite. It could not be +so long as that monstrosity on the hillside behind them roared and +howled its rage to the darkening sky. Trailing the wolverines, the men +caught up with the animals drinking from a small spring and thankfully +shared that water. Then they pushed on, not able to forget that +somewhere in the peaks about must lurk the Throg flyer ready to attack +on sight. + +Only darkness could not be held off by the will of men. Here in the open +there was no chance to use the torch. As long as they were within the +valley boundaries the phosphorescent bushes marked a path. But by the +coming of complete darkness they were once more out in a region of bare +rock. + +The wolverines had killed a brace of skitterers, consuming hide and soft +bones as well as the meager flesh which was not enough to satisfy their +hunger. However, to Shann's relief, they did not wander too far ahead. +And as the men stopped at last on a ledge where a fall of rock gave them +some limited shelter both animals crowded in against the humans, adding +the heat of their bodies to the slight comfort of that cramped resting +place. + +From time to time Shann was startled out of a troubled half sleep by the +howl of the hound. Luckily that sound never seemed any louder. If the +Throgs had caught up with their hunter, and certainly they must have +done so by now, they either could not, or would not free it from the +trap. Shann dozed again, untroubled by any dreams, to awake hearing the +shrieks of clak-claks. But when he studied the sky he was able to sight +none of the cliff-dwelling Warlockian bats. + +"More likely they are paying attention to our friend back in the +valley," Thorvald said dryly, rightly reading Shann's glance to the +clouds overhead. "Ought to keep them busy." + +Clak-claks were meat eaters, only they preferred their chosen prey weak +and easy to attack. The imprisoned hound would certainly attract their +kind. And those shrill cries now belling through the mountain heights +ought to draw everyone of their species within miles. + +"There it is!" Thorvald, pulling himself to his feet by a rock handhold, +gazed westward, his gaunt face eager. + +Shann, expecting no less than a cruising Throg ship, searched for cover +on their perch. Perhaps if they flattened themselves behind the fall of +stones, they might be able to escape attention. Yet Thorvald made no +move into hiding. And so Shann followed the line of the other's fixed +stare. + +Before and below them lay a maze of heights and valleys, sharp drops, +and saw-toothed rises. But on the far rim of that section of badlands +shone the green of a Warlockian sea rippling on to the only dimly seen +horizon. They were now within sight of their goal. + +Had they had one of the exploration sky-flitters from the overrun camp, +they could have walked its beach sands within the hour. Instead, they +fought their way through a Devil-designed country for the next two days. +Twice they had narrow escapes from the Throg ship--or ships--which +continued to sweep across the rugged line of the coast, and only a quick +dive to cover, wasting precious time cowering like trapped animals, +saved them from discovery. But at least the hound did not bay again on +the tangled trail they left, and they hoped that the trap and the +clak-claks had put that monster permanently out of service. + +On the third day they came down to one of those fiords which tongued +inland, fringing the coast. There had been no lack of hunting in the +narrow valleys through which they had threaded, so both men and +wolverines were well fed. Though animal fur wore better than the now +tattered uniforms of the men. + +"Now where?" Shann asked. + +Would he now learn the purpose driving Thorvald on to this coastland? +Certainly such broken country afforded good hiding, but no better +concealment than the mountains of the interior. + +The Survey officer turned slowly around on the shingle, studying the +heights behind them as well as the angle of the inlet where the wavelets +lapped almost at their battered boot tips. Opening his treasured map +case, he began a patient checking of landmarks against several of the +strips he carried. "We'll have to get on down to the true coast." + +Shann leaned against the trunk of a conical branched mountain tree, +pulling absently at the shreds of wine-colored bark being shed in +seasonal change. The chill they had known in the upper valleys was +succeeded here by a humid warmth. Spring was becoming a summer such as +this northern continent knew. Even the fresh wind, blowing in from the +outer sea, had already lost some of the bite they had felt two days +before when its salt-laden mistiness had first struck them. + +"Then what do we do there?" Shann persisted. + +Thorvald brought over the map, his black-rimmed nail tracing a route +down one of the fiords, slanting out to indicate a lace of islands +extending in a beaded line across the sea. + +"We head for these." + +To Shann that made no sense at all. Those islands ... why, they would +offer less chance of establishing a safe base than the broken land in +which they now stood. Even the survey scouts had given those spots of +sea-encircled earth the most cursory examination from the air. + +"Why?" he asked bluntly. So far he had followed orders because they had +for the most part made sense. But he was not giving obedience to +Thorvald as a matter of rank alone. + +"Because there is something out there, something which may make all the +difference now. Warlock isn't an empty world." + +Shann jerked free a long thong of loose bark, rolling it between his +fingers. Had Thorvald cracked? He knew that the officer had disagreed +with the findings of the team and had been an unconvinced minority of +one who had refused to subscribe to the report that Warlock had no +native intelligent life and therefore was ready and waiting for human +settlement because it was technically an empty world. But to continue to +cling to that belief without a single concrete proof was certainly a +sign of mental imbalance. + +And Thorvald was regarding him now with frowning impatience. You were +supposed to humor delusions, weren't you? Only, could you surrender and +humor a wild idea which might mean your death? If Thorvald wanted to go +island-hopping in chance of discovering what never had existed, Shann +need not accompany him. And if the officer tried to use force, well, +Shann was armed with a stunner, and had, he believed, more control over +the wolverines. Perhaps if he merely gave lip agreement to this +project.... Only he didn't believe, noting the light deep in those gray +eyes holding on him, that anybody could talk Thorvald out of this +particular obsession. + +"You don't believe me, do you?" The impatience arose hotly in that +demand. + +"Why shouldn't I?" Shann tried to temporize. "You've had a lot of +exploration experience; you should know about such things. I don't +pretend to be any authority." + +Thorvald refolded the map and placed it in the case. Then he pulled at +the sealing of his blouse, groping in an inner secret pocket. He +uncurled his fingers to display his treasure. + +On his palm lay a coin-shaped medallion, bone-white but possessing an +odd luster which bone would not normally show. And it was carved. Shann +put out a finger, though he had a strange reluctance to touch the +object. When he did he experienced a sensation close to the tingle of a +mild electric shock. And once he had made that contact, he was also +impelled to pick up that disk and examine it more closely. + +The carved pattern was very intricate and had been done with great +delicacy and skill, though the whorls, oddly shaped knobs, ribbon +tracings, made no connected design he could determine. After a moment or +two of study, Shann became aware that his eyes, following those twists +and twirls, were "fixed," that it required a distinct effort to look +away from the thing. Feeling some of that same alarm as he had known +when he first heard the wailing of the Throg hound, he let the disk fall +back into Thorvald's hold, even more disturbed when he discovered that +to relinquish his grasp required some exercise of will. + +"What is it?" + +Thorvald restored the coin to his hiding place. + +"You tell me. I can say this much, there is no listing for anything even +remotely akin to this in the Archives." + +Shann's eyes widened. He absently rubbed the fingers which had held the +bone coin--if it was a coin--back and forth across the torn front of his +blouse. That tingle ... did he still feel it? Or was his imagination at +work again? But an object not listed in the exhaustive Survey Archives +would mean some totally new civilization, a new stellar race. + +"It is definitely a created article," the Survey officer continued. "And +it was found on the beach of one of those sea islands." + +"Throg?" But Shann already knew the answer to that. + +"Throg work--_this_?" Thorvald was openly scornful. "Throgs have no +conception of such art. You must have seen their metal plates--those are +the beetle-heads' idea of beauty. Have those the slightest resemblance +to this?" + +"Then who made it?" + +"Either Warlock has--or once had--a native race advanced enough in a +well-established form of civilization to develop such a sophisticated +type of art, or there have been other visitors from space here before us +and the Throgs. And the latter possibility I don't believe----" + +"Why?" + +"Because this was carved of bone or an allied substance. We haven't been +quite able to identify it in the labs, but it is basically organic +material. It was found exposed to the weather and yet it is in perfect +condition, could have been carved any time within the past five years. +It has been handled, yes, but not roughly. And we have come across +evidences of no other star-cruising races or species save ourselves and +the Throgs. No, I say this was made here on Warlock, not too long ago, +and by intelligent beings of a very high grade of civilization." + +"But they would have cities," protested Shann. "We've been here for +months, explored all over this continent. We would have seen them or +some traces of them." + +"An old race, maybe," Thorvald mused, "a very old race, perhaps in +decline, reduced to a remnant in numbers with good reason to retire into +hiding. No, we've discovered no cities, no evidence of a native culture +past or present. But this--" he touched the front of his blouse--"was +found on the shore of an island. We may have been looking in the wrong +place for our natives." + +"The sea...." Shann glanced with new interest at the green water surging +in wavelets along the edge of the fiord. + +"Just so, the sea!" + +"But scouts have been here for more than a year, one team or another. +And nobody saw anything or found any traces." + +"All four of our base camps were set inland, our explorations along the +coast were mainly carried out by flitter, except for one party--the one +which found this. And there may be excellent local reasons why any +native never showed himself to us. For that matter, they may not be able +to exist on land at all, any more than we could live without artificial +aids in the sea." + +"Now----?" + +"Now we must make a real attempt to find them if they do exist anywhere +near here. A friendly native race could make all the difference in the +world in any struggle with the Throgs." + +"Then you did have more than the dreams to back you when you argued with +Fenniston!" Shann cut in. + +Thorvald's eyes were on him again. "When did you hear that, Lantee?" + +To his great embarrassment, Shann found himself flushing. "I heard you, +the day you left for Headquarters," he admitted, and then added in his +own defense, "Probably half the camp did, too." + +Thorvald's gathering frown flickered away. He gave a snort of laughter. +"Yes, I guess we did rather get to the bellowing point that morning. The +dreams--" he came back to the subject--"Yes, the dreams +were--are--important. We had their warning from the start. Lorry was the +First-In Scout who charted Warlock, and he is a good man. I guess I can +break secret now to tell you that his ship was equipped with a new +experimental device which recorded--well, you might call it an +"emanation"--a radiation so faint its source could not be traced. And it +registered whenever Lorry had one of those dreams. Unfortunately, the +machine was very new, very much in the untested stage, and its +performance when checked later in the lab was erratic enough so the +powers-that-be questioned all its readings. They produced a half dozen +answers to account for that tape, and Lorry only caught the recording as +long as he was on a big bay to the south. + +"Then when two check flights came in later, carrying perfected machines +and getting no recordings, it was all written off as a mistake in the +first experiment. A planet such as Warlock is too big a find to throw +away when there was no proof of occupancy. And the settlement boys +rushed matters right along." + +Shann recalled his own vivid dream of the skull-rock set in the lap of +water--this sea? And another small point fell into place to furnish the +beginning of a pattern. "I was asleep on the raft when I dreamed about +that skullmountain," he said slowly, wondering if he were making sense. + +Thorvald's head came up with the alert stance of Taggi on a strong game +scent. + +"Yes, on the raft you dreamed of a skull-rock. And I of a cavern with a +green veil. Both of us were on water--water which had an eventual +connection with the sea. Could water be a conductor? I wonder...." Once +again his hand went into his blouse. He crossed the strip of gravel +beach and dipped fingers into the water, letting the drops fall on the +carved disk he now held in his other hand. + +"What are you doing?" Shann could see no purpose in that. + +Thorvald did not answer. He had pressed wet hand to dry now, palm to +palm, the coin cupped tightly between them. He turned a quarter circle, +to face the still distant open sea. + +"That way." He spoke with a new odd tonelessness. + +Shann stared into the other's face. All the eager alertness of only a +moment earlier had been wiped away. Thorvald was no longer the man he +had known, but in some frightening way a husk, holding a quite different +personality. The younger Terran answered his fear with an attack from +the old days of rough in-fighting in the Dumps of Tyr. He brought his +right hand down hard in a sharp chop across the officer's wrists. The +bone coin spun to the sand and Thorvald stumbled, staggering forward a +step or two. Before he could recover balance Shann had stamped on the +medallion. + +Thorvald whirled, his stunner drawn with a speed for which Shann gave +him high marks. But the younger man's own weapon was already out and +ready. And he talked--fast. + +"That thing's dangerous! What did you do--what did it do to you?" + +His demand got through to a Thorvald who was himself again. + +"What was _I_ doing?" came a counter demand. + +"You were acting like a mind-controlled." + +Thorvald stared at him incredulously, then with a growing spark of +interest. + +"The minute you dripped water on that thing you changed," Shann +continued. + +Thorvald reholstered his stunner. "Yes," he mused, "why _did_ I want to +drip water on it? Something prompted me ..." He ran his still damp hand +up the angle of his jaw, across his forehead as if to relieve some pain +there. "What else did I do?" + +"Faced to the sea and said 'that way,'" Shann replied promptly. + +"And why did you move in to stop me?" + +Shann shrugged. "When I first touched that thing I felt a shock. And +I've seen mind-controlled----" He could have bitten his tongue for +betraying that. The world of the mind-controlled was very far from the +life Thorvald and his kind knew. + +"Very interesting," commented the other. "For one of so few years you +seem to have seen a lot, Lantee--and apparently remembered most of it. +But I would agree that you are right about this little plaything; it +carries a danger with it, being far less innocent than it looks." He +tore off one of the fluttering scraps of rag which now made up his +sleeve. "If you'll just remove your foot, we'll put it out of business +for now." + +He proceeded to wrap the disk well in his bit of cloth, taking care not +to touch it again with his bare fingers while he stowed it away. + +"I don't know what we have in this--a key to unlock a door, a trap to +catch the unwary. I can't guess how or why it works. But we can be +reasonably sure it's not just some carefree maiden's locket, nor the +equivalent of a credit to spend in the nearest bar. So it pointed me to +the sea, did it? Well, that much I am willing to allow. Maybe we'll be +able to return it to the owner, _after_ we learn who--or what--that +owner is." + +Shann gazed down at the green water, opaque, not to be pierced to the +depths by human sight. Anything might lurk there. Suddenly the Throgs +became normal when balanced against an unknown living in the murky +depths of an aquatic world. Another attack on the Throg-held camp could +be well preferred to such exploration as Thorvald had in mind. Yet Shann +did not voice any protest as the Survey officer faced again in the same +direction as the disk had pointed him moments before. + + + + +8. UTGARD + + +A wind from the west sprang up an hour before sunset, lashing waves +inland until their spray was a salt mist in the air, a mist to sodden +clothing, plaster hair to the skull, leaving a brine slime across the +skin. Yet Thorvald hunted no shelter, in spite of the promise in the +rough shoreline at their backs. The sand in which their boots slipped +and slid was coarse stuff, hardly finer than gravel, studded with nests +of drift--bone-white or grayed or pale lavender--smoothed and stored by +the seasons of low tides and high, seasonal storms and hurricanes. A +wild shore and a forbidding one, to arouse Shann's distrust, perhaps a +fitting goal for that disk's guiding. + +Shann had tasted loneliness in the mountains, experienced the strange +world of the river at night lighted by the wan radiance of glowing +shrubs and plants, forced the starkness of the heights. Yet there had +been through all that journeying a general resemblance to his own past +on other worlds. A tree was a tree, whether it bore purple foliage or +was red-veined. A rock was a rock, a river a river. They were equally +hard and wet on Warlock or Tyr. + +But now a veil he could not describe, even in his own thoughts, hung +between him and the sand over which he walked, between him and the sea +which sent spray to wet his torn clothing, between him and that wild +wrack of long-ago storms. He could put out his hand and touch sand, +drift, spray; yet they were a setting where something lay hidden behind +that setting--something watched, calculatingly, with intelligence, and +a set of emotions and values he did not, could not share. + +"... storm coming." Thorvald paused in the buffeting of wind and spray, +watching the fury of the tossing sea. The sun was still a pale smear +just above the horizon. And it gave light enough to make out that +trickle of islands melting out to obscurity. + +"Utgard----" + +"Utgard?" Shann repeated, the strange word holding no meaning for him. + +"Legend of my people." Thorvald smeared spray from his face with one +hand. "Utgard, those outermost islands where dwell the giants who are +the mortal enemies of the old gods." + +Those dark lumps, most of them bare rock, only a few crowned with +stunted vegetation, might well harbor _anything_, Shann decided, giants +or the malignant spirits of any race. Perhaps even the Throgs had their +tales of evil things in the night, beetle monsters to people wild, +unknown lands. He caught at Thorvald's arm and suggested a practical +course of action. + +"We'll need shelter before the storm strikes." To Shann's relief the +other nodded. + +They trailed back across the beach, their backs now to the sea and +Utgard. That harsh-sounding name did so well fit the line of islands and +islets, Shann repeated it to himself. Here the beach was narrow, a strip +of blue sand-gravel walled by wave-worn boulders. And from that barrier +of stones piled into a breastwork by chance, interwoven with bone-bare +drift, arose the first of the cliffs. Shann studied the terrain with +increasing uneasiness. To be caught between a sea, whipped inland by a +storm wind, and that cliff would be a risk he did not like to consider, +as ignorant of field lore as he was. They must locate some break nearer +than the fiord, down which they had come. And they must find it soon, +before the daylight was gone and the full fury of bad weather struck. + +In the end the wolverines discovered an exit, just as they had found the +passage through the mountain. Taggi nosed into a darker line down the +face of the cliff and disappeared, Togi duplicating that feat. Shann +trailed them, finding the opening a tight squeeze. + +He squirmed into dimness, his outstretched hands meeting a rough stone +surface sloping upward. After gaining a point about eight feet above the +beach he was able to look back and down through the seaward slit. Open +to the sky the crevice proved a doorway to a narrow valley, not unlike +those which housed the fiords, but provided with a thick growth of +vegetation well protected by the high walls. + +Working as a now well-rehearsed team, the men set up a shelter of +saplings and brush, the back to the slit through which wind was still +able to tear a way. Walled in by stone and knowing that no Throg flyer +would attempt to fly in the face of the coming storm, they dared make a +fire. The warmth was a comfort to their bodies, just as the light of the +flames, men's age-old hearth companion, was a comfort to the fugitives' +spirits. Those dancing spears of red, for Shann at least, burned away +that veil of other-worldliness which had enwrapped the beach, providing +in the night an illusion of the home he had never really known. + +But the wind and the weather did not keep truce very long. A wailing +blast around the upper peaks produced a caterwauling to equal the voices +of half a dozen Throg hounds. And in their poor shelter the Terrans not +only heard the thunderous boom of surf, but felt the vibration of that +beat pounding through the very ground on which they lay. The sea must +have long since covered the beach over which they had come and was now +trying its strength against the rock of the cliff barrier. They could +not talk to each other over that din, although shoulder touched +shoulder. + +The last flush of amber vanished from the sky with the speed of a +dropped curtain. Tonight no period of twilight divided night from day, +but their portion of Warlock was plunged abruptly into darkness. The +wolverines crowded into their small haven, whining deep in their +throats. Shann ran his hands along their furred bodies, trying to give +them a reassurance he himself did not feel. Never before when on stable +land had he been so aware of the unleashed terrors nature could exert, +the forces against which all mankind's controls were as nothing. + +Time could no longer be measured by any set of minutes or hours. There +was only darkness, the howling winds, and the salty rain which must be +in part the breath of the sea driven in upon them. The comforting fire +vanished, chill and dankness crept up to cramp their bodies, so that now +and again they were forced to their feet, to swing arms, stamp, drive +the blood into faster circulation. + +Later came a time when the wind died, no longer driving the rain +bullet-hard against and through their flimsy shelter. Then they slept in +the thick unconsciousness of exhaustion. + +A red-purple skull--and from its eye sockets the flying things--kept +coming ... going.... Shann trod on an unsteady foundation which dipped +under his weight as had the raft of the river voyage. He was drawing +nearer to that great head, could see now how waves curled about the +angle of the lower jaw, slapping inward between gaps of missing +teeth--which were really broken fangs of rock--as if the skull now and +then sucked reviving moisture from the water. The aperture marking the +nose was closer to a snout, and the hole was dark, dark as the empty eye +sockets. Yet that darkness was drawing him past any effort to escape he +could summon. And then that on which he rode so perilously was carried +forward by the waves, grated against the jawbone, while against his own +fighting will his hands arose above his head, reaching for a hold to +draw his shrinking body up the stark surface to that snout-passage. + +"Lantee!" A hand jerked him back, broke that compulsion--and the dream. +Shann opened his eyes with difficulty, his lashes seemed glued to his +cheeks. + +He might have been surveying a submerged world. Thin streamers of fog +twined up from the earth as if they grew from seeds planted by the +storm. But there was no wind, no sound from the peaks. Only under his +stiff body Shann could still feel that vibration which was the sea +battering against the cliff wall. + +Thorvald was crouched beside him, his hand still urgent on the younger +man's shoulder. The officer's face was drawn so finely that his +features, sharp under the tanned skin, were akin to the skull Shann +still half saw among the ascending pillars of fog. + +"Storm's over." + +Shann shivered as he sat up, hugging his arms to his chest, his tattered +uniform soggy under that pressure. He felt as if he would never be warm +again. When he moved sluggishly to the pit where they had kindled their +handful of fire the night before he realized that the wolverines were +missing. + +"Taggi----?" His voice sounded rusty in his own ears, as if some of the +moisture thick in the air about them had affected his vocal cords. + +"Hunting." Thorvald's answer was clipped. He was gathering a handful of +sticks from the back of their lean-to, where the protection of their own +bodies had kept that kindling dry. Shann snapped a length between his +hands, dropped it into the pit. + +When they did coax a blaze into being they stripped, wringing out their +clothing, propping it piece by steaming piece on sticks by the warmth of +the flames. The moist air bit at their bodies and they moved briskly, +striving to keep warm by exercise. Still the fog curled, undisturbed by +any shaft of sun. + +"Did you dream?" Thorvald asked abruptly. + +"Yes." Shann did not elaborate. Disturbing as his dream had been, the +feeling that it was not to be shared was also strong, as strong as some +order. + +"And so did I," Thorvald said bleakly. "You saw your skull-mountain?" + +"I was climbing it when you awoke me," Shann returned unwillingly. + +"And I was going through my green veil when Taggi took off and wakened +me. You are sure your skull exists?" + +"Yes." + +"And so am I that the cavern of the veil is somewhere on this world. But +why?" Thorvald stood up, the firelight marking plainly the lines between +his tanned arms, his brown face and throat, and the paleness of his lean +body. "Why do we dream those particular dreams?" + +Shann tested the dryness of a shirt. He had no reason to try and explain +the wherefore of those dreams, only was he certain that he would +sometime, somewhere, find that skull, and that when he did he would +climb to the doorway of the snout, pass behind to depths where the +flying things might nest--not because he wanted to make such an +expedition, but because he must. + +He drew his hands across his ribs, where pressure still brought an +aching reminder of the crushing force of the energy whip the Throgs had +wielded. There was no extra flesh on his body, yet muscles slid easily +under the skin, a darker skin than Thorvald's, deepening to a warm brown +where it had been weathered. His hair, unclipped now for a month, was +beginning to curl about his head in tight dark rings. Since he had +always been the youngest or the smallest or the weakest in the world of +the Dumps, of the Service, of the Team, Shann had very little personal +vanity. He did possess a different type of pride, born of his own +stubborn achievement in winning out over a long roster of +discouragements, failures, and adverse odds. + +"Why do we dream?" he repeated Thorvald's question. "No answer, sir." He +gave the traditional reply of the Service recruit. And a little to his +surprise Thorvald laughed with a tinge of real amusement. + +"Where do you come from, Lantee?" He asked as if he were honestly +interested. + +"Tyr." + +"Caldon mines." The Survey officer automatically matched planet to +product. "How did you come into Survey?" + +Shann drew on his shirt. "Signed on as casual labor," he returned with a +spark of defiance. Thorvald had joined the Service the right way as a +cadet, then a Team man, finally an officer, climbing that nice even +ladder with every rung ready for him when he was prepared to mount it. +What did his kind know about the labor Barracks where the dull-minded, +the failures, the petty criminals on the run, lived hard under a secret +social system of their own? It had taken every bit of physical endurance +and energy, every fraction of stubborn will Shann could summon, for him +to survive his first three months in those barracks--unbroken and still +eager to be Survey. He could still wonder at the unbelievable chance +which had rescued him from that merely because Training Center had +needed another odd hand to clean cages and feed troughs for the +experimental animals. + +And from the center he made a Team, because when working in a smaller +group his push and attention to duty had been noticed and had paid off. +Three years it had taken, but he _had_ made Team stature. Not that that +meant anything now. Shann pulled his boots on over the legs of rough +dried coveralls and glanced up, to find Thorvald watching him with a +new, questioning directness the younger man could not understand. + +Shann sealed his blouse and stood up, knowing the bite of hunger, dull +but persistent. It was a feeling he had had so many times in the past +that now he hardly gave it a second thought. + +"Supplies?" He brought the subject back to the present and the +practical. What did it matter why or how one Shann Lantee had come to +Warlock in the first place? + +"What we have left of the concentrates we had better keep for +emergencies." Thorvald made no move to open the very shrunken bag he had +brought from the scoutship. + +He walked over to a rocky outcrop and tugged loose a yellowish tuft of +plant, neither moss nor fungi but sharing attributes of both. Shann +recognized it without enthusiasm as one of the varieties of native +produce which could be safely digested by Terran stomachs. The stuff was +almost tasteless and possessed a rather unpleasant odor. Consumed in +bulk it would satisfy hunger for a time. Shann hoped that with the +wolverines to aid they could go back to hunting soon. + +However, Thorvald showed no desire to head inland where they might +expect to locate game. He disagreed with Shann's suggestion for tracking +Taggi and Togi when those two emerged from the underbrush obviously well +fed and contented after their early morning activity. + +When Shann protested with some heat, the other countered: "Didn't you +ever hear of fish, Lantee? After a storm such as last night's, we ought +to discover good pickings along the shore." + +But Shann was also sure that it was not only the thought of food which +drew Thorvald back to the sea. + +They crawled back through the bolt hole. The beach of gravel-sand had +vanished save for a narrow ribbon of land just at the foot of the +cliffs, where the water curled in white lace about the barrier of +boulders. There was no change in the dullness of the sky; no sun broke +through the thick lid of clouds. And the green of the sea was ashened to +gray which matched that overcast until one could strain one's eyes +trying to find the horizon, unable to mark the dividing line here +between air and water. + +Utgard was a broken necklace, the outermost island-beads lost, the inner +ones more isolated by the rise in water, more forbidding. Shann let out +a startled hiss of breath. + +The top of a near-by rock detached itself, drew up into a hunched thing +of armor-plated scales and heavy wide-jawed head. A tail cracked into +the air; a double tail split into equal forks for half-way down its +length. A leg lifted as a forefoot, webbed, clawed for a new hold. This +sea beast was the most formidable native thing he had sighted on +Warlock, approaching in its ugliness the hound of the Throgs. + +Breathing in labored gusts, the thing slapped its tail down on the +stones with a limpness which suggested that the raising of that +appendage had overtaxed its limited supply of strength. The head sank +forward, resting across one of the forelimbs. Then Shann sighted the +fearsome wound in the side just before one of the larger hind legs, a +ragged hole through which pumped with every one of those breaths a dark +purplish stream, licked away by the waves as it trickled slickly down +the rock. + +"What is that?" + +Thorvald shook his head. "Not on our records," he replied absently, +studying the dying creature with avid attention. "Must have been driven +in by the storm. This proves there is more in the sea then we knew!" + +Again the forked tail lifted and fell, the head, raised from the +forelimb, stretching up and back until the white underfolds of the +throat were exposed as the snout pointed almost vertically to the sky. +The jaws opened and from between them came a moaning whistle, a +complaint which was drowned out by the wash of the waves. Then, as if +that was the last effort, the webbed, clawed feet relaxed their grip of +the rock and the scaled body slid sidewise, out of their sight, into the +water. There was a feather of spume to mark the plunge and nothing else. + +Shann, watching to see if the reptile would surface again, sighted +another object, a rounded shape floating on the sea, bobbing lightly as +had their river raft. + +"Look!" + +Thorvald's gaze followed his pointing finger and then before Shann could +protest, the officer leaped outward from their perch on the cliff to the +broad rock where the scaled sea dweller had lain moments earlier. He +stood there, watching that drifting object with the closest attention, +as Shann made the same crossing in his wake. + +The drifting thing was oval, perhaps some six feet long and three wide, +the mid point rising in a curve from the water's edge. As far as Shann +could make out in the half-light the color was a reddish-brown, the +surface rough. And he thought by the way that it moved that it must be +flotsam of the storm, buoyant enough to ride the waves with close to +cork resiliency. To Shann's dismay his companion began to strip. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Get that." + +Shann surveyed the water about the rock. The forked tail had sunk just +there. Was the Survey officer mad enough to think he could swim +unmenaced through a sea which might be infested with more such +creatures? It seemed that he was, for Thorvald's white body arched out +in a dive. Shann waited, half crouched and tense, as though he could in +some way attack anything rising from the depths to strike at his +companion. + +A brown arm flashed above the surface. Thorvald swam strongly toward the +floating object. He reached it, his outstretched hand rasping across the +surface. And it responded so quickly to that touch that Shann guessed it +was even lighter and easier to handle than he had first thought. + +Thorvald headed back, herding the thing before him. And when he climbed +out on the rock, Shann was pulling up his trophy. They flipped the find +over, to discover it hollow. They had, in effect, a ready-made craft not +unlike a canoe with blunted bows. But the substance was surely organic: +Was it shell? Shann speculated, running his finger tips over the +irregular surface. + +The Survey officer dressed. "We have our boat," he commented. "Now for +Utgard--" + +Use this frail thing to dare the trip to the islands? But Shann did not +protest. If the officer determined to try such a voyage, he would do it. +And neither did the younger man doubt that he would accompany Thorvald. + + + + +9. ONE ALONE + + +Once again the beach was a wide expanse of shingle, drying fast under a +sun hotter than any Shann had yet known on Warlock. Summer had taken a +big leap forward. The Terrans worked in partial shade below a cliff +overhang, not only for the protection against the sun's rays, but also +as a precaution against any roving Throg air patrol. + +Under Thorvald's direction the curious shell dragged from the sea--if it +were a shell, and the texture as well as the general shape suggested +that--was equipped with a framework to act as a stabilizing outrigger. +What resulted was certainly an odd-looking craft, but one which obeyed +the paddles and rode the waves easily. + +In the full sunlight the outline of islands was +clear-cut--red-and-gray-rock above an aquamarine sea. The Terrans had +sighted no more of the sea monsters, and the major evidence of native +life along the shore was a new species of clak-claks, roosting in cliff +holes and scavenging along the sands, and various queer fish and shelled +things stranded in small tide pools--to the delight of the wolverines, +who fished eagerly up and down the beach, ready to investigate all +debris of the storm. + +"That should serve." Thorvald tightened the last lashing, straightening +up, his fists resting on his hips, to regard the craft with a measure of +pride. + +Shann was not quite so content. He had matched the Survey officer in +industry, but the need for haste still eluded him. So the ship--such as +it was--was ready. Now they would be off to explore Thorvald's Utgard. +But a small and nagging doubt inside the younger man restrained his +enthusiasm over such a voyage. Fork-tail had come out of the section of +ocean which they must navigate in this very crude transport. And Shann +had no desire to meet an uninjured and alert fork-tail in the latter's +own territory. + +"Which island do we head for?" Shann kept private his personal doubts of +their success. The outmost tip of that chain was only a distant smudge +lying low on the water. + +"The largest ... that one with trees." + +Shann whistled. Since the night of the storm the wolverines were again +more amenable to the very light discipline he tried to keep. Perhaps the +fury of that elemental burst had tightened the bond between men and +animals, both alien to this world. Now Taggi and his mate padded toward +him in answer to his summons. But would the wolverines trust the boat? +Shann dared not risk their swimming, nor would he agree to leaving them +behind. + +Thorvald had already stored their few provisions on board. And now Shann +steadied the craft against a rock which served them as a wharf, while he +coaxed Taggi gently. Though the wolverine protested, he at last +scrambled in, to hunch at the bottom of the shell, the picture of +apprehension. Togi took longer to make up her mind. And at length Shann +picked her up bodily, soothing her with quiet speech and stroking hands, +to put her beside her mate. + +The shell settled under the weight of the passengers, but Thorvald's +foresight concerning the use of the outrigger proved right, for the +craft was seaworthy. It answered readily to the dip of their paddles as +they headed in a curve, keeping the first of the islands between them +and the open sea for a breakwater. + +From the air, Thorvald's course would have been a crooked one, for he +wove back and forth between the scattered islands of the chain, using +their lee calm for the protection of the canoe. About two thirds of the +group were barren rock, inhabited only by clak-claks and creatures +closer to true Terran birds in that they wore a body plumage which +resembled feathers, though their heads were naked and leathery. And, +Shann noted, the clak-claks and the birds did not roost on the same +islands, each choosing their own particular home while the other species +did not invade that territory. + +The first large-sized island they approached was crowned by trees, but +it had no beach, no approach from sea level. Perhaps it might be +possible to climb to the top of the cliff walls. But Thorvald did not +suggest that they try it, heading on toward the next large outcrop of +land and rock. + +Here white lace patterned in a ring well out from the shore to mark a +circle of reefs. They nosed their way patiently around the outer +circumference of that threatening barrier, hunting the entrance to the +lagoon. Within, there were at least two beaches with climbable ascents +to the upper reaches inland. Though Shann noted that the vegetation +showing was certainly not luxuriant, the few trees within their range of +vision being pallid growths, rather like those they had sighted on the +fringe of the desert. Leather-headed flyers wheeled out over their +canoe, coasting on outspread wings to peer down at the Terran invaders +in a manner which suggested intelligent curiosity. + +A full flock gathered to escort them as they continued along the outer +line of the reef. Thorvald impatiently dug his paddle deeper. They had +explored more than half of the reef now without chancing on an entrance +channel. + +"Regular fence," Shann commented. One could begin to believe that the +barrier had been deliberately reared to frustrate visitors. Hot +sunshine, reflected back from the surface of the waves, burned their +exposed skin, so they dared not discard their ragged clothing. And the +wolverines were growing increasingly restless. Shann did not know how +much longer the animals would consent to their position as passengers +without raising active protest. + +"How about trying the next one?" he asked, knowing at the same time his +companion was not in any mood to accept such a suggestion with good +will. + +The officer made no reply, but continued to use his steer paddle in a +fashion which spelled out his stubborn determination to find a passage. +This was a personal thing now, between Ragnar Thorvald of the Terran +Survey and a wall of rock, and the man's will was as strongly rooted as +those water-washed stones. + +On the southwestern tip of the reef they discovered a possible opening. +Shann eyed the narrow space between two fanglike rocks dubiously. To him +that width of water lane seemed dangerously limited, the sudden slam of +a wave could dash them against either of those pillars, with disastrous +results, before they could move to save themselves. But Thorvald pointed +their blunt bow toward the passage with seeming confidence, and Shann +knew that as far as the officer was concerned, this was their door to +the lagoon. + +Thorvald might be stubborn, but he was not a fool. And his training and +skill in such maneuvers was proved when the canoe rode in a rising swell +in and by those rocks to gain the safety, in seconds, of the calm +lagoon. Shann sighed with relief, but ventured no comment. + +Now they must paddle back along the inner side of the reef to locate the +beaches, for fronting them on this side of the well-protected island +were cliffs as formidable as those which guarded the first of the chain +at which they had aimed. + +Shann glanced now and then over the side of the boat, hoping in these +shallows to sight the sea bed or some of the inhabitants of these +waters. But there was no piercing that green murk. Here and there +nodules of rock projected inches or feet above the surface, awash in the +wavelets, to be avoided by the voyagers. Shann's shoulders ached and +burned, his muscles were unaccustomed to the steady swing of the +paddles, and the fire of the sun stabbed easily through only two layers +of ragged cloth to his skin. He ran a dry tongue over dryer lips and +gazed eagerly ahead in search of the first of the beaches. + +What was so important about this island that Thorvald _had_ to make a +landing here? The officer's stories of a native race which they might +turn against the Throgs to their own advantage was thin, very thin +indeed. Especially now, as Shann weighed an unsupported theory against +that ache in his shoulders, the possibility of being marooned on the +inhospitable shore ahead, against the fifty probable dangers he could +total up with very little expenditure of effort. A small nagging doubt +of Thorvald's obsession began to grow in his mind. How could Shann even +be sure that that carved disk and Thorvald's hokus-pokus with it had +been on the level? On the other hand what motive would the officer have +for trying such an act just to impress Shann? + +The beach at last! As they headed the canoe in that direction the +wolverines nearly brought disaster on them. The animals' restlessness +became acute as they sighted and scented the shore and knew that they +were close. Taggi reared, plunged over the side of the craft, and Shann +had just time to fling his weight in the opposite direction as a +counterbalance when Togi followed. They splashed shoreward while +Thorvald swore fluently and Shann grabbed to save the precious supply +bag. In a shower of gravel the animals made land and humped well up on +the strand before pausing to shake themselves and splatter far and wide +the burden of moisture transported by their shaggy fur. + +Ashore, the canoe became a clumsy burden and, light as the craft was, +both of the men sweated to get it up on the beach without snagging the +outrigger against stones and brush. With the thought of a Throg patrol +in mind they worked swiftly to cover it. + +Taggi raised an egg-patterned snout from a hollow and licked at the +stippling of greenish yolk matting his fur. The wolverines had wasted no +time in sampling the contents of a wealth of nesting places beginning +just above the high-water mark, cupping two to four tough-shelled eggs +in each. Treading a path among those clutches, the Terrans climbed a +red-earthed slope toward the interior of the island. + +They found water, not the clear running of a mountain spring, but a +stalish pool in a stone-walled depression on the crest of a rise, +filled by the bounty of the rain. The warm liquid was brackish, but +satisfied in part their thirst, and they drank eagerly. + +The outer cliff wall of the island was just that, a wall, for there was +an inner slope to match the outer. And at the bottom of it a showing of +purple-green foliage where plants and stunted trees fought for living +space. But there was nothing else, though they quartered that growing +section with the care of men trying to locate an enemy outpost. + +That night they camped in the hollow, roasted eggs in a fire, and ate +the fishy-tasting contents because it was food, not because they +relished what they swallowed. Tonight no cloud bank hung overhead. A +man, gazing up, could see the stars. The stars and other things, for +over the distant shore of the mainland they sighted the cruising lights +of a Throg ship and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling +points to swing out toward their own hiding hole. + +"They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to them both. + +"The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him. "If they do not take a +prisoner to talk her in and allay suspicion, then--" he snapped his +fingers--"the Patrol will be on their tails, but quick!" + +So just by keeping out of Throg range, they were, in a way, still +fighting. Shann settled back, his tender shoulders resting against a +tree hole. He tried to count the number of days and nights lying behind +him now since that early morning when he had watched the Terran camp die +under the aliens' weapons. But one day faded into another so that he +could remember only action parts clearly--the attack on the grounded +scoutship, the sortie they had made in turn on the occupied camp, the +dust storm on the river, the escape from the Throg ship in the mountain +crevice, and their meeting with the hound. Then that storm which had +driven them to seek cover after their curious experience with the disk. +And now this day when they had safely reached the island. + +"Why this island?" he asked suddenly. + +"That carved piece was found here on the edge of this valley," Thorvald +returned matter-of-factly. + +"But today we found nothing at all----" + +"Yet this island supplies us with a starting point." + +A starting point for what? A detailed search of all the islands, great +and small, in the chain? And how did they dare continue to paddle openly +from one to the next with the Throgs sweeping the skies? They would have +provided an excellent target today as they combed that reef for an hour +or more. Wearily, Shann spread out his hands in the very faint light of +their tiny fire, poked with a finger tip at smarting points which would +have been blisters had those hands not known a toughening process in the +past. More paddling tomorrow? But that was tomorrow, and at least they +need not worry tonight about any Throg attack once they had doused the +fire, an action which was now being methodically attended to by +Thorvald. Shann pushed down on the bed of leaves he had heaped together. +The night was quiet. He could hear only the murmur of the sea, a lulling +croon of sound to make one sleep deep, perhaps dreamlessly. + +Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann turned over drowsily +in that welcome heat, stretching a little as might a cat at ease. Then +he really awoke under the press of memory, and the need for alertness +rode him once more. Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last +night's fire were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there +were no signs. + +Not only did he now lie alone, but he was possessed by the feeling that +he had not been deserted only momentarily, that Taggi, Togi and the +Survey officer were indeed gone. Shann sat up, got to his feet, +breathing faster, a prickle of uneasiness spreading in him, bringing him +to that inner slope, up it to the crest from which he could see that +beach where last night they had concealed the canoe. + +Those lengths of brush and tufts of grass they had used for a screen +were strewn about as if tossed in haste. And not too long before.... + +For the canoe was out in the calm waters within the reef, the paddle +blade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly in the sun. On the +shingle below, the wolverines prowled back and forth, whining in +bewilderment. + +"Thorvald----!" + +Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing the name +ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the man in the boat +did not turn his head; there was no change in the speed of that paddle +dip. + +Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding the last few +feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the water only by a +painful wrench of his body. + +"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright under the sun +did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore at his clothes and kicked +off his boots. + +He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters as he +plunged into the water, swam for the canoe edging along the reef, +plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest. Shann was not a +powerful swimmer. His first impetus gave him a good start, but after +that he had to fight for each foot he gained, and the fear grew in him +that the other would reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He +wasted no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath and +energy into the effort of overtaking the craft. + +And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along the log which +furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers tightened on the slimy +wood he looked up, and loosed that hold again in time perhaps to save +his life. + +For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an impromptu half +dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture, a picture so astounding +that he was a little dazed. + +Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle had to be put +to another use. Had Shann not released his hold on the log and gone +under water, that crudely fashioned piece of wood might, have broken his +skull. He saw only too clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an +ugly weapon, and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which +made it as inhuman as a Throg's. + +Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once more. The paddle +was back at the task for which it had been carved, the canoe was +underway again, its occupant paying no more attention to what lay behind +than if he _had_ successfully disposed of the man in the water. To +follow would be only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so +lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try any tricks such +as oversetting the canoe, not when Thorvald was an expert who could +easily finish off a fumbling opponent. + +Shann swam wearily to shore where the wolverines waited, unable yet to +make sense of that attack in the lagoon. What had happened to Thorvald? +What motive had led the other to leave Shann and the animals on this +island, the island Thorvald had called a starting point in his search +for the natives of Warlock? Or had every bit of that tall tale been +invented by the Survey officer for some obscure purpose of his own, +certainly no sane purpose? Against that logic Shann could only set the +carved disk, and he had only Thorvald's word that that had been +discovered here. + +He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and knees and lay, +winded and gasping. Taggi came to lick his face, nuzzle him, making a +small, bewildered whimpering. While above, the leather-headed birds +called and swooped, fearful and angry for their disturbed nesting place. +The Terran retched, coughed up water, and then sat up to look around. + +The spread of lagoon was bare. Thorvald must have rounded the south +point of land and be very close to the reef passage, perhaps through it +by now. Not stopping for his clothes, Shann started up the slope, +crawling part of the way on his hands and knees. + +He reached the crest again and got to his feet. The sun made an +eye-dazzling glitter of the waves. But under the shade of his hands +Shann saw the canoe again, beyond the reef, heading on out along the +island chain, not back to shore as he had expected. Thorvald was still +on the hunt, but for what? A reality which existed, or a dream in his +own disturbed brain? + +Shann sat down. He was very hungry, for that adventure in the lagoon had +sapped his strength. And he was a prisoner along with the wolverines, a +prisoner on an island which was half the size of the valley which held +the Survey camp. As far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water +was that tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated +by a sun such as the one now beating down on him. And between him and +the shore was the sea, a sea which harbored such creatures as the +fork-tail he had watched die. + +Thorvald was still steadily on course, not to the next island in the +chain, a small, bare knob, but to the one beyond that. He could have +been hurrying to a meeting. Where and with what? + +Shann got to his feet, started down to the beach once more, sure now +that the officer had no intention of returning, that he was again on his +own with only his wits and strength to keep him alive--alive and somehow +free of this water-washed prison. + + + + +10. A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER + + +Shann took up the piece of soft chalklike stone he had found and drew +another short white mark on the rust-red of a boulder well above tide +level. That made three such marks, three days since Thorvald had +marooned him. And he was no nearer the shore now than he had been on +that first morning! He sat where he was by the boulder, aware that he +should be up, trying to climb to the less accessible nests of the sea +birds. The prisoners, man and wolverines, had cleaned out all those they +had discovered on beach and cliffs. But at the thought of more eggs, +Shann's stomach knotted in pain and he began to retch. + +There had been no sign of Thorvald since Shann had watched him steer +between the two westward islands. And the younger Terran's faint hope +that the officer would return had died. On the shore a few feet away lay +his own pitiful attempt to solve the problem of escape. + +The force ax had vanished with Thorvald, along with all the rest of the +meager supplies which had been the officer's original contribution to +their joint equipment. Shann had used his knife on brush and small +trees, trying to put together some kind of a raft. But he had not been +able to discover here any of those vines necessary for binding, and his +best efforts had all come to grief when he tried them in a lagoon +launching. So far he had achieved no form of raft which would keep him +afloat longer than five minutes, let alone support three of them as far +as the next island. + +Shann pulled listlessly at the framework of his latest try, fully +disheartened. He tried not to think of the unescapable fact that the +water in the rain tank had sunk to only an inch or so of muddy scum. +Last night he had dug in the heart of the interior valley where the +rankness of the vegetation was a promise of moisture, to uncover damp +clay and then a brackish ooze. Far too little to satisfy both him and +the animals. + +There were surely fish somewhere in the lagoon. Shann wondered if the +raw flesh of sea dwellers could supply the water they needed. But +lacking net, line, or hooks, how did one fish? Yesterday, using his +stunner, he had brought down a bird, to discover the carcass so rank +even the wolverines, never dainty eaters, refused to gnaw it. + +The animals prowled the two beaches, and Shann guessed they hunted shell +dwellers, for at times they dug energetically in the gravel. Togi was +busied in this way now, the sand flowing from under her pumping legs, +her claws raking in good earnest. + +And it was Togi's excavation which brought Shann a first ray of hope. +Her excitement was so marked that he believed she was in quest of some +worthwhile game and he moved across to inspect the pit. A patch of +brown, which had been skimmed bare by one raking paw, made him shout. + +Taggi shambled downslope, going to work beside his mate with an +eagerness as open as hers. Shann hovered at the edge of the pit they +were rapidly enlarging. The brown patch was larger, disclosing itself as +a hump doming up from the gravel. The Terran did not need to run his +hands over that rough surface to recognize the nature of the find. This +was another shell such as had come floating in after the storm to form +the raw material of their canoe. + +However, as fast as the wolverines dug, they did not appear to make +correspondingly swift headway in uncovering their find as might +reasonably be expected. In fact, a witness could guess that the shell +was sinking at a pace only a fraction slower than the burrowers were +using to free it. Intrigued by that, Shann went back to the waterline, +secured one of the lengths he had been trying to weave into his +failures, and returned to use it as a makeshift shovel. + +Now, with three of them at the digging, the brown hump was uncovered, +and Shann pried down around its edge, trying to lever it up and over. To +his amazement, his tool was caught and held, nearly jerked from his +hands. To his retaliating tug the obstruction below-ground gave way, and +the Terran sprawled back, the length of wood coming clear, to show the +other end smashed and splintered as if it had been caught between +mashing gears. + +For the first time he understood that they were dealing not with an +empty shell casing buried by drift under this small beach, but with a +shell still inhabited by the Warlockian to whom it was a natural +covering, and that that inhabitant would fight to continue ownership. A +moment's examination of that splintered wood also suggested that the +shell's present wearer appeared well able to defend itself. + +Shann attempted to call off the wolverines, but they were out of control +now, digging frantically to get at this new prey. And he knew that if he +pulled them away by force, they were apt to turn those punishing claws +and snapping jaws on him. + +It was for their protection that he returned to digging, though he no +longer tried to pry up the shell. Taggi leaped to the top of that dome, +sweeping paws downward to clear its surface, while Togi prowled around +its circumference, pausing now and then to send dirt and gravel +spattering, but treading warily as might one alert for a sudden attack. + +They had the creature almost clear now, though the shell still rested +firmly on the ground, and they had no notion of what it might protect. +It was smaller, perhaps two thirds the size of the one which Thorvald +had fashioned into a seagoing craft. But it could provide them with +transportation to the mainland if Shann was able to repeat the feat of +turning it into an outrigger canoe. + +Taggi joined his mate on the ground and both wolverines padded about the +dome, obviously baffled. Now and then they assaulted the shell with a +testing paw. Claws raked and did not leave any marks but shallow +scratches. They could continue that forever, as far as Shann could see, +without solving the problem in the least. + +He sat back on his heels and studied the scene in detail. The excavation +holding the shelled creature was some three yards above the high-water +mark, with a few more feet separating that from the point where lazy +waves now washed the finer sand. Shann watched the slow inward slip of +those waves with growing interest. Where their combined efforts had +failed to win this odd battle, perhaps the sea itself could now be +pressed into service. + +Shann began his own excavation, a trough to lead from the waterline to +the pit occupied by the obstinate shell. Of course the thing living in +or under that covering might be only too familiar with salt water. But +it had placed its burrow, or hiding place, above the reach of the waves +and so might be disconcerted by the sudden appearance of water in its +bed. However, the scheme was worth trying, and he went to work doggedly, +wishing he could make the wolverines understand so they would help him. + +They still prowled about their captive, scrapping at the sand about the +shell casing. At least their efforts would keep the half-prisoner +occupied and prevent its escape. Shann put another piece of his raft to +work as a shovel, throwing up a shower of sand and gravel while sweat +dampened his tattered blouse and was salt and sticky on his arms and +face. + +He finished his trench, one which ran at an angle he hoped would feed +water into the pit rapidly once he knocked away the last barrier against +the waves. And, splashing out into the green water, he did just that. + +His calculations proved correct. Waves lapped, then flowed in a rapidly +thickening stream, puddling out about the shell as the wolverines drew +back, snarling. Shann lashed his knife fast to a stout length of +sapling, so equipping himself with a spear. He stood with it ready in +his hand, not knowing just what to expect. And when the answer to his +water attack came, the move was so sudden that in spite of his +preparation he was caught gaping. + +For the shell fairly erupted out of the mess of sand and water. A +complete fringe of jointed, clawed brown limbs churned in a +forward-and-upward dash. But the water worked to frustrate that charge. +For one of the pit walls crumbled, over-balancing the creature so that +the fore end of the shell lifted from the ground, the legs clawing +wildly at the air. + +Shann thrust with the spear, feeling the knife point go home so deeply +that he could not pull his improvised weapon free. A limb snapped claws +only inches away from his leg as he pushed down on the haft with all his +strength. That attack along with the initial upset of balance did the +job. The shell flopped over, its rounded hump now embedded in the watery +sand of the pit while the frantic struggles of the creature to right +itself only buried it the deeper. + +The Terran stared down upon a segmented under belly where legs were +paired in riblike formation. Shann could locate no head, no good target. +But he drew his stunner and beamed at either end of the oval, and then, +for good measure, in the middle, hoping in one of those three general +blasts to contact the thing's central nervous system. He was not to know +which of those shots did the trick, but the frantic wiggling of the legs +slowed and finally ended, as a clockwork toy might run down for want of +winding--and at last projected, at crooked angles, completely still. The +shell creature might not be dead, but it was tamed for now. + +Taggi had only been waiting for a good chance to do battle. He grabbed +one of those legs, worried it, and then leaped to tear at the under +body. Unlike the outer shell, this portion of the creature had no proper +armor and the wolverine plunged joyfully into the business of the kill, +his mate following suit. + +The process of butchery was a bloody, even beastly job, and Shann was +shaken before it was complete. But he kept at his labors, determined to +have that shell, his one chance of escape from the Island. The +wolverines feasted on the greenish-white flesh, but he could not bring +himself to sample it, climbing to the heights in search of eggs, and +making a happy find of a niche filled with the edible moss-fungi. + +By late afternoon he had the shell scooped fairly clean and the +wolverines had carried away for burial such portions as they had not +been able to consume at their first eating. Meanwhile, the +leather-headed birds had grown bold enough to snatch up the fragments he +tossed out on the water, struggling for that bounty against feeders +arising from the depths of the lagoon. + +At the coming of dusk Shann hauled the bloodstained, grisly trophy well +up the beach and wedged it among the rocks, determined not to lose his +treasure. Then he stripped and washed, first his clothing and then +himself, rubbing his hands and arms with sand until his skin was tender. +He was still exultant at his luck. The drift would supply him with +materials for an outrigger. One more day's work--or maybe two--and he +could leave. He wrung out his blouse and gazed toward the distant line +of the shore. Once he had his new canoe ready he would try to make the +trip back in the early morning while the mists were still on the sea. +That should give him cover against any Throg flight. + +That night Shann slept in the deep fog of bodily exhaustion. There were +no dreams, nothing but an unconsciousness which even a Throg attack +could not have pierced. He roused in the morning with an odd feeling of +guilt. The water hole he had scooped in the valley yielded him some +swallows tasting of earth, but he had almost forgotten the flavor of a +purer liquid. Munching on a fistful of moss, he hurried down to the +shore, half fearing to find the shell gone, his luck out once again. + +Not only was the shell where he had wedged it, but he had done better +than he knew when he had left it exposed in the night. Small things +scuttled away from it into hiding, and several birds arose--scavengers +had been busy lightening his unwelcome task for that morning. And +seeing how the clean-up process had gone, Shann had a second +inspiration. + +Pushing the thing down the beach, he sank it in the shallows with +several rocks to anchor it. Within a few seconds the shell was invaded +by a whole school of spiny-tailed fish, that ate greedily. Leaving his +find to their cleansing, Shann went back to prospect the pile of raft +material, choosing pieces which could serve for an outrigger frame. He +was handicapped as he had been all along by the absence of the vines one +could use for lashings. And he had reached the point of considering a +drastic sacrifice of his clothing to get the necessary strips when he +saw Taggi dragging behind him one of the jointed legs the wolverines had +put in storage the day before. + +Now and again Taggi laid his prize on the shingle, holding it firmly +pinned with his forepaws as he tried to worry loose a section of flesh. +But apparently that feat was beyond even his notable teeth, and at +length he left it lying there in disgust while he returned to a cache +for more palatable fare. Shann went to examine more closely the +triple-jointed limb. + +The casing was not as hard as horn or shell, he discovered upon testing; +it more resembled tough skin laid over bone. With a knife he tried to +loosen the skin--a tedious job requiring a great deal of patience, since +the tissue tore if pulled away too fast. But with care he acquired a few +thongs perhaps a foot long. Using two of these, he made a trial binding +of one stick to another, and experimented farther, soaking the whole +construction in sea water and then exposing it to the direct rays of the +sun. + +When he examined his test piece an hour later, the skin thongs had set +into place with such success that the one piece of wood might have been +firmly glued to the other. Shann shuffled his feet in a little dance of +triumph as he went on to the lagoon to inspect the water-logged shell. +The scavengers had done well. One scraping, two at the most, would have +the whole thing clean and ready to use. + +But that night Shann dreamed. No climbing of a skull-shaped mountain +this time. Instead, he was again on the beach, laboring under an +overwhelming compulsion, building something for an alien purpose he +could not understand. And he worked as hopelessly as a beaten slave, +knowing that what he made was to his own undoing. Yet he could not halt +the making, because just beyond the limit of his vision there stood a +dominant will which held him in bondage. + +And he awoke on the beach in the very early dawn, not knowing how he had +come there. His body was bathed in sweat, as it had been during his +day's labors under the sun, and his muscles ached with fatigue. + +But when he saw what lay at his feet he cringed. The framework +of the outrigger, close to completion the night before, was +dismantled--smashed. All those strips of hide he had so laboriously +culled were cut--into inch-long bits which could be of no service. + +Shann whirled, ran to the shell he had the night before pulled from the +water and stowed in safety. Its rounded dome was dulled where it had +been battered, but there was no break in the surface. He ran his hands +anxiously over the curve to make sure. Then, very slowly, he came back +to the mess of broken wood and snipped hide. And he was sure, only too +sure, of one thing. He, himself, had wrought that destruction. In his +dream he had built to satisfy the whim of an enemy; in reality he had +destroyed; and that was also, he believed, to satisfy an enemy. + +The dream was a part of it. But who or what could set a man dreaming and +so take over his body, make him in fact betray himself? But then, what +had made Thorvald maroon him here? For the first time, Shann guessed a +new, if wild, explanation for the officer's desertion. Dreams--and the +disk which had worked so strangely on Thorvald. Suppose everything the +other had surmised was the truth! Then that disk _had_ been found on +this very island, and here somewhere must lie a clue to the riddle. + +Shann licked his lips. Suppose that Thorvald had been sent away under +just such a strong compulsion as the one which had ruled Shann last +night? Why was he left behind if the other had been moved away to +protect some secret? Was it that Shann himself was wanted here, wanted +so much that when he at last found a means of escape he was set to +destroy it? That act might have been forced upon him for two reasons: to +keep him here, and to impress upon him how powerless he was. + +Powerless! A flicker of stubborn will stirred to respond to that implied +challenge. All right, the mysterious _they_ had made him do this. But +they had underrated him by letting him learn, almost contemptuously, of +their presence by that revelation. So warned, he was in a manner armed; +he could prepare to fight back. + +He squatted by the wreckage as he thought that through, turning over +broken pieces. And, Shann realized, he must present at the moment a +satisfactory picture of despondency to any spy. A spy, that was it! +Someone or something must have him under observation, or his activities +of the day before would not have been so summarily countered. And if +there was a spy, then there was his answer to the riddle. To trap the +trapper. Such action might be a project beyond his resources, but it was +his own counterattack. + +So now he had to play a role. Not only must he search the island for the +trace of his spy, but he must do it in such a fashion that his purpose +would not be plain to the enemy he suspected. The wolverines could help. +Shann arose, allowed his shoulders to droop, slouching to the slope with +all the air of a beaten man which he could assume, whistling for Taggi +and Togi. + +When they came, his exploration began. Ostensibly he was hunting for +lengths of drift or suitable growing saplings to take the place of those +he had destroyed under orders. But he kept a careful watch on the animal +pair, hoping by their reactions to pick up a clue to any hidden watcher. + +The larger of the two beaches marked the point where the Terrans had +first landed and where the shell thing had been killed. The smaller was +more of a narrow tongue thrust out into the lagoon, much of it choked +with sizable boulders. On earlier visits there Taggi and Togi had poked +into the hollows among these with their usual curiosity. But now both +animals remained upslope, showing no inclination to descend to the water +line. + +Shann caught hold of Taggi's scruff, pulling him along. The wolverine +twisted and whined, but he did not fight for freedom as he would have +upon scenting Throg. Not that the Terran had ever believed one of those +aliens was responsible for the happenings on the island. + +Taggi came down under Shann's urging, but he was plainly ill at ease. +And at last he snarled a warning when the man would have drawn him +closer to two rocks which met overhead in a crude semblance of an arch. +There was a stick of drift protruding from that hollow affording Shann a +legitimate excuse to venture closer. He dropped his hold on the +wolverines, stooped to gather in the length of wood, and at the same +time glanced into the pocket. + +Water lay just beyond, making this a doorway to the lagoon. The sun had +not yet penetrated into the shadow, if it ever did. Shann reached for +the wood, at the same time drawing his finger across the flat rock which +would furnish a steppingstone for anything using that door as an +entrance to the island. + +Wet! Which might mean his visitor had recently arrived, or else merely +that a splotch of spray had landed there not too long before. But in his +mind Shann was convinced that he had found the spy's entrance. Could he +turn it into a trap? He added a piece of drift to his bundle and picked +up two more before he returned to the cliff ahead. + +A trap.... He revolved in his mind all the traps he knew which could be +used here. He already had decided upon the bait--his own work. And if +his plans went through--and hope does not die easily--then this time he +would not waste his labor either. + +So he went back to the same job he had done the day before, making do +with skin strips he had considered second-best before, smoothing, +cutting. Only the trap occupied his mind, and close to sunset he knew +just what he was going to do and how. + +Though the Terran did not know the nature of the unseen opponent, he +thought he could guess two weaknesses which might deliver the other into +his hands. First, the enemy was entirely confident of success in this +venture. No being who was able to control Shann as completely and ably +as had been done the night before would credit any prey with the power +to strike back in force. + +Second, such a confident enemy would be unable to resist watching the +manipulation of a captive. The Terran was certain that his opponent +would be on the scene somewhere when he was led, dreaming, to destroy +his work once more. + +He might be wrong on both of those counts, but inwardly he didn't +believe so. However, he had to wait until the dark to set up his own +answer, one so simple he was certain the enemy would not suspect it at +all. + + + + +11. THE WITCH + + +There were patches of light in the inner valley marking the +phosphorescent plants, some creeping at ground level, others tall as +saplings. On other nights Shann had welcomed that wan radiance, but now +he lay in as relaxed a position as possible, marking each of those +potential betrayers as he tried to counterfeit the attitude of sleep and +at the same time plan out his route. + +He had purposely settled in a pool of shadow, the wolverines beside him. +And he thought that the bulk of the animal's bodies would cover his own +withdrawal when the time came to move. One arm lying limply across his +middle was in reality clutching to him an intricate arrangement of small +hide straps which he had made by sacrificing most of the remainder of +his painfully acquired thongs. The trap must be set in place soon! + +Now that he had charted a path to the crucial point avoiding all light +plants, Shann was ready to move. The Terran pressed his hand on Taggi's +head in the one imperative command the wolverine was apt to obey--the +order to stay where he was. + +Shann sat up and gave the same voiceless instruction to Togi. Then he +inched out of the hollow, a worm's progress to that narrow way along the +cliff top--the path which anyone or anything coming up from that sea +gate on the beach would have to pass in order to witness the shoreline +occupied by the half-built outrigger. + +So much of his plan was based upon luck and guesses, but those were all +Shann had. And as he worked at the stretching of his snare, the Terran's +heart pounded, and he tensed at every sound out of the night. Having +tested all the anchoring of his net, he tugged at a last knot, and then +crouched to listen not only with his ears, but with all his strength of +mind and body. + +Pound of waves, whistle of wind, the sleepy complaint of some bird.... A +regular splashing! One of the fish in the lagoon? Or what he awaited? +The Terran retreated as noiselessly as he had come, heading for the +hollow where he had bedded down. + +He reached there breathless, his heart pumping, his mouth dry as if he +had been racing. Taggi stirred and thrust a nose inquiringly against +Shann's arm. But the wolverine made no sound, as if he, too, realized +that some menace lay beyond the rim of the valley. Would that other come +up the path Shann had trapped? Or had he been wrong? Was the enemy +already stalking him from the other beach? The grip of his stunner was +slippery in his damp hand; he hated this waiting. + +The canoe ... his work on it had been a careless botching. Better to +have the job done right. Why, it was perfectly clear now how he had been +mistaken! His whole work plan was wrong; he could see the right way of +doing things laid out as clear as a blueprint in his mind. A picture in +his mind! + +Shann stood up and both wolverines moved uneasily, though neither made a +sound. A picture in his mind! But this time he wasn't asleep; he wasn't +dreaming a dream--to be used for his own defeat. Only (that other could +not know this) the pressure which had planted the idea of new work to be +done in his mind--an idea one part of him accepted as fact--had not +taken warning from his move. He was supposed to be under control; the +Terran was sure of that. All right, so he would play that part. He must +if he would entice the trapper into his trap. + +He holstered his stunner, walked out into the open, paying no heed now +to the patches of light through which he must pass on his way to the +path his own feet had already worn to the boat beach. As he went, Shann +tried to counterfeit what he believed would be the gait of a man under +compulsion. + +Now he was on the rim fronting the downslope, fighting against his +desire to turn and see for himself if anything had climbed behind. The +canoe was all wrong, a bad job which he must make better at once so that +in the morning he would be free of this island prison. + +The pressure of that other's will grew stronger. And the Terran read +into that the overconfidence which he believed would be part of the +enemy's character. The one who was sending him to destroy his own work +had no suspicion that the victim was not entirely malleable, ready to be +used as he himself would use a knife or a force ax. Shann strode +steadily downslope. With a small spurt of fear he knew that in a way +that unseen other was right; the pressure was taking over, even though +he was awake this time. The Terran tried to will his hand to his +stunner, but his fingers fell instead on the hilt of his knife. He drew +the blade as panic seethed in his head, chilling him from within. He had +underestimated the other's power.... + +And that panic flared into open fight, making him forget his careful +plans. Now he _must_ wrench free from this control. The knife was moving +to slash a hide lashing, directed by his hand, but not his will. + +A soundless gasp, a flash of dismay rocked him, but neither was his gasp +nor his dismay. That pressure snapped off; he was free. But the other +wasn't! Knife still in fist, Shann turned and ran upslope, his torch in +his other hand. He could see a shape now writhing, fighting, outlined +against a light bush. And, fearing that the stranger might win free and +disappear, the Terran spotlighted the captive in the beam, reckless of +Throg or enemy reinforcements. + +The other crouched, plainly startled by the sudden burst of light. Shann +stopped abruptly. He had not really built up any mental picture of what +he had expected to find in his snare, but this prisoner was as weirdly +alien to him as a Throg. The light on the torch was reflected off a +skin which glittered as if scaled, glittered with the brilliance of +jewels in bands and coils of color spreading from the throat down the +chest, spiraling about upper arms, around waist and thighs, as if the +stranger wore a treasure house of gems as part of a living body. Except +for those patterned loops, coils, and bands, the body had no clothing, +though a belt about the slender middle supported a pair of pouches and +some odd implements held in loops. + +Roughly the figure was more humanoid than the Throgs. The upper limbs +were not too unlike Shann's arms, though the hands had four digits of +equal length instead of five. But the features were nonhuman, closer to +saurian in contour. It had large eyes, blazing yellow in the dazzle of +the flash, with vertical slits of green for pupils. A nose united with +the jaw to make a snout, and above the domed forehead a sharp V-point of +raised spiky growth extended back and down until behind the shoulder +blades it widened and expanded to resemble a pair of wings. + +The captive no longer struggled, but sat quietly in the tangle of the +snare Shann had set, watching the Terran steadily as if there were no +difficulty in seeing through the brilliance of the beam to the man who +held it. And, oddly enough, Shann experienced no repulsion toward its +reptilian appearance as he had upon first sighting the beetle-Throg. On +impulse he put down his torch on a rock and walked into the light to +face squarely the thing out of the sea. + +Still eying Shann, the captive raised one limb and gave an absent-minded +tug to the belt it wore. Shann, noting that gesture, was struck by a +wild surmise, leading him to study the prisoner more narrowly. Allowing +for the alien structure of bone, the nonhuman skin; this creature was +delicate, graceful, in its way beautiful, with a fragility of limb which +backed up his suspicions. Moved by no pressure from the other, but by +his own will and sense of fitness, Shann stooped to cut the control line +of his snare. + +The captive continued to watch as Shann sheathed his blade and then +held out his hand. Yellow eyes, never blinking since his initial +appearance, regarded him, not with any trace of fear or dismay, but with +a calm measurement which was curiosity based upon a strong belief in its +own superiority. He did not know how he knew, but Shann was certain that +the creature out of the sea was still entirely confident, that it made +no fight because it did not conceive of any possible danger from him. +And again, oddly enough, he was not irritated by this unconscious +arrogance; rather he was intrigued and amused. + +"Friends?" Shann used the basic galactic speech devised by Survey and +the Free Traders, semantics which depended upon the proper inflection of +voice and tone to project meaning when the words were foreign. + +The other made no sound, and the Terran began to wonder if his captive +had any audible form of speech. He withdrew a step or two then pulled at +the snare, drawing the cords away from the creature's slender ankles. +Rolling the thongs into a ball, he tossed the crude net back over his +shoulder. + +"Friends?" he repeated again, showing his empty hands, trying to give +that one word the proper inflection, hoping the other could read his +peaceful intent in his features if not by his speech. + +In one lithe, flowing movement the alien arose. Fully erect, the +Warlockian had a frail appearance. Shann, for his breed, was not tall. +But the native was still smaller, not more than five feet, that stiff V +of head crest just topping Shann's shoulder. Whether any of those +fittings at its belt could be a weapon the Terran had no way of telling. +However, the other made no move to draw any of them. + +Instead, one of the four-digit hands came up. Shann felt the feather +touch of strange finger tips on his chin, across his lips, up his cheek, +to at last press firmly on his forehead at a spot just between the +eyebrows. What followed was communication of a sort, not in words or in +any describable flow of thoughts. There was no feeling of enmity--at +least nothing strong enough to be called that. Curiosity, yes, and then +a growing doubt, not of the Terran himself, but of the other's +preconceived ideas concerning him. Shann was other than the native had +judged him, and the stranger was disturbed, that self-confidence a +little ruffled. And also Shann was right in his guess. He smiled, his +amusement growing--not aimed at his companion on this cliff top, but at +himself. For he was dealing with a woman, a very young woman, and +someone as fully feminine in her way as any human girl could be. + +"Friends?" he asked for the third time. + +But the other still exuded a wariness, a wariness mixed with surprise. +And the tenuous message which passed between them then astounded Shann. +To this Warlockian out of the night he was not following the proper +pattern of male behaviour at all; he should have been in awe of the +other merely because of her sex. A diffidence rather than an assumption +of equality should have colored his response, judged by her standards. +At first, he caught a flash of anger at this preposterous attitude of +his; then her curiosity won, but there was still no reply to his +question. + +The finger tips no longer made contact between them. Stepping back, her +hands now reached for one of the pouches at her belt. Shann watched that +movement carefully. And because he did not trust her too far, he +whistled. + +Her head came up. She might be dumb, but plainly she was not deaf. And +she gazed down into the hollow as the wolverines answered his summons +with growls. Her profile reminded Shann of something for an instant; but +it should have been golden-yellow instead of silver with two jeweled +patterns ringing the snout. Yes, that small plaque he had seen in the +cabin of one of the ship's officers. A very old Terran legend--"Dragon," +the officer had named the creature. Only that one had possessed a +serpent's body, a lizard's legs and wings. + +Shann gave a sudden start, aware his thoughts had made him careless, or +had she in some way led him into that bypath of memory for her own +purposes? Because now she held some object in the curve of her curled +fingers, regarding him with those unblinking yellow eyes. Eyes ... +eyes.... Shann dimly heard the alarm cry of the wolverines. He tried to +snap draw his stunner, but it was too late. + +There was a haze about him hiding the rocks, the island valley with its +radiant plants, the night sky, the bright beam of the torch. Now he +moved through that haze as one walks through a dream approaching +nightmare, striding with an effort as if wading through a deterring +flood. Sound, sight--one after another those senses were taken from him. +Desperately Shann held to one thing, his own sense of identity. He was +Shann Lantee, Terran breed, out of Tyr, of the Survey Service. Some part +of him repeated those facts with vast urgency against an almost +overwhelming force which strove to defeat that awareness of self, making +him nothing but a tool--or a weapon--for another's use. + +The Terran fought, soundlessly but fiercely, on a battleground which was +within him, knowing in a detached way that his body obeyed another's +commands. + +"I am Shann--" he cried without audible speech. "I am myself. I have two +hands, two legs.... I think for myself! I am a _man_----" + +And to that came an answer of sorts, a blow of will striking at his +resistance, a will which struggled to drown him before ebbing, leaving +behind it a faint suggestion of bewilderment, of a dawn of concern. + +"I am a _man_!" he hurled that assertion as he might have thrust deep +with one of the crude spears he had used against the Throgs. For against +what he faced now his weapons were as crude as spears fronting blasters. +"I am Shann Lantee, Terran, man...." Those were facts; no haze could +sweep them from his mind or take away that heritage. + +And again there was the lightening of the pressure, the slight recoil, +which could only be a prelude to another assault upon his last +stronghold. He clutched his three facts to him as a shield, groping for +others which might have afforded a weapon of rebuttal. + +Dreams, these Warlockians dealt in and through dreams. And the opposite +of dreams are facts! His name, his breed, his sex--these were facts. +And Warlock itself was a fact. The earth under his boots was a fact. The +water which washed around the island was a fact. The air he breathed was +a fact. Flesh, blood, bones--facts, all of them. Now he was a struggling +identity imprisoned in a rebel body. But that body was real. He tried to +feel it. Blood pumped from his heart, his lungs filled and emptied; he +struggled to feel those processes. + +With a terrifying shock, the envelope which had held him vanished. Shann +was choking, struggling in water. He flailed out with his arms, kicked +his legs. One hand grated painfully against stone. Hardly knowing what +he did, but fighting for his life, Shann caught at that rock and drew +his head out of water. Coughing and gasping, half drowned, he was weak +with the panic of his close brush with death. + +For a long moment he could only cling to the rock which had saved him, +retching and dazed, as the water washed about his body, a current +tugging at his trailing legs. There was light of a sort here, patches of +green which glowed with the same subdued light as the bushes of the +outer world, for he was no longer under the night sky. A rock-roof was +but inches over his head; he must be in some cave or tunnel under the +surface of the sea. Again a gust of panic shook him as he felt trapped. + +The water continued to pull at Shann, and in his weakened condition it +was a temptation to yield to that pull; the more he fought it the more +he was exhausted. At last the Terran turned on his back, trying to float +with the stream, sure he could no longer battle it. + +Luckily those few inches of space above the surface of the water +continued, and he had air to breathe. But the fear of that ending, of +being swept under the surface, chewed at his nerves. And his bodily +danger burned away the last of the spell which had held him, brought him +into this place, wherever it might be. + +Was it only his heightened imagination, or had the current grown +swifter? Shann tried to gauge the speed of his passage by the way the +patches of green light slipped by. Now he turned and began to swim +slowly, feeling as if his arms were leaden weights, his ribs a cage to +bind his aching lungs. + +Another patch of light ... larger ... spreading across the roof over +head. Then, he was out! Out of the tunnel into a cavern so vast that its +arching roof was like a skydome far above his head. But here the patches +of light were brighter, and they were arranged in odd groups which had a +familiar look to them. + +Only, better than freedom overhead, there was a shore not too distant. +Shann swam for that haven, summoning up the last rags of his strength, +knowing that if he could not reach it very soon he was finished. Somehow +he made it and lay gasping, his cheek resting on sand finer than any of +the outer world, his fingers digging into it for purchase to drag his +body on. But when he collapsed, his legs were still awash in water. + +No footfall could be heard on that sand. But he knew that he was no +longer alone. He braced his hands and with painful effort levered up his +body. Somehow he made it to his knees, but he could not stand. Instead +he half tumbled back, so that he faced them from a sitting position. + +_Them_--there were three of them--the dragon-headed ones with their +slender, jewel-set bodies glittering even in this subdued light, their +yellow eyes fastened on him with a remoteness which did not approach any +human emotion, save perhaps that of a cold and limited wonder. But +behind them came a fourth, one he knew by the patterns on her body. + +Shann clasped his hands about his knees to still the trembling of his +body, and eyed them back with all the defiance he could muster. Nor did +he doubt that he had been brought here, his body as captive to their +will, as had been that of their spy or messenger in his crude snare on +the island. + +"Well, you have me," he said hoarsely. "Now what?" + +His words boomed weirdly out over the water, were echoed from the dim +outer reaches of the cavern. There was no answer. They merely stood +watching him. Shann stiffened, determined to hold to his defiance and +to that identity which he now knew was his weapon against the powers +they used. + +The one who had somehow drawn him there moved at last, circling around +the other three with a suggestion of diffidence in her manner. Shann +jerked back his head as her hand stretched to touch his face. And then, +guessing that she sought her peculiar form of communication, he +submitted to her finger tips, though now his skin crawled under that +light but firm pressure and he shrank from the contract. + +There were no sensations this time. To his amazement a concrete inquiry +shaped itself in his brain, as clear as if the question had been asked +aloud: "Who are you?" + +"Shann...." he began vocally, and then turned words into thoughts. +"Shann Lantee, Terran, man." He made his answer the same which had kept +him from succumbing to their complete domination. + +"Name--Shann Lantee, man--yes." The other accepted those, "Terran?" That +was a question. + +Did these people have any notion of space travel? Could they understand +the concept of another world holding intelligent beings? + +"I come from another world...." He tried to make a clean-cut picture in +his mind--a globe in space, a ship blasting free.... + +"Look!" The fingers still rested between his eyebrows, but with her +other hand the Warlockian was pointing up to the dome of the cavern. + +Shann followed her order. He studied those patches of light which had +seemed so vaguely familiar at his first sighting, studying them closely +to know them for what they were. A star map! A map of the heavens as +they could be seen from the outer crust of Warlock. + +"Yes, I come from the stars," he answered, booming with his voice. + +The fingers dropped from his forehead; the scaled head swung around to +exchange glances, which were perhaps some unheard communication with +the other three. Then the hand was extended again. + +"Come!" + +Fingers fell from his head to his right wrist, closing there with +surprising strength; and some of that strength together with a new +energy flowed from them into him, so that he found and kept his feet as +the other drew him up. + + + + +12. THE VEIL OF ILLUSION + + +Perhaps his status was that of a prisoner, but Shann was too tired to +press for an explanation. He was content to be left alone in the unusual +circular, but roofless, room of the structure to which they had brought +him. There was a thick mat-like pallet in one corner, short for the +length of his body, but softer than any bed he had rested on since he +had left the Terran camp before the coming of the Throgs. Above him +glimmered those patches of light symbolizing the lost stars. He blinked +at them until they all ran together in bands like the jeweled coils on +Warlockian bodies; then he slept--dreamlessly. + +The Terran awoke with all his senses alert; some silent alarm might have +triggered that instant awareness of himself and his surroundings. There +had been no change in the star pattern still overhead; no one had +entered the round chamber. Shann rolled over on his mat bed, conscious +that all his aches had vanished. Just as his mind was clearly active, so +did his body also respond effortlessly to his demands. He was not aware +of any hunger or thirst, though a considerable length of time must have +passed since he had made his mysteriously contrived exit from the outer +world. + +In spite of the humidity of the air, his ragged garments had dried on +his body. Shann got to his feet, trying to order the sorry remnants of +his uniform, eager to be on the move. Though to where and for what +purpose he could not have answered. + +The door through which he had entered remained closed, refusing to +yield to his push. Shann stepped back, eyeing the distance to the top of +the partition between the roofless rooms. The walls were smooth with the +gloss of a sea shell's interior, but the exuberant confidence which had +been with him since his awakening refused to accept such a minor +obstacle. + +He made two test leaps, both times his fingers striking the wall well +below the top of the partition. Shann gathered himself together as might +a cat and tried the third time, putting into that effort every last +ounce of strength, determination and will. He made it, though his arms +jerked as the weight of his body hung from his hands. Then a scramble, a +knee hooked over the top, and he was perched on the wall, able to study +the rest of the building. + +In shape, the structure was unlike anything he had seen on his home +world or reproduced in any of the tri-dee records of Survey accessible +to him. The rooms were either circular or oval, each separated from the +next by a short passage, so that the overall impression was that of ten +strings of beads radiating from a central knot of one large chamber, all +with the uniform nacre walls and a limited amount of furnishings. + +As he balanced on the narrow perch, Shann could sight no other movement +in the nearest line of rooms, those connected by corridors with his own. +He got to his feet to walk the tightrope of the upper walls toward that +inner chamber which was the heart of the Warlockian--palace? town? +apartment dwelling? At least it was the only structure on the island, +for he could see the outer rim of that smooth soft sand ringing it +about. The island itself was curiously symmetrical, a perfect oval, too +perfect to be a natural outcrop of sand and rock. + +There was no day or night here in the cavern. The light from the roof +patches remained constantly the same, and that flow was abetted within +the building by a soft radiation from the walls. Shann reached the next +room in line, hunkering down to see within it. To all appearances the +chamber was exactly the same as the one he had just left; there were the +same unadorned walls, a thick mat bed against the far side, and no +indication whether it was in use or had not been entered for days. + +He was on the next section of corridor wall when he caught that faint +taint in the air, the very familiar scent of wolverines. Now it provided +Shann with a guide as well as a promise of allies. + +The next bead-room gave him what he wanted. Below him Taggi and Togi +paced back and forth. They had already torn to bits the sleeping mat +which had been the chamber's single furnishing, and their temper was +none too certain. As Shann squatted well above their range of vision, +Taggi reared against the opposite wall, his claws finding no hold on the +smooth coating of its surface. They were as competently imprisoned as if +they had been dropped into a huge fishbowl, and they were not taking to +it kindly. + +How had the animals been brought here? Down that water tunnel by the +same unknown method he himself had been transported until that almost +disastrous awakening in the center of the flood? The Terran did not +doubt that the doors of the room were as securely fastened as those of +his own further down the corridor. For the moment the wolverines were +safe; he could not free them. And he was growing increasingly certain +that if he found any of his native jailers, it would be at the center of +that wheel of rooms and corridors. + +Shann made no attempt to attract the animals' attention, but kept on +along his tightrope path. He passed two more rooms, both empty, both +differing in no way from those he had already inspected; and then he +came to the central chamber, four times as big as any of the rest and +with a much brighter wall light. + +The Terran crouched, one hand on the surface of the partition top as an +additional balance, the other gripping his stunner. For some reason his +captors had not disarmed him. Perhaps they believed they had no +necessity to fear his off-world weapon. + +"Have you grown wings?" + +The words formed in his brain, bringing with them a sense of calm +amusement to reduce all his bold exploration to the level of a child's +first staggering steps. Shann fought his first answering flare of pure +irritation. To lose even a fraction of control was to open a door for +them. He remained where he was as if he had never "heard" that question, +surveying the room below with all the impassiveness he could summon. + +Here the walls were no smooth barrier, but honeycombed with niches in a +regular pattern. And in each of the niches rested a polished skull, a +nonhuman skull. Only the outlines of those ranked bones were familiar; +for just so had looked the great purple-red rock where the wheeling +flyers issued from the eye sockets. A rock island had been fashioned +into a skull--by design or nature? + +And upon closer observation the Terran could see that there was a +difference among these ranked skulls, a mutation of coloring from row to +row, a softening of outline, perhaps by the wearing of time. + +There was also a table of dull black, rising from the flooring on legs +which were not more than a very few inches high, so that from his +present perch the board appeared to rest on the pavement itself. Behind +the table in a row, as shopkeepers might await a customer, three of the +Warlockians, seated cross-legged on mats, their hands folded primly +before them. And at the side a fourth, the one whom he had trapped on +the island. + +Not one of those spiked heads rose to view him. But they knew that he +was there; perhaps they had known the very instant he had left the room +or cell in which they had shut him. And they were so very sure of +themselves.... Once again Shann subdued a spark of anger. That same +patience with its core of stubborn determination which had brought him +to Warlock backed his moves now. The Terran swung down, landing lightly +on his feet, facing the three behind the table, towering well over them +as he stood erect, yet gaining no sense of satisfaction from that merely +physical fact. + +"You have come." The words sounded as if they might be a part of some +polite formula. So he replied in kind and aloud. + +"I have come." Without waiting for their bidding, he dropped into the +same cross-legged pose, fronting them now on a more equal level across +their dead black table. + +"And why have you come, star voyager?" That thought seemed to be a +concentrated effort from all three rather than any individual +questioning. + +"And why did you bring me?" He hesitated, trying to think of some polite +form of address. Those he knew which were appropriate to their sex on +other worlds seemed incongruous when applied to the bizarre figures now +facing him. "Wise ones," he finally chose. + +Those unblinking yellow eyes conveyed no emotion; certainly his human +gaze could detect no change of expression on their nonhuman faces. + +"You are a male." + +"I am," he agreed, not seeing just what that fact had to do with either +diplomatic fencing or his experiences of the immediate past. + +"Where then is your thoughtguider?" + +Shann puzzled over that conception, guessed at its meaning. + +"I am my own thoughtguider," he returned stoutly, with all the +conviction he could manage to put into that reply. + +Again he met a yellow-green stare, but he sensed a change in them. Some +of their complacency had ebbed; his reply had been as a stone dropped +into a quiet pool, sending ripples out afar to disturb the customary +mirror surface of smooth serenity. + +"The star-born one speaks the truth!" That came from the Warlockian who +had been his first contact. + +"It would appear that he does." The agreement was measured, and Shann +knew that he was meant to "overhear" that. + +"It would seem, Readers-of-the-rods"--the middle one of the triumvirate +at the table spoke now--"that all living things do not follow our +pattern of life. But that is possible. A male who thinks for himself ... +unguided, who dreams perhaps! Or who can understand the truth of +dreaming! Strange indeed must be his people. Sharers-of-my-visions, let +us consult the Old Ones concerning this." For the first time one of +those crested heads moved, the gaze shifted from Shann to the ranks of +the skulls, pausing at one. + +Shann, ready for any wonder, did not betray his amazement when the ivory +inhabitant of that particular niche moved, lifted from its small +compartment, and drifted buoyantly through the air to settle at the +right-hand corner of the table. Only when it had safely grounded did the +eyes of the Warlockian move to another niche on the other side of the +curving room, this time bringing up from close to floor level a +time-darkened skull to occupy the left corner of the table. + +There was a third shifting from the weird storehouse, a last skull to +place between the other two. And now the youngest native arose from her +mat to bring a bowl of green crystal. One of her seniors took it in both +hands, making a gesture of offering it to all three skulls, and then +gazed over its rim at the Terran. + +"We shall cast the rods, man-who-thinks-without-a-guide. Perhaps then we +shall see how strong _your_ dreams are--to be bent to your using, or to +break you for your impudence." + +Her hands swayed the bowl from side to side, and there was an answering +whisper from its interior as if the contents slid loosely there. Then +one of her companions reached forward and gave a quick tap to the bottom +of that container, spilling out upon the table a shower of brightly +colored slivers each an inch or so long. + +Shann, staring at the display in bewilderment, saw that in spite of the +seeming carelessness of that toss the small needles had spread out on +the blank surface to form a design in arrangement and color. And he +wondered how that skillful trick had been accomplished. + +All three of the Warlockians bent their heads to study the grouping of +the tiny sticks, their young subordinate leaning forward also, her +eagerness less well controlled than her elders'. And now it was as if a +curtain had fallen between the Terran and the aliens, all sense of +communication which had been with him since he had entered the +skull-lined chamber was summarily cut off. + +A hand moved, making the jeweled pattern--braceleting wrist and +extending up the arm--flash subdued fire. Fingers swept the sticks back +into the bowl; four pairs of yellow eyes raised to regard Shann once +more, but the blanket of their withdrawal still held. + +The youngest Warlockian took the bowl from the elder who held it, stood +for a long moment with it resting between her palms, fixing Shann with +an unreadable stare. Then she came toward him. One of those at the table +put out a restraining hand. + +This time Shann did _not_ master his start as he heard the first audible +voice which had not been his own. The skull at the left hand on the +table, by its yellowed color the oldest of those summoned from the +niches, was moving, moving because its jaws gaped and then snapped, +emitting a faint bleat which might have been a word or two. + +She who would have halted the young Warlockian's advance, withdrew her +hand. Then her fingers curled in an unmistakable beckoning gesture. +Shann came to the table, but he could not quite force himself near that +chattering skull, even though it had stopped its jig of speech. + +The bowl of sticks was offered to him. Still no message from mind to +mind, but he could guess at what they wanted of him. The crystal +substance was not cool to the touch as he had expected; rather it was +warm, as living flesh might feel. And the colored sticks filled about +two thirds of the interior, lying all mixed together without any order. + +Shann concentrated on recalling the ceremony the Warlockian had used +before the first toss. She had offered the bowl to the skulls in turn. +The skulls! But he was no consulter of skulls. Still holding the bowl +close to his chest, Shann looked up over the roofless walls at the star +map on the roof of the cavern. There, that was Rama; and to its left, +just a little above, was Tyr's system where swung the stark world of his +birth, and of which he had only few good memories, but of which he was a +part. The Terran raised the bowl to that spot of light which marked +Tyr's pale sun. + +Smiling with a wry twist, he lowered the bowl, and on impulse of pure +defiance he offered it to the skull that had chattered. Immediately he +realized that the move had had an electric effect upon the aliens. +Slowly at first, and then faster, he began to swing the bowl from side +to side, the needles slipping, mixing within. And as he swung it, Shann +held it out over the expanse of the table. + +The Warlockian who had given him the bowl was the one who struck it on +the bottom, causing a rain of splinters. To Shann's astonishment, mixed +as they had been in the container, they once more formed a pattern, and +not the same pattern the Warlockians had consulted earlier. The +dampening curtain between them vanished; he was in touch mind to mind +once again. + +"So be it." The center Warlockian spread out her four-fingered thumbless +hands above the scattered needles. "What is read, is read." + +Again a formula. He caught a chorus of answer from the others. + +"What is read, is read. To the dreamer the dream. Let the dream be known +for what it is, and there is life. Let the dream encompass the dreamer +falsely, and all is lost." + +"Who can question the wisdom of the Old Ones?" asked their leader. "We +are those who read the messages they send, out of their mercy. This is a +strange thing they bid us do, man--open for you our own initiates' road +to the veil of illusion. That way has never been for males, who dream +without set purpose and have not the ability to know true from false, +have not the courage to face their dreams to the truth. Do so--if you +can!" There was a flash of mockery in that, combined with something +else--stronger than distaste, not as strong as hatred, but certainly not +friendly. + +She held out her hands and Shann saw now, lying on a slowly closing +palm, a disk such as the one Thorvald had shown him. The Terran had only +one moment of fear and then came blackness, more absolute than the dark +of any night he had ever known. + +Light once more, green light with an odd shimmering quality to it. The +skull-lined walls were gone; there were no walls, no building held him. +Shann strode forward, and his boots sank in sand, that smooth, satin +sand which had ringed the island in the cavern. But he was certain he +was no longer on that island, even within that cavern, though far above +him there was still a dome of roof. + +The source of the green shimmer lay to his left. Somehow he found +himself reluctant to turn and face it. That would commit him to action. +But Shann turned. + +A veil, a veil of rippling green. Material? No, rather mist or light. A +veil depending from some source so far over his head that its origin was +hidden in the upper gloom, a veil which was a barrier he must cross. + +With every nerve protesting, Shann walked forward, unable to keep back. +He flung up his arm to protect his face as he marched into that stuff. +It was warm, and the gas--if gas it was--left no slick of moisture on +his skin in spite of its foggy consistency. And it was no veil or +curtain, for although he was already well into the murk, he saw no end +to it. Blindly he trudged on, unable to sight anything but the rolling +billows of green, pausing now and again to go down on one knee and pat +the sand underfoot, reassured at the reality of that footing. + +And when he met nothing menacing, Shann began to relax. His heart no +longer labored; he made no move to draw the stunner or knife. Where he +was and for what purpose, he had no idea. But there _was_ a purpose in +this and that the Warlockians were behind it, he did not doubt. The +"initiates' road," the leader had said, and the conviction was steady in +his mind that he faced some test of alien devising. + +A cavern with a green veil--his memory awoke. Thorvald's dream! Shann +paused, trying to remember how the other had described this place. So he +was enacting Thorvald's dream! And could the Survey officer now be +caught in Shann's dream in turn, climbing up somewhere into the nose +slit of a skull-shaped mountain? + +Green fog without end, and Shann lost in it. How long had he been here? +Shann tried to reckon time, the time since his coming into the +water-world of the starred cavern. He realized that he had not eaten, +nor drank, nor desired to do so either--nor did he now. Yet he was not +weak; in fact, he had never felt such tireless energy as possessed his +spare body. + +Was this _all_ a dream? His threatened drowning in the underground +stream a nightmare? Yet there was a pattern in this, just as there had +been a pattern in the needles he had spilled across the table. One even +led to another with discernible logic; because he had tossed that +particular pattern he had come here. + +According to the ambiguous instructions or warnings of the Warlockian +witch, his safety in this place would depend upon his ability to tell +true dreams from false. But how ... why? So far he had done nothing +except walk through a green fog, and for all he knew, he might well be +traveling in circles. + +Because there was nothing else to do, Shann walked on, his boots +pressing sand, rising from each step with a small sucking sound. Then, +as he stooped to search for some indication of a path or road which +might guide him, his ears caught the slightest of noises--other small +sucking whispers. He was not the only wayfarer in this place! + + + + +13. HE WHO DREAMS.... + + +The mist was not a quiet thing; it billowed and curled until it appeared +to half-conceal darker shadows, any one of which could be an enemy. +Shann remained hunkered on the sand, every sense abnormally alert, +watching the fog. He was still sure he could hear sounds which marked +the progress of another. What other? One of the Warlockians tracking him +to spy? Or was there some prisoner like himself lost out there in the +murk? Could it be Thorvald? + +Now the sound had ceased. He was not even sure from what direction it +had first come. Perhaps that other was listening now, as intent upon +locating him. Shann ran his tongue over dry lips. The impulse to call +out, to try and contact any fellow traveler here, was strong. Only +hard-learned caution kept him silent. He got to his hands and knees, +uncertain as to his previous direction. + +Shann crept. Someone expecting a man walking erect might be suitably +distracted by the arrival of a half-seen figure on all fours. He halted +again to listen. + +He had been right! The sound of a very muffled footfall or footfalls, +carried to his ears. He was sure that the sound was louder, that the +unknown was approaching. Shann stood, his hand close to his stunner. He +was almost tempted to spray that beam blindly before him, hoping to hit +the unseen by chance. + +A shadow--something more swift than a shadow, more than one of the +tricks the curling fog played on eyes--was moving with purpose and +straight for him. Still, prudence restrained Shann from calling out. + +The figure grew clearer. A Terran! It could be Thorvald! But remembering +how they had last parted, Shann did not hurry to meet him. + +That shadow-shape stretched out a long arm in a sweep as if to pull +aside some of the vapor concealing them from each other. Then Shann +shivered as if that fog had suddenly turned into the drive of frigid +snow. For the mist did roll back so that the two of them stood in an +irregular clearing in its midst. + +And he did not front Thorvald. + +Shann was caught up in the ice grip of an old fear, frozen by it, but +somehow clinging to a hope that he did not see the unbelievable. + +Those hands drawing the lash of a whip back into striking readiness ... +a brutal nose broken askew, a blaster burn puckering across cheek to +misshapen ear ... that, evil, gloating grin of anticipation. Flick, +flick, the slight dance of the lash in a master's hand as those thick +fingers tightened about the stock of the whip. In a moment it would +whirl up to lay a ribbon of fire about Shann's defenceless shoulders. +Then Logally would laugh and laugh, his sadistic mirth echoed by those +other men who played jackals to his rogue lion. + +Other men.... Shann shook his head dazedly. But he did not stand again +in the Dump-size bar of the Big Strike. And he was no longer a +terrorized youngster, fit meat for Logally's amusement. Only the whip +rose, the lash curled out, catching Shann just as it had that time years +ago, delivering a red slash of pure agony. But Logally was dead, Shann's +mind screamed, fighting frantically against the evidence of his eyes, of +that pain in his chest and shoulder. The Dump bully had been spaced by +off-world miners, now also dead, whose claims he had tried to jump out +in the Ajax system. + +Logally drew back the lash, preparing to strike again. Shann faced a man +five years dead who walked and fought. Or, Shann bit hard upon his lower +lip, holding desperately to sane reasoning--did he indeed face anything? +Logally was the ancient devil of his boyhood produced anew by the +witchery of Warlock. Or had Shann himself been led to recreate both the +man and the circumstances of their first meeting with fear as a weapon +to pull the creator down? Dream true or false. Logally _was_ dead; +therefore, this dream was false, it had to be. + +The Terran began to walk toward that grinning ogre rising out of his old +nightmares. His hand was no longer on the butt of his stunner, but swung +loosely at his side. He saw the coming lash, the wicked promise in those +small narrowed eyes. This was Logally at the acme of his strength, when +he was most to be feared, as he had continued to exist over the years in +the depths of a boy-child's memory. But Logally was _not_ alive; only in +a dream could he be. + +For the second time the lash bit at Shann, curling about his body, to +dissolve. There was no alteration in Logally's grin, His muscular arm +drew back as he aimed a third blow. Shann continued to walk forward, +bringing up one hand, not to strike at that sweating, bristly jaw, but +as if to push the other out of his path. And in his mind he held one +thought: this was not Logally; it could not be. Ten years had passed +since they had met. And for five of those years Logally had been dead. +Here was Warlockian witchery, to be met by sane Terran reasoning. + +Shann was alone. The mist, which had formed walls, enclosed him again. +But still there was a smarting brand across his shoulder. Shann drew +aside the rags of his uniform blouse to discover a welt, raw and red. +And seeing that, his unbelief was shaken. + +When he had believed in Logally and in Logally's weapon, the other had +had reality enough to strike that blow, make the lash cut deep. But when +the Terran had faced the phantom with the truth, then neither Logally +nor his lash existed, Shann shivered, trying not to think what might lie +before him. Visions out of nightmares which could put on substance! He +had dreamed of Logally in the past, many times. And he had had other +dreams, just as frightening. Must he front those nightmares, all of +them----? Why? To amuse his captors, or to prove their contention that he +was a fool to challenge the powers of such mistresses of illusion? + +How did they know just what dreams to use in order to break him? Or did +he himself furnish the actors and the action, projecting old terrors in +this mist as a tri-dee tape projected a story in three dimensions for +the amusement of the viewer? + +Dream true--was this progress through the mist also a dream? Dreams +within dreams.... Shann put his hand to his head, uncertain, badly +shaken. But that stubborn core of determination within him was still +holding. Next time he would be prepared at once to face down any +resurrected memory. + +Walking slowly, pausing to listen for the slightest sound which might +herald the coming of a new illusion, Shann tried to guess which of his +nightmares might come to face him. But he was to learn that there was +more than one kind of dream. Steeled against old fears, he was met by +another emotion altogether. + +There was a fluttering in the air, a little crooning cry which pulled at +his heart. Without any conscious thought, Shann held out his hands, +whistling on two notes a call which his lips appeared to remember more +quickly than his mind. The shape which winged through the fog came +straight to his waiting hold, tore at long-walled-away hurt with its +once familiar beauty. It flew with a list; one of the delicately tinted +wings was injured, had never healed straight. But the seraph nestled +into the hollow of Shann's two palms and looked up at him with all the +old liquid trust. + +"Trav! Trav!" He cradled the tiny creature carefully, regarded with joy +its feathered body, the curled plumes on its proudly held head, felt the +silken patting of those infinitesimal claws against his protecting +fingers. + +Shann sat down in the sand, hardly daring to breathe. Trav--again! The +wonder of this never-to-be-hoped-for return filled him with a surge of +happiness almost too great to bear, which hurt in its way with as great +a pain as Logally's lash; it was a pain rooted in love, not fear and +hate. + +Logally's lash.... + +Shann trembled. Trav raised one of those small claws toward the Terran's +face, crooning a soft caressing cry for recognition, for protection, +trying to be a part of Shann's life once more. + +Trav! How could he bear to will Trav into nothingness, to bear to summon +up another harsh memory which would sweep Trav away? Trav was the only +thing Shann had ever known which he could love wholeheartedly, that had +answered his love with a return gift of affection so much greater than +the light body he now held. + +"Trav!" he whispered softly. Then he made his great effort against this +second and far more subtle attack. With the same agony which he had +known years earlier, he resolutely summoned a bitter memory, sat nursing +once more a broken thing which died in pain he could not ease, aware +himself of every moment of that pain. And what was worse, this time +there clung that nagging little doubt. What if he had not forced the +memory? Perhaps he could have taken Trav with him unhurt, alive, at +least for a while. + +Shann covered his face with his now empty hands. To see a nightmare +flicker out after facing squarely up to its terror, that was no great +task. To give up a dream which was part of a lost heaven, that cut +cruelly deep. The Terran dragged himself to his feet, drained and weary, +stumbling on. + +Was there no end to this aimless circling through a world of green +smoke? He shambled ahead, moving his feet leadenly. How long had he been +here? There was no division in time, just the unchanging light which was +a part of the fog through which he plodded. + +Then he heard more than any shuffle of foot across sand, any crooning of +a long dead seraph, the rising and falling of a voice: a human +voice--not quite singing or reciting, but something between the two. +Shann paused, searching his memory, a memory which seemed bruised, for +the proper answer to match that sound. + +But, though he recalled scene after scene out of the years, that voice +did not trigger any return from his past. He turned toward its source, +dully determined to get over quickly the meeting which lay behind that +signal. Only, though he walked on and on, Shann did not appear any +closer to the man behind the voice, nor was he able to make out separate +words composing that chant, a chant broken now and then by pauses, so +that the Terran grew aware of the distress of his fellow prisoner. For +the impression that he sought another captive came out of nowhere and +grew as he cast wider and wider in his quest. + +Then he might have turned some invisible corner in the mist, for the +chant broke out anew in stronger volume, and now he was able to +distinguish words he knew. + + "... where blow the winds between the worlds, + And hang the suns in dark of space. + For Power is given a man to use. + Let him do so well before the last accounting--" + +The voice was hoarse, cracked, the words spaced with uneven catches of +breath, as if they had been repeated many, many times to provide an +anchor against madness, form a tie to reality. And hearing that note, +Shann slowed his pace. This was out of no memory of his; he was sure of +that. + + "... blow the winds between the worlds, + And hang the suns in ... dark--of--of--" + +That harsh croak of voice was running down, as a clock runs down for +lack of winding. Shann sped on, reacting to a plea which did not lay in +the words themselves. + +Once more the mist curled back, provided him with an open space. A man +sat on the sand, his fists buried wrist deep in the smooth grains on +either side of his body, his eyes set, red-rimmed, glazed, his body +rocking back and forth in time to his labored chant. + + "... the dark of space--" + +"Thorvald!" Shann skidded in the sand, went down on his knees. The +manner of their last parting was forgotten as he took in the officer's +condition. + +The other did not stop his swaying, but his head turned with a stiff +jerk, the gray eyes making a visible effort to focus on Shann. Then some +of the strain smoothed out of the gaunt features and Thorvald laughed +softly. + +"Garth!" + +Shann stiffened but had no chance to protest that mistaken +identification as the other continued: "So you made class one status, +boy! I always knew you could if you'd work for it. A couple of black +marks on your record, sure. But those can be rubbed out, boy, when +you're willing to try. Thorvalds always have been Survey. Our father +would have been proud." + +Thorvald's voice flattened, his smile faded, there was a growing spark +of some emotion in those gray eyes. Unexpectedly, he hurled himself +forward, his hands clawing for Shann's throat. He bore the younger man +down under him to the sand where Lantee found himself fighting +desperately for his life against a man who could only be mad. + +Shann used a trick learned on the Dumps, and his opponent doubled up +with a gasp of agony to let the younger man break free. He planted a +knee on the small of Thorvald's back, digging the officer into the sand, +pinning down his arms in spite of the other's struggles. Regaining his +own breath in gulps, Shann tried to appeal to some spark of reason in +the other. + +"Thorvald! This is Lantee--Lantee----" His name echoed in the mist-walled +void like an unhuman wail. + +"Lantee----? No, Throg! Lantee--Throg--killed my brother!" + +Sand puffed out with the breath, which expelled that indictment. But +Thorvald no longer fought, and Shann believed him close to collapse. + +Shann relaxed his hold, rolling the other man over. Thorvald obeyed his +pull limply, lying face upward, sand in his hair and eyebrows, crusting +his slack lips. The younger man brushed the dirt away gently as the +other opened his eyes to regard Shann with his old impersonal stare. + +"You're alive," Thorvald stated bleakly. "Garth's dead. You ought to be +dead too." + +Shann drew back, rubbed sand from his hands, his concern dampened by the +other's patent hostility. Only that angry accusation vanished in a blink +of those gray eyes. Then there was a warmer recognition in Thorvald's +expression. + +"Lantee!" The younger man might just have come into sight. "What are you +doing here?" + +Shann tightened his belt. "Just about what you are." He was still aloof, +giving no acknowledgment of difference in rank now. "Running around in +this fog hunting the way out." + +Thorvald sat up, surveying the billowing walls of the hole which +contained them. Then he reached out a hand to draw fingers down Shann's +forearm. + +"You _are_ real," he observed simply, and his voice was warm, welcoming. + +"Don't bet on it," Shann snapped. "The unreal can be mighty real--here." +His hand went up to the smarting brand on his shoulder. + +Thorvald nodded. "Masters of illusion," he murmured. + +"Mistresses," Shann corrected. "This place is run by a gang of pretty +smart witches." + +"Witches? You've seen them? Where? And what--who are they?" Thorvald +pounced with a return of his old-time sharpness. + +"They're females right enough, and they can make the impossible happen. +I'd say that classifies them as witches. One of them tried to take me +over back on the island. I set a trap and caught her; then somehow she +transported me----" Swiftly he outlined the chain of events leading from +his sudden awakening in the river tunnel to his present penetration of +this fog-world. + +Thorvald listened eagerly. When the story was finished, he rubbed his +hands across his drawn face, smearing away the last of the sand. "At +least you have some idea of who they are and a suggestion of how you got +here. I don't remember that much about my own arrival. As far as I can +remember I went to sleep on the Island and woke up here!" + +Shann studied him and knew that Thorvald was telling the truth. He could +remember nothing of his departure in the outrigger, the way he had +fought Shann in the lagoon. The Survey officer must have been under the +control of the Warlockians then. Quickly he gave the older man his +version of the other's actions in the outer world and Thorvald was +clearly astounded, though he did not question the facts Shann presented. + +"They just _took_ me!" Thorvald said in a husky half whisper. "But why? +And why are we here? Is this a prison?" + +Shann shook his head. "I think all this"--a wave of his hand encompassed +the green wall, what lay beyond it, and in it--"is a test of some kind. +This dream business.... A little while ago I got to thinking that I +wasn't here at all, that I might be dreaming it all. Then I met you." + +Thorvald understood. "Yes, but this _could_ be a dream meeting. How can +we tell?" He hesitated, almost diffidently, before he asked: "Have you +met anyone else here?" + +"Yes." Shann had no desire to go into that. + +"People out of your past life?" + +"Yes." Again he did not elaborate. + +"So did I." Thorvald's expression was bleak; his encounters in the fog +must have proved no more pleasant than Shann's. "That suggests that we +do trigger the hallucinations ourselves. But maybe we can really lick it +now." + +"How?" + +"Well, if these phantoms are born of our memories there are about only +two or three we could see together--maybe a Throg on the rampage, or +that hound we left back in the mountains. And if we do sight anything +like that, we'll know what it is. On the other hand, if we stick +together and one of us sees something that the other can't ... well, +that fact alone will explode the ghost." + +There was sense in what he said. Shann aided the officer to his feet. + +"I must be a better subject for their experiments than you," the older +man remarked ruefully. "They took me over completely at the first." + +"You were carrying that disk," Shann pointed out. "Maybe that acted as a +focusing lens for whatever power they use to make us play trained +animals." + +"Could be!" Thorvald brought out the cloth-wrapped bone coin. "I still +have it." But he made no move to pull off the bit of rag about it. +"Now"--he gazed at the wall of green--"which way?" + +Shann shrugged. Long ago he had lost any idea of keeping a straight +course through the murk. He might have turned around any number of times +since he first walked blindly into this place. Then he pointed to the +packet Thorvald held. + +"Why not flip that?" he asked. "Heads, we go that way--" he indicated +the direction in which they were facing--"tails, we do a +rightabout-face." + +There was an answering grin on Thorvald's lips. "As good a guide as any +we're likely to find here. We'll do it." He pulled away the twist of +cloth and with a swift snap, reminiscent of that used by the Warlockian +witch to empty the bowl of sticks, he tossed the disk into the air. + +It spun, whirled, but--to their open-jawed amazement--it did not fall to +the sand. Instead it spun until it looked like a small globe instead of +a disk. And it lost its dead white for a glow of green. When that glow +became dazzling for Terran eyes the miniature sun swung out, not in +orbit but in straight line of flight, heading to their right. + +With a muffled cry, Thorvald started in pursuit, Shann running beside +him. They were in a tunnel of the fog now, and the pace set by the +spinning coin was swift. The Terrans continued to follow it at the best +pace they could summon, having no idea of where they were headed, but +each with the hope that they finally did have a guide to lead them +through this place of confusion and into a sane world where they could +face on more equal terms those who had sent them there. + + + + +14. ESCAPE + + +"Something ahead!" Thorvald did not slacken the pace set by the +brilliant spot of green they trailed. Both of the Terrans feared to fall +behind, to lose touch with that guide. Their belief that somehow the +traveling disk would bring them to the end of the mist and its attendant +illusions had grown firmer with every foot of ground they traversed. + +A dark, fixed point, now partly veiled by mist, lay beyond, and it was +toward that looming half-shadow that the spinning disk hurtled. Now the +mist curled away to display its bulk--larger, blacker and four or five +times Thorvald's height. Both men stopped short, for the disk no longer +played pathfinder. It still whirled on its axis in the air, faster and +faster, until it appeared to be throwing off sparks, but the sparks +faded against a monolith of dark rock unlike the native stone they had +seen elsewhere. For it was neither red nor warmly brown, but a dull, +dead black. It could have been a huge stone slab, trimmed, smoothed, set +up on end as a monument or marker, except that only infinite labor could +have accomplished such a task, and there was no valid reason for such +toil as far as the Terrans could perceive. + +"This is it." Thorvald moved closer. + +By the disk's action, they deduced that their guide had drawn them to +this featureless black steel with the precision of a beam-controlled +ship. However, the purpose still eluded them. They had hoped for some +exit from the territory of the veil, but now they faced a solid slab of +dark stone, neither a conventional exit or entrance, as they proved by +circling its base. Beneath their boots was the eternal sand, around +them the fog. + +"Now what?" Shann asked. They had made their trip about the slab and +were back again where the disk whirled with unceasing vigor in a shower +of emerald sparks. + +Thorvald shook his head, scanning the rock face before them glumly. The +eagerness had gone out of his expression, a vast weariness replacing it. + +"There must have been some purpose in coming here," he replied, but his +tone had lost the assurance of moments earlier. + +"Well, if we strike away from here, we'll just get right back in again." +Shann waved a hand toward the mist, waiting as if with a hunter's watch +upon them. "And we certainly can't go down." He dug a boot toe into the +sand to demonstrate the folly of that. "So, what about up?" + +He ducked under the spinning disk to lay his hands against the surface +of the giant slab. And in so doing he made a discovery, revealed to his +touch although hidden from sight. For his fingers, running aimlessly +across the cold, slightly uneven surface of the stone, slipped into a +hollow, quite a deep hollow. + +Excited, half fearing that his sudden guess might be wrong, Shann slid +his hand higher in line with that hollow, to discover a second. The +first had been level with his chest, the second perhaps eighteen inches +or so above. He jumped, to draw his fingers down the rock, with damage +to his nails but getting his proof. There _was_ a third niche, deep +enough to hold more than just the toe of a boot, and a fourth above +that.... + +"We've a ladder of sorts here," he reported. Without waiting for any +answer from Thorvald, Shann began to climb. The holds were so well +matched in shape and size that he was sure they could not be natural; +they had been bored there for use--the use to which he was now putting +them--a ladder to the top of the slab. Though what he might find there +was beyond his power to imagine. + +The disk did not rise. Shann passed that core of light, climbing above +it into the greater gloom. But the holes did not fail him; each was +waiting in a direct line with its companion. And to an active man the +scramble was not difficult. He reached the summit, glanced around, and +made a quick grab for a secure handhold. + +Waiting for him was no level platform such as he had confidently +expected to find. The surface up which he had just made his way +fly-fashion was the outer wall of a well or chimney. He looked down now +into a pit where black nothingness began within a yard of the top, for +the radiance of the mist did not penetrate far into that descent. + +Shann fought an attack of giddiness. It would be very easy to lose +control, to tumble over and be swallowed up in what might well be a +bottomless chasm. And what was the purpose of this well? Was it a trap +to entice a prisoner into an unwary climb and then let gravity drag him +over? The whole setup was meaningless. Perhaps meaningless only to him, +Shann conceded, with a flash of level thinking. The situation could be +quite different as far as the natives were concerned. This structure did +have a reason, or it would never have been erected in the first place. + +"What's the matter?" Thorvald's voice was rough with impatience. + +"This thing's a well." Shann edged about a fraction to call back. "The +inside is open and--as far as I can tell--goes clear to the planet's +core." + +"Ladder on the inside too?" + +Shann squirmed. That was, of course, a very obvious supposition. He kept +a tight hold with his left hand, and with the other, he did some +exploring. Yes, here was a hollow right enough, twin to those on the +outside. But to swing over that narrow edge of safety and begin a +descent into the black of the well was far harder than any action he had +taken since the morning the Throgs had raided the camp. The green mist +could hold no terrors greater than those with which his imagination +peopled the depths now waiting to engulf him. But Shann swung over, +fitted his boot into the first hollow, and started down. + +The only encouragement he gained during that nightmare ordeal was that +those holes were regularly spaced. But somehow his confidence did not +feed on that fact. There always remained the nagging fear that when he +searched for the next it would not be there and he would cling to his +perch lacking the needful strength in aching arms and legs to reclimb +the inside ladder. + +He was fast losing that sense of well being which had been his during +his travels through the fog; a fatigue tugged at his arms and weighed +leaden on his shoulders. Mechanically he prospected for the next hold, +and then the next. Above, the oblong of half-light grew smaller and +smaller, sometimes half blotted out by the movements of Thorvald's body +as the other followed him down that interior way. + +How far _was_ down? Shann giggled lightheadedly at the humor of that, or +what seemed to be humor at the moment. He was certain that they were now +below the level of the sand floor outside the slab. And yet no end had +come to the well hollow. + +No break of light down here; he might have been sightless. But just as +the blind develop an extra perceptive sense of unseen obstacles, so did +Shann now find that he was aware of a change in the nature of the space +about him. His weary arms and legs held him against the solidity of a +wall, yet the impression that there was no longer another wall at his +back grew stronger with every niche which swung him downward. And he was +as sure as if he could see it, that he was now in a wide-open space, +another cavern; perhaps, but this one totally dark. + +Deprived of sight, he relied upon his ears. And there was a sound, +faint, distorted perhaps by the acoustics of this place, but keeping up +a continuous murmur. Water! Not the wash of waves with their persistent +beat, but rather the rippling of a running stream. Water must lie below! + +And just as his weariness had grown with his leaving behind the fog, so +now did both hunger and thirst gnaw at Shann, all the sharper for the +delay. The Terran wanted to reach that water, could picture it in his +mind, putting away the possibility--the probability--that it might be +sea-born and salt, and so unfit to drink. + +The upper opening to the cavern of the fog was now so far above him that +he had to strain to see it. And that warmth which had been there was +gone. A dank chill wrapped him here, dampened the holds to which he +clung until he was afraid of slipping. While the murmur of the water +grew louder, until its _slap-slap_ sounded within arms' distance. His +boot toe skidded from a niche. Shann fought to hold on with numbed +fingers. The other foot went. He swung by his hands, kicking vainly to +regain a measure of footing. + +Then his arms could no longer support him, and he cried out as he fell. +Water closed about him with an icy shock which for a moment paralyzed +him. He flailed out, fighting the flood to get his head above the +surface where he could gasp in precious gulps of air. + +There was a current here, a swiftly running one. Shann remembered the +one which had carried him into that cavern in which the Warlockians had +their strange dwelling. Although there were no clusters of crystals in +this tunnel to supply him with light, the Terran began to nourish a +faint hope that he was again in that same stream, that those light +crystals would appear, and that he might eventually return to the +starting point of this meaningless journey. + +So he strove only to keep his head above water. Hearing a splashing +behind him, he called out: "Thorvald?" + +"Lantee?" The answer came back at once; the splashing grew louder as the +other swam to catch up. + +Shann swallowed a mouthful of the water lapping against his chin. The +taste was brackish, but not entirely salt, and though it stung his lips, +the liquid relieved a measure of his thirst. + +Only no glowing crystals appeared to stud these walls, and Shann's hope +that they were on their way to the cavern of the island faded. The +current grew swifter, and he had to fight to keep his head above water, +his tired body reacting sluggishly to commands. + +The murmur of the racing flood drummed louder in his ears, or was that +sound the same? He could no longer be sure. Shann only knew that it was +close to impossible to snatch the necessary breath as he was rolled over +and over in the hurrying flood. + +In the end he was ejected into blazing, blinding light, into a +suffocation of wild water as the bullet in an ancient Terran rifle might +have been fired at no specific target. Gasping, beaten, more than +half-drowned, Shann was pummeled by waves, literally driven up on a +rocky surface which skinned his body cruelly. He lay there, his arms +moving feebly until he contrived to raise himself in time to be +wretchedly sick. Somehow he crawled on a few feet farther before he +subsided again, blinded by the light, flinching from the heat of the +rocks on which he lay, but unable to do more for himself. + +His first coherent thought was that his speculation concerning the +reality of this experience was at last resolved. This could not possibly +be an hallucination; at least this particular sequence of events was +not. And he was still hazily considering that when a hand fell on his +shoulder, fingers biting into his raw flesh. + +Shann snarled, rolled over on his side. Thorvald, water dripping from +his rags--or rather steaming from them--his shaggy hair plastered to his +skull, sat there. + +"You all right?" + +Shann sat up in turn, shielding his smarting eyes. He was bruised, +battered badly enough, but he could claim no major injuries. + +"I think so. Where are we?" + +Thorvald's lips stretched across his teeth in what was more a grimace +than a smile. "Right off the map, any map I know. Take a look." + +They were on a scrap of beach--beach which was more like a reef, for it +lacked any covering comparable to sand except for some cupfuls of coarse +gravel locked in rock depressions. Rocks, red as the rust of dried +blood, rose in fantastic water-sculptured shapes around the small +semi-level space they had somehow won. + +This space was V-shaped, washed by equal streams on either side of the +prong of rock by water which spouted from the face of a sheer cliff not +too far away, with force enough to spray several feet beyond its exit +point. Shann seeing that and guessing at its significance, drew a deep +breath, and heard the ghost of an answering chuckle from his companion. + +"Yes, that's where we came out, boy. Like to make a return trip?" + +Shann shook his head, and then wished that he had not so rashly made +that move, for the world swung in a dizzy whirl. Things had happened too +fast. For the moment it was enough that they were out of the underground +ways, back under the amber sky, feeling the bite of Warlock's sun. + +Steadying his head with both hands, Shann turned slowly, to survey what +might lie at their backs. The water, pouring by on either side, +suggested that they were again on an island. Warlock, he thought +gloomily, seemed to be for Terrans a succession of islands, all hard to +escape. + +The tangle of rocks did not encourage any exploration. Just gazing at +them added to his weariness. They rose, tier by tier, to a ragged crown +against the sky. Shann continued to sit staring at them. + +"To climb that...." His voice trailed into the silence of complete +discouragement. + +"You climb--or swim," Thorvald stated. But, Shann noted, the Survey +officer was not in a hurry to make either move. + +Nowhere in that wilderness of rock was there the least relieving bit of +purple foliage. Nor did any clak-claks or leather-headed birds tour the +sky over their heads. Shann's thirst might have been partially assuaged, +but his hunger remained. And it was that need which forced him at last +into action. The barren heights promised nothing in the way of food, +but remembering the harvest the wolverines had taken from under the +rocks along the river, he got to his feet and lurched out on the reef +which had been their salvation, hunting some pool which might hold an +edible captive or two. + +So it was that Shann made the discovery of a possible path consisting of +a ledge running toward the other end of the island, if this were an +island where they had taken refuge. The spray of the water drenched that +way, feeding small pools in the uneven surface, and strips of yellow +weed trailed in slimy ribbons back below the surface of the waves. + +He called to Thorvald and gestured to his find. And then, close +together, linking hands when the going became hazardous, the men +followed the path. Twice they made finds in the pools, finned or clawed +grotesque creatures, which they killed and ate, wolfing down the few +fragments of odd-tasting flesh. Then, in a small crevice, which could +hardly be dignified by the designation of "cave," Thorvald chanced upon +a quite exciting discovery--a clutch of four greenish eggs, each as +large as his doubled fist. + +Their outer covering was more like tough membrane than true shell, and +the Terrans worried it open with difficulty. Shann shut his eyes, trying +not to think of what he mouthed as he sucked his share dry. At least +that semi-liquid stayed put in his middle, though he expected disastrous +results from the experiment. + +More than a little heartened by this piece of luck, they kept on, though +the ledge changed from a reasonably level surface to a series of rising, +unequal steps, drawing them away from the water. At long last they came +to the end of that path. Shann leaned back against a convenient spur of +rock. + +"Company!" he alerted Thorvald. + +The Survey officer joined him to share an outcrop of rock from which +they were provided with an excellent view of the scene below, and it +was a scene to hold their full attention. + +That soft sweep of sand which had floored the cavern of the fog lay here +also, a gray-blue carpet sloping gently out of the sea. For Shann had no +doubt that the wide stretch of water before them was the western ocean. +Walling the beach on either side, and extending well out into the water +so that the farthest piles were awash except for their crowns, were +pillars of stone, shaped with the same finish as that slab which had +provided them a ladder of escape. And because of the regularity of their +spacing, Shann did not believe them works of nature. + +Grouped between them now were the players of the drama. One of the +Warlockian witches, her gem body patterns glittering in the sunlight, +was walking backward out of the sea, her hands held palms together, +breast high, in a Terran attitude of prayer. And following her something +swam in the water, clearly not another of her own species. But her +actions suggested that by some invisible means she was drawing that +water dweller after her. Waiting on shore were two others of her kind, +viewing her actions with close attention, the attention of scholars for +an instructor. + +"Wyverns!" + +Shann looked inquiringly at his companion. Thorvald added a whisper of +explanation. "A legend of Terra--they were supposed to have a snake's +tail instead of hind legs, but the heads.... They're Wyverns!" + +Wyverns. Shann liked the sound of that word; to his mind it well fitted +the Warlockian witches. And the one they were watching in action +continued her steady backward retreat, rolling her bemused captive out +of the water. What emerged into the blaze of sunlight was one of those +fork-tailed sea dwellers such as the Terrans had seen die after the +storm. The thing crawled out of the shallows, its eyes focused in a +blind stare on the praying hands of the Wyvern. + +She halted, well up on the sand, when the body of her victim or +prisoner--Shann was certain that the fork-tail was one or the +other--was completely out of the water. Then, with lightning speed, she +dropped her hands. + +Instantly fork-tail came to life. Fanged jaws snapped. Aroused, the +beast was the incarnation of evil rage, a rage which had a measure of +intelligence to direct it into deadly action. And facing it, seemingly +unarmed and defenseless, were the slender, fragile Wyverns. + +Yet none of the small group of natives made any attempt to escape. Shann +thought them suicidal in their indifference as fork-tail, short legs +sending the fine sand flying in a dust cloud, made a rush toward its +enemies. + +The Wyvern who had led the beast ashore did not move. But one of her +companions swung up a hand, as if negligently waving the monster to a +stop. Between her first two digits was a disk. Thorvald caught at +Shann's arm. + +"See that! It's a copy of the one I had; it must be!" + +They were too far away to be sure it was a duplicate, but It was +coin-shaped and bone-white. And now the Wyvern swung it back and forth +in a metronome sweep. Fork-tail skidded to a stop, its head +beginning--reluctantly at first, and then, with increasing speed--to +echo that left-right sweep. This Wyvern had the sea beast under control, +even as her companion had earlier held it. + +Chance dictated what happened next. As had her sister charmer, the +Wyvern began a backward withdrawal up the length of the beach, drawing +the sea thing in her wake. They were very close to the foot of the drop +above which the Terrans stood, fascinated, when the sand betrayed the +witch. Her foot slipped into a hole and she was thrown backward, her +control disk spinning out of her fingers. + +At once the monster she had charmed shot forth its head, snapped at that +spinning trifle--and swallowed it. Then the fork-tail hunched in a +posture Shann had seen the wolverines use when they were about to +spring. The weaponless Wyvern was the prey, and both her companions were +too far away to interfere. + +Why he moved he could not have explained. There was no reason for him +to go to the aid of the Warlockian, one of the same breed who had ruled +him against his will. But Shann sprang, landing in the sand on his hands +and knees. + +The sea thing whipped around, undecided between two possible victims. +Shann had his knife free, was on his feet, his eyes on the beast's, +knowing that he had appointed himself dragon slayer for no good reason. + + + + +15. DRAGON SLAYER + + +"Ayeeee!" Sheer defiance, not only of the beast he fronted, but of the +Wyverns as well, brought that old rallying cry to his lips--the call +used on the Dumps of Tyr to summon gang aid against outsiders. Fork-tail +had crouched again for a spring, but that throat-crackling blast +appeared to startle it. + +Shann, blade ready, took a dancing step to the right. The thing was +scaled, perhaps as well armored against frontal attack as was the +shell-creature he had fought with the aid of the wolverines. He wished +he had the Terran animals now--with Taggi and his mate to tease and +feint about the monster, as they had done with the Throg hound--for he +would have a better chance. If only the animals were here! + +Those eyes--red-pitted eyes in a gargoyle head following his every +movement--perhaps those were the only vulnerable points. + +Muscles tensed beneath that scaled hide. The Terran readied himself for +a sidewise leap, his knife hand raised to rake at those eyes. A brown +shape with a V of lighter fur banding its back crossed the far range of +Shann's vision. He could not believe what he saw, not even when a +snarling animal, slavering with rage, came at a lumbering gallop to +stand beside him, a second animal on its heels. + +Uttering his own battle cry, Taggi attacked. The fork-tail's head swung, +imitating the movements of the wolverine as it had earlier mimicked the +swaying of the disk in the Wyvern's hand. Togi came in from the other +side. They might have been hounds keeping a bull in play. And never had +they shown such perfect team work, almost as if they could sense what +Shann desired of them. + +That forked tail lashed viciously, a formidable weapon. Bone, muscles, +scaled flesh, half buried in the sand, swept up a cloud of grit into the +face of the man and the animals. Shann fell back, pawing with his free +hand at his eyes. The wolverines circled warily, trying for the attack +they favored--the spring to the shoulders, the usually fatal assault on +the spine behind the neck. But the armored head of the fork-tail, slung +low, warned them off. Again the tail lashed, and this time Taggi was +caught and hurled across the beach. + +Togi uttered a challenge, made a reckless dash, and raked down the +length of the fork-tail's body, fastening on that tail, weighing it to +earth with her own poundage while the sea creature fought to dislodge +her. Shann, his eyes watering from the sand, but able to see, watched +that battle for a long second, judging that fork-tail was completely +engaged in trying to free its best weapon from the grip of the +wolverine. The latter clawed and bit with a fury which suggested Togi +intended to immobilize that weapon by tearing it to shreds. + +Fork-tail wrenched its body, striving to reach its tormentor with fangs +or clawed feet. And in that struggle to achieve an impossible position, +its head slued far about, uncovering the unprotected area behind the +skull base which usually lay under the spiny collar about its shoulders. + +Shann went in. With one hand he gripped the edge of that collar--its +serrations tearing his flesh--and at the same time he drove his knife +blade deep into the soft underfolds, ripping on toward the spinal +column. The blade nicked against bone as the fork-tail's head slammed +back, catching Shann's hand and knife together in a trap. The Terran was +jerked from his feet, and flung to one side with the force of the +beast's reaction. + +Blood spurted up, his own blood mingled with that of the monster. Only +Togi's riding of the tail prevented Shann's being beaten to death. The +armored snout pointed skyward as the creature ground the sharp edge of +its collar down on the Terran's arm. Shann, frantic with pain, drove his +free fist into one of those eyes. + +Fork-tail jerked convulsively; its head snapped down again and Shann was +free. The Terran threw himself back, keeping his feet with an effort. +Fork-tail was writhing, churning up the sand in a cloud. But it could +not rid itself of the knife Shann had planted with all his strength, and +which the blows of its own armored collar were now driving deeper and +deeper into its back. + +It howled thinly, with an abnormal shrilling. Shann, nursing his +bleeding forearm against his chest, rolled free from the waves of sand +it threw about, bringing up against one of the rock pillars. With that +to steady him, he somehow found his feet, and stood weaving, trying to +see through the rain of dust. + +The convulsions which churned up that concealing cloud were growing more +feeble. Then Shann heard the triumphant squall from Togi, saw her brown +body still on the torn tail just above the forking. The wolverine used +her claws to hitch her way up the spine of the sea monster, heading for +the mountain of blood spouting from behind the head. Fork-tail fought to +raise that head once more; then the massive jaw thudded into the sand, +teeth snapping fruitlessly as a flood of grit overrode the tongue, +packed into the gaping mouth. + +How long had it taken--that frenzy of battle on the bloodstained beach? +Shann could have set no limit in clock-ruled time. He pressed his +wounded arm tighter to him, lurched past the still twitching sea thing +to that splotch of brown fur on the sand, shaping the wolverine's +whistle with dry lips. Togi was still busy with the kill, but Taggi lay +where that murderous tail had thrown him. + +Shann fell on his knees, as the beach around him developed a curious +tendency to sway. He put his good hand to the ruffled back fur of the +motionless wolverine. + +"Taggi!" + +A slight quiver answered. Shann tried awkwardly to raise the animal's +head with his own hand. As far as he could see, there were no open +wounds; but there might be broken bones, internal injuries he did not +have the skill to heal. + +"Taggi?" He called again gently, striving to bring that heavy head up on +his knee. + +"The furred one is not dead." + +For a moment Shann was not aware that those words had formed in his +mind, had not been heard by his ears. He looked up, eyes blazing at the +Wyvern coming toward him in a graceful glide across the crimsoned sand. +And in a space of heartbeats his thrust of anger cooled into a stubborn +enmity. + +"No thanks to you," he said deliberately aloud. If the Wyvern witch +wanted to understand him, let her make the effort; he did not try to +touch her thoughts with his. + +Taggi stirred again, and Shann glanced down quickly. The wolverine +gasped, opened his eyes, shook his miniature bear head, scattering +pellets of sand. He sniffed at a dollop of blood, the dark, alien blood, +spattered on Shann's breeches, and then his head came up with a +reassuring alertness as he looked to where his mate was still worrying +the now quiet fork-tail. + +With an effort, Taggi got to his feet, Shann aiding him. The man ran his +hand down over ribs, seeking any broken bones. Taggi growled a warning +once when that examination brought pain in its wake, but Shann could +detect no real damage. As might a cat, the wolverine must have met the +shock of that whip-tail stroke relaxed enough to escape serious injury. +Taggi had been knocked out, but now he was able to navigate again. He +pulled free from Shann's grip, lumbering across the sand to the kill. + +Someone else was crossing that strip of beach. Passing the Wyvern as if +he did not see them, Thorvald came directly to Shann. A few seconds +later he had the torn arm stretched across his own bent knee, examining +the still bleeding hurt. + +"That's a nasty one," he commented. + +Shann heard the words and they made sense, but the instability of his +surroundings was increasing, while Thorvald's handling sent sharp stabs +of pain up his arm and somehow into his head, where they ended in red +bursts to cloud his sight. + +Out of the reddish mist which had fogged most of the landscape there +emerged a single object, a round white disk. And in Shann's clouded mind +a well-rooted apprehension stirred. He struck out with his one hand, and +through luck connected. The disk flew out of sight. His vision cleared +enough so he could sight the Wyvern who had been leaning over Thorvald's +shoulder centering her weird weapon on him. Making a great effort, Shann +got out the words, words which he also shaped in his mind as he said +them aloud: "You're not taking me over--again!" + +There was no emotion to be read on that jewel-banded face or in her +unblinking eyes. He caught at Thorvald, determined to get across his +warning. + +"Don't let them use those disks on us!" + +"I'll do my best." + +Only the haze had taken Thorvald again. Did one of the Wyverns have a +disk focused on them? Were they being pulled into one of those blank +periods, to awaken as prisoners once more--say, in the cavern of the +veil? The Terran fought with every ounce of will power to escape +unconsciousness, but he failed. + +This time he did not awaken half-drowning in an underground stream or +facing a green mist. And there was an ache in his arm which was somehow +reassuring with the very insistence of pain. Before opening his eyes, +his fingers crossed the smooth slick of a bandage there, went on to +investigate by touch a sleep mat such as he had found in the cavern +structure. Was he back in that web of rooms and corridors? + +Shann delayed opening his eyes until a kind of shame drove him to it. He +first saw an oval opening almost the length of his body as it was +stretched only a foot or two below the sill of that window. And through +its transparent surface came the golden light of the sun--no green mist, +no crystals mocking the stars. + +The room in which he lay was small with smooth walls, much like that in +which he had been imprisoned on the island. And there were no other +furnishings save the mat on which he rested. Over him was a light cover +netted of fibers resembling yarn, with feathers knotted into it to +provide a downy upper surface. His clothing was gone, but the single +covering was too warm and he pushed it away from his shoulders and chest +as he wriggled up to see the view beyond the window. + +His torn arm came into full view. From wrist to elbow it was encased in +an opaque skin sheath, unlike any bandage of his own world. Surely that +had not come out of any Survey aid pack. Shann gazed toward the window, +but beyond lay only a reach of sky. Except for a lemon cloud or two +ruffled high above the horizon, nothing broke that soft amber curtain. +He might be quartered in a tower well above ground level, which did not +match his former experience with Wyvern accommodations. + +"Back with us again?" Thorvald, one hand lifting a door panel, came in. +His ragged uniform was gone, and he wore only breeches of a sleek green +material and his own scuffed-and-battered boots. + +Shann settled back on the mat. "Where are we?" + +"I think you might term this the capital city," Thorvald answered. "In +relation to the mainland, we're on an island well out to sea--westward." + +"How did we get here?" That climb in the slab, the stream underground.... +Had it been an interior river running under the bed of the sea? But +Shann was not prepared for the other's reply. + +"By wishing." + +"By _what_?" + +Thorvald nodded, his expression serious. "They wished us here. Listen, +Lantee, when you jumped down to mix it with that fork-tailed thing, did +you wish you had the wolverines with you?" + +Shann thought back; his memories of what had occurred before that battle +were none too clear. But, yes, he had wished Taggi and Togi present at +that moment to distract the enraged beast. + +"You mean I wished them?" The whole idea was probably a part of the +Wyvern jargon of dreaming and he added, "Or did I just dream +everything?" There was the bandage on his arm, the soreness under that +bandage. But also there had been Logally's lash brand back in the +cavern, which had bitten into his flesh with the pain of a real blow. + +"No, you weren't dreaming. You happened to be tuned in one of those +handy little gadgets our lady friends here use. And, so tuned in, your +desire for the wolverines being pretty powerful just then, they came." + +Shann grimaced. This was unbelievable. Yet there were his meetings with +Logally and Trav. How could anyone rationally explain them? And how had +he, in the beginning, been jumped from the top of the cliff on the +island of his marooning into the midst of an underground flood without +any conscious memory of an intermediate journey? + +"How does it work?" he asked simply. + +Thorvald laughed. "You tell me. They have these disks, one to a Wyvern, +and they control forces with them. Back there on the beach we +interrupted a class in such control; they were the novices learning +their trade. We've stumbled on something here which can't be defined or +understood by any of our previous standards of comparison. It's frankly +magic, judged by our terms." + +"Are we prisoners?" Shann wanted to know. + +"Ask me something I'm sure of. I've been free to come and go within +limits. No one's exhibited any signs of hostility; most of them simply +ignore me. I've had two interviews, via this mind-reading act of theirs, +with their rulers, or elders, or chief sorceresses--all three titles +seem to apply. They ask questions, I answer as best I can, but sometimes +we appear to have no common meeting ground. Then I ask some questions, +they evade gracefully, or reply in a kind of unintelligible double-talk, +and that's as far as our communication has progressed so far." + +"Taggi and Togi?" + +"Have a run of their own and as far as I can tell are better satisfied +with life than I am. Oddly enough, they respond more quickly and more +intelligently to orders. Perhaps this business of being shunted around +by the disks has conditioned them in some way." + +"What about these Wyverns? Are they all female?" + +"No, but their tribal system is strictly matriarchal, which follows a +pattern even Terra once knew: the fertile earth mother and her +priestesses, who became the witches when the gods overruled the +goddesses. The males are few in number and lack the power to activate +the disks. In fact," Thorvald laughed ruefully, "one gathers that in +this civilization our opposite numbers have, more or less, the status of +pets at the best, and necessary evils at the worst. Which put _us_ at a +disadvantage from the start." + +"You think that they won't take us seriously because we are males?" + +"Might just work out that way. I've tried to get through to them about +danger from the Throgs, telling them what it would mean to them to have +the beetle-heads settle in here for good. They just brush aside the +whole idea." + +"Can't you argue that the Throgs are males, too? Or aren't they?" + +The Survey officer shook his head. "That's a point no human can answer. +We've been sparring with Throgs for years and there have been libraries +of reports written about them and their behavior patterns, all of which +add up to about two paragraphs of proven facts and hundreds of surmises +beginning with the probable and skimming out into the wild fantastic. +You can claim anything about a Throg and find a lot of very intelligent +souls ready to believe you. But whether those beetle-heads squatting +over on the mainland are able to answer to 'he,' 'she,' or 'it,' your +solution is just as good as mine. We've always considered the ones we +fight to be males, but they might just as possibly be amazons. Frankly, +these Wyverns couldn't care less either; at least that's the impression +they give." + +"But anyway," Shann observed, "it hasn't come to 'we're all girls +together' either." + +Thorvald laughed again. "Not so you can notice. We're not the only +unwilling visitor in the vicinity." + +Shann sat up. "A Throg?" + +"A something. Non-Warlockian, or non-Wyvern. And perhaps trouble for +us." + +"You haven't seen this other?" + +Thorvald sat down cross-legged. The amber light from the window made +red-gold of his hair, added ruddiness to his less-gaunt features. + +"No, I haven't. As far as I can tell, the stranger's not right here. I +caught stray thought beams twice--surprise expressed by newly arrived +Wyverns who met me and apparently expected to be fronted by something +quite physically different." + +"Another Terran scout?" + +"No. I imagine that to the Wyverns we must look a lot alike. Just as we +couldn't tell one of them from her sister if their body patterns didn't +differ. Discovered one thing about those patterns--the more intricate +they run, the higher the 'power,' not of the immediate wearer, but of +her ancestors. They're marked when they qualify for their disk and +presented with the rating of the greatest witch in their family line as +an inducement to live up to those deeds and surpass them if possible. +Quite a bit of logic to that. Given the right conditioning, such a +system might even work in our service." + +That nugget of information was the stuff from which Survey reports were +made. But at the moment the information concerning the other captive was +of more value to Shann. He steadied his body against the wall with his +good hand and got to his feet. Thorvald watched him. + +"I take it you have visions of action. Tell me, Lantee, why _did_ you +take that header off the cliff to mix it with fork-tail?" + +Shann wondered himself. He had no reason for that impulsive act. "I +don't know----" + +"Chivalry? Fair Wyvern in distress?" the other prodded. "Or did the back +lash from one of those disks draw you in?" + +"I don't know----" + +"And why did you use your knife instead of your stunner?" + +Shann was startled. For the first time he realized that he had fronted +the greatest native menace they had discovered on Warlock with the more +primitive of his weapons. Why had he not tried the stunner on the beast? +He had just never thought of it when he had taken that leap into the +role of dragon slayer. + +"Not that it would have done you any good to try the ray; it has no +effect on fork-tail." + +"You tried it?" + +"Naturally. But you didn't know that, or did you pick up that +information earlier?" + +"No," answer Shann slowly. "No, I don't know why I used the knife. The +stunner would have been more natural." Suddenly he shivered, and the +face he turned to Thorvald was very sober. + +"How much do they control us?" he asked, his voice dropping to a half +whisper as if the walls about them could pick up those words and relay +them to other ears. "What can they do?" + +"A good question." Thorvald lost his light tone. "Yes, what can they +feed into our minds without our knowing? Perhaps those disks are only +window dressing, and they can work without them. A great deal will +depend upon the impression we can make on these witches." He began to +smile again, more wryly. "The name we gave this planet is certainly a +misnomer. A warlock is a male sorcerer, not a witch." + +"And what are the chances of our becoming warlocks ourselves?" + +Again Thorvald's smile faded, but he gave a curt little nod to Shann as +if approving that thought. "That is something we are going to look into, +and now! If we have to convince some stubborn females, as well as fight +Throgs, well"--he shrugged--"we'll have a busy, busy, time." + + + + +16. THIRD PRISONER + + +"Well, it works as good as new." Shann held his hand and arm out into +the full path of the sun. He had just stripped off the skin-case +bandage, to show the raw seam of a half-healed scar, but as he flexed +muscles, bent and twisted his arm, there was only a small residue of +soreness left. + +"Now what, or where?" he asked Thorvald with some eagerness. Several +days' imprisonment in this room had made him impatient for the outer +world again. Like the officer, he now wore breeches of the green fabric, +the only material known to the Wyverns, and his own badly worn boots. +Oddly enough, the Terrans' weapons, stunner and knife, had been left to +them, a point which made them uneasy, since it suggested that the +Wyverns believed they had nothing to fear from clumsy alien arms. + +"Your guess is as good as mine," Thorvald answered that double question. +"But it is you they want to see; they insisted upon it, rather +emphatically in fact." + +The Wyvern city existed as a series of cell-like hollows in the interior +of a rock-walled island. Outside there had been no tampering with the +natural rugged features of the escarpment, and within, the silence was +almost complete. For all the Terrans could learn, the population of the +stone-walled hive might have been several thousand, or just the handful +that they had seen with their own eyes along the passages which had been +declared open territory for them. + +Shann half expected to find again a skull-walled chamber where witches +tossed colored sticks to determine his future. But he came with Thorvald +into an oval room in which most of the outer wall was a window. And +seeing what lay framed in that, Shann halted, again uncertain as to +whether he actually saw that, or whether he was willed into visualizing +a scene by the choice of his hostesses. + +They were lower now than the room in which he had nursed his wound, not +far above water level. And this window faced the sea. Across a stretch +of green water was his red-purple skull, the waves lapping its lower +jaw, spreading their foam in between the gaping rock-fringe which formed +its teeth. And from the eye hollows flapped the clak-claks of the sea +coast, coming and going as if they carried to some imprisoned brain +within that giant bone case messages from the outer world. + +"My dream----" Shann said. + +"Your dream." Thorvald had not echoed that; the answer had come in his +brain. + +Shann turned his head and surveyed the Wyvern awaiting them with a +concentration which was close to the rudeness of an outright stare, a +stare which held no friendship. For by her skin patterns he knew her for +the one who had led that triumvir who had sent him into the cavern of +the mist. And with her was the younger witch he had trapped on the night +that all this baffling action had begun. + +"We meet again," he said slowly. "To what purpose?" + +"To our purpose ... and yours----" + +"I do not doubt that it is to yours." The Terran's thoughts fell easily +now into a formal pattern he would not have used with one of his own +kind. "But I do not expect any good to me...." + +There was no readable expression on her face; he did not expect to see +any. But in their uneven mind touch he caught a fleeting suggestion of +bewilderment on her part, as if she found his mental processes as hard +to understand as a puzzle with few leading clues. + +"We mean you no ill, star voyager. You are far more than we first +thought you, for you have dreamed false and have known. Now dream true, +and know it also." + +"Yet," he challenged, "you would set me a task without my consent." + +"We have a task for you, but already it was set in the pattern of your +true dreaming. And we do not set such patterns, star man; that is done +by the Greatest Power of all. Each lives within her appointed pattern +from the First Awakening to the Final Dream. So we do not ask of you any +more than that which is already laid for your doing." + +She arose with that languid grace which was a part of their delicate +jeweled bodies and came to stand beside him, a child in size, making his +Terran flesh and bones awkward, clodlike in contrast. She stretched out +her four-digit hand, her slender arm ringed with gemmed circles and +bands, measuring it beside his own, bearing that livid scar. + +"We are different, star man, yet still are we both dreamers. And dreams +hold power. Your dreams brought you across the dark which lies between +sun and distant sun. Our dreams carry us on even stranger roads. And +yonder"--one of her fingers stiffened to a point, indicating the +skull--"there is another who dreams with power, a power which will +destroy us all unless the pattern is broken speedily." + +"And I must go to seek this dreamer?" His vision of climbing through +that nose hole was to be realized then. + +"You go." + +Thorvald stirred and the Wyvern turned her head to him. "Alone," she +added. "For this is your dream only, as it has been from the beginning. +There is for each his own dream, and another cannot walk through it to +alter the pattern, even to save a life." + +Shann grinned crookedly, without humor. "It seems that I'm elected," he +said as much to himself as to Thorvald. "But what do I do with this +other dreamer?" + +"What your pattern moves you to do. Save that you do not slay him----" + +"Throg!" Thorvald started forward. "You can't just walk in on a Throg +barehanded and be bound by orders such as that!" + +The Wyvern must have caught the sense of that vocal protest, for her +communication touched them both. "We cannot deal with that one as his +mind is closed to us. Yet he is an elder among his kind and his people +have been searching land and sea for him since his air rider broke upon +the rocks and he entered into hiding over there. Make your peace with +him if you can, and also take him hence, for his dreams are not ours, +and he brings confusion to the Reachers when they retire to run the +Trails of Seeking." + +"Must be an important Throg," Shann deduced. "They could have an officer +of the beetle-heads under wraps over there. Could we use him to bargain +with the rest?" + +Thorvald's frown did not lighten. "We've never been able to establish +any form of contact in the past, though our best qualified minds, +reinforced by training, have tried...." + +Shann did not take fire at that rather delicate estimate of his own lack +of preparation for the carrying out of diplomatic negotiations with the +enemy; he knew it was true. But there was one thing he could try--if the +Wyverns permitted. + +"Will you give a disk of power to this star man?" He pointed to +Thorvald. "For he is my Elder One and a Reacher for Knowledge. With such +a focus his dream could march with mine when I go to the Throg, and +perhaps that can aid in my doing what I could not accomplish alone. For +that is the secret of _my_ people, Elder One. We link our powers +together to make a shield against our enemies, a common tool for the +work we must do." + +"And so it is with us also, star voyager. We are not so unlike as the +foolish might think. We learned much of you while you both wandered in +the Place of False Dreams. But our power disks are our own and can not +be given to a stranger while their owners live. However...." She turned +again with an abruptness foreign to the usual Wyvern manner and faced +the older Terran. + +The officer might have been obeying an unvoiced order as he put out his +hands and laid them palm to palm on those she held up to him, bending +his head so gray eyes met golden ones. The web of communication which +had held all three of them snapped. Thorvald and the Wyvern were linked +in a tight circuit which excluded Shann. + +Then the latter became conscious of movement beside him. The younger +Wyvern had joined him to watch the clak-claks in their circling of the +bare dome of the skull island. + +"Why do they fly so?" Shann asked her. + +"Within they nest, care for their young. Also they hunt the rock +creatures that swarm in the lower darkness." + +"The rock creatures?" If the skull's interior was infested by some other +native fauna, he wanted to know it. + +By some method of her own the young Wyvern conveyed a strong impression +of revulsion, which was her personal reaction to the "rock creatures." + +"Yet you imprison the Throg there----" he remarked. + +"Not so!" Her denial was instantaneous and vehement. "The other worlder +fled into that place in spite of our calling. There he stays in hiding. +Once we drew him out to the sea, but he broke the power and fled inside +again." + +"Broke free----" Shann pounced upon that. "From disk control?" + +"But surely." Her reply held something of wonder. "Why do you ask, star +voyager? Did you not also break free from the power of the disk when I +led you by the underground ways, awaking in the river? Do you then rate +this other one as less than your own breed that you think him incapable +of the same action?" + +"Of Throgs I know as much as this...." He held up his hand, measuring +off a fraction of space between thumb and forefinger. + +"Yet you knew them before you came to this world." + +"My people have known them for long. We have met and fought many times +among the stars." + +"And never have you talked mind to mind?" + +"Never. We have sought for that, but there has been no communication +between us, neither of mind nor of voice." + +"This one you name Throg is truly not as you," she assented. "And we are +not as you, being alien and female. Yet, star man, you and I have shared +a dream." + +Shann stared at her, startled, not so much by what she said as the human +shading of those words in his mind. Or had that also been illusion? + +"In the veil ...that creature which came to you on wings when you +remembered that. A good dream, though it came out of the past and so was +false in the present. But I have gathered it into my own store: such a +fine dream, one that you have cherished." + +"Trav was to be cherished," he agreed soberly. "I found her in a broken +sleep cage at a spaceport when I was a child. We were both cold and +hungry, alone and hurt. So I stole and was glad that I stole Trav. For a +little space we both were very happy...." Forcibly he stifled memory. + +"So, though we are unlike in body and in mind, yet we find beauty +together if only in a dream. Therefore, between your people and mine +there can _be_ a common speech. And I may show you my dream store for +your enjoyment, star voyager." + +A flickering of pictures, some weird, some beautiful, all a little +distorted--not only by haste, but also by the haze of alienness which +was a part of her memory pattern--crossed Shann's mind. + +"Such a sharing would be a rich feast," he agreed. + +"All right!" Those crisp words in his own tongue brought Shann away from +the window to Thorvald. The Survey officer was no longer locked hand to +hand with the Wyvern witch, but his features were alive with a new +eagerness. + +"We are going to try your idea, Lantee. They'll provide me with a new, +unmarked disk, show me how to use it. And I'll do what I can to back you +with it. But they insist that you go today." + +"What do they really want me to do? Just rout out that Throg? Or try to +talk him into being a go-between with his people? That _does_ come under +the heading of dreaming!" + +"They want him out of there, back with his own kind if possible. +Apparently he's a disruptive influence for them; he causes some kind of +a mental foul up which interferes drastically with their 'power.' They +haven't been able to get him to make any contact with them. This Elder +One is firm about your being the one ordained for the job, and that +you'll know what action to take when you get there." + +"Must have thrown the sticks for me again," Shann commented. + +"Well, they've definitely picked you to smoke out the Throg, and they +can't be talked into changing their minds about that." + +"I'll be the smoked one if he has a blaster." + +"They say he's unarmed----" + +"What do they know about our weapons or a Throg's?" + +"The other one has no arms." Wyvern words in his mind again. "This fact +gives him great fear. That which he has depended upon is broken. And +since he has no weapon, he is shut into a prison of his own terrors." + +But an adult Throg, even unarmed, was not to be considered easy meat, +Shann thought. Armored with horny skin, armed with claws and those +crushing mandibles of the beetle mouth ... a third again as tall as he +himself was. No, even unarmed, the Throg had to be considered a menace. + +Shann was still thinking along that line as he splashed through the surf +which broke about the lower jaw of the skull island, climbed up one of +the pointed rocks which masqueraded as a tooth, and reached for a higher +hold to lead him to the nose slit, the gateway to the alien's hiding +place. + +The clak-claks screamed and dived about him, highly resentful of his +intrusion. And when they grew so bold as to buffet him with their wings, +threaten him with their tearing beaks, he was glad to reach the broken +rock edging his chosen door and duck inside. Once there, Shann looked +back. There was no sighting the cliff window where Thorvald stood, nor +was he aware in any way of mental contact with the Survey officer; their +hope of such a linkage might be futile. + +Shann was reluctant to venture farther. His eyes had sufficiently +adjusted to the limited supply of light, and now the Terran brought out +the one aid the Wyverns had granted him, a green crystal such as those +which had played the role of stars on the cavern roof. He clipped its +simple loop setting to the front of his belt, leaving his hands free. +Then, having filled his lungs for the last time with clean, sea-washed +air, he started into the dome of the skull. + +There was a fetid thickness to this air only a few feet away from the +outer world. The odor of clak-clak droppings and refuse from their nests +was strong, but there was an added staleness, as if no breeze ever +scooped out the old atmosphere to replace it with new. Fragile bones +crunched under Shann's boots, but as he drew away from the entrance, the +pale glow of the crystal increased its radiance, emitting a light not +unlike that of the phosphorescent bushes, so that he was not swallowed +up by dark. + +The cave behind the nose hole narrowed quickly into a cleft, a narrow +cleft which pierced into the bowl of the skull. Shann proceeded with +caution, pausing every few steps. There came a murmur rising now and +again to a shriek, issuing, he guessed, from the clak-clak rookery +above. And the pound of sea waves was also a vibration carrying through +the rock. He was listening for something else, at the same time testing +the ill-smelling air for that betraying muskiness which spelled Throg. + +When a twist in the narrow passage cut off the splotch of daylight, +Shann drew his stunner. The strongest bolt from that could not jolt a +Throg into complete paralysis, but it would slow up any attack. + +Red--pinpoints of red--were edging a break in the rock wall. They were +gone in a flash. Eyes? Perhaps of the rock dwellers which the Wyverns +hated? More red dots, farther ahead. Shann listened for a sound he could +identify. + +But smell came before sound. That trace of effluvia which in force could +sicken a Terran, was his guide. The cleft ended in a space to which the +limited gleam of the crystal could not provide a far wall. But that +faint light did show him his quarry. + +The Throg was not on his feet, ready for trouble, but hunched close to +the wall. And the alien did not move at Shann's coming. Did the +beetle-head sight him? Shann wondered. He moved cautiously. And the +round head, with its bulbous eyes, turned a fraction; the mandibles +about the the ugly mouth opening quivered. Yes, the Throg could see him. + +But still the alien made no move to rise out of his crouch, to come at +the Terran. Then Shann saw the fall of rock, the stone which pinned a +double-kneed leg to the floor. And in a circle about the prisoner were +the small, crushed, furred things which had come to prey on the helpless +to be slain themselves by the well-aimed stones which were the Throg's +only weapons of defense. + +Shann sheathed his stunner. It was plain the Throg was helpless and +could not reach him. He tried to concentrate mentally on a picture of +the scene before him, hoping that Thorvald or one of the Wyverns could +pick it up. There was no answer, no direction. Choice of action remained +solely his. + +The Terran made the oldest friendly gesture of his kind; his empty hands +held up, palm out. There was no answering move from the Throg. Neither +of the other's upper limbs stirred, their claws still gripping the small +rocks in readiness for throwing. All Shann's knowledge of the alien's +history argued against an unarmed advance. The Throg's marksmanship, as +borne out by the circle of small bodies, was excellent. And one of those +rocks might well thud against his own head, with fatal results. Yet he +had been sent there to get the Throg free and out of Wyvern territory. + +So rank was the beetle smell of the other that Shann coughed. What he +needed now was the aid of the wolverines, a diversion to keep the alien +busy. But this time there was no disk working to produce Taggi and Togi +out of thin air. And he could not continue to just stand there staring +at the Throg. There remained the stunner. Life on the Dumps tended to +make a man a fast draw, a matter of survival for the fastest and most +accurate marksman. And now one of Shann's hands swept down with a speed +which, learned early, was never really to be forgotten. + +He had the rod out and was spraying on tight beam straight at the +Throg's head before the first stone struck his shoulder and his weapon +fell from a numbed hand. But a second stone tumbled out of the Throg's +claw. The alien tried to reach for it, his movements slow, uncertain. + +Shann, his arm dangling, went in fast, bracing his good shoulder against +the boulder which pinned the Throg. The alien aimed a blow at the +Terran's head, but again so slowly Shann had no difficulty in evading +it. The boulder gave, rolled, and Shann cleared out of range, back to +the opening of the cleft, pausing only to scoop up his stunner. + +For a long moment the Throg made no move; his dazed wits must have been +working at very slow speed. Then the alien heaved up his body to stand +erect, favoring the leg which had been trapped. Shann tensed, waiting +for a rush. What now? Would the Throg refuse to move? If so, what could +he do about it? + +With the impact of a blow, the message Shann had hoped for struck into +his mind. But his initial joy at that contact was wiped out with the +same speed. + +"Throg ship ... overhead." + +The Throg stood away from the wall, limped out, heading for Shann, or +perhaps only the cleft in which he stood. Swinging the stunner awkwardly +in his left hand, the Terran retreated, mentally trying to contact +Thorvald once more. There was no answer. He was well up into the cleft, +moving crabwise, unwilling to turn his back on the Throg. The alien was +coming as steadily as his injured limb would allow, trying for the exit +to the outer world. + +A Throg ship overhead.... Had the castaway somehow managed to call his +own kind? And what if he, Shann Lantee, were to be trapped between the +alien and a landing party from the flyer? He did not expect any +assistance from the Wyverns, and what could Thorvald possibly do? From +behind him, at the entrance of the nose slit, he heard a sound--a sound +which was neither the scolding of a clak-clak nor the eternal growl of +the sea. + + + + +17. THROG JUSTICE + + +The musty stench was so strong that Shann could no longer fight the +demands of his outraged stomach. He rolled on his side, retching +violently until the sour smell of his illness battled the foul odor of +the ship. His memories of how he had come into this place were vague; +his body was a mass of dull pain, as if he had been scorched. Scorched! +Had the Throgs used one of their energy whips to subdue him? The last +clear thing he could recall was that slow withdrawal down the cleft +inside the skull rock, the Throg not too far away--the sound from the +entrance. + +A Throg prisoner! Through the pain and the sickness the horror of that +bit doubly deep. Terrans did not fall alive into Throg hands, not if +they had the means of ending their existence within reach. But his hands +and arms were caught behind him in an unbreakable lock, some gadget not +unlike the Terran force bar used to restrain criminals, he decided +groggily. + +The cubby in which he lay was black-dark. But the quivering of the deck +and the bulkheads about him told Shann that the ship was in flight. And +there could be but two destinations, either the camp where the Throg +force had taken over the Terran installations or the mother ship of the +raiders. If Thorvald's earlier surmise was true and the aliens were +hunting a Terran to talk in the transport, then they were heading for +the camp. + +And because a man who still lives and who is not yet broken can also +hope, Shann began to think ahead to the camp--the camp and a faint, +thin chance of escape. For on the surface of Warlock there was a thin +chance; in the mother ship of the Throgs none at all. + +Thorvald--and the Wyverns! Could he hope for any help from them? Shann +closed his eyes against the thick darkness and tried to reach out to +touch, somewhere, Thorvald with his disk--or perhaps the Wyvern who had +talked of Trav and shared dreams. Shann focused his thoughts on the +young Wyvern witch, visualizing with all the detail he could summon out +of memory the brilliant patterns about her slender arms, her thin, +fragile wrists, those other designs overlaying her features. He could +see her in his mind, but she was only a puppet, without life, certainly +without power. + +Thorvald.... Now Shann fought to build a mental picture of the Survey +officer, making his stand at that window, grasping his disk, with the +sun bringing gold to his hair and showing the bronze of his skin. Those +gray eyes which could be ice, that jaw with the tight set of a trap upon +occasion.... + +And Shann made contact! He touched something, a flickering like a badly +tuned tri-dee--far more fuzzy than the mind pictures the Wyvern had +paraded for him. But he had touched! And Thorvald, too, had been aware +of his contact. + +Shann fought to find that thread of awareness again. Patiently he once +more created his vision of Thorvald, adding every detail he could +recall, small things about the other which he had not known that he had +noticed--the tiny arrow-shaped scar near the base of the officer's +throat, the way his growing hair curled at the ends, the look of one +eyebrow slanting abruptly toward his hairline when he was dubious about +something. Shann strove to make a figure as vividly as Logally and Trav +had been in the mist of the illusion. + +"... where?" + +This time Shann was prepared; he did not let that mind image dissolve in +his excitement at recapturing the link. "Throg ship," he said the words +aloud, over and over, but still he held to his picture of Thorvald. + +"... will...." + +Only that one word! The thread between them snapped again. Only then did +Shann become conscious of a change in the ship's vibration. Were they +setting down? And where? Let it be at the camp! It must be the camp! + +There was no jar at that landing, just that one second the vibration +told him the ship was alive and air-borne, and the next a dead quiet +testified that they had landed. Shann, his sore body stiff with tension, +waited for the next move on the part of his captors. + +He continued to lie in the dark, still queasy from the stench of the +cell, too keyed up to try to reach Thorvald. There was a dull grating +over his head, and he looked up eagerly--to be blinded by a strong beam +of light. Claws hooked painfully under his arms and he was manhandled up +and out, dragged along a short passage and pitched free of the ship, +falling hard upon trodden earth and rolling over gasping as the seared +skin of his body was rasped and abraded. + +The Terran lay face up now, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he +saw a ring of Throg heads blotting out the sky as they inspected their +catch impassively. The mouth mandibles of one moved with a faint +clicking. Again claws fastened in his armpits, brought Shann to his +feet, holding him erect. + +Then the Throg who had given that order moved closer. His hand-claws +clasped a small metal plate surmounted by a hoop of thin wire over which +was stretched a web of threads glistening in the sun. Holding that hoop +on a level with his mouth, the alien clicked his mandibles, and those +sounds became barely distinguishable basic galactic words. + +"You Throg meat!" + +For a moment Shann wondered if the alien meant that statement literally. +Or was it a conventional expression for a prisoner among their land. + +"Do as told!" + +That was clear enough, and for the moment the Terran did not see that he +had any choice in the matter. But Shann refused to make any sign of +agreement to either of those two limited statements. Perhaps the +beetle-heads did not expect any. The alien who had pulled him to his +feet continued to hold him erect, but the attention of the Throg with +the translator switched elsewhere. + +From the alien ship emerged a second party. The Throg in their midst was +unarmed and limping. Although to Terran eyes one alien was the exact +counterpart of the other, Shann thought that this one was the prisoner +in the skull cave. Yet the indications now suggested that he had only +changed one captivity for another and was in disgrace among his kind. +Why? + +The Throg limped up to front the leader with the translator, and his +guards fell back. Again mandibles clicked, were answered, though the +sense of that exchange eluded Shann. At one point in the report--if +report it was--he himself appeared to be under discussion, for the +injured Throg waved a hand-claw in the Terran's direction. But the end +to the conference came quickly enough and in a manner which Shann found +shocking. + +Two of the guards stepped forward, caught at the injured Throg's arms +and drew him away, leading him out into a space beyond the grounded +ship. They dropped their hold on him, returning at a trot. The officer +clicked an order. Blasters were unholstered, and the Throg in the field +shriveled under a vicious concentration of cross bolts. Shann gasped. He +certainly had no liking for Throgs, but this execution carried overtones +of a cold-blooded ferocity which transcended anything he had known, even +in the callous brutality of the Dumps. + +Limp, and more than a little sick again, he watched the Throg officer +turn away. And a moment later he was forced along in the other's wake to +the domes of the once Terran camp. Not just to the camp in general, he +discovered a minute later, but to that structure which had housed the +com unit linking them with ships cruising the solar lanes and with the +patrol. So Thorvald had been right; they needed a Terran to +broadcast--to cover their tracks here and lay a trap for the transport. + +Shann had no idea how much time he had passed among the Wyverns; the +transport with its load of unsuspecting settlers might already be in the +system of Circe, plotting a landing orbit around Warlock, broadcasting +her recognition signal and a demand for a beam to ride her in. Only, +this time the Throgs were out of luck. They had picked up one prisoner +who could not help them, even if he wanted to do so. The mysteries of +the highly technical installations in this dome were just that to Shann +Lantee--complete mysteries. He had not the slightest idea of how to +activate the machines, let alone broadcast in the proper code. + +A cold spot of terror gathered in his middle, spreading outward through +his smarting body. For he was certain that the Throgs would not believe +that. They would consider his protestations of ignorance as a stubborn +refusal to co-operate. And what would happen to him then would be beyond +human endurance. Could he bluff--play for time? But what would that time +buy him except to delay the inevitable? In the end, that small hope +based on his momentary contact with Thorvald made him decide to try that +bluff. + +There had been changes in the com dome since the capture of the cap. A +squat box on the floor sprouted a collection of tubes from its upper +surface. Perhaps that was some Throg equivalent of Terran equipment in +place on the wide table facing the door. + +The Throg leader clicked into his translator: "You call ship!" + +Shann was thrust down into the operator's chair, his bound arms still +twisted behind him so that he had to lean forward to keep on the seat at +all. Then the Throg who had pushed him there, roughly forced a set of +com earphones and speech mike onto his head. + +"Call ship!" clicked the alien officer. + +So time must be running out. Now was the moment to bluff. Shann shook +his head, hoping that the gesture of negation was common to both their +species. + +"I don't know the code," he said aloud. + +The Throg's bulbous eyes gazed, at his moving lips. Then the translator +was held before the Terran's mouth. Shann repeated his words, heard them +reissue as a series of clicks, and waited. So much depended now on the +reaction of the beetle-head officer. Would he summarily apply pressure +to enforce his order, or would he realize that it was possible that all +Terrans did not know that code, and so he could not produce in a +captive's head any knowledge that had never been there--with or without +physical coercion? + +Apparently the latter logic prevailed for the present. The Throg drew +the translator back to his mandibles. + +"When ship call--you answer--make lip talk your words! Say bad sickness +here--need help. Code man dead--you talk in his place. I listen. You say +wrong, you die--you die a long time. Hurt bad all that time----" + +Clear enough. So he had been able to buy a little time! But how soon +before the incoming ship would call? The Throgs seemed to expect it. +Shann licked his blistered lips. He was sure that the Throg officer +meant exactly what he said in that last grisly threat. Only, would +anyone--Throg or human--live very long in this camp if Shann got his +warning through? The transport would have been accompanied on the big +jump by a patrol cruiser, especially now with Throgs littering deep +space the way they were in this sector. Let Shann alert the ship, and +the cruiser would know; swift punitive action would be visited on the +camp. Throgs could begin to make their helpless prisoner regret his +rashness; then all of them would be blotted out together, prisoner and +captors alike, when the cruiser came in. + +If that was his last chance, he'd play it that way. The Throgs would +kill him anyhow, he hadn't the least doubt of that. They kept no +long-term Terran prisoners and never had. And at least he could take +this nest of devil beetles along with him. Not that the thought did +anything to dampen the fear which made him weak and dizzy. Shann Lantee +might be tough enough to fight his way out of the Dumps, but to stand up +and defy Throgs face-to-face like a video hero was something else. He +knew that he could not do any spectacular act; if he could hold out to +the end without cracking he would be satisfied. + +Two more Throgs entered the dome. They stalked to the far end of the +table which held the com equipment, and frequently pausing to consult a +Terran work tape set in a reader, they made adjustments to the spotter +beam broadcaster. They worked slowly but competently, testing each +circuit. Preparing to draw in the Terran transport, holding the large +ship until they had it helpless on the ground. The Terran began to +wonder how they proposed to take the ship over once they did have it on +planet. + +Transports were armed for ground fighting. Although they rode in on a +beam broadcast from a camp, they were prepared for unpleasant surprises +on a planet's surface; such were certainly not unknown in the history of +Survey. Which meant that the Throgs had in turn some assault weapon they +believed superior, for they radiated confidence now. But could they +handle a patrol cruiser ready to fight? + +The Throg technicians made a last check of the beam, reporting in clicks +to the officer. The alien gave an order to Shann's guard before +following them out. A loop of wire rope dropped over the Terran's head, +tightened about his chest, dragging him back against the chair until he +grunted with pain. Two more loops made him secure in a most +uncomfortable posture, and then he was left alone in the com dome. + +An abortive struggle against the wire rope taught him the folly of such +an effort. He was in deep freeze as far as any bodily movement was +concerned. Shann closed his eyes, settled to that same concentration he +had labored to acquire on the Throg ship. If there was any chance of the +Wyvern communication working again, here and now was the time for it! + +Again he built his mental picture of Thorvald, as detailed as he had +made it in the Throg ship. And with that to the forefront of his mind, +Shann strove to pick up the thread which could link them. Was the +distance between this camp and the seagirt city of the Wyverns too +great? Did the Throgs unconsciously dampen out that mental reaching as +the Wyverns had said they did when they had sent him to free the captive +in the skull? + +Drops gathered in the unkempt tight curls on his head, trickled down to +sting on his tender skin. He was bathed in the moisture summoned by an +effort as prolonged and severe as if he labored physically under a hot +sun at the top speed of which his body was capable. + +Thorvald---- + +Thorvald! But not standing by the window in the Wyvern stronghold! +Thorvald with the amethyst of heavy Warlockian foliage at his back. So +clear was the new picture that Shann might have stood only a few feet +away. Thorvald there, with the wolverines at his side. And behind him +sun glinted on the gem-patterned skin of more than one Wyvern. + +"Where?" + +That demand from the Survey officer, curt, clear--so perfect the word +might have rung audibly through the dome. + +"The camp!" Shann hurled that back, frantic with fear that once again +their contact might fail. + +"They want me to call in the transport." He added that. + +"How soon?" + +"Don't know. They have the guide beam set. I'm to say there's illness +here; they know I can't code." + +All he could see now was Thorvald's face, intent, the officer's eyes +cold sparks of steel, bearing the impress of a will as implacable as a +Throg's. Shann added his own decision. + +"I'll warn the ship off; they'll send in the patrol." + +There was no change in Thorvald's expression. "Hold out as long as you +can!" + +Cold enough, no promise of help, nothing on which to build hope. Yet the +fact that Thorvald was on the move, away from the Wyvern city, meant +something. And Shann was sure that thick vegetation could be found only +on the mainland. Not only was Thorvald ashore, but there were Wyverns +with him. Could the officer have persuaded the witches of Warlock to +foresake their hands-off policy and join him in an attack on the Throg +camp? No promise, not even a suggestion that the party Shann had +envisioned was moving in his direction. Yet somehow he believed that +they were. + +There was a sound from the doorway of the dome. Shann opened his eyes. +There were Throgs entering, one to go to the guide beam, two heading for +his chair. He closed his eyes again in a last attempt, backed by every +remaining ounce of his energy and will. + +"Ship's in range. Throgs here." + +Thorvald's face, dimmer now, snapped out while a blow on Shann's jaw +rocked his head cruelly, made his ears sing, his eyes water. He saw +Throgs--Throgs only. And one held the translator. + +"You talk!" + +A tri-jointed arm reached across his shoulder, triggered a lever, +pressed a button. The head set cramping his ear let out a sudden growl +of sound--the com was activated. A claw jammed the mike closer to +Shann's lips, but also slid in range the webbed loop of the translator. + +Shann shook his head at the incoming rattle of code. The Throg with the +translator was holding the other head set close to his own ear pit. And +the claws of the guard came down on Shann's shoulders in a cruel grip, a +threat of future brutality. + +The rattle of code continued while Shann thought furiously. This was it! +He had to give a warning, and then the aliens would do to him just what +the officer had threatened. Shann could not seem to think clearly. It +was as if in his efforts to contact Thorvald, he had exhausted some part +of his brain, so that now he was dazed just when he needed quick wits +the most! + +This whole scene had a weird unreality. He had seen its like a thousand +times on fiction tapes--the Terran hero menaced by aliens intent on +saving ... saving.... + +Was it out of one of those fiction tapes he had devoured in the past +that Shann recalled that scrap of almost forgotten information? + +The Terran began to speak into the mike, for there had come a pause in +the rattle of code. He used Terran, not basic, and he shaped the words +slowly. + +"Warlock calling--trouble--sickness here--com officer dead." + +He was interrupted by another burst of code. The claws of his guard +twisted into the naked flesh of his shoulders in vicious warning. + +"Warlock calling--" he repeated. "Need help----" + +"Who are you?" + +The demand came in basic. On board the transport they would have a list +of every member of the Survey team. + +"Lantee." Shann drew a deep breath. He was so conscious of those claws +on his shoulders, of what would follow. + +"This is Mayday!" he said distinctly, hoping desperately that someone in +the control cabin of the ship now in orbit would catch the true meaning +of that ancient call of complete disaster. "Mayday--beetles--over and +out!" + + + + +18. STORM'S ENDING + + +Shann had no answer from the transport, only the continuing hum of a +contact still open between the dome and the control cabin miles above +Warlock. The Terran breathed slowly, deeply, felt the claws of the Throg +bite his flesh as his chest expanded. Then, as if a knife slashed, the +hum of that contact was gone. He had time to know a small flash of +triumph. He had done it; he had aroused suspicion in the transport. + +When the Throg officer clicked to the alien manning the landing beam, +Shann's exultation grew. The beetle-head must have accepted that cut in +communication as normal; he was still expecting the Terran ship to drop +neatly into his claws. + +But Shann's respite was to be very short, only timed by a few breaths. +The Throg at the riding beam was watching the indicators. Now he +reported to his superior, who swung back to face the prisoner. Although +Shann could read no expression on the beetle's face, he did not need any +clue to the other's probable emotions. Knowing that his captive had +somehow tricked him, the alien would now proceed relentlessly to put +into effect the measures he had threatened. + +How long before the patrol cruiser would planet? That crew was used to +alarms, and their speed was three or four times greater than that of the +bulkier transports. If the Throgs didn't scatter now, before they could +be caught in one attack.... + +The wire rope which held Shann clamped to the chair was loosened, and he +set his teeth against the pain of restored circulation, This was nothing +compared to what he faced; he knew that. They jerked him to his feet, +faced him toward the outer door, and propelled him through it with a +speed and roughness indicative of their feelings. + +The hour was close to dusk and Shann glanced wistfully at promising +shadows, though he had given up hope of rescue by now. If he could just +get free of his guards, he could at least give the beetle-heads a good +run. + +He saw that the camp was deserted. There was no sign about the domes +that any Throgs sheltered there. In fact, Shann saw no aliens at all +except those who had come from the com dome with him. Of course! The +rest must be in ambush, waiting for the transport to planet. What about +the Throg ship or ships? Those must have been hidden also. And the only +hiding place for them would be aloft. There was a chance that the Throgs +had so flung away their chance for any quick retreat. + +Yes; the aliens could scatter over the countryside and so escape the +first blast from the cruiser. But they would simply maroon themselves to +be hunted down by patrol landing parties who would comb the territory. +The beetles could so prolong their lives for a few hours, maybe a few +days, but they were really ended on that moment when the transport cut +communication. Shann was sure that the officer, at least, understood +that. + +The Terran was dragged away from the domes toward the river down which +he and Thorvald had once escaped. Moving through the dusk in parallel +lines, he caught sight of other Throg squads, well armed, marching in +order to suggest that they were not yet alarmed. However, he had been +right about the ships--there were no flyers grounded on the improvised +field. + +Shann made himself as much of a burden as he could. At the best, he +could so delay the guards entrusted with his safekeeping; at the worst, +he could earn for himself a quick ending by blaster which would be +better than the one they had for him. He went limp, falling forward into +the trampled grass. There was an exasperated click from the Throg who +had been herding him, and the Terran tried not to flinch from a sharp +kick delivered by a clawed foot. + +Feigning unconsciousness, the Terran listened to the unintelligible +clicks exchanged by Throgs standing over him. His future depended now on +how deep lay the alien officer's anger. If the beetle-head wanted to +carry out his earlier threats, he would have to order Shann's +transportation by the fleeing force. Otherwise his life might well end +here and now. + +Claws hooked once more on Shann. He was boosted up on the horny carapace +of a guard, the bonds on his arms taken off and his numbed hands brought +forward, to be held by his captor so that he lay helpless, a cloak over +the other's hunched shoulders. + +The ghost flares of bushes and plants blooming in the gathering twilight +gave a limited light to the scene. There was no way of counting the +number of Throgs on the move. But Shann was sure that all the enemy +ships must have been emptied except for skeleton crews, and perhaps +others had been ferried in from their hidden base somewhere in Circe's +system. + +He could only see a little from his position on the Throg's back, but +ahead a ripple of beetle bodies slipped over the bank of the river cut. +The aliens were working their way into cover, fitting into the dapple +shadows with a skill which argued a long practice in such elusive +maneuvers. Did they plan to try to fight off a cruiser attack? That was +pure madness. Or, Shann wondered, did they intend to have the Terrans +met by one of their own major ships somewhere well above the surface of +Warlock? + +His bearer turned away from the stream cut, carrying Shann out into that +field which had first served the Terrans as a landing strip, then +offered the same service to the Throgs. They passed two more parties of +aliens on the move, manhandling with them bulky objects the Terran could +not identify. Then he was dumped unceremoniously to the hard earth, only +to lie there a few seconds before he was flopped over on a framework +which grated unpleasantly against his raw shoulders, his wrists and +ankles being made fast so that his body was spread-eagled. There was a +click of orders; the frame was raised and dropped with a jarring +movement into a base, and he was held erect, once more facing the Throg +with the translator. This was it! Shann began to regret every small +chance he had had to end more cleanly. If he had attacked one of the +guards, even with his hands bound, he might have flustered the Throg +into retaliatory blaster fire. + +Fear made a thicker fog about him than the green mist of the illusion. +Only this was no illusion. Shann stared at the Throg officer with sick +eyes, knowing that no one ever quite believes that a last evil will +strike at him, that he had clung to a hope which had no existence. + +"Lantee!" + +The call burst in his head with a painful force. His dazed attention was +outwardly on the alien with the translator, but that inner demand had +given him a shock. + +"Here! Thorvald? Where?" + +The other struck in again with an urgent demand singing through Shann's +brain. + +"Give us a fix point--away from camp but not too far. Quick!" + +A fix point--what did the Survey officer mean? A fix point ... For some +reason Shann thought of the ledge on which he had lain to watch the +first Throg attack. And the picture of it was etched on his mind as +clearly as memory could paint it. + +"Thorvald----" Again his voice and his mind call were echoes of each +other. But this time he had no answer. Had that demand meant Thorvald +and the Wyverns were moving in, putting to use the strange +distance-erasing power the witches of Warlock could use by desire? But +why had they not come sooner? And what could they hope to accomplish +against the now scattered but certainly unbroken enemy forces? The +Wyverns had not been able to turn their power against one injured +Throg--by their own accounting--how could they possibly cope with +well-armed and alert aliens in the field? + +"You die--slow----" The Throg officer clicked, and the emotionless, +toneless translation was all the more daunting for that lack of color. +"Your people come--see----" + +So that was the reason they had brought him to the landing field. He was +to furnish a grisly warning to the crew of the cruiser. However, there +the Throgs were making a bad mistake if they believed that his death by +any ingenious method could scare off Terran retaliation. + +"I die--you follow----" Shann tried to make that promise emphatic. + +Did the Throg officer expect the Terran to beg for his life or a quick +death? Again he made his threat--straight into the web, hearing it split +into clicks. + +"Perhaps," the Throg returned. "But you die the first." + +"Get to it!" Shann's voice scaled up. He was close to the ragged edge, +and the last push toward the breaking point had not been the Throg +speech, but that message from Thorvald. If the Survey officer was going +to make any move in the mottled dusk, it would have to be soon. + +Mottled dusk.... The Throgs had moved a little away from him. Shann +looked beyond them to the perimeter of the cleared field, not really +because he expected to see any rescuers break from cover there. And when +he did see a change, Shann thought his own sight was at fault. + +Those splotches of waxy light which marked certain trees, bushes, and +scrubby ground-hugging plants were spreading, running together in pools. +And from those center cores of concentrated glow, tendrils of mist +lazily curled out, as a many-armed creature of the sea might allow its +appendages to float in the water which supported it. Tendrils crossed, +met, and thickened. There was a growing river of eerie light which +spread, again resembling a sea wave licking out onto the field. And +where it touched, unlike the wave, it did not retreat, but lapped on. +Was he actually seeing that? Shann could not be sure. + +Only the gray light continued to build, faster now, its speed of advance +matching its increase in bulk. Shann somehow connected it with the veil +of illusion. If it was real, there was a purpose behind it. + +There was an aroused clicking from the Throgs. A blaster bolt cracked, +its spiteful, sickly yellow slicing into the nearest tongue of gray. But +that luminous fog engulfed the blast and was not dispelled. Shann forced +his head around against the support which held him. The mist crept +across the field from all quarters, walling them in. + +Running at the ungainly lope which was their best effort at speed were +half a dozen Throgs emerging from the river section. Their attitude +suggested panic-stricken flight, and when one tripped on some unseen +obstruction and went down--to fall beneath a descending tongue of +phosphorescence--he uttered a strange high-pitched squeal, thin and +faint, but still a note of complete, mindless terror. + +The Throgs surrounding Shann were firing at the fog, first with +precision, then raggedly, as their bolts did nothing to cut that opaque +curtain drawing in about them. From inside that mist came other +sounds--noises, calls, and cries all alien to him, and perhaps also to +the Throgs. There were shapes barely to be discerned through the swirls; +perhaps some were Throgs in flight. But certainly others were non-Throg +in outline. And the Terran was sure that at least three of those shapes, +all different, had been in pursuit of one fleeing Throg, heading him off +from that small open area still holding about Shann. + +For the Throgs were being herded in from all sides--the handful who had +come from the river, the others who had brought Shann there. And the +action of the mist was pushing them into a tight knot. Would they +eventually turn on him, wanting to make sure of their prisoner before +they made a last stand against whatever lurked in the fog? To Shann's +continued relief the aliens seemed to have forgotten him. Even when one +cowered back against the very edge of the frame on which the Terran was +bound, the beetle-head did not look at this helpless prey. + +They were firing wildly, with desperation in every heavy thrust of +bolt. Then one Throg threw down his blaster, raised his arms over his +head, and voicing the same high wail uttered by his comrade-in-arms +earlier, he ran straight into the mist where a shape materialized, +closed in behind him, cutting him off from his fellows. + +That break demoralized the others. The Throg commander burned down two +of his company with his blaster, but three more broke past him to the +fog. One of the remaining party reversed his blaster, swung the stock +against the officer's carapace, beating him to his knees, before the +attacker raced on into the billows of the mist. Another threw himself on +the ground and lay there, pounding his claws against the baked earth. +While a remaining two continued with stolid precision to fire at the +lurking shapes which could only be half seen; and a third helped the +officer to his feet. + +The Throg commander reeled back against the frame, his musky body scent +filling Shann's nostrils. But he, too, paid no attention to the Terran, +though his horny arms scraped across Shann's. Holding both of his claws +to his head, he staggered on, to be engulfed by a new arm of the fog. + +Then, as if the swallowing of the officer had given the mist a fresh +appetite, the wan light waved in a last vast billow over the clear area +about the frame. Shann felt its substance cold, slimy, on his skin. This +was a deadly breath of un-life. + +He was weakened, sapped of strength, so that he hung in his bounds, his +head lolling forward on his breast. Warmth pressed against him, a warm +wet touch on his cold skin, a sensation of friendly concern in his mind. +Shann gasped, found that he was no longer filling his lungs with that +chill staleness which was the breath of the fog. He opened his eyes, +struggling to raise his head. The gray light had retreated, but though a +Throg blaster lay close to his feet, another only a yard beyond, there +was no sign of the aliens. + +Instead, standing on their hind feet to press against him in a demand +for his attention, were the wolverines. And seeing them, Shann dared to +believe that the impossible could be true; somehow he was safe. + +He spoke. And Taggi and Togi answered with eager whines. The mist was +withdrawing more slowly than it had come. Here and there things lay very +still on the ground. + +"Lantee!" + +This time the call came not into his mind but out of the air. Shann made +an effort at reply which was close to a croak. + +"Over here!" + +A new shape in the fog was moving with purpose toward him. Thorvald +strode into the open, sighted Shann, and began to run. + +"What did they----?" he began. + +Shann wanted to laugh, but the sound which issued from his dry throat +was very little like mirth. He struggled helplessly until he managed to +get out some words which made sense. + +"... hadn't started in on me yet. You were just in time." + +Thorvald loosened the wires which held the younger man to the frame and +stood ready to catch him as he slumped forward. And the officer's hold +wiped away the last clammy residue of the mist. Though he did not seem +able to keep on his feet, Shann's mind was clear. + +"What happened?" he demanded. + +"The power." Thorvald was examining him hastily but with attention for +every cut and bruise. "The beetle-heads didn't really get to work on +you----" + +"Told you that," Shann said impatiently. "But what brought that fog and +got the Throgs?" + +Thorvald smiled grimly. The ghostly light was fading as the fog +retreated, but Shann could see well enough to note that around the +other's neck hung one of the Wyvern disks. + +"It was a variation of the veil of illusion. You faced your memories +under the influence of that; so did I. But it would seem that the Throgs +had ones worse than either of us could produce. You can't play the role +of thug all over the galaxy and not store up in the subconscious a fine +line of private fears and remembered enemies. We provided the means for +releasing those, and they simply raised their own devils to order. +Neatest justice ever rendered. It seems that the 'power' has a big +kick--in a different way--when a Terran will manages to spark it." + +"And you did?" + +"I made a small beginning. Also I had the full backing of the Elders, +and a general staff of Wyverns in support. In a way I helped to provide +a channel for their concentration. Alone they can work 'magic'; with us +they can spread out into new fields. Tonight we hunted Throgs as a +united team--most successfully." + +"But they wouldn't go after the one in the skull." + +"No. Direct contact with a Throg mind appears to short-circuit them. I +did the contacting; they fed me what I needed. We have the answer to the +Throgs now--one answer." Thorvald looked back over the field where those +bodies lay so still. "We can kill Throgs. Maybe someday we can learn +another trick--how to live with them." He returned abruptly to the +present. "You did contact the transport?" + +Shann explained what had happened in the com dome. "I think when the +ship broke contact that way they understood." + +"We'll take it that they did, and be on the move." Thorvald helped Shann +to his feet. "If a cruiser berths here shortly, I don't propose to be +under its tail flames when it sets down." + +The cruiser came. And a mop-up squad patrolled outward from the +reclaimed camp, picked up two living Throgs, both wandering witlessly. +But Shann only heard of that later. He slept, so deep and dreamlessly +that when he roused he was momentarily dazed. + +A Survey uniform--with a cadet's badges--lay across the wall seat facing +his bunk in the barracks he had left ... how many days or weeks before? +The garments fitted well enough, but he removed the insignia to which he +was not entitled. When he ventured out he saw half a dozen troopers of +the patrol, together with Thorvald, watching the cruiser lift again into +the morning sky. + +Taggi and Togi, trailing leashes, galloped out of nowhere to hurl +themselves at him in uproarious welcome. And Thorvald must have heard +their eager whines even through the blast of the ship, for he turned and +waved Shann to join him. + +"Where is the cruiser going?" + +"To punch a Throg base out of this system," Thorvald answered. "They +located it--on Witch." + +"But we're staying on here?" + +Thorvald glanced at him oddly. "There won't be any settlement now. But +we have to establish a conditional embassy post. And the patrol has left +a guard." + +Embassy post. Shann digested that. Yes, of course, Thorvald, because of +his close contact with the Wyverns, would be left here for the present +to act as liaison officer-in-charge. + +"We don't propose," the other was continuing, "to allow to lapse any +contact with the one intelligent alien race we have discovered who can +furnish us with full-time partnership to our mutual benefit. And there +mustn't be any bungling here!" + +Shann nodded. That made sense. As soon as possible Warlock would witness +the arrival of another team, one slanted this time to the cultivation of +an alien friendship and alliance, rather than preparation for Terran +colonists. Would they keep him on? He supposed not; the wolverines' +usefulness was no longer apparent. + +"Don't you know your regulations?" There was a snap in Thorvald's demand +which startled Shann. He glanced up, discovered the other surveying him +critically. "You're not in uniform----" + +"No, sir," he admitted. "I couldn't find my own kit." + +"Where are your badges?" + +Shann's hand went up to the marks left when he had so carefully ripped +off the insignia. + +"My badges? I have no rank," he replied, bewildered. + +"Every team carries at least one cadet on strength." + +Shann flushed. There had been one cadet on this team; why did Thorvald +want to remember that? + +"Also," the other's voice sounded remote, "there can be appointments +made in the field--for cause. Those appointments are left to the +discretion of the officer-in-charge, and they are never questioned. I +repeat, you are not in uniform, Lantee. You will make the necessary +alteration and report to me at headquarters dome. As sole +representatives of Terra here we have a matter of protocol to be +discussed with our witches, and they have a right to expect punctuality +from a pair of warlocks, so get going!" + +Shann still stood, staring incredulously at the officer. Then Thorvald's +official severity vanished in a smile which was warm and real. + +"Get going," he ordered once more, "before I have to log you for +inattention to orders." + +Shann turned, nearly stumbling over Taggi, and then ran back to the +barracks in quest of some very important bits of braid he hoped he could +find in a hurry. + + + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + + +"A satisfying and mature novel which readers will seize upon if they +want to enjoy a good adventure story. + +"A survey base on a remote planet is wiped out by a raid of Earth's +enemies, the Throgs; the only survivor must face the perils of an +unexplored planet while trying somehow to strike back at the enemy.... + +"As always Norton creates both human and alien beings well, and tells a +story that you can't stop reading." + +--_New York Herald Tribune_ + + +"UP TO NORTON'S BEST STANDARDS." + +--_Library Journal_ + + +The Throg task force struck the Terran survey camp a few minutes after +dawn, without warning, and with a deadly precision which argued that the +aliens had fully reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base with methodical +accuracy. And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in the +heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, +nothing human would be left alive down there. + +And so Shann Lantee, most menial of the Terrans attached to the camp on +the planet Warlock, was left alone and weaponless in the strange, +hostile world, the human prey of the aliens from space and the aliens on +the ground alike. + + +ANDRE NORTON has become one of the highest rated authors of +science-fiction adventure now writing. A native of Cleveland, Ohio, a +book collector, and s-f fan, Ace Books have had the pleasure of +presenting her best novels in newsstand editions. + +A checklist of available Andre Norton books: + +STAR GUARD (D-199) +SARGASSO OF SPACE (D-249) +STAR BORN (D-299) +PLAGUE SHIP (D-345) +VOODOO PLANET (D-345) +SECRET OF THE LOST RACE (D-381) +THE SIOUX SPACEMAN (D-437) +THE TIME TRADERS (D-461) +GALACTIC DERELICT (D-498) +STAR HUNTER (D-509) +THE BEAST MASTER (D-509) + ++--------------------------------------------------------------------+ +| | +| Transcriber's Notes & Errata | +| | +| 'nonhuman' is used as an adjective. 'non-human' is used as a noun. | +| | +| 'skullmountain' and 'skull-mountain' are used once each. | +| | +| |Page|Error |Correction | | +| |11 |gods |gobs | | +| |17 |of world |of the world | | +| |26 |beetlehead |beetle-head | | +| |29 |beetleheads |beetle-heads | | +| |55 |eye-holes |eyeholes | | +| |71 |Thorfald's |Thorvald's | | +| |87 |overhand |overhang | | +| |88 |look |took | | +| |94 |edgeing |edging | | +| |111 |verticle |vertical | | +| |123 |fist |first | | +| |125 |ceremoney |ceremony | | +| |131 |be |he | | +| |131 |then |their | | +| |131 |trid-ee |tri-dee | | +| |132 |heeled |healed | | +| |133 |again |against | | +| |134 |midst |mist | | +| |144 |Shan |Shann | | +| |145 |assauged |assuaged | | +| |156 |occurred |occurred | | +| |156 |one one |one | | +| |164 |and and |and | | +| |166 |route |rout | | +| |168 |roll |role | | +| |170 |Shanned |Shann | | +| |180 |activited |activated | | +| |180 |furiuosly |furiously | | +| |182 |beetlehead |beetle-head | | ++--------------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Storm Over Warlock, by Andre Norton + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 20788 ***
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border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + span.ralign {position: absolute; right: 15%; top: auto; text-align: right;} + ul.off {list-style-type: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 20788 ***</div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<div class="center"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;"> +<img src="images/illus-front.jpg" width="396" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div></div> +<h1>STORM OVER +WARLOCK</h1> + +<h3>by</h3> + +<h2>ANDRE NORTON</h2> + +<h3>ACE BOOKS, INC.</h3> + +<h3>23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N.Y.</h3> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + +<div style="margin-top:4em"><p class="center">STORM OVER WARLOCK</p> + +<p class="center">Copyright ©, 1960, by Andre Norton</p> + +<p class="center">An Ace Book, by arrangement with The World Publishing Co.</p> + +<p class="center">All Rights Reserved</p> + +<p class="center">Printed in U.S.A.</p></div> + +<div class="center bbox"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note</h4> + +<p>Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + +<p>Front matter consisting of a blurb and a list of other publications by +the author has been moved to the end of the text.</p> +</div> + +<div style="margin-left:5%; margin-right:5%"> +<h3>Table of Contents</h3> +<ol> +<li><a href="#DISASTER">DISASTER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#DEATH_OF_A_SHIP">DEATH OF A SHIP</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#TO_CLOSE_RANKS">TO CLOSE RANKS</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#SORTIE">SORTIE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#PURSUIT">PURSUIT</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THE_HOUND">THE HOUND</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#UNWELCOME_GUIDE">UNWELCOME GUIDE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#UTGARD">UTGARD</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ONE_ALONE">ONE ALONE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#A_TRAP_FOR_A_TRAPPER">A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THE_WITCH">THE WITCH</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THE_VEIL_OF_ILLUSION">THE VEIL OF ILLUSION</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#HE_WHO_DREAMS">HE WHO DREAMS....</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ESCAPE">ESCAPE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#DRAGON_SLAYER">DRAGON SLAYER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THIRD_PRISONER">THIRD PRISONER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THROG_JUSTICE">THROG JUSTICE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#STORMS_ENDING">STORM'S ENDING</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></span></li> +</ol></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DISASTER" id="DISASTER"></a>1. DISASTER</h2> + + +<p>The Throg task force struck the Terran Survey camp a few +minutes after dawn, without warning, and with a deadly +precision which argued that the aliens had fully reconnoitered +and prepared that attack. Eye-searing lances of energy +lashed back and forth across the base with methodical accuracy. +And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in +the heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red +bolts fell, nothing human would be left alive down there. +His teeth closed hard upon the thick stuff of the sleeve covering +his thin forearm, and in his throat a scream of terror and +rage was stillborn.</p> + +<p>More than caution kept him pinned on that narrow shelf +of rock. Watching that holocaust below, Shann Lantee could +not force himself to move. The sheer ruthlessness of the Throg +move-in left him momentarily weak. To listen to a tale of +Throgs in action, and to be an eye-witness to such action, were +two vastly different things. He shivered in spite of the warmth +of the Survey Corps uniform.</p> + +<p>As yet he had sighted none of the aliens, only their plate-shaped +flyers. They would stay aloft until their long-range +weapon cleared out all opposition. But how had they been +able to make such a complete annihilation of the Terran force? +The last report had placed the nearest Throg nest at least two +systems away from Warlock. And a patrol lane had been +drawn about the Circe system the minute that Survey had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +marked its second planet ready for colonization. Somehow +the beetles had slipped through that supposedly tight cordon +and would now consolidate their gains with their usual speed +at rooting. First an energy attack to finish the small Terran +force; then they would simply take over.</p> + +<p>A month later, or maybe two months, and they could not +have done it. The grids would have been up, and any Throg +ship venturing into Warlock's amber-tinted sky would abruptly +cease to be. In the race for survival as a galactic power, Terra +had that one small edge over the swarms of the enemy. They +need only stake out their new-found world and get the grids +assembled on its surface; then that planet would be locked to +the beetles. The critical period was between the first discovery +of a suitable colony world and the erection of grid +control. Planets in the past had been lost during that time lag, +just as Warlock was lost now.</p> + +<p>Throgs and Terrans.... For more than a century now, +planet time, they had been fighting their queer, twisted war +among the stars. Terrans hunted worlds for colonization, the +old hunger for land of their own driving men from the over-populated +worlds, out of Sol's system to the far stars. And +those worlds barren of intelligent native life, open to settlers, +were none too many and widely scattered. Perhaps half a +dozen were found in a quarter century, and of that six maybe +only one was suitable for human life without any costly and +lengthy adaption of man or world. Warlock was one of the +lucky finds which came so seldom.</p> + +<p>Throgs were predators, living on the loot they garnered. +As yet, mankind had not been able to discover whether they +did indeed swarm from any home world. Perhaps they lived +eternally on board their plate ships with no permanent base, +forced into a wandering life by the destruction of the planet +on which they had originally been spawned. But they were +raiders now, laying waste defenseless worlds, picking up the +wealth of shattered cities in which no native life remained. +And their hidden temporary bases were looped about the +galaxy, their need for worlds with an atmosphere similar to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +Terra's as necessary as that of man. For in spite of their grotesque +insectile bodies, their wholly alien minds, the Throgs +were warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing creatures.</p> + +<p>After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had +endeavored to promote a truce between the species, only to +discover that between Throg and man there appeared to be +no meeting ground at all—total differences of mental processes +producing insurmountable misunderstanding. There was simply +no point of communication. So the Terrans had suffered +one smarting defeat after another until they perfected the +grid. And now their colonies were safe, at least when time +worked in their favor.</p> + +<p>It had not on Warlock.</p> + +<p>A last vivid lash of red cracked over the huddle of domes +in the valley. Shann blinked, half blinded by that glare. His +jaws ached as he unclenched his teeth. That was the finish. +Breathing raggedly, he raised his head, beginning to realize +that he was the only one of his kind left alive on a none-too-hospitable +world controlled by enemies—without shelter or +supplies.</p> + +<p>He edged back into the narrow cleft which was the entrance +to the ledge. As a representative of his species he was +not impressive, and now with those shudders he could not +master, shaking his thin body, he looked even smaller and +more vulnerable. Shann drew his knees up close under his +chin. The hood of his woodsman's jacket was pushed back in +spite of the chill of the morning, and he wiped the back of +his hand across his lips and chin in an oddly childish gesture.</p> + +<p>None of the men below who had been alive only minutes +earlier had been close friends of his; Shann had never known +anyone but acquaintances in his short, roving life. Most people +had ignored him completely except to give orders, and one +or two had been actively malicious—like Garth Thorvald. +Shann grimaced at a certain recent memory, and then that +grimace faded into wonder. If young Thorvald hadn't purposefully +tried to get Shann into trouble by opening the wolverines'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +cage, Shann wouldn't be here now—alive and safe +for a time—he'd have been down there with the others.</p> + +<p>The wolverines! For the first time since Shann had heard +the crackle of the Throg attack he remembered the reason he +had been heading into the hills. Of all the men on the Survey +team, Shann Lantee had been the least important. The dirty, +tedious clean-up jobs, the dull routines which required no +technical training but which had to be performed to keep the +camp functioning comfortably, those had been his portion. +And he had accepted that status willingly, just to have a +chance to be included among Survey personnel. Not that he +had the slightest hope of climbing up to even an S-E-Three +rating in the service.</p> + +<p>Part of those menial activities had been to clean the animal +cages. And there Shann Lantee had found something new, +something so absorbing that most of the tiring dull labor had +ceased to exist except as tasks to finish before he could return +to the fascination of the animal runs.</p> + +<p>Survey teams had early discovered the advantage of using +mutated and highly trained Terran animals as assistants in the +exploration of strange worlds. From the biological laboratories +and breeding farms on Terra came a trickle of specialized +aides-de-camp to accompany man into space. Some were +fighters, silent, more deadly than weapons a man wore at his +belt or carried in his hands. Some were keener eyes, keener +noses, keener scouts than the human kind could produce. Bred +for intelligence, for size, for adaptability to alien conditions, +the animal explorers from Terra were prized.</p> + +<p>Wolverines, the ancient "devils" of the northlands on +Terra, were being tried for the first time on Warlock. Their +caution, a quality highly developed in their breed, made them +testers for new territory. Able to tackle in battle an animal +three times their size, they should be added protection for the +man they accompanied into the wilderness, and their wide +ranging, their ability to climb and swim, and above all, their +curiosity were assets.</p> + +<p>Shann had begun contact by cleaning their cages; he ended<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +captivated by these miniature bears with long bushy tails. +And to his unbounded delight the attraction was mutual. +Alone to Taggi and Togi he was a person, an important person. +Those teeth, which could tear flesh into ragged strips, +nipped gently at his fingers, closed without any pressure on +arm, even on nose and chin in what was the ultimate caress +of their kind. Since they were escape artists of no mean ability, +twice he had had to track and lead them back to camp from +forays of their own devising.</p> + +<p>But the second time he had been caught by Fadakar, the +chief of animal control, before he could lock up the delinquents. +And the memory of the resulting interview still had +the power to make him flush with impotent anger. Shann's +explanation had been contemptuously brushed aside, and he +had been delivered an ultimatum. If his carelessness occurred +again, he would be sent back on the next supply ship, +to be dismissed without an official sign-off on his work record, +thus locked out of even the lowest level of Survey for the rest +of his life.</p> + +<p>That was why Garth Thorvald's act of the night before had +made Shann brave the unknown darkness of Warlock alone +when he had discovered that the test animals were gone. He +had to locate and return them before Fadakar made his morning +inspection; Garth Thorvald's attempt to get him into bad +trouble had saved his life.</p> + +<p>Shann cowered back, striving to make his huddled body as +small as possible. One of the Throg flyers appeared silently +out of the misty amber of the morning sky, hovering over the +silent camp. The aliens were coming in to inspect the site of +their victory. And the safest place for any Terran now was as +far from the vicinity of those silent domes as he could get. +Shann's slight body was an asset as he wedged through the +narrow mouth of a cleft and so back into the cliff wall. The +climb before him he knew in part, for this was the path the +wolverines had followed on their two other escapes. A few +moments of tricky scrambling and he was out in a cuplike +depression choked with brush covered with the purplish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +foliage of Warlock. On the other side of that was a small cut +to a sloping hillside, giving on another valley, not as wide as +that in which the camp stood, but one well provided with +cover in the way of trees and high-growing bushes.</p> + +<p>A light wind pushed among the trees, and twice Shann +heard the harsh, rasping call of a clak-clak—one of the bat-like +leather-winged flyers that laired in pits along the cliff +walls. That present snap of two-tone complaint suggested +that the land was empty of strangers. For the clak-claks +vociferously and loudly resented encroachment on their +chosen hunting territory.</p> + +<p>Shann hesitated. He was driven by the urge to put as much +distance between him and the landing Throg ship as he could. +But to arouse the attention of inquisitive clak-claks was asking +for trouble. Perhaps it would be best to keep on along the top +of the cliff, rather than risk a descent to take cover in the +valley the flyers patrolled.</p> + +<p>A patch of dust, sheltered by a tooth-shaped projection +of rock, gave the Terran his first proof that Taggi and his mate +had preceded him, for printed firmly there was the familiar +paw mark of a wolverine. Shann began to hope that both +animals had taken to cover in the wilderness ahead.</p> + +<p>He licked dry lips. Having left secretly without any emergency +pack, he had no canteen, and now Shann inventoried +his scant possessions—a field kit, heavy-duty clothing, a short +hooded jacket with attached mittens, the breast marked with +the Survey insignia. His belt supported a sheathed stunner and +bush knife, and seam pockets held three credit tokens, a twist +of wire intended to reinforce the latch of the wolverine cage, +a packet of bravo tablets, two identity and work cards, and +a length of cord. No rations—save the bravos—no extra charge +for his stunner. But he did have, weighing down a loop on the +jacket, a small atomic torch.</p> + +<p>The path he followed ended abruptly in a cliff drop, and +Shann made a face at the odor rising from below, even though +that scent meant he could climb down to the valley floor here +without fearing any clak-clak attention. Chemical fumes from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +a mineral spring funneled against the wall, warding off any +nesting in this section.</p> + +<p>Shann drew up the hood of his jacket and snapped the +transparent face mask into place. He must get away—then +find food, water, a hiding place. That will to live which had +made Shann Lantee fight innumerable battles in the past was +in command, bracing him with a stubborn determination.</p> + +<p>The fumes swirled up in a smoke haze about his waist, but +he strode on, heading for the open valley and cleaner air. +That sickly lavender vegetation bordering the spring deepened +in color to the normal purple-green, and then he was in a +grove of trees, their branches pointed skyward at sharp angles +to the rust-red trunks.</p> + +<p>A small skitterer burst from moss-spotted ground covering, +giving an alarmed squeak, skimming out of sight as suddenly +as it had appeared. Shann squeezed between two trees and +then paused. The trunk of the larger was deeply scored with +scratches dripping viscid <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'gods'">gobs</ins> of sap, a sap which was a bright +froth of scarlet. Taggi had left his mark here, and not too long +ago.</p> + +<p>The soft carpet of moss showed no paw marks, but he +thought he knew the goal of the animals—a lake down-valley. +Shann was beginning to plan now. The Throgs had not +blasted the Terran camp out of existence; they had only made +sure of the death of its occupiers. Which meant they must +have some use for the installations. For the general loot of a +Survey field camp would be relatively worthless to those who +picked over the treasure of entire cities elsewhere. Why? What +did the Throgs want? And would the alien invaders continue +to occupy the domes for long?</p> + +<p>Shann did not realize what had happened to him since +that shock of ruthless attack. From early childhood, when +he had been thrown on his own to scratch a living—a borderline +existence of a living—on the Dumps of Tyr, he had had +to use his wits to keep life in a scrawny and undersized body. +However, since he had been eating regularly from Survey +rations, he was not quite so scrawny any more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>His formal education was close to zero, his informal and +off-center schooling vast. And that particular toughening process +which had been working on him for years now aided in +his speedy adaption to a new set of facts, formidable ones. He +was alone on a strange and perhaps hostile world. Water, +food, safe shelter, those were important now. And once again, +away from the ordered round of the camp where he had been +ruled by the desires and requirements of others, he was thinking, +planning in freedom. Later (his hand went to the butt +of his stunner) perhaps later he might just find a way of extracting +an accounting from the beetle-faces, too.</p> + +<p>For the present, he would have to keep away from the +Throgs, which meant well away from the camp. A fleck of +green showed through the amethyst foliage before him—the +lake! Shann wriggled through a last bush barrier and stood to +look out over that surface. A sleek brown head bobbed up. +Shann put fingers to his mouth and whistled. The head turned, +black button eyes regarded him, short legs began to churn +water. To his gratification the swimmer was obeying his summons.</p> + +<p>Taggi came ashore, pausing on the fine gray sand of the +verge to shake himself vigorously. Then the wolverine came +upslope at a clumsy gallop to Shann. With an unknown feeling +swelling inside him, the Terran went down on both knees, +burying both hands in the coarse brown fur, warming to the +uproarious welcome Taggi gave him.</p> + +<p>"Togi?" Shann asked as if the other could answer. He +gazed back to the lake, but Taggi's mate was nowhere in sight.</p> + +<p>The blunt head under his hand swung around, black button +nose pointed north. Shann had never been sure just how intelligent, +as mankind measured intelligence, the wolverines +were. He had come to suspect that Fadakar and the other experts +had underrated them and that both beasts understood +more than they were given credit for. Now he followed an +experiment of his own, one he had had a chance to try only a +few times before and never at length. Pressing his palm flat on +Taggi's head, Shann thought of Throgs and of their attack,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +trying to arouse in the animal a corresponding reaction to his +own horror and anger.</p> + +<p>And Taggi responded. A mutter became a growl, teeth +gleamed—those cruel teeth of a carnivore to whom they +were weapons of aggression. Danger.... Shann thought "danger." +Then he raised his hand, and the wolverine shuffled off, +heading north. The man followed.</p> + +<p>They discovered Togi busy in a small cove where a jagged +tangle of drift made a mat dating from the last high-water +period. She was finishing a hearty breakfast, the remains of a +water rat being buried thriftily against future need after the +instincts of her kind. When she was done she came to Shann, +inquiry plain to read in her eyes.</p> + +<p>There was water here, and good hunting. But the site was +too close to the Throgs. Let one of their exploring flyers sight +them, and the little group was finished. Better cover, that's +what the three fugitives must have. Shann scowled, not at +Togi, but at the landscape. He was tired and hungry, but he +must keep on going.</p> + +<p>A stream fed into the cove from the west, a guide of sorts. +With very little knowledge of the countryside, Shann was +inclined to follow that.</p> + +<p>Overhead the sun made its usual golden haze of the sky. +A flight of vivid green streaks marked a flock of lake ducks +coming for a morning feeding. Lake duck was good eating, +but Shann had no time to hunt one now. Togi started down +the bank of the stream, Taggi behind her. Either they had +caught his choice subtly through some undefined mental contact, +or they had already picked that road on their own.</p> + +<p>Shann's attention was caught by a piece of the drift. He +twisted the length free and had his first weapon of his own +manufacture, a club. Using it to hold back a low sweeping +branch, he followed the wolverines.</p> + +<p>Within the half hour he had breakfast, too. A pair of limp +skitterers, their long hind feet lashed together with a thong +of grass, hung from his belt. They were not particularly good +eating, but they were meat and acceptable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>The three, man and wolverines, made their way up the +stream to the valley wall and through a feeder ravine into the +larger space beyond. There, where the stream was born at +the foot of a falls, they made their first camp. Judging that +the morning haze would veil any smoke, Shann built a pocket-size +fire. He seared rather than roasted the skitterers after he +had made an awkward and messy business of skinning them, +and tore the meat from the delicate bones in greedy mouthfuls. +The wolverines lay side by side on the gravel, now and again +raising a head alertly to test the scent on the air, or gaze into +the distance.</p> + +<p>Taggi made a warning sound deep in the throat. Shann +tossed handfuls of sand over the dying fire. He had only time +to fling himself face-down, hoping the drab and weathered +cloth of his uniform faded into the color of the earth on which +he lay, every muscle tense.</p> + +<p>A shadow swung across the hillside. Shann's shoulders +hunched, and he cowered again. That terror he had known on +the ledge was back in full force as he waited for the beam to +lick at him as it had earlier at his fellows. The Throgs were +on the hunt....</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DEATH_OF_A_SHIP" id="DEATH_OF_A_SHIP"></a>2. DEATH OF A SHIP</h2> + + +<p>That sigh of displaced air was not as loud as a breeze, but it +echoed monstrously in Shann's ears. He could not believe in +his luck as that sound grew fainter, drew away into the valley +he had just left. With infinite caution he raised his head from +his arm, still hardly able to accept the fact that he had not +been sighted, that the Throgs and their flyer were gone.</p> + +<p>But that black plate was spinning out into the sun haze. One +of the beetles might have suspected that there were Terran +fugitives and ordered a routine patrol. After all, how could +the aliens know that they had caught all but one of the Survey +party in camp? Though with all the Terran scout flitters +grounded on the field, the men dead in their bunks, the surprise +would seem to be complete.</p> + +<p>As Shann moved, Taggi and Togi came to life also. They +had gone to earth with speed, and the man was sure that +both beasts had sensed danger. Not for the first time he knew +a burning desire for the formal education he had never had. +In camp he had listened, dragging out routine jobs in order +to overhear reports and the small talk of specialists keen on +their own particular hobbies. But so much of the information +Shann had thus picked up to store in a retentive memory he +had not understood and could not fit together. It had been as +if he were trying to solve some highly important puzzle with +at least a quarter of the necessary pieces missing, or with unrelated +bits from others intermixed. How much control did +a trained animal scout have over his furred or feathered assistants?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +And was part of that mastery a mental rapport built +up between man and animal?</p> + +<p>How well would the wolverines obey him now, especially +when they would not return to camp where cages stood +waiting as symbols of human authority? Wouldn't a trek into +the wilderness bring about a revolt for complete freedom? If +Shann could depend upon the animals, it would mean a great +deal. Not only would their superior hunting ability provide all +three with food, but their scouting senses, so much keener +than his, might erect a slender wall between life and death.</p> + +<p>Few large native beasts had been discovered on Warlock +by the Terran explorers. And of those four or five different +species, none had proved hostile if unprovoked. But that did +not mean that somewhere back in the wild lands into which +Shann was heading there were no heretofore unknowns, perhaps +slyer and as vicious as the wolverines when they were +aroused to rage.</p> + +<p>Then there were the "dreams," which had afforded the +prime source of camp discussion and dispute. Shann brushed +coarse sand from his boots and thought about the dreams. Did +they or did they not exist? You could start an argument any +time by making a definite statement for or against the peculiar +sort of dreaming reported by the first scout to set ship on this +world.</p> + +<p>The Circe system, of which Warlock was the second of +three planets, had first been scouted four years ago by one +of those explorers traveling solo in Survey service. Everyone +knew that the First-In Scouts were a weird breed, almost a +mutation of Terran stock—their reports were rife with strange +observations.</p> + +<p>So an alarming one concerning Circe (a yellow sun such +as Sol) and her three planets was not so rare. Witch, the +world nearest in orbit to Circe, was too hot for human occupancy +without drastic and too costly world-changing. +Wizard, the third out from the sun, was mostly bare rock and +highly poisonous water. But Warlock, swinging through space<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +between two forbidding neighbors, seemed to be just what +the settlement board ordered.</p> + +<p>Then the Survey scout, even in the cocoon safety of his +well-armed ship, began to dream. And from those dreams +a horror of the apparently empty world developed, until he +fled the planet to preserve his sanity. There had been a second +visit to Warlock in check; worlds so well adapted to human +emigration could not be lightly thrown away. And this time +there was a negative report, no trace of dreams, no registration +of any outside influence on the delicate and complicated +equipment the ship carried. So the Survey team had been dispatched +to prepare for the coming of the first pioneers, and +none of them had dreamed either—at least, no more than the +ordinary dreams all men accepted.</p> + +<p>Only there were those who pointed out that the seasons +had changed between the first and second visits to Warlock. +That first scout had planeted in summer; his successors had +come in fall and winter. They argued that the final release <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'of world'">of the +world</ins> for settlement should not be given until the full year on +Warlock had been sampled.</p> + +<p>But the pressure of Emigrant Control had forced their +hands, that and the fear of just what had eventually happened—an +attack from the Throgs. So they had speeded up the +process of declaring Warlock open. Only Ragnar Thorvald +had protested that decision up to the last and had gone back +to headquarters on the supply ship a month ago to make a +last appeal for a more careful study.</p> + +<p>Shann stopped brushing the sand from the tough fabric +above his knee. Ragnar Thorvald.... He remembered back to +the port landing apron on another world, remembered with +a sense of loss he could not define. That had been about the +second biggest day of his short life; the biggest had come +earlier when they had actually allowed him to sign on for +Survey duty.</p> + +<p>He had tumbled off the cross-continent cargo carrier, his +kit—a very meager kit—slung over his thin shoulder, a hot +eagerness expanding inside him until he thought that he could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +not continue to throttle down that wild happiness. There was +a waiting starship. And he—Shann Lantee from the Dumps +of Tyr, without any influence or schooling—was going to blast +off in her, wearing the brown-green uniform of Survey!</p> + +<p>Then he had hesitated uncertainly, had not quite dared +cross the few feet of apron lying between him and that compact +group wearing the same uniform—with a slight difference, +that of service bars and completion badges and rank +insignia—with the unconscious self-assurance of men who had +done this many times before.</p> + +<p>But after a moment that whole group had become in his +own shy appraisal just a background for one man. Shann had +never before known in his pinched and limited childhood, his +lost boyhood, anyone who aroused in him hero worship. And +he could not have put a name to the new emotion that +added so suddenly to his burning desire to make good, not +only to hold the small niche in Survey which he had already +so painfully achieved, but to climb, until he could stand so in +such a group talking easily to that tall man, his uncovered +head bronze-yellow in the sunlight, his cool gray eyes pale +in his brown face.</p> + +<p>Not that any of those wild dreams born in that minute or +two had been realized in the ensuing months. Probably those +dreams had always been as wild as the ones reported by the +first scout on Warlock. Shann grinned wryly now at the +short period of childish hope and half-confidence that he +could do big things. Only one Thorvald had ever noticed +Shann's existence in the Survey camp, and that had been +Garth.</p> + +<p>Garth Thorvald, a far less impressive—one could say +"smudged"—copy of his brother. Swaggering with an arrogance +Ragnar never showed, Garth was a cadet on his first +mission, intent upon making Shann realize the unbridgeable +gulf between a labor hand and an officer-to-be. He had appeared +to know right from their first meeting just how to make +Shann's life a misery.</p> + +<p>Now, in this slit of valley well away from the domes, Shann's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +fists balled. He pounded them against the earth in a way he +had so often hoped to plant them on Garth's smoothly handsome +face, his well-muscled body. One didn't survive the +Dumps of Tyr without learning how to use fists, and boots, +and a list of tricks they didn't teach in any academy. He had +always been sure that he could take Garth if they mixed it +up. But if he had loosed the tight rein he had kept on his +temper and offered that challenge, he would have lost his +chance with Survey. Garth had proved himself able to talk his +way out of any scrape, even minor derelictions of duty, and +he far out-ranked Shann. The laborer from Tyr had had to +swallow all that the other could dish out and hope that on his +next assignment he would not be a member of young Thorvald's +team. Though, because of Garth Thorvald, Shann's +toll of black record marks had mounted dangerously high and +each day the chance for any more duty tours had grown +dimmer.</p> + +<p>Shann laughed, and the sound was ugly. That was one +thing he didn't have to worry about any longer. There would +be no other assignments for him, the Throgs had seen to that. +And Garth ... well, there would never be a showdown between +them now. He stood up. The Throg ship had disappeared; +they could push on.</p> + +<p>He found a break in the cliff wall which was climbable, +and he coaxed the wolverines after him. When they stood on +the heights from which the falls tumbled, Taggi and Togi +rubbed against him, cried for his attention. They, too, appeared +to need the reassurance they got from contact with +him, for they were also fugitives on this alien world, the only +representatives of their kind.</p> + +<p>Since he did not have any definite goal in view, Shann continued +to be guided by the stream, following its wanderings +across a plateau. The sun was warm, so he carried his jacket +slung across one shoulder. Taggi and Togi ranged ahead, +twice catching skitterers, which they devoured voraciously. +A shadow on a sun-baked rock sent the Terran skidding for +cover until he saw that it was cast by one of the questing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +falcons from the upper peaks. But that shook his confidence, +so he again sought cover, ashamed at his own carelessness.</p> + +<p>In the late afternoon he reached the far end of the plateau, +faced a climb to peaks which still bore cones of snow, now +tinted a soft peach by the sun. Shann studied that possible +path and distrusted his own powers to take it without proper +equipment or supplies. He must turn either north or south, +though he would then have to abandon a sure water supply in +the stream. Tonight he would camp where he was. He had +not realized how tired he was until he found a likely half-cave +in the mountain wall and crawled in. There was too +much danger in fire here; he would have to do without that +first comfort of his kind.</p> + +<p>Luckily, the wolverines squeezed in beside him to fill the +hole. With their warm furred bodies sandwiching him, Shann +dozed, awoke, and dozed again, listening to night sounds—the +screams, cries, hunting calls, of the Warlock wilds. Now +and again one of the wolverines whined and moved uneasily.</p> + +<p>Fingers of sun picked at Shann through a shaft among the +rocks, striking his eyes. He moved, blinked blearily awake, +unable for the first few seconds to understand why the smooth +plasta wall of his bunk had become rough red stone. Then he +remembered. He was alone and he threw himself frantically +out of the cave, afraid the wolverines had wandered off. +Only both animals were busy clawing under a boulder with a +steady persistence which argued there was a purpose behind +that effort.</p> + +<p>A sharp sting on the back of one hand made that purpose +only too clear to Shann, and he retreated hurriedly from the +vicinity of the excavation. They had found an earth-wasp's +burrow and were hunting grubs, naturally arousing the rightful +inhabitants to bitter resentment.</p> + +<p>Shann faced the problem of his own breakfast. He had had +the immunity shots given to all members of the team, and he +had eaten game brought in by exploring parties and labeled +"safe." But how long he could keep to the varieties of native +food he knew was uncertain. Sooner or later he must experiment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +for himself. Already he drank the stream water without +the aid of purifiers, and so far there had been no ill results +from that necessary recklessness. Now the stream suggested +fish. But instead he chanced upon another water inhabitant +which had crawled up on land for some obscure purpose of its +own. It was a sluggish scaled thing, an easy victim to his club, +with thin, weak legs it could project at will from a finned and +armor-plated body.</p> + +<p>Shann offered the head and guts to Togi, who had abandoned +the wasp nest. She sniffed in careful investigation and +then gulped. Shann built a small fire and seared the firm +greenish flesh. The taste was flat, lacking salt, but the food +eased his emptiness. Enheartened, he started south, hoping +to find water sometime during the morning.</p> + +<p>By noon he had his optimism justified with the discovery of +a spring, and the wolverines had brought down a slender-legged +animal whose coat was close in shade to the dusky +purple of the vegetation. Smaller than a Terran deer, its head +bore, not horns, but a ridge of stiffened hair rising in a point +some twelve inches about the skull dome. Shann haggled off +some ragged steaks while the wolverines feasted in earnest, +carefully burying the head afterward.</p> + +<p>It was when Shann knelt by the spring pool to wash +that he caught the clamor of the clak-claks. He had seen or +heard nothing of the flyers since he had left the lake valley. +But from the noise now rising in an earsplitting volume, he +thought there was a sizable colony near-by and that the inhabitants +were thoroughly aroused.</p> + +<p>He crept on his hands and knees to near-by brush cover, +heading toward the source of that outburst. If the claks were +announcing a Throg scouting party, he wanted to know it.</p> + +<p>Lying flat, with branches forming a screen over him, the +Terran gazed out on a stretch of grassland which sloped at +a fairly steep angle to the south and which must lead to a portion +of countryside well below the level he was now traversing.</p> + +<p>The clak-claks were skimming back and forth, shrieking +their staccato war cries. Following the erratic dashes of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +flight formation, Shann decided that whatever they railed +against was on the lower level, out of his sight from that point. +Should he simply withdraw, since the disturbance was not +near him? Prudence dictated that; yet still he hesitated.</p> + +<p>He had no desire to travel north, or to try and scale the +mountains. No, south was his best path, and he should be very +sure that route was closed before he retreated.</p> + +<p>Since any additional fuss the clak-claks might make on +sighting him would be undistinguished in their now general +clamor, the Terran crawled on to where tall grass provided a +screen at the top of the slope. There he stopped short, his +hands digging into the earth in sudden braking action.</p> + +<p>Below, the ground steamed from a rocket flare-back, grasses +burned away from the fins of a small scoutship. But even as +Shann rose to one knee, his shout of welcome choked in his +throat. One of those fins sank, canting the ship crookedly, +preventing any new take-off. And over the crown of a low hill +to the west swung the ominous black plate of a Throg flyer.</p> + +<p>The Throg ship came up in a burst of speed, and Shann +waited tensely for some countermove from the scout. Those +small speedy Terran ships were prudently provided with +weapons triply deadly in proportion to their size. He was sure +that the Terran ship could hold its own against the Throg, +even eliminate the enemy. But there was no fire from the +slanting pencil of the scout. The Throg circled warily, obviously +expecting a trap. Twice it darted back in the direction +from which it had come. As it returned from its second +retreat, another of its kind showed, a black coin dot against +the amber of the sky.</p> + +<p>Shann felt sick inside. Now the Terran scout had lost any +advantage and perhaps all hope. The Throgs could box the +other in, cut the downed ship to pieces with their energy +beams. He wanted to crawl away and not witness this last +disaster for his kind. But some stubborn core of will kept him +where he was.</p> + +<p>The Throgs began to circle while beneath them the flock +of clak-claks screamed and dived at the slanting nose of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +Terran ship. Then that same slashing energy he had watched +quarter the camp snapped from the far plate across the +stricken scout. The man who had piloted her, if not dead +already (which might account for the lack of defense), must +have fallen victim to that. But the Throg was going to make +very sure. The second flyer halted, remaining poised long +enough to unleash a second bolt—dazzling any watching eyes +and broadcasting a vibration to make Shann's skin crawl +when the last faint ripple reached his lookout post.</p> + +<p>What happened then the overconfident Throg was not prepared +to take. Shann cried out, burying his face on his arm, +as pinwheels of scarlet light blotted out normal sight. There +was an explosion, a deafening blast. He cowered, blind, unable +to hear. Then, rubbing at his eyes, he tried to see what +had happened.</p> + +<p>Through watery blurs he made out the Throg ship, not +swinging now in serene indifference to Warlock's gravity, but +whirling end over end across the sky as might a leaf tossed in +a gust of wind. Its rim caught against a rust-red cliff, it rebounded +and crumpled. Then it came down, smashing perhaps +half a mile away from the smoking crater in which lay +the mangled wreckage of the Terran ship. The disabled scout +pilot must have played a last desperate game, making of his +ship bait for a trap.</p> + +<p>The Terran had taken one Throg with him. Shann rubbed +again at his eyes, just barely able to catch a glimpse of the +second ship flashing away westward. Perhaps it was only his +impaired sight, but it appeared to him that the Throg followed +an erratic path, either as if the pilot feared to be +caught by a second shot, or because that ship had also suffered +some injury.</p> + +<p>Acid smoke wreathed up from the valley making Shann +retch and cough. There could be no survivor from the Terran +scout, and he did not believe that any Throg had lived to +crawl free of the crumpled plate. But there would be other +beetles swarming here soon. They would not dare to leave +the scene unsearched. He wondered about that scout. Had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +the pilot been aiming for the Survey camp, the absence of +any rider beam from there warning him off so that he made +the detour which brought him here? Or had the Throgs tried +to blast the Terran ship in the upper atmosphere, crippling it, +making this a forced landing? But at least this battle had cost +the Throgs, settling a small portion of the Terran debt for the +lost camp.</p> + +<p>The length of time between Shann's sighting of the +grounded ship and the attack by the Throgs had been so +short that he had not really developed any strong hope of +rescue to be destroyed by the end of the crippled ship. On the +other hand, seeing the Throgs take a beating had exploded +his subconscious acceptance of their superiority. He might +not have even the resources of a damaged scout at his command. +But he did have Taggi, Togi, and his own brain. Since +he was fated to permanent exile on Warlock, there might just +be some way to make the beetles pay for that.</p> + +<p>He licked his lips. Real action against the aliens would take +a lot of planning. Shann would have to know more about +what made a Throg a Throg, more than all the wild stories he +had heard over the years. There <i>had</i> to be some way a Terran +could move effectively against a beetle-head. And he had a +lot of time, maybe the rest of his life to work out a few answers. +That Throg ship lying wrecked at the foot of the cliff +... perhaps he could do a little investigating before any rescue +squad arrived. Shann decided such a move was worth the +try and whistled to the wolverines.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TO_CLOSE_RANKS" id="TO_CLOSE_RANKS"></a>3. TO CLOSE RANKS</h2> + + +<p>Shann made his way at an angle to avoid the smoking pit +cradling the wreckage of the Terran ship. There were no +signs of life about the Throg plate as he approached. A quarter +of its bulk was telescoped back into the rest, and surely +none of the aliens could have survived such a smash, tough as +they were reputed to be with those horny carapaces serving +them in place of more vulnerable human skin.</p> + +<p>He sniffed. There was a nauseous odor heavy on the morning +air, one which would make a lasting impression on any +human nose. The port door in the black ship stood open, perhaps +having burst in the impact against the cliff. Shann had almost +reached it when a crackle of chain lightning beat across +the ground before him, turning the edge of the buckled entrance +panel red.</p> + +<p>Shann dropped to the ground, drawing his stunner, knowing +at the same moment that such a weapon was about as +much use in meeting a blaster as a straw wand would be to +ward off a blazing coal. A chill numbness held him as +he waited for a second blast to charr the flesh between his +shoulders. So there had been a Throg survivor, after all.</p> + +<p>But as moments passed and the Throg did not move in to +make an easy kill, Shann collected his wits. Only one shot! +Was the beetle injured, unable to make sure of even an almost +defenseless prey? The Throgs seldom took prisoners. +When they did....</p> + +<p>The Terran's lips tightened. He worked his hand under his +prone body, feeling for the hilt of his knife. With that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +could speedily remove himself from the status of Throg prisoner, +and he would do it gladly if there was no hope of escape. +Had there been only one charge left in that blaster? +Shann could make half a dozen guesses as to why the other +had made no move, but that shot had come from behind him, +and he dared not turn his head or otherwise make an effort to +see what the other might be doing.</p> + +<p>Was it only his imagination, or had that stench grown +stronger during the last few seconds? Could the Throg be +creeping up on him? Shann strained his ears, trying to catch +some sound he could interpret. The few clak-claks that had +survived the blast about the ship were shrieking overhead, +and Shann made one attempt at counterattack.</p> + +<p>He whistled the wolverines' call. The pair had not been too +willing to follow him down into this valley, and they had +avoided the crater at a very wide circle. But if they would +obey him now, he just might have a chance.</p> + +<p>There! That <i>had</i> been a sound, and the smell <i>was</i> stronger. +The Throg must be coming to him. Again Shann whistled, +holding in his mind his hatred for the <ins class="corr" title="Hyphenated in line with majority usage">beetle-head</ins>, the need +for finishing off that alien. If the animals could pick either +thoughts or emotions out of their human companion, this was +the time for him to get those unspoken half-orders across.</p> + +<p>Shann slammed his hand hard against the ground, sent his +body rolling, his stunner up and ready.</p> + +<p>And now he could see that grotesque thing, swaying weakly +back and forth on its thin legs, yet holding a blaster, bringing +that weapon up to center it on him. The Throg was hunched +over and perhaps to Taggi presented the outline of some four-footed +creature to be hunted. For the wolverine male sprang +for the horn-shelled shoulders.</p> + +<p>Under that impact that Throg sagged forward. But Taggi, +outraged at the nature of creature he had attacked, squalled +and retreated. Shann had had his precious seconds of distraction. +He fired, the core of the stun beam striking full into +the flat dish of the alien's "face."</p> + +<p>That bolt, which would have shocked a mammal into insensibility,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +only slowed the Throg. Shann rolled again, gaining +a temporary cover behind the wrecked ship. He squirmed +under metal hot enough to scorch his jacket and saw the +reflection of a second blaster shot which had been fired seconds +late.</p> + +<p>Now the Throg had him tied down. But to get at the Terran +the alien would have to show himself, and Shann had one +chance in fifty, which was better than that of three minutes +ago—when the odds had been set at one in a hundred. He +knew that he could not press the wolverines in again. Taggi's +distaste was too manifest; Shann had been lucky that the +animal had made one abortive attack.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the Terran's escape and Taggi's action had made +the alien reckless. Shann had no clue to the thinking processes +of the non-human, but now the Throg staggered around the +end of the plate, his digits, which were closer to claws than +fingers, fumbling with his weapon. The Terran snapped another +shot from his stunner, hoping to slow the enemy down. +But he was trapped. If he turned to climb the cliff at his back, +the beetle-head could easily pick him off.</p> + +<p>A rock hurtled from the heights above, striking with deadly +accuracy on the domed, hairless head of the Throg. His armored +body crashed forward, struck against the ship, and rebounded +to the ground. Shann darted forward to seize the +blaster, kicking loose the claws which still grasped it, before +he flattened back to the cliff, the strange weapon over his arm, +his heart beating wildly.</p> + +<p>That rock had not bounded down the mountainside by +chance; it had been hurled with intent and aimed carefully +at its target. And no Throg would kill one of his fellows. Or +would he? Suppose orders had been issued to take a Terran +prisoner and the Throg by the ship had disobeyed? Then, why +a rock and not a blaster bolt?</p> + +<p>Shann edged along until the upslanted, broken side of the +Throg flyer provided him with protection from any overhead +attack. Under that shelter he waited for the next move from +his unknown rescuer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>The clak-claks wheeled closer to earth. One lit boldly on +the carapace of the inert Throg, shuffling ungainly along that +horny ridge. Cradling the blaster, the Terran continued to +wait. His patience was rewarded when that investigating clak-clak +took off uttering an enraged snap or two. He heard what +might be the scrape of boots across rock, but that might also +have come from horny skin meeting stone.</p> + +<p>Then the other must have lost his footing not too far above. +Accompanied by a miniature landslide of stones and earth, +a figure slid down several yards away. Shann waited in a half-crouch, +his looted blaster covering the man now getting to his +feet. There was no mistaking the familiar uniform, or even the +man. How Ragnar Thorvald had reached that particular spot +on Warlock or why, Shann could not know. But that he was +there, there was no denying.</p> + +<p>Shann hurried forward. It had been when he caught his +first sight of Thorvald that he realized just how deep his unacknowledged +loneliness had bit. There were two Terrans on +Warlock now, and he did not need to know why. But Thorvald +was staring back at him with the blankness of non-recognition.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" The demand held something close to suspicion.</p> + +<p>That note in the other's voice wiped away a measure of +Shann's confidence, threatened something which had flowered +in him since he had struck into the wilderness on his own. +Three words had reduced him again to Lantee, unskilled +laborer.</p> + +<p>"Lantee. I'm from the camp...."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's eagerness was plain in his next question: "How +many of you got away? Where are the rest?" He gazed past +Shann up the plateau slope as if he expected to see the personnel +of the camp sprout out of the cloak of grass along the +verge.</p> + +<p>"Just me and the wolverines," Shann answered in a colorless +voice. He cradled the blaster on his hip, turned a little +away from the officer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You ... and the wolverines?" Thorvald was plainly +startled. "But ... where? How?"</p> + +<p>"The Throgs hit very early yesterday morning. They caught +the rest in camp. The wolverines had escaped from their cage, +and I was out hunting them...." He told his story baldly.</p> + +<p>"You're sure about the rest?" Thorvald had a thin steel of +rage edging his voice. Almost, Shann thought, as if he could +turn that blade of rage against one Shann Lantee for being yet +alive when more important men had not survived.</p> + +<p>"I saw the attack from an upper ridge," the younger man +said, having been put on the defensive. Yet he had a right to +be alive, hadn't he? Or did Thorvald believe that he should +have gone running down to meet the <ins class="corr" title="Hyphenated in line with majority usage">beetle-heads</ins> with his +useless stunner? "They used energy beams ... didn't land +until it was all over."</p> + +<p>"I knew there was something wrong when the camp didn't +answer our enter-atmosphere signal," Thorvald said absently. +"Then one of those platters jumped us on braking orbit, and +my pilot was killed. When we set down on the automatics +here I had just time to rig a surprise for any trackers before I +took to the hills——"</p> + +<p>"The blast got one of them," Shann pointed out.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they'd nicked the booster rocket; she wouldn't climb +again. But they'll be back here to pick over the remains."</p> + +<p>Shann looked at the dead Throg. "Thanks for taking a +hand." His tone was as chill as the other's this time. "I'm +heading south...."</p> + +<p>And, he added silently, I intend to keep on that way. The +Throg attack had dissolved the pattern of the Survey team. +He didn't owe Thorvald any allegiance. And he had been +successfully on his own here since the camp had been overrun.</p> + +<p>"South," Thorvald repeated. "Well, that's as good a direction +as any right now."</p> + +<p>But they were not united. Shann found the wolverines and +patiently coaxed and wheedled them into coming with him +over a circuitous route which kept them away from both ships. +Thorvald went up the cliff, swung down again, a supply bag<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +slung over one shoulder. He stood watching as Shann brought +the animals in.</p> + +<p>Then Thorvald's arm swept out, his fingers closing possessively +about the barrel of the blaster. Shann's own hold on the +weapon tightened, and the force of the other's pull dragged +him partly around.</p> + +<p>"Let's have that——"</p> + +<p>"Why?" Shann supposed that because it had been the +other's well-aimed rock which had put the Throg out of commission +permanently, the officer was going to claim their only +spoils of war as personal booty, and a hot resentment flowered +in the younger man.</p> + +<p>"We don't take that away from here." Thorvald made the +weapon his with a quick twist.</p> + +<p>To Shann's utter astonishment, the Survey officer walked +back to kneel beside the dead Throg. He worked the grip of +the blaster under the alien's lax claws and inspected the +result with the care of one arranging a special and highly +important display. Shann's protest became vocal. "We'll need +that!"</p> + +<p>"It'll do us far more good right where it is...." Thorvald +paused and then added, with impatience roughening his voice +as if he disliked the need for making any explanations, "There +is no reason for us to advertise our being alive. If the Throgs +found a blaster missing, they'd start thinking and looking +around. I want to have a breathing spell before I have to play +quarry in one of their hunts."</p> + +<p>Put that way, his action did make sense. But Shann regretted +the loss of an arm so superior to their own weapons. +Now they could not loot the plateship either. In silence he +turned and started to trudge southward, without waiting +for Thorvald to catch up with him.</p> + +<p>Once away from the blasted area, the wolverines ranged +ahead at their clumsy gallop, which covered ground at a +surprising rate of speed. Shann knew that their curiosity made +them scouts surpassing any human and that the men who followed +would have ample warning of any danger to come.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +Without reference to his silent trail companion, he sent the +animals toward another strip of woodland which would give +them cover against the coming of any Throg flyer.</p> + +<p>As the hours advanced he began to cast about for a proper +night camp. The woods ought to give them a usable site.</p> + +<p>"This is a water wood," Thorvald said, breaking the silence +for the first time since they had left the wrecks.</p> + +<p>Shann knew that the other had knowledge, not only of the +general countryside, but of exploring techniques which he +himself did not possess, but to be reminded of that fact was an +irritant rather than a reassurance. Without answering, the +younger man bored on to locate the water promised.</p> + +<p>The wolverines found the small lake first and were splashing +along its shore when the Terrans caught up. Thorvald went +to work, but to Shann's surprise he did not unstrap the force-blade +ax at his belt. Bending over a sapling, he pounded away +with a stone at the green wood a few inches above the root +line until he was able to break through the slender trunk. +Shann drew his own knife and bent to tackle another treelet +when Thorvald stopped him with an order: "Use a stone +on that, the way I did."</p> + +<p>Shann could see no reason for such a laborious process. If +Thorvald did not want to use his ax, that was no reason that +Shann could not put his heavy belt knife to work. He hesitated, +ready to set the blade to the outer bark of the tree.</p> + +<p>"Look—" again that impatient edge in the officer's tone, +the need for explanation seeming to come very hard to the +other—"sooner or later the Throgs might just trace us here +and find this camp. If so, they are <i>not</i> going to discover any +traces to label us Terran——"</p> + +<p>"But who else could we be?" protested Shann. "There is +no native race on Warlock."</p> + +<p>Thorvald tossed his improvised stone ax from hand to hand.</p> + +<p>"But do the Throgs know that?"</p> + +<p>The implications, the possibilities, in that idea struck home +to Shann. Now he began to understand what Thorvald might +be planning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now there is going to be a native race." Shann made +a statement instead of a question and saw that the other was +watching him with a new intentness, as if he had at last been +recognized as a person instead of rank and file and very low +rank at that—Survey personnel.</p> + +<p>"There is going to be a native race," Thorvald affirmed.</p> + +<p>Shann resheathed his knife and went to search the pond +beach for a suitable stone to use in its place. Even so, he made +harder work of the clumsy chopping than Thorvald had. He +worried at one sapling after another until his hands were +skinned and his breath came in painful gusts from under +aching ribs. Thorvald had gone on to another task, ripping the +end of a long tough vine from just under the powdery surface +of the thick leaf masses fallen in other years.</p> + +<p>With this the officer lashed together the tops of the poles, +having planted their splintered butts in the ground, so that +he achieved a crudely conical erection. Leafy branches were +woven back and forth through this framework, with an entrance, +through which one might crawl on hands and knees, +left facing the lakeside. The shelter they completed was compact +and efficient but totally unlike anything Shann had ever +seen before, certainly far removed from the domes of the +camp. He said so, nursing his raw hands.</p> + +<p>"An old form," Thorvald replied, "native to a primitive +race on Terra. Certainly the beetle-heads haven't come across +its like before."</p> + +<p>"Are we going to stay here? Otherwise it is pretty heavy +work for one night's lodging."</p> + +<p>Thorvald tested the shelter with a sharp shake. The matted +leaves whispered, but the framework held.</p> + +<p>"Stage dressing. No, we won't linger here. But it's evidence +to support our play. Even a Throg isn't dense enough to believe +that natives would make a cross-country trip without +leaving evidence of their passing."</p> + +<p>Shann sat down with a sigh he made no effort to suppress. +He had a vision of Thorvald traveling southward, methodically +erecting these huts here and there to confound Throgs who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +might not ever chance upon them. But already the Survey +officer was busy with a new problem.</p> + +<p>"We need weapons——"</p> + +<p>"We have our stunners, a force ax, and our knives," Shann +pointed out. He did not add, as he would have liked that +they could have had a blaster.</p> + +<p>"Native weapons," Thorvald countered with his usual snap. +He went back to the beach and crawled about there, choosing +and rejecting stones picked out of the gravel.</p> + +<p>Shann scooped out a small pit just before their hut and +set about the making of a pocket-sized fire. He was hungry +and looked longingly now and again to the supply bag Thorvald +had brought with him. Dared he rummage in that for +rations? Surely the other would be carrying concentrates.</p> + +<p>"Who taught you how to make a fire that way?" Thorvald +was back from the pond, a selection of round stones about the +size of his fist resting between his chest and his forearm.</p> + +<p>"It's regulation, isn't it?" Shann countered defensively.</p> + +<p>"It's regulation," Thorvald agreed. He set down his stones +in a row and then tossed the supply bag over to his companion. +"Too late to hunt tonight. But well have to go easy on those +rations until we can get more."</p> + +<p>"Where?" Did Thorvald know of some supply cache they +could raid?</p> + +<p>"From the Throgs," the other answered matter of factly.</p> + +<p>"But they don't eat our kind of food...."</p> + +<p>"All the more reason for them to leave the camp supplies +untouched."</p> + +<p>"The camp?"</p> + +<p>For the first time Thorvald's lips curved in a shadow smile +which was neither joyous nor warming. "A native raid on an +invaders' camp. What could be more natural? And we'd +better make it soon."</p> + +<p>"But how can we?" To Shann what the other proposed +was sheer madness.</p> + +<p>"There was once an ancient service corps on Terra," Thorvald +answered, "which had a motto something like this:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +'The improbable we do at once; the impossible takes a little +longer.' What did you think we were going to do? Sulk +around out here in the bush and let the Throgs claim Warlock +for one of their pirate bases without opposition?"</p> + +<p>Since that was the only future Shann had visualized, he +was ready enough to admit the truth, only some shade of +tone in the officer's voice kept him from saying so aloud.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="SORTIE" id="SORTIE"></a>4. SORTIE</h2> + + +<p>Five days later they came up from the south so that this time +Shann's view of the Terran camp was from a different angle. +At first sight there had been little change in the general scene. +He wondered if the aliens were using the Terran dome +shelters themselves. Even in the twilight it was easy to pick +out such landmarks as the com dome with the shaft of a +broadcaster spearing from its top and the greater bulk of the +supply warehouse.</p> + +<p>"Two of their small flyers down on the landing field...." +Thorvald materialized from the shadow, his voice a thread of +whisper.</p> + +<p>By Shann's side the wolverines were moving restlessly. +Since Taggi's attack on the Throg neither beast would venture +near any site where they could scent the aliens. This was the +nearest point to which the men could urge either animal, +which was a disappointment, for the wolverines would have +been an excellent addition to the surprise sortie they planned +for tonight, halving the danger for the men.</p> + +<p>Shann ran his fingers across the coarse fur on the animals' +shoulders, exerting a light pressure to signal them to wait. But +he was not sure of their obedience. The foray was a crazy +idea, and Shann wondered again why he had agreed to it. Yet +he had gone along with Thorvald, even suggested a few modifications<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +and additions of his own, such as the contents of the +crude leaf sack now resting between his knees.</p> + +<p>Thorvald flitted away, seeking his own post to the west. +Shann was still waiting for the other's signal when there arose +from the camp a sound to chill the flesh of any listener, a wail +which could not have come from the throat of any normal +living thing, intelligent being or animal. Ululating in ear-torturing +intensity, the cry sank to a faint, ominous echo of +itself, to waver up the scale again.</p> + +<p>The wolverines went mad. Shann had witnessed their +quick kills in the wilds, but this stark ferocity of spitting, howling +rage was new. They answered that challenge from the +camp, streaking out from under his hands. Yet both animals +skidded to a stop before they passed the first dome and were +lost in the gloom. A spark glowed for an instant to his right; +Thorvald was ready to go, so Shann had no time to try and +recall the animals.</p> + +<p>He fumbled for those balls of soaked moss in his leaf bag. +The chemical smell from them blotted out that alien mustiness +which the wind brought from the campsite. Shann readied +the first sopping mess in his sling, snapped his fire sparker at +it, and had the ball awhirl for a toss almost in one continuous +movement. The moss burst into fire as it curved out and fell.</p> + +<p>To a witness it might have seemed that the missile materialized +out of the air, the effect being better than Shann had +hoped.</p> + +<p>A second ball for the sling—spark ... out ... down. The +first had smashed on the ground near the dome of the com +station, the force of impact flattening it into a round splatter +of now fiercely burning material. And his second, carefully +aimed, lit two feet beyond.</p> + +<p>Another wail tearing at the nerves. Shann made a third +throw, a fourth. He had an audience now. In the light of those +pools of fire the Throgs were scuttling back and forth, their +hunched bodies casting weird shadows on the dome walls. +They were making efforts to douse the fires, but Shann knew +from careful experimentation that once ignited the stuff<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +he had skimmed from the lip of one of the hot springs would +go on burning as long as a fraction of its viscid substance remained +unconsumed.</p> + +<p>Now Thorvald had gone into action. A Throg suddenly +halted, struggled frantically, and toppled over into the edge +of a fire splotch, legs looped together by the coils of the curious +weapon Thorvald had put together on their first night of +partnership. Three round stones of comparable weight had +each been fastened at the end of a vine cord, and those cords +united at a center point. Thorvald had demonstrated the +effectiveness of his creation by bringing down one of the +small "deer" of the grasslands, an animal normally fleet enough +to feel safe from both human and animal pursuit. And those +weighted ropes now trapped the Throg with the same efficiency.</p> + +<p>Having shot his last fireball, Shann ran swiftly to take up a +new position, downgrade and to the east of the domes. Here +he put into action another of the primitive weapons Thorvald +had devised, a spear hurled with a throwing stick, giving it +double range and twice as forceful penetration power. The +spears themselves were hardly more than crudely shaped +lengths of wood, their points charred in the fire. Perhaps these +missiles could neither kill nor seriously wound. But more than +one thudded home in a satisfactory fashion against the curving +back carapace or the softer front parts of a Throg in a +manner which certainly shook up and bruised the target. And +one of Shann's victims went to the ground, to lie kicking in a +way which suggested he had been more than just bruised.</p> + +<p>Fireballs, spears.... Thorvald had moved too. And now +down into the somewhat frantic melee of the aroused camp +fell a shower of slim weighted reeds, each provided with a +clay-ball head. The majority of those balls broke on landing +as the Terrans had intended. So, through the beetle smell of +the aliens, spread the acrid, throat-parching fumes of the hot +spring water. Whether those fumes had the same effect upon +Throg breathing apparatus as they did upon Terran, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +attackers could not tell, but they hoped such a bombardment +would add to the general confusion.</p> + +<p>Shann began to space the hurling of his crude spears with +more care, trying to place them with all the precision of aim +he could muster. There was a limit to their amount of varied +ammunition, although they had dedicated every waking moment +of the past few days to manufacture and testing. Luckily +the enemy had had none of their energy beams at the domes. +And so far they had made no move to lift their flyers for +retaliation blasts.</p> + +<p>But the Throgs were pulling themselves into order. +Blaster fire cut the dusk. Most of the aliens were now flat on +the ground, sending a creeping line of fire into the perimeter +of the camp area. A dark form moved between Shann and +the nearest patch of burning moss. The Terran raised a spear +to the ready before he caught a whiff of the pungent scent +emitted by a wolverine hot with battle rage. He whistled +coaxingly. With the Throgs eager to blast any moving thing, +the animals were in danger if they prowled about the scene.</p> + +<p>That blunt head moved. Shann caught the glint of eyes in +a furred mask; it was either Taggi or his mate. Then a puff +of mixed Throng and chemical scent from the camp must have +reached the wolverine. The animal coughed and fled westward, +passing Shann.</p> + +<p>Had Thorvald had time and opportunity to make his +planned raid on the supply dome? Time during such an embroilment +was hard to measure, and Shann could not be sure. +He began to count aloud, slowly, as they had agreed. When +he reached one hundred he would begin his retreat; on two +hundred he was to run for it, his goal the river a half mile +from the camp.</p> + +<p>The stream would take the fugitives to the sea where fiords +cut the coastline into a ragged fringe offering a wealth of +hiding places. Throgs seldom explored any territory on foot. +For them to venture into that maze would be putting themselves +at the mercy of the Terrans they hunted. And their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +flyers could comb the air above such a rocky wilderness without +result.</p> + +<p>Shann reached the count of one hundred. Twice a blaster +bolt singed ground within distance close enough to make him +wince, but most of the fire carried well above his head. All +of his spears were gone, save for one he had kept, hoping +for a last good target. One of the Throgs who appeared to be +directing the fire of the others was facing Shann's position. +And on pure chance that he might knock out that leader, +Shann chose him for his victim.</p> + +<p>The Terran had no illusions concerning his own marksmanship. +The most he could hope for, he thought, was to +have the primitive weapon thud home painfully on the other's +armored hide. Perhaps, if he were very lucky, he could knock +the other from his clawed feet. But that chance which hovers +over any battlefield turned in Shann's favor. At just the right +moment the Throg stretched his head up from the usual +hunched position where the carapace extended over his wide +shoulders to protect one of the alien's few vulnerable spots, +the soft underside of his throat. And the fire-sharpened point +of the spear went deep.</p> + +<p>Throgs were mute, or at least none of them had ever uttered +a vocal sound to be reported by Terrans. This one did not +cry out. But he staggered forward, forelimbs up, clawed +digits pulling at the wooden pin transfixing his throat just +under the mandible-equipped jaw, holding his head at an +unnatural angle. Without seeming to notice the others of his +kind, the Throg came on at a shambling run, straight at +Shann as if he could actually see through the dark and had +marked down the Terran for personal vengeance. There was +something so uncanny about that forward dash that Shann +retreated. As his hand groped for the knife at his belt his boot +heel caught in a tangle of weed and he struggled for balance. +The wounded Throg, still pulling at the spear shaft protruding +above the swelling barrel of his chest, pounded on.</p> + +<p>Shann sprawled backward and was caught in the elastic +embrace of a bush, so he did not strike the ground. He fought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +the grip of prickly branches and kicked to gain solid earth +under his feet. Then again he heard that piercing wail from +the camp, as chilling as it had been the first time. Spurred by +that, he won free. But he could not turn his back on the +wounded Throg, keeping rather a sidewise retreat.</p> + +<p>Already the alien had reached the dark beyond the rim of +the camp. His progress now was marked by the crashing +through low brush. Two of the Throgs back on the firing line +started up after their leader. Shann caught a whiff of their +odor as the wounded alien advanced with the single-mindedness +of a robot.</p> + +<p>It would be best to head for the river. Tall grass twisted +about the Terran's legs as he began to run. In spite of the +gloom, he hesitated to cross that open space. At night Warlock's +peculiar vegetation displayed a very alien attribute—ten ... twenty +varieties of grass, plant, and tree emitted a +wan phosphorescence, varying in degree, but affording each +an aura of light. And the path before Shann now was dotted +by splotches of that radiance, not as brilliant as the chemical-born +flames the attackers had kindled in the camp, but as +quick to betray the unwary who passed within their dim +circles. And there had never been any reason to believe that +Throg powers of sight were less than human; there was perhaps +some evidence to the contrary. Shann crouched, charting +the clumps ahead for a zigzag course which would take +him to at least momentary safety in the river bed.</p> + +<p>Perhaps a mile downstream was the transport the Terrans +had cobbled together no earlier than this afternoon, a raft +Thorvald had professed to believe would support them to the +sea which lay some fifty Terran miles to the west. But now +he had to cover that mile.</p> + +<p>The wolverines? Thorvald? There was one lure which might +draw the animals on to the rendezvous. Taggi had brought +down a "deer" just before they had left the raft. And instead +of allowing both beasts to feast at leisure, Shann had lashed +the carcass to the shaky platform of wood and brush, putting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +it out to swing in the current, though still moored to the bank.</p> + +<p>Wolverines always cached that part of the kill which they +did not consume at the first eating, usually burying it. He had +hoped that to leave the carcass in such a way would draw +both animals back to the raft when they were hungry. And +they had not fed particularly well that day.</p> + +<p>Thorvald? Well, the Survey officer had made it very plain +during the past five days of what Shann had come to look +upon as an uneasy partnership that he considered himself far +abler to manage in the field, while he had grave doubts of +Shann's efficiency in the direction of survival potential.</p> + +<p>The Terran started along the pattern of retreat he had laid +out to the river bed. His heart pounded as he ran, not because +of the physical effort he was expending, but because again +from the camp had come that blood-freezing howl. A lighter +line marked the lip of the cut in which the stream was set, +something he had not foreseen. He threw himself down to +crawl the last few feet, hugging the earth.</p> + +<p>That very pale luminescence was easily accounted for by +what lay below. Shann licked his lips and tasted the sting of +sap smeared on his face during his struggle with the bushes. +While the strip of meadow behind him now had been spotted +with light plants, the cut below showed an almost solid line +of them stringing willow-wise along the water's edge. To go +down at this point was simply to spotlight his presence for any +Throg on his trail. He could only continue along the upper +bank, hoping to finally find an end to the growth of luminescent +vegetation below.</p> + +<p>Shann was perhaps five yards from the point where he had +come to the river, when a commotion behind made him freeze +and turn his head cautiously. The camp was half hidden, and +the fires there must be dying. But a twisting, struggling mass +was rolling across the meadow in his general direction.</p> + +<p>Thorvald fighting off an attack? The wolverines? Shann +drew his legs under him, ready to erupt into a counter-offensive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +He hesitated between drawing stunner or knife. In his +brush with the injured Throg at the wreck the stunner had +had little impression on the enemy. And now he wondered if +his blade, though it was super-steel at its toughest, could +pierce any joint in the armored bodies of the aliens.</p> + +<p>There was surely a fight in progress. The whole crazily +weaving blot collapsed and rolled down upon three bright +light plants. Dull sheen of Throg casing was revealed ... +no sign of fur, or flesh, or clothing. Two of the aliens battling? +But why?</p> + +<p>One of those figures got up stiffly, bent over the huddle +still on the ground, and pulled at something. The wooden +shaft of Shann's spear was wanly visible. And the form on +the ground did not stir as that was jerked loose. The Throg +leader dead? Shann hoped so. He slid his knife back into the +sheath, tapped the hilt to make sure it was firmly in place, +and crawled on. The river, twisting here and there, was a +promising pool of dusky shadow ahead. The bank of willow-things +was coming to an end, and none too soon. For when he +glanced back again he saw another Throg run across the +meadow, and he watched them lift their fellow, carrying him +back to camp.</p> + +<p>The Throgs might seem indestructible, but he had put an +end to one, aided by luck and a very rough weapon. With +that to bolster his self-confidence to a higher notch, Shann +dropped by cautious degrees over the bank and down to the +water's edge. When his boots splashed into the oily flood he +began to tramp downstream, feeling the pull of the water, +first ankle high and then about his calves. This early in the +season they did hot have to fear floods, and hereabouts the +stream was wide and shallow, save in mid-current at the +center point.</p> + +<p>Twice more he had to skirt patches of light plants, and +once a young tree stood bathed in radiance with a pinkish +tinge instead of the usual ghostly gray. Within the haze +which tented the drooping branches, flitted small glittering,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +flying things; and the scent of its half-open buds was heavy +on the air, neither pleasant nor unpleasant in Shann's nostrils, +merely different.</p> + +<p>He dared to whistle, a soft call he hoped would carry along +the cut between the high banks. But, though he paused and +listened until it seemed that every cell in his thin body was +occupied in that act, he heard no answering call from the +wolverines, nor any suggestion that either the animals or +Thorvald were headed in the direction of the raft.</p> + +<p>What was he going to do if none of the others joined him +downstream? Thorvald had said not to linger there past daylight. +Yet Shann knew that unless he actually sighted a Throg +patrol splashing after him he would wait until he made sure +of the others' fate. Both Taggi and Togi were as important to +him as the Survey officer. Perhaps more so, he told himself +now, because he understood them to a certain degree and +found companionship in their undemanding company which +he could not claim from the man.</p> + +<p>Why <i>did</i> Thorvald insist upon their going on to the seashore? +To Shann's mind his own first plan of holing up back in +the eastern mountains was better. Those heights had as many +hiding places as the fiord country. But Thorvald had suddenly +become so set on this westward trek that he had given +in. As much as he inwardly rebelled when he took them, he +found himself obeying the older man's orders. It was only +when he was alone, as now, that he began to question both +Thorvald's motives and his authority.</p> + +<p>Three sprigs of a light bush set in a triangle. Shann paused +and then climbed out on the bank, shaking the water from +his boots as Taggi might shake such drops from a furred limb. +This was the sign they had set to mark their rendezvous +point, but....</p> + +<p>Shann whirled, drawing his stunner. The raft was a dark +blob on the surface of the water some feet farther on. And +now it was bobbing up and down violently. That was not the +result of any normal tug of current. He heard an indignant +squeal and relaxed with a little laugh. He need not have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +worried about the wolverines; that bait had drawn them all +right. Both of them were now engaged in eating, though they +had to conduct their feast on the rather shaky foundation of +the makeshift transport.</p> + +<p>They paid no attention as he waded out, pulling at the +anchor cord as he went. The wind must have carried his +familiar scent to them. As the water climbed to his shoulders +Shann put one hand on the outmost log of the raft. One of +the animals snarled a warning at being disturbed. Or had +that been at him?</p> + +<p>Shann stood where he was, listening intently. Yes, there +was a splashing sound from upstream. Whoever followed his +own recent trail was taking no care to keep that pursuit a +secret, and the pace of the newcomer was fast enough to spell +trouble.</p> + +<p>Throgs? Tensely the Terran waited for some reaction from +the wolverines. He was sure that if the aliens had followed +him, both animals would give warning. Save when they had +gone wild upon hearing that strange wail from the camp, +they avoided meeting the enemy.</p> + +<p>But from all sounds the animals had not stopped feeding. +So the other was no beetle-head. On the other hand, why +would Thorvald so advertise his coming, unless the need for +speed was greater than caution? Shann drew taut the mooring +cord, bringing out his knife to saw through that tough +length. A figure passed the three-sprig signal, ran onto the +raft.</p> + +<p>"Lantee?" The call came in a hoarse, demanding whisper.</p> + +<p>"Here."</p> + +<p>"Cut loose. We have to get out of here!"</p> + +<p>Thorvald flung himself forward, and together the men +scrambled up on the raft. The mangled carcass plunged into +the water, dislodged by their efforts. But before the wolverines +could follow it, the mooring vine snapped, and the river +current took them. Feeling the raft sway and begin to spin, +the wolverines whined, crouched in the middle of what +now seemed a very frail craft.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>Behind them, far away but too clear, sounded that eerie +howling, topping the sigh of the night wind.</p> + +<p>"I saw——" Thorvald gasped, pausing as if to catch full +lungfuls of air to back his words, "they have a 'hound!' That's +what you hear."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PURSUIT" id="PURSUIT"></a>5. PURSUIT</h2> + + +<p>As the raft revolved slowly it also slipped downstream at a +steadily increasing pace, for the current had them in hold. +The wolverines pressed close to Shann until the musky scent +of their fur, their animal warmth, enveloped him. One growled +deep in its throat, perhaps in answer to that wind-borne wail.</p> + +<p>"Hound?" Shann asked.</p> + +<p>Beside him in the dark Thorvald was working loose one of +the poles they had readied to help control the raft's voyaging. +The current carried them along, but there was a need for +those lengths of sapling to fend them free from rocks and +water-buried snags.</p> + +<p>"What hound?" the younger man demanded more sharply +when there came no immediate answer.</p> + +<p>"The Throgs' tracker. But why did they import one?" Thorvald's +puzzlement was plain in his tone. He added a moment +later, with some of his usual firmness, "We may be in +for bad trouble now. Use of a hound means an attempt to take +prisoners——"</p> + +<p>"Then they do not know that we are here, as Terrans, I +mean?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald seemed to be sorting out his thoughts when he +replied to that. "They could have brought a hound here just +on chance that they might miss one of us in the initial mop-up. +Or, if they believe we are natives, they could want a +specimen for study."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't they just blast down Terrans on sight?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>Shann saw the dark blot which was Thorvald's head shake +in negation.</p> + +<p>"They might need a live Terran—badly and soon."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"To operate the camp call beam."</p> + +<p>Shann's momentary bewilderment vanished. He knew +enough of Survey procedure to guess the reason for such a +move on the part of the aliens.</p> + +<p>"The settler transport?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the ship. She won't planet here without the proper +signal. And the Throgs can't give that. If they don't take her, +their time's run out before they have even made a start here."</p> + +<p>"But how could they know that the transport is nearly +due? When we intercept their calls they're pure gibberish to +us. Can they read our codes?"</p> + +<p>"The supposition is that they can't. Only, concerning +Throgs, all we know is supposition. Anyway, they do know +the routine for establishing a Terran colony, and we can't +alter that procedure except in small nonessentials," Thorvald +said grimly. "If that transport doesn't pick up the proper +signal to set down here on schedule, her captain will call in +the patrol escort ... then exit one Throg base. But if the +beetle-heads can trick the ship in and take her, then they'll +have a clear five or six more months here to consolidate their +own position. After that it would take more than just one +patrol cruiser to clear Warlock; it will require a fleet. So the +Throgs will have another world to play with, and an important +one. This lies on a direct line between the Odin and +Kulkulkan systems. A Throg base on such a trade route +could eventually cut us right out of this quarter of the galaxy."</p> + +<p>"So you think they want to capture us in order to bring +the transport in?"</p> + +<p>"By our type of reasoning, that would be a logical move—<i>if</i> +they know we are here. They haven't too many of those +hounds, and they don't risk them on petty jobs. I'd hoped +we'd covered our trail well. But we had to risk that attack +on the camp.... I needed the map case!" Again Thorvald<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +might have been talking to himself. "Time ... and the right +maps—" he brought his fist down on the raft, making the +platform tremble—"that's what I have to have now."</p> + +<p>Another patch of light-willows stretched along the river-banks, +and as they sailed through that ribbon of ghostly +radiance they could see each other's faces. Thorvald's was +bleak, hard, his eyes on the stream behind them as if he expected +at any moment to see a Throg emerge from the surface +of the water.</p> + +<p>"Suppose that thing—" Shann pointed upstream with his +chin—"follows us? What is it anyway?" Hound suggested +Terran dog, but he couldn't stretch his imagination to believe +in a working co-operation between Throg and any mammal.</p> + +<p>"A rather spectacular combination of toad and lizard, with +a few other grisly touches, is about as close as you can get to +a general description. And that won't be too accurate, because +like the Throgs its remote ancestors must have been of +the insect family. If the thing follows us, and I think we can +be sure that it will, we'll have to take steps. There is always +this advantage—those hounds cannot be controlled from a +flyer, and the beetle-heads never take kindly to foot slogging. +So we won't have to expect any speedy chase. If it slips its +masters in rough country, we can try to ambush it." In the dim +light Thorvald was frowning. "I flew over the territory ahead +on two sweeps, and it is a queer mixture. If we can reach the +rough country bordering the sea, we'll have won the first +round. I don't believe that the Throgs will be in a hurry to +track us in there. They'll try two alternatives to chasing us +on foot. One, use their energy beams to rake any suspect +valley, and since there are hundreds of valleys all pretty +much alike, that will take some time. Or they can attempt to +shake us out with a dumdum should they have one here, +which I doubt."</p> + +<p>Shann tensed. The stories of the effects of the Throg's dumdum +weapon were anything but pretty.</p> + +<p>"And to get a dumdum," Thorvald continued as if he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +were discussing a purely theoretical matter and not a threat +of something worse than death, "They'll have to bring in one +of their major ships. Which they will hesitate to do with a +cruiser near at hand. Our own danger spot now is the section +we should strike soon after dawn tomorrow if the rate of this +current is what I have timed it. There is a band of desert on +this side of the mountains. The river gorge deepens there and +the land is bare. Let them send a ship over and we could be +as visible as if we were sending up flares——"</p> + +<p>"How about taking cover now and going on only at +night?" suggested Shann.</p> + +<p>"Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But with time pressing us now, +no. If we keep straight on, we could reach the foothills in +about forty hours, maybe less. And we have to stay with the +river. To strike across country there without good supplies and +on foot is sheer folly."</p> + +<p>Two days. With perhaps the Throgs unleashing their +hound on land, combing from their flyers. With a desert.... +Shann put out his hands to the wolverines. The prospect certainly +didn't seem anywhere near as simple as it had the +night before when Thorvald had planned this escape. But +then the Survey officer had left out quite a few points which +were not pertinent. Was he also leaving out other essentials? +Shann wanted to ask, but somehow he could not.</p> + +<p>After a while he dozed, his head resting on his knees. He +awoke, roused out of a vivid dream, a dream so detailed and +so deeply impressed in a picture on his mind that he was confused +when he blinked at the riverbank visible in the half-light +of early dawn.</p> + +<p>Instead of that stretch of earth and ragged vegetation now +gliding past him as the raft angled along, he should have +been fronting a vast skull stark against the sky—a skull whose +outlines were oddly inhuman, from whose eyeholes issued +and returned flying things while its sharply protruding lower +jaw was lapped by water. In color that skull had been a +violent clash of blood-red and purple. Shann blinked again at +the riverbank, seeing transposed on it still that ghostly haze<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +of bone-bare dome, cavernous eyeholes and nose slit, fanged +jaws. That skull was a mountain, or a mountain was a skull—and +it was important to him; he must locate it!</p> + +<p>He moved stiffly, his legs and arms cramped but not cold. +The wolverines stirred on either side of him. Thorvald continued +to sleep, curled up beyond, the pole still clasped in +his hands. A flat map case was slung by a strap about his neck, +its thin envelope between his arm and his body as if for safekeeping. +On the smooth flap was the Survey seal, and it was +fastened with a finger lock.</p> + +<p>Thorvald had lost some of the bright hard surface he had +shown at the spaceport where Shann had first sighted him. +There were hollows in his cheeks, sending into high relief +those bone ridges beneath his eye sockets, giving him a faint +resemblance to the skull of Shann's dream. His face was +grimed, his field uniform stained and torn. Only his hair was +as bright as ever.</p> + +<p>Shann smeared the back of his hand across his own face, +not doubting that he must present an even more disreputable +appearance. He leaned forward cautiously to look into the +water, but that surface was not quiet enough to act as a +mirror.</p> + +<p>Getting to his feet as the raft bobbed under his shift of +weight, Shann studied the territory now about them. He +could not match Thorvald's inches, just as he must have a +third less bulk than the officer, but standing, he could sight +something of what now lay beyond the rising banks of the +cut. That grass which had been so thick in the meadowlands +around the camp had thinned into separate clumps, pale +lavender in color. And the scrawniness of stem and blade suggested +dehydration and poor soil. The earth showing between +those clumps was not of the usual blue, but pallid, too, +bleached to gray, while the bushes along the stream's edge +were few and smaller. They must have crossed the line into +the desert Thorvald had promised.</p> + +<p>Shann edged around to face west. There was light enough +in the sky to sight tall black pyramids waiting. They had to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +reach those distant mountains, mountains whose feet on the +other side were resting in sea water. He studied them carefully, +surveying each peak he could separate from its fellows.</p> + +<p>Did the skull lie among them? The conviction that the place +he had seen in his dream was real, that it was to be found on +Warlock, persisted. Not only was it a definite feature of +the landscape somewhere in the wild places of this world, but +it was also necessary for him to locate it. Why? Shann puzzled +over that, with a growing uneasiness which was not quite fear, +not yet, anyway.</p> + +<p>Thorvald moved. The raft tilted and the wolverines became +growly. Shann sat down, one hand out to the officer's +shoulder in warning. Feeling that touch Thorvald shifted, +one hand striking out blindly in a blow which Shann was just +able to avoid while with the other he pinned the map case yet +tighter to him.</p> + +<p>"Take it easy!" Shann urged.</p> + +<p>The other's eyelids flicked. He looked up, but not as if he +saw Shann at all.</p> + +<p>"The Cavern of the Veil——" he muttered. "Utgard...." +Then his eyes did focus and he sat up, gazing around him +with a frown.</p> + +<p>"We're in the desert," Shann announced.</p> + +<p>Thorvald got up, balancing on feet planted a little apart, +looking to the faded expanse of the waste spreading from the +river cut. He stared at the mountains before he squatted +down to fumble with the lock of the map case.</p> + +<p>The wolverines were growing restless, though they still did +not try to move about too freely on the raft, greeting Shann +with vocal complaint. He and Thorvald could satisfy their +hunger with a handful of concentrates from the survival kit. +But those dry tablets could not serve the animals. Shann +studied the terrain with more knowledge than he had possessed +a week earlier. This was not hunting land, but there +remained the bounty of the river.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to feed Taggi and Togi," he broke the silence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +abruptly. "If we don't, they'll be into the river and off on +their own."</p> + +<p>Thorvald glanced up from one of the tough, thin sheets of +map skin, again as if he had been drawn back from some +distance. His eyes moved from Shann to the unpromising +shore.</p> + +<p>"How? With what?" he wanted to know. Then the real +urgency of the situation must have penetrated his mental +isolation. "You have an idea——?"</p> + +<p>"There's those fish we found them eating back by the +mountain stream," Shann said, recalling an incident of a few +days earlier. "Rocks here, too, like those the fish were hiding +under. Maybe we can locate some of them here."</p> + +<p>He knew that Thorvald would be reluctant to work the +raft in shore, to spare time for such hunting. But there would +be no arguing with hungry wolverines, and he did not propose +to lose the animals for the officer's whim.</p> + +<p>However, Thorvald did not protest. They poled the raft +out of the main pull of the current, sending it in toward the +southern shore in the lee of a clump of light-willows. Shann +scrambled ashore, the wolverines after him, sniffling along at +his heels while he overturned likely looking rocks to unroof +some odd underwater dwellings. The fish with the rudimentary +legs were present and not agile enough even in their +native element to avoid well-clawed paws which scooped +them neatly out of the river shallows. There was also a sleek +furred creature with a broad flat head and paddle-equipped +forepaws, rather like a miniature seal, which Taggi appropriated +before Shann had a chance to examine it closely. In +fact, the wolverines wrought havoc along a half-mile +section of bank before the Terran could coax them back to +the raft.</p> + +<p>As they hunted, Shann got a better idea of the land about +the river. It was sere, the vegetation dwindling except for +some rough spikes of things pushing through the parched +ground like flayed fingers, their puffed redness in contrast to +the usual amethystine coloring of Warlock's growing things.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Under the climbing sun that whole stretch of country was +revealed in a stark bareness which at first repelled, and then +began to interest him.</p> + +<p>He discovered Thorvald standing on the upper bluff, looking +out toward the waiting mountains. The officer turned as +Shann urged the wolverines to the raft, and when he jumped +down the drop to join them, Shann saw he carried a map +strip unrolled in his hand.</p> + +<p>"The situation is not as good as we hoped," he told the +younger man. "Well have to leave the river to cross the +heights."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"There're rapids—bending in a falls." The officer squatted +down, spreading out the strip and making stabs at it with a +nervous finger tip. "Here we have to leave. This is all rough +ground. But lying to the south there's a gap which may be a +pass. This was made from an aerial survey."</p> + +<p>Shann knew enough to realize to what extent such a guide +could go wrong. Main features of the landscape would be +clear enough from aloft, but there might be unsurmountable +difficulties at ground level which were not distinguishable from +the air. Yet Thorvald had planned this journey as if he had +already explored their escape route and that it was as open +and easy as a stroll down Tyr's main transport way. Why was +it so necessary that they try to reach the sea? However, since +he had no objection to voice except a dislike for indefinite +information, Shann did not question the other's calm assumption +of command, not yet, anyway.</p> + +<p>As they embarked and worked back into the current, Shann +studied his companion. Thorvald had freely listed the difficulties +lying before them. Yet he did not seem in the least +worried about their being able to win through to the sea—or +if he was, his outer shell of unconcern remained uncracked. +Before their first day together had ended, the younger Terran +had learned that to Thorvald he was only another tool, to be +used by the Survey officer in some project which the other +believed of primary importance. And his resentment of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +valuation was under control so far. He valued Thorvald's +knowledge, but the other's attitude chilled and rebuffed his +need for something more than a half partnership of work.</p> + +<p>Why had Thorvald come back to Warlock in the first place? +And why had it been necessary for him to risk his life—perhaps +more than his life if their theory was correct concerning +the Throgs' wish to capture a Terran—to get that +set of maps from the plundered camp? When he had first +talked of that raid, his promised loot had been supplies to fill +their daily needs; there had been no mention of maps. By all +signs Thorvald was engaged on some mission. And what +would happen if he, Shann, suddenly stopped being the +other's obedient underling and demanded a few explanations +here and now?</p> + +<p>Only Shann knew enough about men to also know that he +would not get any information out of Thorvald that the latter +was not ready to give, and that such a showdown, coming +prematurely, would only end in his own discomfiture. He +smiled wryly now, remembering his emotions when he had +first seen Ragnar Thorvald months ago. As if the officer ever +considered the likes, dislikes—or dreams—of one Shann Lantee. +No, reality and dreams seldom approached each other. +Dreams....</p> + +<p>"On any of those shoreline maps," he asked suddenly, "do +they have marked a mountain shaped like a skull?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald thrust with his pole. "Skull?" he repeated, a +little absently, as he so often did in answer to Shann's questions +unless they dealt with some currently important matter.</p> + +<p>"A queer sort of skull," Shann said. Just as vividly as +when he had first awakened, he could picture that skull +mountain with the flying things about its eye sockets. And +that, too, was odd; dream impressions usually faded with +the passing of waking hours. "It has a protruding lower jaw +and the waves wash that ... red-and-purple rock——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>He had Thorvald's complete attention now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where did you hear about it?" That demand followed +quickly.</p> + +<p>"I didn't hear about it. I dreamed of it last night. I stood +there right in front of it. There were birds—or things flying +like birds—going in and out of the <ins class="corr" title="Hyphen removed in line with majority usage.">eyeholes</ins>——"</p> + +<p>"What else?" Thorvald leaned across his pole, his eyes alive, +avid, as if he would pull the reply he wanted out of Shann by +force.</p> + +<p>"That was all I remember—the skull mountain." He did not +add his other impression, that he was meant to find that +skull, that he <i>must</i> find it.</p> + +<p>"Nothing...." Thorvald paused, and then spoke slowly, +with a visible reluctance. "Nothing else? No cavern with a +green veil—a wide green veil—strung across it?"</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head. "Just the skull mountain."</p> + +<p>Thorvald looked as if he didn't quite believe that, but +Shann's expression must have been convincing, for he laughed +shortly.</p> + +<p>"Well, there goes one nice neat theory up in smoke!" he +commented. "No, your skull doesn't appear on any of our +maps, and so probably my cavern does not exist either. They +may both be smoke screens——"</p> + +<p>"What——?" But Shann never finished that query.</p> + +<p>A wind was rising in the desert to blow across the slit which +held the river, carrying with it a fine shifting of sand which +coasted down into the water as a gray haze, coating men, +animals, and raft, and sighing as snow sighs when it falls.</p> + +<p>Only that did not drown out another cry, a thin cry, diluted +by the miles of land stretching behind them, but yet carrying +that long ululating howl they had heard in the Throg camp. +Thorvald grinned mirthlessly.</p> + +<p>"The hound's on trail."</p> + +<p>He bent to the pole, using it to aid the pace of the current. +Shann, chilled in spite of the sun's heat, followed his example, +wondering if time had ceased to fight on their side.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_HOUND" id="THE_HOUND"></a>6. THE HOUND</h2> + + +<p>The sun was a harsh ball of heat baking the ground and then, +in some odd manner, drawing back that same fieriness. In +the coolness of the eastern mountains Shann would not have +believed that Warlock could hold such heat. The men discarded +their jackets early as they swung to dip the poles. But +they dared not strip off the rest of their clothing lest their +skin burn. And again gusts of wind now drove sand over the +edge of the cut to blanket the water.</p> + +<p>Shann wiped his eyes, pausing in his eternal push-push, +to look at the rocks which they were passing in threatening +proximity. For the slash which held the river had narrowed. +And the rock of its walls was naked of earth, save for +sheltered pockets holding the drift of sand dust, while boulders +of all sizes cut into the path of the flowing water.</p> + +<p>He had not been mistaken; they were going faster, faster +even than their efforts with the poles would account for. With +the narrowing of the bed of the stream, the current was taking +on a new swiftness. Shann said as much and Thorvald +nodded.</p> + +<p>"We're approaching the first of the rapids."</p> + +<p>"Where we get off and walk around," Shann croaked +wearily. The dust gritted between his teeth, irritated his eyes. +"Do we stay beside the river?"</p> + +<p>"As long as we can," Thorvald replied somberly. "We have +no way of transporting water."</p> + +<p>Yes, a man could live on very slim rations of food, continue +to beat his way over a bad trail if he had the concentrate +tablets they carried. But there was no going without water, +and in this heat such an effort would finish them quickly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +Always they both listened for another cry from behind, a +cry to tell them just how near the Throg hunting party had +come.</p> + +<p>"No Throg flyers yet," Shann observed. He had expected +one of those black plates to come cruising the moment the +hound had pointed the direction for their pursuers.</p> + +<p>"Not in a storm such as this." Thorvald, without releasing +his hold on the raft pole, pointed with his chin to the swirling +haze cloaking the air above the cut walls. Here the river dug +yet deeper into the beginning of a canyon. They could +breathe better. The dust still sifted down but not as thickly as +a half hour earlier. Though over their heads the sky was now +a grayish lid, shutting out the sun, bringing a portion of coolness +to the travelers.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer glanced from side to side, watching the +banks as if hunting for some special mark or sign. At last he +used his pole as a pointer to indicate a rough pile of boulders +ahead. Some former landslide had quarter dammed the river +at that point, and the drift of seasonal floods was caught in +and among the rocky pile to form a prickly peninsula.</p> + +<p>"In there——"</p> + +<p>They brought the raft to shore, fighting the faster current. +The wolverines, who had been subdued by the heat and the +dust, flung themselves to the rocks with the eagerness of passengers +deserting a sinking ship for certain rescue. Thorvald +settled the map case more securely between his arm and side +before he took the same leap. When they were all ashore he +prodded the raft out into the stream again, pushing the platform +along until it was sucked by the current past the line +of boulders.</p> + +<p>"Listen!"</p> + +<p>But Shann had already caught that distant rumble of sound. +It was steady, beating like some giant drum. Certainly it did +not herald a Throg ship in flight and it came from ahead, +not from their back trail.</p> + +<p>"Rapids ... perhaps even the falls," Thorvald interpreted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +that faint thunder. "Now, let's see what kind of a road we +can find here."</p> + +<p>The tongue of boulders, spiked with driftwood, was firmly +based against the wall of the cut. But it sloped up to within +a few feet of the top of that gap, more than one landslide +having contributed to its fashioning. The landing stage paralleled +the river for perhaps some fifty feet. Beyond it water +splashed a straight wall. They would have to climb and follow +the stream along the top of the embankment, maybe being +forced well away from the source of the water.</p> + +<p>By unspoken consent they both knelt and drank deeply +from their cupped hands, splashing more of the liquid over +their heads, washing the dust from their skins. Then they +began to climb the rough assent up which the wolverines had +already vanished. The murk above them was less solid, +but again the fine grit streaked their faces, embedding itself +in their hair.</p> + +<p>Shann paused to scrape a film of mud from his lips and +chin. Then he made the last pull, bracing his slight body +against the push of the wind he met there. A palm struck +hard between his shoulders, nearly sending him sprawling. +He had only wits enough left to recognize that as an order to +get on, and he staggered ahead until rock arched over him +and the sand drift was shut off.</p> + +<p>His shoulder met solid stone, and having rubbed the sand +from his eyes, Shann realized he was in a pocket in the cliff +walls. Well overhead he caught a glimpse of natural amber +sky through a slit, but here was a twilight which thickened +into complete darkness.</p> + +<p>There was no sign of wolverines. Thorvald moved along the +pocket southward, and Shann followed him. Once more +they faced a dead end. For the crevice, with the sheer descent +to the river on the right, the cliff wall at its back, came to an +abrupt stop in a drop which caught at Shann's stomach when +he ventured to look down.</p> + +<p>If some battleship of the interstellar fleet had aimed a force +beam across the mountains of Warlock, cutting down to what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +lay under the first envelope of planet-skin, perhaps the resulting +wound might have resembled that slash. What had caused +such a break between the height on which they stood and +the much taller peak beyond, Shann could not guess. But it +must have been a cataclysm of spectacular dimensions. There +was certainly no descending to the bottom of that cut and +reclimbing the rock face on the other side. The fugitives would +either have to return to the river with all its ominous warnings +of trouble to come, or find some other path across that gap +which now provided such an effective barrier to the west.</p> + +<p>"Down!" Just as Thorvald had pushed him out of the murk +of the dust storm into the crevice, so now did that officer jerk +Shann from his feet, forcing him to the floor of the half cave +from which they had partially emerged.</p> + +<p>A shadow moved across the bright band of sunlit sky.</p> + +<p>"Back!" Thorvald caught at Shann again, his greater +strength prevailing as he literally dragged the younger man +into the dusk of the crevice. And he did not pause, nor allow +Shann to do so, even when they were well undercover again. +At last they reached the dark hole in the southern wall which +they had passed earlier. And a push from Thorvald sent his +companion into that.</p> + +<p>Then a blow greater than any the Survey officer had aimed +at him struck Shann. He was hurled against a rough wall with +impetus enough to explode the air from his lungs, the ensuing +pain so great that he feared his ribs had given under that +thrust. Before his eyes fire lashed down the slit, searing him +into temporary blindness. That flash was the last thing he +remembered as thick darkness closed in, shutting him into the +nothingness of unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>It hurt to breathe; he was slowly aware first of that pain +and then the fact that he <i>was</i> breathing, that he had to endure +the pain for the sake of breath. His whole body was +jarred into a dull torment as a weight pressed upon his twisted +legs. Then strong animal breath puffed into his face. Shann +lifted one hand by will power, touched thick fur, felt the +rasp of a tongue laid wetly across his fingers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>Something close to terror engulfed him for a second or two +when he knew that he could not see! The black about him +was colored by jagged flashes of red which he somehow +guessed were actually inside his eyes. He groped through +that fire-pierced darkness. An animal whimper from the throat +of the shaggy body pressed against him; he answered that +movement.</p> + +<p>"Taggi?"</p> + +<p>The shove against him was almost enough to pin him once +more to the wall, a painful crush on his aching ribs, as the +wolverine responded to his name. That second nudge from +the other side must be Togi's bid for attention.</p> + +<p>But what had happened? Thorvald had hurled him back +just after that shadow had swung over the ledge. That +shadow! Shann's wits quickened as he tried to make sense of +what he could remember. A Throg ship! Then that fiery lash +which had cut after them could only have resulted from one +of those energy bolts such as had wiped out the others of his +kind at the camp. But he was still alive—!</p> + +<p>"Thorvald?" He called through his personal darkness. When +there was no answer, Shann called again, more urgently. Then +he hunched forward on his hands and knees, pushing Taggi +gently aside, running his hands over projecting rocks, uneven +flooring.</p> + +<p>His fingers touched what could only be cloth, before they +met the warmth of flesh. And he half threw himself against +the supine body of the Survey officer, groping awkwardly for +heartbeat, for some sign that the other was still living.</p> + +<p>"What——?" The one word came thickly, but Shann gave +something close to a sob of relief as he caught the faint mutter. +He squatted back on his heels, pressed his forearm +against his aching eyes in a kind of fierce will to see.</p> + +<p>Perhaps that pressure did relieve some of the blackout, +for when he blinked again, the complete dark and the fiery +trails had faded to gray, and he was sure he saw dimly a +source of light to his left.</p> + +<p>The Throg ship had fired upon them. But the aliens could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +not have used the full force of their weapon or neither of the +Terrans would still be alive. Which meant, Shann's thoughts +began to make sense—sense which brought apprehension—the +Throgs probably intended to disable rather than kill. They +wanted prisoners, just as Thorvald had warned.</p> + +<p>How long did the Terrans have before the aliens would +come to collect them? There was no fit landing place hereabouts +for their flyer. The beetle-heads would have to set +down at the edge of the desert land and climb the mountains +on foot. And the Throgs were not good at that. So, the fugitives +still had a measure of time.</p> + +<p>Time to do what? The country itself held them securely +captive. That drop to the southwest was one barrier. To retreat +eastward would mean running straight into the hands +of the hunters. To descend again to the river, their raft gone, +was worse than useless. There was only this side pocket in +which they sheltered. And once the Throgs arrived, they +could scoop the Terrans out at their leisure, perhaps while +stunned by a controlling energy beam.</p> + +<p>"Taggi? Togi?" Shann was suddenly aware that he had +not heard the wolverines for some time.</p> + +<p>He was answered by a weirdly muffled call—from the +south! Had the animals found a new exit? Was this niche more +than just a niche? A cave of some length, or even a passage +running back into the interior of the peaks? With that faint +hope spurring him, Shann bent again over Thorvald, able +now to make out the other's huddled form. Then he drew +the torch from the inner loop of his coat and pressed the lowest +stud.</p> + +<p>His eyes smarted in answer to that light, watered until tears +patterned the grime and dust on his cheeks. But he could +make out what lay before them, a hole leading into the cliff +face, the hole which might furnish the door to escape.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer moved, levering himself up, his eyes +screwed tightly shut.</p> + +<p>"Lantee?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here. And there's a tunnel—right behind you. The wolverines +went that way...."</p> + +<p>To his surprise there was a thin ghost of a smile on Thorvald's +usually straight-lipped mouth. "And we'd better be +away before visitors arrive?"</p> + +<p>So he, too, must have thought his way through the sequence +of past action to the same conclusion concerning the +Throg movements.</p> + +<p>"Can you see, Lantee?" The question was painfully casual, +but a note in it, almost a reaching for reassurance, cut for the +first time through the wall which had stood between them +from their chance meeting by the wrecked ship.</p> + +<p>"Better now. I couldn't when I first came to," Shann answered +quickly.</p> + +<p>Thorvald opened his eyes, but Shann guessed that he was +as blind as he himself had been, He caught at the officer's +nearer hand, drawing it to rest on his own belt.</p> + +<p>"Grab hold!" Shann was giving the orders now. "By the +look of that opening we had better try crawling. I've a torch +on at low——"</p> + +<p>"Good enough." The other's fingers fumbled on the band +about Shann's slim waist until they gripped tight at his back. +He started on into the opening, drawing Thorvald by that +hold with him.</p> + +<p>Luckily, they did not have to crawl far, for shortly past +the entrance the fault or vein they were following became +a passage high enough for even the tall Thorvald to travel +without stooping. And then only a little later he released his +hold on Shann, reporting he could now see well enough to +manage on his own.</p> + +<p>The torch beam caught on a wall and awoke from there a +glitter which hurt their eyes—a green-gold cluster of crystals. +Several feet on, there was another flash of embedded crystals. +Those might promise priceless wealth, but neither Terran +paused to examine them more closely or touch their surfaces. +From time to time Shann whistled. And always he was answered +by the wolverines, their calls coming from ahead. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +the men continued to hope that they were not walking into a +trap from which the Throgs could extract them.</p> + +<p>"Snap off your torch a moment!" Thorvald ordered.</p> + +<p>Shann obeyed. The subdued light vanished. Yet there was +still light to be seen—ahead and above.</p> + +<p>"Front door," Thorvald observed. "How do we get up?"</p> + +<p>The torch showed them that, a narrow ladder of ledges +branching off when the passage they followed took a turn to +the left and east. Afterward Shann remembered that climb +with wonder that they had actually made it, though their +advance had been slow, passing the torch from one to another +to make sure of their footing.</p> + +<p>Shann was top man when a last spurt of effort enabled him +to draw himself out into the open, his hands raw, his nails +broken and torn. He sat there, stupefied with his own weariness, +to stare about.</p> + +<p>Thorvald called impatiently, and Shann reached for the +torch to hold it for the officer. Then Thorvald crawled out; +he, too, looked around in dull surprise.</p> + +<p>On either side, peaks cut high into the amber of the sky. +But this bowl in which the men had found refuge was rich in +growing things. Though the trees were stunted, the grass grew +almost as high here as it did on the meadows of the lowlands. +Quartering the pocket valley, galloped the wolverines, expressing +in that wild activity their delight in this freedom.</p> + +<p>"Good campsite."</p> + +<p>Thorvald shook his head. "We can't stay here."</p> + +<p>And, to underline that gloomy prophesy, there issued from +that hole through which they had just come, muffled and +broken, but still threatening, the howl of the Throgs' hound.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer caught the torch from Shann's hold +and knelt to flash it into the interior of the passage. As the +beam slowly circled that opening, he held out his other arm, +measuring the size of the aperture.</p> + +<p>"When that thing gets on a hot scent"—he snapped off +the beam—"the beetle-heads won't be able to control it. There +will be no reason for them to attempt to. Those hounds obey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +their first orders: kill—or capture. And I think this one operates +on 'capture.' So they'll loose it to run ahead of their party."</p> + +<p>"And we move to knock it out?" Shann relied now on the +other's experience.</p> + +<p>Thorvald rose. "It would need a blaster on full power to +finish off a hound. No, we can't kill it. But we can make it a +doorkeeper to our advantage." He trotted down into the valley, +Shann beside him without understanding in the least, but +aware that Thorvald did have some plan. The officer bent, +searched the ground, and began to pull from under the loose +surface dirt one of those nets of tough vines which they had +used for cords. He thrust a double handful of this hasty harvest +into Shann's hold with a single curt order: "Twist these +together and make as thick a rope as you can!"</p> + +<p>Shann twisted, discovering to his pleased surprise that +under pressure the vines exuded a sticky purple sap which not +only coated his hands, but also acted as an adhesive for the +vines themselves so that his task was not nearly as formidable +as it had first seemed. With his force ax Thorvald cut down +two of the stunted trees and stripped them of branches, wedging +the poles into the rocks about the entrance of the hole.</p> + +<p>They were working against time, but on Thorvald's part +with practiced efficiency. Twice more that cry of the hunter +arose from the depths behind them. As the westering sun, +almost down now, shone into the valley hollow Thorvald set +up the frame of his trap.</p> + +<p>"We can't knock it out, any more than we can knock out +a Throg. But a beam from a stunner ought to slow it up long +enough for this to work."</p> + +<p>Taggi burst out of the grass, approaching the hole with +purpose. And Togi was right at his heels. Both of them +stared into that opening, drooling a little, the same eagerness +in their pose as they had displayed when hunting. Shann +remembered how that first howl of the Throg hound had +drawn both animals to the edge of the occupied camp in +spite of their marked distaste for its alien masters.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They're after it too." He told Thorvald what he had noted +on the night of their sortie.</p> + +<p>"Maybe they can keep it occupied," the other commented. +"But we don't want them to actually mix with it; that might +be fatal."</p> + +<p>A clamor broke out in the interior passage. Taggi snarled, +backing away a few steps before he uttered his own war cry.</p> + +<p>"Ready!" Thorvald jumped to the net slung from the poles; +Shann raised his stunner.</p> + +<p>Togi underlined her mate's challenge with a series of snarls +rising in volume. There was a tearing, scrambling sound from +within. Then Shann fired at the jack-in-the-box appearance of +a monstrous head, and Thorvald released the deadfall.</p> + +<p>The thing squalled. Ropes beat, growing taut. The wolverines +backed from jaws which snapped fruitlessly. To Shann's +relief the Terran animals appeared content to bait the now +imprisoned—or collared—horror, without venturing to make +any close attack.</p> + +<p>But he reckoned that too soon. Perhaps the stunner had +slowed up the hound's reflexes, for those jaws stilled with a +last shattering snap, the toad-lizard mask—a head which was +against all nature as the Terrans knew it—was quiet in the +strangle leash of the rope, the rest of the body serving as a +cork to fill the exit hole. Taggi had been waiting only for such +a chance. He sprang, claws ready. And Togi went in after her +mate to share the battle.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="UNWELCOME_GUIDE" id="UNWELCOME_GUIDE"></a>7. UNWELCOME GUIDE</h2> + + +<p>There was a small eruption of earth and stone as the hound +came alive, fighting to reach its tormentors. The resulting din +was deafening. Shann, avoiding by a hand's breadth a snap +of jaws with power to crush his leg into bone powder and +mangled flesh, cuffed Togi across her nose and buried his +hands in the fur about Taggi's throat as he heaved the male +wolverine back from the struggling monster. He shouted orders, +and to his surprise Togi did obey, leaving him free to +yank Taggi away. Perhaps neither wolverine had expected the +full fury of the hound.</p> + +<p>Though he suffered a slash across the back of one hand, +delivered by the over-excited Taggi, in the end Shann was +able to get both animals away from the hole, now corked so +effectively by the slavering thing. Thorvald was actually +laughing as he watched his younger companion in action.</p> + +<p>"This ought to slow up the beetles! If they haul their little +doggie back, it's apt to take out some of its rage on them, and +I'd like to see them dig around it."</p> + +<p>Considering that the monstrous head was swinging from +side to side in a collar of what seemed to be immovable rocks, +Shann thought Thorvald right. He went down on his knees +beside the wolverines, soothing them with hand and voice, +trying to get them to obey his orders willingly.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" Thorvald brought his mud-stained hands together +with a clap, the sharp sound attracting the attention of both +animals.</p> + +<p>Shann scrambled up, swung out his bleeding hand in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +simple motion which meant to hunt, being careful to signal +down the valley westward. Taggi gave a last reluctant +growl at the hound, to be answered by one of its ear-torturing +howls, and then trotted off, Togi tagging behind.</p> + +<p>Thorvald caught Shann's slashed hand, inspecting the +bleeding cut. From the aid packet at his belt he brought out +powder and a strip of protecting plasta-flesh to cleanse and +bind the wound.</p> + +<p>"You'll do," he commented. "But we'd better get out of +here before full dark."</p> + +<p>The small paradise of the valley was no safe campsite. It +could not be so long as that monstrosity on the hillside +behind them roared and howled its rage to the darkening sky. +Trailing the wolverines, the men caught up with the animals +drinking from a small spring and thankfully shared that +water. Then they pushed on, not able to forget that somewhere +in the peaks about must lurk the Throg flyer ready to +attack on sight.</p> + +<p>Only darkness could not be held off by the will of men. +Here in the open there was no chance to use the torch. As +long as they were within the valley boundaries the phosphorescent +bushes marked a path. But by the coming of +complete darkness they were once more out in a region of +bare rock.</p> + +<p>The wolverines had killed a brace of skitterers, consuming +hide and soft bones as well as the meager flesh which was +not enough to satisfy their hunger. However, to Shann's relief, +they did not wander too far ahead. And as the men stopped +at last on a ledge where a fall of rock gave them some limited +shelter both animals crowded in against the humans, adding +the heat of their bodies to the slight comfort of that cramped +resting place.</p> + +<p>From time to time Shann was startled out of a troubled +half sleep by the howl of the hound. Luckily that sound never +seemed any louder. If the Throgs had caught up with their +hunter, and certainly they must have done so by now, they +either could not, or would not free it from the trap. Shann<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +dozed again, untroubled by any dreams, to awake hearing +the shrieks of clak-claks. But when he studied the sky he was +able to sight none of the cliff-dwelling Warlockian bats.</p> + +<p>"More likely they are paying attention to our friend back +in the valley," Thorvald said dryly, rightly reading Shann's +glance to the clouds overhead. "Ought to keep them busy."</p> + +<p>Clak-claks were meat eaters, only they preferred their +chosen prey weak and easy to attack. The imprisoned hound +would certainly attract their kind. And those shrill cries now +belling through the mountain heights ought to draw everyone +of their species within miles.</p> + +<p>"There it is!" Thorvald, pulling himself to his feet by a rock +handhold, gazed westward, his gaunt face eager.</p> + +<p>Shann, expecting no less than a cruising Throg ship, +searched for cover on their perch. Perhaps if they flattened +themselves behind the fall of stones, they might be able to +escape attention. Yet Thorvald made no move into hiding. +And so Shann followed the line of the other's fixed stare.</p> + +<p>Before and below them lay a maze of heights and valleys, +sharp drops, and saw-toothed rises. But on the far rim of that +section of badlands shone the green of a Warlockian sea +rippling on to the only dimly seen horizon. They were now +within sight of their goal.</p> + +<p>Had they had one of the exploration sky-flitters from the +overrun camp, they could have walked its beach sands within +the hour. Instead, they fought their way through a Devil-designed +country for the next two days. Twice they had +narrow escapes from the Throg ship—or ships—which continued +to sweep across the rugged line of the coast, and only +a quick dive to cover, wasting precious time cowering like +trapped animals, saved them from discovery. But at least the +hound did not bay again on the tangled trail they left, and +they hoped that the trap and the clak-claks had put that +monster permanently out of service.</p> + +<p>On the third day they came down to one of those fiords +which tongued inland, fringing the coast. There had been no +lack of hunting in the narrow valleys through which they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +had threaded, so both men and wolverines were well fed. +Though animal fur wore better than the now tattered uniforms +of the men.</p> + +<p>"Now where?" Shann asked.</p> + +<p>Would he now learn the purpose driving Thorvald on to +this coastland? Certainly such broken country afforded good +hiding, but no better concealment than the mountains of the +interior.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer turned slowly around on the shingle, +studying the heights behind them as well as the angle of +the inlet where the wavelets lapped almost at their battered +boot tips. Opening his treasured map case, he began a patient +checking of landmarks against several of the strips he carried. +"We'll have to get on down to the true coast."</p> + +<p>Shann leaned against the trunk of a conical branched +mountain tree, pulling absently at the shreds of wine-colored +bark being shed in seasonal change. The chill they +had known in the upper valleys was succeeded here by a +humid warmth. Spring was becoming a summer such as this +northern continent knew. Even the fresh wind, blowing in +from the outer sea, had already lost some of the bite they had +felt two days before when its salt-laden mistiness had first +struck them.</p> + +<p>"Then what do we do there?" Shann persisted.</p> + +<p>Thorvald brought over the map, his black-rimmed nail +tracing a route down one of the fiords, slanting out to indicate +a lace of islands extending in a beaded line across the sea.</p> + +<p>"We head for these."</p> + +<p>To Shann that made no sense at all. Those islands ... why, +they would offer less chance of establishing a safe base than +the broken land in which they now stood. Even the survey +scouts had given those spots of sea-encircled earth the most +cursory examination from the air.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked bluntly. So far he had followed orders +because they had for the most part made sense. But he was +not giving obedience to Thorvald as a matter of rank alone.</p> + +<p>"Because there is something out there, something which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +may make all the difference now. Warlock isn't an empty +world."</p> + +<p>Shann jerked free a long thong of loose bark, rolling it +between his fingers. Had Thorvald cracked? He knew that +the officer had disagreed with the findings of the team and +had been an unconvinced minority of one who had refused +to subscribe to the report that Warlock had no native intelligent +life and therefore was ready and waiting for human +settlement because it was technically an empty world. But +to continue to cling to that belief without a single concrete +proof was certainly a sign of mental imbalance.</p> + +<p>And Thorvald was regarding him now with frowning impatience. +You were supposed to humor delusions, weren't +you? Only, could you surrender and humor a wild idea which +might mean your death? If Thorvald wanted to go island-hopping +in chance of discovering what never had existed, +Shann need not accompany him. And if the officer tried to +use force, well, Shann was armed with a stunner, and had, he +believed, more control over the wolverines. Perhaps if he +merely gave lip agreement to this project.... Only he didn't +believe, noting the light deep in those gray eyes holding on +him, that anybody could talk Thorvald out of this particular +obsession.</p> + +<p>"You don't believe me, do you?" The impatience arose hotly +in that demand.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I?" Shann tried to temporize. "You've had +a lot of exploration experience; you should know about such +things. I don't pretend to be any authority."</p> + +<p>Thorvald refolded the map and placed it in the case. Then +he pulled at the sealing of his blouse, groping in an inner +secret pocket. He uncurled his fingers to display his treasure.</p> + +<p>On his palm lay a coin-shaped medallion, bone-white but +possessing an odd luster which bone would not normally +show. And it was carved. Shann put out a finger, though he +had a strange reluctance to touch the object. When he did he +experienced a sensation close to the tingle of a mild electric<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +shock. And once he had made that contact, he was also impelled +to pick up that disk and examine it more closely.</p> + +<p>The carved pattern was very intricate and had been done +with great delicacy and skill, though the whorls, oddly shaped +knobs, ribbon tracings, made no connected design he could +determine. After a moment or two of study, Shann became +aware that his eyes, following those twists and twirls, were +"fixed," that it required a distinct effort to look away from the +thing. Feeling some of that same alarm as he had known +when he first heard the wailing of the Throg hound, he let +the disk fall back into <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'Thorfald'">Thorvald</ins>'s hold, even more disturbed +when he discovered that to relinquish his grasp required some +exercise of will.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald restored the coin to his hiding place.</p> + +<p>"You tell me. I can say this much, there is no listing for +anything even remotely akin to this in the Archives."</p> + +<p>Shann's eyes widened. He absently rubbed the fingers +which had held the bone coin—if it was a coin—back and +forth across the torn front of his blouse. That tingle ... did he +still feel it? Or was his imagination at work again? But an +object not listed in the exhaustive Survey Archives would +mean some totally new civilization, a new stellar race.</p> + +<p>"It is definitely a created article," the Survey officer continued. +"And it was found on the beach of one of those sea +islands."</p> + +<p>"Throg?" But Shann already knew the answer to that.</p> + +<p>"Throg work—<i>this</i>?" Thorvald was openly scornful. "Throgs +have no conception of such art. You must have seen their +metal plates—those are the beetle-heads' idea of beauty. Have +those the slightest resemblance to this?"</p> + +<p>"Then who made it?"</p> + +<p>"Either Warlock has—or once had—a native race advanced +enough in a well-established form of civilization to develop +such a sophisticated type of art, or there have been other +visitors from space here before us and the Throgs. And the +latter possibility I don't believe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>——"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because this was carved of bone or an allied substance. +We haven't been quite able to identify it in the labs, but it is +basically organic material. It was found exposed to the +weather and yet it is in perfect condition, could have been +carved any time within the past five years. It has been +handled, yes, but not roughly. And we have come across evidences +of no other star-cruising races or species save ourselves +and the Throgs. No, I say this was made here on Warlock, not +too long ago, and by intelligent beings of a very high grade +of civilization."</p> + +<p>"But they would have cities," protested Shann. "We've +been here for months, explored all over this continent. We +would have seen them or some traces of them."</p> + +<p>"An old race, maybe," Thorvald mused, "a very old race, +perhaps in decline, reduced to a remnant in numbers with +good reason to retire into hiding. No, we've discovered no +cities, no evidence of a native culture past or present. But +this—" he touched the front of his blouse—"was found on the +shore of an island. We may have been looking in the wrong +place for our natives."</p> + +<p>"The sea...." Shann glanced with new interest at the +green water surging in wavelets along the edge of the fiord.</p> + +<p>"Just so, the sea!"</p> + +<p>"But scouts have been here for more than a year, one +team or another. And nobody saw anything or found any +traces."</p> + +<p>"All four of our base camps were set inland, our explorations +along the coast were mainly carried out by flitter, except +for one party—the one which found this. And there may +be excellent local reasons why any native never showed himself +to us. For that matter, they may not be able to exist on +land at all, any more than we could live without artificial +aids in the sea."</p> + +<p>"Now——?"</p> + +<p>"Now we must make a real attempt to find them if they do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +exist anywhere near here. A friendly native race could make +all the difference in the world in any struggle with the +Throgs."</p> + +<p>"Then you did have more than the dreams to back you +when you argued with Fenniston!" Shann cut in.</p> + +<p>Thorvald's eyes were on him again. "When did you hear +that, Lantee?"</p> + +<p>To his great embarrassment, Shann found himself flushing. +"I heard you, the day you left for Headquarters," he admitted, +and then added in his own defense, "Probably half the +camp did, too."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's gathering frown flickered away. He gave a +snort of laughter. "Yes, I guess we did rather get to the +bellowing point that morning. The dreams——" he came back +to the subject—"Yes, the dreams were—are—important. We +had their warning from the start. Lorry was the First-In Scout +who charted Warlock, and he is a good man. I guess I can +break secret now to tell you that his ship was equipped with +a new experimental device which recorded—well, you might +call it an "emanation"—a radiation so faint its source could +not be traced. And it registered whenever Lorry had one of +those dreams. Unfortunately, the machine was very new, very +much in the untested stage, and its performance when +checked later in the lab was erratic enough so the powers-that-be +questioned all its readings. They produced a half dozen +answers to account for that tape, and Lorry only caught the +recording as long as he was on a big bay to the south.</p> + +<p>"Then when two check flights came in later, carrying perfected +machines and getting no recordings, it was all written +off as a mistake in the first experiment. A planet such as Warlock +is too big a find to throw away when there was no proof +of occupancy. And the settlement boys rushed matters right +along."</p> + +<p>Shann recalled his own vivid dream of the skull-rock set +in the lap of water—this sea? And another small point fell into +place to furnish the beginning of a pattern. "I was asleep on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +the raft when I dreamed about that skullmountain," he said +slowly, wondering if he were making sense.</p> + +<p>Thorvald's head came up with the alert stance of Taggi +on a strong game scent.</p> + +<p>"Yes, on the raft you dreamed of a skull-rock. And I of a +cavern with a green veil. Both of us were on water—water +which had an eventual connection with the sea. Could water +be a conductor? I wonder...." Once again his hand went into +his blouse. He crossed the strip of gravel beach and dipped +fingers into the water, letting the drops fall on the carved disk +he now held in his other hand.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" Shann could see no purpose in that.</p> + +<p>Thorvald did not answer. He had pressed wet hand to dry +now, palm to palm, the coin cupped tightly between them. +He turned a quarter circle, to face the still distant open sea.</p> + +<p>"That way." He spoke with a new odd tonelessness.</p> + +<p>Shann stared into the other's face. All the eager alertness +of only a moment earlier had been wiped away. Thorvald was +no longer the man he had known, but in some frightening +way a husk, holding a quite different personality. The younger +Terran answered his fear with an attack from the old days of +rough in-fighting in the Dumps of Tyr. He brought his right +hand down hard in a sharp chop across the officer's wrists. +The bone coin spun to the sand and Thorvald stumbled, staggering +forward a step or two. Before he could recover balance +Shann had stamped on the medallion.</p> + +<p>Thorvald whirled, his stunner drawn with a speed for +which Shann gave him high marks. But the younger man's +own weapon was already out and ready. And he talked—fast.</p> + +<p>"That thing's dangerous! What did you do—what did it +do to you?"</p> + +<p>His demand got through to a Thorvald who was himself +again.</p> + +<p>"What was <i>I</i> doing?" came a counter demand.</p> + +<p>"You were acting like a mind-controlled."</p> + +<p>Thorvald stared at him incredulously, then with a growing +spark of interest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The minute you dripped water on that thing you changed," +Shann continued.</p> + +<p>Thorvald reholstered his stunner. "Yes," he mused, "why +<i>did</i> I want to drip water on it? Something prompted me...." +He ran his still damp hand up the angle of his jaw, across his +forehead as if to relieve some pain there. "What else did I +do?"</p> + +<p>"Faced to the sea and said 'that way,'" Shann replied +promptly.</p> + +<p>"And why did you move in to stop me?"</p> + +<p>Shann shrugged. "When I first touched that thing I felt a +shock. And I've seen mind-controlled——" He could have bitten +his tongue for betraying that. The world of the mind-controlled +was very far from the life Thorvald and his kind knew.</p> + +<p>"Very interesting," commented the other. "For one of so +few years you seem to have seen a lot, Lantee—and apparently +remembered most of it. But I would agree that you +are right about this little plaything; it carries a danger with +it, being far less innocent than it looks." He tore off one of the +fluttering scraps of rag which now made up his sleeve. "If +you'll just remove your foot, we'll put it out of business for +now."</p> + +<p>He proceeded to wrap the disk well in his bit of cloth, +taking care not to touch it again with his bare fingers while +he stowed it away.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what we have in this—a key to unlock a +door, a trap to catch the unwary. I can't guess how or why +it works. But we can be reasonably sure it's not just some +carefree maiden's locket, nor the equivalent of a credit to +spend in the nearest bar. So it pointed me to the sea, did it? +Well, that much I am willing to allow. Maybe we'll be able +to return it to the owner, <i>after</i> we learn who—or what—that +owner is."</p> + +<p>Shann gazed down at the green water, opaque, not to be +pierced to the depths by human sight. Anything might lurk +there. Suddenly the Throgs became normal when balanced +against an unknown living in the murky depths of an aquatic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +world. Another attack on the Throg-held camp could be well +preferred to such exploration as Thorvald had in mind. Yet +Shann did not voice any protest as the Survey officer faced +again in the same direction as the disk had pointed him moments +before.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="UTGARD" id="UTGARD"></a>8. UTGARD</h2> + + +<p>A wind from the west sprang up an hour before sunset, lashing +waves inland until their spray was a salt mist in the air, +a mist to sodden clothing, plaster hair to the skull, leaving a +brine slime across the skin. Yet Thorvald hunted no shelter, in +spite of the promise in the rough shoreline at their backs. The +sand in which their boots slipped and slid was coarse stuff, +hardly finer than gravel, studded with nests of drift—bone-white +or grayed or pale lavender—smoothed and stored by +the seasons of low tides and high, seasonal storms and hurricanes. +A wild shore and a forbidding one, to arouse Shann's +distrust, perhaps a fitting goal for that disk's guiding.</p> + +<p>Shann had tasted loneliness in the mountains, experienced +the strange world of the river at night lighted by the +wan radiance of glowing shrubs and plants, forced the starkness +of the heights. Yet there had been through all that journeying +a general resemblance to his own past on other worlds. +A tree was a tree, whether it bore purple foliage or was red-veined. +A rock was a rock, a river a river. They were equally +hard and wet on Warlock or Tyr.</p> + +<p>But now a veil he could not describe, even in his own +thoughts, hung between him and the sand over which he +walked, between him and the sea which sent spray to wet +his torn clothing, between him and that wild wrack of long-ago +storms. He could put out his hand and touch sand, drift, +spray; yet they were a setting where something lay hidden +behind that setting—something watched, calculatingly, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +intelligence, and a set of emotions and values he did not, could +not share.</p> + +<p>"... storm coming." Thorvald paused in the buffeting of +wind and spray, watching the fury of the tossing sea. The sun +was still a pale smear just above the horizon. And it gave +light enough to make out that trickle of islands melting out to +obscurity.</p> + +<p>"Utgard——"</p> + +<p>"Utgard?" Shann repeated, the strange word holding no +meaning for him.</p> + +<p>"Legend of my people." Thorvald smeared spray from his +face with one hand. "Utgard, those outermost islands where +dwell the giants who are the mortal enemies of the old gods."</p> + +<p>Those dark lumps, most of them bare rock, only a few +crowned with stunted vegetation, might well harbor <i>anything</i>, +Shann decided, giants or the malignant spirits of any +race. Perhaps even the Throgs had their tales of evil things in +the night, beetle monsters to people wild, unknown lands. He +caught at Thorvald's arm and suggested a practical course of +action.</p> + +<p>"We'll need shelter before the storm strikes." To Shann's +relief the other nodded.</p> + +<p>They trailed back across the beach, their backs now to the +sea and Utgard. That harsh-sounding name did so well fit +the line of islands and islets, Shann repeated it to himself. +Here the beach was narrow, a strip of blue sand-gravel walled +by wave-worn boulders. And from that barrier of stones piled +into a breastwork by chance, interwoven with bone-bare drift, +arose the first of the cliffs. Shann studied the terrain with increasing +uneasiness. To be caught between a sea, whipped +inland by a storm wind, and that cliff would be a risk he did +not like to consider, as ignorant of field lore as he was. They +must locate some break nearer than the fiord, down which +they had come. And they must find it soon, before the daylight +was gone and the full fury of bad weather struck.</p> + +<p>In the end the wolverines discovered an exit, just as they +had found the passage through the mountain. Taggi nosed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +into a darker line down the face of the cliff and disappeared, +Togi duplicating that feat. Shann trailed them, finding the +opening a tight squeeze.</p> + +<p>He squirmed into dimness, his outstretched hands meeting +a rough stone surface sloping upward. After gaining a point +about eight feet above the beach he was able to look back and +down through the seaward slit. Open to the sky the crevice +proved a doorway to a narrow valley, not unlike those which +housed the fiords, but provided with a thick growth of vegetation +well protected by the high walls.</p> + +<p>Working as a now well-rehearsed team, the men set up +a shelter of saplings and brush, the back to the slit through +which wind was still able to tear a way. Walled in by +stone and knowing that no Throg flyer would attempt to fly +in the face of the coming storm, they dared make a fire. The +warmth was a comfort to their bodies, just as the light of the +flames, men's age-old hearth companion, was a comfort to the +fugitives' spirits. Those dancing spears of red, for Shann at +least, burned away that veil of other-worldliness which had +enwrapped the beach, providing in the night an illusion of +the home he had never really known.</p> + +<p>But the wind and the weather did not keep truce very long. +A wailing blast around the upper peaks produced a caterwauling +to equal the voices of half a dozen Throg hounds. +And in their poor shelter the Terrans not only heard the thunderous +boom of surf, but felt the vibration of that beat pounding +through the very ground on which they lay. The sea must +have long since covered the beach over which they had +come and was now trying its strength against the rock of the +cliff barrier. They could not talk to each other over that din, +although shoulder touched shoulder.</p> + +<p>The last flush of amber vanished from the sky with the +speed of a dropped curtain. Tonight no period of twilight +divided night from day, but their portion of Warlock was +plunged abruptly into darkness. The wolverines crowded +into their small haven, whining deep in their throats. Shann +ran his hands along their furred bodies, trying to give them a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +reassurance he himself did not feel. Never before when on +stable land had he been so aware of the unleashed terrors +nature could exert, the forces against which all mankind's +controls were as nothing.</p> + +<p>Time could no longer be measured by any set of minutes +or hours. There was only darkness, the howling winds, and +the salty rain which must be in part the breath of the sea +driven in upon them. The comforting fire vanished, chill and +dankness crept up to cramp their bodies, so that now and +again they were forced to their feet, to swing arms, stamp, +drive the blood into faster circulation.</p> + +<p>Later came a time when the wind died, no longer driving +the rain bullet-hard against and through their flimsy shelter. +Then they slept in the thick unconsciousness of exhaustion.</p> + +<p>A red-purple skull—and from its eye sockets the flying +things—kept coming ... going.... Shann trod on an unsteady +foundation which dipped under his weight as had the +raft of the river voyage. He was drawing nearer to that great +head, could see now how waves curled about the angle of +the lower jaw, slapping inward between gaps of missing teeth—which +were really broken fangs of rock—as if the skull now +and then sucked reviving moisture from the water. The aperture +marking the nose was closer to a snout, and the hole +was dark, dark as the empty eye sockets. Yet that darkness +was drawing him past any effort to escape he could summon. +And then that on which he rode so perilously was carried forward +by the waves, grated against the jawbone, while against +his own fighting will his hands arose above his head, reaching +for a hold to draw his shrinking body up the stark surface to +that snout-passage.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!" A hand jerked him back, broke that compulsion—and +the dream. Shann opened his eyes with difficulty, his +lashes seemed glued to his cheeks.</p> + +<p>He might have been surveying a submerged world. Thin +streamers of fog twined up from the earth as if they grew +from seeds planted by the storm. But there was no wind, no +sound from the peaks. Only under his stiff body Shann could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +still feel that vibration which was the sea battering against +the cliff wall.</p> + +<p>Thorvald was crouched beside him, his hand still urgent +on the younger man's shoulder. The officer's face was drawn +so finely that his features, sharp under the tanned skin, were +akin to the skull Shann still half saw among the ascending +pillars of fog.</p> + +<p>"Storm's over."</p> + +<p>Shann shivered as he sat up, hugging his arms to his chest, +his tattered uniform soggy under that pressure. He felt as if +he would never be warm again. When he moved sluggishly to +the pit where they had kindled their handful of fire the night +before he realized that the wolverines were missing.</p> + +<p>"Taggi——?" His voice sounded rusty in his own ears, as if +some of the moisture thick in the air about them had affected +his vocal cords.</p> + +<p>"Hunting." Thorvald's answer was clipped. He was gathering +a handful of sticks from the back of their lean-to, where +the protection of their own bodies had kept that kindling dry. +Shann snapped a length between his hands, dropped it into +the pit.</p> + +<p>When they did coax a blaze into being they stripped, +wringing out their clothing, propping it piece by steaming +piece on sticks by the warmth of the flames. The moist air bit +at their bodies and they moved briskly, striving to keep warm +by exercise. Still the fog curled, undisturbed by any shaft of +sun.</p> + +<p>"Did you dream?" Thorvald asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Yes." Shann did not elaborate. Disturbing as his dream +had been, the feeling that it was not to be shared was also +strong, as strong as some order.</p> + +<p>"And so did I," Thorvald said bleakly. "You saw your +skull-mountain?"</p> + +<p>"I was climbing it when you awoke me," Shann returned +unwillingly.</p> + +<p>"And I was going through my green veil when Taggi took +off and wakened me. You are sure your skull exists?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And so am I that the cavern of the veil is somewhere on +this world. But why?" Thorvald stood up, the firelight marking +plainly the lines between his tanned arms, his brown face and +throat, and the paleness of his lean body. "Why do we dream +those particular dreams?"</p> + +<p>Shann tested the dryness of a shirt. He had no reason to +try and explain the wherefore of those dreams, only was he +certain that he would sometime, somewhere, find that skull, +and that when he did he would climb to the doorway of the +snout, pass behind to depths where the flying things might +nest—not because he wanted to make such an expedition, +but because he must.</p> + +<p>He drew his hands across his ribs, where pressure still +brought an aching reminder of the crushing force of the +energy whip the Throgs had wielded. There was no extra +flesh on his body, yet muscles slid easily under the skin, a +darker skin than Thorvald's, deepening to a warm brown +where it had been weathered. His hair, unclipped now for a +month, was beginning to curl about his head in tight dark +rings. Since he had always been the youngest or the smallest +or the weakest in the world of the Dumps, of the Service, +of the Team, Shann had very little personal vanity. He did +possess a different type of pride, born of his own stubborn +achievement in winning out over a long roster of discouragements, +failures, and adverse odds.</p> + +<p>"Why do we dream?" he repeated Thorvald's question. "No +answer, sir." He gave the traditional reply of the Service recruit. +And a little to his surprise Thorvald laughed with a +tinge of real amusement.</p> + +<p>"Where do you come from, Lantee?" He asked as if he were +honestly interested.</p> + +<p>"Tyr."</p> + +<p>"Caldon mines." The Survey officer automatically matched +planet to product. "How did you come into Survey?"</p> + +<p>Shann drew on his shirt. "Signed on as casual labor," he +returned with a spark of defiance. Thorvald had joined the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +Service the right way as a cadet, then a Team man, finally an +officer, climbing that nice even ladder with every rung ready +for him when he was prepared to mount it. What did his kind +know about the labor Barracks where the dull-minded, the +failures, the petty criminals on the run, lived hard under a +secret social system of their own? It had taken every bit of +physical endurance and energy, every fraction of stubborn +will Shann could summon, for him to survive his first three +months in those barracks—unbroken and still eager to be +Survey. He could still wonder at the unbelievable chance +which had rescued him from that merely because Training +Center had needed another odd hand to clean cages and feed +troughs for the experimental animals.</p> + +<p>And from the center he made a Team, because when +working in a smaller group his push and attention to duty had +been noticed and had paid off. Three years it had taken, but +he <i>had</i> made Team stature. Not that that meant anything +now. Shann pulled his boots on over the legs of rough dried +coveralls and glanced up, to find Thorvald watching him with +a new, questioning directness the younger man could not +understand.</p> + +<p>Shann sealed his blouse and stood up, knowing the bite of +hunger, dull but persistent. It was a feeling he had had so +many times in the past that now he hardly gave it a second +thought.</p> + +<p>"Supplies?" He brought the subject back to the present and +the practical. What did it matter why or how one Shann +Lantee had come to Warlock in the first place?</p> + +<p>"What we have left of the concentrates we had better keep +for emergencies." Thorvald made no move to open the very +shrunken bag he had brought from the scoutship.</p> + +<p>He walked over to a rocky outcrop and tugged loose a +yellowish tuft of plant, neither moss nor fungi but sharing attributes +of both. Shann recognized it without enthusiasm as +one of the varieties of native produce which could be safely +digested by Terran stomachs. The stuff was almost tasteless +and possessed a rather unpleasant odor. Consumed in bulk it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +would satisfy hunger for a time. Shann hoped that with the +wolverines to aid they could go back to hunting soon.</p> + +<p>However, Thorvald showed no desire to head inland where +they might expect to locate game. He disagreed with Shann's +suggestion for tracking Taggi and Togi when those two +emerged from the underbrush obviously well fed and contented +after their early morning activity.</p> + +<p>When Shann protested with some heat, the other countered: +"Didn't you ever hear of fish, Lantee? After a storm such as +last night's, we ought to discover good pickings along the +shore."</p> + +<p>But Shann was also sure that it was not only the thought +of food which drew Thorvald back to the sea.</p> + +<p>They crawled back through the bolt hole. The beach of +gravel-sand had vanished save for a narrow ribbon of land +just at the foot of the cliffs, where the water curled in white +lace about the barrier of boulders. There was no change +in the dullness of the sky; no sun broke through the thick lid +of clouds. And the green of the sea was ashened to gray which +matched that overcast until one could strain one's eyes trying +to find the horizon, unable to mark the dividing line here +between air and water.</p> + +<p>Utgard was a broken necklace, the outermost island-beads +lost, the inner ones more isolated by the rise in water, more +forbidding. Shann let out a startled hiss of breath.</p> + +<p>The top of a near-by rock detached itself, drew up into a +hunched thing of armor-plated scales and heavy wide-jawed +head. A tail cracked into the air; a double tail split into +equal forks for half-way down its length. A leg lifted as a +forefoot, webbed, clawed for a new hold. This sea beast was +the most formidable native thing he had sighted on Warlock, +approaching in its ugliness the hound of the Throgs.</p> + +<p>Breathing in labored gusts, the thing slapped its tail down +on the stones with a limpness which suggested that the raising +of that appendage had overtaxed its limited supply of strength. +The head sank forward, resting across one of the forelimbs. +Then Shann sighted the fearsome wound in the side just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +before one of the larger hind legs, a ragged hole through +which pumped with every one of those breaths a dark purplish +stream, licked away by the waves as it trickled slickly +down the rock.</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald shook his head. "Not on our records," he replied +absently, studying the dying creature with avid attention. +"Must have been driven in by the storm. This proves there is +more in the sea then we knew!"</p> + +<p>Again the forked tail lifted and fell, the head, raised from +the forelimb, stretching up and back until the white underfolds +of the throat were exposed as the snout pointed almost +vertically to the sky. The jaws opened and from between them +came a moaning whistle, a complaint which was drowned +out by the wash of the waves. Then, as if that was the last +effort, the webbed, clawed feet relaxed their grip of the rock +and the scaled body slid sidewise, out of their sight, into the +water. There was a feather of spume to mark the plunge and +nothing else.</p> + +<p>Shann, watching to see if the reptile would surface again, +sighted another object, a rounded shape floating on the sea, +bobbing lightly as had their river raft.</p> + +<p>"Look!"</p> + +<p>Thorvald's gaze followed his pointing finger and then before +Shann could protest, the officer leaped outward from their +perch on the cliff to the broad rock where the scaled sea +dweller had lain moments earlier. He stood there, watching +that drifting object with the closest attention, as Shann made +the same crossing in his wake.</p> + +<p>The drifting thing was oval, perhaps some six feet long and +three wide, the mid point rising in a curve from the water's +edge. As far as Shann could make out in the half-light the +color was a reddish-brown, the surface rough. And he thought +by the way that it moved that it must be flotsam of the storm, +buoyant enough to ride the waves with close to cork resiliency. +To Shann's dismay his companion began to strip.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Get that."</p> + +<p>Shann surveyed the water about the rock. The forked tail +had sunk just there. Was the Survey officer mad enough to +think he could swim unmenaced through a sea which might +be infested with more such creatures? It seemed that he was, +for Thorvald's white body arched out in a dive. Shann waited, +half crouched and tense, as though he could in some way +attack anything rising from the depths to strike at his companion.</p> + +<p>A brown arm flashed above the surface. Thorvald swam +strongly toward the floating object. He reached it, his outstretched +hand rasping across the surface. And it responded +so quickly to that touch that Shann guessed it was even +lighter and easier to handle than he had first thought.</p> + +<p>Thorvald headed back, herding the thing before him. And +when he climbed out on the rock, Shann was pulling up his +trophy. They flipped the find over, to discover it hollow. They +had, in effect, a ready-made craft not unlike a canoe with +blunted bows. But the substance was surely organic: Was it +shell? Shann speculated, running his finger tips over the irregular +surface.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer dressed. "We have our boat," he commented. +"Now for Utgard——"</p> + +<p>Use this frail thing to dare the trip to the islands? But +Shann did not protest. If the officer determined to try such a +voyage, he would do it. And neither did the younger man +doubt that he would accompany Thorvald.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ONE_ALONE" id="ONE_ALONE"></a>9. ONE ALONE</h2> + + +<p>Once again the beach was a wide expanse of shingle, drying +fast under a sun hotter than any Shann had yet known on +Warlock. Summer had taken a big leap forward. The Terrans +worked in partial shade below a cliff <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'overhand'">overhang</ins>, not only for +the protection against the sun's rays, but also as a precaution +against any roving Throg air patrol.</p> + +<p>Under Thorvald's direction the curious shell dragged from +the sea—if it were a shell, and the texture as well as the +general shape suggested that—was equipped with a framework +to act as a stabilizing outrigger. What resulted was +certainly an odd-looking craft, but one which obeyed the +paddles and rode the waves easily.</p> + +<p>In the full sunlight the outline of islands was clear-cut—red-and-gray-rock +above an aquamarine sea. The Terrans had +sighted no more of the sea monsters, and the major evidence +of native life along the shore was a new species of clak-claks, +roosting in cliff holes and scavenging along the sands, and +various queer fish and shelled things stranded in small tide +pools—to the delight of the wolverines, who fished eagerly up +and down the beach, ready to investigate all debris of the +storm.</p> + +<p>"That should serve." Thorvald tightened the last lashing, +straightening up, his fists resting on his hips, to regard the +craft with a measure of pride.</p> + +<p>Shann was not quite so content. He had matched the Survey +officer in industry, but the need for haste still eluded him. +So the ship—such as it was—was ready. Now they would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +off to explore Thorvald's Utgard. But a small and nagging +doubt inside the younger man restrained his enthusiasm over +such a voyage. Fork-tail had come out of the section of ocean +which they must navigate in this very crude transport. And +Shann had no desire to meet an uninjured and alert fork-tail +in the latter's own territory.</p> + +<p>"Which island do we head for?" Shann kept private his +personal doubts of their success. The outmost tip of that chain +was only a distant smudge lying low on the water.</p> + +<p>"The largest ... that one with trees."</p> + +<p>Shann whistled. Since the night of the storm the wolverines +were again more amenable to the very light discipline +he tried to keep. Perhaps the fury of that elemental burst had +tightened the bond between men and animals, both alien to +this world. Now Taggi and his mate padded toward him in +answer to his summons. But would the wolverines trust the +boat? Shann dared not risk their swimming, nor would he +agree to leaving them behind.</p> + +<p>Thorvald had already stored their few provisions on board. +And now Shann steadied the craft against a rock which +served them as a wharf, while he coaxed Taggi gently. Though +the wolverine protested, he at last scrambled in, to hunch at +the bottom of the shell, the picture of apprehension. Togi <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'look'">took</ins> +longer to make up her mind. And at length Shann picked +her up bodily, soothing her with quiet speech and stroking +hands, to put her beside her mate.</p> + +<p>The shell settled under the weight of the passengers, but +Thorvald's foresight concerning the use of the outrigger +proved right, for the craft was seaworthy. It answered readily +to the dip of their paddles as they headed in a curve, keeping +the first of the islands between them and the open sea for a +breakwater.</p> + +<p>From the air, Thorvald's course would have been a crooked +one, for he wove back and forth between the scattered islands +of the chain, using their lee calm for the protection of the +canoe. About two thirds of the group were barren rock, inhabited +only by clak-claks and creatures closer to true Terran<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +birds in that they wore a body plumage which resembled +feathers, though their heads were naked and leathery. And, +Shann noted, the clak-claks and the birds did not roost on +the same islands, each choosing their own particular home +while the other species did not invade that territory.</p> + +<p>The first large-sized island they approached was crowned +by trees, but it had no beach, no approach from sea level. +Perhaps it might be possible to climb to the top of the cliff +walls. But Thorvald did not suggest that they try it, heading +on toward the next large outcrop of land and rock.</p> + +<p>Here white lace patterned in a ring well out from the +shore to mark a circle of reefs. They nosed their way patiently +around the outer circumference of that threatening barrier, +hunting the entrance to the lagoon. Within, there were at +least two beaches with climbable ascents to the upper reaches +inland. Though Shann noted that the vegetation showing was +certainly not luxuriant, the few trees within their range of +vision being pallid growths, rather like those they had sighted +on the fringe of the desert. Leather-headed flyers wheeled out +over their canoe, coasting on outspread wings to peer down at +the Terran invaders in a manner which suggested intelligent +curiosity.</p> + +<p>A full flock gathered to escort them as they continued +along the outer line of the reef. Thorvald impatiently dug his +paddle deeper. They had explored more than half of the +reef now without chancing on an entrance channel.</p> + +<p>"Regular fence," Shann commented. One could begin to +believe that the barrier had been deliberately reared to +frustrate visitors. Hot sunshine, reflected back from the surface +of the waves, burned their exposed skin, so they dared not +discard their ragged clothing. And the wolverines were growing +increasingly restless. Shann did not know how much +longer the animals would consent to their position as passengers +without raising active protest.</p> + +<p>"How about trying the next one?" he asked, knowing at the +same time his companion was not in any mood to accept such +a suggestion with good will.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>The officer made no reply, but continued to use his steer +paddle in a fashion which spelled out his stubborn determination +to find a passage. This was a personal thing now, +between Ragnar Thorvald of the Terran Survey and a wall of +rock, and the man's will was as strongly rooted as those +water-washed stones.</p> + +<p>On the southwestern tip of the reef they discovered a possible +opening. Shann eyed the narrow space between two +fanglike rocks dubiously. To him that width of water lane +seemed dangerously limited, the sudden slam of a wave +could dash them against either of those pillars, with disastrous +results, before they could move to save themselves. But +Thorvald pointed their blunt bow toward the passage with +seeming confidence, and Shann knew that as far as the +officer was concerned, this was their door to the lagoon.</p> + +<p>Thorvald might be stubborn, but he was not a fool. And +his training and skill in such maneuvers was proved when the +canoe rode in a rising swell in and by those rocks to gain the +safety, in seconds, of the calm lagoon. Shann sighed with relief, +but ventured no comment.</p> + +<p>Now they must paddle back along the inner side of the +reef to locate the beaches, for fronting them on this side of +the well-protected island were cliffs as formidable as those +which guarded the first of the chain at which they had aimed.</p> + +<p>Shann glanced now and then over the side of the boat, +hoping in these shallows to sight the sea bed or some of the +inhabitants of these waters. But there was no piercing that +green murk. Here and there nodules of rock projected inches +or feet above the surface, awash in the wavelets, to be avoided +by the voyagers. Shann's shoulders ached and burned, his +muscles were unaccustomed to the steady swing of the +paddles, and the fire of the sun stabbed easily through only +two layers of ragged cloth to his skin. He ran a dry tongue +over dryer lips and gazed eagerly ahead in search of the first +of the beaches.</p> + +<p>What was so important about this island that Thorvald <i>had</i> +to make a landing here? The officer's stories of a native race<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +which they might turn against the Throgs to their own advantage +was thin, very thin indeed. Especially now, as Shann +weighed an unsupported theory against that ache in his +shoulders, the possibility of being marooned on the inhospitable +shore ahead, against the fifty probable dangers he could +total up with very little expenditure of effort. A small nagging +doubt of Thorvald's obsession began to grow in his mind. +How could Shann even be sure that that carved disk and +Thorvald's hokus-pokus with it had been on the level? On the +other hand what motive would the officer have for trying such +an act just to impress Shann?</p> + +<p>The beach at last! As they headed the canoe in that direction +the wolverines nearly brought disaster on them. The +animals' restlessness became acute as they sighted and scented +the shore and knew that they were close. Taggi reared, +plunged over the side of the craft, and Shann had just time to +fling his weight in the opposite direction as a counterbalance +when Togi followed. They splashed shoreward while Thorvald +swore fluently and Shann grabbed to save the precious +supply bag. In a shower of gravel the animals made land +and humped well up on the strand before pausing to shake +themselves and splatter far and wide the burden of moisture +transported by their shaggy fur.</p> + +<p>Ashore, the canoe became a clumsy burden and, light as +the craft was, both of the men sweated to get it up on the +beach without snagging the outrigger against stones and +brush. With the thought of a Throg patrol in mind they +worked swiftly to cover it.</p> + +<p>Taggi raised an egg-patterned snout from a hollow and +licked at the stippling of greenish yolk matting his fur. The +wolverines had wasted no time in sampling the contents of a +wealth of nesting places beginning just above the high-water +mark, cupping two to four tough-shelled eggs in each. Treading +a path among those clutches, the Terrans climbed a red-earthed +slope toward the interior of the island.</p> + +<p>They found water, not the clear running of a mountain +spring, but a stalish pool in a stone-walled depression on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +crest of a rise, filled by the bounty of the rain. The warm +liquid was brackish, but satisfied in part their thirst, and they +drank eagerly.</p> + +<p>The outer cliff wall of the island was just that, a wall, for +there was an inner slope to match the outer. And at the bottom +of it a showing of purple-green foliage where plants and +stunted trees fought for living space. But there was nothing +else, though they quartered that growing section with the +care of men trying to locate an enemy outpost.</p> + +<p>That night they camped in the hollow, roasted eggs in a +fire, and ate the fishy-tasting contents because it was food, +not because they relished what they swallowed. Tonight no +cloud bank hung overhead. A man, gazing up, could see the +stars. The stars and other things, for over the distant shore of +the mainland they sighted the cruising lights of a Throg ship +and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling points +to swing out toward their own hiding hole.</p> + +<p>"They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to +them both.</p> + +<p>"The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him. "If they +do not take a prisoner to talk her in and allay suspicion, then—" +he snapped his fingers—"the Patrol will be on their +tails, but quick!"</p> + +<p>So just by keeping out of Throg range, they were, in a way, +still fighting. Shann settled back, his tender shoulders resting +against a tree hole. He tried to count the number of days +and nights lying behind him now since that early morning +when he had watched the Terran camp die under the aliens' +weapons. But one day faded into another so that he could +remember only action parts clearly—the attack on the +grounded scoutship, the sortie they had made in turn on the +occupied camp, the dust storm on the river, the escape from +the Throg ship in the mountain crevice, and their meeting +with the hound. Then that storm which had driven them to +seek cover after their curious experience with the disk. And +now this day when they had safely reached the island.</p> + +<p>"Why this island?" he asked suddenly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That carved piece was found here on the edge of this +valley," Thorvald returned matter-of-factly.</p> + +<p>"But today we found nothing at all——"</p> + +<p>"Yet this island supplies us with a starting point."</p> + +<p>A starting point for what? A detailed search of all the +islands, great and small, in the chain? And how did they +dare continue to paddle openly from one to the next with +the Throgs sweeping the skies? They would have provided an +excellent target today as they combed that reef for an hour +or more. Wearily, Shann spread out his hands in the very +faint light of their tiny fire, poked with a finger tip at smarting +points which would have been blisters had those hands +not known a toughening process in the past. More paddling +tomorrow? But that was tomorrow, and at least they need not +worry tonight about any Throg attack once they had doused +the fire, an action which was now being methodically attended +to by Thorvald. Shann pushed down on the bed of leaves he +had heaped together. The night was quiet. He could hear +only the murmur of the sea, a lulling croon of sound to make +one sleep deep, perhaps dreamlessly.</p> + +<p>Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann +turned over drowsily in that welcome heat, stretching a little +as might a cat at ease. Then he really awoke under the press +of memory, and the need for alertness rode him once more. +Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last night's fire +were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there +were no signs.</p> + +<p>Not only did he now lie alone, but he was possessed by +the feeling that he had not been deserted only momentarily, +that Taggi, Togi and the Survey officer were indeed gone. +Shann sat up, got to his feet, breathing faster, a prickle of +uneasiness spreading in him, bringing him to that inner slope, +up it to the crest from which he could see that beach where +last night they had concealed the canoe.</p> + +<p>Those lengths of brush and tufts of grass they had used +for a screen were strewn about as if tossed in haste. And not +too long before....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>For the canoe was out in the calm waters within the reef, +the paddle blade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly +in the sun. On the shingle below, the wolverines prowled back +and forth, whining in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald——!"</p> + +<p>Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing +the name ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the +man in the boat did not turn his head; there was no change +in the speed of that paddle dip.</p> + +<p>Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding +the last few feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the +water only by a painful wrench of his body.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright +under the sun did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore +at his clothes and kicked off his boots.</p> + +<p>He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters +as he plunged into the water, swam for the canoe <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'edgeing'">edging</ins> +along the reef, plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest. +Shann was not a powerful swimmer. His first impetus +gave him a good start, but after that he had to fight for each +foot he gained, and the fear grew in him that the other would +reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He wasted +no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath +and energy into the effort of overtaking the craft.</p> + +<p>And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along +the log which furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers +tightened on the slimy wood he looked up, and loosed that +hold again in time perhaps to save his life.</p> + +<p>For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an +impromptu half dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture, +a picture so astounding that he was a little dazed.</p> + +<p>Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle +had to be put to another use. Had Shann not released his +hold on the log and gone under water, that crudely fashioned +piece of wood might, have broken his skull. He saw only too +clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an ugly weapon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which +made it as inhuman as a Throg's.</p> + +<p>Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once +more. The paddle was back at the task for which it had been +carved, the canoe was underway again, its occupant paying +no more attention to what lay behind than if he <i>had</i> successfully +disposed of the man in the water. To follow would be +only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so +lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try +any tricks such as oversetting the canoe, not when Thorvald +was an expert who could easily finish off a fumbling opponent.</p> + +<p>Shann swam wearily to shore where the wolverines waited, +unable yet to make sense of that attack in the lagoon. What +had happened to Thorvald? What motive had led the other +to leave Shann and the animals on this island, the island +Thorvald had called a starting point in his search for the +natives of Warlock? Or had every bit of that tall tale been +invented by the Survey officer for some obscure purpose of +his own, certainly no sane purpose? Against that logic Shann +could only set the carved disk, and he had only Thorvald's +word that that had been discovered here.</p> + +<p>He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and +knees and lay, winded and gasping. Taggi came to lick his +face, nuzzle him, making a small, bewildered whimpering. +While above, the leather-headed birds called and swooped, +fearful and angry for their disturbed nesting place. The Terran +retched, coughed up water, and then sat up to look +around.</p> + +<p>The spread of lagoon was bare. Thorvald must have +rounded the south point of land and be very close to the reef +passage, perhaps through it by now. Not stopping for his +clothes, Shann started up the slope, crawling part of the way +on his hands and knees.</p> + +<p>He reached the crest again and got to his feet. The sun +made an eye-dazzling glitter of the waves. But under the +shade of his hands Shann saw the canoe again, beyond the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +reef, heading on out along the island chain, not back to shore +as he had expected. Thorvald was still on the hunt, but for +what? A reality which existed, or a dream in his own disturbed +brain?</p> + +<p>Shann sat down. He was very hungry, for that adventure +in the lagoon had sapped his strength. And he was a prisoner +along with the wolverines, a prisoner on an island which was +half the size of the valley which held the Survey camp. As +far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water was that +tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated +by a sun such as the one now beating down on him. +And between him and the shore was the sea, a sea which +harbored such creatures as the fork-tail he had watched die.</p> + +<p>Thorvald was still steadily on course, not to the next island +in the chain, a small, bare knob, but to the one beyond that. +He could have been hurrying to a meeting. Where and with +what?</p> + +<p>Shann got to his feet, started down to the beach once more, +sure now that the officer had no intention of returning, that +he was again on his own with only his wits and strength to +keep him alive—alive and somehow free of this water-washed +prison.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_TRAP_FOR_A_TRAPPER" id="A_TRAP_FOR_A_TRAPPER"></a>10. A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER</h2> + + +<p>Shann took up the piece of soft chalklike stone he had found +and drew another short white mark on the rust-red of a +boulder well above tide level. That made three such marks, +three days since Thorvald had marooned him. And he was no +nearer the shore now than he had been on that first morning! +He sat where he was by the boulder, aware that he should be +up, trying to climb to the less accessible nests of the sea birds. +The prisoners, man and wolverines, had cleaned out all those +they had discovered on beach and cliffs. But at the thought +of more eggs, Shann's stomach knotted in pain and he began +to retch.</p> + +<p>There had been no sign of Thorvald since Shann had +watched him steer between the two westward islands. And +the younger Terran's faint hope that the officer would return +had died. On the shore a few feet away lay his own pitiful +attempt to solve the problem of escape.</p> + +<p>The force ax had vanished with Thorvald, along with all +the rest of the meager supplies which had been the officer's +original contribution to their joint equipment. Shann had used +his knife on brush and small trees, trying to put together some +kind of a raft. But he had not been able to discover here any +of those vines necessary for binding, and his best efforts had +all come to grief when he tried them in a lagoon launching. +So far he had achieved no form of raft which would keep +him afloat longer than five minutes, let alone support three +of them as far as the next island.</p> + +<p>Shann pulled listlessly at the framework of his latest try,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +fully disheartened. He tried not to think of the unescapable +fact that the water in the rain tank had sunk to only an inch +or so of muddy scum. Last night he had dug in the heart of +the interior valley where the rankness of the vegetation was +a promise of moisture, to uncover damp clay and then a brackish +ooze. Far too little to satisfy both him and the animals.</p> + +<p>There were surely fish somewhere in the lagoon. Shann +wondered if the raw flesh of sea dwellers could supply the +water they needed. But lacking net, line, or hooks, how did +one fish? Yesterday, using his stunner, he had brought down +a bird, to discover the carcass so rank even the wolverines, +never dainty eaters, refused to gnaw it.</p> + +<p>The animals prowled the two beaches, and Shann guessed +they hunted shell dwellers, for at times they dug energetically +in the gravel. Togi was busied in this way now, the sand +flowing from under her pumping legs, her claws raking in +good earnest.</p> + +<p>And it was Togi's excavation which brought Shann a first +ray of hope. Her excitement was so marked that he believed +she was in quest of some worthwhile game and he +moved across to inspect the pit. A patch of brown, which +had been skimmed bare by one raking paw, made him +shout.</p> + +<p>Taggi shambled downslope, going to work beside his mate +with an eagerness as open as hers. Shann hovered at the edge +of the pit they were rapidly enlarging. The brown patch was +larger, disclosing itself as a hump doming up from the gravel. +The Terran did not need to run his hands over that rough +surface to recognize the nature of the find. This was another +shell such as had come floating in after the storm to form the +raw material of their canoe.</p> + +<p>However, as fast as the wolverines dug, they did not appear +to make correspondingly swift headway in uncovering +their find as might reasonably be expected. In fact, a witness +could guess that the shell was sinking at a pace only a +fraction slower than the burrowers were using to free it. Intrigued +by that, Shann went back to the waterline, secured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +one of the lengths he had been trying to weave into his failures, +and returned to use it as a makeshift shovel.</p> + +<p>Now, with three of them at the digging, the brown hump +was uncovered, and Shann pried down around its edge, trying +to lever it up and over. To his amazement, his tool was +caught and held, nearly jerked from his hands. To his retaliating +tug the obstruction below-ground gave way, and the +Terran sprawled back, the length of wood coming clear, to +show the other end smashed and splintered as if it had been +caught between mashing gears.</p> + +<p>For the first time he understood that they were dealing not +with an empty shell casing buried by drift under this small +beach, but with a shell still inhabited by the Warlockian to +whom it was a natural covering, and that that inhabitant +would fight to continue ownership. A moment's examination +of that splintered wood also suggested that the shell's present +wearer appeared well able to defend itself.</p> + +<p>Shann attempted to call off the wolverines, but they were +out of control now, digging frantically to get at this new prey. +And he knew that if he pulled them away by force, they were +apt to turn those punishing claws and snapping jaws on him.</p> + +<p>It was for their protection that he returned to digging, +though he no longer tried to pry up the shell. Taggi leaped to +the top of that dome, sweeping paws downward to clear its +surface, while Togi prowled around its circumference, pausing +now and then to send dirt and gravel spattering, but +treading warily as might one alert for a sudden attack.</p> + +<p>They had the creature almost clear now, though the shell +still rested firmly on the ground, and they had no notion of +what it might protect. It was smaller, perhaps two thirds the +size of the one which Thorvald had fashioned into a seagoing +craft. But it could provide them with transportation to the +mainland if Shann was able to repeat the feat of turning it +into an outrigger canoe.</p> + +<p>Taggi joined his mate on the ground and both wolverines +padded about the dome, obviously baffled. Now and then +they assaulted the shell with a testing paw. Claws raked and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +did not leave any marks but shallow scratches. They could continue +that forever, as far as Shann could see, without solving +the problem in the least.</p> + +<p>He sat back on his heels and studied the scene in detail. +The excavation holding the shelled creature was some three +yards above the high-water mark, with a few more feet +separating that from the point where lazy waves now washed +the finer sand. Shann watched the slow inward slip of those +waves with growing interest. Where their combined efforts +had failed to win this odd battle, perhaps the sea itself could +now be pressed into service.</p> + +<p>Shann began his own excavation, a trough to lead from +the waterline to the pit occupied by the obstinate shell. Of +course the thing living in or under that covering might be only +too familiar with salt water. But it had placed its burrow, or +hiding place, above the reach of the waves and so might be +disconcerted by the sudden appearance of water in its bed. +However, the scheme was worth trying, and he went to +work doggedly, wishing he could make the wolverines understand +so they would help him.</p> + +<p>They still prowled about their captive, scrapping at the +sand about the shell casing. At least their efforts would keep +the half-prisoner occupied and prevent its escape. Shann put +another piece of his raft to work as a shovel, throwing up a +shower of sand and gravel while sweat dampened his tattered +blouse and was salt and sticky on his arms and face.</p> + +<p>He finished his trench, one which ran at an angle he +hoped would feed water into the pit rapidly once he knocked +away the last barrier against the waves. And, splashing out +into the green water, he did just that.</p> + +<p>His calculations proved correct. Waves lapped, then flowed +in a rapidly thickening stream, puddling out about the shell +as the wolverines drew back, snarling. Shann lashed his +knife fast to a stout length of sapling, so equipping himself +with a spear. He stood with it ready in his hand, not knowing +just what to expect. And when the answer to his water attack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +came, the move was so sudden that in spite of his preparation +he was caught gaping.</p> + +<p>For the shell fairly erupted out of the mess of sand and +water. A complete fringe of jointed, clawed brown limbs +churned in a forward-and-upward dash. But the water +worked to frustrate that charge. For one of the pit walls +crumbled, over-balancing the creature so that the fore end +of the shell lifted from the ground, the legs clawing wildly at +the air.</p> + +<p>Shann thrust with the spear, feeling the knife point go +home so deeply that he could not pull his improvised weapon +free. A limb snapped claws only inches away from his leg as +he pushed down on the haft with all his strength. That attack +along with the initial upset of balance did the job. The shell +flopped over, its rounded hump now embedded in the watery +sand of the pit while the frantic struggles of the creature to +right itself only buried it the deeper.</p> + +<p>The Terran stared down upon a segmented under belly +where legs were paired in riblike formation. Shann could locate +no head, no good target. But he drew his stunner and +beamed at either end of the oval, and then, for good measure, +in the middle, hoping in one of those three general blasts to +contact the thing's central nervous system. He was not to +know which of those shots did the trick, but the frantic +wiggling of the legs slowed and finally ended, as a clockwork +toy might run down for want of winding—and at last projected, +at crooked angles, completely still. The shell creature +might not be dead, but it was tamed for now.</p> + +<p>Taggi had only been waiting for a good chance to do +battle. He grabbed one of those legs, worried it, and then +leaped to tear at the under body. Unlike the outer shell, this +portion of the creature had no proper armor and the wolverine +plunged joyfully into the business of the kill, his mate following +suit.</p> + +<p>The process of butchery was a bloody, even beastly job, +and Shann was shaken before it was complete. But he kept at +his labors, determined to have that shell, his one chance of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +escape from the Island. The wolverines feasted on the greenish-white +flesh, but he could not bring himself to sample it, climbing +to the heights in search of eggs, and making a happy find +of a niche filled with the edible moss-fungi.</p> + +<p>By late afternoon he had the shell scooped fairly clean +and the wolverines had carried away for burial such portions +as they had not been able to consume at their first eating. +Meanwhile, the leather-headed birds had grown bold enough +to snatch up the fragments he tossed out on the water, struggling +for that bounty against feeders arising from the depths +of the lagoon.</p> + +<p>At the coming of dusk Shann hauled the bloodstained, +grisly trophy well up the beach and wedged it among the +rocks, determined not to lose his treasure. Then he stripped +and washed, first his clothing and then himself, rubbing his +hands and arms with sand until his skin was tender. He was +still exultant at his luck. The drift would supply him with +materials for an outrigger. One more day's work—or maybe +two—and he could leave. He wrung out his blouse and +gazed toward the distant line of the shore. Once he had his +new canoe ready he would try to make the trip back in the +early morning while the mists were still on the sea. That +should give him cover against any Throg flight.</p> + +<p>That night Shann slept in the deep fog of bodily exhaustion. +There were no dreams, nothing but an unconsciousness +which even a Throg attack could not have pierced. He +roused in the morning with an odd feeling of guilt. The water +hole he had scooped in the valley yielded him some swallows +tasting of earth, but he had almost forgotten the flavor +of a purer liquid. Munching on a fistful of moss, he hurried +down to the shore, half fearing to find the shell gone, his luck +out once again.</p> + +<p>Not only was the shell where he had wedged it, but he +had done better than he knew when he had left it exposed in +the night. Small things scuttled away from it into hiding, and +several birds arose—scavengers had been busy lightening his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +unwelcome task for that morning. And seeing how the clean-up +process had gone, Shann had a second inspiration.</p> + +<p>Pushing the thing down the beach, he sank it in the shallows +with several rocks to anchor it. Within a few seconds the +shell was invaded by a whole school of spiny-tailed fish, that +ate greedily. Leaving his find to their cleansing, Shann went +back to prospect the pile of raft material, choosing pieces +which could serve for an outrigger frame. He was handicapped +as he had been all along by the absence of the vines +one could use for lashings. And he had reached the point of +considering a drastic sacrifice of his clothing to get the +necessary strips when he saw Taggi dragging behind him one +of the jointed legs the wolverines had put in storage the day +before.</p> + +<p>Now and again Taggi laid his prize on the shingle, holding +it firmly pinned with his forepaws as he tried to worry +loose a section of flesh. But apparently that feat was beyond +even his notable teeth, and at length he left it lying there in +disgust while he returned to a cache for more palatable fare. +Shann went to examine more closely the triple-jointed limb.</p> + +<p>The casing was not as hard as horn or shell, he discovered +upon testing; it more resembled tough skin laid +over bone. With a knife he tried to loosen the skin—a tedious +job requiring a great deal of patience, since the tissue tore if +pulled away too fast. But with care he acquired a few thongs +perhaps a foot long. Using two of these, he made a trial binding +of one stick to another, and experimented farther, soaking +the whole construction in sea water and then exposing it to +the direct rays of the sun.</p> + +<p>When he examined his test piece an hour later, the skin +thongs had set into place with such success that the one +piece of wood might have been firmly glued to the other. +Shann shuffled his feet in a little dance of triumph as he +went on to the lagoon to inspect the water-logged shell. The +scavengers had done well. One scraping, two at the most, +would have the whole thing clean and ready to use.</p> + +<p>But that night Shann dreamed. No climbing of a skull-shaped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +mountain this time. Instead, he was again on the +beach, laboring under an overwhelming compulsion, building +something for an alien purpose he could not understand. And +he worked as hopelessly as a beaten slave, knowing that what +he made was to his own undoing. Yet he could not halt the +making, because just beyond the limit of his vision there +stood a dominant will which held him in bondage.</p> + +<p>And he awoke on the beach in the very early dawn, not +knowing how he had come there. His body was bathed in +sweat, as it had been during his day's labors under the sun, +and his muscles ached with fatigue.</p> + +<p>But when he saw what lay at his feet he cringed. The framework +of the outrigger, close to completion the night before, +was dismantled—smashed. All those strips of hide he had so +laboriously culled were cut—into inch-long bits which could +be of no service.</p> + +<p>Shann whirled, ran to the shell he had the night before +pulled from the water and stowed in safety. Its rounded dome +was dulled where it had been battered, but there was no +break in the surface. He ran his hands anxiously over the +curve to make sure. Then, very slowly, he came back to the +mess of broken wood and snipped hide. And he was sure, only +too sure, of one thing. He, himself, had wrought that destruction. +In his dream he had built to satisfy the whim of an enemy; +in reality he had destroyed; and that was also, he believed, +to satisfy an enemy.</p> + +<p>The dream was a part of it. But who or what could set a +man dreaming and so take over his body, make him in fact +betray himself? But then, what had made Thorvald maroon +him here? For the first time, Shann guessed a new, if wild, +explanation for the officer's desertion. Dreams—and the disk +which had worked so strangely on Thorvald. Suppose everything +the other had surmised was the truth! Then that disk +<i>had</i> been found on this very island, and here somewhere must +lie a clue to the riddle.</p> + +<p>Shann licked his lips. Suppose that Thorvald had been sent +away under just such a strong compulsion as the one which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +had ruled Shann last night? Why was he left behind if the +other had been moved away to protect some secret? Was it that +Shann himself was wanted here, wanted so much that when +he at last found a means of escape he was set to destroy it? +That act might have been forced upon him for two reasons: to +keep him here, and to impress upon him how powerless he +was.</p> + +<p>Powerless! A flicker of stubborn will stirred to respond to +that implied challenge. All right, the mysterious <i>they</i> had made +him do this. But they had underrated him by letting him +learn, almost contemptuously, of their presence by that revelation. +So warned, he was in a manner armed; he could prepare +to fight back.</p> + +<p>He squatted by the wreckage as he thought that through, +turning over broken pieces. And, Shann realized, he must +present at the moment a satisfactory picture of despondency to +any spy. A spy, that was it! Someone or something must have +him under observation, or his activities of the day before +would not have been so summarily countered. And if there was +a spy, then there was his answer to the riddle. To trap the +trapper. Such action might be a project beyond his resources, +but it was his own counterattack.</p> + +<p>So now he had to play a role. Not only must he search the +island for the trace of his spy, but he must do it in such a +fashion that his purpose would not be plain to the enemy +he suspected. The wolverines could help. Shann arose, allowed +his shoulders to droop, slouching to the slope with all the air +of a beaten man which he could assume, whistling for Taggi +and Togi.</p> + +<p>When they came, his exploration began. Ostensibly he was +hunting for lengths of drift or suitable growing saplings to take +the place of those he had destroyed under orders. But he kept +a careful watch on the animal pair, hoping by their reactions +to pick up a clue to any hidden watcher.</p> + +<p>The larger of the two beaches marked the point where the +Terrans had first landed and where the shell thing had been +killed. The smaller was more of a narrow tongue thrust out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +into the lagoon, much of it choked with sizable boulders. On +earlier visits there Taggi and Togi had poked into the hollows +among these with their usual curiosity. But now both +animals remained upslope, showing no inclination to descend +to the water line.</p> + +<p>Shann caught hold of Taggi's scruff, pulling him along. The +wolverine twisted and whined, but he did not fight for freedom +as he would have upon scenting Throg. Not that the Terran +had ever believed one of those aliens was responsible for the +happenings on the island.</p> + +<p>Taggi came down under Shann's urging, but he was plainly +ill at ease. And at last he snarled a warning when the man +would have drawn him closer to two rocks which met overhead +in a crude semblance of an arch. There was a stick of +drift protruding from that hollow affording Shann a legitimate +excuse to venture closer. He dropped his hold on the wolverines, +stooped to gather in the length of wood, and at the same +time glanced into the pocket.</p> + +<p>Water lay just beyond, making this a doorway to the lagoon. +The sun had not yet penetrated into the shadow, if it +ever did. Shann reached for the wood, at the same time drawing +his finger across the flat rock which would furnish a +steppingstone for anything using that door as an entrance to +the island.</p> + +<p>Wet! Which might mean his visitor had recently arrived, +or else merely that a splotch of spray had landed there not +too long before. But in his mind Shann was convinced that he +had found the spy's entrance. Could he turn it into a trap? He +added a piece of drift to his bundle and picked up two more +before he returned to the cliff ahead.</p> + +<p>A trap.... He revolved in his mind all the traps he knew +which could be used here. He already had decided upon the +bait—his own work. And if his plans went through—and hope +does not die easily—then this time he would not waste his +labor either.</p> + +<p>So he went back to the same job he had done the day before, +making do with skin strips he had considered second-best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +before, smoothing, cutting. Only the trap occupied his +mind, and close to sunset he knew just what he was going to +do and how.</p> + +<p>Though the Terran did not know the nature of the unseen +opponent, he thought he could guess two weaknesses which +might deliver the other into his hands. First, the enemy was +entirely confident of success in this venture. No being who +was able to control Shann as completely and ably as had +been done the night before would credit any prey with the +power to strike back in force.</p> + +<p>Second, such a confident enemy would be unable to resist +watching the manipulation of a captive. The Terran was +certain that his opponent would be on the scene somewhere +when he was led, dreaming, to destroy his work once more.</p> + +<p>He might be wrong on both of those counts, but inwardly +he didn't believe so. However, he had to wait until the dark +to set up his own answer, one so simple he was certain the +enemy would not suspect it at all.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_WITCH" id="THE_WITCH"></a>11. THE WITCH</h2> + + +<p>There were patches of light in the inner valley marking +the phosphorescent plants, some creeping at ground level, +others tall as saplings. On other nights Shann had welcomed +that wan radiance, but now he lay in as relaxed a position +as possible, marking each of those potential betrayers as he +tried to counterfeit the attitude of sleep and at the same time +plan out his route.</p> + +<p>He had purposely settled in a pool of shadow, the wolverines +beside him. And he thought that the bulk of the animal's +bodies would cover his own withdrawal when the time +came to move. One arm lying limply across his middle was in +reality clutching to him an intricate arrangement of small +hide straps which he had made by sacrificing most of the +remainder of his painfully acquired thongs. The trap must be +set in place soon!</p> + +<p>Now that he had charted a path to the crucial point avoiding +all light plants, Shann was ready to move. The Terran +pressed his hand on Taggi's head in the one imperative +command the wolverine was apt to obey—the order to stay +where he was.</p> + +<p>Shann sat up and gave the same voiceless instruction to +Togi. Then he inched out of the hollow, a worm's progress to +that narrow way along the cliff top—the path which anyone or +anything coming up from that sea gate on the beach would +have to pass in order to witness the shoreline occupied by the +half-built outrigger.</p> + +<p>So much of his plan was based upon luck and guesses,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +but those were all Shann had. And as he worked at the +stretching of his snare, the Terran's heart pounded, and he +tensed at every sound out of the night. Having tested all the +anchoring of his net, he tugged at a last knot, and then +crouched to listen not only with his ears, but with all his +strength of mind and body.</p> + +<p>Pound of waves, whistle of wind, the sleepy complaint of +some bird.... A regular splashing! One of the fish in the +lagoon? Or what he awaited? The Terran retreated as noiselessly +as he had come, heading for the hollow where he +had bedded down.</p> + +<p>He reached there breathless, his heart pumping, his mouth +dry as if he had been racing. Taggi stirred and thrust a nose +inquiringly against Shann's arm. But the wolverine made no +sound, as if he, too, realized that some menace lay beyond +the rim of the valley. Would that other come up the path +Shann had trapped? Or had he been wrong? Was the enemy +already stalking him from the other beach? The grip of his +stunner was slippery in his damp hand; he hated this waiting.</p> + +<p>The canoe ... his work on it had been a careless botching. +Better to have the job done right. Why, it was perfectly clear +now how he had been mistaken! His whole work plan was +wrong; he could see the right way of doing things laid out +as clear as a blueprint in his mind. A picture in his mind!</p> + +<p>Shann stood up and both wolverines moved uneasily, +though neither made a sound. A picture in his mind! But +this time he wasn't asleep; he wasn't dreaming a dream—to +be used for his own defeat. Only (that other could not know +this) the pressure which had planted the idea of new work +to be done in his mind—an idea one part of him accepted as +fact—had not taken warning from his move. He was supposed +to be under control; the Terran was sure of that. All right, so +he would play that part. He must if he would entice the +trapper into his trap.</p> + +<p>He holstered his stunner, walked out into the open, paying +no heed now to the patches of light through which he must +pass on his way to the path his own feet had already worn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +to the boat beach. As he went, Shann tried to counterfeit +what he believed would be the gait of a man under compulsion.</p> + +<p>Now he was on the rim fronting the downslope, fighting +against his desire to turn and see for himself if anything had +climbed behind. The canoe was all wrong, a bad job which +he must make better at once so that in the morning he would +be free of this island prison.</p> + +<p>The pressure of that other's will grew stronger. And the +Terran read into that the overconfidence which he believed +would be part of the enemy's character. The one who was +sending him to destroy his own work had no suspicion that +the victim was not entirely malleable, ready to be used as he +himself would use a knife or a force ax. Shann strode steadily +downslope. With a small spurt of fear he knew that in a way +that unseen other was right; the pressure was taking over, +even though he was awake this time. The Terran tried to will +his hand to his stunner, but his fingers fell instead on the hilt +of his knife. He drew the blade as panic seethed in his head, +chilling him from within. He had underestimated the other's +power....</p> + +<p>And that panic flared into open fight, making him forget his +careful plans. Now he <i>must</i> wrench free from this control. +The knife was moving to slash a hide lashing, directed by his +hand, but not his will.</p> + +<p>A soundless gasp, a flash of dismay rocked him, but neither +was his gasp nor his dismay. That pressure snapped off; he +was free. But the other wasn't! Knife still in fist, Shann +turned and ran upslope, his torch in his other hand. He could +see a shape now writhing, fighting, outlined against a light +bush. And, fearing that the stranger might win free and disappear, +the Terran spotlighted the captive in the beam, reckless +of Throg or enemy reinforcements.</p> + +<p>The other crouched, plainly startled by the sudden burst +of light. Shann stopped abruptly. He had not really built up +any mental picture of what he had expected to find in his +snare, but this prisoner was as weirdly alien to him as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +Throg. The light on the torch was reflected off a skin which +glittered as if scaled, glittered with the brilliance of jewels +in bands and coils of color spreading from the throat down +the chest, spiraling about upper arms, around waist and +thighs, as if the stranger wore a treasure house of gems as +part of a living body. Except for those patterned loops, coils, +and bands, the body had no clothing, though a belt about +the slender middle supported a pair of pouches and some +odd implements held in loops.</p> + +<p>Roughly the figure was more humanoid than the Throgs. +The upper limbs were not too unlike Shann's arms, though the +hands had four digits of equal length instead of five. But the +features were nonhuman, closer to saurian in contour. It had +large eyes, blazing yellow in the dazzle of the flash, with +<ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'verticle'">vertical</ins> slits of green for pupils. A nose united with the jaw to +make a snout, and above the domed forehead a sharp V-point +of raised spiky growth extended back and down until +behind the shoulder blades it widened and expanded to resemble +a pair of wings.</p> + +<p>The captive no longer struggled, but sat quietly in the +tangle of the snare Shann had set, watching the Terran +steadily as if there were no difficulty in seeing through the +brilliance of the beam to the man who held it. And, oddly +enough, Shann experienced no repulsion toward its reptilian +appearance as he had upon first sighting the beetle-Throg. On +impulse he put down his torch on a rock and walked into the +light to face squarely the thing out of the sea.</p> + +<p>Still eying Shann, the captive raised one limb and gave +an absent-minded tug to the belt it wore. Shann, noting that +gesture, was struck by a wild surmise, leading him to study +the prisoner more narrowly. Allowing for the alien structure +of bone, the nonhuman skin; this creature was delicate, +graceful, in its way beautiful, with a fragility of limb which +backed up his suspicions. Moved by no pressure from the +other, but by his own will and sense of fitness, Shann stooped +to cut the control line of his snare.</p> + +<p>The captive continued to watch as Shann sheathed his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +blade and then held out his hand. Yellow eyes, never blinking +since his initial appearance, regarded him, not with any trace +of fear or dismay, but with a calm measurement which was +curiosity based upon a strong belief in its own superiority. +He did not know how he knew, but Shann was certain that +the creature out of the sea was still entirely confident, that +it made no fight because it did not conceive of any possible +danger from him. And again, oddly enough, he was not irritated +by this unconscious arrogance; rather he was intrigued +and amused.</p> + +<p>"Friends?" Shann used the basic galactic speech devised +by Survey and the Free Traders, semantics which depended +upon the proper inflection of voice and tone to project meaning +when the words were foreign.</p> + +<p>The other made no sound, and the Terran began to wonder +if his captive had any audible form of speech. He withdrew +a step or two then pulled at the snare, drawing the cords +away from the creature's slender ankles. Rolling the thongs +into a ball, he tossed the crude net back over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Friends?" he repeated again, showing his empty hands, +trying to give that one word the proper inflection, hoping the +other could read his peaceful intent in his features if not by +his speech.</p> + +<p>In one lithe, flowing movement the alien arose. Fully erect, +the Warlockian had a frail appearance. Shann, for his breed, +was not tall. But the native was still smaller, not more than +five feet, that stiff V of head crest just topping Shann's shoulder. +Whether any of those fittings at its belt could be a weapon +the Terran had no way of telling. However, the other +made no move to draw any of them.</p> + +<p>Instead, one of the four-digit hands came up. Shann felt +the feather touch of strange finger tips on his chin, across his +lips, up his cheek, to at last press firmly on his forehead at a +spot just between the eyebrows. What followed was communication +of a sort, not in words or in any describable flow +of thoughts. There was no feeling of enmity—at least nothing +strong enough to be called that. Curiosity, yes, and then a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +growing doubt, not of the Terran himself, but of the other's +preconceived ideas concerning him. Shann was other than the +native had judged him, and the stranger was disturbed, that +self-confidence a little ruffled. And also Shann was right in his +guess. He smiled, his amusement growing—not aimed at his +companion on this cliff top, but at himself. For he was dealing +with a woman, a very young woman, and someone as fully +feminine in her way as any human girl could be.</p> + +<p>"Friends?" he asked for the third time.</p> + +<p>But the other still exuded a wariness, a wariness mixed +with surprise. And the tenuous message which passed between +them then astounded Shann. To this Warlockian out +of the night he was not following the proper pattern of male +behaviour at all; he should have been in awe of the other +merely because of her sex. A diffidence rather than an assumption +of equality should have colored his response, judged by +her standards. At first, he caught a flash of anger at this preposterous +attitude of his; then her curiosity won, but there +was still no reply to his question.</p> + +<p>The finger tips no longer made contact between them. +Stepping back, her hands now reached for one of the pouches +at her belt. Shann watched that movement carefully. And +because he did not trust her too far, he whistled.</p> + +<p>Her head came up. She might be dumb, but plainly she +was not deaf. And she gazed down into the hollow as the wolverines +answered his summons with growls. Her profile reminded +Shann of something for an instant; but it should have +been golden-yellow instead of silver with two jeweled patterns +ringing the snout. Yes, that small plaque he had seen in +the cabin of one of the ship's officers. A very old Terran legend—"Dragon," +the officer had named the creature. Only that +one had possessed a serpent's body, a lizard's legs and wings.</p> + +<p>Shann gave a sudden start, aware his thoughts had made +him careless, or had she in some way led him into that bypath +of memory for her own purposes? Because now she held some +object in the curve of her curled fingers, regarding him with +those unblinking yellow eyes. Eyes ... eyes.... Shann dimly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +heard the alarm cry of the wolverines. He tried to snap draw +his stunner, but it was too late.</p> + +<p>There was a haze about him hiding the rocks, the island +valley with its radiant plants, the night sky, the bright beam +of the torch. Now he moved through that haze as one walks +through a dream approaching nightmare, striding with an +effort as if wading through a deterring flood. Sound, sight—one +after another those senses were taken from him. Desperately +Shann held to one thing, his own sense of identity. +He was Shann Lantee, Terran breed, out of Tyr, of the Survey +Service. Some part of him repeated those facts with vast +urgency against an almost overwhelming force which strove +to defeat that awareness of self, making him nothing but a tool—or +a weapon—for another's use.</p> + +<p>The Terran fought, soundlessly but fiercely, on a battleground +which was within him, knowing in a detached way +that his body obeyed another's commands.</p> + +<p>"I am Shann—" he cried without audible speech. "I am myself. +I have two hands, two legs.... I think for myself! I am +a <i>man</i>——"</p> + +<p>And to that came an answer of sorts, a blow of will striking +at his resistance, a will which struggled to drown him before +ebbing, leaving behind it a faint suggestion of bewilderment, +of a dawn of concern.</p> + +<p>"I am a <i>man</i>!" he hurled that assertion as he might have +thrust deep with one of the crude spears he had used against +the Throgs. For against what he faced now his weapons were +as crude as spears fronting blasters. "I am Shann Lantee, +Terran, man...." Those were facts; no haze could sweep +them from his mind or take away that heritage.</p> + +<p>And again there was the lightening of the pressure, the +slight recoil, which could only be a prelude to another assault +upon his last stronghold. He clutched his three facts to him +as a shield, groping for others which might have afforded a +weapon of rebuttal.</p> + +<p>Dreams, these Warlockians dealt in and through dreams. +And the opposite of dreams are facts! His name, his breed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +his sex—these were facts. And Warlock itself was a fact. +The earth under his boots was a fact. The water which +washed around the island was a fact. The air he breathed was +a fact. Flesh, blood, bones—facts, all of them. Now he was +a struggling identity imprisoned in a rebel body. But that +body was real. He tried to feel it. Blood pumped from his +heart, his lungs filled and emptied; he struggled to feel those +processes.</p> + +<p>With a terrifying shock, the envelope which had held him +vanished. Shann was choking, struggling in water. He flailed +out with his arms, kicked his legs. One hand grated painfully +against stone. Hardly knowing what he did, but fighting for +his life, Shann caught at that rock and drew his head out of +water. Coughing and gasping, half drowned, he was weak +with the panic of his close brush with death.</p> + +<p>For a long moment he could only cling to the rock which +had saved him, retching and dazed, as the water washed about +his body, a current tugging at his trailing legs. There was +light of a sort here, patches of green which glowed with the +same subdued light as the bushes of the outer world, for he +was no longer under the night sky. A rock-roof was but +inches over his head; he must be in some cave or tunnel under +the surface of the sea. Again a gust of panic shook him +as he felt trapped.</p> + +<p>The water continued to pull at Shann, and in his weakened +condition it was a temptation to yield to that pull; the +more he fought it the more he was exhausted. At last the Terran +turned on his back, trying to float with the stream, sure +he could no longer battle it.</p> + +<p>Luckily those few inches of space above the surface of the +water continued, and he had air to breathe. But the fear of +that ending, of being swept under the surface, chewed at his +nerves. And his bodily danger burned away the last of the +spell which had held him, brought him into this place, wherever +it might be.</p> + +<p>Was it only his heightened imagination, or had the current +grown swifter? Shann tried to gauge the speed of his passage<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +by the way the patches of green light slipped by. Now +he turned and began to swim slowly, feeling as if his arms +were leaden weights, his ribs a cage to bind his aching lungs.</p> + +<p>Another patch of light ... larger ... spreading across the +roof over head. Then, he was out! Out of the tunnel into a +cavern so vast that its arching roof was like a skydome far +above his head. But here the patches of light were brighter, +and they were arranged in odd groups which had a familiar +look to them.</p> + +<p>Only, better than freedom overhead, there was a shore +not too distant. Shann swam for that haven, summoning up +the last rags of his strength, knowing that if he could not +reach it very soon he was finished. Somehow he made it and +lay gasping, his cheek resting on sand finer than any of the +outer world, his fingers digging into it for purchase to drag his +body on. But when he collapsed, his legs were still awash in +water.</p> + +<p>No footfall could be heard on that sand. But he knew that +he was no longer alone. He braced his hands and with painful +effort levered up his body. Somehow he made it to his +knees, but he could not stand. Instead he half tumbled back, +so that he faced them from a sitting position.</p> + +<p><i>Them</i>—there were three of them—the dragon-headed ones +with their slender, jewel-set bodies glittering even in this +subdued light, their yellow eyes fastened on him with a remoteness +which did not approach any human emotion, save +perhaps that of a cold and limited wonder. But behind them +came a fourth, one he knew by the patterns on her body.</p> + +<p>Shann clasped his hands about his knees to still the trembling +of his body, and eyed them back with all the defiance he +could muster. Nor did he doubt that he had been brought +here, his body as captive to their will, as had been that of +their spy or messenger in his crude snare on the island.</p> + +<p>"Well, you have me," he said hoarsely. "Now what?"</p> + +<p>His words boomed weirdly out over the water, were echoed +from the dim outer reaches of the cavern. There was no answer. +They merely stood watching him. Shann stiffened, determined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +to hold to his defiance and to that identity which he +now knew was his weapon against the powers they used.</p> + +<p>The one who had somehow drawn him there moved at last, +circling around the other three with a suggestion of diffidence +in her manner. Shann jerked back his head as her hand +stretched to touch his face. And then, guessing that she +sought her peculiar form of communication, he submitted to +her finger tips, though now his skin crawled under that light +but firm pressure and he shrank from the contract.</p> + +<p>There were no sensations this time. To his amazement a +concrete inquiry shaped itself in his brain, as clear as if the +question had been asked aloud: "Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Shann...." he began vocally, and then turned words into +thoughts. "Shann Lantee, Terran, man." He made his answer +the same which had kept him from succumbing to their complete +domination.</p> + +<p>"Name—Shann Lantee, man—yes." The other accepted +those, "Terran?" That was a question.</p> + +<p>Did these people have any notion of space travel? Could +they understand the concept of another world holding intelligent +beings?</p> + +<p>"I come from another world...." He tried to make a clean-cut +picture in his mind—a globe in space, a ship blasting +free....</p> + +<p>"Look!" The fingers still rested between his eyebrows, but +with her other hand the Warlockian was pointing up to the +dome of the cavern.</p> + +<p>Shann followed her order. He studied those patches of +light which had seemed so vaguely familiar at his first sighting, +studying them closely to know them for what they were. +A star map! A map of the heavens as they could be seen from +the outer crust of Warlock.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I come from the stars," he answered, booming with +his voice.</p> + +<p>The fingers dropped from his forehead; the scaled head +swung around to exchange glances, which were perhaps some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +unheard communication with the other three. Then the hand +was extended again.</p> + +<p>"Come!"</p> + +<p>Fingers fell from his head to his right wrist, closing there +with surprising strength; and some of that strength together +with a new energy flowed from them into him, so that he +found and kept his feet as the other drew him up.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_VEIL_OF_ILLUSION" id="THE_VEIL_OF_ILLUSION"></a>12. THE VEIL OF ILLUSION</h2> + + +<p>Perhaps his status was that of a prisoner, but Shann was too +tired to press for an explanation. He was content to be left +alone in the unusual circular, but roofless, room of the structure +to which they had brought him. There was a thick mat-like +pallet in one corner, short for the length of his body, but +softer than any bed he had rested on since he had left the +Terran camp before the coming of the Throgs. Above him +glimmered those patches of light symbolizing the lost stars. +He blinked at them until they all ran together in bands +like the jeweled coils on Warlockian bodies; then he slept—dreamlessly.</p> + +<p>The Terran awoke with all his senses alert; some silent +alarm might have triggered that instant awareness of himself +and his surroundings. There had been no change in the star +pattern still overhead; no one had entered the round chamber. +Shann rolled over on his mat bed, conscious that all his +aches had vanished. Just as his mind was clearly active, so did +his body also respond effortlessly to his demands. He was not +aware of any hunger or thirst, though a considerable length +of time must have passed since he had made his mysteriously +contrived exit from the outer world.</p> + +<p>In spite of the humidity of the air, his ragged garments had +dried on his body. Shann got to his feet, trying to order the +sorry remnants of his uniform, eager to be on the move. +Though to where and for what purpose he could not have +answered.</p> + +<p>The door through which he had entered remained closed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +refusing to yield to his push. Shann stepped back, eyeing the +distance to the top of the partition between the roofless rooms. +The walls were smooth with the gloss of a sea shell's interior, +but the exuberant confidence which had been with him since +his awakening refused to accept such a minor obstacle.</p> + +<p>He made two test leaps, both times his fingers striking +the wall well below the top of the partition. Shann gathered +himself together as might a cat and tried the third time, putting +into that effort every last ounce of strength, determination +and will. He made it, though his arms jerked as the weight +of his body hung from his hands. Then a scramble, a knee +hooked over the top, and he was perched on the wall, able to +study the rest of the building.</p> + +<p>In shape, the structure was unlike anything he had seen on +his home world or reproduced in any of the tri-dee records +of Survey accessible to him. The rooms were either circular +or oval, each separated from the next by a short passage, so +that the overall impression was that of ten strings of beads +radiating from a central knot of one large chamber, all with +the uniform nacre walls and a limited amount of furnishings.</p> + +<p>As he balanced on the narrow perch, Shann could sight +no other movement in the nearest line of rooms, those connected +by corridors with his own. He got to his feet to walk +the tightrope of the upper walls toward that inner chamber +which was the heart of the Warlockian—palace? town? +apartment dwelling? At least it was the only structure on the +island, for he could see the outer rim of that smooth soft sand +ringing it about. The island itself was curiously symmetrical, +a perfect oval, too perfect to be a natural outcrop of sand and +rock.</p> + +<p>There was no day or night here in the cavern. The light +from the roof patches remained constantly the same, and +that flow was abetted within the building by a soft radiation +from the walls. Shann reached the next room in line, hunkering +down to see within it. To all appearances the chamber +was exactly the same as the one he had just left; there were +the same unadorned walls, a thick mat bed against the far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +side, and no indication whether it was in use or had not been +entered for days.</p> + +<p>He was on the next section of corridor wall when he caught +that faint taint in the air, the very familiar scent of wolverines. +Now it provided Shann with a guide as well as a promise +of allies.</p> + +<p>The next bead-room gave him what he wanted. Below +him Taggi and Togi paced back and forth. They had already +torn to bits the sleeping mat which had been the +chamber's single furnishing, and their temper was none too +certain. As Shann squatted well above their range of vision, +Taggi reared against the opposite wall, his claws finding no +hold on the smooth coating of its surface. They were as competently +imprisoned as if they had been dropped into a huge +fishbowl, and they were not taking to it kindly.</p> + +<p>How had the animals been brought here? Down that water +tunnel by the same unknown method he himself had been +transported until that almost disastrous awakening in the center +of the flood? The Terran did not doubt that the doors +of the room were as securely fastened as those of his own +further down the corridor. For the moment the wolverines +were safe; he could not free them. And he was growing +increasingly certain that if he found any of his native jailers, +it would be at the center of that wheel of rooms and corridors.</p> + +<p>Shann made no attempt to attract the animals' attention, +but kept on along his tightrope path. He passed two more +rooms, both empty, both differing in no way from those he +had already inspected; and then he came to the central +chamber, four times as big as any of the rest and with a +much brighter wall light.</p> + +<p>The Terran crouched, one hand on the surface of the +partition top as an additional balance, the other gripping his +stunner. For some reason his captors had not disarmed him. +Perhaps they believed they had no necessity to fear his off-world +weapon.</p> + +<p>"Have you grown wings?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>The words formed in his brain, bringing with them a sense +of calm amusement to reduce all his bold exploration to the +level of a child's first staggering steps. Shann fought his first +answering flare of pure irritation. To lose even a fraction of +control was to open a door for them. He remained where he +was as if he had never "heard" that question, surveying the +room below with all the impassiveness he could summon.</p> + +<p>Here the walls were no smooth barrier, but honeycombed +with niches in a regular pattern. And in each of the +niches rested a polished skull, a nonhuman skull. Only the +outlines of those ranked bones were familiar; for just so had +looked the great purple-red rock where the wheeling flyers +issued from the eye sockets. A rock island had been fashioned +into a skull—by design or nature?</p> + +<p>And upon closer observation the Terran could see that +there was a difference among these ranked skulls, a mutation +of coloring from row to row, a softening of outline, perhaps +by the wearing of time.</p> + +<p>There was also a table of dull black, rising from the flooring +on legs which were not more than a very few inches high, +so that from his present perch the board appeared to rest on +the pavement itself. Behind the table in a row, as shopkeepers +might await a customer, three of the Warlockians, seated +cross-legged on mats, their hands folded primly before them. +And at the side a fourth, the one whom he had trapped on +the island.</p> + +<p>Not one of those spiked heads rose to view him. But they +knew that he was there; perhaps they had known the very +instant he had left the room or cell in which they had shut +him. And they were so very sure of themselves.... Once +again Shann subdued a spark of anger. That same patience +with its core of stubborn determination which had brought +him to Warlock backed his moves now. The Terran swung +down, landing lightly on his feet, facing the three behind the +table, towering well over them as he stood erect, yet gaining +no sense of satisfaction from that merely physical fact.</p> + +<p>"You have come." The words sounded as if they might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +be a part of some polite formula. So he replied in kind and +aloud.</p> + +<p>"I have come." Without waiting for their bidding, he +dropped into the same cross-legged pose, fronting them now +on a more equal level across their dead black table.</p> + +<p>"And why have you come, star voyager?" That thought +seemed to be a concentrated effort from all three rather than +any individual questioning.</p> + +<p>"And why did you bring me?" He hesitated, trying to +think of some polite form of address. Those he knew which +were appropriate to their sex on other worlds seemed incongruous +when applied to the bizarre figures now facing him. +"Wise ones," he finally chose.</p> + +<p>Those unblinking yellow eyes conveyed no emotion; certainly +his human gaze could detect no change of expression +on their nonhuman faces.</p> + +<p>"You are a male."</p> + +<p>"I am," he agreed, not seeing just what that fact had to do +with either diplomatic fencing or his experiences of the immediate +past.</p> + +<p>"Where then is your thoughtguider?"</p> + +<p>Shann puzzled over that conception, guessed at its meaning.</p> + +<p>"I am my own thoughtguider," he returned stoutly, with +all the conviction he could manage to put into that reply.</p> + +<p>Again he met a yellow-green stare, but he sensed a change +in them. Some of their complacency had ebbed; his reply had +been as a stone dropped into a quiet pool, sending ripples out +afar to disturb the customary mirror surface of smooth +serenity.</p> + +<p>"The star-born one speaks the truth!" That came from the +Warlockian who had been his <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'fist'">first</ins> contact.</p> + +<p>"It would appear that he does." The agreement was +measured, and Shann knew that he was meant to "overhear" +that.</p> + +<p>"It would seem, Readers-of-the-rods"—the middle one of +the triumvirate at the table spoke now—"that all living things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +do not follow our pattern of life. But that is possible. A male +who thinks for himself ... unguided, who dreams perhaps! +Or who can understand the truth of dreaming! Strange indeed +must be his people. Sharers-of-my-visions, let us consult +the Old Ones concerning this." For the first time one of those +crested heads moved, the gaze shifted from Shann to the +ranks of the skulls, pausing at one.</p> + +<p>Shann, ready for any wonder, did not betray his amazement +when the ivory inhabitant of that particular niche +moved, lifted from its small compartment, and drifted buoyantly +through the air to settle at the right-hand corner of the +table. Only when it had safely grounded did the eyes of +the Warlockian move to another niche on the other side of the +curving room, this time bringing up from close to floor level +a time-darkened skull to occupy the left corner of the table.</p> + +<p>There was a third shifting from the weird storehouse, a last +skull to place between the other two. And now the youngest +native arose from her mat to bring a bowl of green crystal. +One of her seniors took it in both hands, making a gesture of +offering it to all three skulls, and then gazed over its rim at +the Terran.</p> + +<p>"We shall cast the rods, man-who-thinks-without-a-guide. +Perhaps then we shall see how strong <i>your</i> dreams are—to be +bent to your using, or to break you for your impudence."</p> + +<p>Her hands swayed the bowl from side to side, and there +was an answering whisper from its interior as if the contents +slid loosely there. Then one of her companions reached forward +and gave a quick tap to the bottom of that container, +spilling out upon the table a shower of brightly colored +slivers each an inch or so long.</p> + +<p>Shann, staring at the display in bewilderment, saw that in +spite of the seeming carelessness of that toss the small needles +had spread out on the blank surface to form a design in arrangement +and color. And he wondered how that skillful +trick had been accomplished.</p> + +<p>All three of the Warlockians bent their heads to study the +grouping of the tiny sticks, their young subordinate leaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +forward also, her eagerness less well controlled than her elders'. +And now it was as if a curtain had fallen between the +Terran and the aliens, all sense of communication which had +been with him since he had entered the skull-lined chamber +was summarily cut off.</p> + +<p>A hand moved, making the jeweled pattern—braceleting +wrist and extending up the arm—flash subdued fire. Fingers +swept the sticks back into the bowl; four pairs of yellow +eyes raised to regard Shann once more, but the blanket of +their withdrawal still held.</p> + +<p>The youngest Warlockian took the bowl from the elder +who held it, stood for a long moment with it resting between +her palms, fixing Shann with an unreadable stare. Then she +came toward him. One of those at the table put out a restraining +hand.</p> + +<p>This time Shann did <i>not</i> master his start as he heard the +first audible voice which had not been his own. The skull at +the left hand on the table, by its yellowed color the oldest +of those summoned from the niches, was moving, moving because +its jaws gaped and then snapped, emitting a faint +bleat which might have been a word or two.</p> + +<p>She who would have halted the young Warlockian's advance, +withdrew her hand. Then her fingers curled in an unmistakable +beckoning gesture. Shann came to the table, but +he could not quite force himself near that chattering skull, +even though it had stopped its jig of speech.</p> + +<p>The bowl of sticks was offered to him. Still no message +from mind to mind, but he could guess at what they wanted +of him. The crystal substance was not cool to the touch as he +had expected; rather it was warm, as living flesh might feel. +And the colored sticks filled about two thirds of the interior, +lying all mixed together without any order.</p> + +<p>Shann concentrated on recalling the <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'ceremoney'">ceremony</ins> the Warlockian +had used before the first toss. She had offered the +bowl to the skulls in turn. The skulls! But he was no consulter +of skulls. Still holding the bowl close to his chest, Shann +looked up over the roofless walls at the star map on the roof<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +of the cavern. There, that was Rama; and to its left, just a +little above, was Tyr's system where swung the stark world of +his birth, and of which he had only few good memories, but +of which he was a part. The Terran raised the bowl to that +spot of light which marked Tyr's pale sun.</p> + +<p>Smiling with a wry twist, he lowered the bowl, and on impulse +of pure defiance he offered it to the skull that had +chattered. Immediately he realized that the move had had +an electric effect upon the aliens. Slowly at first, and then +faster, he began to swing the bowl from side to side, the +needles slipping, mixing within. And as he swung it, Shann +held it out over the expanse of the table.</p> + +<p>The Warlockian who had given him the bowl was the one +who struck it on the bottom, causing a rain of splinters. To +Shann's astonishment, mixed as they had been in the container, +they once more formed a pattern, and not the same +pattern the Warlockians had consulted earlier. The dampening +curtain between them vanished; he was in touch mind to +mind once again.</p> + +<p>"So be it." The center Warlockian spread out her four-fingered +thumbless hands above the scattered needles. "What +is read, is read."</p> + +<p>Again a formula. He caught a chorus of answer from the +others.</p> + +<p>"What is read, is read. To the dreamer the dream. Let the +dream be known for what it is, and there is life. Let the +dream encompass the dreamer falsely, and all is lost."</p> + +<p>"Who can question the wisdom of the Old Ones?" asked +their leader. "We are those who read the messages they send, +out of their mercy. This is a strange thing they bid us do, +man—open for you our own initiates' road to the veil of illusion. +That way has never been for males, who dream without +set purpose and have not the ability to know true from false, +have not the courage to face their dreams to the truth. Do +so—if you can!" There was a flash of mockery in that, combined +with something else—stronger than distaste, not as strong +as hatred, but certainly not friendly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>She held out her hands and Shann saw now, lying on a +slowly closing palm, a disk such as the one Thorvald had +shown him. The Terran had only one moment of fear and then +came blackness, more absolute than the dark of any night he +had ever known.</p> + +<p>Light once more, green light with an odd shimmering +quality to it. The skull-lined walls were gone; there were no +walls, no building held him. Shann strode forward, and +his boots sank in sand, that smooth, satin sand which had +ringed the island in the cavern. But he was certain he was +no longer on that island, even within that cavern, though far +above him there was still a dome of roof.</p> + +<p>The source of the green shimmer lay to his left. Somehow +he found himself reluctant to turn and face it. That would +commit him to action. But Shann turned.</p> + +<p>A veil, a veil of rippling green. Material? No, rather mist +or light. A veil depending from some source so far over his +head that its origin was hidden in the upper gloom, a veil +which was a barrier he must cross.</p> + +<p>With every nerve protesting, Shann walked forward, unable +to keep back. He flung up his arm to protect his face as +he marched into that stuff. It was warm, and the gas—if +gas it was—left no slick of moisture on his skin in spite of its +foggy consistency. And it was no veil or curtain, for although +he was already well into the murk, he saw no end to it. +Blindly he trudged on, unable to sight anything but the rolling +billows of green, pausing now and again to go down on +one knee and pat the sand underfoot, reassured at the reality +of that footing.</p> + +<p>And when he met nothing menacing, Shann began to relax. +His heart no longer labored; he made no move to draw +the stunner or knife. Where he was and for what purpose, +he had no idea. But there <i>was</i> a purpose in this and that the +Warlockians were behind it, he did not doubt. The "initiates' +road," the leader had said, and the conviction was steady in +his mind that he faced some test of alien devising.</p> + +<p>A cavern with a green veil—his memory awoke. Thorvald's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +dream! Shann paused, trying to remember how the other had +described this place. So he was enacting Thorvald's dream! +And could the Survey officer now be caught in Shann's +dream in turn, climbing up somewhere into the nose slit of a +skull-shaped mountain?</p> + +<p>Green fog without end, and Shann lost in it. How long had +he been here? Shann tried to reckon time, the time since his +coming into the water-world of the starred cavern. He realized +that he had not eaten, nor drank, nor desired to do so +either—nor did he now. Yet he was not weak; in fact, he +had never felt such tireless energy as possessed his spare body.</p> + +<p>Was this <i>all</i> a dream? His threatened drowning in the underground +stream a nightmare? Yet there was a pattern in +this, just as there had been a pattern in the needles he had +spilled across the table. One even led to another with +discernible logic; because he had tossed that particular pattern +he had come here.</p> + +<p>According to the ambiguous instructions or warnings of the +Warlockian witch, his safety in this place would depend +upon his ability to tell true dreams from false. But how ... +why? So far he had done nothing except walk through a +green fog, and for all he knew, he might well be traveling in +circles.</p> + +<p>Because there was nothing else to do, Shann walked on, his +boots pressing sand, rising from each step with a small +sucking sound. Then, as he stooped to search for some indication +of a path or road which might guide him, his ears +caught the slightest of noises—other small sucking whispers. +He was not the only wayfarer in this place!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="HE_WHO_DREAMS" id="HE_WHO_DREAMS"></a>13. HE WHO DREAMS....</h2> + + +<p>The mist was not a quiet thing; it billowed and curled until +it appeared to half-conceal darker shadows, any one of +which could be an enemy. Shann remained hunkered on the +sand, every sense abnormally alert, watching the fog. He was +still sure he could hear sounds which marked the progress +of another. What other? One of the Warlockians tracking +him to spy? Or was there some prisoner like himself lost out +there in the murk? Could it be Thorvald?</p> + +<p>Now the sound had ceased. He was not even sure from +what direction it had first come. Perhaps that other was listening +now, as intent upon locating him. Shann ran his +tongue over dry lips. The impulse to call out, to try and contact +any fellow traveler here, was strong. Only hard-learned +caution kept him silent. He got to his hands and knees, uncertain +as to his previous direction.</p> + +<p>Shann crept. Someone expecting a man walking erect +might be suitably distracted by the arrival of a half-seen figure +on all fours. He halted again to listen.</p> + +<p>He had been right! The sound of a very muffled footfall +or footfalls, carried to his ears. He was sure that the sound +was louder, that the unknown was approaching. Shann +stood, his hand close to his stunner. He was almost tempted +to spray that beam blindly before him, hoping to hit the unseen +by chance.</p> + +<p>A shadow—something more swift than a shadow, more +than one of the tricks the curling fog played on eyes—was +moving with purpose and straight for him. Still, prudence +restrained Shann from calling out.</p> + +<p>The figure grew clearer. A Terran! It could be Thorvald! +But remembering how they had last parted, Shann did not +hurry to meet him.</p> + +<p>That shadow-shape stretched out a long arm in a sweep +as if to pull aside some of the vapor concealing them from each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +other. Then Shann shivered as if that fog had suddenly turned +into the drive of frigid snow. For the mist did roll back so +that the two of them stood in an irregular clearing in its +midst.</p> + +<p>And he did not front Thorvald.</p> + +<p>Shann was caught up in the ice grip of an old fear, frozen +by it, but somehow clinging to a hope that he did not see +the unbelievable.</p> + +<p>Those hands drawing the lash of a whip back into striking +readiness ... a brutal nose broken askew, a blaster burn +puckering across cheek to misshapen ear ... that, evil, gloating +grin of anticipation. Flick, flick, the slight dance of the +lash in a master's hand as those thick fingers tightened about +the stock of the whip. In a moment it would whirl up to lay +a ribbon of fire about Shann's defenceless shoulders. Then +Logally would laugh and laugh, his sadistic mirth echoed by +those other men who played jackals to his rogue lion.</p> + +<p>Other men.... Shann shook his head dazedly. But he did +not stand again in the Dump-size bar of the Big Strike. And +he was no longer a terrorized youngster, fit meat for Logally's +amusement. Only the whip rose, the lash curled out, +catching Shann just as it had that time years ago, delivering +a red slash of pure agony. But Logally was dead, Shann's +mind screamed, fighting frantically against the evidence of +his eyes, of that pain in his chest and shoulder. The Dump +bully had been spaced by off-world miners, now also dead, +whose claims he had tried to jump out in the Ajax system.</p> + +<p>Logally drew back the lash, preparing to strike again. Shann +faced a man five years dead who walked and fought. Or, +Shann bit hard upon his lower lip, holding desperately to +sane reasoning—did he indeed face anything? Logally was +the ancient devil of his boyhood produced anew by the +witchery of Warlock. Or had Shann himself been led to recreate +both the man and the circumstances of their first meeting +with fear as a weapon to pull the creator down? Dream +true or false. Logally <i>was</i> dead; therefore, this dream was +false, it had to be.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Terran began to walk toward that grinning ogre rising +out of his old nightmares. His hand was no longer on the +butt of his stunner, but swung loosely at his side. He saw +the coming lash, the wicked promise in those small narrowed +eyes. This was Logally at the acme of his strength, when he +was most to be feared, as he had continued to exist over the +years in the depths of a boy-child's memory. But Logally was +<i>not</i> alive; only in a dream could he be.</p> + +<p>For the second time the lash bit at Shann, curling about his +body, to dissolve. There was no alteration in Logally's grin, +His muscular arm drew back as he aimed a third blow. Shann +continued to walk forward, bringing up one hand, not to +strike at that sweating, bristly jaw, but as if to push the other +out of his path. And in his mind he held one thought: this +was not Logally; it could not be. Ten years had passed since +they had met. And for five of those years Logally had been +dead. Here was Warlockian witchery, to be met by sane +Terran reasoning.</p> + +<p>Shann was alone. The mist, which had formed walls, enclosed +him again. But still there was a smarting brand across +his shoulder. Shann drew aside the rags of his uniform +blouse to discover a welt, raw and red. And seeing that, his +unbelief was shaken.</p> + +<p>When he had believed in Logally and in Logally's weapon, +the other had had reality enough to strike that blow, make +the lash cut deep. But when the Terran had faced the phantom +with the truth, then neither Logally nor his lash existed, +Shann shivered, trying not to think what might lie before +him. Visions out of nightmares which could put on substance! +He had dreamed of Logally in the past, many times. +And he had had other dreams, just as frightening. Must <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'be'">he</ins> +front those nightmares, all of them—? Why? To amuse his +captors, or to prove <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'then'">their</ins> contention that he was a fool to +challenge the powers of such mistresses of illusion?</p> + +<p>How did they know just what dreams to use in order to +break him? Or did he himself furnish the actors and the +action, projecting old terrors in this mist as a <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'trid-ee'">tri-dee</ins> tape<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +projected a story in three dimensions for the amusement of +the viewer?</p> + +<p>Dream true—was this progress through the mist also a +dream? Dreams within dreams.... Shann put his hand to +his head, uncertain, badly shaken. But that stubborn core of +determination within him was still holding. Next time he +would be prepared at once to face down any resurrected +memory.</p> + +<p>Walking slowly, pausing to listen for the slightest sound +which might herald the coming of a new illusion, Shann tried +to guess which of his nightmares might come to face him. But +he was to learn that there was more than one kind of dream. +Steeled against old fears, he was met by another emotion +altogether.</p> + +<p>There was a fluttering in the air, a little crooning cry +which pulled at his heart. Without any conscious thought, +Shann held out his hands, whistling on two notes a call which +his lips appeared to remember more quickly than his mind. +The shape which winged through the fog came straight to +his waiting hold, tore at long-walled-away hurt with its once +familiar beauty. It flew with a list; one of the delicately +tinted wings was injured, had never <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'heeled'">healed</ins> straight. But +the seraph nestled into the hollow of Shann's two palms +and looked up at him with all the old liquid trust.</p> + +<p>"Trav! Trav!" He cradled the tiny creature carefully, regarded +with joy its feathered body, the curled plumes on its +proudly held head, felt the silken patting of those infinitesimal +claws against his protecting fingers.</p> + +<p>Shann sat down in the sand, hardly daring to breathe. +Trav—again! The wonder of this never-to-be-hoped-for return +filled him with a surge of happiness almost too great to +bear, which hurt in its way with as great a pain as Logally's +lash; it was a pain rooted in love, not fear and hate.</p> + +<p>Logally's lash....</p> + +<p>Shann trembled. Trav raised one of those small claws toward +the Terran's face, crooning a soft caressing cry for recognition,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +for protection, trying to be a part of Shann's life +once more.</p> + +<p>Trav! How could he bear to will Trav into nothingness, to +bear to summon up another harsh memory which would +sweep Trav away? Trav was the only thing Shann had +ever known which he could love wholeheartedly, that had +answered his love with a return gift of affection so much +greater than the light body he now held.</p> + +<p>"Trav!" he whispered softly. Then he made his great effort +<ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'again'">against</ins> this second and far more subtle attack. With the same +agony which he had known years earlier, he resolutely summoned +a bitter memory, sat nursing once more a broken +thing which died in pain he could not ease, aware himself +of every moment of that pain. And what was worse, this +time there clung that nagging little doubt. What if he had +not forced the memory? Perhaps he could have taken Trav +with him unhurt, alive, at least for a while.</p> + +<p>Shann covered his face with his now empty hands. To +see a nightmare flicker out after facing squarely up to its +terror, that was no great task. To give up a dream which was +part of a lost heaven, that cut cruelly deep. The Terran +dragged himself to his feet, drained and weary, stumbling +on.</p> + +<p>Was there no end to this aimless circling through a world +of green smoke? He shambled ahead, moving his feet leadenly. +How long had he been here? There was no division in +time, just the unchanging light which was a part of the fog +through which he plodded.</p> + +<p>Then he heard more than any shuffle of foot across sand, +any crooning of a long dead seraph, the rising and falling of +a voice: a human voice—not quite singing or reciting, but +something between the two. Shann paused, searching his +memory, a memory which seemed bruised, for the proper +answer to match that sound.</p> + +<p>But, though he recalled scene after scene out of the years, +that voice did not trigger any return from his past. He +turned toward its source, dully determined to get over quickly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +the meeting which lay behind that signal. Only, though he +walked on and on, Shann did not appear any closer to the +man behind the voice, nor was he able to make out separate +words composing that chant, a chant broken now and then +by pauses, so that the Terran grew aware of the distress of +his fellow prisoner. For the impression that he sought another +captive came out of nowhere and grew as he cast +wider and wider in his quest.</p> + +<p>Then he might have turned some invisible corner in the +<ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'midst'">mist</ins>, for the chant broke out anew in stronger volume, and +now he was able to distinguish words he knew.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... where blow the winds between the worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hang the suns in dark of space.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Power is given a man to use.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him do so well before the last accounting—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The voice was hoarse, cracked, the words spaced with uneven +catches of breath, as if they had been repeated many, +many times to provide an anchor against madness, form a +tie to reality. And hearing that note, Shann slowed his pace. +This was out of no memory of his; he was sure of that.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... blow the winds between the worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hang the suns in ... dark—of—of—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That harsh croak of voice was running down, as a clock +runs down for lack of winding. Shann sped on, reacting to a +plea which did not lay in the words themselves.</p> + +<p>Once more the mist curled back, provided him with an +open space. A man sat on the sand, his fists buried wrist deep +in the smooth grains on either side of his body, his eyes set, +red-rimmed, glazed, his body rocking back and forth in time +to his labored chant.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... the dark of space—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Thorvald!" Shann skidded in the sand, went down on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +knees. The manner of their last parting was forgotten as he +took in the officer's condition.</p> + +<p>The other did not stop his swaying, but his head turned +with a stiff jerk, the gray eyes making a visible effort to focus +on Shann. Then some of the strain smoothed out of the gaunt +features and Thorvald laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Garth!"</p> + +<p>Shann stiffened but had no chance to protest that mistaken +identification as the other continued: "So you made class +one status, boy! I always knew you could if you'd work for +it. A couple of black marks on your record, sure. But those +can be rubbed out, boy, when you're willing to try. Thorvalds +always have been Survey. Our father would have been +proud."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's voice flattened, his smile faded, there was a +growing spark of some emotion in those gray eyes. Unexpectedly, +he hurled himself forward, his hands clawing for +Shann's throat. He bore the younger man down under him to +the sand where Lantee found himself fighting desperately for +his life against a man who could only be mad.</p> + +<p>Shann used a trick learned on the Dumps, and his opponent +doubled up with a gasp of agony to let the younger +man break free. He planted a knee on the small of Thorvald's +back, digging the officer into the sand, pinning down +his arms in spite of the other's struggles. Regaining his own +breath in gulps, Shann tried to appeal to some spark of +reason in the other.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald! This is Lantee—Lantee——" His name echoed in +the mist-walled void like an unhuman wail.</p> + +<p>"Lantee——? No, Throg! Lantee—Throg—killed my brother!"</p> + +<p>Sand puffed out with the breath, which expelled that indictment. +But Thorvald no longer fought, and Shann believed +him close to collapse.</p> + +<p>Shann relaxed his hold, rolling the other man over. Thorvald +obeyed his pull limply, lying face upward, sand in his +hair and eyebrows, crusting his slack lips. The younger man +brushed the dirt away gently as the other opened his eyes to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +regard Shann with his old impersonal stare.</p> + +<p>"You're alive," Thorvald stated bleakly. "Garth's dead. You +ought to be dead too."</p> + +<p>Shann drew back, rubbed sand from his hands, his concern +dampened by the other's patent hostility. Only that angry +accusation vanished in a blink of those gray eyes. Then +there was a warmer recognition in Thorvald's expression.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!" The younger man might just have come into +sight. "What are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>Shann tightened his belt. "Just about what you are." He +was still aloof, giving no acknowledgment of difference in +rank now. "Running around in this fog hunting the way out."</p> + +<p>Thorvald sat up, surveying the billowing walls of the hole +which contained them. Then he reached out a hand to draw +fingers down Shann's forearm.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> real," he observed simply, and his voice was +warm, welcoming.</p> + +<p>"Don't bet on it," Shann snapped. "The unreal can be +mighty real—here." His hand went up to the smarting brand +on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Thorvald nodded. "Masters of illusion," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Mistresses," Shann corrected. "This place is run by a gang +of pretty smart witches."</p> + +<p>"Witches? You've seen them? Where? And what—who +are they?" Thorvald pounced with a return of his old-time +sharpness.</p> + +<p>"They're females right enough, and they can make the impossible +happen. I'd say that classifies them as witches. One of +them tried to take me over back on the island. I set a trap +and caught her; then somehow she transported me——" Swiftly +he outlined the chain of events leading from his sudden +awakening in the river tunnel to his present penetration of +this fog-world.</p> + +<p>Thorvald listened eagerly. When the story was finished, he +rubbed his hands across his drawn face, smearing away the +last of the sand. "At least you have some idea of who they are +and a suggestion of how you got here. I don't remember that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +much about my own arrival. As far as I can remember I +went to sleep on the Island and woke up here!"</p> + +<p>Shann studied him and knew that Thorvald was telling +the truth. He could remember nothing of his departure in +the outrigger, the way he had fought Shann in the lagoon. +The Survey officer must have been under the control of +the Warlockians then. Quickly he gave the older man his +version of the other's actions in the outer world and Thorvald +was clearly astounded, though he did not question the facts +Shann presented.</p> + +<p>"They just <i>took</i> me!" Thorvald said in a husky half whisper. +"But why? And why are we here? Is this a prison?"</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head. "I think all this"—a wave of his +hand encompassed the green wall, what lay beyond it, and +in it—"is a test of some kind. This dream business.... A little +while ago I got to thinking that I wasn't here at all, that +I might be dreaming it all. Then I met you."</p> + +<p>Thorvald understood. "Yes, but this <i>could</i> be a dream +meeting. How can we tell?" He hesitated, almost diffidently, +before he asked: "Have you met anyone else here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Shann had no desire to go into that.</p> + +<p>"People out of your past life?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Again he did not elaborate.</p> + +<p>"So did I." Thorvald's expression was bleak; his encounters +in the fog must have proved no more pleasant than Shann's. +"That suggests that we do trigger the hallucinations ourselves. +But maybe we can really lick it now."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if these phantoms are born of our memories there +are about only two or three we could see together—maybe +a Throg on the rampage, or that hound we left back in the +mountains. And if we do sight anything like that, we'll know +what it is. On the other hand, if we stick together and one of +us sees something that the other can't ... well, that fact +alone will explode the ghost."</p> + +<p>There was sense in what he said. Shann aided the officer +to his feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I must be a better subject for their experiments than you," +the older man remarked ruefully. "They took me over completely +at the first."</p> + +<p>"You were carrying that disk," Shann pointed out. "Maybe +that acted as a focusing lens for whatever power they use to +make us play trained animals."</p> + +<p>"Could be!" Thorvald brought out the cloth-wrapped bone +coin. "I still have it." But he made no move to pull off the bit +of rag about it. "Now"—he gazed at the wall of green—"which +way?"</p> + +<p>Shann shrugged. Long ago he had lost any idea of keeping +a straight course through the murk. He might have turned +around any number of times since he first walked blindly into +this place. Then he pointed to the packet Thorvald held.</p> + +<p>"Why not flip that?" he asked. "Heads, we go that way—" +he indicated the direction in which they were facing—"tails, +we do a rightabout-face."</p> + +<p>There was an answering grin on Thorvald's lips. "As good +a guide as any we're likely to find here. We'll do it." He +pulled away the twist of cloth and with a swift snap, reminiscent +of that used by the Warlockian witch to empty the +bowl of sticks, he tossed the disk into the air.</p> + +<p>It spun, whirled, but—to their open-jawed amazement—it +did not fall to the sand. Instead it spun until it looked like +a small globe instead of a disk. And it lost its dead white for +a glow of green. When that glow became dazzling for Terran +eyes the miniature sun swung out, not in orbit but in straight +line of flight, heading to their right.</p> + +<p>With a muffled cry, Thorvald started in pursuit, Shann +running beside him. They were in a tunnel of the fog now, +and the pace set by the spinning coin was swift. The Terrans +continued to follow it at the best pace they could summon, +having no idea of where they were headed, but each with +the hope that they finally did have a guide to lead them +through this place of confusion and into a sane world where +they could face on more equal terms those who had sent them +there.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ESCAPE" id="ESCAPE"></a>14. ESCAPE</h2> + + +<p>"Something ahead!" Thorvald did not slacken the pace set +by the brilliant spot of green they trailed. Both of the Terrans +feared to fall behind, to lose touch with that guide. Their +belief that somehow the traveling disk would bring them to +the end of the mist and its attendant illusions had grown firmer +with every foot of ground they traversed.</p> + +<p>A dark, fixed point, now partly veiled by mist, lay beyond, +and it was toward that looming half-shadow that the spinning +disk hurtled. Now the mist curled away to display its +bulk—larger, blacker and four or five times Thorvald's height. +Both men stopped short, for the disk no longer played pathfinder. +It still whirled on its axis in the air, faster and faster, +until it appeared to be throwing off sparks, but the sparks +faded against a monolith of dark rock unlike the native stone +they had seen elsewhere. For it was neither red nor warmly +brown, but a dull, dead black. It could have been a huge +stone slab, trimmed, smoothed, set up on end as a monument +or marker, except that only infinite labor could have accomplished +such a task, and there was no valid reason for such +toil as far as the Terrans could perceive.</p> + +<p>"This is it." Thorvald moved closer.</p> + +<p>By the disk's action, they deduced that their guide had +drawn them to this featureless black steel with the precision +of a beam-controlled ship. However, the purpose still eluded +them. They had hoped for some exit from the territory of the +veil, but now they faced a solid slab of dark stone, neither a +conventional exit or entrance, as they proved by circling its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +base. Beneath their boots was the eternal sand, around them +the fog.</p> + +<p>"Now what?" Shann asked. They had made their trip +about the slab and were back again where the disk whirled +with unceasing vigor in a shower of emerald sparks.</p> + +<p>Thorvald shook his head, scanning the rock face before +them glumly. The eagerness had gone out of his expression, +a vast weariness replacing it.</p> + +<p>"There must have been some purpose in coming here," he +replied, but his tone had lost the assurance of moments earlier.</p> + +<p>"Well, if we strike away from here, we'll just get right back +in again." Shann waved a hand toward the mist, waiting as if +with a hunter's watch upon them. "And we certainly can't +go down." He dug a boot toe into the sand to demonstrate +the folly of that. "So, what about up?"</p> + +<p>He ducked under the spinning disk to lay his hands +against the surface of the giant slab. And in so doing he +made a discovery, revealed to his touch although hidden from +sight. For his fingers, running aimlessly across the cold, +slightly uneven surface of the stone, slipped into a hollow, +quite a deep hollow.</p> + +<p>Excited, half fearing that his sudden guess might be wrong, +Shann slid his hand higher in line with that hollow, to discover +a second. The first had been level with his chest, the +second perhaps eighteen inches or so above. He jumped, to +draw his fingers down the rock, with damage to his nails but +getting his proof. There <i>was</i> a third niche, deep enough to +hold more than just the toe of a boot, and a fourth above +that....</p> + +<p>"We've a ladder of sorts here," he reported. Without waiting +for any answer from Thorvald, Shann began to climb. +The holds were so well matched in shape and size that he +was sure they could not be natural; they had been bored +there for use—the use to which he was now putting them—a +ladder to the top of the slab. Though what he might find +there was beyond his power to imagine.</p> + +<p>The disk did not rise. Shann passed that core of light,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +climbing above it into the greater gloom. But the holes did +not fail him; each was waiting in a direct line with its companion. +And to an active man the scramble was not difficult. +He reached the summit, glanced around, and made a quick +grab for a secure handhold.</p> + +<p>Waiting for him was no level platform such as he had confidently +expected to find. The surface up which he had just +made his way fly-fashion was the outer wall of a well or +chimney. He looked down now into a pit where black nothingness +began within a yard of the top, for the radiance of +the mist did not penetrate far into that descent.</p> + +<p>Shann fought an attack of giddiness. It would be very easy +to lose control, to tumble over and be swallowed up in what +might well be a bottomless chasm. And what was the purpose +of this well? Was it a trap to entice a prisoner into an unwary +climb and then let gravity drag him over? The whole setup +was meaningless. Perhaps meaningless only to him, Shann +conceded, with a flash of level thinking. The situation could +be quite different as far as the natives were concerned. This +structure did have a reason, or it would never have been +erected in the first place.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" Thorvald's voice was rough with +impatience.</p> + +<p>"This thing's a well." Shann edged about a fraction to +call back. "The inside is open and—as far as I can tell—goes +clear to the planet's core."</p> + +<p>"Ladder on the inside too?"</p> + +<p>Shann squirmed. That was, of course, a very obvious supposition. +He kept a tight hold with his left hand, and with +the other, he did some exploring. Yes, here was a hollow +right enough, twin to those on the outside. But to swing over +that narrow edge of safety and begin a descent into the +black of the well was far harder than any action he had +taken since the morning the Throgs had raided the camp. +The green mist could hold no terrors greater than those +with which his imagination peopled the depths now waiting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +to engulf him. But Shann swung over, fitted his boot into the +first hollow, and started down.</p> + +<p>The only encouragement he gained during that nightmare +ordeal was that those holes were regularly spaced. But somehow +his confidence did not feed on that fact. There always +remained the nagging fear that when he searched for the +next it would not be there and he would cling to his perch +lacking the needful strength in aching arms and legs to reclimb +the inside ladder.</p> + +<p>He was fast losing that sense of well being which had been +his during his travels through the fog; a fatigue tugged at his +arms and weighed leaden on his shoulders. Mechanically he +prospected for the next hold, and then the next. Above, the +oblong of half-light grew smaller and smaller, sometimes half +blotted out by the movements of Thorvald's body as the +other followed him down that interior way.</p> + +<p>How far <i>was</i> down? Shann giggled lightheadedly at the +humor of that, or what seemed to be humor at the moment. +He was certain that they were now below the level of the +sand floor outside the slab. And yet no end had come to the +well hollow.</p> + +<p>No break of light down here; he might have been sightless. +But just as the blind develop an extra perceptive sense of +unseen obstacles, so did Shann now find that he was aware +of a change in the nature of the space about him. His weary +arms and legs held him against the solidity of a wall, yet +the impression that there was no longer another wall at his +back grew stronger with every niche which swung him +downward. And he was as sure as if he could see it, that he +was now in a wide-open space, another cavern; perhaps, but +this one totally dark.</p> + +<p>Deprived of sight, he relied upon his ears. And there was +a sound, faint, distorted perhaps by the acoustics of this +place, but keeping up a continuous murmur. Water! Not the +wash of waves with their persistent beat, but rather the +rippling of a running stream. Water must lie below!</p> + +<p>And just as his weariness had grown with his leaving behind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +the fog, so now did both hunger and thirst gnaw at +Shann, all the sharper for the delay. The Terran wanted to +reach that water, could picture it in his mind, putting away +the possibility—the probability—that it might be sea-born +and salt, and so unfit to drink.</p> + +<p>The upper opening to the cavern of the fog was now so +far above him that he had to strain to see it. And that warmth +which had been there was gone. A dank chill wrapped him +here, dampened the holds to which he clung until he was +afraid of slipping. While the murmur of the water grew +louder, until its <i>slap-slap</i> sounded within arms' distance. His +boot toe skidded from a niche. Shann fought to hold on +with numbed fingers. The other foot went. He swung by his +hands, kicking vainly to regain a measure of footing.</p> + +<p>Then his arms could no longer support him, and he cried +out as he fell. Water closed about him with an icy shock +which for a moment paralyzed him. He flailed out, fighting +the flood to get his head above the surface where he could +gasp in precious gulps of air.</p> + +<p>There was a current here, a swiftly running one. Shann +remembered the one which had carried him into that cavern +in which the Warlockians had their strange dwelling. Although +there were no clusters of crystals in this tunnel to +supply him with light, the Terran began to nourish a faint +hope that he was again in that same stream, that those light +crystals would appear, and that he might eventually return +to the starting point of this meaningless journey.</p> + +<p>So he strove only to keep his head above water. Hearing +a splashing behind him, he called out: "Thorvald?"</p> + +<p>"Lantee?" The answer came back at once; the splashing +grew louder as the other swam to catch up.</p> + +<p>Shann swallowed a mouthful of the water lapping against +his chin. The taste was brackish, but not entirely salt, and +though it stung his lips, the liquid relieved a measure of his +thirst.</p> + +<p>Only no glowing crystals appeared to stud these walls, and +Shann's hope that they were on their way to the cavern of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +the island faded. The current grew swifter, and he had to +fight to keep his head above water, his tired body reacting +sluggishly to commands.</p> + +<p>The murmur of the racing flood drummed louder in his +ears, or was that sound the same? He could no longer be +sure. Shann only knew that it was close to impossible to +snatch the necessary breath as he was rolled over and over +in the hurrying flood.</p> + +<p>In the end he was ejected into blazing, blinding light, into +a suffocation of wild water as the bullet in an ancient Terran +rifle might have been fired at no specific target. Gasping, +beaten, more than half-drowned, Shann was pummeled +by waves, literally driven up on a rocky surface which +skinned his body cruelly. He lay there, his arms moving +feebly until he contrived to raise himself in time to be +wretchedly sick. Somehow he crawled on a few feet farther +before he subsided again, blinded by the light, flinching +from the heat of the rocks on which he lay, but unable to do +more for himself.</p> + +<p>His first coherent thought was that his speculation concerning +the reality of this experience was at last resolved. This +could not possibly be an hallucination; at least this particular +sequence of events was not. And he was still hazily considering +that when a hand fell on his shoulder, fingers biting into +his raw flesh.</p> + +<p>Shann snarled, rolled over on his side. Thorvald, water +dripping from his rags—or rather steaming from them—his +shaggy hair plastered to his skull, sat there.</p> + +<p>"You all right?"</p> + +<p><ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'Shan'">Shann</ins> sat up in turn, shielding his smarting eyes. He was +bruised, battered badly enough, but he could claim no +major injuries.</p> + +<p>"I think so. Where are we?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald's lips stretched across his teeth in what was more +a grimace than a smile. "Right off the map, any map I know. +Take a look."</p> + +<p>They were on a scrap of beach—beach which was more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +like a reef, for it lacked any covering comparable to sand +except for some cupfuls of coarse gravel locked in rock depressions. +Rocks, red as the rust of dried blood, rose in fantastic +water-sculptured shapes around the small semi-level +space they had somehow won.</p> + +<p>This space was V-shaped, washed by equal streams on +either side of the prong of rock by water which spouted from +the face of a sheer cliff not too far away, with force enough +to spray several feet beyond its exit point. Shann seeing +that and guessing at its significance, drew a deep breath, +and heard the ghost of an answering chuckle from his companion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's where we came out, boy. Like to make a return +trip?"</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head, and then wished that he had not +so rashly made that move, for the world swung in a dizzy +whirl. Things had happened too fast. For the moment it was +enough that they were out of the underground ways, back +under the amber sky, feeling the bite of Warlock's sun.</p> + +<p>Steadying his head with both hands, Shann turned slowly, +to survey what might lie at their backs. The water, pouring +by on either side, suggested that they were again on an +island. Warlock, he thought gloomily, seemed to be for Terrans +a succession of islands, all hard to escape.</p> + +<p>The tangle of rocks did not encourage any exploration. +Just gazing at them added to his weariness. They rose, tier +by tier, to a ragged crown against the sky. Shann continued to +sit staring at them.</p> + +<p>"To climb that...." His voice trailed into the silence of +complete discouragement.</p> + +<p>"You climb—or swim," Thorvald stated. But, Shann noted, +the Survey officer was not in a hurry to make either move.</p> + +<p>Nowhere in that wilderness of rock was there the least +relieving bit of purple foliage. Nor did any clak-claks or +leather-headed birds tour the sky over their heads. Shann's +thirst might have been partially <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'assauged'">assuaged</ins>, but his hunger remained. +And it was that need which forced him at last into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +action. The barren heights promised nothing in the way of +food, but remembering the harvest the wolverines had taken +from under the rocks along the river, he got to his feet and +lurched out on the reef which had been their salvation, +hunting some pool which might hold an edible captive or +two.</p> + +<p>So it was that Shann made the discovery of a possible +path consisting of a ledge running toward the other end of +the island, if this were an island where they had taken +refuge. The spray of the water drenched that way, feeding +small pools in the uneven surface, and strips of yellow weed +trailed in slimy ribbons back below the surface of the waves.</p> + +<p>He called to Thorvald and gestured to his find. And then, +close together, linking hands when the going became hazardous, +the men followed the path. Twice they made finds +in the pools, finned or clawed grotesque creatures, which they +killed and ate, wolfing down the few fragments of odd-tasting +flesh. Then, in a small crevice, which could hardly be +dignified by the designation of "cave," Thorvald chanced +upon a quite exciting discovery—a clutch of four greenish +eggs, each as large as his doubled fist.</p> + +<p>Their outer covering was more like tough membrane than +true shell, and the Terrans worried it open with difficulty. +Shann shut his eyes, trying not to think of what he mouthed +as he sucked his share dry. At least that semi-liquid stayed +put in his middle, though he expected disastrous results from +the experiment.</p> + +<p>More than a little heartened by this piece of luck, they +kept on, though the ledge changed from a reasonably level +surface to a series of rising, unequal steps, drawing them +away from the water. At long last they came to the end of +that path. Shann leaned back against a convenient spur of +rock.</p> + +<p>"Company!" he alerted Thorvald.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer joined him to share an outcrop of rock +from which they were provided with an excellent view of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +the scene below, and it was a scene to hold their full attention.</p> + +<p>That soft sweep of sand which had floored the cavern of +the fog lay here also, a gray-blue carpet sloping gently out +of the sea. For Shann had no doubt that the wide stretch of +water before them was the western ocean. Walling the beach +on either side, and extending well out into the water so that +the farthest piles were awash except for their crowns, were +pillars of stone, shaped with the same finish as that slab +which had provided them a ladder of escape. And because of +the regularity of their spacing, Shann did not believe them +works of nature.</p> + +<p>Grouped between them now were the players of the +drama. One of the Warlockian witches, her gem body patterns +glittering in the sunlight, was walking backward out +of the sea, her hands held palms together, breast high, in a +Terran attitude of prayer. And following her something swam +in the water, clearly not another of her own species. But her +actions suggested that by some invisible means she was +drawing that water dweller after her. Waiting on shore were +two others of her kind, viewing her actions with close attention, +the attention of scholars for an instructor.</p> + +<p>"Wyverns!"</p> + +<p>Shann looked inquiringly at his companion. Thorvald +added a whisper of explanation. "A legend of Terra—they +were supposed to have a snake's tail instead of hind legs, but +the heads.... They're Wyverns!"</p> + +<p>Wyverns. Shann liked the sound of that word; to his +mind it well fitted the Warlockian witches. And the one they +were watching in action continued her steady backward retreat, +rolling her bemused captive out of the water. What +emerged into the blaze of sunlight was one of those fork-tailed +sea dwellers such as the Terrans had seen die after the +storm. The thing crawled out of the shallows, its eyes focused +in a blind stare on the praying hands of the Wyvern.</p> + +<p>She halted, well up on the sand, when the body of her +victim or prisoner—Shann was certain that the fork-tail was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +one or the other—was completely out of the water. Then, +with lightning speed, she dropped her hands.</p> + +<p>Instantly fork-tail came to life. Fanged jaws snapped. +Aroused, the beast was the incarnation of evil rage, a rage +which had a measure of intelligence to direct it into deadly +action. And facing it, seemingly unarmed and defenseless, +were the slender, fragile Wyverns.</p> + +<p>Yet none of the small group of natives made any attempt +to escape. Shann thought them suicidal in their indifference +as fork-tail, short legs sending the fine sand flying in a dust +cloud, made a rush toward its enemies.</p> + +<p>The Wyvern who had led the beast ashore did not move. +But one of her companions swung up a hand, as if negligently +waving the monster to a stop. Between her first two +digits was a disk. Thorvald caught at Shann's arm.</p> + +<p>"See that! It's a copy of the one I had; it must be!"</p> + +<p>They were too far away to be sure it was a duplicate, but +It was coin-shaped and bone-white. And now the Wyvern +swung it back and forth in a metronome sweep. Fork-tail +skidded to a stop, its head beginning—reluctantly at first, +and then, with increasing speed—to echo that left-right +sweep. This Wyvern had the sea beast under control, even +as her companion had earlier held it.</p> + +<p>Chance dictated what happened next. As had her sister +charmer, the Wyvern began a backward withdrawal up the +length of the beach, drawing the sea thing in her wake. They +were very close to the foot of the drop above which the +Terrans stood, fascinated, when the sand betrayed the witch. +Her foot slipped into a hole and she was thrown backward, +her control disk spinning out of her fingers.</p> + +<p>At once the monster she had charmed shot forth its head, +snapped at that spinning trifle—and swallowed it. Then the +fork-tail hunched in a posture Shann had seen the wolverines +use when they were about to spring. The weaponless +Wyvern was the prey, and both her companions were too far +away to interfere.</p> + +<p>Why he moved he could not have explained. There was no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +reason for him to go to the aid of the Warlockian, one of the +same breed who had ruled him against his will. But Shann +sprang, landing in the sand on his hands and knees.</p> + +<p>The sea thing whipped around, undecided between two +possible victims. Shann had his knife free, was on his feet, +his eyes on the beast's, knowing that he had appointed himself +dragon slayer for no good reason.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DRAGON_SLAYER" id="DRAGON_SLAYER"></a>15. DRAGON SLAYER</h2> + + +<p>"Ayeeee!" Sheer defiance, not only of the beast he fronted, +but of the Wyverns as well, brought that old rallying cry to +his lips—the call used on the Dumps of Tyr to summon +gang aid against outsiders. Fork-tail had crouched again +for a spring, but that throat-crackling blast appeared to +startle it.</p> + +<p>Shann, blade ready, took a dancing step to the right. The +thing was scaled, perhaps as well armored against frontal +attack as was the shell-creature he had fought with the aid +of the wolverines. He wished he had the Terran animals +now—with Taggi and his mate to tease and feint about the +monster, as they had done with the Throg hound—for he +would have a better chance. If only the animals were here!</p> + +<p>Those eyes—red-pitted eyes in a gargoyle head following +his every movement—perhaps those were the only vulnerable +points.</p> + +<p>Muscles tensed beneath that scaled hide. The Terran +readied himself for a sidewise leap, his knife hand raised to +rake at those eyes. A brown shape with a V of lighter fur +banding its back crossed the far range of Shann's vision. He +could not believe what he saw, not even when a snarling +animal, slavering with rage, came at a lumbering gallop to +stand beside him, a second animal on its heels.</p> + +<p>Uttering his own battle cry, Taggi attacked. The fork-tail's +head swung, imitating the movements of the wolverine +as it had earlier mimicked the swaying of the disk in the +Wyvern's hand. Togi came in from the other side. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +might have been hounds keeping a bull in play. And never +had they shown such perfect team work, almost as if they +could sense what Shann desired of them.</p> + +<p>That forked tail lashed viciously, a formidable weapon. +Bone, muscles, scaled flesh, half buried in the sand, swept +up a cloud of grit into the face of the man and the animals. +Shann fell back, pawing with his free hand at his eyes. The +wolverines circled warily, trying for the attack they favored—the +spring to the shoulders, the usually fatal assault on the +spine behind the neck. But the armored head of the fork-tail, +slung low, warned them off. Again the tail lashed, and +this time Taggi was caught and hurled across the beach.</p> + +<p>Togi uttered a challenge, made a reckless dash, and +raked down the length of the fork-tail's body, fastening on +that tail, weighing it to earth with her own poundage +while the sea creature fought to dislodge her. Shann, his +eyes watering from the sand, but able to see, watched that +battle for a long second, judging that fork-tail was completely +engaged in trying to free its best weapon from the +grip of the wolverine. The latter clawed and bit with a fury +which suggested Togi intended to immobilize that weapon +by tearing it to shreds.</p> + +<p>Fork-tail wrenched its body, striving to reach its tormentor +with fangs or clawed feet. And in that struggle to +achieve an impossible position, its head slued far about, uncovering +the unprotected area behind the skull base which usually +lay under the spiny collar about its shoulders.</p> + +<p>Shann went in. With one hand he gripped the edge of +that collar—its serrations tearing his flesh—and at the same +time he drove his knife blade deep into the soft underfolds, +ripping on toward the spinal column. The blade nicked +against bone as the fork-tail's head slammed back, catching +Shann's hand and knife together in a trap. The Terran was +jerked from his feet, and flung to one side with the force of +the beast's reaction.</p> + +<p>Blood spurted up, his own blood mingled with that of +the monster. Only Togi's riding of the tail prevented Shann's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +being beaten to death. The armored snout pointed skyward +as the creature ground the sharp edge of its collar down on +the Terran's arm. Shann, frantic with pain, drove his free fist +into one of those eyes.</p> + +<p>Fork-tail jerked convulsively; its head snapped down again +and Shann was free. The Terran threw himself back, keeping +his feet with an effort. Fork-tail was writhing, churning up +the sand in a cloud. But it could not rid itself of the knife +Shann had planted with all his strength, and which the +blows of its own armored collar were now driving deeper +and deeper into its back.</p> + +<p>It howled thinly, with an abnormal shrilling. Shann, +nursing his bleeding forearm against his chest, rolled free +from the waves of sand it threw about, bringing up against +one of the rock pillars. With that to steady him, he somehow +found his feet, and stood weaving, trying to see through the +rain of dust.</p> + +<p>The convulsions which churned up that concealing cloud +were growing more feeble. Then Shann heard the triumphant +squall from Togi, saw her brown body still on the +torn tail just above the forking. The wolverine used her +claws to hitch her way up the spine of the sea monster, +heading for the mountain of blood spouting from behind +the head. Fork-tail fought to raise that head once more; +then the massive jaw thudded into the sand, teeth snapping +fruitlessly as a flood of grit overrode the tongue, packed into +the gaping mouth.</p> + +<p>How long had it taken—that frenzy of battle on the +bloodstained beach? Shann could have set no limit in +clock-ruled time. He pressed his wounded arm tighter to him, +lurched past the still twitching sea thing to that splotch of +brown fur on the sand, shaping the wolverine's whistle with +dry lips. Togi was still busy with the kill, but Taggi lay +where that murderous tail had thrown him.</p> + +<p>Shann fell on his knees, as the beach around him developed +a curious tendency to sway. He put his good hand +to the ruffled back fur of the motionless wolverine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Taggi!"</p> + +<p>A slight quiver answered. Shann tried awkwardly to raise +the animal's head with his own hand. As far as he could see, +there were no open wounds; but there might be broken +bones, internal injuries he did not have the skill to heal.</p> + +<p>"Taggi?" He called again gently, striving to bring that +heavy head up on his knee.</p> + +<p>"The furred one is not dead."</p> + +<p>For a moment Shann was not aware that those words had +formed in his mind, had not been heard by his ears. He +looked up, eyes blazing at the Wyvern coming toward him +in a graceful glide across the crimsoned sand. And in a space +of heartbeats his thrust of anger cooled into a stubborn +enmity.</p> + +<p>"No thanks to you," he said deliberately aloud. If the +Wyvern witch wanted to understand him, let her make the +effort; he did not try to touch her thoughts with his.</p> + +<p>Taggi stirred again, and Shann glanced down quickly. The +wolverine gasped, opened his eyes, shook his miniature bear +head, scattering pellets of sand. He sniffed at a dollop of +blood, the dark, alien blood, spattered on Shann's breeches, +and then his head came up with a reassuring alertness as he +looked to where his mate was still worrying the now quiet +fork-tail.</p> + +<p>With an effort, Taggi got to his feet, Shann aiding him. +The man ran his hand down over ribs, seeking any broken +bones. Taggi growled a warning once when that examination +brought pain in its wake, but Shann could detect no real +damage. As might a cat, the wolverine must have met the +shock of that whip-tail stroke relaxed enough to escape +serious injury. Taggi had been knocked out, but now he was +able to navigate again. He pulled free from Shann's grip, +lumbering across the sand to the kill.</p> + +<p>Someone else was crossing that strip of beach. Passing the +Wyvern as if he did not see them, Thorvald came directly to +Shann. A few seconds later he had the torn arm stretched +across his own bent knee, examining the still bleeding hurt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's a nasty one," he commented.</p> + +<p>Shann heard the words and they made sense, but the instability +of his surroundings was increasing, while Thorvald's +handling sent sharp stabs of pain up his arm and +somehow into his head, where they ended in red bursts to +cloud his sight.</p> + +<p>Out of the reddish mist which had fogged most of the landscape +there emerged a single object, a round white disk. And +in Shann's clouded mind a well-rooted apprehension stirred. +He struck out with his one hand, and through luck connected. +The disk flew out of sight. His vision cleared enough +so he could sight the Wyvern who had been leaning over +Thorvald's shoulder centering her weird weapon on him. Making +a great effort, Shann got out the words, words which he +also shaped in his mind as he said them aloud: "You're not +taking me over—again!"</p> + +<p>There was no emotion to be read on that jewel-banded +face or in her unblinking eyes. He caught at Thorvald, determined +to get across his warning.</p> + +<p>"Don't let them use those disks on us!"</p> + +<p>"I'll do my best."</p> + +<p>Only the haze had taken Thorvald again. Did one of the +Wyverns have a disk focused on them? Were they being +pulled into one of those blank periods, to awaken as prisoners +once more—say, in the cavern of the veil? The Terran fought +with every ounce of will power to escape unconsciousness, +but he failed.</p> + +<p>This time he did not awaken half-drowning in an underground +stream or facing a green mist. And there was an +ache in his arm which was somehow reassuring with the very +insistence of pain. Before opening his eyes, his fingers crossed +the smooth slick of a bandage there, went on to investigate +by touch a sleep mat such as he had found in the cavern +structure. Was he back in that web of rooms and corridors?</p> + +<p>Shann delayed opening his eyes until a kind of shame +drove him to it. He first saw an oval opening almost the +length of his body as it was stretched only a foot or two below<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +the sill of that window. And through its transparent surface +came the golden light of the sun—no green mist, no crystals +mocking the stars.</p> + +<p>The room in which he lay was small with smooth walls, +much like that in which he had been imprisoned on the island. +And there were no other furnishings save the mat on which +he rested. Over him was a light cover netted of fibers resembling +yarn, with feathers knotted into it to provide a downy +upper surface. His clothing was gone, but the single covering +was too warm and he pushed it away from his shoulders and +chest as he wriggled up to see the view beyond the window.</p> + +<p>His torn arm came into full view. From wrist to elbow it +was encased in an opaque skin sheath, unlike any bandage of +his own world. Surely that had not come out of any Survey +aid pack. Shann gazed toward the window, but beyond lay +only a reach of sky. Except for a lemon cloud or two ruffled +high above the horizon, nothing broke that soft amber curtain. +He might be quartered in a tower well above ground +level, which did not match his former experience with Wyvern +accommodations.</p> + +<p>"Back with us again?" Thorvald, one hand lifting a door +panel, came in. His ragged uniform was gone, and he wore +only breeches of a sleek green material and his own scuffed-and-battered +boots.</p> + +<p>Shann settled back on the mat. "Where are we?"</p> + +<p>"I think you might term this the capital city," Thorvald answered. +"In relation to the mainland, we're on an island +well out to sea—westward."</p> + +<p>"How did we get here?" That climb in the slab, the stream +underground.... Had it been an interior river running under +the bed of the sea? But Shann was not prepared for the +other's reply.</p> + +<p>"By wishing."</p> + +<p>"By <i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald nodded, his expression serious. "They wished us +here. Listen, Lantee, when you jumped down to mix it with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +that fork-tailed thing, did you wish you had the wolverines +with you?"</p> + +<p>Shann thought back; his memories of what had <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'occured'">occurred</ins> +before that battle were none too clear. But, yes, he had +wished Taggi and Togi present at that moment to distract +the enraged beast.</p> + +<p>"You mean I wished them?" The whole idea was probably +a part of the Wyvern jargon of dreaming and he added, +"Or did I just dream everything?" There was the bandage +on his arm, the soreness under that bandage. But also there +had been Logally's lash brand back in the cavern, which had +bitten into his flesh with the pain of a real blow.</p> + +<p>"No, you weren't dreaming. You happened to be tuned +in one of those handy little gadgets our lady friends here +use. And, so tuned in, your desire for the wolverines being +pretty powerful just then, they came."</p> + +<p>Shann grimaced. This was unbelievable. Yet there were +his meetings with Logally and Trav. How could anyone rationally +explain them? And how had he, in the beginning, +been jumped from the top of the cliff on the island of his +marooning into the midst of an underground flood without +any conscious memory of an intermediate journey?</p> + +<p>"How does it work?" he asked simply.</p> + +<p>Thorvald laughed. "You tell me. They have these disks, +one to a Wyvern, and they control forces with them. Back +there on the beach we interrupted a class in such control; +they were the novices learning their trade. We've stumbled on +something here which can't be defined or understood by any +of our previous standards of comparison. It's frankly magic, +judged by our terms."</p> + +<p>"Are we prisoners?" Shann wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Ask me something I'm sure of. I've been free to come +and go within limits. No one's exhibited any signs of hostility; +most of them simply ignore me. I've had two interviews, via +this mind-reading act of theirs, with their rulers, or elders, +or chief sorceresses—all three titles seem to apply. They ask +questions, I answer as best I can, but sometimes we appear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +to have no common meeting ground. Then I ask some questions, +they evade gracefully, or reply in a kind of unintelligible +double-talk, and that's as far as our communication has progressed +so far."</p> + +<p>"Taggi and Togi?"</p> + +<p>"Have a run of their own and as far as I can tell are +better satisfied with life than I am. Oddly enough, they respond +more quickly and more intelligently to orders. Perhaps +this business of being shunted around by the disks has +conditioned them in some way."</p> + +<p>"What about these Wyverns? Are they all female?"</p> + +<p>"No, but their tribal system is strictly matriarchal, which +follows a pattern even Terra once knew: the fertile earth +mother and her priestesses, who became the witches when +the gods overruled the goddesses. The males are few in +number and lack the power to activate the disks. In fact," +Thorvald laughed ruefully, "one gathers that in this civilization +our opposite numbers have, more or less, the status +of pets at the best, and necessary evils at the worst. Which +put <i>us</i> at a disadvantage from the start."</p> + +<p>"You think that they won't take us seriously because we +are males?"</p> + +<p>"Might just work out that way. I've tried to get through +to them about danger from the Throgs, telling them what it +would mean to them to have the beetle-heads settle in here +for good. They just brush aside the whole idea."</p> + +<p>"Can't you argue that the Throgs are males, too? Or +aren't they?"</p> + +<p>The Survey officer shook his head. "That's a point no +human can answer. We've been sparring with Throgs for +years and there have been libraries of reports written about +them and their behavior patterns, all of which add up to +about two paragraphs of proven facts and hundreds of surmises +beginning with the probable and skimming out into +the wild fantastic. You can claim anything about a Throg +and find a lot of very intelligent souls ready to believe you. +But whether those beetle-heads squatting over on the mainland<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +are able to answer to 'he,' 'she,' or 'it,' your solution is +just as good as mine. We've always considered the ones +we fight to be males, but they might just as possibly be amazons. +Frankly, these Wyverns couldn't care less either; at +least that's the impression they give."</p> + +<p>"But anyway," Shann observed, "it hasn't come to 'we're +all girls together' either."</p> + +<p>Thorvald laughed again. "Not so you can notice. We're +not the only unwilling visitor in the vicinity."</p> + +<p>Shann sat up. "A Throg?"</p> + +<p>"A something. Non-Warlockian, or non-Wyvern. And perhaps +trouble for us."</p> + +<p>"You haven't seen this other?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald sat down cross-legged. The amber light from the +window made red-gold of his hair, added ruddiness to his +less-gaunt features.</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't. As far as I can tell, the stranger's not right +here. I caught stray thought beams twice—surprise expressed +by newly arrived Wyverns who met me and apparently expected +to be fronted by something quite physically different."</p> + +<p>"Another Terran scout?"</p> + +<p>"No. I imagine that to the Wyverns we must look a lot +alike. Just as we couldn't tell one of them from her sister if +their body patterns didn't differ. Discovered one thing about +those patterns—the more intricate they run, the higher the +'power,' not of the immediate wearer, but of her ancestors. +They're marked when they qualify for their disk and presented +with the rating of the greatest witch in their family line +as an inducement to live up to those deeds and surpass them +if possible. Quite a bit of logic to that. Given the right conditioning, +such a system might even work in our service.</p> + +<p>That nugget of information was the stuff from which Survey +reports were made. But at the moment the information concerning +the other captive was of more value to Shann. He +steadied his body against the wall with his good hand and +got to his feet. Thorvald watched him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I take it you have visions of action. Tell me, Lantee, why +<i>did</i> you take that header off the cliff to mix it with fork-tail?"</p> + +<p>Shann wondered himself. He had no reason for that impulsive +act. "I don't know——"</p> + +<p>"Chivalry? Fair Wyvern in distress?" the other prodded. +"Or did the back lash from one of those disks draw you +in?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know——"</p> + +<p>"And why did you use your knife instead of your stunner?"</p> + +<p>Shann was startled. For the first time he realized that he +had fronted the greatest native menace they had discovered +on Warlock with the more primitive of his weapons. Why +had he not tried the stunner on the beast? He had just never +thought of it when he had taken that leap into the role of +dragon slayer.</p> + +<p>"Not that it would have done you any good to try the ray; +it has no effect on fork-tail."</p> + +<p>"You tried it?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally. But you didn't know that, or did you pick +up that information earlier?"</p> + +<p>"No," answer Shann slowly. "No, I don't know why I used +the knife. The stunner would have been more natural." +Suddenly he shivered, and the face he turned to Thorvald +was very sober.</p> + +<p>"How much do they control us?" he asked, his voice +dropping to a half whisper as if the walls about them could +pick up those words and relay them to other ears. "What +can they do?"</p> + +<p>"A good question." Thorvald lost his light tone. "Yes, +what can they feed into our minds without our knowing? +Perhaps those disks are only window dressing, and they can +work without them. A great deal will depend upon the impression +we can make on these witches." He began to smile +again, more wryly. "The name we gave this planet is certainly +a misnomer. A warlock is a male sorcerer, not a witch."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And what are the chances of our becoming warlocks ourselves?"</p> + +<p>Again Thorvald's smile faded, but he gave a curt little nod +to Shann as if approving that thought. "That is something +we are going to look into, and now! If we have to convince +some stubborn females, as well as fight Throgs, well"—he +shrugged—"we'll have a busy, busy, time."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THIRD_PRISONER" id="THIRD_PRISONER"></a>16. THIRD PRISONER</h2> + + +<p>"Well, it works as good as new." Shann held his hand and +arm out into the full path of the sun. He had just stripped off +the skin-case bandage, to show the raw seam of a half-healed +scar, but as he flexed muscles, bent and twisted his +arm, there was only a small residue of soreness left.</p> + +<p>"Now what, or where?" he asked Thorvald with some +eagerness. Several days' imprisonment in this room had +made him impatient for the outer world again. Like the +officer, he now wore breeches of the green fabric, the only +material known to the Wyverns, and his own badly worn +boots. Oddly enough, the Terrans' weapons, stunner and +knife, had been left to them, a point which made them uneasy, +since it suggested that the Wyverns believed they had +nothing to fear from clumsy alien arms.</p> + +<p>"Your guess is as good as mine," Thorvald answered that +double question. "But it is you they want to see; they insisted +upon it, rather emphatically in fact."</p> + +<p>The Wyvern city existed as a series of cell-like hollows +in the interior of a rock-walled island. Outside there had +been no tampering with the natural rugged features of the +escarpment, and within, the silence was almost complete. +For all the Terrans could learn, the population of the stone-walled +hive might have been several thousand, or just the +handful that they had seen with their own eyes along the +passages which had been declared open territory for them.</p> + +<p>Shann half expected to find again a skull-walled chamber +where witches tossed colored sticks to determine his +future. But he came with Thorvald into an oval room in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +which most of the outer wall was a window. And seeing +what lay framed in that, Shann halted, again uncertain as +to whether he actually saw that, or whether he was willed +into visualizing a scene by the choice of his hostesses.</p> + +<p>They were lower now than the room in which he had +nursed his wound, not far above water level. And this window +faced the sea. Across a stretch of green water was his +red-purple skull, the waves lapping its lower jaw, spreading +their foam in between the gaping rock-fringe which formed +its teeth. And from the eye hollows flapped the clak-claks +of the sea coast, coming and going as if they carried to some +imprisoned brain within that giant bone case messages +from the outer world.</p> + +<p>"My dream——" Shann said.</p> + +<p>"Your dream." Thorvald had not echoed that; the answer +had come in his brain.</p> + +<p>Shann turned his head and surveyed the Wyvern awaiting +them with a concentration which was close to the rudeness +of an outright stare, a stare which held no friendship. +For by her skin patterns he knew her for the one who had +led that triumvir who had sent him into the cavern of the +mist. And with her was the younger witch he had trapped +on the night that all this baffling action had begun.</p> + +<p>"We meet again," he said slowly. "To what purpose?"</p> + +<p>"To our purpose ... and yours——"</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt that it is to yours." The Terran's thoughts +fell easily now into a formal pattern he would not have used +with one of his own kind. "But I do not expect any good to +me...."</p> + +<p>There was no readable expression on her face; he did +not expect to see any. But in their uneven mind touch he +caught a fleeting suggestion of bewilderment on her part, +as if she found his mental processes as hard to understand +as a puzzle with few leading clues.</p> + +<p>"We mean you no ill, star voyager. You are far more than +we first thought you, for you have dreamed false and have +known. Now dream true, and know it also."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yet," he challenged, "you would set me a task without +my consent."</p> + +<p>"We have a task for you, but already it was set in the +pattern of your true dreaming. And we do not set such patterns, +star man; that is done by the Greatest Power of all. +Each lives within her appointed pattern from the First +Awakening to the Final Dream. So we do not ask of you any +more than that which is already laid for your doing."</p> + +<p>She arose with that languid grace which was a part of +their delicate jeweled bodies and came to stand beside him, +a child in size, making his Terran flesh and bones awkward, +clodlike in contrast. She stretched out her four-digit hand, +her slender arm ringed with gemmed circles and bands, +measuring it beside his own, bearing that livid scar.</p> + +<p>"We are different, star man, yet still are we both dreamers. +And dreams hold power. Your dreams brought you across +the dark which lies between sun and distant sun. Our dreams +carry us on even stranger roads. And yonder"—one of her +fingers stiffened to a point, indicating the skull—"there is +another who dreams with power, a power which will destroy +us all unless the pattern is broken speedily."</p> + +<p>"And I must go to seek this dreamer?" His vision of climbing +through that nose hole was to be realized then.</p> + +<p>"You go."</p> + +<p>Thorvald stirred and the Wyvern turned her head to him. +"Alone," she added. "For this is your dream only, as it has +been from the beginning. There is for each his own dream, +and another cannot walk through it to alter the pattern, +even to save a life."</p> + +<p>Shann grinned crookedly, without humor. "It seems that +I'm elected," he said as much to himself as to Thorvald. +"But what do I do with this other dreamer?"</p> + +<p>"What your pattern moves you to do. Save that you do +not slay him——"</p> + +<p>"Throg!" Thorvald started forward. "You can't just walk +in on a Throg barehanded and be bound by orders such as +that!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Wyvern must have caught the sense of that vocal +protest, for her communication touched them both. "We +cannot deal with that one as his mind is closed to us. Yet +he is an elder among his kind and his people have been +searching land and sea for him since his air rider broke upon +the rocks and he entered into hiding over there. Make +your peace with him if you can, and also take him hence, +for his dreams are not ours, and he brings confusion to the +Reachers when they retire to run the Trails of Seeking."</p> + +<p>"Must be an important Throg," Shann deduced. "They +could have an officer of the beetle-heads under wraps over +there. Could we use him to bargain with the rest?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald's frown did not lighten. "We've never been able +to establish any form of contact in the past, though our best +qualified minds, reinforced by training, have tried...."</p> + +<p>Shann did not take fire at that rather delicate estimate of +his own lack of preparation for the carrying out of diplomatic +negotiations with the enemy; he knew it was true. But +there was one thing he could try—if the Wyverns permitted.</p> + +<p>"Will you give a disk of power to this star man?" He +pointed to Thorvald. "For he is my Elder One and a Reacher +for Knowledge. With such a focus his dream could march +with mine when I go to the Throg, and perhaps that can +aid in my doing what I could not accomplish alone. For that +is the secret of <i>my</i> people, Elder One. We link our powers +together to make a shield against our enemies, a common tool +for the work we must do."</p> + +<p>"And so it is with us also, star voyager. We are not so +unlike as the foolish might think. We learned much of you +while you both wandered in the Place of False Dreams. But +our power disks are our own and can not be given to a +stranger while their owners live. However...." She turned +again with an abruptness foreign to the usual Wyvern manner +and faced the older Terran.</p> + +<p>The officer might have been obeying an unvoiced order +as he put out his hands and laid them palm to palm on those +she held up to him, bending his head so gray eyes met<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +golden ones. The web of communication which had held all +three of them snapped. Thorvald and the Wyvern were +linked in a tight circuit which excluded Shann.</p> + +<p>Then the latter became conscious of movement beside +him. The younger Wyvern had joined him to watch the +clak-claks in their circling of the bare dome of the skull +island.</p> + +<p>"Why do they fly so?" Shann asked her.</p> + +<p>"Within they nest, care for their young. Also they hunt +the rock creatures that swarm in the lower darkness."</p> + +<p>"The rock creatures?" If the skull's interior was infested +by some other native fauna, he wanted to know it.</p> + +<p>By some method of her own the young Wyvern conveyed +a strong impression of revulsion, which was her personal +reaction to the "rock creatures."</p> + +<p>"Yet you imprison the Throg there——" he remarked.</p> + +<p>"Not so!" Her denial was instantaneous and vehement. +"The other worlder fled into that place in spite of our calling. +There he stays in hiding. Once we drew him out to the +sea, but he broke the power and fled inside again."</p> + +<p>"Broke free—" Shann pounced upon that. "From disk control?"</p> + +<p>"But surely." Her reply held something of wonder. "Why +do you ask, star voyager? Did you not also break free from +the power of the disk when I led you by the underground +ways, awaking in the river? Do you then rate this other one +as less than your own breed that you think him incapable +of the same action?"</p> + +<p>"Of Throgs I know as much as this...." He held up his +hand, measuring off a fraction of space between thumb and +forefinger.</p> + +<p>"Yet you knew them before you came to this world."</p> + +<p>"My people have known them for long. We have met and +fought many times among the stars."</p> + +<p>"And never have you talked mind to mind?"</p> + +<p>"Never. We have sought for that, but there has been no +communication between us, neither of mind nor of voice."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This one you name Throg is truly not as you," she assented. +"And we are not as you, being alien and female. +Yet, star man, you and I have shared a dream."</p> + +<p>Shann stared at her, startled, not so much by what she +said as the human shading of those words in his mind. Or +had that also been illusion?</p> + +<p>"In the veil ...that creature which came to you on wings +when you remembered that. A good dream, though it came +out of the past and so was false in the present. But I have +gathered it into my own store: such a fine dream, one that +you have cherished."</p> + +<p>"Trav was to be cherished," he agreed soberly. "I found +her in a broken sleep cage at a spaceport when I was a +child. We were both cold and hungry, alone and hurt. So +I stole and was glad that I stole Trav. For a little space we +both were very happy...." Forcibly he stifled memory.</p> + +<p>"So, though we are unlike in body and in mind, yet we +find beauty together if only in a dream. Therefore, between +your people and mine there can <i>be</i> a common speech. And +I may show you my dream store for your enjoyment, star +voyager."</p> + +<p>A flickering of pictures, some weird, some beautiful, all +a little distorted—not only by haste, but also by the haze of +alienness which was a part of her memory pattern—crossed +Shann's mind.</p> + +<p>"Such a sharing would be a rich feast," he agreed.</p> + +<p>"All right!" Those crisp words in his own tongue brought +Shann away from the window to Thorvald. The Survey officer +was no longer locked hand to hand with the Wyvern +witch, but his features were alive with a new eagerness.</p> + +<p>"We are going to try your idea, Lantee. They'll provide +me with a new, unmarked disk, show me how to use it. And +I'll do what I can to back you with it. But they insist that +you go today."</p> + +<p>"What do they really want me to do? Just <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'route'">rout</ins> out that +Throg? Or try to talk him into being a go-between with his +people? That <i>does</i> come under the heading of dreaming!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They want him out of there, back with his own kind if +possible. Apparently he's a disruptive influence for them; +he causes some kind of a mental foul up which interferes +drastically with their 'power.' They haven't been able to get +him to make any contact with them. This Elder One is firm +about your being the one ordained for the job, and that you'll +know what action to take when you get there."</p> + +<p>"Must have thrown the sticks for me again," Shann commented.</p> + +<p>"Well, they've definitely picked you to smoke out the +Throg, and they can't be talked into changing their minds +about that."</p> + +<p>"I'll be the smoked one if he has a blaster."</p> + +<p>"They say he's unarmed——"</p> + +<p>"What do they know about our weapons or a Throg's?"</p> + +<p>"The other one has no arms." Wyvern words in his mind +again. "This fact gives him great fear. That which he has +depended upon is broken. And since he has no weapon, he +is shut into a prison of his own terrors."</p> + +<p>But an adult Throg, even unarmed, was not to be considered +easy meat, Shann thought. Armored with horny +skin, armed with claws and those crushing mandibles of +the beetle mouth ... a third again as tall as he himself was. +No, even unarmed, the Throg had to be considered a menace.</p> + +<p>Shann was still thinking along that line as he splashed +through the surf which broke about the lower jaw of the +skull island, climbed up one of the pointed rocks which +masqueraded as a tooth, and reached for a higher hold to +lead him to the nose slit, the gateway to the alien's hiding +place.</p> + +<p>The clak-claks screamed and dived about him, highly resentful +of his intrusion. And when they grew so bold as to +buffet him with their wings, threaten him with their tearing +beaks, he was glad to reach the broken rock edging his +chosen door and duck inside. Once there, Shann looked +back. There was no sighting the cliff window where Thorvald<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +stood, nor was he aware in any way of mental contact +with the Survey officer; their hope of such a linkage might +be futile.</p> + +<p>Shann was reluctant to venture farther. His eyes had sufficiently +adjusted to the limited supply of light, and now the +Terran brought out the one aid the Wyverns had granted +him, a green crystal such as those which had played the <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'roll'">role</ins> +of stars on the cavern roof. He clipped its simple loop setting +to the front of his belt, leaving his hands free. Then, +having filled his lungs for the last time with clean, sea-washed +air, he started into the dome of the skull.</p> + +<p>There was a fetid thickness to this air only a few feet +away from the outer world. The odor of clak-clak droppings +and refuse from their nests was strong, but there was an +added staleness, as if no breeze ever scooped out the old +atmosphere to replace it with new. Fragile bones crunched +under Shann's boots, but as he drew away from the entrance, +the pale glow of the crystal increased its radiance, emitting +a light not unlike that of the phosphorescent bushes, so +that he was not swallowed up by dark.</p> + +<p>The cave behind the nose hole narrowed quickly into +a cleft, a narrow cleft which pierced into the bowl of the +skull. Shann proceeded with caution, pausing every few +steps. There came a murmur rising now and again to a +shriek, issuing, he guessed, from the clak-clak rookery above. +And the pound of sea waves was also a vibration carrying +through the rock. He was listening for something else, at the +same time testing the ill-smelling air for that betraying +muskiness which spelled Throg.</p> + +<p>When a twist in the narrow passage cut off the splotch +of daylight, Shann drew his stunner. The strongest bolt from +that could not jolt a Throg into complete paralysis, but it +would slow up any attack.</p> + +<p>Red—pinpoints of red—were edging a break in the rock +wall. They were gone in a flash. Eyes? Perhaps of the rock +dwellers which the Wyverns hated? More red dots, farther +ahead. Shann listened for a sound he could identify.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>But smell came before sound. That trace of effluvia which +in force could sicken a Terran, was his guide. The cleft +ended in a space to which the limited gleam of the crystal +could not provide a far wall. But that faint light did show +him his quarry.</p> + +<p>The Throg was not on his feet, ready for trouble, but +hunched close to the wall. And the alien did not move at +Shann's coming. Did the beetle-head sight him? Shann wondered. +He moved cautiously. And the round head, with its +bulbous eyes, turned a fraction; the mandibles about the +the ugly mouth opening quivered. Yes, the Throg could +see him.</p> + +<p>But still the alien made no move to rise out of his crouch, +to come at the Terran. Then Shann saw the fall of rock, the +stone which pinned a double-kneed leg to the floor. And in +a circle about the prisoner were the small, crushed, furred +things which had come to prey on the helpless to be slain +themselves by the well-aimed stones which were the Throg's +only weapons of defense.</p> + +<p>Shann sheathed his stunner. It was plain the Throg was +helpless and could not reach him. He tried to concentrate +mentally on a picture of the scene before him, hoping that +Thorvald or one of the Wyverns could pick it up. There +was no answer, no direction. Choice of action remained +solely his.</p> + +<p>The Terran made the oldest friendly gesture of his kind; +his empty hands held up, palm out. There was no answering +move from the Throg. Neither of the other's upper limbs +stirred, their claws still gripping the small rocks in readiness +for throwing. All Shann's knowledge of the alien's history +argued against an unarmed advance. The Throg's marksmanship, +as borne out by the circle of small bodies, was +excellent. And one of those rocks might well thud against +his own head, with fatal results. Yet he had been sent there +to get the Throg free and out of Wyvern territory.</p> + +<p>So rank was the beetle smell of the other that Shann +coughed. What he needed now was the aid of the wolverines,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +a diversion to keep the alien busy. But this time there +was no disk working to produce Taggi and Togi out of thin +air. And he could not continue to just stand there staring at +the Throg. There remained the stunner. Life on the +Dumps tended to make a man a fast draw, a matter of survival +for the fastest and most accurate marksman. And now +one of Shann's hands swept down with a speed which, learned +early, was never really to be forgotten.</p> + +<p>He had the rod out and was spraying on tight beam straight +at the Throg's head before the first stone struck his shoulder +and his weapon fell from a numbed hand. But a second +stone tumbled out of the Throg's claw. The alien tried to +reach for it, his movements slow, uncertain.</p> + +<p>Shann, his arm dangling, went in fast, bracing his good +shoulder against the boulder which pinned the Throg. The +alien aimed a blow at the Terran's head, but again so slowly +Shann had no difficulty in evading it. The boulder gave, +rolled, and <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'Shanned'">Shann</ins> cleared out of range, back to the opening +of the cleft, pausing only to scoop up his stunner.</p> + +<p>For a long moment the Throg made no move; his dazed +wits must have been working at very slow speed. Then the +alien heaved up his body to stand erect, favoring the leg +which had been trapped. Shann tensed, waiting for a rush. +What now? Would the Throg refuse to move? If so, what +could he do about it?</p> + +<p>With the impact of a blow, the message Shann had hoped +for struck into his mind. But his initial joy at that contact +was wiped out with the same speed.</p> + +<p>"Throg ship ... overhead."</p> + +<p>The Throg stood away from the wall, limped out, heading +for Shann, or perhaps only the cleft in which he stood. +Swinging the stunner awkwardly in his left hand, the Terran +retreated, mentally trying to contact Thorvald once +more. There was no answer. He was well up into the cleft, +moving crabwise, unwilling to turn his back on the Throg. +The alien was coming as steadily as his injured limb would +allow, trying for the exit to the outer world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>A Throg ship overhead.... Had the castaway somehow +managed to call his own kind? And what if he, Shann Lantee, +were to be trapped between the alien and a landing +party from the flyer? He did not expect any assistance from +the Wyverns, and what could Thorvald possibly do? From +behind him, at the entrance of the nose slit, he heard a sound—a +sound which was neither the scolding of a clak-clak nor +the eternal growl of the sea.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THROG_JUSTICE" id="THROG_JUSTICE"></a>17. THROG JUSTICE</h2> + + +<p>The musty stench was so strong that Shann could no longer +fight the demands of his outraged stomach. He rolled on his +side, retching violently until the sour smell of his illness +battled the foul odor of the ship. His memories of how he +had come into this place were vague; his body was a mass +of dull pain, as if he had been scorched. Scorched! Had the +Throgs used one of their energy whips to subdue him? The +last clear thing he could recall was that slow withdrawal +down the cleft inside the skull rock, the Throg not too far +away—the sound from the entrance.</p> + +<p>A Throg prisoner! Through the pain and the sickness the +horror of that bit doubly deep. Terrans did not fall alive into +Throg hands, not if they had the means of ending their existence +within reach. But his hands and arms were caught +behind him in an unbreakable lock, some gadget not unlike +the Terran force bar used to restrain criminals, he decided +groggily.</p> + +<p>The cubby in which he lay was black-dark. But the quivering +of the deck and the bulkheads about him told Shann +that the ship was in flight. And there could be but two destinations, +either the camp where the Throg force had taken +over the Terran installations or the mother ship of the raiders. +If Thorvald's earlier surmise was true and the aliens +were hunting a Terran to talk in the transport, then they +were heading for the camp.</p> + +<p>And because a man who still lives and who is not yet +broken can also hope, Shann began to think ahead to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +camp—the camp and a faint, thin chance of escape. For on +the surface of Warlock there was a thin chance; in the +mother ship of the Throgs none at all.</p> + +<p>Thorvald—and the Wyverns! Could he hope for any help +from them? Shann closed his eyes against the thick darkness +and tried to reach out to touch, somewhere, Thorvald with +his disk—or perhaps the Wyvern who had talked of Trav +and shared dreams. Shann focused his thoughts on the young +Wyvern witch, visualizing with all the detail he could summon +out of memory the brilliant patterns about her slender +arms, her thin, fragile wrists, those other designs overlaying +her features. He could see her in his mind, but she was only +a puppet, without life, certainly without power.</p> + +<p>Thorvald.... Now Shann fought to build a mental picture +of the Survey officer, making his stand at that window, +grasping his disk, with the sun bringing gold to his hair and +showing the bronze of his skin. Those gray eyes which could +be ice, that jaw with the tight set of a trap upon occasion....</p> + +<p>And Shann made contact! He touched something, a flickering +like a badly tuned tri-dee—far more fuzzy than the +mind pictures the Wyvern had paraded for him. But he had +touched! And Thorvald, too, had been aware of his contact.</p> + +<p>Shann fought to find that thread of awareness again. Patiently +he once more created his vision of Thorvald, adding +every detail he could recall, small things about the other +which he had not known that he had noticed—the tiny arrow-shaped +scar near the base of the officer's throat, the +way his growing hair curled at the ends, the look of one +eyebrow slanting abruptly toward his hairline when he was +dubious about something. Shann strove to make a figure as +vividly as Logally and Trav had been in the mist of the illusion.</p> + +<p>"... where?"</p> + +<p>This time Shann was prepared; he did not let that mind +image dissolve in his excitement at recapturing the link.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +"Throg ship," he said the words aloud, over and over, but +still he held to his picture of Thorvald.</p> + +<p>"... will...."</p> + +<p>Only that one word! The thread between them snapped +again. Only then did Shann become conscious of a change +in the ship's vibration. Were they setting down? And where? +Let it be at the camp! It must be the camp!</p> + +<p>There was no jar at that landing, just that one second +the vibration told him the ship was alive and air-borne, and +the next a dead quiet testified that they had landed. Shann, +his sore body stiff with tension, waited for the next move +on the part of his captors.</p> + +<p>He continued to lie in the dark, still queasy from the +stench of the cell, too keyed up to try to reach Thorvald. +There was a dull grating over his head, and he looked up +eagerly—to be blinded by a strong beam of light. Claws +hooked painfully under his arms and he was manhandled +up and out, dragged along a short passage and pitched free +of the ship, falling hard upon trodden earth and rolling +over gasping as the seared skin of his body was rasped and +abraded.</p> + +<p>The Terran lay face up now, and as his eyes adjusted +to the light, he saw a ring of Throg heads blotting out the +sky as they inspected their catch impassively. The mouth +mandibles of one moved with a faint clicking. Again claws +fastened in his armpits, brought Shann to his feet, holding +him erect.</p> + +<p>Then the Throg who had given that order moved closer. +His hand-claws clasped a small metal plate surmounted by +a hoop of thin wire over which was stretched a web of +threads glistening in the sun. Holding that hoop on a level +with his mouth, the alien clicked his mandibles, and those +sounds became barely distinguishable basic galactic words.</p> + +<p>"You Throg meat!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Shann wondered if the alien meant that +statement literally. Or was it a conventional expression for +a prisoner among their land.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do as told!"</p> + +<p>That was clear enough, and for the moment the Terran +did not see that he had any choice in the matter. But Shann +refused to make any sign of agreement to either of those +two limited statements. Perhaps the beetle-heads did not +expect any. The alien who had pulled him to his feet continued +to hold him erect, but the attention of the Throg with +the translator switched elsewhere.</p> + +<p>From the alien ship emerged a second party. The Throg +in their midst was unarmed and limping. Although to Terran +eyes one alien was the exact counterpart of the other, +Shann thought that this one was the prisoner in the skull +cave. Yet the indications now suggested that he had only +changed one captivity for another and was in disgrace +among his kind. Why?</p> + +<p>The Throg limped up to front the leader with the translator, +and his guards fell back. Again mandibles clicked, +were answered, though the sense of that exchange eluded +Shann. At one point in the report—if report it was—he himself +appeared to be under discussion, for the injured Throg +waved a hand-claw in the Terran's direction. But the end +to the conference came quickly enough and in a manner +which Shann found shocking.</p> + +<p>Two of the guards stepped forward, caught at the injured +Throg's arms and drew him away, leading him out +into a space beyond the grounded ship. They dropped their +hold on him, returning at a trot. The officer clicked an order. +Blasters were unholstered, and the Throg in the field shriveled +under a vicious concentration of cross bolts. Shann gasped. +He certainly had no liking for Throgs, but this execution +carried overtones of a cold-blooded ferocity which transcended +anything he had known, even in the callous brutality +of the Dumps.</p> + +<p>Limp, and more than a little sick again, he watched the +Throg officer turn away. And a moment later he was forced +along in the other's wake to the domes of the once Terran +camp. Not just to the camp in general, he discovered a minute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +later, but to that structure which had housed the com +unit linking them with ships cruising the solar lanes and with +the patrol. So Thorvald had been right; they needed a Terran +to broadcast—to cover their tracks here and lay a trap +for the transport.</p> + +<p>Shann had no idea how much time he had passed among +the Wyverns; the transport with its load of unsuspecting +settlers might already be in the system of Circe, plotting a +landing orbit around Warlock, broadcasting her recognition +signal and a demand for a beam to ride her in. Only, this +time the Throgs were out of luck. They had picked up one +prisoner who could not help them, even if he wanted to do +so. The mysteries of the highly technical installations in this +dome were just that to Shann Lantee—complete mysteries. +He had not the slightest idea of how to activate the machines, +let alone broadcast in the proper code.</p> + +<p>A cold spot of terror gathered in his middle, spreading +outward through his smarting body. For he was certain +that the Throgs would not believe that. They would consider +his protestations of ignorance as a stubborn refusal to +co-operate. And what would happen to him then would be +beyond human endurance. Could he bluff—play for time? +But what would that time buy him except to delay the inevitable? +In the end, that small hope based on his momentary +contact with Thorvald made him decide to try that +bluff.</p> + +<p>There had been changes in the com dome since the capture +of the cap. A squat box on the floor sprouted a collection of +tubes from its upper surface. Perhaps that was some Throg +equivalent of Terran equipment in place on the wide table +facing the door.</p> + +<p>The Throg leader clicked into his translator: "You call +ship!"</p> + +<p>Shann was thrust down into the operator's chair, his +bound arms still twisted behind him so that he had to lean +forward to keep on the seat at all. Then the Throg who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +had pushed him there, roughly forced a set of com earphones +and speech mike onto his head.</p> + +<p>"Call ship!" clicked the alien officer.</p> + +<p>So time must be running out. Now was the moment to +bluff. Shann shook his head, hoping that the gesture of negation +was common to both their species.</p> + +<p>"I don't know the code," he said aloud.</p> + +<p>The Throg's bulbous eyes gazed, at his moving lips. Then +the translator was held before the Terran's mouth. Shann +repeated his words, heard them reissue as a series of clicks, +and waited. So much depended now on the reaction of the +beetle-head officer. Would he summarily apply pressure to +enforce his order, or would he realize that it was possible +that all Terrans did not know that code, and so he could +not produce in a captive's head any knowledge that had +never been there—with or without physical coercion?</p> + +<p>Apparently the latter logic prevailed for the present. The +Throg drew the translator back to his mandibles.</p> + +<p>"When ship call—you answer—make lip talk your words! +Say bad sickness here—need help. Code man dead—you +talk in his place. I listen. You say wrong, you die—you die +a long time. Hurt bad all that time——"</p> + +<p>Clear enough. So he had been able to buy a little time! +But how soon before the incoming ship would call? The +Throgs seemed to expect it. Shann licked his blistered lips. +He was sure that the Throg officer meant exactly what he +said in that last grisly threat. Only, would anyone—Throg +or human—live very long in this camp if Shann got his warning +through? The transport would have been accompanied +on the big jump by a patrol cruiser, especially now with +Throgs littering deep space the way they were in this sector. +Let Shann alert the ship, and the cruiser would know; +swift punitive action would be visited on the camp. Throgs +could begin to make their helpless prisoner regret his rashness; +then all of them would be blotted out together, prisoner +and captors alike, when the cruiser came in.</p> + +<p>If that was his last chance, he'd play it that way. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +Throgs would kill him anyhow, he hadn't the least doubt +of that. They kept no long-term Terran prisoners and never +had. And at least he could take this nest of devil beetles +along with him. Not that the thought did anything to dampen +the fear which made him weak and dizzy. Shann Lantee +might be tough enough to fight his way out of the Dumps, +but to stand up and defy Throgs face-to-face like a video +hero was something else. He knew that he could not do any +spectacular act; if he could hold out to the end without +cracking he would be satisfied.</p> + +<p>Two more Throgs entered the dome. They stalked to +the far end of the table which held the com equipment, +and frequently pausing to consult a Terran work tape set in +a reader, they made adjustments to the spotter beam broadcaster. +They worked slowly but competently, testing each +circuit. Preparing to draw in the Terran transport, holding +the large ship until they had it helpless on the ground. The +Terran began to wonder how they proposed to take the +ship over once they did have it on planet.</p> + +<p>Transports were armed for ground fighting. Although they +rode in on a beam broadcast from a camp, they were prepared +for unpleasant surprises on a planet's surface; such +were certainly not unknown in the history of Survey. Which +meant that the Throgs had in turn some assault weapon +they believed superior, for they radiated confidence now. +But could they handle a patrol cruiser ready to fight?</p> + +<p>The Throg technicians made a last check of the beam, +reporting in clicks to the officer. The alien gave an order +to Shann's guard before following them out. A loop of wire +rope dropped over the Terran's head, tightened about his +chest, dragging him back against the chair until he grunted +with pain. Two more loops made him secure in a most uncomfortable +posture, and then he was left alone in the com +dome.</p> + +<p>An abortive struggle against the wire rope taught him +the folly of such an effort. He was in deep freeze as far +as any bodily movement was concerned. Shann closed his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +eyes, settled to that same concentration he had labored to +acquire on the Throg ship. If there was any chance of the +Wyvern communication working again, here and now was +the time for it!</p> + +<p>Again he built his mental picture of Thorvald, as detailed +as he had made it in the Throg ship. And with that to the +forefront of his mind, Shann strove to pick up the thread +which could link them. Was the distance between this camp +and the seagirt city of the Wyverns too great? Did the +Throgs unconsciously dampen out that mental reaching as +the Wyverns had said they did when they had sent him to +free the captive in the skull?</p> + +<p>Drops gathered in the unkempt tight curls on his head, +trickled down to sting on his tender skin. He was bathed +in the moisture summoned by an effort as prolonged and +severe as if he labored physically under a hot sun at the +top speed of which his body was capable.</p> + +<p>Thorvald—</p> + +<p>Thorvald! But not standing by the window in the Wyvern +stronghold! Thorvald with the amethyst of heavy Warlockian +foliage at his back. So clear was the new picture that Shann +might have stood only a few feet away. Thorvald there, +with the wolverines at his side. And behind him sun glinted +on the gem-patterned skin of more than one Wyvern.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>That demand from the Survey officer, curt, clear—so perfect +the word might have rung audibly through the dome.</p> + +<p>"The camp!" Shann hurled that back, frantic with fear +that once again their contact might fail.</p> + +<p>"They want me to call in the transport." He added that.</p> + +<p>"How soon?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. They have the guide beam set. I'm to say +there's illness here; they know I can't code."</p> + +<p>All he could see now was Thorvald's face, intent, the +officer's eyes cold sparks of steel, bearing the impress of a +will as implacable as a Throg's. Shann added his own decision.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll warn the ship off; they'll send in the patrol."</p> + +<p>There was no change in Thorvald's expression. "Hold +out as long as you can!"</p> + +<p>Cold enough, no promise of help, nothing on which to +build hope. Yet the fact that Thorvald was on the move, +away from the Wyvern city, meant something. And Shann +was sure that thick vegetation could be found only on the +mainland. Not only was Thorvald ashore, but there were +Wyverns with him. Could the officer have persuaded the +witches of Warlock to foresake their hands-off policy and +join him in an attack on the Throg camp? No promise, not +even a suggestion that the party Shann had envisioned was +moving in his direction. Yet somehow he believed that they +were.</p> + +<p>There was a sound from the doorway of the dome. Shann +opened his eyes. There were Throgs entering, one to go to +the guide beam, two heading for his chair. He closed his eyes +again in a last attempt, backed by every remaining ounce of +his energy and will.</p> + +<p>"Ship's in range. Throgs here."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's face, dimmer now, snapped out while a blow +on Shann's jaw rocked his head cruelly, made his ears sing, +his eyes water. He saw Throgs—Throgs only. And one held +the translator.</p> + +<p>"You talk!"</p> + +<p>A tri-jointed arm reached across his shoulder, triggered a +lever, pressed a button. The head set cramping his ear let +out a sudden growl of sound—the com was <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'activited'">activated</ins>. A claw +jammed the mike closer to Shann's lips, but also slid in range +the webbed loop of the translator.</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head at the incoming rattle of code. The +Throg with the translator was holding the other head set close +to his own ear pit. And the claws of the guard came down on +Shann's shoulders in a cruel grip, a threat of future brutality.</p> + +<p>The rattle of code continued while Shann thought <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'furiuosly'">furiously</ins>. +This was it! He had to give a warning, and then the aliens +would do to him just what the officer had threatened. Shann<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +could not seem to think clearly. It was as if in his efforts to +contact Thorvald, he had exhausted some part of his brain, +so that now he was dazed just when he needed quick wits +the most!</p> + +<p>This whole scene had a weird unreality. He had seen its +like a thousand times on fiction tapes—the Terran hero menaced +by aliens intent on saving ... saving....</p> + +<p>Was it out of one of those fiction tapes he had devoured +in the past that Shann recalled that scrap of almost forgotten +information?</p> + +<p>The Terran began to speak into the mike, for there had +come a pause in the rattle of code. He used Terran, not basic, +and he shaped the words slowly.</p> + +<p>"Warlock calling—trouble—sickness here—com officer dead."</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by another burst of code. The claws +of his guard twisted into the naked flesh of his shoulders in +vicious warning.</p> + +<p>"Warlock calling—" he repeated. "Need help——"</p> + +<p>"Who are you?"</p> + +<p>The demand came in basic. On board the transport they +would have a list of every member of the Survey team.</p> + +<p>"Lantee." Shann drew a deep breath. He was so conscious +of those claws on his shoulders, of what would follow.</p> + +<p>"This is Mayday!" he said distinctly, hoping desperately +that someone in the control cabin of the ship now in orbit +would catch the true meaning of that ancient call of complete +disaster. "Mayday—beetles—over and out!"</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="STORMS_ENDING" id="STORMS_ENDING"></a>18. STORM'S ENDING</h2> + + +<p>Shann had no answer from the transport, only the continuing +hum of a contact still open between the dome and the control +cabin miles above Warlock. The Terran breathed slowly, +deeply, felt the claws of the Throg bite his flesh as his chest +expanded. Then, as if a knife slashed, the hum of that contact +was gone. He had time to know a small flash of triumph. +He had done it; he had aroused suspicion in the transport.</p> + +<p>When the Throg officer clicked to the alien manning the +landing beam, Shann's exultation grew. The <ins class="corr" title="Hyphenated in line with majority usage.">beetle-head</ins> must +have accepted that cut in communication as normal; he was +still expecting the Terran ship to drop neatly into his claws.</p> + +<p>But Shann's respite was to be very short, only timed by +a few breaths. The Throg at the riding beam was watching +the indicators. Now he reported to his superior, who swung +back to face the prisoner. Although Shann could read no expression +on the beetle's face, he did not need any clue to the +other's probable emotions. Knowing that his captive had somehow +tricked him, the alien would now proceed relentlessly to +put into effect the measures he had threatened.</p> + +<p>How long before the patrol cruiser would planet? That +crew was used to alarms, and their speed was three or four +times greater than that of the bulkier transports. If the Throgs +didn't scatter now, before they could be caught in one attack....</p> + +<p>The wire rope which held Shann clamped to the chair was +loosened, and he set his teeth against the pain of restored +circulation, This was nothing compared to what he faced; he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +knew that. They jerked him to his feet, faced him toward +the outer door, and propelled him through it with a speed +and roughness indicative of their feelings.</p> + +<p>The hour was close to dusk and Shann glanced wistfully +at promising shadows, though he had given up hope of rescue +by now. If he could just get free of his guards, he could +at least give the beetle-heads a good run.</p> + +<p>He saw that the camp was deserted. There was no sign +about the domes that any Throgs sheltered there. In fact, +Shann saw no aliens at all except those who had come from +the com dome with him. Of course! The rest must be in ambush, +waiting for the transport to planet. What about the +Throg ship or ships? Those must have been hidden also. And +the only hiding place for them would be aloft. There was a +chance that the Throgs had so flung away their chance for +any quick retreat.</p> + +<p>Yes; the aliens could scatter over the countryside and so +escape the first blast from the cruiser. But they would simply +maroon themselves to be hunted down by patrol landing +parties who would comb the territory. The beetles could so +prolong their lives for a few hours, maybe a few days, but +they were really ended on that moment when the transport +cut communication. Shann was sure that the officer, at least, +understood that.</p> + +<p>The Terran was dragged away from the domes toward +the river down which he and Thorvald had once escaped. +Moving through the dusk in parallel lines, he caught sight of +other Throg squads, well armed, marching in order to suggest +that they were not yet alarmed. However, he had been +right about the ships—there were no flyers grounded on the +improvised field.</p> + +<p>Shann made himself as much of a burden as he could. At +the best, he could so delay the guards entrusted with his +safekeeping; at the worst, he could earn for himself a quick +ending by blaster which would be better than the one they +had for him. He went limp, falling forward into the trampled +grass. There was an exasperated click from the Throg who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +had been herding him, and the Terran tried not to flinch +from a sharp kick delivered by a clawed foot.</p> + +<p>Feigning unconsciousness, the Terran listened to the unintelligible +clicks exchanged by Throgs standing over him. +His future depended now on how deep lay the alien officer's +anger. If the beetle-head wanted to carry out his earlier +threats, he would have to order Shann's transportation by the +fleeing force. Otherwise his life might well end here and now.</p> + +<p>Claws hooked once more on Shann. He was boosted up +on the horny carapace of a guard, the bonds on his arms taken +off and his numbed hands brought forward, to be held by his +captor so that he lay helpless, a cloak over the other's hunched +shoulders.</p> + +<p>The ghost flares of bushes and plants blooming in the gathering +twilight gave a limited light to the scene. There was +no way of counting the number of Throgs on the move. But +Shann was sure that all the enemy ships must have been emptied +except for skeleton crews, and perhaps others had been +ferried in from their hidden base somewhere in Circe's system.</p> + +<p>He could only see a little from his position on the Throg's +back, but ahead a ripple of beetle bodies slipped over the +bank of the river cut. The aliens were working their way into +cover, fitting into the dapple shadows with a skill which argued +a long practice in such elusive maneuvers. Did they plan +to try to fight off a cruiser attack? That was pure madness. +Or, Shann wondered, did they intend to have the Terrans +met by one of their own major ships somewhere well above +the surface of Warlock?</p> + +<p>His bearer turned away from the stream cut, carrying +Shann out into that field which had first served the Terrans +as a landing strip, then offered the same service to the Throgs. +They passed two more parties of aliens on the move, manhandling +with them bulky objects the Terran could not identify. +Then he was dumped unceremoniously to the hard earth, +only to lie there a few seconds before he was flopped over on +a framework which grated unpleasantly against his raw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +shoulders, his wrists and ankles being made fast so that his +body was spread-eagled. There was a click of orders; the +frame was raised and dropped with a jarring movement into +a base, and he was held erect, once more facing the Throg +with the translator. This was it! Shann began to regret every +small chance he had had to end more cleanly. If he had attacked +one of the guards, even with his hands bound, he might +have flustered the Throg into retaliatory blaster fire.</p> + +<p>Fear made a thicker fog about him than the green mist +of the illusion. Only this was no illusion. Shann stared at the +Throg officer with sick eyes, knowing that no one ever quite +believes that a last evil will strike at him, that he had clung +to a hope which had no existence.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!"</p> + +<p>The call burst in his head with a painful force. His dazed +attention was outwardly on the alien with the translator, but +that inner demand had given him a shock.</p> + +<p>"Here! Thorvald? Where?"</p> + +<p>The other struck in again with an urgent demand singing +through Shann's brain.</p> + +<p>"Give us a fix point—away from camp but not too far. +Quick!"</p> + +<p>A fix point—what did the Survey officer mean? A fix point.... +For some reason Shann thought of the ledge on which +he had lain to watch the first Throg attack. And the picture +of it was etched on his mind as clearly as memory could paint +it.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald——" Again his voice and his mind call were echoes +of each other. But this time he had no answer. Had that demand +meant Thorvald and the Wyverns were moving in, +putting to use the strange distance-erasing power the witches +of Warlock could use by desire? But why had they not come +sooner? And what could they hope to accomplish against +the now scattered but certainly unbroken enemy forces? The +Wyverns had not been able to turn their power against one +injured Throg—by their own accounting—how could they possibly +cope with well-armed and alert aliens in the field?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You die—slow——" The Throg officer clicked, and the emotionless, +toneless translation was all the more daunting for +that lack of color. "Your people come—see——"</p> + +<p>So that was the reason they had brought him to the landing +field. He was to furnish a grisly warning to the crew of +the cruiser. However, there the Throgs were making a bad +mistake if they believed that his death by any ingenious method +could scare off Terran retaliation.</p> + +<p>"I die—you follow——" Shann tried to make that promise emphatic.</p> + +<p>Did the Throg officer expect the Terran to beg for his life +or a quick death? Again he made his threat—straight into +the web, hearing it split into clicks.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," the Throg returned. "But you die the first."</p> + +<p>"Get to it!" Shann's voice scaled up. He was close to the +ragged edge, and the last push toward the breaking point +had not been the Throg speech, but that message from Thorvald. +If the Survey officer was going to make any move in the +mottled dusk, it would have to be soon.</p> + +<p>Mottled dusk.... The Throgs had moved a little away +from him. Shann looked beyond them to the perimeter of +the cleared field, not really because he expected to see any +rescuers break from cover there. And when he did see a +change, Shann thought his own sight was at fault.</p> + +<p>Those splotches of waxy light which marked certain trees, +bushes, and scrubby ground-hugging plants were spreading, +running together in pools. And from those center cores of +concentrated glow, tendrils of mist lazily curled out, as a +many-armed creature of the sea might allow its appendages +to float in the water which supported it. Tendrils crossed, +met, and thickened. There was a growing river of eerie light +which spread, again resembling a sea wave licking out onto +the field. And where it touched, unlike the wave, it did not +retreat, but lapped on. Was he actually seeing that? Shann +could not be sure.</p> + +<p>Only the gray light continued to build, faster now, its speed +of advance matching its increase in bulk. Shann somehow connected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +it with the veil of illusion. If it was real, there was a +purpose behind it.</p> + +<p>There was an aroused clicking from the Throgs. A blaster +bolt cracked, its spiteful, sickly yellow slicing into the nearest +tongue of gray. But that luminous fog engulfed the blast +and was not dispelled. Shann forced his head around against +the support which held him. The mist crept across the field +from all quarters, walling them in.</p> + +<p>Running at the ungainly lope which was their best effort at +speed were half a dozen Throgs emerging from the river +section. Their attitude suggested panic-stricken flight, and +when one tripped on some unseen obstruction and went down—to +fall beneath a descending tongue of phosphorescence—he +uttered a strange high-pitched squeal, thin and faint, but +still a note of complete, mindless terror.</p> + +<p>The Throgs surrounding Shann were firing at the fog, first +with precision, then raggedly, as their bolts did nothing to +cut that opaque curtain drawing in about them. From inside +that mist came other sounds—noises, calls, and cries all alien +to him, and perhaps also to the Throgs. There were shapes +barely to be discerned through the swirls; perhaps some were +Throgs in flight. But certainly others were non-Throg in outline. +And the Terran was sure that at least three of those +shapes, all different, had been in pursuit of one fleeing Throg, +heading him off from that small open area still holding about +Shann.</p> + +<p>For the Throgs were being herded in from all sides—the +handful who had come from the river, the others who had +brought Shann there. And the action of the mist was pushing +them into a tight knot. Would they eventually turn on him, +wanting to make sure of their prisoner before they made a +last stand against whatever lurked in the fog? To Shann's +continued relief the aliens seemed to have forgotten him. +Even when one cowered back against the very edge of the +frame on which the Terran was bound, the beetle-head did +not look at this helpless prey.</p> + +<p>They were firing wildly, with desperation in every heavy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +thrust of bolt. Then one Throg threw down his blaster, raised +his arms over his head, and voicing the same high wail uttered +by his comrade-in-arms earlier, he ran straight into the +mist where a shape materialized, closed in behind him, cutting +him off from his fellows.</p> + +<p>That break demoralized the others. The Throg commander +burned down two of his company with his blaster, but three +more broke past him to the fog. One of the remaining party +reversed his blaster, swung the stock against the officer's carapace, +beating him to his knees, before the attacker raced on +into the billows of the mist. Another threw himself on the +ground and lay there, pounding his claws against the baked +earth. While a remaining two continued with stolid precision +to fire at the lurking shapes which could only be half seen; +and a third helped the officer to his feet.</p> + +<p>The Throg commander reeled back against the frame, his +musky body scent filling Shann's nostrils. But he, too, paid +no attention to the Terran, though his horny arms scraped +across Shann's. Holding both of his claws to his head, he +staggered on, to be engulfed by a new arm of the fog.</p> + +<p>Then, as if the swallowing of the officer had given the +mist a fresh appetite, the wan light waved in a last vast billow +over the clear area about the frame. Shann felt its substance +cold, slimy, on his skin. This was a deadly breath of +un-life.</p> + +<p>He was weakened, sapped of strength, so that he hung in +his bounds, his head lolling forward on his breast. Warmth +pressed against him, a warm wet touch on his cold skin, a +sensation of friendly concern in his mind. Shann gasped, found +that he was no longer filling his lungs with that chill staleness +which was the breath of the fog. He opened his eyes, struggling +to raise his head. The gray light had retreated, but +though a Throg blaster lay close to his feet, another only a +yard beyond, there was no sign of the aliens.</p> + +<p>Instead, standing on their hind feet to press against him +in a demand for his attention, were the wolverines. And seeing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +them, Shann dared to believe that the impossible could +be true; somehow he was safe.</p> + +<p>He spoke. And Taggi and Togi answered with eager +whines. The mist was withdrawing more slowly than it had +come. Here and there things lay very still on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!"</p> + +<p>This time the call came not into his mind but out of the +air. Shann made an effort at reply which was close to a croak.</p> + +<p>"Over here!"</p> + +<p>A new shape in the fog was moving with purpose toward +him. Thorvald strode into the open, sighted Shann, and began +to run.</p> + +<p>"What did they——?" he began.</p> + +<p>Shann wanted to laugh, but the sound which issued from +his dry throat was very little like mirth. He struggled helplessly +until he managed to get out some words which made +sense.</p> + +<p>"... hadn't started in on me yet. You were just in time."</p> + +<p>Thorvald loosened the wires which held the younger man +to the frame and stood ready to catch him as he slumped forward. +And the officer's hold wiped away the last clammy residue +of the mist. Though he did not seem able to keep on his +feet, Shann's mind was clear.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"The power." Thorvald was examining him hastily but with +attention for every cut and bruise. "The beetle-heads didn't +really get to work on you——"</p> + +<p>"Told you that," Shann said impatiently. "But what brought +that fog and got the Throgs?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald smiled grimly. The ghostly light was fading as +the fog retreated, but Shann could see well enough to note +that around the other's neck hung one of the Wyvern disks.</p> + +<p>"It was a variation of the veil of illusion. You faced your +memories under the influence of that; so did I. But it would +seem that the Throgs had ones worse than either of us could +produce. You can't play the role of thug all over the galaxy +and not store up in the subconscious a fine line of private fears<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +and remembered enemies. We provided the means for releasing +those, and they simply raised their own devils to order. +Neatest justice ever rendered. It seems that the 'power' has +a big kick—in a different way—when a Terran will manages +to spark it."</p> + +<p>"And you did?"</p> + +<p>"I made a small beginning. Also I had the full backing of +the Elders, and a general staff of Wyverns in support. In a +way I helped to provide a channel for their concentration. +Alone they can work 'magic'; with us they can spread out +into new fields. Tonight we hunted Throgs as a united team—most +successfully."</p> + +<p>"But they wouldn't go after the one in the skull."</p> + +<p>"No. Direct contact with a Throg mind appears to short-circuit +them. I did the contacting; they fed me what I needed. +We have the answer to the Throgs now—one answer." Thorvald +looked back over the field where those bodies lay so +still. "We can kill Throgs. Maybe someday we can learn another +trick—how to live with them." He returned abruptly to +the present. "You did contact the transport?"</p> + +<p>Shann explained what had happened in the com dome. "I +think when the ship broke contact that way they understood."</p> + +<p>"We'll take it that they did, and be on the move." Thorvald +helped Shann to his feet. "If a cruiser berths here shortly, +I don't propose to be under its tail flames when it sets down."</p> + +<p>The cruiser came. And a mop-up squad patrolled outward +from the reclaimed camp, picked up two living Throgs, both +wandering witlessly. But Shann only heard of that later. He +slept, so deep and dreamlessly that when he roused he was +momentarily dazed.</p> + +<p>A Survey uniform—with a cadet's badges—lay across the +wall seat facing his bunk in the barracks he had left ... how +many days or weeks before? The garments fitted well enough, +but he removed the insignia to which he was not entitled. +When he ventured out he saw half a dozen troopers of the +patrol, together with Thorvald, watching the cruiser lift again +into the morning sky.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>Taggi and Togi, trailing leashes, galloped out of nowhere +to hurl themselves at him in uproarious welcome. And Thorvald +must have heard their eager whines even through the +blast of the ship, for he turned and waved Shann to join +him.</p> + +<p>"Where is the cruiser going?"</p> + +<p>"To punch a Throg base out of this system," Thorvald answered. +"They located it—on Witch."</p> + +<p>"But we're staying on here?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald glanced at him oddly. "There won't be any settlement +now. But we have to establish a conditional embassy +post. And the patrol has left a guard."</p> + +<p>Embassy post. Shann digested that. Yes, of course, Thorvald, +because of his close contact with the Wyverns, would +be left here for the present to act as liaison officer-in-charge.</p> + +<p>"We don't propose," the other was continuing, "to allow +to lapse any contact with the one intelligent alien race we +have discovered who can furnish us with full-time partnership +to our mutual benefit. And there mustn't be any bungling +here!"</p> + +<p>Shann nodded. That made sense. As soon as possible Warlock +would witness the arrival of another team, one slanted +this time to the cultivation of an alien friendship and alliance, +rather than preparation for Terran colonists. Would they keep +him on? He supposed not; the wolverines' usefulness was no +longer apparent.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know your regulations?" There was a snap in +Thorvald's demand which startled Shann. He glanced up, +discovered the other surveying him critically. "You're not in +uniform——"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," he admitted. "I couldn't find my own kit."</p> + +<p>"Where are your badges?"</p> + +<p>Shann's hand went up to the marks left when he had so +carefully ripped off the insignia.</p> + +<p>"My badges? I have no rank," he replied, bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Every team carries at least one cadet on strength."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Shann flushed. There had been one cadet on this team; +why did Thorvald want to remember that?</p> + +<p>"Also," the other's voice sounded remote, "there can be +appointments made in the field—for cause. Those appointments +are left to the discretion of the officer-in-charge, and +they are never questioned. I repeat, you are not in uniform, +Lantee. You will make the necessary alteration and report +to me at headquarters dome. As sole representatives of Terra +here we have a matter of protocol to be discussed with our +witches, and they have a right to expect punctuality from a +pair of warlocks, so get going!"</p> + +<p>Shann still stood, staring incredulously at the officer. Then +Thorvald's official severity vanished in a smile which was +warm and real.</p> + +<p>"Get going," he ordered once more, "before I have to log +you for inattention to orders."</p> + +<p>Shann turned, nearly stumbling over Taggi, and then ran +back to the barracks in quest of some very important bits of +braid he hoped he could find in a hurry.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 131px;"> +<img src="images/illus-back.jpg" width="131" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="font-size:larger; font-weight:bold;">STORM OVER WARLOCK</p> + +<p>"A satisfying and mature novel +which readers will seize upon if +they want to enjoy a good adventure +story.</p> + +<p>"A survey base on a remote +planet is wiped out by a raid of +Earth's enemies, the Throgs; the +only survivor must face the perils +of an unexplored planet while trying +somehow to strike back at the +enemy....</p> + +<p>"As always Norton creates both +human and alien beings well, and +tells a story that you can't stop +reading."</p> + +<p><span class="ralign">—<i>New York Herald Tribune</i></span><br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<p class="center" style="font-size:larger; font-weight:bold;">"UP TO NORTON'S BEST STANDARDS."</p> + +<p><span class="ralign">—<i>Library Journal</i></span><br /></p> + +<p>The Throg task force struck the Terran survey camp +a few minutes after dawn, without warning, and with a +deadly precision which argued that the aliens had fully +reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base +with methodical accuracy. And a single cowering witness, +flattened on a ledge in the heights above, knew +that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, nothing +human would be left alive down there.</p> + +<p>And so Shann Lantee, most menial of the Terrans +attached to the camp on the planet Warlock, was left +alone and weaponless in the strange, hostile world, the +human prey of the aliens from space and the aliens on +the ground alike.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + +<p>ANDRE NORTON has become one of the highest rated +authors of science-fiction adventure now writing. A +native of Cleveland, Ohio, a book collector, and s-f fan, +Ace Books have had the pleasure of presenting her best +novels in newsstand editions.</p> + +<p>A checklist of available Andre Norton books:</p> + +<ul class="off"><li>STAR GUARD (D-199)</li> +<li>SARGASSO OF SPACE (D-249)</li> +<li>STAR BORN (D-299)</li> +<li>PLAGUE SHIP (D-345)</li> +<li>VOODOO PLANET (D-345)</li> +<li>SECRET OF THE LOST RACE (D-381)</li> +<li>THE SIOUX SPACEMAN (D-437)</li> +<li>THE TIME TRADERS (D-461)</li> +<li>GALACTIC DERELICT (D-498)</li> +<li>STAR HUNTER (D-509)</li> +<li>THE BEAST MASTER (D-509)</li> +</ul> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="bbox"> +<h4 style="margin-top:0">Transcriber's Notes & Errata</h4> +<ul> +<li>'nonhuman' is used as an adjective. 'non-human' is used as a noun.</li> +<li>'skullmountain' and 'skull-mountain' are used once each.</li> +</ul> + +<p>The following typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr style="font-weight:bold"><td align='left'>Page</td><td align='left'>Error</td><td align='left'>Correction</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>11</td><td align='left'>gods</td><td align='left'>gobs</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>17</td><td align='left'>of world</td><td align='left'>of the world</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>26</td><td align='left'>beetlehead</td><td align='left'>beetle-head</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>29</td><td align='left'>beetleheads</td><td align='left'>beetle-heads</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>55</td><td align='left'>eye-holes</td><td align='left'>eyeholes</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>71</td><td align='left'>Thorfald's</td><td align='left'>Thorvald's</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>87</td><td align='left'>overhand</td><td align='left'>overhang</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>88</td><td align='left'>look</td><td align='left'>took</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>94</td><td align='left'>edgeing</td><td align='left'>edging</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>111</td><td align='left'>verticle</td><td align='left'>vertical</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>123</td><td align='left'>fist</td><td align='left'>first</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>125</td><td align='left'>ceremoney</td><td align='left'>ceremony</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>131</td><td align='left'>be</td><td align='left'>he</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>131</td><td align='left'>then</td><td align='left'>their</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>131</td><td align='left'>trid-ee</td><td align='left'>tri-dee</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>132</td><td align='left'>heeled</td><td align='left'>healed</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>133</td><td align='left'>again</td><td align='left'>against</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>134</td><td align='left'>midst</td><td align='left'>mist</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>144</td><td align='left'>Shan</td><td align='left'>Shann</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>145</td><td align='left'>assauged</td><td align='left'>assuaged</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>156</td><td align='left'>occurred</td><td align='left'>occurred</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>156</td><td align='left'>one one</td><td align='left'>one</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>164</td><td align='left'>and and</td><td align='left'>and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>166</td><td align='left'>route</td><td align='left'>rout</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>168</td><td align='left'>roll</td><td align='left'>role</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>170</td><td align='left'>Shanned</td><td align='left'>Shann</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>180</td><td align='left'>activited</td><td align='left'>activated</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>180</td><td align='left'>furiuosly</td><td align='left'>furiously</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>182</td><td align='left'>beetlehead</td><td align='left'>beetle-head</td></tr> +</table></div> +</div> + + +<p> +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Storm Over Warlock, by Andre Norton +</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 20788 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/20788-h/images/illus-back.jpg b/20788-h/images/illus-back.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..03a8051 --- /dev/null +++ b/20788-h/images/illus-back.jpg diff --git a/20788-h/images/illus-front.jpg b/20788-h/images/illus-front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c40008a --- /dev/null +++ b/20788-h/images/illus-front.jpg diff --git a/20788-page-images.zip b/20788-page-images.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..29a1e06 --- /dev/null +++ b/20788-page-images.zip diff --git a/20788.zip b/20788.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbb635c --- /dev/null +++ b/20788.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d25362c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #20788 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20788) diff --git a/old/20788-8.txt b/old/20788-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2168ad --- /dev/null +++ b/old/20788-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7323 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Storm Over Warlock, by Andre Norton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Storm Over Warlock + +Author: Andre Norton + +Release Date: March 9, 2007 [EBook #20788] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORM OVER WARLOCK *** + + + + +Produced by LN Yaddanapudi, Greg Weeks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + +by + +ANDRE NORTON + +ACE BOOKS, INC. + +23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N.Y. + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + +Copyright ©, 1960, by Andre Norton + +An Ace Book, by arrangement with The World Publishing Co. + +All Rights Reserved + +Printed in U.S.A. + + ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ +| Transcriber's Note | +| | +| Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the | +| U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. | +| | +| Front matter consisting of a blurb and a list of other | +| publications by the author has been moved to the end of the | +| text. | ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + +1. DISASTER + + +The Throg task force struck the Terran Survey camp a few minutes after +dawn, without warning, and with a deadly precision which argued that the +aliens had fully reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base with methodical +accuracy. And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in the +heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, +nothing human would be left alive down there. His teeth closed hard upon +the thick stuff of the sleeve covering his thin forearm, and in his +throat a scream of terror and rage was stillborn. + +More than caution kept him pinned on that narrow shelf of rock. Watching +that holocaust below, Shann Lantee could not force himself to move. The +sheer ruthlessness of the Throg move-in left him momentarily weak. To +listen to a tale of Throgs in action, and to be an eye-witness to such +action, were two vastly different things. He shivered in spite of the +warmth of the Survey Corps uniform. + +As yet he had sighted none of the aliens, only their plate-shaped +flyers. They would stay aloft until their long-range weapon cleared out +all opposition. But how had they been able to make such a complete +annihilation of the Terran force? The last report had placed the nearest +Throg nest at least two systems away from Warlock. And a patrol lane had +been drawn about the Circe system the minute that Survey had marked its +second planet ready for colonization. Somehow the beetles had slipped +through that supposedly tight cordon and would now consolidate their +gains with their usual speed at rooting. First an energy attack to +finish the small Terran force; then they would simply take over. + +A month later, or maybe two months, and they could not have done it. The +grids would have been up, and any Throg ship venturing into Warlock's +amber-tinted sky would abruptly cease to be. In the race for survival as +a galactic power, Terra had that one small edge over the swarms of the +enemy. They need only stake out their new-found world and get the grids +assembled on its surface; then that planet would be locked to the +beetles. The critical period was between the first discovery of a +suitable colony world and the erection of grid control. Planets in the +past had been lost during that time lag, just as Warlock was lost now. + +Throgs and Terrans ... For more than a century now, planet time, they +had been fighting their queer, twisted war among the stars. Terrans +hunted worlds for colonization, the old hunger for land of their own +driving men from the over-populated worlds, out of Sol's system to the +far stars. And those worlds barren of intelligent native life, open to +settlers, were none too many and widely scattered. Perhaps half a dozen +were found in a quarter century, and of that six maybe only one was +suitable for human life without any costly and lengthy adaption of man +or world. Warlock was one of the lucky finds which came so seldom. + +Throgs were predators, living on the loot they garnered. As yet, mankind +had not been able to discover whether they did indeed swarm from any +home world. Perhaps they lived eternally on board their plate ships with +no permanent base, forced into a wandering life by the destruction of +the planet on which they had originally been spawned. But they were +raiders now, laying waste defenseless worlds, picking up the wealth of +shattered cities in which no native life remained. And their hidden +temporary bases were looped about the galaxy, their need for worlds with +an atmosphere similar to Terra's as necessary as that of man. For in +spite of their grotesque insectile bodies, their wholly alien minds, the +Throgs were warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing creatures. + +After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had endeavored to +promote a truce between the species, only to discover that between Throg +and man there appeared to be no meeting ground at all--total differences +of mental processes producing insurmountable misunderstanding. There was +simply no point of communication. So the Terrans had suffered one +smarting defeat after another until they perfected the grid. And now +their colonies were safe, at least when time worked in their favor. + +It had not on Warlock. + +A last vivid lash of red cracked over the huddle of domes in the valley. +Shann blinked, half blinded by that glare. His jaws ached as he +unclenched his teeth. That was the finish. Breathing raggedly, he raised +his head, beginning to realize that he was the only one of his kind left +alive on a none-too-hospitable world controlled by enemies--without +shelter or supplies. + +He edged back into the narrow cleft which was the entrance to the ledge. +As a representative of his species he was not impressive, and now with +those shudders he could not master, shaking his thin body, he looked +even smaller and more vulnerable. Shann drew his knees up close under +his chin. The hood of his woodsman's jacket was pushed back in spite of +the chill of the morning, and he wiped the back of his hand across his +lips and chin in an oddly childish gesture. + +None of the men below who had been alive only minutes earlier had been +close friends of his; Shann had never known anyone but acquaintances in +his short, roving life. Most people had ignored him completely except to +give orders, and one or two had been actively malicious--like Garth +Thorvald. Shann grimaced at a certain recent memory, and then that +grimace faded into wonder. If young Thorvald hadn't purposefully tried +to get Shann into trouble by opening the wolverines' cage, Shann +wouldn't be here now--alive and safe for a time--he'd have been down +there with the others. + +The wolverines! For the first time since Shann had heard the crackle of +the Throg attack he remembered the reason he had been heading into the +hills. Of all the men on the Survey team, Shann Lantee had been the +least important. The dirty, tedious clean-up jobs, the dull routines +which required no technical training but which had to be performed to +keep the camp functioning comfortably, those had been his portion. And +he had accepted that status willingly, just to have a chance to be +included among Survey personnel. Not that he had the slightest hope of +climbing up to even an S-E-Three rating in the service. + +Part of those menial activities had been to clean the animal cages. And +there Shann Lantee had found something new, something so absorbing that +most of the tiring dull labor had ceased to exist except as tasks to +finish before he could return to the fascination of the animal runs. + +Survey teams had early discovered the advantage of using mutated and +highly trained Terran animals as assistants in the exploration of +strange worlds. From the biological laboratories and breeding farms on +Terra came a trickle of specialized aides-de-camp to accompany man into +space. Some were fighters, silent, more deadly than weapons a man wore +at his belt or carried in his hands. Some were keener eyes, keener +noses, keener scouts than the human kind could produce. Bred for +intelligence, for size, for adaptability to alien conditions, the animal +explorers from Terra were prized. + +Wolverines, the ancient "devils" of the northlands on Terra, were being +tried for the first time on Warlock. Their caution, a quality highly +developed in their breed, made them testers for new territory. Able to +tackle in battle an animal three times their size, they should be added +protection for the man they accompanied into the wilderness, and their +wide ranging, their ability to climb and swim, and above all, their +curiosity were assets. + +Shann had begun contact by cleaning their cages; he ended captivated by +these miniature bears with long bushy tails. And to his unbounded +delight the attraction was mutual. Alone to Taggi and Togi he was a +person, an important person. Those teeth, which could tear flesh into +ragged strips, nipped gently at his fingers, closed without any pressure +on arm, even on nose and chin in what was the ultimate caress of their +kind. Since they were escape artists of no mean ability, twice he had +had to track and lead them back to camp from forays of their own +devising. + +But the second time he had been caught by Fadakar, the chief of animal +control, before he could lock up the delinquents. And the memory of the +resulting interview still had the power to make him flush with impotent +anger. Shann's explanation had been contemptuously brushed aside, and he +had been delivered an ultimatum. If his carelessness occurred again, he +would be sent back on the next supply ship, to be dismissed without an +official sign-off on his work record, thus locked out of even the lowest +level of Survey for the rest of his life. + +That was why Garth Thorvald's act of the night before had made Shann +brave the unknown darkness of Warlock alone when he had discovered that +the test animals were gone. He had to locate and return them before +Fadakar made his morning inspection; Garth Thorvald's attempt to get him +into bad trouble had saved his life. + +Shann cowered back, striving to make his huddled body as small as +possible. One of the Throg flyers appeared silently out of the misty +amber of the morning sky, hovering over the silent camp. The aliens were +coming in to inspect the site of their victory. And the safest place for +any Terran now was as far from the vicinity of those silent domes as he +could get. Shann's slight body was an asset as he wedged through the +narrow mouth of a cleft and so back into the cliff wall. The climb +before him he knew in part, for this was the path the wolverines had +followed on their two other escapes. A few moments of tricky scrambling +and he was out in a cuplike depression choked with brush covered with +the purplish foliage of Warlock. On the other side of that was a small +cut to a sloping hillside, giving on another valley, not as wide as that +in which the camp stood, but one well provided with cover in the way of +trees and high-growing bushes. + +A light wind pushed among the trees, and twice Shann heard the harsh, +rasping call of a clak-clak--one of the bat-like leather-winged flyers +that laired in pits along the cliff walls. That present snap of two-tone +complaint suggested that the land was empty of strangers. For the +clak-claks vociferously and loudly resented encroachment on their chosen +hunting territory. + +Shann hesitated. He was driven by the urge to put as much distance +between him and the landing Throg ship as he could. But to arouse the +attention of inquisitive clak-claks was asking for trouble. Perhaps it +would be best to keep on along the top of the cliff, rather than risk a +descent to take cover in the valley the flyers patrolled. + +A patch of dust, sheltered by a tooth-shaped projection of rock, gave +the Terran his first proof that Taggi and his mate had preceded him, for +printed firmly there was the familiar paw mark of a wolverine. Shann +began to hope that both animals had taken to cover in the wilderness +ahead. + +He licked dry lips. Having left secretly without any emergency pack, he +had no canteen, and now Shann inventoried his scant possessions--a field +kit, heavy-duty clothing, a short hooded jacket with attached mittens, +the breast marked with the Survey insignia. His belt supported a +sheathed stunner and bush knife, and seam pockets held three credit +tokens, a twist of wire intended to reinforce the latch of the wolverine +cage, a packet of bravo tablets, two identity and work cards, and a +length of cord. No rations--save the bravos--no extra charge for his +stunner. But he did have, weighing down a loop on the jacket, a small +atomic torch. + +The path he followed ended abruptly in a cliff drop, and Shann made a +face at the odor rising from below, even though that scent meant he +could climb down to the valley floor here without fearing any clak-clak +attention. Chemical fumes from a mineral spring funneled against the +wall, warding off any nesting in this section. + +Shann drew up the hood of his jacket and snapped the transparent face +mask into place. He must get away--then find food, water, a hiding +place. That will to live which had made Shann Lantee fight innumerable +battles in the past was in command, bracing him with a stubborn +determination. + +The fumes swirled up in a smoke haze about his waist, but he strode on, +heading for the open valley and cleaner air. That sickly lavender +vegetation bordering the spring deepened in color to the normal +purple-green, and then he was in a grove of trees, their branches +pointed skyward at sharp angles to the rust-red trunks. + +A small skitterer burst from moss-spotted ground covering, giving an +alarmed squeak, skimming out of sight as suddenly as it had appeared. +Shann squeezed between two trees and then paused. The trunk of the +larger was deeply scored with scratches dripping viscid gobs of sap, a +sap which was a bright froth of scarlet. Taggi had left his mark here, +and not too long ago. + +The soft carpet of moss showed no paw marks, but he thought he knew the +goal of the animals--a lake down-valley. Shann was beginning to plan +now. The Throgs had not blasted the Terran camp out of existence; they +had only made sure of the death of its occupiers. Which meant they must +have some use for the installations. For the general loot of a Survey +field camp would be relatively worthless to those who picked over the +treasure of entire cities elsewhere. Why? What did the Throgs want? And +would the alien invaders continue to occupy the domes for long? + +Shann did not realize what had happened to him since that shock of +ruthless attack. From early childhood, when he had been thrown on his +own to scratch a living--a borderline existence of a living--on the +Dumps of Tyr, he had had to use his wits to keep life in a scrawny and +undersized body. However, since he had been eating regularly from Survey +rations, he was not quite so scrawny any more. + +His formal education was close to zero, his informal and off-center +schooling vast. And that particular toughening process which had been +working on him for years now aided in his speedy adaption to a new set +of facts, formidable ones. He was alone on a strange and perhaps hostile +world. Water, food, safe shelter, those were important now. And once +again, away from the ordered round of the camp where he had been ruled +by the desires and requirements of others, he was thinking, planning in +freedom. Later (his hand went to the butt of his stunner) perhaps later +he might just find a way of extracting an accounting from the +beetle-faces, too. + +For the present, he would have to keep away from the Throgs, which meant +well away from the camp. A fleck of green showed through the amethyst +foliage before him--the lake! Shann wriggled through a last bush barrier +and stood to look out over that surface. A sleek brown head bobbed up. +Shann put fingers to his mouth and whistled. The head turned, black +button eyes regarded him, short legs began to churn water. To his +gratification the swimmer was obeying his summons. + +Taggi came ashore, pausing on the fine gray sand of the verge to shake +himself vigorously. Then the wolverine came upslope at a clumsy gallop +to Shann. With an unknown feeling swelling inside him, the Terran went +down on both knees, burying both hands in the coarse brown fur, warming +to the uproarious welcome Taggi gave him. + +"Togi?" Shann asked as if the other could answer. He gazed back to the +lake, but Taggi's mate was nowhere in sight. + +The blunt head under his hand swung around, black button nose pointed +north. Shann had never been sure just how intelligent, as mankind +measured intelligence, the wolverines were. He had come to suspect that +Fadakar and the other experts had underrated them and that both beasts +understood more than they were given credit for. Now he followed an +experiment of his own, one he had had a chance to try only a few times +before and never at length. Pressing his palm flat on Taggi's head, +Shann thought of Throgs and of their attack, trying to arouse in the +animal a corresponding reaction to his own horror and anger. + +And Taggi responded. A mutter became a growl, teeth gleamed--those cruel +teeth of a carnivore to whom they were weapons of aggression. Danger ... +Shann thought "danger." Then he raised his hand, and the wolverine +shuffled off, heading north. The man followed. + +They discovered Togi busy in a small cove where a jagged tangle of drift +made a mat dating from the last high-water period. She was finishing a +hearty breakfast, the remains of a water rat being buried thriftily +against future need after the instincts of her kind. When she was done +she came to Shann, inquiry plain to read in her eyes. + +There was water here, and good hunting. But the site was too close to +the Throgs. Let one of their exploring flyers sight them, and the little +group was finished. Better cover, that's what the three fugitives must +have. Shann scowled, not at Togi, but at the landscape. He was tired and +hungry, but he must keep on going. + +A stream fed into the cove from the west, a guide of sorts. With very +little knowledge of the countryside, Shann was inclined to follow that. + +Overhead the sun made its usual golden haze of the sky. A flight of +vivid green streaks marked a flock of lake ducks coming for a morning +feeding. Lake duck was good eating, but Shann had no time to hunt one +now. Togi started down the bank of the stream, Taggi behind her. Either +they had caught his choice subtly through some undefined mental contact, +or they had already picked that road on their own. + +Shann's attention was caught by a piece of the drift. He twisted the +length free and had his first weapon of his own manufacture, a club. +Using it to hold back a low sweeping branch, he followed the wolverines. + +Within the half hour he had breakfast, too. A pair of limp skitterers, +their long hind feet lashed together with a thong of grass, hung from +his belt. They were not particularly good eating, but they were meat and +acceptable. + +The three, man and wolverines, made their way up the stream to the +valley wall and through a feeder ravine into the larger space beyond. +There, where the stream was born at the foot of a falls, they made their +first camp. Judging that the morning haze would veil any smoke, Shann +built a pocket-size fire. He seared rather than roasted the skitterers +after he had made an awkward and messy business of skinning them, and +tore the meat from the delicate bones in greedy mouthfuls. The +wolverines lay side by side on the gravel, now and again raising a head +alertly to test the scent on the air, or gaze into the distance. + +Taggi made a warning sound deep in the throat. Shann tossed handfuls of +sand over the dying fire. He had only time to fling himself face-down, +hoping the drab and weathered cloth of his uniform faded into the color +of the earth on which he lay, every muscle tense. + +A shadow swung across the hillside. Shann's shoulders hunched, and he +cowered again. That terror he had known on the ledge was back in full +force as he waited for the beam to lick at him as it had earlier at his +fellows. The Throgs were on the hunt.... + + + + +2. DEATH OF A SHIP + + +That sigh of displaced air was not as loud as a breeze, but it echoed +monstrously in Shann's ears. He could not believe in his luck as that +sound grew fainter, drew away into the valley he had just left. With +infinite caution he raised his head from his arm, still hardly able to +accept the fact that he had not been sighted, that the Throgs and their +flyer were gone. + +But that black plate was spinning out into the sun haze. One of the +beetles might have suspected that there were Terran fugitives and +ordered a routine patrol. After all, how could the aliens know that they +had caught all but one of the Survey party in camp? Though with all the +Terran scout flitters grounded on the field, the men dead in their +bunks, the surprise would seem to be complete. + +As Shann moved, Taggi and Togi came to life also. They had gone to earth +with speed, and the man was sure that both beasts had sensed danger. Not +for the first time he knew a burning desire for the formal education he +had never had. In camp he had listened, dragging out routine jobs in +order to overhear reports and the small talk of specialists keen on +their own particular hobbies. But so much of the information Shann had +thus picked up to store in a retentive memory he had not understood and +could not fit together. It had been as if he were trying to solve some +highly important puzzle with at least a quarter of the necessary pieces +missing, or with unrelated bits from others intermixed. How much control +did a trained animal scout have over his furred or feathered +assistants? And was part of that mastery a mental rapport built up +between man and animal? + +How well would the wolverines obey him now, especially when they would +not return to camp where cages stood waiting as symbols of human +authority? Wouldn't a trek into the wilderness bring about a revolt for +complete freedom? If Shann could depend upon the animals, it would mean +a great deal. Not only would their superior hunting ability provide all +three with food, but their scouting senses, so much keener than his, +might erect a slender wall between life and death. + +Few large native beasts had been discovered on Warlock by the Terran +explorers. And of those four or five different species, none had proved +hostile if unprovoked. But that did not mean that somewhere back in the +wild lands into which Shann was heading there were no heretofore +unknowns, perhaps slyer and as vicious as the wolverines when they were +aroused to rage. + +Then there were the "dreams," which had afforded the prime source of +camp discussion and dispute. Shann brushed coarse sand from his boots +and thought about the dreams. Did they or did they not exist? You could +start an argument any time by making a definite statement for or against +the peculiar sort of dreaming reported by the first scout to set ship on +this world. + +The Circe system, of which Warlock was the second of three planets, had +first been scouted four years ago by one of those explorers traveling +solo in Survey service. Everyone knew that the First-In Scouts were a +weird breed, almost a mutation of Terran stock--their reports were rife +with strange observations. + +So an alarming one concerning Circe (a yellow sun such as Sol) and her +three planets was not so rare. Witch, the world nearest in orbit to +Circe, was too hot for human occupancy without drastic and too costly +world-changing. Wizard, the third out from the sun, was mostly bare rock +and highly poisonous water. But Warlock, swinging through space between +two forbidding neighbors, seemed to be just what the settlement board +ordered. + +Then the Survey scout, even in the cocoon safety of his well-armed ship, +began to dream. And from those dreams a horror of the apparently empty +world developed, until he fled the planet to preserve his sanity. There +had been a second visit to Warlock in check; worlds so well adapted to +human emigration could not be lightly thrown away. And this time there +was a negative report, no trace of dreams, no registration of any +outside influence on the delicate and complicated equipment the ship +carried. So the Survey team had been dispatched to prepare for the +coming of the first pioneers, and none of them had dreamed either--at +least, no more than the ordinary dreams all men accepted. + +Only there were those who pointed out that the seasons had changed +between the first and second visits to Warlock. That first scout had +planeted in summer; his successors had come in fall and winter. They +argued that the final release of the world for settlement should not be +given until the full year on Warlock had been sampled. + +But the pressure of Emigrant Control had forced their hands, that and +the fear of just what had eventually happened--an attack from the +Throgs. So they had speeded up the process of declaring Warlock open. +Only Ragnar Thorvald had protested that decision up to the last and had +gone back to headquarters on the supply ship a month ago to make a last +appeal for a more careful study. + +Shann stopped brushing the sand from the tough fabric above his knee. +Ragnar Thorvald ... He remembered back to the port landing apron on +another world, remembered with a sense of loss he could not define. That +had been about the second biggest day of his short life; the biggest had +come earlier when they had actually allowed him to sign on for Survey +duty. + +He had tumbled off the cross-continent cargo carrier, his kit--a very +meager kit--slung over his thin shoulder, a hot eagerness expanding +inside him until he thought that he could not continue to throttle down +that wild happiness. There was a waiting starship. And he--Shann Lantee +from the Dumps of Tyr, without any influence or schooling--was going to +blast off in her, wearing the brown-green uniform of Survey! + +Then he had hesitated uncertainly, had not quite dared cross the few +feet of apron lying between him and that compact group wearing the same +uniform--with a slight difference, that of service bars and completion +badges and rank insignia--with the unconscious self-assurance of men who +had done this many times before. + +But after a moment that whole group had become in his own shy appraisal +just a background for one man. Shann had never before known in his +pinched and limited childhood, his lost boyhood, anyone who aroused in +him hero worship. And he could not have put a name to the new emotion +that added so suddenly to his burning desire to make good, not only to +hold the small niche in Survey which he had already so painfully +achieved, but to climb, until he could stand so in such a group talking +easily to that tall man, his uncovered head bronze-yellow in the +sunlight, his cool gray eyes pale in his brown face. + +Not that any of those wild dreams born in that minute or two had been +realized in the ensuing months. Probably those dreams had always been as +wild as the ones reported by the first scout on Warlock. Shann grinned +wryly now at the short period of childish hope and half-confidence that +he could do big things. Only one Thorvald had ever noticed Shann's +existence in the Survey camp, and that had been Garth. + +Garth Thorvald, a far less impressive--one could say "smudged"--copy of +his brother. Swaggering with an arrogance Ragnar never showed, Garth was +a cadet on his first mission, intent upon making Shann realize the +unbridgeable gulf between a labor hand and an officer-to-be. He had +appeared to know right from their first meeting just how to make Shann's +life a misery. + +Now, in this slit of valley well away from the domes, Shann's fists +balled. He pounded them against the earth in a way he had so often hoped +to plant them on Garth's smoothly handsome face, his well-muscled body. +One didn't survive the Dumps of Tyr without learning how to use fists, +and boots, and a list of tricks they didn't teach in any academy. He had +always been sure that he could take Garth if they mixed it up. But if he +had loosed the tight rein he had kept on his temper and offered that +challenge, he would have lost his chance with Survey. Garth had proved +himself able to talk his way out of any scrape, even minor derelictions +of duty, and he far out-ranked Shann. The laborer from Tyr had had to +swallow all that the other could dish out and hope that on his next +assignment he would not be a member of young Thorvald's team. Though, +because of Garth Thorvald, Shann's toll of black record marks had +mounted dangerously high and each day the chance for any more duty tours +had grown dimmer. + +Shann laughed, and the sound was ugly. That was one thing he didn't have +to worry about any longer. There would be no other assignments for him, +the Throgs had seen to that. And Garth ... well, there would never be a +showdown between them now. He stood up. The Throg ship had disappeared; +they could push on. + +He found a break in the cliff wall which was climbable, and he coaxed +the wolverines after him. When they stood on the heights from which the +falls tumbled, Taggi and Togi rubbed against him, cried for his +attention. They, too, appeared to need the reassurance they got from +contact with him, for they were also fugitives on this alien world, the +only representatives of their kind. + +Since he did not have any definite goal in view, Shann continued to be +guided by the stream, following its wanderings across a plateau. The sun +was warm, so he carried his jacket slung across one shoulder. Taggi and +Togi ranged ahead, twice catching skitterers, which they devoured +voraciously. A shadow on a sun-baked rock sent the Terran skidding for +cover until he saw that it was cast by one of the questing falcons from +the upper peaks. But that shook his confidence, so he again sought +cover, ashamed at his own carelessness. + +In the late afternoon he reached the far end of the plateau, faced a +climb to peaks which still bore cones of snow, now tinted a soft peach +by the sun. Shann studied that possible path and distrusted his own +powers to take it without proper equipment or supplies. He must turn +either north or south, though he would then have to abandon a sure water +supply in the stream. Tonight he would camp where he was. He had not +realized how tired he was until he found a likely half-cave in the +mountain wall and crawled in. There was too much danger in fire here; he +would have to do without that first comfort of his kind. + +Luckily, the wolverines squeezed in beside him to fill the hole. With +their warm furred bodies sandwiching him, Shann dozed, awoke, and dozed +again, listening to night sounds--the screams, cries, hunting calls, of +the Warlock wilds. Now and again one of the wolverines whined and moved +uneasily. + +Fingers of sun picked at Shann through a shaft among the rocks, striking +his eyes. He moved, blinked blearily awake, unable for the first few +seconds to understand why the smooth plasta wall of his bunk had become +rough red stone. Then he remembered. He was alone and he threw himself +frantically out of the cave, afraid the wolverines had wandered off. +Only both animals were busy clawing under a boulder with a steady +persistence which argued there was a purpose behind that effort. + +A sharp sting on the back of one hand made that purpose only too clear +to Shann, and he retreated hurriedly from the vicinity of the +excavation. They had found an earth-wasp's burrow and were hunting +grubs, naturally arousing the rightful inhabitants to bitter resentment. + +Shann faced the problem of his own breakfast. He had had the immunity +shots given to all members of the team, and he had eaten game brought in +by exploring parties and labeled "safe." But how long he could keep to +the varieties of native food he knew was uncertain. Sooner or later he +must experiment for himself. Already he drank the stream water without +the aid of purifiers, and so far there had been no ill results from that +necessary recklessness. Now the stream suggested fish. But instead he +chanced upon another water inhabitant which had crawled up on land for +some obscure purpose of its own. It was a sluggish scaled thing, an easy +victim to his club, with thin, weak legs it could project at will from a +finned and armor-plated body. + +Shann offered the head and guts to Togi, who had abandoned the wasp +nest. She sniffed in careful investigation and then gulped. Shann built +a small fire and seared the firm greenish flesh. The taste was flat, +lacking salt, but the food eased his emptiness. Enheartened, he started +south, hoping to find water sometime during the morning. + +By noon he had his optimism justified with the discovery of a spring, +and the wolverines had brought down a slender-legged animal whose coat +was close in shade to the dusky purple of the vegetation. Smaller than a +Terran deer, its head bore, not horns, but a ridge of stiffened hair +rising in a point some twelve inches about the skull dome. Shann haggled +off some ragged steaks while the wolverines feasted in earnest, +carefully burying the head afterward. + +It was when Shann knelt by the spring pool to wash that he caught the +clamor of the clak-claks. He had seen or heard nothing of the flyers +since he had left the lake valley. But from the noise now rising in an +earsplitting volume, he thought there was a sizable colony near-by and +that the inhabitants were thoroughly aroused. + +He crept on his hands and knees to near-by brush cover, heading toward +the source of that outburst. If the claks were announcing a Throg +scouting party, he wanted to know it. + +Lying flat, with branches forming a screen over him, the Terran gazed +out on a stretch of grassland which sloped at a fairly steep angle to +the south and which must lead to a portion of countryside well below the +level he was now traversing. + +The clak-claks were skimming back and forth, shrieking their staccato +war cries. Following the erratic dashes of their flight formation, +Shann decided that whatever they railed against was on the lower level, +out of his sight from that point. Should he simply withdraw, since the +disturbance was not near him? Prudence dictated that; yet still he +hesitated. + +He had no desire to travel north, or to try and scale the mountains. No, +south was his best path, and he should be very sure that route was +closed before he retreated. + +Since any additional fuss the clak-claks might make on sighting him +would be undistinguished in their now general clamor, the Terran crawled +on to where tall grass provided a screen at the top of the slope. There +he stopped short, his hands digging into the earth in sudden braking +action. + +Below, the ground steamed from a rocket flare-back, grasses burned away +from the fins of a small scoutship. But even as Shann rose to one knee, +his shout of welcome choked in his throat. One of those fins sank, +canting the ship crookedly, preventing any new take-off. And over the +crown of a low hill to the west swung the ominous black plate of a Throg +flyer. + +The Throg ship came up in a burst of speed, and Shann waited tensely for +some countermove from the scout. Those small speedy Terran ships were +prudently provided with weapons triply deadly in proportion to their +size. He was sure that the Terran ship could hold its own against the +Throg, even eliminate the enemy. But there was no fire from the slanting +pencil of the scout. The Throg circled warily, obviously expecting a +trap. Twice it darted back in the direction from which it had come. As +it returned from its second retreat, another of its kind showed, a black +coin dot against the amber of the sky. + +Shann felt sick inside. Now the Terran scout had lost any advantage and +perhaps all hope. The Throgs could box the other in, cut the downed ship +to pieces with their energy beams. He wanted to crawl away and not +witness this last disaster for his kind. But some stubborn core of will +kept him where he was. + +The Throgs began to circle while beneath them the flock of clak-claks +screamed and dived at the slanting nose of the Terran ship. Then that +same slashing energy he had watched quarter the camp snapped from the +far plate across the stricken scout. The man who had piloted her, if not +dead already (which might account for the lack of defense), must have +fallen victim to that. But the Throg was going to make very sure. The +second flyer halted, remaining poised long enough to unleash a second +bolt--dazzling any watching eyes and broadcasting a vibration to make +Shann's skin crawl when the last faint ripple reached his lookout post. + +What happened then the overconfident Throg was not prepared to take. +Shann cried out, burying his face on his arm, as pinwheels of scarlet +light blotted out normal sight. There was an explosion, a deafening +blast. He cowered, blind, unable to hear. Then, rubbing at his eyes, he +tried to see what had happened. + +Through watery blurs he made out the Throg ship, not swinging now in +serene indifference to Warlock's gravity, but whirling end over end +across the sky as might a leaf tossed in a gust of wind. Its rim caught +against a rust-red cliff, it rebounded and crumpled. Then it came down, +smashing perhaps half a mile away from the smoking crater in which lay +the mangled wreckage of the Terran ship. The disabled scout pilot must +have played a last desperate game, making of his ship bait for a trap. + +The Terran had taken one Throg with him. Shann rubbed again at his eyes, +just barely able to catch a glimpse of the second ship flashing away +westward. Perhaps it was only his impaired sight, but it appeared to him +that the Throg followed an erratic path, either as if the pilot feared +to be caught by a second shot, or because that ship had also suffered +some injury. + +Acid smoke wreathed up from the valley making Shann retch and cough. +There could be no survivor from the Terran scout, and he did not believe +that any Throg had lived to crawl free of the crumpled plate. But there +would be other beetles swarming here soon. They would not dare to leave +the scene unsearched. He wondered about that scout. Had the pilot been +aiming for the Survey camp, the absence of any rider beam from there +warning him off so that he made the detour which brought him here? Or +had the Throgs tried to blast the Terran ship in the upper atmosphere, +crippling it, making this a forced landing? But at least this battle had +cost the Throgs, settling a small portion of the Terran debt for the +lost camp. + +The length of time between Shann's sighting of the grounded ship and the +attack by the Throgs had been so short that he had not really developed +any strong hope of rescue to be destroyed by the end of the crippled +ship. On the other hand, seeing the Throgs take a beating had exploded +his subconscious acceptance of their superiority. He might not have even +the resources of a damaged scout at his command. But he did have Taggi, +Togi, and his own brain. Since he was fated to permanent exile on +Warlock, there might just be some way to make the beetles pay for that. + +He licked his lips. Real action against the aliens would take a lot of +planning. Shann would have to know more about what made a Throg a Throg, +more than all the wild stories he had heard over the years. There _had_ +to be some way a Terran could move effectively against a beetle-head. +And he had a lot of time, maybe the rest of his life to work out a few +answers. That Throg ship lying wrecked at the foot of the cliff ... +perhaps he could do a little investigating before any rescue squad +arrived. Shann decided such a move was worth the try and whistled to the +wolverines. + + + + +3. TO CLOSE RANKS + + +Shann made his way at an angle to avoid the smoking pit cradling the +wreckage of the Terran ship. There were no signs of life about the Throg +plate as he approached. A quarter of its bulk was telescoped back into +the rest, and surely none of the aliens could have survived such a +smash, tough as they were reputed to be with those horny carapaces +serving them in place of more vulnerable human skin. + +He sniffed. There was a nauseous odor heavy on the morning air, one +which would make a lasting impression on any human nose. The port door +in the black ship stood open, perhaps having burst in the impact against +the cliff. Shann had almost reached it when a crackle of chain lightning +beat across the ground before him, turning the edge of the buckled +entrance panel red. + +Shann dropped to the ground, drawing his stunner, knowing at the same +moment that such a weapon was about as much use in meeting a blaster as +a straw wand would be to ward off a blazing coal. A chill numbness held +him as he waited for a second blast to charr the flesh between his +shoulders. So there had been a Throg survivor, after all. + +But as moments passed and the Throg did not move in to make an easy +kill, Shann collected his wits. Only one shot! Was the beetle injured, +unable to make sure of even an almost defenseless prey? The Throgs +seldom took prisoners. When they did.... + +The Terran's lips tightened. He worked his hand under his prone body, +feeling for the hilt of his knife. With that he could speedily remove +himself from the status of Throg prisoner, and he would do it gladly if +there was no hope of escape. Had there been only one charge left in that +blaster? Shann could make half a dozen guesses as to why the other had +made no move, but that shot had come from behind him, and he dared not +turn his head or otherwise make an effort to see what the other might be +doing. + +Was it only his imagination, or had that stench grown stronger during +the last few seconds? Could the Throg be creeping up on him? Shann +strained his ears, trying to catch some sound he could interpret. The +few clak-claks that had survived the blast about the ship were shrieking +overhead, and Shann made one attempt at counterattack. + +He whistled the wolverines' call. The pair had not been too willing to +follow him down into this valley, and they had avoided the crater at a +very wide circle. But if they would obey him now, he just might have a +chance. + +There! That _had_ been a sound, and the smell _was_ stronger. The Throg +must be coming to him. Again Shann whistled, holding in his mind his +hatred for the beetle-head, the need for finishing off that alien. If +the animals could pick either thoughts or emotions out of their human +companion, this was the time for him to get those unspoken half-orders +across. + +Shann slammed his hand hard against the ground, sent his body rolling, +his stunner up and ready. + +And now he could see that grotesque thing, swaying weakly back and forth +on its thin legs, yet holding a blaster, bringing that weapon up to +center it on him. The Throg was hunched over and perhaps to Taggi +presented the outline of some four-footed creature to be hunted. For the +wolverine male sprang for the horn-shelled shoulders. + +Under that impact that Throg sagged forward. But Taggi, outraged at the +nature of creature he had attacked, squalled and retreated. Shann had +had his precious seconds of distraction. He fired, the core of the stun +beam striking full into the flat dish of the alien's "face." + +That bolt, which would have shocked a mammal into insensibility, only +slowed the Throg. Shann rolled again, gaining a temporary cover behind +the wrecked ship. He squirmed under metal hot enough to scorch his +jacket and saw the reflection of a second blaster shot which had been +fired seconds late. + +Now the Throg had him tied down. But to get at the Terran the alien +would have to show himself, and Shann had one chance in fifty, which was +better than that of three minutes ago--when the odds had been set at one +in a hundred. He knew that he could not press the wolverines in again. +Taggi's distaste was too manifest; Shann had been lucky that the animal +had made one abortive attack. + +Perhaps the Terran's escape and Taggi's action had made the alien +reckless. Shann had no clue to the thinking processes of the non-human, +but now the Throg staggered around the end of the plate, his digits, +which were closer to claws than fingers, fumbling with his weapon. The +Terran snapped another shot from his stunner, hoping to slow the enemy +down. But he was trapped. If he turned to climb the cliff at his back, +the beetle-head could easily pick him off. + +A rock hurtled from the heights above, striking with deadly accuracy on +the domed, hairless head of the Throg. His armored body crashed forward, +struck against the ship, and rebounded to the ground. Shann darted +forward to seize the blaster, kicking loose the claws which still +grasped it, before he flattened back to the cliff, the strange weapon +over his arm, his heart beating wildly. + +That rock had not bounded down the mountainside by chance; it had been +hurled with intent and aimed carefully at its target. And no Throg would +kill one of his fellows. Or would he? Suppose orders had been issued to +take a Terran prisoner and the Throg by the ship had disobeyed? Then, +why a rock and not a blaster bolt? + +Shann edged along until the upslanted, broken side of the Throg flyer +provided him with protection from any overhead attack. Under that +shelter he waited for the next move from his unknown rescuer. + +The clak-claks wheeled closer to earth. One lit boldly on the carapace +of the inert Throg, shuffling ungainly along that horny ridge. Cradling +the blaster, the Terran continued to wait. His patience was rewarded +when that investigating clak-clak took off uttering an enraged snap or +two. He heard what might be the scrape of boots across rock, but that +might also have come from horny skin meeting stone. + +Then the other must have lost his footing not too far above. Accompanied +by a miniature landslide of stones and earth, a figure slid down several +yards away. Shann waited in a half-crouch, his looted blaster covering +the man now getting to his feet. There was no mistaking the familiar +uniform, or even the man. How Ragnar Thorvald had reached that +particular spot on Warlock or why, Shann could not know. But that he was +there, there was no denying. + +Shann hurried forward. It had been when he caught his first sight of +Thorvald that he realized just how deep his unacknowledged loneliness +had bit. There were two Terrans on Warlock now, and he did not need to +know why. But Thorvald was staring back at him with the blankness of +non-recognition. + +"Who are you?" The demand held something close to suspicion. + +That note in the other's voice wiped away a measure of Shann's +confidence, threatened something which had flowered in him since he had +struck into the wilderness on his own. Three words had reduced him again +to Lantee, unskilled laborer. + +"Lantee. I'm from the camp...." + +Thorvald's eagerness was plain in his next question: "How many of you +got away? Where are the rest?" He gazed past Shann up the plateau slope +as if he expected to see the personnel of the camp sprout out of the +cloak of grass along the verge. + +"Just me and the wolverines," Shann answered in a colorless voice. He +cradled the blaster on his hip, turned a little away from the officer. + +"You ... and the wolverines?" Thorvald was plainly startled. "But ... +where? How?" + +"The Throgs hit very early yesterday morning. They caught the rest in +camp. The wolverines had escaped from their cage, and I was out hunting +them...." He told his story baldly. + +"You're sure about the rest?" Thorvald had a thin steel of rage edging +his voice. Almost, Shann thought, as if he could turn that blade of rage +against one Shann Lantee for being yet alive when more important men had +not survived. + +"I saw the attack from an upper ridge," the younger man said, having +been put on the defensive. Yet he had a right to be alive, hadn't he? Or +did Thorvald believe that he should have gone running down to meet the +beetle-heads with his useless stunner? "They used energy beams ... +didn't land until it was all over." + +"I knew there was something wrong when the camp didn't answer our +enter-atmosphere signal," Thorvald said absently. "Then one of those +platters jumped us on braking orbit, and my pilot was killed. When we +set down on the automatics here I had just time to rig a surprise for +any trackers before I took to the hills----" + +"The blast got one of them," Shann pointed out. + +"Yes, they'd nicked the booster rocket; she wouldn't climb again. But +they'll be back here to pick over the remains." + +Shann looked at the dead Throg. "Thanks for taking a hand." His tone was +as chill as the other's this time. "I'm heading south...." + +And, he added silently, I intend to keep on that way. The Throg attack +had dissolved the pattern of the Survey team. He didn't owe Thorvald any +allegiance. And he had been successfully on his own here since the camp +had been overrun. + +"South," Thorvald repeated. "Well, that's as good a direction as any +right now." + +But they were not united. Shann found the wolverines and patiently +coaxed and wheedled them into coming with him over a circuitous route +which kept them away from both ships. Thorvald went up the cliff, swung +down again, a supply bag slung over one shoulder. He stood watching as +Shann brought the animals in. + +Then Thorvald's arm swept out, his fingers closing possessively about +the barrel of the blaster. Shann's own hold on the weapon tightened, and +the force of the other's pull dragged him partly around. + +"Let's have that----" + +"Why?" Shann supposed that because it had been the other's well-aimed +rock which had put the Throg out of commission permanently, the officer +was going to claim their only spoils of war as personal booty, and a hot +resentment flowered in the younger man. + +"We don't take that away from here." Thorvald made the weapon his with a +quick twist. + +To Shann's utter astonishment, the Survey officer walked back to kneel +beside the dead Throg. He worked the grip of the blaster under the +alien's lax claws and inspected the result with the care of one +arranging a special and highly important display. Shann's protest became +vocal. "We'll need that!" + +"It'll do us far more good right where it is...." Thorvald paused and +then added, with impatience roughening his voice as if he disliked the +need for making any explanations, "There is no reason for us to +advertise our being alive. If the Throgs found a blaster missing, they'd +start thinking and looking around. I want to have a breathing spell +before I have to play quarry in one of their hunts." + +Put that way, his action did make sense. But Shann regretted the loss of +an arm so superior to their own weapons. Now they could not loot the +plateship either. In silence he turned and started to trudge southward, +without waiting for Thorvald to catch up with him. + +Once away from the blasted area, the wolverines ranged ahead at their +clumsy gallop, which covered ground at a surprising rate of speed. Shann +knew that their curiosity made them scouts surpassing any human and that +the men who followed would have ample warning of any danger to come. +Without reference to his silent trail companion, he sent the animals +toward another strip of woodland which would give them cover against the +coming of any Throg flyer. + +As the hours advanced he began to cast about for a proper night camp. +The woods ought to give them a usable site. + +"This is a water wood," Thorvald said, breaking the silence for the +first time since they had left the wrecks. + +Shann knew that the other had knowledge, not only of the general +countryside, but of exploring techniques which he himself did not +possess, but to be reminded of that fact was an irritant rather than a +reassurance. Without answering, the younger man bored on to locate the +water promised. + +The wolverines found the small lake first and were splashing along its +shore when the Terrans caught up. Thorvald went to work, but to Shann's +surprise he did not unstrap the force-blade ax at his belt. Bending over +a sapling, he pounded away with a stone at the green wood a few inches +above the root line until he was able to break through the slender +trunk. Shann drew his own knife and bent to tackle another treelet when +Thorvald stopped him with an order: "Use a stone on that, the way I +did." + +Shann could see no reason for such a laborious process. If Thorvald did +not want to use his ax, that was no reason that Shann could not put his +heavy belt knife to work. He hesitated, ready to set the blade to the +outer bark of the tree. + +"Look--" again that impatient edge in the officer's tone, the need for +explanation seeming to come very hard to the other--"sooner or later the +Throgs might just trace us here and find this camp. If so, they are +_not_ going to discover any traces to label us Terran----" + +"But who else could we be?" protested Shann. "There is no native race on +Warlock." + +Thorvald tossed his improvised stone ax from hand to hand. + +"But do the Throgs know that?" + +The implications, the possibilities, in that idea struck home to Shann. +Now he began to understand what Thorvald might be planning. + +"Now there is going to be a native race." Shann made a statement instead +of a question and saw that the other was watching him with a new +intentness, as if he had at last been recognized as a person instead of +rank and file and very low rank at that--Survey personnel. + +"There is going to be a native race," Thorvald affirmed. + +Shann resheathed his knife and went to search the pond beach for a +suitable stone to use in its place. Even so, he made harder work of the +clumsy chopping than Thorvald had. He worried at one sapling after +another until his hands were skinned and his breath came in painful +gusts from under aching ribs. Thorvald had gone on to another task, +ripping the end of a long tough vine from just under the powdery surface +of the thick leaf masses fallen in other years. + +With this the officer lashed together the tops of the poles, having +planted their splintered butts in the ground, so that he achieved a +crudely conical erection. Leafy branches were woven back and forth +through this framework, with an entrance, through which one might crawl +on hands and knees, left facing the lakeside. The shelter they completed +was compact and efficient but totally unlike anything Shann had ever +seen before, certainly far removed from the domes of the camp. He said +so, nursing his raw hands. + +"An old form," Thorvald replied, "native to a primitive race on Terra. +Certainly the beetle-heads haven't come across its like before." + +"Are we going to stay here? Otherwise it is pretty heavy work for one +night's lodging." + +Thorvald tested the shelter with a sharp shake. The matted leaves +whispered, but the framework held. + +"Stage dressing. No, we won't linger here. But it's evidence to support +our play. Even a Throg isn't dense enough to believe that natives would +make a cross-country trip without leaving evidence of their passing." + +Shann sat down with a sigh he made no effort to suppress. He had a +vision of Thorvald traveling southward, methodically erecting these huts +here and there to confound Throgs who might not ever chance upon them. +But already the Survey officer was busy with a new problem. + +"We need weapons----" + +"We have our stunners, a force ax, and our knives," Shann pointed out. +He did not add, as he would have liked that they could have had a +blaster. + +"Native weapons," Thorvald countered with his usual snap. He went back +to the beach and crawled about there, choosing and rejecting stones +picked out of the gravel. + +Shann scooped out a small pit just before their hut and set about the +making of a pocket-sized fire. He was hungry and looked longingly now +and again to the supply bag Thorvald had brought with him. Dared he +rummage in that for rations? Surely the other would be carrying +concentrates. + +"Who taught you how to make a fire that way?" Thorvald was back from the +pond, a selection of round stones about the size of his fist resting +between his chest and his forearm. + +"It's regulation, isn't it?" Shann countered defensively. + +"It's regulation," Thorvald agreed. He set down his stones in a row and +then tossed the supply bag over to his companion. "Too late to hunt +tonight. But well have to go easy on those rations until we can get +more." + +"Where?" Did Thorvald know of some supply cache they could raid? + +"From the Throgs," the other answered matter of factly. + +"But they don't eat our kind of food...." + +"All the more reason for them to leave the camp supplies untouched." + +"The camp?" + +For the first time Thorvald's lips curved in a shadow smile which was +neither joyous nor warming. "A native raid on an invaders' camp. What +could be more natural? And we'd better make it soon." + +"But how can we?" To Shann what the other proposed was sheer madness. + +"There was once an ancient service corps on Terra," Thorvald answered, +"which had a motto something like this: 'The improbable we do at once; +the impossible takes a little longer.' What did you think we were going +to do? Sulk around out here in the bush and let the Throgs claim Warlock +for one of their pirate bases without opposition?" + +Since that was the only future Shann had visualized, he was ready enough +to admit the truth, only some shade of tone in the officer's voice kept +him from saying so aloud. + + + + +4. SORTIE + + +Five days later they came up from the south so that this time Shann's +view of the Terran camp was from a different angle. At first sight there +had been little change in the general scene. He wondered if the aliens +were using the Terran dome shelters themselves. Even in the twilight it +was easy to pick out such landmarks as the com dome with the shaft of a +broadcaster spearing from its top and the greater bulk of the supply +warehouse. + +"Two of their small flyers down on the landing field...." Thorvald +materialized from the shadow, his voice a thread of whisper. + +By Shann's side the wolverines were moving restlessly. Since Taggi's +attack on the Throg neither beast would venture near any site where they +could scent the aliens. This was the nearest point to which the men +could urge either animal, which was a disappointment, for the wolverines +would have been an excellent addition to the surprise sortie they +planned for tonight, halving the danger for the men. + +Shann ran his fingers across the coarse fur on the animals' shoulders, +exerting a light pressure to signal them to wait. But he was not sure of +their obedience. The foray was a crazy idea, and Shann wondered again +why he had agreed to it. Yet he had gone along with Thorvald, even +suggested a few modifications and additions of his own, such as the +contents of the crude leaf sack now resting between his knees. + +Thorvald flitted away, seeking his own post to the west. Shann was still +waiting for the other's signal when there arose from the camp a sound to +chill the flesh of any listener, a wail which could not have come from +the throat of any normal living thing, intelligent being or animal. +Ululating in ear-torturing intensity, the cry sank to a faint, ominous +echo of itself, to waver up the scale again. + +The wolverines went mad. Shann had witnessed their quick kills in the +wilds, but this stark ferocity of spitting, howling rage was new. They +answered that challenge from the camp, streaking out from under his +hands. Yet both animals skidded to a stop before they passed the first +dome and were lost in the gloom. A spark glowed for an instant to his +right; Thorvald was ready to go, so Shann had no time to try and recall +the animals. + +He fumbled for those balls of soaked moss in his leaf bag. The chemical +smell from them blotted out that alien mustiness which the wind brought +from the campsite. Shann readied the first sopping mess in his sling, +snapped his fire sparker at it, and had the ball awhirl for a toss +almost in one continuous movement. The moss burst into fire as it curved +out and fell. + +To a witness it might have seemed that the missile materialized out of +the air, the effect being better than Shann had hoped. + +A second ball for the sling--spark ... out ... down. The first had +smashed on the ground near the dome of the com station, the force of +impact flattening it into a round splatter of now fiercely burning +material. And his second, carefully aimed, lit two feet beyond. + +Another wail tearing at the nerves. Shann made a third throw, a fourth. +He had an audience now. In the light of those pools of fire the Throgs +were scuttling back and forth, their hunched bodies casting weird +shadows on the dome walls. They were making efforts to douse the fires, +but Shann knew from careful experimentation that once ignited the stuff +he had skimmed from the lip of one of the hot springs would go on +burning as long as a fraction of its viscid substance remained +unconsumed. + +Now Thorvald had gone into action. A Throg suddenly halted, struggled +frantically, and toppled over into the edge of a fire splotch, legs +looped together by the coils of the curious weapon Thorvald had put +together on their first night of partnership. Three round stones of +comparable weight had each been fastened at the end of a vine cord, and +those cords united at a center point. Thorvald had demonstrated the +effectiveness of his creation by bringing down one of the small "deer" +of the grasslands, an animal normally fleet enough to feel safe from +both human and animal pursuit. And those weighted ropes now trapped the +Throg with the same efficiency. + +Having shot his last fireball, Shann ran swiftly to take up a new +position, downgrade and to the east of the domes. Here he put into +action another of the primitive weapons Thorvald had devised, a spear +hurled with a throwing stick, giving it double range and twice as +forceful penetration power. The spears themselves were hardly more than +crudely shaped lengths of wood, their points charred in the fire. +Perhaps these missiles could neither kill nor seriously wound. But more +than one thudded home in a satisfactory fashion against the curving back +carapace or the softer front parts of a Throg in a manner which +certainly shook up and bruised the target. And one of Shann's victims +went to the ground, to lie kicking in a way which suggested he had been +more than just bruised. + +Fireballs, spears.... Thorvald had moved too. And now down into the +somewhat frantic melee of the aroused camp fell a shower of slim +weighted reeds, each provided with a clay-ball head. The majority of +those balls broke on landing as the Terrans had intended. So, through +the beetle smell of the aliens, spread the acrid, throat-parching fumes +of the hot spring water. Whether those fumes had the same effect upon +Throg breathing apparatus as they did upon Terran, the attackers could +not tell, but they hoped such a bombardment would add to the general +confusion. + +Shann began to space the hurling of his crude spears with more care, +trying to place them with all the precision of aim he could muster. +There was a limit to their amount of varied ammunition, although they +had dedicated every waking moment of the past few days to manufacture +and testing. Luckily the enemy had had none of their energy beams at the +domes. And so far they had made no move to lift their flyers for +retaliation blasts. + +But the Throgs were pulling themselves into order. Blaster fire cut the +dusk. Most of the aliens were now flat on the ground, sending a creeping +line of fire into the perimeter of the camp area. A dark form moved +between Shann and the nearest patch of burning moss. The Terran raised a +spear to the ready before he caught a whiff of the pungent scent emitted +by a wolverine hot with battle rage. He whistled coaxingly. With the +Throgs eager to blast any moving thing, the animals were in danger if +they prowled about the scene. + +That blunt head moved. Shann caught the glint of eyes in a furred mask; +it was either Taggi or his mate. Then a puff of mixed Throng and +chemical scent from the camp must have reached the wolverine. The animal +coughed and fled westward, passing Shann. + +Had Thorvald had time and opportunity to make his planned raid on the +supply dome? Time during such an embroilment was hard to measure, and +Shann could not be sure. He began to count aloud, slowly, as they had +agreed. When he reached one hundred he would begin his retreat; on two +hundred he was to run for it, his goal the river a half mile from the +camp. + +The stream would take the fugitives to the sea where fiords cut the +coastline into a ragged fringe offering a wealth of hiding places. +Throgs seldom explored any territory on foot. For them to venture into +that maze would be putting themselves at the mercy of the Terrans they +hunted. And their flyers could comb the air above such a rocky +wilderness without result. + +Shann reached the count of one hundred. Twice a blaster bolt singed +ground within distance close enough to make him wince, but most of the +fire carried well above his head. All of his spears were gone, save for +one he had kept, hoping for a last good target. One of the Throgs who +appeared to be directing the fire of the others was facing Shann's +position. And on pure chance that he might knock out that leader, Shann +chose him for his victim. + +The Terran had no illusions concerning his own marksmanship. The most he +could hope for, he thought, was to have the primitive weapon thud home +painfully on the other's armored hide. Perhaps, if he were very lucky, +he could knock the other from his clawed feet. But that chance which +hovers over any battlefield turned in Shann's favor. At just the right +moment the Throg stretched his head up from the usual hunched position +where the carapace extended over his wide shoulders to protect one of +the alien's few vulnerable spots, the soft underside of his throat. And +the fire-sharpened point of the spear went deep. + +Throgs were mute, or at least none of them had ever uttered a vocal +sound to be reported by Terrans. This one did not cry out. But he +staggered forward, forelimbs up, clawed digits pulling at the wooden pin +transfixing his throat just under the mandible-equipped jaw, holding his +head at an unnatural angle. Without seeming to notice the others of his +kind, the Throg came on at a shambling run, straight at Shann as if he +could actually see through the dark and had marked down the Terran for +personal vengeance. There was something so uncanny about that forward +dash that Shann retreated. As his hand groped for the knife at his belt +his boot heel caught in a tangle of weed and he struggled for balance. +The wounded Throg, still pulling at the spear shaft protruding above the +swelling barrel of his chest, pounded on. + +Shann sprawled backward and was caught in the elastic embrace of a bush, +so he did not strike the ground. He fought the grip of prickly branches +and kicked to gain solid earth under his feet. Then again he heard that +piercing wail from the camp, as chilling as it had been the first time. +Spurred by that, he won free. But he could not turn his back on the +wounded Throg, keeping rather a sidewise retreat. + +Already the alien had reached the dark beyond the rim of the camp. His +progress now was marked by the crashing through low brush. Two of the +Throgs back on the firing line started up after their leader. Shann +caught a whiff of their odor as the wounded alien advanced with the +single-mindedness of a robot. + +It would be best to head for the river. Tall grass twisted about the +Terran's legs as he began to run. In spite of the gloom, he hesitated to +cross that open space. At night Warlock's peculiar vegetation displayed +a very alien attribute--ten ... twenty varieties of grass, plant, and +tree emitted a wan phosphorescence, varying in degree, but affording +each an aura of light. And the path before Shann now was dotted by +splotches of that radiance, not as brilliant as the chemical-born flames +the attackers had kindled in the camp, but as quick to betray the unwary +who passed within their dim circles. And there had never been any reason +to believe that Throg powers of sight were less than human; there was +perhaps some evidence to the contrary. Shann crouched, charting the +clumps ahead for a zigzag course which would take him to at least +momentary safety in the river bed. + +Perhaps a mile downstream was the transport the Terrans had cobbled +together no earlier than this afternoon, a raft Thorvald had professed +to believe would support them to the sea which lay some fifty Terran +miles to the west. But now he had to cover that mile. + +The wolverines? Thorvald? There was one lure which might draw the +animals on to the rendezvous. Taggi had brought down a "deer" just +before they had left the raft. And instead of allowing both beasts to +feast at leisure, Shann had lashed the carcass to the shaky platform of +wood and brush, putting it out to swing in the current, though still +moored to the bank. + +Wolverines always cached that part of the kill which they did not +consume at the first eating, usually burying it. He had hoped that to +leave the carcass in such a way would draw both animals back to the raft +when they were hungry. And they had not fed particularly well that day. + +Thorvald? Well, the Survey officer had made it very plain during the +past five days of what Shann had come to look upon as an uneasy +partnership that he considered himself far abler to manage in the field, +while he had grave doubts of Shann's efficiency in the direction of +survival potential. + +The Terran started along the pattern of retreat he had laid out to the +river bed. His heart pounded as he ran, not because of the physical +effort he was expending, but because again from the camp had come that +blood-freezing howl. A lighter line marked the lip of the cut in which +the stream was set, something he had not foreseen. He threw himself down +to crawl the last few feet, hugging the earth. + +That very pale luminescence was easily accounted for by what lay below. +Shann licked his lips and tasted the sting of sap smeared on his face +during his struggle with the bushes. While the strip of meadow behind +him now had been spotted with light plants, the cut below showed an +almost solid line of them stringing willow-wise along the water's edge. +To go down at this point was simply to spotlight his presence for any +Throg on his trail. He could only continue along the upper bank, hoping +to finally find an end to the growth of luminescent vegetation below. + +Shann was perhaps five yards from the point where he had come to the +river, when a commotion behind made him freeze and turn his head +cautiously. The camp was half hidden, and the fires there must be dying. +But a twisting, struggling mass was rolling across the meadow in his +general direction. + +Thorvald fighting off an attack? The wolverines? Shann drew his legs +under him, ready to erupt into a counter-offensive. He hesitated +between drawing stunner or knife. In his brush with the injured Throg at +the wreck the stunner had had little impression on the enemy. And now he +wondered if his blade, though it was super-steel at its toughest, could +pierce any joint in the armored bodies of the aliens. + +There was surely a fight in progress. The whole crazily weaving blot +collapsed and rolled down upon three bright light plants. Dull sheen of +Throg casing was revealed ... no sign of fur, or flesh, or clothing. Two +of the aliens battling? But why? + +One of those figures got up stiffly, bent over the huddle still on the +ground, and pulled at something. The wooden shaft of Shann's spear was +wanly visible. And the form on the ground did not stir as that was +jerked loose. The Throg leader dead? Shann hoped so. He slid his knife +back into the sheath, tapped the hilt to make sure it was firmly in +place, and crawled on. The river, twisting here and there, was a +promising pool of dusky shadow ahead. The bank of willow-things was +coming to an end, and none too soon. For when he glanced back again he +saw another Throg run across the meadow, and he watched them lift their +fellow, carrying him back to camp. + +The Throgs might seem indestructible, but he had put an end to one, +aided by luck and a very rough weapon. With that to bolster his +self-confidence to a higher notch, Shann dropped by cautious degrees +over the bank and down to the water's edge. When his boots splashed into +the oily flood he began to tramp downstream, feeling the pull of the +water, first ankle high and then about his calves. This early in the +season they did hot have to fear floods, and hereabouts the stream was +wide and shallow, save in mid-current at the center point. + +Twice more he had to skirt patches of light plants, and once a young +tree stood bathed in radiance with a pinkish tinge instead of the usual +ghostly gray. Within the haze which tented the drooping branches, +flitted small glittering, flying things; and the scent of its half-open +buds was heavy on the air, neither pleasant nor unpleasant in Shann's +nostrils, merely different. + +He dared to whistle, a soft call he hoped would carry along the cut +between the high banks. But, though he paused and listened until it +seemed that every cell in his thin body was occupied in that act, he +heard no answering call from the wolverines, nor any suggestion that +either the animals or Thorvald were headed in the direction of the raft. + +What was he going to do if none of the others joined him downstream? +Thorvald had said not to linger there past daylight. Yet Shann knew that +unless he actually sighted a Throg patrol splashing after him he would +wait until he made sure of the others' fate. Both Taggi and Togi were as +important to him as the Survey officer. Perhaps more so, he told himself +now, because he understood them to a certain degree and found +companionship in their undemanding company which he could not claim from +the man. + +Why _did_ Thorvald insist upon their going on to the seashore? To +Shann's mind his own first plan of holing up back in the eastern +mountains was better. Those heights had as many hiding places as the +fiord country. But Thorvald had suddenly become so set on this westward +trek that he had given in. As much as he inwardly rebelled when he took +them, he found himself obeying the older man's orders. It was only when +he was alone, as now, that he began to question both Thorvald's motives +and his authority. + +Three sprigs of a light bush set in a triangle. Shann paused and then +climbed out on the bank, shaking the water from his boots as Taggi might +shake such drops from a furred limb. This was the sign they had set to +mark their rendezvous point, but.... + +Shann whirled, drawing his stunner. The raft was a dark blob on the +surface of the water some feet farther on. And now it was bobbing up and +down violently. That was not the result of any normal tug of current. He +heard an indignant squeal and relaxed with a little laugh. He need not +have worried about the wolverines; that bait had drawn them all right. +Both of them were now engaged in eating, though they had to conduct +their feast on the rather shaky foundation of the makeshift transport. + +They paid no attention as he waded out, pulling at the anchor cord as he +went. The wind must have carried his familiar scent to them. As the +water climbed to his shoulders Shann put one hand on the outmost log of +the raft. One of the animals snarled a warning at being disturbed. Or +had that been at him? + +Shann stood where he was, listening intently. Yes, there was a splashing +sound from upstream. Whoever followed his own recent trail was taking no +care to keep that pursuit a secret, and the pace of the newcomer was +fast enough to spell trouble. + +Throgs? Tensely the Terran waited for some reaction from the wolverines. +He was sure that if the aliens had followed him, both animals would give +warning. Save when they had gone wild upon hearing that strange wail +from the camp, they avoided meeting the enemy. + +But from all sounds the animals had not stopped feeding. So the other +was no beetle-head. On the other hand, why would Thorvald so advertise +his coming, unless the need for speed was greater than caution? Shann +drew taut the mooring cord, bringing out his knife to saw through that +tough length. A figure passed the three-sprig signal, ran onto the raft. + +"Lantee?" The call came in a hoarse, demanding whisper. + +"Here." + +"Cut loose. We have to get out of here!" + +Thorvald flung himself forward, and together the men scrambled up on the +raft. The mangled carcass plunged into the water, dislodged by their +efforts. But before the wolverines could follow it, the mooring vine +snapped, and the river current took them. Feeling the raft sway and +begin to spin, the wolverines whined, crouched in the middle of what now +seemed a very frail craft. + +Behind them, far away but too clear, sounded that eerie howling, topping +the sigh of the night wind. + +"I saw----" Thorvald gasped, pausing as if to catch full lungfuls of air +to back his words, "they have a 'hound!' That's what you hear." + + + + +5. PURSUIT + + +As the raft revolved slowly it also slipped downstream at a steadily +increasing pace, for the current had them in hold. The wolverines +pressed close to Shann until the musky scent of their fur, their animal +warmth, enveloped him. One growled deep in its throat, perhaps in answer +to that wind-borne wail. + +"Hound?" Shann asked. + +Beside him in the dark Thorvald was working loose one of the poles they +had readied to help control the raft's voyaging. The current carried +them along, but there was a need for those lengths of sapling to fend +them free from rocks and water-buried snags. + +"What hound?" the younger man demanded more sharply when there came no +immediate answer. + +"The Throgs' tracker. But why did they import one?" Thorvald's +puzzlement was plain in his tone. He added a moment later, with some of +his usual firmness, "We may be in for bad trouble now. Use of a hound +means an attempt to take prisoners----" + +"Then they do not know that we are here, as Terrans, I mean?" + +Thorvald seemed to be sorting out his thoughts when he replied to that. +"They could have brought a hound here just on chance that they might +miss one of us in the initial mop-up. Or, if they believe we are +natives, they could want a specimen for study." + +"Wouldn't they just blast down Terrans on sight?" + +Shann saw the dark blot which was Thorvald's head shake in negation. + +"They might need a live Terran--badly and soon." + +"Why?" + +"To operate the camp call beam." + +Shann's momentary bewilderment vanished. He knew enough of Survey +procedure to guess the reason for such a move on the part of the aliens. + +"The settler transport?" + +"Yes, the ship. She won't planet here without the proper signal. And the +Throgs can't give that. If they don't take her, their time's run out +before they have even made a start here." + +"But how could they know that the transport is nearly due? When we +intercept their calls they're pure gibberish to us. Can they read our +codes?" + +"The supposition is that they can't. Only, concerning Throgs, all we +know is supposition. Anyway, they do know the routine for establishing a +Terran colony, and we can't alter that procedure except in small +nonessentials," Thorvald said grimly. "If that transport doesn't pick up +the proper signal to set down here on schedule, her captain will call in +the patrol escort ... then exit one Throg base. But if the beetle-heads +can trick the ship in and take her, then they'll have a clear five or +six more months here to consolidate their own position. After that it +would take more than just one patrol cruiser to clear Warlock; it will +require a fleet. So the Throgs will have another world to play with, and +an important one. This lies on a direct line between the Odin and +Kulkulkan systems. A Throg base on such a trade route could eventually +cut us right out of this quarter of the galaxy." + +"So you think they want to capture us in order to bring the transport +in?" + +"By our type of reasoning, that would be a logical move--_if_ they know +we are here. They haven't too many of those hounds, and they don't risk +them on petty jobs. I'd hoped we'd covered our trail well. But we had to +risk that attack on the camp.... I needed the map case!" Again Thorvald +might have been talking to himself. "Time ... and the right maps--" he +brought his fist down on the raft, making the platform tremble--"that's +what I have to have now." + +Another patch of light-willows stretched along the river-banks, and as +they sailed through that ribbon of ghostly radiance they could see each +other's faces. Thorvald's was bleak, hard, his eyes on the stream behind +them as if he expected at any moment to see a Throg emerge from the +surface of the water. + +"Suppose that thing--" Shann pointed upstream with his chin--"follows +us? What is it anyway?" Hound suggested Terran dog, but he couldn't +stretch his imagination to believe in a working co-operation between +Throg and any mammal. + +"A rather spectacular combination of toad and lizard, with a few other +grisly touches, is about as close as you can get to a general +description. And that won't be too accurate, because like the Throgs its +remote ancestors must have been of the insect family. If the thing +follows us, and I think we can be sure that it will, we'll have to take +steps. There is always this advantage--those hounds cannot be controlled +from a flyer, and the beetle-heads never take kindly to foot slogging. +So we won't have to expect any speedy chase. If it slips its masters in +rough country, we can try to ambush it." In the dim light Thorvald was +frowning. "I flew over the territory ahead on two sweeps, and it is a +queer mixture. If we can reach the rough country bordering the sea, +we'll have won the first round. I don't believe that the Throgs will be +in a hurry to track us in there. They'll try two alternatives to chasing +us on foot. One, use their energy beams to rake any suspect valley, and +since there are hundreds of valleys all pretty much alike, that will +take some time. Or they can attempt to shake us out with a dumdum should +they have one here, which I doubt." + +Shann tensed. The stories of the effects of the Throg's dumdum weapon +were anything but pretty. + +"And to get a dumdum," Thorvald continued as if he were discussing a +purely theoretical matter and not a threat of something worse than +death, "They'll have to bring in one of their major ships. Which they +will hesitate to do with a cruiser near at hand. Our own danger spot now +is the section we should strike soon after dawn tomorrow if the rate of +this current is what I have timed it. There is a band of desert on this +side of the mountains. The river gorge deepens there and the land is +bare. Let them send a ship over and we could be as visible as if we were +sending up flares----" + +"How about taking cover now and going on only at night?" suggested +Shann. + +"Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But with time pressing us now, no. If we keep +straight on, we could reach the foothills in about forty hours, maybe +less. And we have to stay with the river. To strike across country there +without good supplies and on foot is sheer folly." + +Two days. With perhaps the Throgs unleashing their hound on land, +combing from their flyers. With a desert.... Shann put out his hands to +the wolverines. The prospect certainly didn't seem anywhere near as +simple as it had the night before when Thorvald had planned this escape. +But then the Survey officer had left out quite a few points which were +not pertinent. Was he also leaving out other essentials? Shann wanted to +ask, but somehow he could not. + +After a while he dozed, his head resting on his knees. He awoke, roused +out of a vivid dream, a dream so detailed and so deeply impressed in a +picture on his mind that he was confused when he blinked at the +riverbank visible in the half-light of early dawn. + +Instead of that stretch of earth and ragged vegetation now gliding past +him as the raft angled along, he should have been fronting a vast skull +stark against the sky--a skull whose outlines were oddly inhuman, from +whose eyeholes issued and returned flying things while its sharply +protruding lower jaw was lapped by water. In color that skull had been a +violent clash of blood-red and purple. Shann blinked again at the +riverbank, seeing transposed on it still that ghostly haze of bone-bare +dome, cavernous eyeholes and nose slit, fanged jaws. That skull was a +mountain, or a mountain was a skull--and it was important to him; he +must locate it! + +He moved stiffly, his legs and arms cramped but not cold. The wolverines +stirred on either side of him. Thorvald continued to sleep, curled up +beyond, the pole still clasped in his hands. A flat map case was slung +by a strap about his neck, its thin envelope between his arm and his +body as if for safekeeping. On the smooth flap was the Survey seal, and +it was fastened with a finger lock. + +Thorvald had lost some of the bright hard surface he had shown at the +spaceport where Shann had first sighted him. There were hollows in his +cheeks, sending into high relief those bone ridges beneath his eye +sockets, giving him a faint resemblance to the skull of Shann's dream. +His face was grimed, his field uniform stained and torn. Only his hair +was as bright as ever. + +Shann smeared the back of his hand across his own face, not doubting +that he must present an even more disreputable appearance. He leaned +forward cautiously to look into the water, but that surface was not +quiet enough to act as a mirror. + +Getting to his feet as the raft bobbed under his shift of weight, Shann +studied the territory now about them. He could not match Thorvald's +inches, just as he must have a third less bulk than the officer, but +standing, he could sight something of what now lay beyond the rising +banks of the cut. That grass which had been so thick in the meadowlands +around the camp had thinned into separate clumps, pale lavender in +color. And the scrawniness of stem and blade suggested dehydration and +poor soil. The earth showing between those clumps was not of the usual +blue, but pallid, too, bleached to gray, while the bushes along the +stream's edge were few and smaller. They must have crossed the line into +the desert Thorvald had promised. + +Shann edged around to face west. There was light enough in the sky to +sight tall black pyramids waiting. They had to reach those distant +mountains, mountains whose feet on the other side were resting in sea +water. He studied them carefully, surveying each peak he could separate +from its fellows. + +Did the skull lie among them? The conviction that the place he had seen +in his dream was real, that it was to be found on Warlock, persisted. +Not only was it a definite feature of the landscape somewhere in the +wild places of this world, but it was also necessary for him to locate +it. Why? Shann puzzled over that, with a growing uneasiness which was +not quite fear, not yet, anyway. + +Thorvald moved. The raft tilted and the wolverines became growly. Shann +sat down, one hand out to the officer's shoulder in warning. Feeling +that touch Thorvald shifted, one hand striking out blindly in a blow +which Shann was just able to avoid while with the other he pinned the +map case yet tighter to him. + +"Take it easy!" Shann urged. + +The other's eyelids flicked. He looked up, but not as if he saw Shann at +all. + +"The Cavern of the Veil----" he muttered. "Utgard...." Then his eyes did +focus and he sat up, gazing around him with a frown. + +"We're in the desert," Shann announced. + +Thorvald got up, balancing on feet planted a little apart, looking to +the faded expanse of the waste spreading from the river cut. He stared +at the mountains before he squatted down to fumble with the lock of the +map case. + +The wolverines were growing restless, though they still did not try to +move about too freely on the raft, greeting Shann with vocal complaint. +He and Thorvald could satisfy their hunger with a handful of +concentrates from the survival kit. But those dry tablets could not +serve the animals. Shann studied the terrain with more knowledge than he +had possessed a week earlier. This was not hunting land, but there +remained the bounty of the river. + +"We'll have to feed Taggi and Togi," he broke the silence abruptly. "If +we don't, they'll be into the river and off on their own." + +Thorvald glanced up from one of the tough, thin sheets of map skin, +again as if he had been drawn back from some distance. His eyes moved +from Shann to the unpromising shore. + +"How? With what?" he wanted to know. Then the real urgency of the +situation must have penetrated his mental isolation. "You have an +idea--?" + +"There's those fish we found them eating back by the mountain stream," +Shann said, recalling an incident of a few days earlier. "Rocks here, +too, like those the fish were hiding under. Maybe we can locate some of +them here." + +He knew that Thorvald would be reluctant to work the raft in shore, to +spare time for such hunting. But there would be no arguing with hungry +wolverines, and he did not propose to lose the animals for the officer's +whim. + +However, Thorvald did not protest. They poled the raft out of the main +pull of the current, sending it in toward the southern shore in the lee +of a clump of light-willows. Shann scrambled ashore, the wolverines +after him, sniffling along at his heels while he overturned likely +looking rocks to unroof some odd underwater dwellings. The fish with the +rudimentary legs were present and not agile enough even in their native +element to avoid well-clawed paws which scooped them neatly out of the +river shallows. There was also a sleek furred creature with a broad flat +head and paddle-equipped forepaws, rather like a miniature seal, which +Taggi appropriated before Shann had a chance to examine it closely. In +fact, the wolverines wrought havoc along a half-mile section of bank +before the Terran could coax them back to the raft. + +As they hunted, Shann got a better idea of the land about the river. It +was sere, the vegetation dwindling except for some rough spikes of +things pushing through the parched ground like flayed fingers, their +puffed redness in contrast to the usual amethystine coloring of +Warlock's growing things. Under the climbing sun that whole stretch of +country was revealed in a stark bareness which at first repelled, and +then began to interest him. + +He discovered Thorvald standing on the upper bluff, looking out toward +the waiting mountains. The officer turned as Shann urged the wolverines +to the raft, and when he jumped down the drop to join them, Shann saw he +carried a map strip unrolled in his hand. + +"The situation is not as good as we hoped," he told the younger man. +"Well have to leave the river to cross the heights." + +"Why?" + +"There're rapids--bending in a falls." The officer squatted down, +spreading out the strip and making stabs at it with a nervous finger +tip. "Here we have to leave. This is all rough ground. But lying to the +south there's a gap which may be a pass. This was made from an aerial +survey." + +Shann knew enough to realize to what extent such a guide could go wrong. +Main features of the landscape would be clear enough from aloft, but +there might be unsurmountable difficulties at ground level which were +not distinguishable from the air. Yet Thorvald had planned this journey +as if he had already explored their escape route and that it was as open +and easy as a stroll down Tyr's main transport way. Why was it so +necessary that they try to reach the sea? However, since he had no +objection to voice except a dislike for indefinite information, Shann +did not question the other's calm assumption of command, not yet, +anyway. + +As they embarked and worked back into the current, Shann studied his +companion. Thorvald had freely listed the difficulties lying before +them. Yet he did not seem in the least worried about their being able to +win through to the sea--or if he was, his outer shell of unconcern +remained uncracked. Before their first day together had ended, the +younger Terran had learned that to Thorvald he was only another tool, to +be used by the Survey officer in some project which the other believed +of primary importance. And his resentment of the valuation was under +control so far. He valued Thorvald's knowledge, but the other's attitude +chilled and rebuffed his need for something more than a half partnership +of work. + +Why had Thorvald come back to Warlock in the first place? And why had it +been necessary for him to risk his life--perhaps more than his life if +their theory was correct concerning the Throgs' wish to capture a +Terran--to get that set of maps from the plundered camp? When he had +first talked of that raid, his promised loot had been supplies to fill +their daily needs; there had been no mention of maps. By all signs +Thorvald was engaged on some mission. And what would happen if he, +Shann, suddenly stopped being the other's obedient underling and +demanded a few explanations here and now? + +Only Shann knew enough about men to also know that he would not get any +information out of Thorvald that the latter was not ready to give, and +that such a showdown, coming prematurely, would only end in his own +discomfiture. He smiled wryly now, remembering his emotions when he had +first seen Ragnar Thorvald months ago. As if the officer ever considered +the likes, dislikes--or dreams--of one Shann Lantee. No, reality and +dreams seldom approached each other. Dreams.... + +"On any of those shoreline maps," he asked suddenly, "do they have +marked a mountain shaped like a skull?" + +Thorvald thrust with his pole. "Skull?" he repeated, a little absently, +as he so often did in answer to Shann's questions unless they dealt with +some currently important matter. + +"A queer sort of skull," Shann said. Just as vividly as when he had +first awakened, he could picture that skull mountain with the flying +things about its eye sockets. And that, too, was odd; dream impressions +usually faded with the passing of waking hours. "It has a protruding +lower jaw and the waves wash that ... red-and-purple rock----" + +"What?" + +He had Thorvald's complete attention now. + +"Where did you hear about it?" That demand followed quickly. + +"I didn't hear about it. I dreamed of it last night. I stood there right +in front of it. There were birds--or things flying like birds--going in +and out of the eyeholes----" + +"What else?" Thorvald leaned across his pole, his eyes alive, avid, as +if he would pull the reply he wanted out of Shann by force. + +"That was all I remember--the skull mountain." He did not add his other +impression, that he was meant to find that skull, that he _must_ find +it. + +"Nothing...." Thorvald paused, and then spoke slowly, with a visible +reluctance. "Nothing else? No cavern with a green veil--a wide green +veil--strung across it?" + +Shann shook his head. "Just the skull mountain." + +Thorvald looked as if he didn't quite believe that, but Shann's +expression must have been convincing, for he laughed shortly. + +"Well, there goes one nice neat theory up in smoke!" he commented. "No, +your skull doesn't appear on any of our maps, and so probably my cavern +does not exist either. They may both be smoke screens----" + +"What--?" But Shann never finished that query. + +A wind was rising in the desert to blow across the slit which held the +river, carrying with it a fine shifting of sand which coasted down into +the water as a gray haze, coating men, animals, and raft, and sighing as +snow sighs when it falls. + +Only that did not drown out another cry, a thin cry, diluted by the +miles of land stretching behind them, but yet carrying that long +ululating howl they had heard in the Throg camp. Thorvald grinned +mirthlessly. + +"The hound's on trail." + +He bent to the pole, using it to aid the pace of the current. Shann, +chilled in spite of the sun's heat, followed his example, wondering if +time had ceased to fight on their side. + + + + +6. THE HOUND + + +The sun was a harsh ball of heat baking the ground and then, in some odd +manner, drawing back that same fieriness. In the coolness of the eastern +mountains Shann would not have believed that Warlock could hold such +heat. The men discarded their jackets early as they swung to dip the +poles. But they dared not strip off the rest of their clothing lest +their skin burn. And again gusts of wind now drove sand over the edge of +the cut to blanket the water. + +Shann wiped his eyes, pausing in his eternal push-push, to look at the +rocks which they were passing in threatening proximity. For the slash +which held the river had narrowed. And the rock of its walls was naked +of earth, save for sheltered pockets holding the drift of sand dust, +while boulders of all sizes cut into the path of the flowing water. + +He had not been mistaken; they were going faster, faster even than their +efforts with the poles would account for. With the narrowing of the bed +of the stream, the current was taking on a new swiftness. Shann said as +much and Thorvald nodded. + +"We're approaching the first of the rapids." + +"Where we get off and walk around," Shann croaked wearily. The dust +gritted between his teeth, irritated his eyes. "Do we stay beside the +river?" + +"As long as we can," Thorvald replied somberly. "We have no way of +transporting water." + +Yes, a man could live on very slim rations of food, continue to beat his +way over a bad trail if he had the concentrate tablets they carried. But +there was no going without water, and in this heat such an effort would +finish them quickly. Always they both listened for another cry from +behind, a cry to tell them just how near the Throg hunting party had +come. + +"No Throg flyers yet," Shann observed. He had expected one of those +black plates to come cruising the moment the hound had pointed the +direction for their pursuers. + +"Not in a storm such as this." Thorvald, without releasing his hold on +the raft pole, pointed with his chin to the swirling haze cloaking the +air above the cut walls. Here the river dug yet deeper into the +beginning of a canyon. They could breathe better. The dust still sifted +down but not as thickly as a half hour earlier. Though over their heads +the sky was now a grayish lid, shutting out the sun, bringing a portion +of coolness to the travelers. + +The Survey officer glanced from side to side, watching the banks as if +hunting for some special mark or sign. At last he used his pole as a +pointer to indicate a rough pile of boulders ahead. Some former +landslide had quarter dammed the river at that point, and the drift of +seasonal floods was caught in and among the rocky pile to form a prickly +peninsula. + +"In there----" + +They brought the raft to shore, fighting the faster current. The +wolverines, who had been subdued by the heat and the dust, flung +themselves to the rocks with the eagerness of passengers deserting a +sinking ship for certain rescue. Thorvald settled the map case more +securely between his arm and side before he took the same leap. When +they were all ashore he prodded the raft out into the stream again, +pushing the platform along until it was sucked by the current past the +line of boulders. + +"Listen!" + +But Shann had already caught that distant rumble of sound. It was +steady, beating like some giant drum. Certainly it did not herald a +Throg ship in flight and it came from ahead, not from their back trail. + +"Rapids ... perhaps even the falls," Thorvald interpreted that faint +thunder. "Now, let's see what kind of a road we can find here." + +The tongue of boulders, spiked with driftwood, was firmly based against +the wall of the cut. But it sloped up to within a few feet of the top of +that gap, more than one landslide having contributed to its fashioning. +The landing stage paralleled the river for perhaps some fifty feet. +Beyond it water splashed a straight wall. They would have to climb and +follow the stream along the top of the embankment, maybe being forced +well away from the source of the water. + +By unspoken consent they both knelt and drank deeply from their cupped +hands, splashing more of the liquid over their heads, washing the dust +from their skins. Then they began to climb the rough assent up which the +wolverines had already vanished. The murk above them was less solid, but +again the fine grit streaked their faces, embedding itself in their +hair. + +Shann paused to scrape a film of mud from his lips and chin. Then he +made the last pull, bracing his slight body against the push of the wind +he met there. A palm struck hard between his shoulders, nearly sending +him sprawling. He had only wits enough left to recognize that as an +order to get on, and he staggered ahead until rock arched over him and +the sand drift was shut off. + +His shoulder met solid stone, and having rubbed the sand from his eyes, +Shann realized he was in a pocket in the cliff walls. Well overhead he +caught a glimpse of natural amber sky through a slit, but here was a +twilight which thickened into complete darkness. + +There was no sign of wolverines. Thorvald moved along the pocket +southward, and Shann followed him. Once more they faced a dead end. For +the crevice, with the sheer descent to the river on the right, the cliff +wall at its back, came to an abrupt stop in a drop which caught at +Shann's stomach when he ventured to look down. + +If some battleship of the interstellar fleet had aimed a force beam +across the mountains of Warlock, cutting down to what lay under the +first envelope of planet-skin, perhaps the resulting wound might have +resembled that slash. What had caused such a break between the height on +which they stood and the much taller peak beyond, Shann could not guess. +But it must have been a cataclysm of spectacular dimensions. There was +certainly no descending to the bottom of that cut and reclimbing the +rock face on the other side. The fugitives would either have to return +to the river with all its ominous warnings of trouble to come, or find +some other path across that gap which now provided such an effective +barrier to the west. + +"Down!" Just as Thorvald had pushed him out of the murk of the dust +storm into the crevice, so now did that officer jerk Shann from his +feet, forcing him to the floor of the half cave from which they had +partially emerged. + +A shadow moved across the bright band of sunlit sky. + +"Back!" Thorvald caught at Shann again, his greater strength prevailing +as he literally dragged the younger man into the dusk of the crevice. +And he did not pause, nor allow Shann to do so, even when they were well +undercover again. At last they reached the dark hole in the southern +wall which they had passed earlier. And a push from Thorvald sent his +companion into that. + +Then a blow greater than any the Survey officer had aimed at him struck +Shann. He was hurled against a rough wall with impetus enough to explode +the air from his lungs, the ensuing pain so great that he feared his +ribs had given under that thrust. Before his eyes fire lashed down the +slit, searing him into temporary blindness. That flash was the last +thing he remembered as thick darkness closed in, shutting him into the +nothingness of unconsciousness. + +It hurt to breathe; he was slowly aware first of that pain and then the +fact that he _was_ breathing, that he had to endure the pain for the +sake of breath. His whole body was jarred into a dull torment as a +weight pressed upon his twisted legs. Then strong animal breath puffed +into his face. Shann lifted one hand by will power, touched thick fur, +felt the rasp of a tongue laid wetly across his fingers. + +Something close to terror engulfed him for a second or two when he knew +that he could not see! The black about him was colored by jagged flashes +of red which he somehow guessed were actually inside his eyes. He groped +through that fire-pierced darkness. An animal whimper from the throat of +the shaggy body pressed against him; he answered that movement. + +"Taggi?" + +The shove against him was almost enough to pin him once more to the +wall, a painful crush on his aching ribs, as the wolverine responded to +his name. That second nudge from the other side must be Togi's bid for +attention. + +But what had happened? Thorvald had hurled him back just after that +shadow had swung over the ledge. That shadow! Shann's wits quickened as +he tried to make sense of what he could remember. A Throg ship! Then +that fiery lash which had cut after them could only have resulted from +one of those energy bolts such as had wiped out the others of his kind +at the camp. But he was still alive----! + +"Thorvald?" He called through his personal darkness. When there was no +answer, Shann called again, more urgently. Then he hunched forward on +his hands and knees, pushing Taggi gently aside, running his hands over +projecting rocks, uneven flooring. + +His fingers touched what could only be cloth, before they met the warmth +of flesh. And he half threw himself against the supine body of the +Survey officer, groping awkwardly for heartbeat, for some sign that the +other was still living. + +"What----?" The one word came thickly, but Shann gave something close to a +sob of relief as he caught the faint mutter. He squatted back on his +heels, pressed his forearm against his aching eyes in a kind of fierce +will to see. + +Perhaps that pressure did relieve some of the blackout, for when he +blinked again, the complete dark and the fiery trails had faded to gray, +and he was sure he saw dimly a source of light to his left. + +The Throg ship had fired upon them. But the aliens could not have used +the full force of their weapon or neither of the Terrans would still be +alive. Which meant, Shann's thoughts began to make sense--sense which +brought apprehension--the Throgs probably intended to disable rather +than kill. They wanted prisoners, just as Thorvald had warned. + +How long did the Terrans have before the aliens would come to collect +them? There was no fit landing place hereabouts for their flyer. The +beetle-heads would have to set down at the edge of the desert land and +climb the mountains on foot. And the Throgs were not good at that. So, +the fugitives still had a measure of time. + +Time to do what? The country itself held them securely captive. That +drop to the southwest was one barrier. To retreat eastward would mean +running straight into the hands of the hunters. To descend again to the +river, their raft gone, was worse than useless. There was only this side +pocket in which they sheltered. And once the Throgs arrived, they could +scoop the Terrans out at their leisure, perhaps while stunned by a +controlling energy beam. + +"Taggi? Togi?" Shann was suddenly aware that he had not heard the +wolverines for some time. + +He was answered by a weirdly muffled call--from the south! Had the +animals found a new exit? Was this niche more than just a niche? A cave +of some length, or even a passage running back into the interior of the +peaks? With that faint hope spurring him, Shann bent again over +Thorvald, able now to make out the other's huddled form. Then he drew +the torch from the inner loop of his coat and pressed the lowest stud. + +His eyes smarted in answer to that light, watered until tears patterned +the grime and dust on his cheeks. But he could make out what lay before +them, a hole leading into the cliff face, the hole which might furnish +the door to escape. + +The Survey officer moved, levering himself up, his eyes screwed tightly +shut. + +"Lantee?" + +"Here. And there's a tunnel--right behind you. The wolverines went that +way...." + +To his surprise there was a thin ghost of a smile on Thorvald's usually +straight-lipped mouth. "And we'd better be away before visitors arrive?" + +So he, too, must have thought his way through the sequence of past +action to the same conclusion concerning the Throg movements. + +"Can you see, Lantee?" The question was painfully casual, but a note in +it, almost a reaching for reassurance, cut for the first time through +the wall which had stood between them from their chance meeting by the +wrecked ship. + +"Better now. I couldn't when I first came to," Shann answered quickly. + +Thorvald opened his eyes, but Shann guessed that he was as blind as he +himself had been, He caught at the officer's nearer hand, drawing it to +rest on his own belt. + +"Grab hold!" Shann was giving the orders now. "By the look of that +opening we had better try crawling. I've a torch on at low----" + +"Good enough." The other's fingers fumbled on the band about Shann's +slim waist until they gripped tight at his back. He started on into the +opening, drawing Thorvald by that hold with him. + +Luckily, they did not have to crawl far, for shortly past the entrance +the fault or vein they were following became a passage high enough for +even the tall Thorvald to travel without stooping. And then only a +little later he released his hold on Shann, reporting he could now see +well enough to manage on his own. + +The torch beam caught on a wall and awoke from there a glitter which +hurt their eyes--a green-gold cluster of crystals. Several feet on, +there was another flash of embedded crystals. Those might promise +priceless wealth, but neither Terran paused to examine them more closely +or touch their surfaces. From time to time Shann whistled. And always he +was answered by the wolverines, their calls coming from ahead. So the +men continued to hope that they were not walking into a trap from which +the Throgs could extract them. + +"Snap off your torch a moment!" Thorvald ordered. + +Shann obeyed. The subdued light vanished. Yet there was still light to +be seen--ahead and above. + +"Front door," Thorvald observed. "How do we get up?" + +The torch showed them that, a narrow ladder of ledges branching off when +the passage they followed took a turn to the left and east. Afterward +Shann remembered that climb with wonder that they had actually made it, +though their advance had been slow, passing the torch from one to +another to make sure of their footing. + +Shann was top man when a last spurt of effort enabled him to draw +himself out into the open, his hands raw, his nails broken and torn. He +sat there, stupefied with his own weariness, to stare about. + +Thorvald called impatiently, and Shann reached for the torch to hold it +for the officer. Then Thorvald crawled out; he, too, looked around in +dull surprise. + +On either side, peaks cut high into the amber of the sky. But this bowl +in which the men had found refuge was rich in growing things. Though the +trees were stunted, the grass grew almost as high here as it did on the +meadows of the lowlands. Quartering the pocket valley, galloped the +wolverines, expressing in that wild activity their delight in this +freedom. + +"Good campsite." + +Thorvald shook his head. "We can't stay here." + +And, to underline that gloomy prophesy, there issued from that hole +through which they had just come, muffled and broken, but still +threatening, the howl of the Throgs' hound. + +The Survey officer caught the torch from Shann's hold and knelt to flash +it into the interior of the passage. As the beam slowly circled that +opening, he held out his other arm, measuring the size of the aperture. + +"When that thing gets on a hot scent"--he snapped off the beam--"the +beetle-heads won't be able to control it. There will be no reason for +them to attempt to. Those hounds obey their first orders: kill--or +capture. And I think this one operates on 'capture.' So they'll loose it +to run ahead of their party." + +"And we move to knock it out?" Shann relied now on the other's +experience. + +Thorvald rose. "It would need a blaster on full power to finish off a +hound. No, we can't kill it. But we can make it a doorkeeper to our +advantage." He trotted down into the valley, Shann beside him without +understanding in the least, but aware that Thorvald did have some plan. +The officer bent, searched the ground, and began to pull from under the +loose surface dirt one of those nets of tough vines which they had used +for cords. He thrust a double handful of this hasty harvest into Shann's +hold with a single curt order: "Twist these together and make as thick a +rope as you can!" + +Shann twisted, discovering to his pleased surprise that under pressure +the vines exuded a sticky purple sap which not only coated his hands, +but also acted as an adhesive for the vines themselves so that his task +was not nearly as formidable as it had first seemed. With his force ax +Thorvald cut down two of the stunted trees and stripped them of +branches, wedging the poles into the rocks about the entrance of the +hole. + +They were working against time, but on Thorvald's part with practiced +efficiency. Twice more that cry of the hunter arose from the depths +behind them. As the westering sun, almost down now, shone into the +valley hollow Thorvald set up the frame of his trap. + +"We can't knock it out, any more than we can knock out a Throg. But a +beam from a stunner ought to slow it up long enough for this to work." + +Taggi burst out of the grass, approaching the hole with purpose. And +Togi was right at his heels. Both of them stared into that opening, +drooling a little, the same eagerness in their pose as they had +displayed when hunting. Shann remembered how that first howl of the +Throg hound had drawn both animals to the edge of the occupied camp in +spite of their marked distaste for its alien masters. + +"They're after it too." He told Thorvald what he had noted on the night +of their sortie. + +"Maybe they can keep it occupied," the other commented. "But we don't +want them to actually mix with it; that might be fatal." + +A clamor broke out in the interior passage. Taggi snarled, backing away +a few steps before he uttered his own war cry. + +"Ready!" Thorvald jumped to the net slung from the poles; Shann raised +his stunner. + +Togi underlined her mate's challenge with a series of snarls rising in +volume. There was a tearing, scrambling sound from within. Then Shann +fired at the jack-in-the-box appearance of a monstrous head, and +Thorvald released the deadfall. + +The thing squalled. Ropes beat, growing taut. The wolverines backed from +jaws which snapped fruitlessly. To Shann's relief the Terran animals +appeared content to bait the now imprisoned--or collared--horror, +without venturing to make any close attack. + +But he reckoned that too soon. Perhaps the stunner had slowed up the +hound's reflexes, for those jaws stilled with a last shattering snap, +the toad-lizard mask--a head which was against all nature as the Terrans +knew it--was quiet in the strangle leash of the rope, the rest of the +body serving as a cork to fill the exit hole. Taggi had been waiting +only for such a chance. He sprang, claws ready. And Togi went in after +her mate to share the battle. + + + + +7. UNWELCOME GUIDE + + +There was a small eruption of earth and stone as the hound came alive, +fighting to reach its tormentors. The resulting din was deafening. +Shann, avoiding by a hand's breadth a snap of jaws with power to crush +his leg into bone powder and mangled flesh, cuffed Togi across her nose +and buried his hands in the fur about Taggi's throat as he heaved the +male wolverine back from the struggling monster. He shouted orders, and +to his surprise Togi did obey, leaving him free to yank Taggi away. +Perhaps neither wolverine had expected the full fury of the hound. + +Though he suffered a slash across the back of one hand, delivered by the +over-excited Taggi, in the end Shann was able to get both animals away +from the hole, now corked so effectively by the slavering thing. +Thorvald was actually laughing as he watched his younger companion in +action. + +"This ought to slow up the beetles! If they haul their little doggie +back, it's apt to take out some of its rage on them, and I'd like to see +them dig around it." + +Considering that the monstrous head was swinging from side to side in a +collar of what seemed to be immovable rocks, Shann thought Thorvald +right. He went down on his knees beside the wolverines, soothing them +with hand and voice, trying to get them to obey his orders willingly. + +"Ha!" Thorvald brought his mud-stained hands together with a clap, the +sharp sound attracting the attention of both animals. + +Shann scrambled up, swung out his bleeding hand in the simple motion +which meant to hunt, being careful to signal down the valley westward. +Taggi gave a last reluctant growl at the hound, to be answered by one of +its ear-torturing howls, and then trotted off, Togi tagging behind. + +Thorvald caught Shann's slashed hand, inspecting the bleeding cut. From +the aid packet at his belt he brought out powder and a strip of +protecting plasta-flesh to cleanse and bind the wound. + +"You'll do," he commented. "But we'd better get out of here before full +dark." + +The small paradise of the valley was no safe campsite. It could not be +so long as that monstrosity on the hillside behind them roared and +howled its rage to the darkening sky. Trailing the wolverines, the men +caught up with the animals drinking from a small spring and thankfully +shared that water. Then they pushed on, not able to forget that +somewhere in the peaks about must lurk the Throg flyer ready to attack +on sight. + +Only darkness could not be held off by the will of men. Here in the open +there was no chance to use the torch. As long as they were within the +valley boundaries the phosphorescent bushes marked a path. But by the +coming of complete darkness they were once more out in a region of bare +rock. + +The wolverines had killed a brace of skitterers, consuming hide and soft +bones as well as the meager flesh which was not enough to satisfy their +hunger. However, to Shann's relief, they did not wander too far ahead. +And as the men stopped at last on a ledge where a fall of rock gave them +some limited shelter both animals crowded in against the humans, adding +the heat of their bodies to the slight comfort of that cramped resting +place. + +From time to time Shann was startled out of a troubled half sleep by the +howl of the hound. Luckily that sound never seemed any louder. If the +Throgs had caught up with their hunter, and certainly they must have +done so by now, they either could not, or would not free it from the +trap. Shann dozed again, untroubled by any dreams, to awake hearing the +shrieks of clak-claks. But when he studied the sky he was able to sight +none of the cliff-dwelling Warlockian bats. + +"More likely they are paying attention to our friend back in the +valley," Thorvald said dryly, rightly reading Shann's glance to the +clouds overhead. "Ought to keep them busy." + +Clak-claks were meat eaters, only they preferred their chosen prey weak +and easy to attack. The imprisoned hound would certainly attract their +kind. And those shrill cries now belling through the mountain heights +ought to draw everyone of their species within miles. + +"There it is!" Thorvald, pulling himself to his feet by a rock handhold, +gazed westward, his gaunt face eager. + +Shann, expecting no less than a cruising Throg ship, searched for cover +on their perch. Perhaps if they flattened themselves behind the fall of +stones, they might be able to escape attention. Yet Thorvald made no +move into hiding. And so Shann followed the line of the other's fixed +stare. + +Before and below them lay a maze of heights and valleys, sharp drops, +and saw-toothed rises. But on the far rim of that section of badlands +shone the green of a Warlockian sea rippling on to the only dimly seen +horizon. They were now within sight of their goal. + +Had they had one of the exploration sky-flitters from the overrun camp, +they could have walked its beach sands within the hour. Instead, they +fought their way through a Devil-designed country for the next two days. +Twice they had narrow escapes from the Throg ship--or ships--which +continued to sweep across the rugged line of the coast, and only a quick +dive to cover, wasting precious time cowering like trapped animals, +saved them from discovery. But at least the hound did not bay again on +the tangled trail they left, and they hoped that the trap and the +clak-claks had put that monster permanently out of service. + +On the third day they came down to one of those fiords which tongued +inland, fringing the coast. There had been no lack of hunting in the +narrow valleys through which they had threaded, so both men and +wolverines were well fed. Though animal fur wore better than the now +tattered uniforms of the men. + +"Now where?" Shann asked. + +Would he now learn the purpose driving Thorvald on to this coastland? +Certainly such broken country afforded good hiding, but no better +concealment than the mountains of the interior. + +The Survey officer turned slowly around on the shingle, studying the +heights behind them as well as the angle of the inlet where the wavelets +lapped almost at their battered boot tips. Opening his treasured map +case, he began a patient checking of landmarks against several of the +strips he carried. "We'll have to get on down to the true coast." + +Shann leaned against the trunk of a conical branched mountain tree, +pulling absently at the shreds of wine-colored bark being shed in +seasonal change. The chill they had known in the upper valleys was +succeeded here by a humid warmth. Spring was becoming a summer such as +this northern continent knew. Even the fresh wind, blowing in from the +outer sea, had already lost some of the bite they had felt two days +before when its salt-laden mistiness had first struck them. + +"Then what do we do there?" Shann persisted. + +Thorvald brought over the map, his black-rimmed nail tracing a route +down one of the fiords, slanting out to indicate a lace of islands +extending in a beaded line across the sea. + +"We head for these." + +To Shann that made no sense at all. Those islands ... why, they would +offer less chance of establishing a safe base than the broken land in +which they now stood. Even the survey scouts had given those spots of +sea-encircled earth the most cursory examination from the air. + +"Why?" he asked bluntly. So far he had followed orders because they had +for the most part made sense. But he was not giving obedience to +Thorvald as a matter of rank alone. + +"Because there is something out there, something which may make all the +difference now. Warlock isn't an empty world." + +Shann jerked free a long thong of loose bark, rolling it between his +fingers. Had Thorvald cracked? He knew that the officer had disagreed +with the findings of the team and had been an unconvinced minority of +one who had refused to subscribe to the report that Warlock had no +native intelligent life and therefore was ready and waiting for human +settlement because it was technically an empty world. But to continue to +cling to that belief without a single concrete proof was certainly a +sign of mental imbalance. + +And Thorvald was regarding him now with frowning impatience. You were +supposed to humor delusions, weren't you? Only, could you surrender and +humor a wild idea which might mean your death? If Thorvald wanted to go +island-hopping in chance of discovering what never had existed, Shann +need not accompany him. And if the officer tried to use force, well, +Shann was armed with a stunner, and had, he believed, more control over +the wolverines. Perhaps if he merely gave lip agreement to this +project.... Only he didn't believe, noting the light deep in those gray +eyes holding on him, that anybody could talk Thorvald out of this +particular obsession. + +"You don't believe me, do you?" The impatience arose hotly in that +demand. + +"Why shouldn't I?" Shann tried to temporize. "You've had a lot of +exploration experience; you should know about such things. I don't +pretend to be any authority." + +Thorvald refolded the map and placed it in the case. Then he pulled at +the sealing of his blouse, groping in an inner secret pocket. He +uncurled his fingers to display his treasure. + +On his palm lay a coin-shaped medallion, bone-white but possessing an +odd luster which bone would not normally show. And it was carved. Shann +put out a finger, though he had a strange reluctance to touch the +object. When he did he experienced a sensation close to the tingle of a +mild electric shock. And once he had made that contact, he was also +impelled to pick up that disk and examine it more closely. + +The carved pattern was very intricate and had been done with great +delicacy and skill, though the whorls, oddly shaped knobs, ribbon +tracings, made no connected design he could determine. After a moment or +two of study, Shann became aware that his eyes, following those twists +and twirls, were "fixed," that it required a distinct effort to look +away from the thing. Feeling some of that same alarm as he had known +when he first heard the wailing of the Throg hound, he let the disk fall +back into Thorvald's hold, even more disturbed when he discovered that +to relinquish his grasp required some exercise of will. + +"What is it?" + +Thorvald restored the coin to his hiding place. + +"You tell me. I can say this much, there is no listing for anything even +remotely akin to this in the Archives." + +Shann's eyes widened. He absently rubbed the fingers which had held the +bone coin--if it was a coin--back and forth across the torn front of his +blouse. That tingle ... did he still feel it? Or was his imagination at +work again? But an object not listed in the exhaustive Survey Archives +would mean some totally new civilization, a new stellar race. + +"It is definitely a created article," the Survey officer continued. "And +it was found on the beach of one of those sea islands." + +"Throg?" But Shann already knew the answer to that. + +"Throg work--_this_?" Thorvald was openly scornful. "Throgs have no +conception of such art. You must have seen their metal plates--those are +the beetle-heads' idea of beauty. Have those the slightest resemblance +to this?" + +"Then who made it?" + +"Either Warlock has--or once had--a native race advanced enough in a +well-established form of civilization to develop such a sophisticated +type of art, or there have been other visitors from space here before us +and the Throgs. And the latter possibility I don't believe----" + +"Why?" + +"Because this was carved of bone or an allied substance. We haven't been +quite able to identify it in the labs, but it is basically organic +material. It was found exposed to the weather and yet it is in perfect +condition, could have been carved any time within the past five years. +It has been handled, yes, but not roughly. And we have come across +evidences of no other star-cruising races or species save ourselves and +the Throgs. No, I say this was made here on Warlock, not too long ago, +and by intelligent beings of a very high grade of civilization." + +"But they would have cities," protested Shann. "We've been here for +months, explored all over this continent. We would have seen them or +some traces of them." + +"An old race, maybe," Thorvald mused, "a very old race, perhaps in +decline, reduced to a remnant in numbers with good reason to retire into +hiding. No, we've discovered no cities, no evidence of a native culture +past or present. But this--" he touched the front of his blouse--"was +found on the shore of an island. We may have been looking in the wrong +place for our natives." + +"The sea...." Shann glanced with new interest at the green water surging +in wavelets along the edge of the fiord. + +"Just so, the sea!" + +"But scouts have been here for more than a year, one team or another. +And nobody saw anything or found any traces." + +"All four of our base camps were set inland, our explorations along the +coast were mainly carried out by flitter, except for one party--the one +which found this. And there may be excellent local reasons why any +native never showed himself to us. For that matter, they may not be able +to exist on land at all, any more than we could live without artificial +aids in the sea." + +"Now----?" + +"Now we must make a real attempt to find them if they do exist anywhere +near here. A friendly native race could make all the difference in the +world in any struggle with the Throgs." + +"Then you did have more than the dreams to back you when you argued with +Fenniston!" Shann cut in. + +Thorvald's eyes were on him again. "When did you hear that, Lantee?" + +To his great embarrassment, Shann found himself flushing. "I heard you, +the day you left for Headquarters," he admitted, and then added in his +own defense, "Probably half the camp did, too." + +Thorvald's gathering frown flickered away. He gave a snort of laughter. +"Yes, I guess we did rather get to the bellowing point that morning. The +dreams--" he came back to the subject--"Yes, the dreams +were--are--important. We had their warning from the start. Lorry was the +First-In Scout who charted Warlock, and he is a good man. I guess I can +break secret now to tell you that his ship was equipped with a new +experimental device which recorded--well, you might call it an +"emanation"--a radiation so faint its source could not be traced. And it +registered whenever Lorry had one of those dreams. Unfortunately, the +machine was very new, very much in the untested stage, and its +performance when checked later in the lab was erratic enough so the +powers-that-be questioned all its readings. They produced a half dozen +answers to account for that tape, and Lorry only caught the recording as +long as he was on a big bay to the south. + +"Then when two check flights came in later, carrying perfected machines +and getting no recordings, it was all written off as a mistake in the +first experiment. A planet such as Warlock is too big a find to throw +away when there was no proof of occupancy. And the settlement boys +rushed matters right along." + +Shann recalled his own vivid dream of the skull-rock set in the lap of +water--this sea? And another small point fell into place to furnish the +beginning of a pattern. "I was asleep on the raft when I dreamed about +that skullmountain," he said slowly, wondering if he were making sense. + +Thorvald's head came up with the alert stance of Taggi on a strong game +scent. + +"Yes, on the raft you dreamed of a skull-rock. And I of a cavern with a +green veil. Both of us were on water--water which had an eventual +connection with the sea. Could water be a conductor? I wonder...." Once +again his hand went into his blouse. He crossed the strip of gravel +beach and dipped fingers into the water, letting the drops fall on the +carved disk he now held in his other hand. + +"What are you doing?" Shann could see no purpose in that. + +Thorvald did not answer. He had pressed wet hand to dry now, palm to +palm, the coin cupped tightly between them. He turned a quarter circle, +to face the still distant open sea. + +"That way." He spoke with a new odd tonelessness. + +Shann stared into the other's face. All the eager alertness of only a +moment earlier had been wiped away. Thorvald was no longer the man he +had known, but in some frightening way a husk, holding a quite different +personality. The younger Terran answered his fear with an attack from +the old days of rough in-fighting in the Dumps of Tyr. He brought his +right hand down hard in a sharp chop across the officer's wrists. The +bone coin spun to the sand and Thorvald stumbled, staggering forward a +step or two. Before he could recover balance Shann had stamped on the +medallion. + +Thorvald whirled, his stunner drawn with a speed for which Shann gave +him high marks. But the younger man's own weapon was already out and +ready. And he talked--fast. + +"That thing's dangerous! What did you do--what did it do to you?" + +His demand got through to a Thorvald who was himself again. + +"What was _I_ doing?" came a counter demand. + +"You were acting like a mind-controlled." + +Thorvald stared at him incredulously, then with a growing spark of +interest. + +"The minute you dripped water on that thing you changed," Shann +continued. + +Thorvald reholstered his stunner. "Yes," he mused, "why _did_ I want to +drip water on it? Something prompted me ..." He ran his still damp hand +up the angle of his jaw, across his forehead as if to relieve some pain +there. "What else did I do?" + +"Faced to the sea and said 'that way,'" Shann replied promptly. + +"And why did you move in to stop me?" + +Shann shrugged. "When I first touched that thing I felt a shock. And +I've seen mind-controlled----" He could have bitten his tongue for +betraying that. The world of the mind-controlled was very far from the +life Thorvald and his kind knew. + +"Very interesting," commented the other. "For one of so few years you +seem to have seen a lot, Lantee--and apparently remembered most of it. +But I would agree that you are right about this little plaything; it +carries a danger with it, being far less innocent than it looks." He +tore off one of the fluttering scraps of rag which now made up his +sleeve. "If you'll just remove your foot, we'll put it out of business +for now." + +He proceeded to wrap the disk well in his bit of cloth, taking care not +to touch it again with his bare fingers while he stowed it away. + +"I don't know what we have in this--a key to unlock a door, a trap to +catch the unwary. I can't guess how or why it works. But we can be +reasonably sure it's not just some carefree maiden's locket, nor the +equivalent of a credit to spend in the nearest bar. So it pointed me to +the sea, did it? Well, that much I am willing to allow. Maybe we'll be +able to return it to the owner, _after_ we learn who--or what--that +owner is." + +Shann gazed down at the green water, opaque, not to be pierced to the +depths by human sight. Anything might lurk there. Suddenly the Throgs +became normal when balanced against an unknown living in the murky +depths of an aquatic world. Another attack on the Throg-held camp could +be well preferred to such exploration as Thorvald had in mind. Yet Shann +did not voice any protest as the Survey officer faced again in the same +direction as the disk had pointed him moments before. + + + + +8. UTGARD + + +A wind from the west sprang up an hour before sunset, lashing waves +inland until their spray was a salt mist in the air, a mist to sodden +clothing, plaster hair to the skull, leaving a brine slime across the +skin. Yet Thorvald hunted no shelter, in spite of the promise in the +rough shoreline at their backs. The sand in which their boots slipped +and slid was coarse stuff, hardly finer than gravel, studded with nests +of drift--bone-white or grayed or pale lavender--smoothed and stored by +the seasons of low tides and high, seasonal storms and hurricanes. A +wild shore and a forbidding one, to arouse Shann's distrust, perhaps a +fitting goal for that disk's guiding. + +Shann had tasted loneliness in the mountains, experienced the strange +world of the river at night lighted by the wan radiance of glowing +shrubs and plants, forced the starkness of the heights. Yet there had +been through all that journeying a general resemblance to his own past +on other worlds. A tree was a tree, whether it bore purple foliage or +was red-veined. A rock was a rock, a river a river. They were equally +hard and wet on Warlock or Tyr. + +But now a veil he could not describe, even in his own thoughts, hung +between him and the sand over which he walked, between him and the sea +which sent spray to wet his torn clothing, between him and that wild +wrack of long-ago storms. He could put out his hand and touch sand, +drift, spray; yet they were a setting where something lay hidden behind +that setting--something watched, calculatingly, with intelligence, and +a set of emotions and values he did not, could not share. + +"... storm coming." Thorvald paused in the buffeting of wind and spray, +watching the fury of the tossing sea. The sun was still a pale smear +just above the horizon. And it gave light enough to make out that +trickle of islands melting out to obscurity. + +"Utgard----" + +"Utgard?" Shann repeated, the strange word holding no meaning for him. + +"Legend of my people." Thorvald smeared spray from his face with one +hand. "Utgard, those outermost islands where dwell the giants who are +the mortal enemies of the old gods." + +Those dark lumps, most of them bare rock, only a few crowned with +stunted vegetation, might well harbor _anything_, Shann decided, giants +or the malignant spirits of any race. Perhaps even the Throgs had their +tales of evil things in the night, beetle monsters to people wild, +unknown lands. He caught at Thorvald's arm and suggested a practical +course of action. + +"We'll need shelter before the storm strikes." To Shann's relief the +other nodded. + +They trailed back across the beach, their backs now to the sea and +Utgard. That harsh-sounding name did so well fit the line of islands and +islets, Shann repeated it to himself. Here the beach was narrow, a strip +of blue sand-gravel walled by wave-worn boulders. And from that barrier +of stones piled into a breastwork by chance, interwoven with bone-bare +drift, arose the first of the cliffs. Shann studied the terrain with +increasing uneasiness. To be caught between a sea, whipped inland by a +storm wind, and that cliff would be a risk he did not like to consider, +as ignorant of field lore as he was. They must locate some break nearer +than the fiord, down which they had come. And they must find it soon, +before the daylight was gone and the full fury of bad weather struck. + +In the end the wolverines discovered an exit, just as they had found the +passage through the mountain. Taggi nosed into a darker line down the +face of the cliff and disappeared, Togi duplicating that feat. Shann +trailed them, finding the opening a tight squeeze. + +He squirmed into dimness, his outstretched hands meeting a rough stone +surface sloping upward. After gaining a point about eight feet above the +beach he was able to look back and down through the seaward slit. Open +to the sky the crevice proved a doorway to a narrow valley, not unlike +those which housed the fiords, but provided with a thick growth of +vegetation well protected by the high walls. + +Working as a now well-rehearsed team, the men set up a shelter of +saplings and brush, the back to the slit through which wind was still +able to tear a way. Walled in by stone and knowing that no Throg flyer +would attempt to fly in the face of the coming storm, they dared make a +fire. The warmth was a comfort to their bodies, just as the light of the +flames, men's age-old hearth companion, was a comfort to the fugitives' +spirits. Those dancing spears of red, for Shann at least, burned away +that veil of other-worldliness which had enwrapped the beach, providing +in the night an illusion of the home he had never really known. + +But the wind and the weather did not keep truce very long. A wailing +blast around the upper peaks produced a caterwauling to equal the voices +of half a dozen Throg hounds. And in their poor shelter the Terrans not +only heard the thunderous boom of surf, but felt the vibration of that +beat pounding through the very ground on which they lay. The sea must +have long since covered the beach over which they had come and was now +trying its strength against the rock of the cliff barrier. They could +not talk to each other over that din, although shoulder touched +shoulder. + +The last flush of amber vanished from the sky with the speed of a +dropped curtain. Tonight no period of twilight divided night from day, +but their portion of Warlock was plunged abruptly into darkness. The +wolverines crowded into their small haven, whining deep in their +throats. Shann ran his hands along their furred bodies, trying to give +them a reassurance he himself did not feel. Never before when on stable +land had he been so aware of the unleashed terrors nature could exert, +the forces against which all mankind's controls were as nothing. + +Time could no longer be measured by any set of minutes or hours. There +was only darkness, the howling winds, and the salty rain which must be +in part the breath of the sea driven in upon them. The comforting fire +vanished, chill and dankness crept up to cramp their bodies, so that now +and again they were forced to their feet, to swing arms, stamp, drive +the blood into faster circulation. + +Later came a time when the wind died, no longer driving the rain +bullet-hard against and through their flimsy shelter. Then they slept in +the thick unconsciousness of exhaustion. + +A red-purple skull--and from its eye sockets the flying things--kept +coming ... going.... Shann trod on an unsteady foundation which dipped +under his weight as had the raft of the river voyage. He was drawing +nearer to that great head, could see now how waves curled about the +angle of the lower jaw, slapping inward between gaps of missing +teeth--which were really broken fangs of rock--as if the skull now and +then sucked reviving moisture from the water. The aperture marking the +nose was closer to a snout, and the hole was dark, dark as the empty eye +sockets. Yet that darkness was drawing him past any effort to escape he +could summon. And then that on which he rode so perilously was carried +forward by the waves, grated against the jawbone, while against his own +fighting will his hands arose above his head, reaching for a hold to +draw his shrinking body up the stark surface to that snout-passage. + +"Lantee!" A hand jerked him back, broke that compulsion--and the dream. +Shann opened his eyes with difficulty, his lashes seemed glued to his +cheeks. + +He might have been surveying a submerged world. Thin streamers of fog +twined up from the earth as if they grew from seeds planted by the +storm. But there was no wind, no sound from the peaks. Only under his +stiff body Shann could still feel that vibration which was the sea +battering against the cliff wall. + +Thorvald was crouched beside him, his hand still urgent on the younger +man's shoulder. The officer's face was drawn so finely that his +features, sharp under the tanned skin, were akin to the skull Shann +still half saw among the ascending pillars of fog. + +"Storm's over." + +Shann shivered as he sat up, hugging his arms to his chest, his tattered +uniform soggy under that pressure. He felt as if he would never be warm +again. When he moved sluggishly to the pit where they had kindled their +handful of fire the night before he realized that the wolverines were +missing. + +"Taggi----?" His voice sounded rusty in his own ears, as if some of the +moisture thick in the air about them had affected his vocal cords. + +"Hunting." Thorvald's answer was clipped. He was gathering a handful of +sticks from the back of their lean-to, where the protection of their own +bodies had kept that kindling dry. Shann snapped a length between his +hands, dropped it into the pit. + +When they did coax a blaze into being they stripped, wringing out their +clothing, propping it piece by steaming piece on sticks by the warmth of +the flames. The moist air bit at their bodies and they moved briskly, +striving to keep warm by exercise. Still the fog curled, undisturbed by +any shaft of sun. + +"Did you dream?" Thorvald asked abruptly. + +"Yes." Shann did not elaborate. Disturbing as his dream had been, the +feeling that it was not to be shared was also strong, as strong as some +order. + +"And so did I," Thorvald said bleakly. "You saw your skull-mountain?" + +"I was climbing it when you awoke me," Shann returned unwillingly. + +"And I was going through my green veil when Taggi took off and wakened +me. You are sure your skull exists?" + +"Yes." + +"And so am I that the cavern of the veil is somewhere on this world. But +why?" Thorvald stood up, the firelight marking plainly the lines between +his tanned arms, his brown face and throat, and the paleness of his lean +body. "Why do we dream those particular dreams?" + +Shann tested the dryness of a shirt. He had no reason to try and explain +the wherefore of those dreams, only was he certain that he would +sometime, somewhere, find that skull, and that when he did he would +climb to the doorway of the snout, pass behind to depths where the +flying things might nest--not because he wanted to make such an +expedition, but because he must. + +He drew his hands across his ribs, where pressure still brought an +aching reminder of the crushing force of the energy whip the Throgs had +wielded. There was no extra flesh on his body, yet muscles slid easily +under the skin, a darker skin than Thorvald's, deepening to a warm brown +where it had been weathered. His hair, unclipped now for a month, was +beginning to curl about his head in tight dark rings. Since he had +always been the youngest or the smallest or the weakest in the world of +the Dumps, of the Service, of the Team, Shann had very little personal +vanity. He did possess a different type of pride, born of his own +stubborn achievement in winning out over a long roster of +discouragements, failures, and adverse odds. + +"Why do we dream?" he repeated Thorvald's question. "No answer, sir." He +gave the traditional reply of the Service recruit. And a little to his +surprise Thorvald laughed with a tinge of real amusement. + +"Where do you come from, Lantee?" He asked as if he were honestly +interested. + +"Tyr." + +"Caldon mines." The Survey officer automatically matched planet to +product. "How did you come into Survey?" + +Shann drew on his shirt. "Signed on as casual labor," he returned with a +spark of defiance. Thorvald had joined the Service the right way as a +cadet, then a Team man, finally an officer, climbing that nice even +ladder with every rung ready for him when he was prepared to mount it. +What did his kind know about the labor Barracks where the dull-minded, +the failures, the petty criminals on the run, lived hard under a secret +social system of their own? It had taken every bit of physical endurance +and energy, every fraction of stubborn will Shann could summon, for him +to survive his first three months in those barracks--unbroken and still +eager to be Survey. He could still wonder at the unbelievable chance +which had rescued him from that merely because Training Center had +needed another odd hand to clean cages and feed troughs for the +experimental animals. + +And from the center he made a Team, because when working in a smaller +group his push and attention to duty had been noticed and had paid off. +Three years it had taken, but he _had_ made Team stature. Not that that +meant anything now. Shann pulled his boots on over the legs of rough +dried coveralls and glanced up, to find Thorvald watching him with a +new, questioning directness the younger man could not understand. + +Shann sealed his blouse and stood up, knowing the bite of hunger, dull +but persistent. It was a feeling he had had so many times in the past +that now he hardly gave it a second thought. + +"Supplies?" He brought the subject back to the present and the +practical. What did it matter why or how one Shann Lantee had come to +Warlock in the first place? + +"What we have left of the concentrates we had better keep for +emergencies." Thorvald made no move to open the very shrunken bag he had +brought from the scoutship. + +He walked over to a rocky outcrop and tugged loose a yellowish tuft of +plant, neither moss nor fungi but sharing attributes of both. Shann +recognized it without enthusiasm as one of the varieties of native +produce which could be safely digested by Terran stomachs. The stuff was +almost tasteless and possessed a rather unpleasant odor. Consumed in +bulk it would satisfy hunger for a time. Shann hoped that with the +wolverines to aid they could go back to hunting soon. + +However, Thorvald showed no desire to head inland where they might +expect to locate game. He disagreed with Shann's suggestion for tracking +Taggi and Togi when those two emerged from the underbrush obviously well +fed and contented after their early morning activity. + +When Shann protested with some heat, the other countered: "Didn't you +ever hear of fish, Lantee? After a storm such as last night's, we ought +to discover good pickings along the shore." + +But Shann was also sure that it was not only the thought of food which +drew Thorvald back to the sea. + +They crawled back through the bolt hole. The beach of gravel-sand had +vanished save for a narrow ribbon of land just at the foot of the +cliffs, where the water curled in white lace about the barrier of +boulders. There was no change in the dullness of the sky; no sun broke +through the thick lid of clouds. And the green of the sea was ashened to +gray which matched that overcast until one could strain one's eyes +trying to find the horizon, unable to mark the dividing line here +between air and water. + +Utgard was a broken necklace, the outermost island-beads lost, the inner +ones more isolated by the rise in water, more forbidding. Shann let out +a startled hiss of breath. + +The top of a near-by rock detached itself, drew up into a hunched thing +of armor-plated scales and heavy wide-jawed head. A tail cracked into +the air; a double tail split into equal forks for half-way down its +length. A leg lifted as a forefoot, webbed, clawed for a new hold. This +sea beast was the most formidable native thing he had sighted on +Warlock, approaching in its ugliness the hound of the Throgs. + +Breathing in labored gusts, the thing slapped its tail down on the +stones with a limpness which suggested that the raising of that +appendage had overtaxed its limited supply of strength. The head sank +forward, resting across one of the forelimbs. Then Shann sighted the +fearsome wound in the side just before one of the larger hind legs, a +ragged hole through which pumped with every one of those breaths a dark +purplish stream, licked away by the waves as it trickled slickly down +the rock. + +"What is that?" + +Thorvald shook his head. "Not on our records," he replied absently, +studying the dying creature with avid attention. "Must have been driven +in by the storm. This proves there is more in the sea then we knew!" + +Again the forked tail lifted and fell, the head, raised from the +forelimb, stretching up and back until the white underfolds of the +throat were exposed as the snout pointed almost vertically to the sky. +The jaws opened and from between them came a moaning whistle, a +complaint which was drowned out by the wash of the waves. Then, as if +that was the last effort, the webbed, clawed feet relaxed their grip of +the rock and the scaled body slid sidewise, out of their sight, into the +water. There was a feather of spume to mark the plunge and nothing else. + +Shann, watching to see if the reptile would surface again, sighted +another object, a rounded shape floating on the sea, bobbing lightly as +had their river raft. + +"Look!" + +Thorvald's gaze followed his pointing finger and then before Shann could +protest, the officer leaped outward from their perch on the cliff to the +broad rock where the scaled sea dweller had lain moments earlier. He +stood there, watching that drifting object with the closest attention, +as Shann made the same crossing in his wake. + +The drifting thing was oval, perhaps some six feet long and three wide, +the mid point rising in a curve from the water's edge. As far as Shann +could make out in the half-light the color was a reddish-brown, the +surface rough. And he thought by the way that it moved that it must be +flotsam of the storm, buoyant enough to ride the waves with close to +cork resiliency. To Shann's dismay his companion began to strip. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Get that." + +Shann surveyed the water about the rock. The forked tail had sunk just +there. Was the Survey officer mad enough to think he could swim +unmenaced through a sea which might be infested with more such +creatures? It seemed that he was, for Thorvald's white body arched out +in a dive. Shann waited, half crouched and tense, as though he could in +some way attack anything rising from the depths to strike at his +companion. + +A brown arm flashed above the surface. Thorvald swam strongly toward the +floating object. He reached it, his outstretched hand rasping across the +surface. And it responded so quickly to that touch that Shann guessed it +was even lighter and easier to handle than he had first thought. + +Thorvald headed back, herding the thing before him. And when he climbed +out on the rock, Shann was pulling up his trophy. They flipped the find +over, to discover it hollow. They had, in effect, a ready-made craft not +unlike a canoe with blunted bows. But the substance was surely organic: +Was it shell? Shann speculated, running his finger tips over the +irregular surface. + +The Survey officer dressed. "We have our boat," he commented. "Now for +Utgard--" + +Use this frail thing to dare the trip to the islands? But Shann did not +protest. If the officer determined to try such a voyage, he would do it. +And neither did the younger man doubt that he would accompany Thorvald. + + + + +9. ONE ALONE + + +Once again the beach was a wide expanse of shingle, drying fast under a +sun hotter than any Shann had yet known on Warlock. Summer had taken a +big leap forward. The Terrans worked in partial shade below a cliff +overhang, not only for the protection against the sun's rays, but also +as a precaution against any roving Throg air patrol. + +Under Thorvald's direction the curious shell dragged from the sea--if it +were a shell, and the texture as well as the general shape suggested +that--was equipped with a framework to act as a stabilizing outrigger. +What resulted was certainly an odd-looking craft, but one which obeyed +the paddles and rode the waves easily. + +In the full sunlight the outline of islands was +clear-cut--red-and-gray-rock above an aquamarine sea. The Terrans had +sighted no more of the sea monsters, and the major evidence of native +life along the shore was a new species of clak-claks, roosting in cliff +holes and scavenging along the sands, and various queer fish and shelled +things stranded in small tide pools--to the delight of the wolverines, +who fished eagerly up and down the beach, ready to investigate all +debris of the storm. + +"That should serve." Thorvald tightened the last lashing, straightening +up, his fists resting on his hips, to regard the craft with a measure of +pride. + +Shann was not quite so content. He had matched the Survey officer in +industry, but the need for haste still eluded him. So the ship--such as +it was--was ready. Now they would be off to explore Thorvald's Utgard. +But a small and nagging doubt inside the younger man restrained his +enthusiasm over such a voyage. Fork-tail had come out of the section of +ocean which they must navigate in this very crude transport. And Shann +had no desire to meet an uninjured and alert fork-tail in the latter's +own territory. + +"Which island do we head for?" Shann kept private his personal doubts of +their success. The outmost tip of that chain was only a distant smudge +lying low on the water. + +"The largest ... that one with trees." + +Shann whistled. Since the night of the storm the wolverines were again +more amenable to the very light discipline he tried to keep. Perhaps the +fury of that elemental burst had tightened the bond between men and +animals, both alien to this world. Now Taggi and his mate padded toward +him in answer to his summons. But would the wolverines trust the boat? +Shann dared not risk their swimming, nor would he agree to leaving them +behind. + +Thorvald had already stored their few provisions on board. And now Shann +steadied the craft against a rock which served them as a wharf, while he +coaxed Taggi gently. Though the wolverine protested, he at last +scrambled in, to hunch at the bottom of the shell, the picture of +apprehension. Togi took longer to make up her mind. And at length Shann +picked her up bodily, soothing her with quiet speech and stroking hands, +to put her beside her mate. + +The shell settled under the weight of the passengers, but Thorvald's +foresight concerning the use of the outrigger proved right, for the +craft was seaworthy. It answered readily to the dip of their paddles as +they headed in a curve, keeping the first of the islands between them +and the open sea for a breakwater. + +From the air, Thorvald's course would have been a crooked one, for he +wove back and forth between the scattered islands of the chain, using +their lee calm for the protection of the canoe. About two thirds of the +group were barren rock, inhabited only by clak-claks and creatures +closer to true Terran birds in that they wore a body plumage which +resembled feathers, though their heads were naked and leathery. And, +Shann noted, the clak-claks and the birds did not roost on the same +islands, each choosing their own particular home while the other species +did not invade that territory. + +The first large-sized island they approached was crowned by trees, but +it had no beach, no approach from sea level. Perhaps it might be +possible to climb to the top of the cliff walls. But Thorvald did not +suggest that they try it, heading on toward the next large outcrop of +land and rock. + +Here white lace patterned in a ring well out from the shore to mark a +circle of reefs. They nosed their way patiently around the outer +circumference of that threatening barrier, hunting the entrance to the +lagoon. Within, there were at least two beaches with climbable ascents +to the upper reaches inland. Though Shann noted that the vegetation +showing was certainly not luxuriant, the few trees within their range of +vision being pallid growths, rather like those they had sighted on the +fringe of the desert. Leather-headed flyers wheeled out over their +canoe, coasting on outspread wings to peer down at the Terran invaders +in a manner which suggested intelligent curiosity. + +A full flock gathered to escort them as they continued along the outer +line of the reef. Thorvald impatiently dug his paddle deeper. They had +explored more than half of the reef now without chancing on an entrance +channel. + +"Regular fence," Shann commented. One could begin to believe that the +barrier had been deliberately reared to frustrate visitors. Hot +sunshine, reflected back from the surface of the waves, burned their +exposed skin, so they dared not discard their ragged clothing. And the +wolverines were growing increasingly restless. Shann did not know how +much longer the animals would consent to their position as passengers +without raising active protest. + +"How about trying the next one?" he asked, knowing at the same time his +companion was not in any mood to accept such a suggestion with good +will. + +The officer made no reply, but continued to use his steer paddle in a +fashion which spelled out his stubborn determination to find a passage. +This was a personal thing now, between Ragnar Thorvald of the Terran +Survey and a wall of rock, and the man's will was as strongly rooted as +those water-washed stones. + +On the southwestern tip of the reef they discovered a possible opening. +Shann eyed the narrow space between two fanglike rocks dubiously. To him +that width of water lane seemed dangerously limited, the sudden slam of +a wave could dash them against either of those pillars, with disastrous +results, before they could move to save themselves. But Thorvald pointed +their blunt bow toward the passage with seeming confidence, and Shann +knew that as far as the officer was concerned, this was their door to +the lagoon. + +Thorvald might be stubborn, but he was not a fool. And his training and +skill in such maneuvers was proved when the canoe rode in a rising swell +in and by those rocks to gain the safety, in seconds, of the calm +lagoon. Shann sighed with relief, but ventured no comment. + +Now they must paddle back along the inner side of the reef to locate the +beaches, for fronting them on this side of the well-protected island +were cliffs as formidable as those which guarded the first of the chain +at which they had aimed. + +Shann glanced now and then over the side of the boat, hoping in these +shallows to sight the sea bed or some of the inhabitants of these +waters. But there was no piercing that green murk. Here and there +nodules of rock projected inches or feet above the surface, awash in the +wavelets, to be avoided by the voyagers. Shann's shoulders ached and +burned, his muscles were unaccustomed to the steady swing of the +paddles, and the fire of the sun stabbed easily through only two layers +of ragged cloth to his skin. He ran a dry tongue over dryer lips and +gazed eagerly ahead in search of the first of the beaches. + +What was so important about this island that Thorvald _had_ to make a +landing here? The officer's stories of a native race which they might +turn against the Throgs to their own advantage was thin, very thin +indeed. Especially now, as Shann weighed an unsupported theory against +that ache in his shoulders, the possibility of being marooned on the +inhospitable shore ahead, against the fifty probable dangers he could +total up with very little expenditure of effort. A small nagging doubt +of Thorvald's obsession began to grow in his mind. How could Shann even +be sure that that carved disk and Thorvald's hokus-pokus with it had +been on the level? On the other hand what motive would the officer have +for trying such an act just to impress Shann? + +The beach at last! As they headed the canoe in that direction the +wolverines nearly brought disaster on them. The animals' restlessness +became acute as they sighted and scented the shore and knew that they +were close. Taggi reared, plunged over the side of the craft, and Shann +had just time to fling his weight in the opposite direction as a +counterbalance when Togi followed. They splashed shoreward while +Thorvald swore fluently and Shann grabbed to save the precious supply +bag. In a shower of gravel the animals made land and humped well up on +the strand before pausing to shake themselves and splatter far and wide +the burden of moisture transported by their shaggy fur. + +Ashore, the canoe became a clumsy burden and, light as the craft was, +both of the men sweated to get it up on the beach without snagging the +outrigger against stones and brush. With the thought of a Throg patrol +in mind they worked swiftly to cover it. + +Taggi raised an egg-patterned snout from a hollow and licked at the +stippling of greenish yolk matting his fur. The wolverines had wasted no +time in sampling the contents of a wealth of nesting places beginning +just above the high-water mark, cupping two to four tough-shelled eggs +in each. Treading a path among those clutches, the Terrans climbed a +red-earthed slope toward the interior of the island. + +They found water, not the clear running of a mountain spring, but a +stalish pool in a stone-walled depression on the crest of a rise, +filled by the bounty of the rain. The warm liquid was brackish, but +satisfied in part their thirst, and they drank eagerly. + +The outer cliff wall of the island was just that, a wall, for there was +an inner slope to match the outer. And at the bottom of it a showing of +purple-green foliage where plants and stunted trees fought for living +space. But there was nothing else, though they quartered that growing +section with the care of men trying to locate an enemy outpost. + +That night they camped in the hollow, roasted eggs in a fire, and ate +the fishy-tasting contents because it was food, not because they +relished what they swallowed. Tonight no cloud bank hung overhead. A +man, gazing up, could see the stars. The stars and other things, for +over the distant shore of the mainland they sighted the cruising lights +of a Throg ship and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling +points to swing out toward their own hiding hole. + +"They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to them both. + +"The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him. "If they do not take a +prisoner to talk her in and allay suspicion, then--" he snapped his +fingers--"the Patrol will be on their tails, but quick!" + +So just by keeping out of Throg range, they were, in a way, still +fighting. Shann settled back, his tender shoulders resting against a +tree hole. He tried to count the number of days and nights lying behind +him now since that early morning when he had watched the Terran camp die +under the aliens' weapons. But one day faded into another so that he +could remember only action parts clearly--the attack on the grounded +scoutship, the sortie they had made in turn on the occupied camp, the +dust storm on the river, the escape from the Throg ship in the mountain +crevice, and their meeting with the hound. Then that storm which had +driven them to seek cover after their curious experience with the disk. +And now this day when they had safely reached the island. + +"Why this island?" he asked suddenly. + +"That carved piece was found here on the edge of this valley," Thorvald +returned matter-of-factly. + +"But today we found nothing at all----" + +"Yet this island supplies us with a starting point." + +A starting point for what? A detailed search of all the islands, great +and small, in the chain? And how did they dare continue to paddle openly +from one to the next with the Throgs sweeping the skies? They would have +provided an excellent target today as they combed that reef for an hour +or more. Wearily, Shann spread out his hands in the very faint light of +their tiny fire, poked with a finger tip at smarting points which would +have been blisters had those hands not known a toughening process in the +past. More paddling tomorrow? But that was tomorrow, and at least they +need not worry tonight about any Throg attack once they had doused the +fire, an action which was now being methodically attended to by +Thorvald. Shann pushed down on the bed of leaves he had heaped together. +The night was quiet. He could hear only the murmur of the sea, a lulling +croon of sound to make one sleep deep, perhaps dreamlessly. + +Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann turned over drowsily +in that welcome heat, stretching a little as might a cat at ease. Then +he really awoke under the press of memory, and the need for alertness +rode him once more. Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last +night's fire were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there +were no signs. + +Not only did he now lie alone, but he was possessed by the feeling that +he had not been deserted only momentarily, that Taggi, Togi and the +Survey officer were indeed gone. Shann sat up, got to his feet, +breathing faster, a prickle of uneasiness spreading in him, bringing him +to that inner slope, up it to the crest from which he could see that +beach where last night they had concealed the canoe. + +Those lengths of brush and tufts of grass they had used for a screen +were strewn about as if tossed in haste. And not too long before.... + +For the canoe was out in the calm waters within the reef, the paddle +blade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly in the sun. On the +shingle below, the wolverines prowled back and forth, whining in +bewilderment. + +"Thorvald----!" + +Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing the name +ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the man in the boat +did not turn his head; there was no change in the speed of that paddle +dip. + +Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding the last few +feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the water only by a +painful wrench of his body. + +"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright under the sun +did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore at his clothes and kicked +off his boots. + +He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters as he +plunged into the water, swam for the canoe edging along the reef, +plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest. Shann was not a +powerful swimmer. His first impetus gave him a good start, but after +that he had to fight for each foot he gained, and the fear grew in him +that the other would reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He +wasted no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath and +energy into the effort of overtaking the craft. + +And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along the log which +furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers tightened on the slimy +wood he looked up, and loosed that hold again in time perhaps to save +his life. + +For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an impromptu half +dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture, a picture so astounding +that he was a little dazed. + +Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle had to be put +to another use. Had Shann not released his hold on the log and gone +under water, that crudely fashioned piece of wood might, have broken his +skull. He saw only too clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an +ugly weapon, and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which +made it as inhuman as a Throg's. + +Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once more. The paddle +was back at the task for which it had been carved, the canoe was +underway again, its occupant paying no more attention to what lay behind +than if he _had_ successfully disposed of the man in the water. To +follow would be only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so +lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try any tricks such +as oversetting the canoe, not when Thorvald was an expert who could +easily finish off a fumbling opponent. + +Shann swam wearily to shore where the wolverines waited, unable yet to +make sense of that attack in the lagoon. What had happened to Thorvald? +What motive had led the other to leave Shann and the animals on this +island, the island Thorvald had called a starting point in his search +for the natives of Warlock? Or had every bit of that tall tale been +invented by the Survey officer for some obscure purpose of his own, +certainly no sane purpose? Against that logic Shann could only set the +carved disk, and he had only Thorvald's word that that had been +discovered here. + +He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and knees and lay, +winded and gasping. Taggi came to lick his face, nuzzle him, making a +small, bewildered whimpering. While above, the leather-headed birds +called and swooped, fearful and angry for their disturbed nesting place. +The Terran retched, coughed up water, and then sat up to look around. + +The spread of lagoon was bare. Thorvald must have rounded the south +point of land and be very close to the reef passage, perhaps through it +by now. Not stopping for his clothes, Shann started up the slope, +crawling part of the way on his hands and knees. + +He reached the crest again and got to his feet. The sun made an +eye-dazzling glitter of the waves. But under the shade of his hands +Shann saw the canoe again, beyond the reef, heading on out along the +island chain, not back to shore as he had expected. Thorvald was still +on the hunt, but for what? A reality which existed, or a dream in his +own disturbed brain? + +Shann sat down. He was very hungry, for that adventure in the lagoon had +sapped his strength. And he was a prisoner along with the wolverines, a +prisoner on an island which was half the size of the valley which held +the Survey camp. As far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water +was that tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated +by a sun such as the one now beating down on him. And between him and +the shore was the sea, a sea which harbored such creatures as the +fork-tail he had watched die. + +Thorvald was still steadily on course, not to the next island in the +chain, a small, bare knob, but to the one beyond that. He could have +been hurrying to a meeting. Where and with what? + +Shann got to his feet, started down to the beach once more, sure now +that the officer had no intention of returning, that he was again on his +own with only his wits and strength to keep him alive--alive and somehow +free of this water-washed prison. + + + + +10. A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER + + +Shann took up the piece of soft chalklike stone he had found and drew +another short white mark on the rust-red of a boulder well above tide +level. That made three such marks, three days since Thorvald had +marooned him. And he was no nearer the shore now than he had been on +that first morning! He sat where he was by the boulder, aware that he +should be up, trying to climb to the less accessible nests of the sea +birds. The prisoners, man and wolverines, had cleaned out all those they +had discovered on beach and cliffs. But at the thought of more eggs, +Shann's stomach knotted in pain and he began to retch. + +There had been no sign of Thorvald since Shann had watched him steer +between the two westward islands. And the younger Terran's faint hope +that the officer would return had died. On the shore a few feet away lay +his own pitiful attempt to solve the problem of escape. + +The force ax had vanished with Thorvald, along with all the rest of the +meager supplies which had been the officer's original contribution to +their joint equipment. Shann had used his knife on brush and small +trees, trying to put together some kind of a raft. But he had not been +able to discover here any of those vines necessary for binding, and his +best efforts had all come to grief when he tried them in a lagoon +launching. So far he had achieved no form of raft which would keep him +afloat longer than five minutes, let alone support three of them as far +as the next island. + +Shann pulled listlessly at the framework of his latest try, fully +disheartened. He tried not to think of the unescapable fact that the +water in the rain tank had sunk to only an inch or so of muddy scum. +Last night he had dug in the heart of the interior valley where the +rankness of the vegetation was a promise of moisture, to uncover damp +clay and then a brackish ooze. Far too little to satisfy both him and +the animals. + +There were surely fish somewhere in the lagoon. Shann wondered if the +raw flesh of sea dwellers could supply the water they needed. But +lacking net, line, or hooks, how did one fish? Yesterday, using his +stunner, he had brought down a bird, to discover the carcass so rank +even the wolverines, never dainty eaters, refused to gnaw it. + +The animals prowled the two beaches, and Shann guessed they hunted shell +dwellers, for at times they dug energetically in the gravel. Togi was +busied in this way now, the sand flowing from under her pumping legs, +her claws raking in good earnest. + +And it was Togi's excavation which brought Shann a first ray of hope. +Her excitement was so marked that he believed she was in quest of some +worthwhile game and he moved across to inspect the pit. A patch of +brown, which had been skimmed bare by one raking paw, made him shout. + +Taggi shambled downslope, going to work beside his mate with an +eagerness as open as hers. Shann hovered at the edge of the pit they +were rapidly enlarging. The brown patch was larger, disclosing itself as +a hump doming up from the gravel. The Terran did not need to run his +hands over that rough surface to recognize the nature of the find. This +was another shell such as had come floating in after the storm to form +the raw material of their canoe. + +However, as fast as the wolverines dug, they did not appear to make +correspondingly swift headway in uncovering their find as might +reasonably be expected. In fact, a witness could guess that the shell +was sinking at a pace only a fraction slower than the burrowers were +using to free it. Intrigued by that, Shann went back to the waterline, +secured one of the lengths he had been trying to weave into his +failures, and returned to use it as a makeshift shovel. + +Now, with three of them at the digging, the brown hump was uncovered, +and Shann pried down around its edge, trying to lever it up and over. To +his amazement, his tool was caught and held, nearly jerked from his +hands. To his retaliating tug the obstruction below-ground gave way, and +the Terran sprawled back, the length of wood coming clear, to show the +other end smashed and splintered as if it had been caught between +mashing gears. + +For the first time he understood that they were dealing not with an +empty shell casing buried by drift under this small beach, but with a +shell still inhabited by the Warlockian to whom it was a natural +covering, and that that inhabitant would fight to continue ownership. A +moment's examination of that splintered wood also suggested that the +shell's present wearer appeared well able to defend itself. + +Shann attempted to call off the wolverines, but they were out of control +now, digging frantically to get at this new prey. And he knew that if he +pulled them away by force, they were apt to turn those punishing claws +and snapping jaws on him. + +It was for their protection that he returned to digging, though he no +longer tried to pry up the shell. Taggi leaped to the top of that dome, +sweeping paws downward to clear its surface, while Togi prowled around +its circumference, pausing now and then to send dirt and gravel +spattering, but treading warily as might one alert for a sudden attack. + +They had the creature almost clear now, though the shell still rested +firmly on the ground, and they had no notion of what it might protect. +It was smaller, perhaps two thirds the size of the one which Thorvald +had fashioned into a seagoing craft. But it could provide them with +transportation to the mainland if Shann was able to repeat the feat of +turning it into an outrigger canoe. + +Taggi joined his mate on the ground and both wolverines padded about the +dome, obviously baffled. Now and then they assaulted the shell with a +testing paw. Claws raked and did not leave any marks but shallow +scratches. They could continue that forever, as far as Shann could see, +without solving the problem in the least. + +He sat back on his heels and studied the scene in detail. The excavation +holding the shelled creature was some three yards above the high-water +mark, with a few more feet separating that from the point where lazy +waves now washed the finer sand. Shann watched the slow inward slip of +those waves with growing interest. Where their combined efforts had +failed to win this odd battle, perhaps the sea itself could now be +pressed into service. + +Shann began his own excavation, a trough to lead from the waterline to +the pit occupied by the obstinate shell. Of course the thing living in +or under that covering might be only too familiar with salt water. But +it had placed its burrow, or hiding place, above the reach of the waves +and so might be disconcerted by the sudden appearance of water in its +bed. However, the scheme was worth trying, and he went to work doggedly, +wishing he could make the wolverines understand so they would help him. + +They still prowled about their captive, scrapping at the sand about the +shell casing. At least their efforts would keep the half-prisoner +occupied and prevent its escape. Shann put another piece of his raft to +work as a shovel, throwing up a shower of sand and gravel while sweat +dampened his tattered blouse and was salt and sticky on his arms and +face. + +He finished his trench, one which ran at an angle he hoped would feed +water into the pit rapidly once he knocked away the last barrier against +the waves. And, splashing out into the green water, he did just that. + +His calculations proved correct. Waves lapped, then flowed in a rapidly +thickening stream, puddling out about the shell as the wolverines drew +back, snarling. Shann lashed his knife fast to a stout length of +sapling, so equipping himself with a spear. He stood with it ready in +his hand, not knowing just what to expect. And when the answer to his +water attack came, the move was so sudden that in spite of his +preparation he was caught gaping. + +For the shell fairly erupted out of the mess of sand and water. A +complete fringe of jointed, clawed brown limbs churned in a +forward-and-upward dash. But the water worked to frustrate that charge. +For one of the pit walls crumbled, over-balancing the creature so that +the fore end of the shell lifted from the ground, the legs clawing +wildly at the air. + +Shann thrust with the spear, feeling the knife point go home so deeply +that he could not pull his improvised weapon free. A limb snapped claws +only inches away from his leg as he pushed down on the haft with all his +strength. That attack along with the initial upset of balance did the +job. The shell flopped over, its rounded hump now embedded in the watery +sand of the pit while the frantic struggles of the creature to right +itself only buried it the deeper. + +The Terran stared down upon a segmented under belly where legs were +paired in riblike formation. Shann could locate no head, no good target. +But he drew his stunner and beamed at either end of the oval, and then, +for good measure, in the middle, hoping in one of those three general +blasts to contact the thing's central nervous system. He was not to know +which of those shots did the trick, but the frantic wiggling of the legs +slowed and finally ended, as a clockwork toy might run down for want of +winding--and at last projected, at crooked angles, completely still. The +shell creature might not be dead, but it was tamed for now. + +Taggi had only been waiting for a good chance to do battle. He grabbed +one of those legs, worried it, and then leaped to tear at the under +body. Unlike the outer shell, this portion of the creature had no proper +armor and the wolverine plunged joyfully into the business of the kill, +his mate following suit. + +The process of butchery was a bloody, even beastly job, and Shann was +shaken before it was complete. But he kept at his labors, determined to +have that shell, his one chance of escape from the Island. The +wolverines feasted on the greenish-white flesh, but he could not bring +himself to sample it, climbing to the heights in search of eggs, and +making a happy find of a niche filled with the edible moss-fungi. + +By late afternoon he had the shell scooped fairly clean and the +wolverines had carried away for burial such portions as they had not +been able to consume at their first eating. Meanwhile, the +leather-headed birds had grown bold enough to snatch up the fragments he +tossed out on the water, struggling for that bounty against feeders +arising from the depths of the lagoon. + +At the coming of dusk Shann hauled the bloodstained, grisly trophy well +up the beach and wedged it among the rocks, determined not to lose his +treasure. Then he stripped and washed, first his clothing and then +himself, rubbing his hands and arms with sand until his skin was tender. +He was still exultant at his luck. The drift would supply him with +materials for an outrigger. One more day's work--or maybe two--and he +could leave. He wrung out his blouse and gazed toward the distant line +of the shore. Once he had his new canoe ready he would try to make the +trip back in the early morning while the mists were still on the sea. +That should give him cover against any Throg flight. + +That night Shann slept in the deep fog of bodily exhaustion. There were +no dreams, nothing but an unconsciousness which even a Throg attack +could not have pierced. He roused in the morning with an odd feeling of +guilt. The water hole he had scooped in the valley yielded him some +swallows tasting of earth, but he had almost forgotten the flavor of a +purer liquid. Munching on a fistful of moss, he hurried down to the +shore, half fearing to find the shell gone, his luck out once again. + +Not only was the shell where he had wedged it, but he had done better +than he knew when he had left it exposed in the night. Small things +scuttled away from it into hiding, and several birds arose--scavengers +had been busy lightening his unwelcome task for that morning. And +seeing how the clean-up process had gone, Shann had a second +inspiration. + +Pushing the thing down the beach, he sank it in the shallows with +several rocks to anchor it. Within a few seconds the shell was invaded +by a whole school of spiny-tailed fish, that ate greedily. Leaving his +find to their cleansing, Shann went back to prospect the pile of raft +material, choosing pieces which could serve for an outrigger frame. He +was handicapped as he had been all along by the absence of the vines one +could use for lashings. And he had reached the point of considering a +drastic sacrifice of his clothing to get the necessary strips when he +saw Taggi dragging behind him one of the jointed legs the wolverines had +put in storage the day before. + +Now and again Taggi laid his prize on the shingle, holding it firmly +pinned with his forepaws as he tried to worry loose a section of flesh. +But apparently that feat was beyond even his notable teeth, and at +length he left it lying there in disgust while he returned to a cache +for more palatable fare. Shann went to examine more closely the +triple-jointed limb. + +The casing was not as hard as horn or shell, he discovered upon testing; +it more resembled tough skin laid over bone. With a knife he tried to +loosen the skin--a tedious job requiring a great deal of patience, since +the tissue tore if pulled away too fast. But with care he acquired a few +thongs perhaps a foot long. Using two of these, he made a trial binding +of one stick to another, and experimented farther, soaking the whole +construction in sea water and then exposing it to the direct rays of the +sun. + +When he examined his test piece an hour later, the skin thongs had set +into place with such success that the one piece of wood might have been +firmly glued to the other. Shann shuffled his feet in a little dance of +triumph as he went on to the lagoon to inspect the water-logged shell. +The scavengers had done well. One scraping, two at the most, would have +the whole thing clean and ready to use. + +But that night Shann dreamed. No climbing of a skull-shaped mountain +this time. Instead, he was again on the beach, laboring under an +overwhelming compulsion, building something for an alien purpose he +could not understand. And he worked as hopelessly as a beaten slave, +knowing that what he made was to his own undoing. Yet he could not halt +the making, because just beyond the limit of his vision there stood a +dominant will which held him in bondage. + +And he awoke on the beach in the very early dawn, not knowing how he had +come there. His body was bathed in sweat, as it had been during his +day's labors under the sun, and his muscles ached with fatigue. + +But when he saw what lay at his feet he cringed. The framework +of the outrigger, close to completion the night before, was +dismantled--smashed. All those strips of hide he had so laboriously +culled were cut--into inch-long bits which could be of no service. + +Shann whirled, ran to the shell he had the night before pulled from the +water and stowed in safety. Its rounded dome was dulled where it had +been battered, but there was no break in the surface. He ran his hands +anxiously over the curve to make sure. Then, very slowly, he came back +to the mess of broken wood and snipped hide. And he was sure, only too +sure, of one thing. He, himself, had wrought that destruction. In his +dream he had built to satisfy the whim of an enemy; in reality he had +destroyed; and that was also, he believed, to satisfy an enemy. + +The dream was a part of it. But who or what could set a man dreaming and +so take over his body, make him in fact betray himself? But then, what +had made Thorvald maroon him here? For the first time, Shann guessed a +new, if wild, explanation for the officer's desertion. Dreams--and the +disk which had worked so strangely on Thorvald. Suppose everything the +other had surmised was the truth! Then that disk _had_ been found on +this very island, and here somewhere must lie a clue to the riddle. + +Shann licked his lips. Suppose that Thorvald had been sent away under +just such a strong compulsion as the one which had ruled Shann last +night? Why was he left behind if the other had been moved away to +protect some secret? Was it that Shann himself was wanted here, wanted +so much that when he at last found a means of escape he was set to +destroy it? That act might have been forced upon him for two reasons: to +keep him here, and to impress upon him how powerless he was. + +Powerless! A flicker of stubborn will stirred to respond to that implied +challenge. All right, the mysterious _they_ had made him do this. But +they had underrated him by letting him learn, almost contemptuously, of +their presence by that revelation. So warned, he was in a manner armed; +he could prepare to fight back. + +He squatted by the wreckage as he thought that through, turning over +broken pieces. And, Shann realized, he must present at the moment a +satisfactory picture of despondency to any spy. A spy, that was it! +Someone or something must have him under observation, or his activities +of the day before would not have been so summarily countered. And if +there was a spy, then there was his answer to the riddle. To trap the +trapper. Such action might be a project beyond his resources, but it was +his own counterattack. + +So now he had to play a role. Not only must he search the island for the +trace of his spy, but he must do it in such a fashion that his purpose +would not be plain to the enemy he suspected. The wolverines could help. +Shann arose, allowed his shoulders to droop, slouching to the slope with +all the air of a beaten man which he could assume, whistling for Taggi +and Togi. + +When they came, his exploration began. Ostensibly he was hunting for +lengths of drift or suitable growing saplings to take the place of those +he had destroyed under orders. But he kept a careful watch on the animal +pair, hoping by their reactions to pick up a clue to any hidden watcher. + +The larger of the two beaches marked the point where the Terrans had +first landed and where the shell thing had been killed. The smaller was +more of a narrow tongue thrust out into the lagoon, much of it choked +with sizable boulders. On earlier visits there Taggi and Togi had poked +into the hollows among these with their usual curiosity. But now both +animals remained upslope, showing no inclination to descend to the water +line. + +Shann caught hold of Taggi's scruff, pulling him along. The wolverine +twisted and whined, but he did not fight for freedom as he would have +upon scenting Throg. Not that the Terran had ever believed one of those +aliens was responsible for the happenings on the island. + +Taggi came down under Shann's urging, but he was plainly ill at ease. +And at last he snarled a warning when the man would have drawn him +closer to two rocks which met overhead in a crude semblance of an arch. +There was a stick of drift protruding from that hollow affording Shann a +legitimate excuse to venture closer. He dropped his hold on the +wolverines, stooped to gather in the length of wood, and at the same +time glanced into the pocket. + +Water lay just beyond, making this a doorway to the lagoon. The sun had +not yet penetrated into the shadow, if it ever did. Shann reached for +the wood, at the same time drawing his finger across the flat rock which +would furnish a steppingstone for anything using that door as an +entrance to the island. + +Wet! Which might mean his visitor had recently arrived, or else merely +that a splotch of spray had landed there not too long before. But in his +mind Shann was convinced that he had found the spy's entrance. Could he +turn it into a trap? He added a piece of drift to his bundle and picked +up two more before he returned to the cliff ahead. + +A trap.... He revolved in his mind all the traps he knew which could be +used here. He already had decided upon the bait--his own work. And if +his plans went through--and hope does not die easily--then this time he +would not waste his labor either. + +So he went back to the same job he had done the day before, making do +with skin strips he had considered second-best before, smoothing, +cutting. Only the trap occupied his mind, and close to sunset he knew +just what he was going to do and how. + +Though the Terran did not know the nature of the unseen opponent, he +thought he could guess two weaknesses which might deliver the other into +his hands. First, the enemy was entirely confident of success in this +venture. No being who was able to control Shann as completely and ably +as had been done the night before would credit any prey with the power +to strike back in force. + +Second, such a confident enemy would be unable to resist watching the +manipulation of a captive. The Terran was certain that his opponent +would be on the scene somewhere when he was led, dreaming, to destroy +his work once more. + +He might be wrong on both of those counts, but inwardly he didn't +believe so. However, he had to wait until the dark to set up his own +answer, one so simple he was certain the enemy would not suspect it at +all. + + + + +11. THE WITCH + + +There were patches of light in the inner valley marking the +phosphorescent plants, some creeping at ground level, others tall as +saplings. On other nights Shann had welcomed that wan radiance, but now +he lay in as relaxed a position as possible, marking each of those +potential betrayers as he tried to counterfeit the attitude of sleep and +at the same time plan out his route. + +He had purposely settled in a pool of shadow, the wolverines beside him. +And he thought that the bulk of the animal's bodies would cover his own +withdrawal when the time came to move. One arm lying limply across his +middle was in reality clutching to him an intricate arrangement of small +hide straps which he had made by sacrificing most of the remainder of +his painfully acquired thongs. The trap must be set in place soon! + +Now that he had charted a path to the crucial point avoiding all light +plants, Shann was ready to move. The Terran pressed his hand on Taggi's +head in the one imperative command the wolverine was apt to obey--the +order to stay where he was. + +Shann sat up and gave the same voiceless instruction to Togi. Then he +inched out of the hollow, a worm's progress to that narrow way along the +cliff top--the path which anyone or anything coming up from that sea +gate on the beach would have to pass in order to witness the shoreline +occupied by the half-built outrigger. + +So much of his plan was based upon luck and guesses, but those were all +Shann had. And as he worked at the stretching of his snare, the Terran's +heart pounded, and he tensed at every sound out of the night. Having +tested all the anchoring of his net, he tugged at a last knot, and then +crouched to listen not only with his ears, but with all his strength of +mind and body. + +Pound of waves, whistle of wind, the sleepy complaint of some bird.... A +regular splashing! One of the fish in the lagoon? Or what he awaited? +The Terran retreated as noiselessly as he had come, heading for the +hollow where he had bedded down. + +He reached there breathless, his heart pumping, his mouth dry as if he +had been racing. Taggi stirred and thrust a nose inquiringly against +Shann's arm. But the wolverine made no sound, as if he, too, realized +that some menace lay beyond the rim of the valley. Would that other come +up the path Shann had trapped? Or had he been wrong? Was the enemy +already stalking him from the other beach? The grip of his stunner was +slippery in his damp hand; he hated this waiting. + +The canoe ... his work on it had been a careless botching. Better to +have the job done right. Why, it was perfectly clear now how he had been +mistaken! His whole work plan was wrong; he could see the right way of +doing things laid out as clear as a blueprint in his mind. A picture in +his mind! + +Shann stood up and both wolverines moved uneasily, though neither made a +sound. A picture in his mind! But this time he wasn't asleep; he wasn't +dreaming a dream--to be used for his own defeat. Only (that other could +not know this) the pressure which had planted the idea of new work to be +done in his mind--an idea one part of him accepted as fact--had not +taken warning from his move. He was supposed to be under control; the +Terran was sure of that. All right, so he would play that part. He must +if he would entice the trapper into his trap. + +He holstered his stunner, walked out into the open, paying no heed now +to the patches of light through which he must pass on his way to the +path his own feet had already worn to the boat beach. As he went, Shann +tried to counterfeit what he believed would be the gait of a man under +compulsion. + +Now he was on the rim fronting the downslope, fighting against his +desire to turn and see for himself if anything had climbed behind. The +canoe was all wrong, a bad job which he must make better at once so that +in the morning he would be free of this island prison. + +The pressure of that other's will grew stronger. And the Terran read +into that the overconfidence which he believed would be part of the +enemy's character. The one who was sending him to destroy his own work +had no suspicion that the victim was not entirely malleable, ready to be +used as he himself would use a knife or a force ax. Shann strode +steadily downslope. With a small spurt of fear he knew that in a way +that unseen other was right; the pressure was taking over, even though +he was awake this time. The Terran tried to will his hand to his +stunner, but his fingers fell instead on the hilt of his knife. He drew +the blade as panic seethed in his head, chilling him from within. He had +underestimated the other's power.... + +And that panic flared into open fight, making him forget his careful +plans. Now he _must_ wrench free from this control. The knife was moving +to slash a hide lashing, directed by his hand, but not his will. + +A soundless gasp, a flash of dismay rocked him, but neither was his gasp +nor his dismay. That pressure snapped off; he was free. But the other +wasn't! Knife still in fist, Shann turned and ran upslope, his torch in +his other hand. He could see a shape now writhing, fighting, outlined +against a light bush. And, fearing that the stranger might win free and +disappear, the Terran spotlighted the captive in the beam, reckless of +Throg or enemy reinforcements. + +The other crouched, plainly startled by the sudden burst of light. Shann +stopped abruptly. He had not really built up any mental picture of what +he had expected to find in his snare, but this prisoner was as weirdly +alien to him as a Throg. The light on the torch was reflected off a +skin which glittered as if scaled, glittered with the brilliance of +jewels in bands and coils of color spreading from the throat down the +chest, spiraling about upper arms, around waist and thighs, as if the +stranger wore a treasure house of gems as part of a living body. Except +for those patterned loops, coils, and bands, the body had no clothing, +though a belt about the slender middle supported a pair of pouches and +some odd implements held in loops. + +Roughly the figure was more humanoid than the Throgs. The upper limbs +were not too unlike Shann's arms, though the hands had four digits of +equal length instead of five. But the features were nonhuman, closer to +saurian in contour. It had large eyes, blazing yellow in the dazzle of +the flash, with vertical slits of green for pupils. A nose united with +the jaw to make a snout, and above the domed forehead a sharp V-point of +raised spiky growth extended back and down until behind the shoulder +blades it widened and expanded to resemble a pair of wings. + +The captive no longer struggled, but sat quietly in the tangle of the +snare Shann had set, watching the Terran steadily as if there were no +difficulty in seeing through the brilliance of the beam to the man who +held it. And, oddly enough, Shann experienced no repulsion toward its +reptilian appearance as he had upon first sighting the beetle-Throg. On +impulse he put down his torch on a rock and walked into the light to +face squarely the thing out of the sea. + +Still eying Shann, the captive raised one limb and gave an absent-minded +tug to the belt it wore. Shann, noting that gesture, was struck by a +wild surmise, leading him to study the prisoner more narrowly. Allowing +for the alien structure of bone, the nonhuman skin; this creature was +delicate, graceful, in its way beautiful, with a fragility of limb which +backed up his suspicions. Moved by no pressure from the other, but by +his own will and sense of fitness, Shann stooped to cut the control line +of his snare. + +The captive continued to watch as Shann sheathed his blade and then +held out his hand. Yellow eyes, never blinking since his initial +appearance, regarded him, not with any trace of fear or dismay, but with +a calm measurement which was curiosity based upon a strong belief in its +own superiority. He did not know how he knew, but Shann was certain that +the creature out of the sea was still entirely confident, that it made +no fight because it did not conceive of any possible danger from him. +And again, oddly enough, he was not irritated by this unconscious +arrogance; rather he was intrigued and amused. + +"Friends?" Shann used the basic galactic speech devised by Survey and +the Free Traders, semantics which depended upon the proper inflection of +voice and tone to project meaning when the words were foreign. + +The other made no sound, and the Terran began to wonder if his captive +had any audible form of speech. He withdrew a step or two then pulled at +the snare, drawing the cords away from the creature's slender ankles. +Rolling the thongs into a ball, he tossed the crude net back over his +shoulder. + +"Friends?" he repeated again, showing his empty hands, trying to give +that one word the proper inflection, hoping the other could read his +peaceful intent in his features if not by his speech. + +In one lithe, flowing movement the alien arose. Fully erect, the +Warlockian had a frail appearance. Shann, for his breed, was not tall. +But the native was still smaller, not more than five feet, that stiff V +of head crest just topping Shann's shoulder. Whether any of those +fittings at its belt could be a weapon the Terran had no way of telling. +However, the other made no move to draw any of them. + +Instead, one of the four-digit hands came up. Shann felt the feather +touch of strange finger tips on his chin, across his lips, up his cheek, +to at last press firmly on his forehead at a spot just between the +eyebrows. What followed was communication of a sort, not in words or in +any describable flow of thoughts. There was no feeling of enmity--at +least nothing strong enough to be called that. Curiosity, yes, and then +a growing doubt, not of the Terran himself, but of the other's +preconceived ideas concerning him. Shann was other than the native had +judged him, and the stranger was disturbed, that self-confidence a +little ruffled. And also Shann was right in his guess. He smiled, his +amusement growing--not aimed at his companion on this cliff top, but at +himself. For he was dealing with a woman, a very young woman, and +someone as fully feminine in her way as any human girl could be. + +"Friends?" he asked for the third time. + +But the other still exuded a wariness, a wariness mixed with surprise. +And the tenuous message which passed between them then astounded Shann. +To this Warlockian out of the night he was not following the proper +pattern of male behaviour at all; he should have been in awe of the +other merely because of her sex. A diffidence rather than an assumption +of equality should have colored his response, judged by her standards. +At first, he caught a flash of anger at this preposterous attitude of +his; then her curiosity won, but there was still no reply to his +question. + +The finger tips no longer made contact between them. Stepping back, her +hands now reached for one of the pouches at her belt. Shann watched that +movement carefully. And because he did not trust her too far, he +whistled. + +Her head came up. She might be dumb, but plainly she was not deaf. And +she gazed down into the hollow as the wolverines answered his summons +with growls. Her profile reminded Shann of something for an instant; but +it should have been golden-yellow instead of silver with two jeweled +patterns ringing the snout. Yes, that small plaque he had seen in the +cabin of one of the ship's officers. A very old Terran legend--"Dragon," +the officer had named the creature. Only that one had possessed a +serpent's body, a lizard's legs and wings. + +Shann gave a sudden start, aware his thoughts had made him careless, or +had she in some way led him into that bypath of memory for her own +purposes? Because now she held some object in the curve of her curled +fingers, regarding him with those unblinking yellow eyes. Eyes ... +eyes.... Shann dimly heard the alarm cry of the wolverines. He tried to +snap draw his stunner, but it was too late. + +There was a haze about him hiding the rocks, the island valley with its +radiant plants, the night sky, the bright beam of the torch. Now he +moved through that haze as one walks through a dream approaching +nightmare, striding with an effort as if wading through a deterring +flood. Sound, sight--one after another those senses were taken from him. +Desperately Shann held to one thing, his own sense of identity. He was +Shann Lantee, Terran breed, out of Tyr, of the Survey Service. Some part +of him repeated those facts with vast urgency against an almost +overwhelming force which strove to defeat that awareness of self, making +him nothing but a tool--or a weapon--for another's use. + +The Terran fought, soundlessly but fiercely, on a battleground which was +within him, knowing in a detached way that his body obeyed another's +commands. + +"I am Shann--" he cried without audible speech. "I am myself. I have two +hands, two legs.... I think for myself! I am a _man_----" + +And to that came an answer of sorts, a blow of will striking at his +resistance, a will which struggled to drown him before ebbing, leaving +behind it a faint suggestion of bewilderment, of a dawn of concern. + +"I am a _man_!" he hurled that assertion as he might have thrust deep +with one of the crude spears he had used against the Throgs. For against +what he faced now his weapons were as crude as spears fronting blasters. +"I am Shann Lantee, Terran, man...." Those were facts; no haze could +sweep them from his mind or take away that heritage. + +And again there was the lightening of the pressure, the slight recoil, +which could only be a prelude to another assault upon his last +stronghold. He clutched his three facts to him as a shield, groping for +others which might have afforded a weapon of rebuttal. + +Dreams, these Warlockians dealt in and through dreams. And the opposite +of dreams are facts! His name, his breed, his sex--these were facts. +And Warlock itself was a fact. The earth under his boots was a fact. The +water which washed around the island was a fact. The air he breathed was +a fact. Flesh, blood, bones--facts, all of them. Now he was a struggling +identity imprisoned in a rebel body. But that body was real. He tried to +feel it. Blood pumped from his heart, his lungs filled and emptied; he +struggled to feel those processes. + +With a terrifying shock, the envelope which had held him vanished. Shann +was choking, struggling in water. He flailed out with his arms, kicked +his legs. One hand grated painfully against stone. Hardly knowing what +he did, but fighting for his life, Shann caught at that rock and drew +his head out of water. Coughing and gasping, half drowned, he was weak +with the panic of his close brush with death. + +For a long moment he could only cling to the rock which had saved him, +retching and dazed, as the water washed about his body, a current +tugging at his trailing legs. There was light of a sort here, patches of +green which glowed with the same subdued light as the bushes of the +outer world, for he was no longer under the night sky. A rock-roof was +but inches over his head; he must be in some cave or tunnel under the +surface of the sea. Again a gust of panic shook him as he felt trapped. + +The water continued to pull at Shann, and in his weakened condition it +was a temptation to yield to that pull; the more he fought it the more +he was exhausted. At last the Terran turned on his back, trying to float +with the stream, sure he could no longer battle it. + +Luckily those few inches of space above the surface of the water +continued, and he had air to breathe. But the fear of that ending, of +being swept under the surface, chewed at his nerves. And his bodily +danger burned away the last of the spell which had held him, brought him +into this place, wherever it might be. + +Was it only his heightened imagination, or had the current grown +swifter? Shann tried to gauge the speed of his passage by the way the +patches of green light slipped by. Now he turned and began to swim +slowly, feeling as if his arms were leaden weights, his ribs a cage to +bind his aching lungs. + +Another patch of light ... larger ... spreading across the roof over +head. Then, he was out! Out of the tunnel into a cavern so vast that its +arching roof was like a skydome far above his head. But here the patches +of light were brighter, and they were arranged in odd groups which had a +familiar look to them. + +Only, better than freedom overhead, there was a shore not too distant. +Shann swam for that haven, summoning up the last rags of his strength, +knowing that if he could not reach it very soon he was finished. Somehow +he made it and lay gasping, his cheek resting on sand finer than any of +the outer world, his fingers digging into it for purchase to drag his +body on. But when he collapsed, his legs were still awash in water. + +No footfall could be heard on that sand. But he knew that he was no +longer alone. He braced his hands and with painful effort levered up his +body. Somehow he made it to his knees, but he could not stand. Instead +he half tumbled back, so that he faced them from a sitting position. + +_Them_--there were three of them--the dragon-headed ones with their +slender, jewel-set bodies glittering even in this subdued light, their +yellow eyes fastened on him with a remoteness which did not approach any +human emotion, save perhaps that of a cold and limited wonder. But +behind them came a fourth, one he knew by the patterns on her body. + +Shann clasped his hands about his knees to still the trembling of his +body, and eyed them back with all the defiance he could muster. Nor did +he doubt that he had been brought here, his body as captive to their +will, as had been that of their spy or messenger in his crude snare on +the island. + +"Well, you have me," he said hoarsely. "Now what?" + +His words boomed weirdly out over the water, were echoed from the dim +outer reaches of the cavern. There was no answer. They merely stood +watching him. Shann stiffened, determined to hold to his defiance and +to that identity which he now knew was his weapon against the powers +they used. + +The one who had somehow drawn him there moved at last, circling around +the other three with a suggestion of diffidence in her manner. Shann +jerked back his head as her hand stretched to touch his face. And then, +guessing that she sought her peculiar form of communication, he +submitted to her finger tips, though now his skin crawled under that +light but firm pressure and he shrank from the contract. + +There were no sensations this time. To his amazement a concrete inquiry +shaped itself in his brain, as clear as if the question had been asked +aloud: "Who are you?" + +"Shann...." he began vocally, and then turned words into thoughts. +"Shann Lantee, Terran, man." He made his answer the same which had kept +him from succumbing to their complete domination. + +"Name--Shann Lantee, man--yes." The other accepted those, "Terran?" That +was a question. + +Did these people have any notion of space travel? Could they understand +the concept of another world holding intelligent beings? + +"I come from another world...." He tried to make a clean-cut picture in +his mind--a globe in space, a ship blasting free.... + +"Look!" The fingers still rested between his eyebrows, but with her +other hand the Warlockian was pointing up to the dome of the cavern. + +Shann followed her order. He studied those patches of light which had +seemed so vaguely familiar at his first sighting, studying them closely +to know them for what they were. A star map! A map of the heavens as +they could be seen from the outer crust of Warlock. + +"Yes, I come from the stars," he answered, booming with his voice. + +The fingers dropped from his forehead; the scaled head swung around to +exchange glances, which were perhaps some unheard communication with +the other three. Then the hand was extended again. + +"Come!" + +Fingers fell from his head to his right wrist, closing there with +surprising strength; and some of that strength together with a new +energy flowed from them into him, so that he found and kept his feet as +the other drew him up. + + + + +12. THE VEIL OF ILLUSION + + +Perhaps his status was that of a prisoner, but Shann was too tired to +press for an explanation. He was content to be left alone in the unusual +circular, but roofless, room of the structure to which they had brought +him. There was a thick mat-like pallet in one corner, short for the +length of his body, but softer than any bed he had rested on since he +had left the Terran camp before the coming of the Throgs. Above him +glimmered those patches of light symbolizing the lost stars. He blinked +at them until they all ran together in bands like the jeweled coils on +Warlockian bodies; then he slept--dreamlessly. + +The Terran awoke with all his senses alert; some silent alarm might have +triggered that instant awareness of himself and his surroundings. There +had been no change in the star pattern still overhead; no one had +entered the round chamber. Shann rolled over on his mat bed, conscious +that all his aches had vanished. Just as his mind was clearly active, so +did his body also respond effortlessly to his demands. He was not aware +of any hunger or thirst, though a considerable length of time must have +passed since he had made his mysteriously contrived exit from the outer +world. + +In spite of the humidity of the air, his ragged garments had dried on +his body. Shann got to his feet, trying to order the sorry remnants of +his uniform, eager to be on the move. Though to where and for what +purpose he could not have answered. + +The door through which he had entered remained closed, refusing to +yield to his push. Shann stepped back, eyeing the distance to the top of +the partition between the roofless rooms. The walls were smooth with the +gloss of a sea shell's interior, but the exuberant confidence which had +been with him since his awakening refused to accept such a minor +obstacle. + +He made two test leaps, both times his fingers striking the wall well +below the top of the partition. Shann gathered himself together as might +a cat and tried the third time, putting into that effort every last +ounce of strength, determination and will. He made it, though his arms +jerked as the weight of his body hung from his hands. Then a scramble, a +knee hooked over the top, and he was perched on the wall, able to study +the rest of the building. + +In shape, the structure was unlike anything he had seen on his home +world or reproduced in any of the tri-dee records of Survey accessible +to him. The rooms were either circular or oval, each separated from the +next by a short passage, so that the overall impression was that of ten +strings of beads radiating from a central knot of one large chamber, all +with the uniform nacre walls and a limited amount of furnishings. + +As he balanced on the narrow perch, Shann could sight no other movement +in the nearest line of rooms, those connected by corridors with his own. +He got to his feet to walk the tightrope of the upper walls toward that +inner chamber which was the heart of the Warlockian--palace? town? +apartment dwelling? At least it was the only structure on the island, +for he could see the outer rim of that smooth soft sand ringing it +about. The island itself was curiously symmetrical, a perfect oval, too +perfect to be a natural outcrop of sand and rock. + +There was no day or night here in the cavern. The light from the roof +patches remained constantly the same, and that flow was abetted within +the building by a soft radiation from the walls. Shann reached the next +room in line, hunkering down to see within it. To all appearances the +chamber was exactly the same as the one he had just left; there were the +same unadorned walls, a thick mat bed against the far side, and no +indication whether it was in use or had not been entered for days. + +He was on the next section of corridor wall when he caught that faint +taint in the air, the very familiar scent of wolverines. Now it provided +Shann with a guide as well as a promise of allies. + +The next bead-room gave him what he wanted. Below him Taggi and Togi +paced back and forth. They had already torn to bits the sleeping mat +which had been the chamber's single furnishing, and their temper was +none too certain. As Shann squatted well above their range of vision, +Taggi reared against the opposite wall, his claws finding no hold on the +smooth coating of its surface. They were as competently imprisoned as if +they had been dropped into a huge fishbowl, and they were not taking to +it kindly. + +How had the animals been brought here? Down that water tunnel by the +same unknown method he himself had been transported until that almost +disastrous awakening in the center of the flood? The Terran did not +doubt that the doors of the room were as securely fastened as those of +his own further down the corridor. For the moment the wolverines were +safe; he could not free them. And he was growing increasingly certain +that if he found any of his native jailers, it would be at the center of +that wheel of rooms and corridors. + +Shann made no attempt to attract the animals' attention, but kept on +along his tightrope path. He passed two more rooms, both empty, both +differing in no way from those he had already inspected; and then he +came to the central chamber, four times as big as any of the rest and +with a much brighter wall light. + +The Terran crouched, one hand on the surface of the partition top as an +additional balance, the other gripping his stunner. For some reason his +captors had not disarmed him. Perhaps they believed they had no +necessity to fear his off-world weapon. + +"Have you grown wings?" + +The words formed in his brain, bringing with them a sense of calm +amusement to reduce all his bold exploration to the level of a child's +first staggering steps. Shann fought his first answering flare of pure +irritation. To lose even a fraction of control was to open a door for +them. He remained where he was as if he had never "heard" that question, +surveying the room below with all the impassiveness he could summon. + +Here the walls were no smooth barrier, but honeycombed with niches in a +regular pattern. And in each of the niches rested a polished skull, a +nonhuman skull. Only the outlines of those ranked bones were familiar; +for just so had looked the great purple-red rock where the wheeling +flyers issued from the eye sockets. A rock island had been fashioned +into a skull--by design or nature? + +And upon closer observation the Terran could see that there was a +difference among these ranked skulls, a mutation of coloring from row to +row, a softening of outline, perhaps by the wearing of time. + +There was also a table of dull black, rising from the flooring on legs +which were not more than a very few inches high, so that from his +present perch the board appeared to rest on the pavement itself. Behind +the table in a row, as shopkeepers might await a customer, three of the +Warlockians, seated cross-legged on mats, their hands folded primly +before them. And at the side a fourth, the one whom he had trapped on +the island. + +Not one of those spiked heads rose to view him. But they knew that he +was there; perhaps they had known the very instant he had left the room +or cell in which they had shut him. And they were so very sure of +themselves.... Once again Shann subdued a spark of anger. That same +patience with its core of stubborn determination which had brought him +to Warlock backed his moves now. The Terran swung down, landing lightly +on his feet, facing the three behind the table, towering well over them +as he stood erect, yet gaining no sense of satisfaction from that merely +physical fact. + +"You have come." The words sounded as if they might be a part of some +polite formula. So he replied in kind and aloud. + +"I have come." Without waiting for their bidding, he dropped into the +same cross-legged pose, fronting them now on a more equal level across +their dead black table. + +"And why have you come, star voyager?" That thought seemed to be a +concentrated effort from all three rather than any individual +questioning. + +"And why did you bring me?" He hesitated, trying to think of some polite +form of address. Those he knew which were appropriate to their sex on +other worlds seemed incongruous when applied to the bizarre figures now +facing him. "Wise ones," he finally chose. + +Those unblinking yellow eyes conveyed no emotion; certainly his human +gaze could detect no change of expression on their nonhuman faces. + +"You are a male." + +"I am," he agreed, not seeing just what that fact had to do with either +diplomatic fencing or his experiences of the immediate past. + +"Where then is your thoughtguider?" + +Shann puzzled over that conception, guessed at its meaning. + +"I am my own thoughtguider," he returned stoutly, with all the +conviction he could manage to put into that reply. + +Again he met a yellow-green stare, but he sensed a change in them. Some +of their complacency had ebbed; his reply had been as a stone dropped +into a quiet pool, sending ripples out afar to disturb the customary +mirror surface of smooth serenity. + +"The star-born one speaks the truth!" That came from the Warlockian who +had been his first contact. + +"It would appear that he does." The agreement was measured, and Shann +knew that he was meant to "overhear" that. + +"It would seem, Readers-of-the-rods"--the middle one of the triumvirate +at the table spoke now--"that all living things do not follow our +pattern of life. But that is possible. A male who thinks for himself ... +unguided, who dreams perhaps! Or who can understand the truth of +dreaming! Strange indeed must be his people. Sharers-of-my-visions, let +us consult the Old Ones concerning this." For the first time one of +those crested heads moved, the gaze shifted from Shann to the ranks of +the skulls, pausing at one. + +Shann, ready for any wonder, did not betray his amazement when the ivory +inhabitant of that particular niche moved, lifted from its small +compartment, and drifted buoyantly through the air to settle at the +right-hand corner of the table. Only when it had safely grounded did the +eyes of the Warlockian move to another niche on the other side of the +curving room, this time bringing up from close to floor level a +time-darkened skull to occupy the left corner of the table. + +There was a third shifting from the weird storehouse, a last skull to +place between the other two. And now the youngest native arose from her +mat to bring a bowl of green crystal. One of her seniors took it in both +hands, making a gesture of offering it to all three skulls, and then +gazed over its rim at the Terran. + +"We shall cast the rods, man-who-thinks-without-a-guide. Perhaps then we +shall see how strong _your_ dreams are--to be bent to your using, or to +break you for your impudence." + +Her hands swayed the bowl from side to side, and there was an answering +whisper from its interior as if the contents slid loosely there. Then +one of her companions reached forward and gave a quick tap to the bottom +of that container, spilling out upon the table a shower of brightly +colored slivers each an inch or so long. + +Shann, staring at the display in bewilderment, saw that in spite of the +seeming carelessness of that toss the small needles had spread out on +the blank surface to form a design in arrangement and color. And he +wondered how that skillful trick had been accomplished. + +All three of the Warlockians bent their heads to study the grouping of +the tiny sticks, their young subordinate leaning forward also, her +eagerness less well controlled than her elders'. And now it was as if a +curtain had fallen between the Terran and the aliens, all sense of +communication which had been with him since he had entered the +skull-lined chamber was summarily cut off. + +A hand moved, making the jeweled pattern--braceleting wrist and +extending up the arm--flash subdued fire. Fingers swept the sticks back +into the bowl; four pairs of yellow eyes raised to regard Shann once +more, but the blanket of their withdrawal still held. + +The youngest Warlockian took the bowl from the elder who held it, stood +for a long moment with it resting between her palms, fixing Shann with +an unreadable stare. Then she came toward him. One of those at the table +put out a restraining hand. + +This time Shann did _not_ master his start as he heard the first audible +voice which had not been his own. The skull at the left hand on the +table, by its yellowed color the oldest of those summoned from the +niches, was moving, moving because its jaws gaped and then snapped, +emitting a faint bleat which might have been a word or two. + +She who would have halted the young Warlockian's advance, withdrew her +hand. Then her fingers curled in an unmistakable beckoning gesture. +Shann came to the table, but he could not quite force himself near that +chattering skull, even though it had stopped its jig of speech. + +The bowl of sticks was offered to him. Still no message from mind to +mind, but he could guess at what they wanted of him. The crystal +substance was not cool to the touch as he had expected; rather it was +warm, as living flesh might feel. And the colored sticks filled about +two thirds of the interior, lying all mixed together without any order. + +Shann concentrated on recalling the ceremony the Warlockian had used +before the first toss. She had offered the bowl to the skulls in turn. +The skulls! But he was no consulter of skulls. Still holding the bowl +close to his chest, Shann looked up over the roofless walls at the star +map on the roof of the cavern. There, that was Rama; and to its left, +just a little above, was Tyr's system where swung the stark world of his +birth, and of which he had only few good memories, but of which he was a +part. The Terran raised the bowl to that spot of light which marked +Tyr's pale sun. + +Smiling with a wry twist, he lowered the bowl, and on impulse of pure +defiance he offered it to the skull that had chattered. Immediately he +realized that the move had had an electric effect upon the aliens. +Slowly at first, and then faster, he began to swing the bowl from side +to side, the needles slipping, mixing within. And as he swung it, Shann +held it out over the expanse of the table. + +The Warlockian who had given him the bowl was the one who struck it on +the bottom, causing a rain of splinters. To Shann's astonishment, mixed +as they had been in the container, they once more formed a pattern, and +not the same pattern the Warlockians had consulted earlier. The +dampening curtain between them vanished; he was in touch mind to mind +once again. + +"So be it." The center Warlockian spread out her four-fingered thumbless +hands above the scattered needles. "What is read, is read." + +Again a formula. He caught a chorus of answer from the others. + +"What is read, is read. To the dreamer the dream. Let the dream be known +for what it is, and there is life. Let the dream encompass the dreamer +falsely, and all is lost." + +"Who can question the wisdom of the Old Ones?" asked their leader. "We +are those who read the messages they send, out of their mercy. This is a +strange thing they bid us do, man--open for you our own initiates' road +to the veil of illusion. That way has never been for males, who dream +without set purpose and have not the ability to know true from false, +have not the courage to face their dreams to the truth. Do so--if you +can!" There was a flash of mockery in that, combined with something +else--stronger than distaste, not as strong as hatred, but certainly not +friendly. + +She held out her hands and Shann saw now, lying on a slowly closing +palm, a disk such as the one Thorvald had shown him. The Terran had only +one moment of fear and then came blackness, more absolute than the dark +of any night he had ever known. + +Light once more, green light with an odd shimmering quality to it. The +skull-lined walls were gone; there were no walls, no building held him. +Shann strode forward, and his boots sank in sand, that smooth, satin +sand which had ringed the island in the cavern. But he was certain he +was no longer on that island, even within that cavern, though far above +him there was still a dome of roof. + +The source of the green shimmer lay to his left. Somehow he found +himself reluctant to turn and face it. That would commit him to action. +But Shann turned. + +A veil, a veil of rippling green. Material? No, rather mist or light. A +veil depending from some source so far over his head that its origin was +hidden in the upper gloom, a veil which was a barrier he must cross. + +With every nerve protesting, Shann walked forward, unable to keep back. +He flung up his arm to protect his face as he marched into that stuff. +It was warm, and the gas--if gas it was--left no slick of moisture on +his skin in spite of its foggy consistency. And it was no veil or +curtain, for although he was already well into the murk, he saw no end +to it. Blindly he trudged on, unable to sight anything but the rolling +billows of green, pausing now and again to go down on one knee and pat +the sand underfoot, reassured at the reality of that footing. + +And when he met nothing menacing, Shann began to relax. His heart no +longer labored; he made no move to draw the stunner or knife. Where he +was and for what purpose, he had no idea. But there _was_ a purpose in +this and that the Warlockians were behind it, he did not doubt. The +"initiates' road," the leader had said, and the conviction was steady in +his mind that he faced some test of alien devising. + +A cavern with a green veil--his memory awoke. Thorvald's dream! Shann +paused, trying to remember how the other had described this place. So he +was enacting Thorvald's dream! And could the Survey officer now be +caught in Shann's dream in turn, climbing up somewhere into the nose +slit of a skull-shaped mountain? + +Green fog without end, and Shann lost in it. How long had he been here? +Shann tried to reckon time, the time since his coming into the +water-world of the starred cavern. He realized that he had not eaten, +nor drank, nor desired to do so either--nor did he now. Yet he was not +weak; in fact, he had never felt such tireless energy as possessed his +spare body. + +Was this _all_ a dream? His threatened drowning in the underground +stream a nightmare? Yet there was a pattern in this, just as there had +been a pattern in the needles he had spilled across the table. One even +led to another with discernible logic; because he had tossed that +particular pattern he had come here. + +According to the ambiguous instructions or warnings of the Warlockian +witch, his safety in this place would depend upon his ability to tell +true dreams from false. But how ... why? So far he had done nothing +except walk through a green fog, and for all he knew, he might well be +traveling in circles. + +Because there was nothing else to do, Shann walked on, his boots +pressing sand, rising from each step with a small sucking sound. Then, +as he stooped to search for some indication of a path or road which +might guide him, his ears caught the slightest of noises--other small +sucking whispers. He was not the only wayfarer in this place! + + + + +13. HE WHO DREAMS.... + + +The mist was not a quiet thing; it billowed and curled until it appeared +to half-conceal darker shadows, any one of which could be an enemy. +Shann remained hunkered on the sand, every sense abnormally alert, +watching the fog. He was still sure he could hear sounds which marked +the progress of another. What other? One of the Warlockians tracking him +to spy? Or was there some prisoner like himself lost out there in the +murk? Could it be Thorvald? + +Now the sound had ceased. He was not even sure from what direction it +had first come. Perhaps that other was listening now, as intent upon +locating him. Shann ran his tongue over dry lips. The impulse to call +out, to try and contact any fellow traveler here, was strong. Only +hard-learned caution kept him silent. He got to his hands and knees, +uncertain as to his previous direction. + +Shann crept. Someone expecting a man walking erect might be suitably +distracted by the arrival of a half-seen figure on all fours. He halted +again to listen. + +He had been right! The sound of a very muffled footfall or footfalls, +carried to his ears. He was sure that the sound was louder, that the +unknown was approaching. Shann stood, his hand close to his stunner. He +was almost tempted to spray that beam blindly before him, hoping to hit +the unseen by chance. + +A shadow--something more swift than a shadow, more than one of the +tricks the curling fog played on eyes--was moving with purpose and +straight for him. Still, prudence restrained Shann from calling out. + +The figure grew clearer. A Terran! It could be Thorvald! But remembering +how they had last parted, Shann did not hurry to meet him. + +That shadow-shape stretched out a long arm in a sweep as if to pull +aside some of the vapor concealing them from each other. Then Shann +shivered as if that fog had suddenly turned into the drive of frigid +snow. For the mist did roll back so that the two of them stood in an +irregular clearing in its midst. + +And he did not front Thorvald. + +Shann was caught up in the ice grip of an old fear, frozen by it, but +somehow clinging to a hope that he did not see the unbelievable. + +Those hands drawing the lash of a whip back into striking readiness ... +a brutal nose broken askew, a blaster burn puckering across cheek to +misshapen ear ... that, evil, gloating grin of anticipation. Flick, +flick, the slight dance of the lash in a master's hand as those thick +fingers tightened about the stock of the whip. In a moment it would +whirl up to lay a ribbon of fire about Shann's defenceless shoulders. +Then Logally would laugh and laugh, his sadistic mirth echoed by those +other men who played jackals to his rogue lion. + +Other men.... Shann shook his head dazedly. But he did not stand again +in the Dump-size bar of the Big Strike. And he was no longer a +terrorized youngster, fit meat for Logally's amusement. Only the whip +rose, the lash curled out, catching Shann just as it had that time years +ago, delivering a red slash of pure agony. But Logally was dead, Shann's +mind screamed, fighting frantically against the evidence of his eyes, of +that pain in his chest and shoulder. The Dump bully had been spaced by +off-world miners, now also dead, whose claims he had tried to jump out +in the Ajax system. + +Logally drew back the lash, preparing to strike again. Shann faced a man +five years dead who walked and fought. Or, Shann bit hard upon his lower +lip, holding desperately to sane reasoning--did he indeed face anything? +Logally was the ancient devil of his boyhood produced anew by the +witchery of Warlock. Or had Shann himself been led to recreate both the +man and the circumstances of their first meeting with fear as a weapon +to pull the creator down? Dream true or false. Logally _was_ dead; +therefore, this dream was false, it had to be. + +The Terran began to walk toward that grinning ogre rising out of his old +nightmares. His hand was no longer on the butt of his stunner, but swung +loosely at his side. He saw the coming lash, the wicked promise in those +small narrowed eyes. This was Logally at the acme of his strength, when +he was most to be feared, as he had continued to exist over the years in +the depths of a boy-child's memory. But Logally was _not_ alive; only in +a dream could he be. + +For the second time the lash bit at Shann, curling about his body, to +dissolve. There was no alteration in Logally's grin, His muscular arm +drew back as he aimed a third blow. Shann continued to walk forward, +bringing up one hand, not to strike at that sweating, bristly jaw, but +as if to push the other out of his path. And in his mind he held one +thought: this was not Logally; it could not be. Ten years had passed +since they had met. And for five of those years Logally had been dead. +Here was Warlockian witchery, to be met by sane Terran reasoning. + +Shann was alone. The mist, which had formed walls, enclosed him again. +But still there was a smarting brand across his shoulder. Shann drew +aside the rags of his uniform blouse to discover a welt, raw and red. +And seeing that, his unbelief was shaken. + +When he had believed in Logally and in Logally's weapon, the other had +had reality enough to strike that blow, make the lash cut deep. But when +the Terran had faced the phantom with the truth, then neither Logally +nor his lash existed, Shann shivered, trying not to think what might lie +before him. Visions out of nightmares which could put on substance! He +had dreamed of Logally in the past, many times. And he had had other +dreams, just as frightening. Must he front those nightmares, all of +them----? Why? To amuse his captors, or to prove their contention that he +was a fool to challenge the powers of such mistresses of illusion? + +How did they know just what dreams to use in order to break him? Or did +he himself furnish the actors and the action, projecting old terrors in +this mist as a tri-dee tape projected a story in three dimensions for +the amusement of the viewer? + +Dream true--was this progress through the mist also a dream? Dreams +within dreams.... Shann put his hand to his head, uncertain, badly +shaken. But that stubborn core of determination within him was still +holding. Next time he would be prepared at once to face down any +resurrected memory. + +Walking slowly, pausing to listen for the slightest sound which might +herald the coming of a new illusion, Shann tried to guess which of his +nightmares might come to face him. But he was to learn that there was +more than one kind of dream. Steeled against old fears, he was met by +another emotion altogether. + +There was a fluttering in the air, a little crooning cry which pulled at +his heart. Without any conscious thought, Shann held out his hands, +whistling on two notes a call which his lips appeared to remember more +quickly than his mind. The shape which winged through the fog came +straight to his waiting hold, tore at long-walled-away hurt with its +once familiar beauty. It flew with a list; one of the delicately tinted +wings was injured, had never healed straight. But the seraph nestled +into the hollow of Shann's two palms and looked up at him with all the +old liquid trust. + +"Trav! Trav!" He cradled the tiny creature carefully, regarded with joy +its feathered body, the curled plumes on its proudly held head, felt the +silken patting of those infinitesimal claws against his protecting +fingers. + +Shann sat down in the sand, hardly daring to breathe. Trav--again! The +wonder of this never-to-be-hoped-for return filled him with a surge of +happiness almost too great to bear, which hurt in its way with as great +a pain as Logally's lash; it was a pain rooted in love, not fear and +hate. + +Logally's lash.... + +Shann trembled. Trav raised one of those small claws toward the Terran's +face, crooning a soft caressing cry for recognition, for protection, +trying to be a part of Shann's life once more. + +Trav! How could he bear to will Trav into nothingness, to bear to summon +up another harsh memory which would sweep Trav away? Trav was the only +thing Shann had ever known which he could love wholeheartedly, that had +answered his love with a return gift of affection so much greater than +the light body he now held. + +"Trav!" he whispered softly. Then he made his great effort against this +second and far more subtle attack. With the same agony which he had +known years earlier, he resolutely summoned a bitter memory, sat nursing +once more a broken thing which died in pain he could not ease, aware +himself of every moment of that pain. And what was worse, this time +there clung that nagging little doubt. What if he had not forced the +memory? Perhaps he could have taken Trav with him unhurt, alive, at +least for a while. + +Shann covered his face with his now empty hands. To see a nightmare +flicker out after facing squarely up to its terror, that was no great +task. To give up a dream which was part of a lost heaven, that cut +cruelly deep. The Terran dragged himself to his feet, drained and weary, +stumbling on. + +Was there no end to this aimless circling through a world of green +smoke? He shambled ahead, moving his feet leadenly. How long had he been +here? There was no division in time, just the unchanging light which was +a part of the fog through which he plodded. + +Then he heard more than any shuffle of foot across sand, any crooning of +a long dead seraph, the rising and falling of a voice: a human +voice--not quite singing or reciting, but something between the two. +Shann paused, searching his memory, a memory which seemed bruised, for +the proper answer to match that sound. + +But, though he recalled scene after scene out of the years, that voice +did not trigger any return from his past. He turned toward its source, +dully determined to get over quickly the meeting which lay behind that +signal. Only, though he walked on and on, Shann did not appear any +closer to the man behind the voice, nor was he able to make out separate +words composing that chant, a chant broken now and then by pauses, so +that the Terran grew aware of the distress of his fellow prisoner. For +the impression that he sought another captive came out of nowhere and +grew as he cast wider and wider in his quest. + +Then he might have turned some invisible corner in the mist, for the +chant broke out anew in stronger volume, and now he was able to +distinguish words he knew. + + "... where blow the winds between the worlds, + And hang the suns in dark of space. + For Power is given a man to use. + Let him do so well before the last accounting--" + +The voice was hoarse, cracked, the words spaced with uneven catches of +breath, as if they had been repeated many, many times to provide an +anchor against madness, form a tie to reality. And hearing that note, +Shann slowed his pace. This was out of no memory of his; he was sure of +that. + + "... blow the winds between the worlds, + And hang the suns in ... dark--of--of--" + +That harsh croak of voice was running down, as a clock runs down for +lack of winding. Shann sped on, reacting to a plea which did not lay in +the words themselves. + +Once more the mist curled back, provided him with an open space. A man +sat on the sand, his fists buried wrist deep in the smooth grains on +either side of his body, his eyes set, red-rimmed, glazed, his body +rocking back and forth in time to his labored chant. + + "... the dark of space--" + +"Thorvald!" Shann skidded in the sand, went down on his knees. The +manner of their last parting was forgotten as he took in the officer's +condition. + +The other did not stop his swaying, but his head turned with a stiff +jerk, the gray eyes making a visible effort to focus on Shann. Then some +of the strain smoothed out of the gaunt features and Thorvald laughed +softly. + +"Garth!" + +Shann stiffened but had no chance to protest that mistaken +identification as the other continued: "So you made class one status, +boy! I always knew you could if you'd work for it. A couple of black +marks on your record, sure. But those can be rubbed out, boy, when +you're willing to try. Thorvalds always have been Survey. Our father +would have been proud." + +Thorvald's voice flattened, his smile faded, there was a growing spark +of some emotion in those gray eyes. Unexpectedly, he hurled himself +forward, his hands clawing for Shann's throat. He bore the younger man +down under him to the sand where Lantee found himself fighting +desperately for his life against a man who could only be mad. + +Shann used a trick learned on the Dumps, and his opponent doubled up +with a gasp of agony to let the younger man break free. He planted a +knee on the small of Thorvald's back, digging the officer into the sand, +pinning down his arms in spite of the other's struggles. Regaining his +own breath in gulps, Shann tried to appeal to some spark of reason in +the other. + +"Thorvald! This is Lantee--Lantee----" His name echoed in the mist-walled +void like an unhuman wail. + +"Lantee----? No, Throg! Lantee--Throg--killed my brother!" + +Sand puffed out with the breath, which expelled that indictment. But +Thorvald no longer fought, and Shann believed him close to collapse. + +Shann relaxed his hold, rolling the other man over. Thorvald obeyed his +pull limply, lying face upward, sand in his hair and eyebrows, crusting +his slack lips. The younger man brushed the dirt away gently as the +other opened his eyes to regard Shann with his old impersonal stare. + +"You're alive," Thorvald stated bleakly. "Garth's dead. You ought to be +dead too." + +Shann drew back, rubbed sand from his hands, his concern dampened by the +other's patent hostility. Only that angry accusation vanished in a blink +of those gray eyes. Then there was a warmer recognition in Thorvald's +expression. + +"Lantee!" The younger man might just have come into sight. "What are you +doing here?" + +Shann tightened his belt. "Just about what you are." He was still aloof, +giving no acknowledgment of difference in rank now. "Running around in +this fog hunting the way out." + +Thorvald sat up, surveying the billowing walls of the hole which +contained them. Then he reached out a hand to draw fingers down Shann's +forearm. + +"You _are_ real," he observed simply, and his voice was warm, welcoming. + +"Don't bet on it," Shann snapped. "The unreal can be mighty real--here." +His hand went up to the smarting brand on his shoulder. + +Thorvald nodded. "Masters of illusion," he murmured. + +"Mistresses," Shann corrected. "This place is run by a gang of pretty +smart witches." + +"Witches? You've seen them? Where? And what--who are they?" Thorvald +pounced with a return of his old-time sharpness. + +"They're females right enough, and they can make the impossible happen. +I'd say that classifies them as witches. One of them tried to take me +over back on the island. I set a trap and caught her; then somehow she +transported me----" Swiftly he outlined the chain of events leading from +his sudden awakening in the river tunnel to his present penetration of +this fog-world. + +Thorvald listened eagerly. When the story was finished, he rubbed his +hands across his drawn face, smearing away the last of the sand. "At +least you have some idea of who they are and a suggestion of how you got +here. I don't remember that much about my own arrival. As far as I can +remember I went to sleep on the Island and woke up here!" + +Shann studied him and knew that Thorvald was telling the truth. He could +remember nothing of his departure in the outrigger, the way he had +fought Shann in the lagoon. The Survey officer must have been under the +control of the Warlockians then. Quickly he gave the older man his +version of the other's actions in the outer world and Thorvald was +clearly astounded, though he did not question the facts Shann presented. + +"They just _took_ me!" Thorvald said in a husky half whisper. "But why? +And why are we here? Is this a prison?" + +Shann shook his head. "I think all this"--a wave of his hand encompassed +the green wall, what lay beyond it, and in it--"is a test of some kind. +This dream business.... A little while ago I got to thinking that I +wasn't here at all, that I might be dreaming it all. Then I met you." + +Thorvald understood. "Yes, but this _could_ be a dream meeting. How can +we tell?" He hesitated, almost diffidently, before he asked: "Have you +met anyone else here?" + +"Yes." Shann had no desire to go into that. + +"People out of your past life?" + +"Yes." Again he did not elaborate. + +"So did I." Thorvald's expression was bleak; his encounters in the fog +must have proved no more pleasant than Shann's. "That suggests that we +do trigger the hallucinations ourselves. But maybe we can really lick it +now." + +"How?" + +"Well, if these phantoms are born of our memories there are about only +two or three we could see together--maybe a Throg on the rampage, or +that hound we left back in the mountains. And if we do sight anything +like that, we'll know what it is. On the other hand, if we stick +together and one of us sees something that the other can't ... well, +that fact alone will explode the ghost." + +There was sense in what he said. Shann aided the officer to his feet. + +"I must be a better subject for their experiments than you," the older +man remarked ruefully. "They took me over completely at the first." + +"You were carrying that disk," Shann pointed out. "Maybe that acted as a +focusing lens for whatever power they use to make us play trained +animals." + +"Could be!" Thorvald brought out the cloth-wrapped bone coin. "I still +have it." But he made no move to pull off the bit of rag about it. +"Now"--he gazed at the wall of green--"which way?" + +Shann shrugged. Long ago he had lost any idea of keeping a straight +course through the murk. He might have turned around any number of times +since he first walked blindly into this place. Then he pointed to the +packet Thorvald held. + +"Why not flip that?" he asked. "Heads, we go that way--" he indicated +the direction in which they were facing--"tails, we do a +rightabout-face." + +There was an answering grin on Thorvald's lips. "As good a guide as any +we're likely to find here. We'll do it." He pulled away the twist of +cloth and with a swift snap, reminiscent of that used by the Warlockian +witch to empty the bowl of sticks, he tossed the disk into the air. + +It spun, whirled, but--to their open-jawed amazement--it did not fall to +the sand. Instead it spun until it looked like a small globe instead of +a disk. And it lost its dead white for a glow of green. When that glow +became dazzling for Terran eyes the miniature sun swung out, not in +orbit but in straight line of flight, heading to their right. + +With a muffled cry, Thorvald started in pursuit, Shann running beside +him. They were in a tunnel of the fog now, and the pace set by the +spinning coin was swift. The Terrans continued to follow it at the best +pace they could summon, having no idea of where they were headed, but +each with the hope that they finally did have a guide to lead them +through this place of confusion and into a sane world where they could +face on more equal terms those who had sent them there. + + + + +14. ESCAPE + + +"Something ahead!" Thorvald did not slacken the pace set by the +brilliant spot of green they trailed. Both of the Terrans feared to fall +behind, to lose touch with that guide. Their belief that somehow the +traveling disk would bring them to the end of the mist and its attendant +illusions had grown firmer with every foot of ground they traversed. + +A dark, fixed point, now partly veiled by mist, lay beyond, and it was +toward that looming half-shadow that the spinning disk hurtled. Now the +mist curled away to display its bulk--larger, blacker and four or five +times Thorvald's height. Both men stopped short, for the disk no longer +played pathfinder. It still whirled on its axis in the air, faster and +faster, until it appeared to be throwing off sparks, but the sparks +faded against a monolith of dark rock unlike the native stone they had +seen elsewhere. For it was neither red nor warmly brown, but a dull, +dead black. It could have been a huge stone slab, trimmed, smoothed, set +up on end as a monument or marker, except that only infinite labor could +have accomplished such a task, and there was no valid reason for such +toil as far as the Terrans could perceive. + +"This is it." Thorvald moved closer. + +By the disk's action, they deduced that their guide had drawn them to +this featureless black steel with the precision of a beam-controlled +ship. However, the purpose still eluded them. They had hoped for some +exit from the territory of the veil, but now they faced a solid slab of +dark stone, neither a conventional exit or entrance, as they proved by +circling its base. Beneath their boots was the eternal sand, around +them the fog. + +"Now what?" Shann asked. They had made their trip about the slab and +were back again where the disk whirled with unceasing vigor in a shower +of emerald sparks. + +Thorvald shook his head, scanning the rock face before them glumly. The +eagerness had gone out of his expression, a vast weariness replacing it. + +"There must have been some purpose in coming here," he replied, but his +tone had lost the assurance of moments earlier. + +"Well, if we strike away from here, we'll just get right back in again." +Shann waved a hand toward the mist, waiting as if with a hunter's watch +upon them. "And we certainly can't go down." He dug a boot toe into the +sand to demonstrate the folly of that. "So, what about up?" + +He ducked under the spinning disk to lay his hands against the surface +of the giant slab. And in so doing he made a discovery, revealed to his +touch although hidden from sight. For his fingers, running aimlessly +across the cold, slightly uneven surface of the stone, slipped into a +hollow, quite a deep hollow. + +Excited, half fearing that his sudden guess might be wrong, Shann slid +his hand higher in line with that hollow, to discover a second. The +first had been level with his chest, the second perhaps eighteen inches +or so above. He jumped, to draw his fingers down the rock, with damage +to his nails but getting his proof. There _was_ a third niche, deep +enough to hold more than just the toe of a boot, and a fourth above +that.... + +"We've a ladder of sorts here," he reported. Without waiting for any +answer from Thorvald, Shann began to climb. The holds were so well +matched in shape and size that he was sure they could not be natural; +they had been bored there for use--the use to which he was now putting +them--a ladder to the top of the slab. Though what he might find there +was beyond his power to imagine. + +The disk did not rise. Shann passed that core of light, climbing above +it into the greater gloom. But the holes did not fail him; each was +waiting in a direct line with its companion. And to an active man the +scramble was not difficult. He reached the summit, glanced around, and +made a quick grab for a secure handhold. + +Waiting for him was no level platform such as he had confidently +expected to find. The surface up which he had just made his way +fly-fashion was the outer wall of a well or chimney. He looked down now +into a pit where black nothingness began within a yard of the top, for +the radiance of the mist did not penetrate far into that descent. + +Shann fought an attack of giddiness. It would be very easy to lose +control, to tumble over and be swallowed up in what might well be a +bottomless chasm. And what was the purpose of this well? Was it a trap +to entice a prisoner into an unwary climb and then let gravity drag him +over? The whole setup was meaningless. Perhaps meaningless only to him, +Shann conceded, with a flash of level thinking. The situation could be +quite different as far as the natives were concerned. This structure did +have a reason, or it would never have been erected in the first place. + +"What's the matter?" Thorvald's voice was rough with impatience. + +"This thing's a well." Shann edged about a fraction to call back. "The +inside is open and--as far as I can tell--goes clear to the planet's +core." + +"Ladder on the inside too?" + +Shann squirmed. That was, of course, a very obvious supposition. He kept +a tight hold with his left hand, and with the other, he did some +exploring. Yes, here was a hollow right enough, twin to those on the +outside. But to swing over that narrow edge of safety and begin a +descent into the black of the well was far harder than any action he had +taken since the morning the Throgs had raided the camp. The green mist +could hold no terrors greater than those with which his imagination +peopled the depths now waiting to engulf him. But Shann swung over, +fitted his boot into the first hollow, and started down. + +The only encouragement he gained during that nightmare ordeal was that +those holes were regularly spaced. But somehow his confidence did not +feed on that fact. There always remained the nagging fear that when he +searched for the next it would not be there and he would cling to his +perch lacking the needful strength in aching arms and legs to reclimb +the inside ladder. + +He was fast losing that sense of well being which had been his during +his travels through the fog; a fatigue tugged at his arms and weighed +leaden on his shoulders. Mechanically he prospected for the next hold, +and then the next. Above, the oblong of half-light grew smaller and +smaller, sometimes half blotted out by the movements of Thorvald's body +as the other followed him down that interior way. + +How far _was_ down? Shann giggled lightheadedly at the humor of that, or +what seemed to be humor at the moment. He was certain that they were now +below the level of the sand floor outside the slab. And yet no end had +come to the well hollow. + +No break of light down here; he might have been sightless. But just as +the blind develop an extra perceptive sense of unseen obstacles, so did +Shann now find that he was aware of a change in the nature of the space +about him. His weary arms and legs held him against the solidity of a +wall, yet the impression that there was no longer another wall at his +back grew stronger with every niche which swung him downward. And he was +as sure as if he could see it, that he was now in a wide-open space, +another cavern; perhaps, but this one totally dark. + +Deprived of sight, he relied upon his ears. And there was a sound, +faint, distorted perhaps by the acoustics of this place, but keeping up +a continuous murmur. Water! Not the wash of waves with their persistent +beat, but rather the rippling of a running stream. Water must lie below! + +And just as his weariness had grown with his leaving behind the fog, so +now did both hunger and thirst gnaw at Shann, all the sharper for the +delay. The Terran wanted to reach that water, could picture it in his +mind, putting away the possibility--the probability--that it might be +sea-born and salt, and so unfit to drink. + +The upper opening to the cavern of the fog was now so far above him that +he had to strain to see it. And that warmth which had been there was +gone. A dank chill wrapped him here, dampened the holds to which he +clung until he was afraid of slipping. While the murmur of the water +grew louder, until its _slap-slap_ sounded within arms' distance. His +boot toe skidded from a niche. Shann fought to hold on with numbed +fingers. The other foot went. He swung by his hands, kicking vainly to +regain a measure of footing. + +Then his arms could no longer support him, and he cried out as he fell. +Water closed about him with an icy shock which for a moment paralyzed +him. He flailed out, fighting the flood to get his head above the +surface where he could gasp in precious gulps of air. + +There was a current here, a swiftly running one. Shann remembered the +one which had carried him into that cavern in which the Warlockians had +their strange dwelling. Although there were no clusters of crystals in +this tunnel to supply him with light, the Terran began to nourish a +faint hope that he was again in that same stream, that those light +crystals would appear, and that he might eventually return to the +starting point of this meaningless journey. + +So he strove only to keep his head above water. Hearing a splashing +behind him, he called out: "Thorvald?" + +"Lantee?" The answer came back at once; the splashing grew louder as the +other swam to catch up. + +Shann swallowed a mouthful of the water lapping against his chin. The +taste was brackish, but not entirely salt, and though it stung his lips, +the liquid relieved a measure of his thirst. + +Only no glowing crystals appeared to stud these walls, and Shann's hope +that they were on their way to the cavern of the island faded. The +current grew swifter, and he had to fight to keep his head above water, +his tired body reacting sluggishly to commands. + +The murmur of the racing flood drummed louder in his ears, or was that +sound the same? He could no longer be sure. Shann only knew that it was +close to impossible to snatch the necessary breath as he was rolled over +and over in the hurrying flood. + +In the end he was ejected into blazing, blinding light, into a +suffocation of wild water as the bullet in an ancient Terran rifle might +have been fired at no specific target. Gasping, beaten, more than +half-drowned, Shann was pummeled by waves, literally driven up on a +rocky surface which skinned his body cruelly. He lay there, his arms +moving feebly until he contrived to raise himself in time to be +wretchedly sick. Somehow he crawled on a few feet farther before he +subsided again, blinded by the light, flinching from the heat of the +rocks on which he lay, but unable to do more for himself. + +His first coherent thought was that his speculation concerning the +reality of this experience was at last resolved. This could not possibly +be an hallucination; at least this particular sequence of events was +not. And he was still hazily considering that when a hand fell on his +shoulder, fingers biting into his raw flesh. + +Shann snarled, rolled over on his side. Thorvald, water dripping from +his rags--or rather steaming from them--his shaggy hair plastered to his +skull, sat there. + +"You all right?" + +Shann sat up in turn, shielding his smarting eyes. He was bruised, +battered badly enough, but he could claim no major injuries. + +"I think so. Where are we?" + +Thorvald's lips stretched across his teeth in what was more a grimace +than a smile. "Right off the map, any map I know. Take a look." + +They were on a scrap of beach--beach which was more like a reef, for it +lacked any covering comparable to sand except for some cupfuls of coarse +gravel locked in rock depressions. Rocks, red as the rust of dried +blood, rose in fantastic water-sculptured shapes around the small +semi-level space they had somehow won. + +This space was V-shaped, washed by equal streams on either side of the +prong of rock by water which spouted from the face of a sheer cliff not +too far away, with force enough to spray several feet beyond its exit +point. Shann seeing that and guessing at its significance, drew a deep +breath, and heard the ghost of an answering chuckle from his companion. + +"Yes, that's where we came out, boy. Like to make a return trip?" + +Shann shook his head, and then wished that he had not so rashly made +that move, for the world swung in a dizzy whirl. Things had happened too +fast. For the moment it was enough that they were out of the underground +ways, back under the amber sky, feeling the bite of Warlock's sun. + +Steadying his head with both hands, Shann turned slowly, to survey what +might lie at their backs. The water, pouring by on either side, +suggested that they were again on an island. Warlock, he thought +gloomily, seemed to be for Terrans a succession of islands, all hard to +escape. + +The tangle of rocks did not encourage any exploration. Just gazing at +them added to his weariness. They rose, tier by tier, to a ragged crown +against the sky. Shann continued to sit staring at them. + +"To climb that...." His voice trailed into the silence of complete +discouragement. + +"You climb--or swim," Thorvald stated. But, Shann noted, the Survey +officer was not in a hurry to make either move. + +Nowhere in that wilderness of rock was there the least relieving bit of +purple foliage. Nor did any clak-claks or leather-headed birds tour the +sky over their heads. Shann's thirst might have been partially assuaged, +but his hunger remained. And it was that need which forced him at last +into action. The barren heights promised nothing in the way of food, +but remembering the harvest the wolverines had taken from under the +rocks along the river, he got to his feet and lurched out on the reef +which had been their salvation, hunting some pool which might hold an +edible captive or two. + +So it was that Shann made the discovery of a possible path consisting of +a ledge running toward the other end of the island, if this were an +island where they had taken refuge. The spray of the water drenched that +way, feeding small pools in the uneven surface, and strips of yellow +weed trailed in slimy ribbons back below the surface of the waves. + +He called to Thorvald and gestured to his find. And then, close +together, linking hands when the going became hazardous, the men +followed the path. Twice they made finds in the pools, finned or clawed +grotesque creatures, which they killed and ate, wolfing down the few +fragments of odd-tasting flesh. Then, in a small crevice, which could +hardly be dignified by the designation of "cave," Thorvald chanced upon +a quite exciting discovery--a clutch of four greenish eggs, each as +large as his doubled fist. + +Their outer covering was more like tough membrane than true shell, and +the Terrans worried it open with difficulty. Shann shut his eyes, trying +not to think of what he mouthed as he sucked his share dry. At least +that semi-liquid stayed put in his middle, though he expected disastrous +results from the experiment. + +More than a little heartened by this piece of luck, they kept on, though +the ledge changed from a reasonably level surface to a series of rising, +unequal steps, drawing them away from the water. At long last they came +to the end of that path. Shann leaned back against a convenient spur of +rock. + +"Company!" he alerted Thorvald. + +The Survey officer joined him to share an outcrop of rock from which +they were provided with an excellent view of the scene below, and it +was a scene to hold their full attention. + +That soft sweep of sand which had floored the cavern of the fog lay here +also, a gray-blue carpet sloping gently out of the sea. For Shann had no +doubt that the wide stretch of water before them was the western ocean. +Walling the beach on either side, and extending well out into the water +so that the farthest piles were awash except for their crowns, were +pillars of stone, shaped with the same finish as that slab which had +provided them a ladder of escape. And because of the regularity of their +spacing, Shann did not believe them works of nature. + +Grouped between them now were the players of the drama. One of the +Warlockian witches, her gem body patterns glittering in the sunlight, +was walking backward out of the sea, her hands held palms together, +breast high, in a Terran attitude of prayer. And following her something +swam in the water, clearly not another of her own species. But her +actions suggested that by some invisible means she was drawing that +water dweller after her. Waiting on shore were two others of her kind, +viewing her actions with close attention, the attention of scholars for +an instructor. + +"Wyverns!" + +Shann looked inquiringly at his companion. Thorvald added a whisper of +explanation. "A legend of Terra--they were supposed to have a snake's +tail instead of hind legs, but the heads.... They're Wyverns!" + +Wyverns. Shann liked the sound of that word; to his mind it well fitted +the Warlockian witches. And the one they were watching in action +continued her steady backward retreat, rolling her bemused captive out +of the water. What emerged into the blaze of sunlight was one of those +fork-tailed sea dwellers such as the Terrans had seen die after the +storm. The thing crawled out of the shallows, its eyes focused in a +blind stare on the praying hands of the Wyvern. + +She halted, well up on the sand, when the body of her victim or +prisoner--Shann was certain that the fork-tail was one or the +other--was completely out of the water. Then, with lightning speed, she +dropped her hands. + +Instantly fork-tail came to life. Fanged jaws snapped. Aroused, the +beast was the incarnation of evil rage, a rage which had a measure of +intelligence to direct it into deadly action. And facing it, seemingly +unarmed and defenseless, were the slender, fragile Wyverns. + +Yet none of the small group of natives made any attempt to escape. Shann +thought them suicidal in their indifference as fork-tail, short legs +sending the fine sand flying in a dust cloud, made a rush toward its +enemies. + +The Wyvern who had led the beast ashore did not move. But one of her +companions swung up a hand, as if negligently waving the monster to a +stop. Between her first two digits was a disk. Thorvald caught at +Shann's arm. + +"See that! It's a copy of the one I had; it must be!" + +They were too far away to be sure it was a duplicate, but It was +coin-shaped and bone-white. And now the Wyvern swung it back and forth +in a metronome sweep. Fork-tail skidded to a stop, its head +beginning--reluctantly at first, and then, with increasing speed--to +echo that left-right sweep. This Wyvern had the sea beast under control, +even as her companion had earlier held it. + +Chance dictated what happened next. As had her sister charmer, the +Wyvern began a backward withdrawal up the length of the beach, drawing +the sea thing in her wake. They were very close to the foot of the drop +above which the Terrans stood, fascinated, when the sand betrayed the +witch. Her foot slipped into a hole and she was thrown backward, her +control disk spinning out of her fingers. + +At once the monster she had charmed shot forth its head, snapped at that +spinning trifle--and swallowed it. Then the fork-tail hunched in a +posture Shann had seen the wolverines use when they were about to +spring. The weaponless Wyvern was the prey, and both her companions were +too far away to interfere. + +Why he moved he could not have explained. There was no reason for him +to go to the aid of the Warlockian, one of the same breed who had ruled +him against his will. But Shann sprang, landing in the sand on his hands +and knees. + +The sea thing whipped around, undecided between two possible victims. +Shann had his knife free, was on his feet, his eyes on the beast's, +knowing that he had appointed himself dragon slayer for no good reason. + + + + +15. DRAGON SLAYER + + +"Ayeeee!" Sheer defiance, not only of the beast he fronted, but of the +Wyverns as well, brought that old rallying cry to his lips--the call +used on the Dumps of Tyr to summon gang aid against outsiders. Fork-tail +had crouched again for a spring, but that throat-crackling blast +appeared to startle it. + +Shann, blade ready, took a dancing step to the right. The thing was +scaled, perhaps as well armored against frontal attack as was the +shell-creature he had fought with the aid of the wolverines. He wished +he had the Terran animals now--with Taggi and his mate to tease and +feint about the monster, as they had done with the Throg hound--for he +would have a better chance. If only the animals were here! + +Those eyes--red-pitted eyes in a gargoyle head following his every +movement--perhaps those were the only vulnerable points. + +Muscles tensed beneath that scaled hide. The Terran readied himself for +a sidewise leap, his knife hand raised to rake at those eyes. A brown +shape with a V of lighter fur banding its back crossed the far range of +Shann's vision. He could not believe what he saw, not even when a +snarling animal, slavering with rage, came at a lumbering gallop to +stand beside him, a second animal on its heels. + +Uttering his own battle cry, Taggi attacked. The fork-tail's head swung, +imitating the movements of the wolverine as it had earlier mimicked the +swaying of the disk in the Wyvern's hand. Togi came in from the other +side. They might have been hounds keeping a bull in play. And never had +they shown such perfect team work, almost as if they could sense what +Shann desired of them. + +That forked tail lashed viciously, a formidable weapon. Bone, muscles, +scaled flesh, half buried in the sand, swept up a cloud of grit into the +face of the man and the animals. Shann fell back, pawing with his free +hand at his eyes. The wolverines circled warily, trying for the attack +they favored--the spring to the shoulders, the usually fatal assault on +the spine behind the neck. But the armored head of the fork-tail, slung +low, warned them off. Again the tail lashed, and this time Taggi was +caught and hurled across the beach. + +Togi uttered a challenge, made a reckless dash, and raked down the +length of the fork-tail's body, fastening on that tail, weighing it to +earth with her own poundage while the sea creature fought to dislodge +her. Shann, his eyes watering from the sand, but able to see, watched +that battle for a long second, judging that fork-tail was completely +engaged in trying to free its best weapon from the grip of the +wolverine. The latter clawed and bit with a fury which suggested Togi +intended to immobilize that weapon by tearing it to shreds. + +Fork-tail wrenched its body, striving to reach its tormentor with fangs +or clawed feet. And in that struggle to achieve an impossible position, +its head slued far about, uncovering the unprotected area behind the +skull base which usually lay under the spiny collar about its shoulders. + +Shann went in. With one hand he gripped the edge of that collar--its +serrations tearing his flesh--and at the same time he drove his knife +blade deep into the soft underfolds, ripping on toward the spinal +column. The blade nicked against bone as the fork-tail's head slammed +back, catching Shann's hand and knife together in a trap. The Terran was +jerked from his feet, and flung to one side with the force of the +beast's reaction. + +Blood spurted up, his own blood mingled with that of the monster. Only +Togi's riding of the tail prevented Shann's being beaten to death. The +armored snout pointed skyward as the creature ground the sharp edge of +its collar down on the Terran's arm. Shann, frantic with pain, drove his +free fist into one of those eyes. + +Fork-tail jerked convulsively; its head snapped down again and Shann was +free. The Terran threw himself back, keeping his feet with an effort. +Fork-tail was writhing, churning up the sand in a cloud. But it could +not rid itself of the knife Shann had planted with all his strength, and +which the blows of its own armored collar were now driving deeper and +deeper into its back. + +It howled thinly, with an abnormal shrilling. Shann, nursing his +bleeding forearm against his chest, rolled free from the waves of sand +it threw about, bringing up against one of the rock pillars. With that +to steady him, he somehow found his feet, and stood weaving, trying to +see through the rain of dust. + +The convulsions which churned up that concealing cloud were growing more +feeble. Then Shann heard the triumphant squall from Togi, saw her brown +body still on the torn tail just above the forking. The wolverine used +her claws to hitch her way up the spine of the sea monster, heading for +the mountain of blood spouting from behind the head. Fork-tail fought to +raise that head once more; then the massive jaw thudded into the sand, +teeth snapping fruitlessly as a flood of grit overrode the tongue, +packed into the gaping mouth. + +How long had it taken--that frenzy of battle on the bloodstained beach? +Shann could have set no limit in clock-ruled time. He pressed his +wounded arm tighter to him, lurched past the still twitching sea thing +to that splotch of brown fur on the sand, shaping the wolverine's +whistle with dry lips. Togi was still busy with the kill, but Taggi lay +where that murderous tail had thrown him. + +Shann fell on his knees, as the beach around him developed a curious +tendency to sway. He put his good hand to the ruffled back fur of the +motionless wolverine. + +"Taggi!" + +A slight quiver answered. Shann tried awkwardly to raise the animal's +head with his own hand. As far as he could see, there were no open +wounds; but there might be broken bones, internal injuries he did not +have the skill to heal. + +"Taggi?" He called again gently, striving to bring that heavy head up on +his knee. + +"The furred one is not dead." + +For a moment Shann was not aware that those words had formed in his +mind, had not been heard by his ears. He looked up, eyes blazing at the +Wyvern coming toward him in a graceful glide across the crimsoned sand. +And in a space of heartbeats his thrust of anger cooled into a stubborn +enmity. + +"No thanks to you," he said deliberately aloud. If the Wyvern witch +wanted to understand him, let her make the effort; he did not try to +touch her thoughts with his. + +Taggi stirred again, and Shann glanced down quickly. The wolverine +gasped, opened his eyes, shook his miniature bear head, scattering +pellets of sand. He sniffed at a dollop of blood, the dark, alien blood, +spattered on Shann's breeches, and then his head came up with a +reassuring alertness as he looked to where his mate was still worrying +the now quiet fork-tail. + +With an effort, Taggi got to his feet, Shann aiding him. The man ran his +hand down over ribs, seeking any broken bones. Taggi growled a warning +once when that examination brought pain in its wake, but Shann could +detect no real damage. As might a cat, the wolverine must have met the +shock of that whip-tail stroke relaxed enough to escape serious injury. +Taggi had been knocked out, but now he was able to navigate again. He +pulled free from Shann's grip, lumbering across the sand to the kill. + +Someone else was crossing that strip of beach. Passing the Wyvern as if +he did not see them, Thorvald came directly to Shann. A few seconds +later he had the torn arm stretched across his own bent knee, examining +the still bleeding hurt. + +"That's a nasty one," he commented. + +Shann heard the words and they made sense, but the instability of his +surroundings was increasing, while Thorvald's handling sent sharp stabs +of pain up his arm and somehow into his head, where they ended in red +bursts to cloud his sight. + +Out of the reddish mist which had fogged most of the landscape there +emerged a single object, a round white disk. And in Shann's clouded mind +a well-rooted apprehension stirred. He struck out with his one hand, and +through luck connected. The disk flew out of sight. His vision cleared +enough so he could sight the Wyvern who had been leaning over Thorvald's +shoulder centering her weird weapon on him. Making a great effort, Shann +got out the words, words which he also shaped in his mind as he said +them aloud: "You're not taking me over--again!" + +There was no emotion to be read on that jewel-banded face or in her +unblinking eyes. He caught at Thorvald, determined to get across his +warning. + +"Don't let them use those disks on us!" + +"I'll do my best." + +Only the haze had taken Thorvald again. Did one of the Wyverns have a +disk focused on them? Were they being pulled into one of those blank +periods, to awaken as prisoners once more--say, in the cavern of the +veil? The Terran fought with every ounce of will power to escape +unconsciousness, but he failed. + +This time he did not awaken half-drowning in an underground stream or +facing a green mist. And there was an ache in his arm which was somehow +reassuring with the very insistence of pain. Before opening his eyes, +his fingers crossed the smooth slick of a bandage there, went on to +investigate by touch a sleep mat such as he had found in the cavern +structure. Was he back in that web of rooms and corridors? + +Shann delayed opening his eyes until a kind of shame drove him to it. He +first saw an oval opening almost the length of his body as it was +stretched only a foot of two below the sill of that window. And through +its transparent surface came the golden light of the sun--no green mist, +no crystals mocking the stars. + +The room in which he lay was small with smooth walls, much like that in +which he had been imprisoned on the island. And there were no other +furnishings save the mat on which he rested. Over him was a light cover +netted of fibers resembling yarn, with feathers knotted into it to +provide a downy upper surface. His clothing was gone, but the single +covering was too warm and he pushed it away from his shoulders and chest +as he wriggled up to see the view beyond the window. + +His torn arm came into full view. From wrist to elbow it was encased in +an opaque skin sheath, unlike any bandage of his own world. Surely that +had not come out of any Survey aid pack. Shann gazed toward the window, +but beyond lay only a reach of sky. Except for a lemon cloud or two +ruffled high above the horizon, nothing broke that soft amber curtain. +He might be quartered in a tower well above ground level, which did not +match his former experience with Wyvern accommodations. + +"Back with us again?" Thorvald, one hand lifting a door panel, came in. +His ragged uniform was gone, and he wore only breeches of a sleek green +material and his own scuffed-and-battered boots. + +Shann settled back on the mat. "Where are we?" + +"I think you might term this the capital city," Thorvald answered. "In +relation to the mainland, we're on an island well out to sea--westward." + +"How did we get here?" That climb in the slab, the stream underground.... +Had it been an interior river running under the bed of the sea? But +Shann was not prepared for the other's reply. + +"By wishing." + +"By _what_?" + +Thorvald nodded, his expression serious. "They wished us here. Listen, +Lantee, when you jumped down to mix it with that fork-tailed thing, did +you wish you had the wolverines with you?" + +Shann thought back; his memories of what had occurred before that battle +were none too clear. But, yes, he had wished Taggi and Togi present at +that moment to distract the enraged beast. + +"You mean I wished them?" The whole idea was probably a part of the +Wyvern jargon of dreaming and he added, "Or did I just dream +everything?" There was the bandage on his arm, the soreness under that +bandage. But also there had been Logally's lash brand back in the +cavern, which had bitten into his flesh with the pain of a real blow. + +"No, you weren't dreaming. You happened to be tuned in one of those +handy little gadgets our lady friends here use. And, so tuned in, your +desire for the wolverines being pretty powerful just then, they came." + +Shann grimaced. This was unbelievable. Yet there were his meetings with +Logally and Trav. How could anyone rationally explain them? And how had +he, in the beginning, been jumped from the top of the cliff on the +island of his marooning into the midst of an underground flood without +any conscious memory of an intermediate journey? + +"How does it work?" he asked simply. + +Thorvald laughed. "You tell me. They have these disks, one to a Wyvern, +and they control forces with them. Back there on the beach we +interrupted a class in such control; they were the novices learning +their trade. We've stumbled on something here which can't be defined or +understood by any of our previous standards of comparison. It's frankly +magic, judged by our terms." + +"Are we prisoners?" Shann wanted to know. + +"Ask me something I'm sure of. I've been free to come and go within +limits. No one's exhibited any signs of hostility; most of them simply +ignore me. I've had two interviews, via this mind-reading act of theirs, +with their rulers, or elders, or chief sorceresses--all three titles +seem to apply. They ask questions, I answer as best I can, but sometimes +we appear to have no common meeting ground. Then I ask some questions, +they evade gracefully, or reply in a kind of unintelligible double-talk, +and that's as far as our communication has progressed so far." + +"Taggi and Togi?" + +"Have a run of their own and as far as I can tell are better satisfied +with life than I am. Oddly enough, they respond more quickly and more +intelligently to orders. Perhaps this business of being shunted around +by the disks has conditioned them in some way." + +"What about these Wyverns? Are they all female?" + +"No, but their tribal system is strictly matriarchal, which follows a +pattern even Terra once knew: the fertile earth mother and her +priestesses, who became the witches when the gods overruled the +goddesses. The males are few in number and lack the power to activate +the disks. In fact," Thorvald laughed ruefully, "one gathers that in +this civilization our opposite numbers have, more or less, the status of +pets at the best, and necessary evils at the worst. Which put _us_ at a +disadvantage from the start." + +"You think that they won't take us seriously because we are males?" + +"Might just work out that way. I've tried to get through to them about +danger from the Throgs, telling them what it would mean to them to have +the beetle-heads settle in here for good. They just brush aside the +whole idea." + +"Can't you argue that the Throgs are males, too? Or aren't they?" + +The Survey officer shook his head. "That's a point no human can answer. +We've been sparring with Throgs for years and there have been libraries +of reports written about them and their behavior patterns, all of which +add up to about two paragraphs of proven facts and hundreds of surmises +beginning with the probable and skimming out into the wild fantastic. +You can claim anything about a Throg and find a lot of very intelligent +souls ready to believe you. But whether those beetle-heads squatting +over on the mainland are able to answer to 'he,' 'she,' or 'it,' your +solution is just as good as mine. We've always considered the ones we +fight to be males, but they might just as possibly be amazons. Frankly, +these Wyverns couldn't care less either; at least that's the impression +they give." + +"But anyway," Shann observed, "it hasn't come to 'we're all girls +together' either." + +Thorvald laughed again. "Not so you can notice. We're not the only +unwilling visitor in the vicinity." + +Shann sat up. "A Throg?" + +"A something. Non-Warlockian, or non-Wyvern. And perhaps trouble for +us." + +"You haven't seen this other?" + +Thorvald sat down cross-legged. The amber light from the window made +red-gold of his hair, added ruddiness to his less-gaunt features. + +"No, I haven't. As far as I can tell, the stranger's not right here. I +caught stray thought beams twice--surprise expressed by newly arrived +Wyverns who met me and apparently expected to be fronted by something +quite physically different." + +"Another Terran scout?" + +"No. I imagine that to the Wyverns we must look a lot alike. Just as we +couldn't tell one of them from her sister if their body patterns didn't +differ. Discovered one thing about those patterns--the more intricate +they run, the higher the 'power,' not of the immediate wearer, but of +her ancestors. They're marked when they qualify for their disk and +presented with the rating of the greatest witch in their family line as +an inducement to live up to those deeds and surpass them if possible. +Quite a bit of logic to that. Given the right conditioning, such a +system might even work in our service." + +That nugget of information was the stuff from which Survey reports were +made. But at the moment the information concerning the other captive was +of more value to Shann. He steadied his body against the wall with his +good hand and got to his feet. Thorvald watched him. + +"I take it you have visions of action. Tell me, Lantee, why _did_ you +take that header off the cliff to mix it with fork-tail?" + +Shann wondered himself. He had no reason for that impulsive act. "I +don't know----" + +"Chivalry? Fair Wyvern in distress?" the other prodded. "Or did the back +lash from one of those disks draw you in?" + +"I don't know----" + +"And why did you use your knife instead of your stunner?" + +Shann was startled. For the first time he realized that he had fronted +the greatest native menace they had discovered on Warlock with the more +primitive of his weapons. Why had he not tried the stunner on the beast? +He had just never thought of it when he had taken that leap into the +role of dragon slayer. + +"Not that it would have done you any good to try the ray; it has no +effect on fork-tail." + +"You tried it?" + +"Naturally. But you didn't know that, or did you pick up that +information earlier?" + +"No," answer Shann slowly. "No, I don't know why I used the knife. The +stunner would have been more natural." Suddenly he shivered, and the +face he turned to Thorvald was very sober. + +"How much do they control us?" he asked, his voice dropping to a half +whisper as if the walls about them could pick up those words and relay +them to other ears. "What can they do?" + +"A good question." Thorvald lost his light tone. "Yes, what can they +feed into our minds without our knowing? Perhaps those disks are only +window dressing, and they can work without them. A great deal will +depend upon the impression we can make on these witches." He began to +smile again, more wryly. "The name we gave this planet is certainly a +misnomer. A warlock is a male sorcerer, not a witch." + +"And what are the chances of our becoming warlocks ourselves?" + +Again Thorvald's smile faded, but he gave a curt little nod to Shann as +if approving that thought. "That is something we are going to look into, +and now! If we have to convince some stubborn females, as well as fight +Throgs, well"--he shrugged--"we'll have a busy, busy, time." + + + + +16. THIRD PRISONER + + +"Well, it works as good as new." Shann held his hand and arm out into +the full path of the sun. He had just stripped off the skin-case +bandage, to show the raw seam of a half-healed scar, but as he flexed +muscles, bent and twisted his arm, there was only a small residue of +soreness left. + +"Now what, or where?" he asked Thorvald with some eagerness. Several +days' imprisonment in this room had made him impatient for the outer +world again. Like the officer, he now wore breeches of the green fabric, +the only material known to the Wyverns, and his own badly worn boots. +Oddly enough, the Terrans' weapons, stunner and knife, had been left to +them, a point which made them uneasy, since it suggested that the +Wyverns believed they had nothing to fear from clumsy alien arms. + +"Your guess is as good as mine," Thorvald answered that double question. +"But it is you they want to see; they insisted upon it, rather +emphatically in fact." + +The Wyvern city existed as a series of cell-like hollows in the interior +of a rock-walled island. Outside there had been no tampering with the +natural rugged features of the escarpment, and within, the silence was +almost complete. For all the Terrans could learn, the population of the +stone-walled hive might have been several thousand, or just the handful +that they had seen with their own eyes along the passages which had been +declared open territory for them. + +Shann half expected to find again a skull-walled chamber where witches +tossed colored sticks to determine his future. But he came with Thorvald +into an oval room in which most of the outer wall was a window. And +seeing what lay framed in that, Shann halted, again uncertain as to +whether he actually saw that, or whether he was willed into visualizing +a scene by the choice of his hostesses. + +They were lower now than the room in which he had nursed his wound, not +far above water level. And this window faced the sea. Across a stretch +of green water was his red-purple skull, the waves lapping its lower +jaw, spreading their foam in between the gaping rock-fringe which formed +its teeth. And from the eye hollows flapped the clak-claks of the sea +coast, coming and going as if they carried to some imprisoned brain +within that giant bone case messages from the outer world. + +"My dream----" Shann said. + +"Your dream." Thorvald had not echoed that; the answer had come in his +brain. + +Shann turned his head and surveyed the Wyvern awaiting them with a +concentration which was close to the rudeness of an outright stare, a +stare which held no friendship. For by her skin patterns he knew her for +the one who had led that triumvir who had sent him into the cavern of +the mist. And with her was the younger witch he had trapped on the night +that all this baffling action had begun. + +"We meet again," he said slowly. "To what purpose?" + +"To our purpose ... and yours----" + +"I do not doubt that it is to yours." The Terran's thoughts fell easily +now into a formal pattern he would not have used with one of his own +kind. "But I do not expect any good to me...." + +There was no readable expression on her face; he did not expect to see +any. But in their uneven mind touch he caught a fleeting suggestion of +bewilderment on her part, as if she found his mental processes as hard +to understand as a puzzle with few leading clues. + +"We mean you no ill, star voyager. You are far more than we first +thought you, for you have dreamed false and have known. Now dream true, +and know it also." + +"Yet," he challenged, "you would set me a task without my consent." + +"We have a task for you, but already it was set in the pattern of your +true dreaming. And we do not set such patterns, star man; that is done +by the Greatest Power of all. Each lives within her appointed pattern +from the First Awakening to the Final Dream. So we do not ask of you any +more than that which is already laid for your doing." + +She arose with that languid grace which was a part of their delicate +jeweled bodies and came to stand beside him, a child in size, making his +Terran flesh and bones awkward, clodlike in contrast. She stretched out +her four-digit hand, her slender arm ringed with gemmed circles and +bands, measuring it beside his own, bearing that livid scar. + +"We are different, star man, yet still are we both dreamers. And dreams +hold power. Your dreams brought you across the dark which lies between +sun and distant sun. Our dreams carry us on even stranger roads. And +yonder"--one of her fingers stiffened to a point, indicating the +skull--"there is another who dreams with power, a power which will +destroy us all unless the pattern is broken speedily." + +"And I must go to seek this dreamer?" His vision of climbing through +that nose hole was to be realized then. + +"You go." + +Thorvald stirred and the Wyvern turned her head to him. "Alone," she +added. "For this is your dream only, as it has been from the beginning. +There is for each his own dream, and another cannot walk through it to +alter the pattern, even to save a life." + +Shann grinned crookedly, without humor. "It seems that I'm elected," he +said as much to himself as to Thorvald. "But what do I do with this +other dreamer?" + +"What your pattern moves you to do. Save that you do not slay him----" + +"Throg!" Thorvald started forward. "You can't just walk in on a Throg +barehanded and be bound by orders such as that!" + +The Wyvern must have caught the sense of that vocal protest, for her +communication touched them both. "We cannot deal with that one as his +mind is closed to us. Yet he is an elder among his kind and his people +have been searching land and sea for him since his air rider broke upon +the rocks and he entered into hiding over there. Make your peace with +him if you can, and also take him hence, for his dreams are not ours, +and he brings confusion to the Reachers when they retire to run the +Trails of Seeking." + +"Must be an important Throg," Shann deduced. "They could have an officer +of the beetle-heads under wraps over there. Could we use him to bargain +with the rest?" + +Thorvald's frown did not lighten. "We've never been able to establish +any form of contact in the past, though our best qualified minds, +reinforced by training, have tried...." + +Shann did not take fire at that rather delicate estimate of his own lack +of preparation for the carrying out of diplomatic negotiations with the +enemy; he knew it was true. But there was one thing he could try--if the +Wyverns permitted. + +"Will you give a disk of power to this star man?" He pointed to +Thorvald. "For he is my Elder One and a Reacher for Knowledge. With such +a focus his dream could march with mine when I go to the Throg, and +perhaps that can aid in my doing what I could not accomplish alone. For +that is the secret of _my_ people, Elder One. We link our powers +together to make a shield against our enemies, a common tool for the +work we must do." + +"And so it is with us also, star voyager. We are not so unlike as the +foolish might think. We learned much of you while you both wandered in +the Place of False Dreams. But our power disks are our own and can not +be given to a stranger while their owners live. However...." She turned +again with an abruptness foreign to the usual Wyvern manner and faced +the older Terran. + +The officer might have been obeying an unvoiced order as he put out his +hands and laid them palm to palm on those she held up to him, bending +his head so gray eyes met golden ones. The web of communication which +had held all three of them snapped. Thorvald and the Wyvern were linked +in a tight circuit which excluded Shann. + +Then the latter became conscious of movement beside him. The younger +Wyvern had joined him to watch the clak-claks in their circling of the +bare dome of the skull island. + +"Why do they fly so?" Shann asked her. + +"Within they nest, care for their young. Also they hunt the rock +creatures that swarm in the lower darkness." + +"The rock creatures?" If the skull's interior was infested by some other +native fauna, he wanted to know it. + +By some method of her own the young Wyvern conveyed a strong impression +of revulsion, which was her personal reaction to the "rock creatures." + +"Yet you imprison the Throg there----" he remarked. + +"Not so!" Her denial was instantaneous and vehement. "The other worlder +fled into that place in spite of our calling. There he stays in hiding. +Once we drew him out to the sea, but he broke the power and fled inside +again." + +"Broke free----" Shann pounced upon that. "From disk control?" + +"But surely." Her reply held something of wonder. "Why do you ask, star +voyager? Did you not also break free from the power of the disk when I +led you by the underground ways, awaking in the river? Do you then rate +this other one as less than your own breed that you think him incapable +of the same action?" + +"Of Throgs I know as much as this...." He held up his hand, measuring +off a fraction of space between thumb and forefinger. + +"Yet you knew them before you came to this world." + +"My people have known them for long. We have met and fought many times +among the stars." + +"And never have you talked mind to mind?" + +"Never. We have sought for that, but there has been no communication +between us, neither of mind nor of voice." + +"This one you name Throg is truly not as you," she assented. "And we are +not as you, being alien and female. Yet, star man, you and I have shared +a dream." + +Shann stared at her, startled, not so much by what she said as the human +shading of those words in his mind. Or had that also been illusion? + +"In the veil ...that creature which came to you on wings when you +remembered that. A good dream, though it came out of the past and so was +false in the present. But I have gathered it into my own store: such a +fine dream, one that you have cherished." + +"Trav was to be cherished," he agreed soberly. "I found her in a broken +sleep cage at a spaceport when I was a child. We were both cold and +hungry, alone and hurt. So I stole and was glad that I stole Trav. For a +little space we both were very happy...." Forcibly he stifled memory. + +"So, though we are unlike in body and in mind, yet we find beauty +together if only in a dream. Therefore, between your people and mine +there can _be_ a common speech. And I may show you my dream store for +your enjoyment, star voyager." + +A flickering of pictures, some weird, some beautiful, all a little +distorted--not only by haste, but also by the haze of alienness which +was a part of her memory pattern--crossed Shann's mind. + +"Such a sharing would be a rich feast," he agreed. + +"All right!" Those crisp words in his own tongue brought Shann away from +the window to Thorvald. The Survey officer was no longer locked hand to +hand with the Wyvern witch, but his features were alive with a new +eagerness. + +"We are going to try your idea, Lantee. They'll provide me with a new, +unmarked disk, show me how to use it. And I'll do what I can to back you +with it. But they insist that you go today." + +"What do they really want me to do? Just rout out that Throg? Or try to +talk him into being a go-between with his people? That _does_ come under +the heading of dreaming!" + +"They want him out of there, back with his own kind if possible. +Apparently he's a disruptive influence for them; he causes some kind of +a mental foul up which interferes drastically with their 'power.' They +haven't been able to get him to make any contact with them. This Elder +One is firm about your being the one ordained for the job, and that +you'll know what action to take when you get there." + +"Must have thrown the sticks for me again," Shann commented. + +"Well, they've definitely picked you to smoke out the Throg, and they +can't be talked into changing their minds about that." + +"I'll be the smoked one if he has a blaster." + +"They say he's unarmed----" + +"What do they know about our weapons or a Throg's?" + +"The other one has no arms." Wyvern words in his mind again. "This fact +gives him great fear. That which he has depended upon is broken. And +since he has no weapon, he is shut into a prison of his own terrors." + +But an adult Throg, even unarmed, was not to be considered easy meat, +Shann thought. Armored with horny skin, armed with claws and those +crushing mandibles of the beetle mouth ... a third again as tall as he +himself was. No, even unarmed, the Throg had to be considered a menace. + +Shann was still thinking along that line as he splashed through the surf +which broke about the lower jaw of the skull island, climbed up one of +the pointed rocks which masqueraded as a tooth, and reached for a higher +hold to lead him to the nose slit, the gateway to the alien's hiding +place. + +The clak-claks screamed and dived about him, highly resentful of his +intrusion. And when they grew so bold as to buffet him with their wings, +threaten him with their tearing beaks, he was glad to reach the broken +rock edging his chosen door and duck inside. Once there, Shann looked +back. There was no sighting the cliff window where Thorvald stood, nor +was he aware in any way of mental contact with the Survey officer; their +hope of such a linkage might be futile. + +Shann was reluctant to venture farther. His eyes had sufficiently +adjusted to the limited supply of light, and now the Terran brought out +the one aid the Wyverns had granted him, a green crystal such as those +which had played the role of stars on the cavern roof. He clipped its +simple loop setting to the front of his belt, leaving his hands free. +Then, having filled his lungs for the last time with clean, sea-washed +air, he started into the dome of the skull. + +There was a fetid thickness to this air only a few feet away from the +outer world. The odor of clak-clak droppings and refuse from their nests +was strong, but there was an added staleness, as if no breeze ever +scooped out the old atmosphere to replace it with new. Fragile bones +crunched under Shann's boots, but as he drew away from the entrance, the +pale glow of the crystal increased its radiance, emitting a light not +unlike that of the phosphorescent bushes, so that he was not swallowed +up by dark. + +The cave behind the nose hole narrowed quickly into a cleft, a narrow +cleft which pierced into the bowl of the skull. Shann proceeded with +caution, pausing every few steps. There came a murmur rising now and +again to a shriek, issuing, he guessed, from the clak-clak rookery +above. And the pound of sea waves was also a vibration carrying through +the rock. He was listening for something else, at the same time testing +the ill-smelling air for that betraying muskiness which spelled Throg. + +When a twist in the narrow passage cut off the splotch of daylight, +Shann drew his stunner. The strongest bolt from that could not jolt a +Throg into complete paralysis, but it would slow up any attack. + +Red--pinpoints of red--were edging a break in the rock wall. They were +gone in a flash. Eyes? Perhaps of the rock dwellers which the Wyverns +hated? More red dots, farther ahead. Shann listened for a sound he could +identify. + +But smell came before sound. That trace of effluvia which in force could +sicken a Terran, was his guide. The cleft ended in a space to which the +limited gleam of the crystal could not provide a far wall. But that +faint light did show him his quarry. + +The Throg was not on his feet, ready for trouble, but hunched close to +the wall. And the alien did not move at Shann's coming. Did the +beetle-head sight him? Shann wondered. He moved cautiously. And the +round head, with its bulbous eyes, turned a fraction; the mandibles +about the the ugly mouth opening quivered. Yes, the Throg could see him. + +But still the alien made no move to rise out of his crouch, to come at +the Terran. Then Shann saw the fall of rock, the stone which pinned a +double-kneed leg to the floor. And in a circle about the prisoner were +the small, crushed, furred things which had come to prey on the helpless +to be slain themselves by the well-aimed stones which were the Throg's +only weapons of defense. + +Shann sheathed his stunner. It was plain the Throg was helpless and +could not reach him. He tried to concentrate mentally on a picture of +the scene before him, hoping that Thorvald or one of the Wyverns could +pick it up. There was no answer, no direction. Choice of action remained +solely his. + +The Terran made the oldest friendly gesture of his kind; his empty hands +held up, palm out. There was no answering move from the Throg. Neither +of the other's upper limbs stirred, their claws still gripping the small +rocks in readiness for throwing. All Shann's knowledge of the alien's +history argued against an unarmed advance. The Throg's marksmanship, as +borne out by the circle of small bodies, was excellent. And one of those +rocks might well thud against his own head, with fatal results. Yet he +had been sent there to get the Throg free and out of Wyvern territory. + +So rank was the beetle smell of the other that Shann coughed. What he +needed now was the aid of the wolverines, a diversion to keep the alien +busy. But this time there was no disk working to produce Taggi and Togi +out of thin air. And he could not continue to just stand there staring +at the Throg. There remained the stunner. Life on the Dumps tended to +make a man a fast draw, a matter of survival for the fastest and most +accurate marksman. And now one of Shann's hands swept down with a speed +which, learned early, was never really to be forgotten. + +He had the rod out and was spraying on tight beam straight at the +Throg's head before the first stone struck his shoulder and his weapon +fell from a numbed hand. But a second stone tumbled out of the Throg's +claw. The alien tried to reach for it, his movements slow, uncertain. + +Shann, his arm dangling, went in fast, bracing his good shoulder against +the boulder which pinned the Throg. The alien aimed a blow at the +Terran's head, but again so slowly Shann had no difficulty in evading +it. The boulder gave, rolled, and Shann cleared out of range, back to +the opening of the cleft, pausing only to scoop up his stunner. + +For a long moment the Throg made no move; his dazed wits must have been +working at very slow speed. Then the alien heaved up his body to stand +erect, favoring the leg which had been trapped. Shann tensed, waiting +for a rush. What now? Would the Throg refuse to move? If so, what could +he do about it? + +With the impact of a blow, the message Shann had hoped for struck into +his mind. But his initial joy at that contact was wiped out with the +same speed. + +"Throg ship ... overhead." + +The Throg stood away from the wall, limped out, heading for Shann, or +perhaps only the cleft in which he stood. Swinging the stunner awkwardly +in his left hand, the Terran retreated, mentally trying to contact +Thorvald once more. There was no answer. He was well up into the cleft, +moving crabwise, unwilling to turn his back on the Throg. The alien was +coming as steadily as his injured limb would allow, trying for the exit +to the outer world. + +A Throg ship overhead.... Had the castaway somehow managed to call his +own kind? And what if he, Shann Lantee, were to be trapped between the +alien and a landing party from the flyer? He did not expect any +assistance from the Wyverns, and what could Thorvald possibly do? From +behind him, at the entrance of the nose slit, he heard a sound--a sound +which was neither the scolding of a clak-clak nor the eternal growl of +the sea. + + + + +17. THROG JUSTICE + + +The musty stench was so strong that Shann could no longer fight the +demands of his outraged stomach. He rolled on his side, retching +violently until the sour smell of his illness battled the foul odor of +the ship. His memories of how he had come into this place were vague; +his body was a mass of dull pain, as if he had been scorched. Scorched! +Had the Throgs used one of their energy whips to subdue him? The last +clear thing he could recall was that slow withdrawal down the cleft +inside the skull rock, the Throg not too far away--the sound from the +entrance. + +A Throg prisoner! Through the pain and the sickness the horror of that +bit doubly deep. Terrans did not fall alive into Throg hands, not if +they had the means of ending their existence within reach. But his hands +and arms were caught behind him in an unbreakable lock, some gadget not +unlike the Terran force bar used to restrain criminals, he decided +groggily. + +The cubby in which he lay was black-dark. But the quivering of the deck +and the bulkheads about him told Shann that the ship was in flight. And +there could be but two destinations, either the camp where the Throg +force had taken over the Terran installations or the mother ship of the +raiders. If Thorvald's earlier surmise was true and the aliens were +hunting a Terran to talk in the transport, then they were heading for +the camp. + +And because a man who still lives and who is not yet broken can also +hope, Shann began to think ahead to the camp--the camp and a faint, +thin chance of escape. For on the surface of Warlock there was a thin +chance; in the mother ship of the Throgs none at all. + +Thorvald--and the Wyverns! Could he hope for any help from them? Shann +closed his eyes against the thick darkness and tried to reach out to +touch, somewhere, Thorvald with his disk--or perhaps the Wyvern who had +talked of Trav and shared dreams. Shann focused his thoughts on the +young Wyvern witch, visualizing with all the detail he could summon out +of memory the brilliant patterns about her slender arms, her thin, +fragile wrists, those other designs overlaying her features. He could +see her in his mind, but she was only a puppet, without life, certainly +without power. + +Thorvald.... Now Shann fought to build a mental picture of the Survey +officer, making his stand at that window, grasping his disk, with the +sun bringing gold to his hair and showing the bronze of his skin. Those +gray eyes which could be ice, that jaw with the tight set of a trap upon +occasion.... + +And Shann made contact! He touched something, a flickering like a badly +tuned tri-dee--far more fuzzy than the mind pictures the Wyvern had +paraded for him. But he had touched! And Thorvald, too, had been aware +of his contact. + +Shann fought to find that thread of awareness again. Patiently he once +more created his vision of Thorvald, adding every detail he could +recall, small things about the other which he had not known that he had +noticed--the tiny arrow-shaped scar near the base of the officer's +throat, the way his growing hair curled at the ends, the look of one +eyebrow slanting abruptly toward his hairline when he was dubious about +something. Shann strove to make a figure as vividly as Logally and Trav +had been in the mist of the illusion. + +"... where?" + +This time Shann was prepared; he did not let that mind image dissolve in +his excitement at recapturing the link. "Throg ship," he said the words +aloud, over and over, but still he held to his picture of Thorvald. + +"... will...." + +Only that one word! The thread between them snapped again. Only then did +Shann become conscious of a change in the ship's vibration. Were they +setting down? And where? Let it be at the camp! It must be the camp! + +There was no jar at that landing, just that one second the vibration +told him the ship was alive and air-borne, and the next a dead quiet +testified that they had landed. Shann, his sore body stiff with tension, +waited for the next move on the part of his captors. + +He continued to lie in the dark, still queasy from the stench of the +cell, too keyed up to try to reach Thorvald. There was a dull grating +over his head, and he looked up eagerly--to be blinded by a strong beam +of light. Claws hooked painfully under his arms and he was manhandled up +and out, dragged along a short passage and pitched free of the ship, +falling hard upon trodden earth and rolling over gasping as the seared +skin of his body was rasped and abraded. + +The Terran lay face up now, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he +saw a ring of Throg heads blotting out the sky as they inspected their +catch impassively. The mouth mandibles of one moved with a faint +clicking. Again claws fastened in his armpits, brought Shann to his +feet, holding him erect. + +Then the Throg who had given that order moved closer. His hand-claws +clasped a small metal plate surmounted by a hoop of thin wire over which +was stretched a web of threads glistening in the sun. Holding that hoop +on a level with his mouth, the alien clicked his mandibles, and those +sounds became barely distinguishable basic galactic words. + +"You Throg meat!" + +For a moment Shann wondered if the alien meant that statement literally. +Or was it a conventional expression for a prisoner among their land. + +"Do as told!" + +That was clear enough, and for the moment the Terran did not see that he +had any choice in the matter. But Shann refused to make any sign of +agreement to either of those two limited statements. Perhaps the +beetle-heads did not expect any. The alien who had pulled him to his +feet continued to hold him erect, but the attention of the Throg with +the translator switched elsewhere. + +From the alien ship emerged a second party. The Throg in their midst was +unarmed and limping. Although to Terran eyes one alien was the exact +counterpart of the other, Shann thought that this one was the prisoner +in the skull cave. Yet the indications now suggested that he had only +changed one captivity for another and was in disgrace among his kind. +Why? + +The Throg limped up to front the leader with the translator, and his +guards fell back. Again mandibles clicked, were answered, though the +sense of that exchange eluded Shann. At one point in the report--if +report it was--he himself appeared to be under discussion, for the +injured Throg waved a hand-claw in the Terran's direction. But the end +to the conference came quickly enough and in a manner which Shann found +shocking. + +Two of the guards stepped forward, caught at the injured Throg's arms +and drew him away, leading him out into a space beyond the grounded +ship. They dropped their hold on him, returning at a trot. The officer +clicked an order. Blasters were unholstered, and the Throg in the field +shriveled under a vicious concentration of cross bolts. Shann gasped. He +certainly had no liking for Throgs, but this execution carried overtones +of a cold-blooded ferocity which transcended anything he had known, even +in the callous brutality of the Dumps. + +Limp, and more than a little sick again, he watched the Throg officer +turn away. And a moment later he was forced along in the other's wake to +the domes of the once Terran camp. Not just to the camp in general, he +discovered a minute later, but to that structure which had housed the +com unit linking them with ships cruising the solar lanes and with the +patrol. So Thorvald had been right; they needed a Terran to +broadcast--to cover their tracks here and lay a trap for the transport. + +Shann had no idea how much time he had passed among the Wyverns; the +transport with its load of unsuspecting settlers might already be in the +system of Circe, plotting a landing orbit around Warlock, broadcasting +her recognition signal and a demand for a beam to ride her in. Only, +this time the Throgs were out of luck. They had picked up one prisoner +who could not help them, even if he wanted to do so. The mysteries of +the highly technical installations in this dome were just that to Shann +Lantee--complete mysteries. He had not the slightest idea of how to +activate the machines, let alone broadcast in the proper code. + +A cold spot of terror gathered in his middle, spreading outward through +his smarting body. For he was certain that the Throgs would not believe +that. They would consider his protestations of ignorance as a stubborn +refusal to co-operate. And what would happen to him then would be beyond +human endurance. Could he bluff--play for time? But what would that time +buy him except to delay the inevitable? In the end, that small hope +based on his momentary contact with Thorvald made him decide to try that +bluff. + +There had been changes in the com dome since the capture of the cap. A +squat box on the floor sprouted a collection of tubes from its upper +surface. Perhaps that was some Throg equivalent of Terran equipment in +place on the wide table facing the door. + +The Throg leader clicked into his translator: "You call ship!" + +Shann was thrust down into the operator's chair, his bound arms still +twisted behind him so that he had to lean forward to keep on the seat at +all. Then the Throg who had pushed him there, roughly forced a set of +com earphones and speech mike onto his head. + +"Call ship!" clicked the alien officer. + +So time must be running out. Now was the moment to bluff. Shann shook +his head, hoping that the gesture of negation was common to both their +species. + +"I don't know the code," he said aloud. + +The Throg's bulbous eyes gazed, at his moving lips. Then the translator +was held before the Terran's mouth. Shann repeated his words, heard them +reissue as a series of clicks, and waited. So much depended now on the +reaction of the beetle-head officer. Would he summarily apply pressure +to enforce his order, or would he realize that it was possible that all +Terrans did not know that code, and so he could not produce in a +captive's head any knowledge that had never been there--with or without +physical coercion? + +Apparently the latter logic prevailed for the present. The Throg drew +the translator back to his mandibles. + +"When ship call--you answer--make lip talk your words! Say bad sickness +here--need help. Code man dead--you talk in his place. I listen. You say +wrong, you die--you die a long time. Hurt bad all that time----" + +Clear enough. So he had been able to buy a little time! But how soon +before the incoming ship would call? The Throgs seemed to expect it. +Shann licked his blistered lips. He was sure that the Throg officer +meant exactly what he said in that last grisly threat. Only, would +anyone--Throg or human--live very long in this camp if Shann got his +warning through? The transport would have been accompanied on the big +jump by a patrol cruiser, especially now with Throgs littering deep +space the way they were in this sector. Let Shann alert the ship, and +the cruiser would know; swift punitive action would be visited on the +camp. Throgs could begin to make their helpless prisoner regret his +rashness; then all of them would be blotted out together, prisoner and +captors alike, when the cruiser came in. + +If that was his last chance, he'd play it that way. The Throgs would +kill him anyhow, he hadn't the least doubt of that. They kept no +long-term Terran prisoners and never had. And at least he could take +this nest of devil beetles along with him. Not that the thought did +anything to dampen the fear which made him weak and dizzy. Shann Lantee +might be tough enough to fight his way out of the Dumps, but to stand up +and defy Throgs face-to-face like a video hero was something else. He +knew that he could not do any spectacular act; if he could hold out to +the end without cracking he would be satisfied. + +Two more Throgs entered the dome. They stalked to the far end of the +table which held the com equipment, and frequently pausing to consult a +Terran work tape set in a reader, they made adjustments to the spotter +beam broadcaster. They worked slowly but competently, testing each +circuit. Preparing to draw in the Terran transport, holding the large +ship until they had it helpless on the ground. The Terran began to +wonder how they proposed to take the ship over once they did have it on +planet. + +Transports were armed for ground fighting. Although they rode in on a +beam broadcast from a camp, they were prepared for unpleasant surprises +on a planet's surface; such were certainly not unknown in the history of +Survey. Which meant that the Throgs had in turn some assault weapon they +believed superior, for they radiated confidence now. But could they +handle a patrol cruiser ready to fight? + +The Throg technicians made a last check of the beam, reporting in clicks +to the officer. The alien gave an order to Shann's guard before +following them out. A loop of wire rope dropped over the Terran's head, +tightened about his chest, dragging him back against the chair until he +grunted with pain. Two more loops made him secure in a most +uncomfortable posture, and then he was left alone in the com dome. + +An abortive struggle against the wire rope taught him the folly of such +an effort. He was in deep freeze as far as any bodily movement was +concerned. Shann closed his eyes, settled to that same concentration he +had labored to acquire on the Throg ship. If there was any chance of the +Wyvern communication working again, here and now was the time for it! + +Again he built his mental picture of Thorvald, as detailed as he had +made it in the Throg ship. And with that to the forefront of his mind, +Shann strove to pick up the thread which could link them. Was the +distance between this camp and the seagirt city of the Wyverns too +great? Did the Throgs unconsciously dampen out that mental reaching as +the Wyverns had said they did when they had sent him to free the captive +in the skull? + +Drops gathered in the unkempt tight curls on his head, trickled down to +sting on his tender skin. He was bathed in the moisture summoned by an +effort as prolonged and severe as if he labored physically under a hot +sun at the top speed of which his body was capable. + +Thorvald---- + +Thorvald! But not standing by the window in the Wyvern stronghold! +Thorvald with the amethyst of heavy Warlockian foliage at his back. So +clear was the new picture that Shann might have stood only a few feet +away. Thorvald there, with the wolverines at his side. And behind him +sun glinted on the gem-patterned skin of more than one Wyvern. + +"Where?" + +That demand from the Survey officer, curt, clear--so perfect the word +might have rung audibly through the dome. + +"The camp!" Shann hurled that back, frantic with fear than once again +their contact might fail. + +"They want me to call in the transport." He added that. + +"How soon?" + +"Don't know. They have the guide beam set. I'm to say there's illness +here; they know I can't code." + +All he could see now was Thorvald's face, intent, the officer's eyes +cold sparks of steel, bearing the impress of a will as implacable as a +Throg's. Shann added his own decision. + +"I'll warn the ship off; they'll send in the patrol." + +There was no change in Thorvald's expression. "Hold out as long as you +can!" + +Cold enough, no promise of help, nothing on which to build hope. Yet the +fact that Thorvald was on the move, away from the Wyvern city, meant +something. And Shann was sure that thick vegetation could be found only +on the mainland. Not only was Thorvald ashore, but there were Wyverns +with him. Could the officer have persuaded the witches of Warlock to +foresake their hands-off policy and join him in an attack on the Throg +camp? No promise, not even a suggestion that the party Shann had +envisioned was moving in his direction. Yet somehow he believed that +they were. + +There was a sound from the doorway of the dome. Shann opened his eyes. +There were Throgs entering, one to go to the guide beam, two heading for +his chair. He closed his eyes again in a last attempt, backed by every +remaining ounce of his energy and will. + +"Ship's in range. Throgs here." + +Thorvald's face, dimmer now, snapped out while a blow on Shann's jaw +rocked his head cruelly, made his ears sing, his eyes water. He saw +Throgs--Throgs only. And one held the translator. + +"You talk!" + +A tri-jointed arm reached across his shoulder, triggered a lever, +pressed a button. The head set cramping his ear let out a sudden growl +of sound--the com was activated. A claw jammed the mike closer to +Shann's lips, but also slid in range the webbed loop of the translator. + +Shann shook his head at the incoming rattle of code. The Throg with the +translator was holding the other head set close to his own ear pit. And +the claws of the guard came down on Shann's shoulders in a cruel grip, a +threat of future brutality. + +The rattle of code continued while Shann thought furiously. This was it! +He had to give a warning, and then the aliens would do to him just what +the officer had threatened. Shann could not seem to think clearly. It +was as if in his efforts to contact Thorvald, he had exhausted some part +of his brain, so that now he was dazed just when he needed quick wits +the most! + +This whole scene had a weird unreality. He had seen its like a thousand +times on fiction tapes--the Terran hero menaced by aliens intent on +saving ... saving.... + +Was it out of one of those fiction tapes he had devoured in the past +that Shann recalled that scrap of almost forgotten information? + +The Terran began to speak into the mike, for there had come a pause in +the rattle of code. He used Terran, not basic, and he shaped the words +slowly. + +"Warlock calling--trouble--sickness here--com officer dead." + +He was interrupted by another burst of code. The claws of his guard +twisted into the naked flesh of his shoulders in vicious warning. + +"Warlock calling--" he repeated. "Need help----" + +"Who are you?" + +The demand came in basic. On board the transport they would have a list +of every member of the Survey team. + +"Lantee." Shann drew a deep breath. He was so conscious of those claws +on his shoulders, of what would follow. + +"This is Mayday!" he said distinctly, hoping desperately that someone in +the control cabin of the ship now in orbit would catch the true meaning +of that ancient call of complete disaster. "Mayday--beetles--over and +out!" + + + + +18. STORM'S ENDING + + +Shann had no answer from the transport, only the continuing hum of a +contact still open between the dome and the control cabin miles above +Warlock. The Terran breathed slowly, deeply, felt the claws of the Throg +bite his flesh as his chest expanded. Then, as if a knife slashed, the +hum of that contact was gone. He had time to know a small flash of +triumph. He had done it; he had aroused suspicion in the transport. + +When the Throg officer clicked to the alien manning the landing beam, +Shann's exultation grew. The beetle-head must have accepted that cut in +communication as normal; he was still expecting the Terran ship to drop +neatly into his claws. + +But Shann's respite was to be very short, only timed by a few breaths. +The Throg at the riding beam was watching the indicators. Now he +reported to his superior, who swung back to face the prisoner. Although +Shann could read no expression on the beetle's face, he did not need any +clue to the other's probable emotions. Knowing that his captive had +somehow tricked him, the alien would now proceed relentlessly to put +into effect the measures he had threatened. + +How long before the patrol cruiser would planet? That crew was used to +alarms, and their speed was three or four times greater than that of the +bulkier transports. If the Throgs didn't scatter now, before they could +be caught in one attack.... + +The wire rope which held Shann clamped to the chair was loosened, and he +set his teeth against the pain of restored circulation, This was nothing +compared to what he faced; he knew that. They jerked him to his feet, +faced him toward the outer door, and propelled him through it with a +speed and roughness indicative of their feelings. + +The hour was close to dusk and Shann glanced wistfully at promising +shadows, though he had given up hope of rescue by now. If he could just +get free of his guards, he could at least give the beetle-heads a good +run. + +He saw that the camp was deserted. There was no sign about the domes +that any Throgs sheltered there. In fact, Shann saw no aliens at all +except those who had come from the com dome with him. Of course! The +rest must be in ambush, waiting for the transport to planet. What about +the Throg ship or ships? Those must have been hidden also. And the only +hiding place for them would be aloft. There was a chance that the Throgs +had so flung away their chance for any quick retreat. + +Yes; the aliens could scatter over the countryside and so escape the +first blast from the cruiser. But they would simply maroon themselves to +be hunted down by patrol landing parties who would comb the territory. +The beetles could so prolong their lives for a few hours, maybe a few +days, but they were really ended on that moment when the transport cut +communication. Shann was sure that the officer, at least, understood +that. + +The Terran was dragged away from the domes toward the river down which +he and Thorvald had once escaped. Moving through the dusk in parallel +lines, he caught sight of other Throg squads, well armed, marching in +order to suggest that they were not yet alarmed. However, he had been +right about the ships--there were no flyers grounded on the improvised +field. + +Shann made himself as much of a burden as he could. At the best, he +could so delay the guards entrusted with his safekeeping; at the worst, +he could earn for himself a quick ending by blaster which would be +better than the one they had for him. He went limp, falling forward into +the trampled grass. There was an exasperated click from the Throg who +had been herding him, and the Terran tried not to flinch from a sharp +kick delivered by a clawed foot. + +Feigning unconsciousness, the Terran listened to the unintelligible +clicks exchanged by Throgs standing over him. His future depended now on +how deep lay the alien officer's anger. If the beetle-head wanted to +carry out his earlier threats, he would have to order Shann's +transportation by the fleeing force. Otherwise his life might well end +here and now. + +Claws hooked once more on Shann. He was boosted up on the horny carapace +of a guard, the bonds on his arms taken off and his numbed hands brought +forward, to be held by his captor so that he lay helpless, a cloak over +the other's hunched shoulders. + +The ghost flares of bushes and plants blooming in the gathering twilight +gave a limited light to the scene. There was no way of counting the +number of Throgs on the move. But Shann was sure that all the enemy +ships must have been emptied except for skeleton crews, and perhaps +others had been ferried in from their hidden base somewhere in Circe's +system. + +He could only see a little from his position on the Throg's back, but +ahead a ripple of beetle bodies slipped over the bank of the river cut. +The aliens were working their way into cover, fitting into the dapple +shadows with a skill which argued a long practice in such elusive +maneuvers. Did they plan to try to fight off a cruiser attack? That was +pure madness. Or, Shann wondered, did they intend to have the Terrans +met by one of their own major ships somewhere well above the surface of +Warlock? + +His bearer turned away from the stream cut, carrying Shann out into that +field which had first served the Terrans as a landing strip, then +offered the same service to the Throgs. They passed two more parties of +aliens on the move, manhandling with them bulky objects the Terran could +not identify. Then he was dumped unceremoniously to the hard earth, only +to lie there a few seconds before he was flopped over on a framework +which grated unpleasantly against his raw shoulders, his wrists and +ankles being made fast so that his body was spread-eagled. There was a +click of orders; the frame was raised and dropped with a jarring +movement into a base, and he was held erect, once more facing the Throg +with the translator. This was it! Shann began to regret every small +chance he had had to end more cleanly. If he had attacked one of the +guards, even with his hands bound, he might have flustered the Throg +into retaliatory blaster fire. + +Fear made a thicker fog about him than the green mist of the illusion. +Only this was no illusion. Shann stared at the Throg officer with sick +eyes, knowing that no one ever quite believes that a last evil will +strike at him, that he had clung to a hope which had no existence. + +"Lantee!" + +The call burst in his head with a painful force. His dazed attention was +outwardly on the alien with the translator, but that inner demand had +given him a shock. + +"Here! Thorvald? Where?" + +The other struck in again with an urgent demand singing through Shann's +brain. + +"Give us a fix point--away from camp but not too far. Quick!" + +A fix point--what did the Survey officer mean? A fix point ... For some +reason Shann thought of the ledge on which he had lain to watch the +first Throg attack. And the picture of it was etched on his mind as +clearly as memory could paint it. + +"Thorvald----" Again his voice and his mind call were echoes of each +other. But this time he had no answer. Had that demand meant Thorvald +and the Wyverns were moving in, putting to use the strange +distance-erasing power the witches of Warlock could use by desire? But +why had they not come sooner? And what could they hope to accomplish +against the now scattered but certainly unbroken enemy forces? The +Wyverns had not been able to turn their power against one injured +Throg--by their own accounting--how could they possibly cope with +well-armed and alert aliens in the field? + +"You die--slow----" The Throg officer clicked, and the emotionless, +toneless translation was all the more daunting for that lack of color. +"Your people come--see----" + +So that was the reason they had brought him to the landing field. He was +to furnish a grisly warning to the crew of the cruiser. However, there +the Throgs were making a bad mistake if they believed that his death by +any ingenious method could scare off Terran retaliation. + +"I die--you follow----" Shann tried to make that promise emphatic. + +Did the Throg officer expect the Terran to beg for his life or a quick +death? Again he made his threat--straight into the web, hearing it split +into clicks. + +"Perhaps," the Throg returned. "But you die the first." + +"Get to it!" Shann's voice scaled up. He was close to the ragged edge, +and the last push toward the breaking point had not been the Throg +speech, but that message from Thorvald. If the Survey officer was going +to make any move in the mottled dusk, it would have to be soon. + +Mottled dusk.... The Throgs had moved a little away from him. Shann +looked beyond them to the perimeter of the cleared field, not really +because he expected to see any rescuers break from cover there. And when +he did see a change, Shann thought his own sight was at fault. + +Those splotches of waxy light which marked certain trees, bushes, and +scrubby ground-hugging plants were spreading, running together in pools. +And from those center cores of concentrated glow, tendrils of mist +lazily curled out, as a many-armed creature of the sea might allow its +appendages to float in the water which supported it. Tendrils crossed, +met, and thickened. There was a growing river of eerie light which +spread, again resembling a sea wave licking out onto the field. And +where it touched, unlike the wave, it did not retreat, but lapped on. +Was he actually seeing that? Shann could not be sure. + +Only the gray light continued to build, faster now, its speed of advance +matching its increase in bulk. Shann somehow connected it with the veil +of illusion. If it was real, there was a purpose behind it. + +There was an aroused clicking from the Throgs. A blaster bolt cracked, +its spiteful, sickly yellow slicing into the nearest tongue of gray. But +that luminous fog engulfed the blast and was not dispelled. Shann forced +his head around against the support which held him. The mist crept +across the field from all quarters, walling them in. + +Running at the ungainly lope which was their best effort at speed were +half a dozen Throgs emerging from the river section. Their attitude +suggested panic-stricken flight, and when one tripped on some unseen +obstruction and went down--to fall beneath a descending tongue of +phosphorescence--he uttered a strange high-pitched squeal, thin and +faint, but still a note of complete, mindless terror. + +The Throgs surrounding Shann were firing at the fog, first with +precision, then raggedly, as their bolts did nothing to cut that opaque +curtain drawing in about them. From inside that mist came other +sounds--noises, calls, and cries all alien to him, and perhaps also to +the Throgs. There were shapes barely to be discerned through the swirls; +perhaps some were Throgs in flight. But certainly others were non-Throg +in outline. And the Terran was sure that at least three of those shapes, +all different, had been in pursuit of one fleeing Throg, heading him off +from that small open area still holding about Shann. + +For the Throgs were being herded in from all sides--the handful who had +come from the river, the others who had brought Shann there. And the +action of the mist was pushing them into a tight knot. Would they +eventually turn on him, wanting to make sure of their prisoner before +they made a last stand against whatever lurked in the fog? To Shann's +continued relief the aliens seemed to have forgotten him. Even when one +cowered back against the very edge of the frame on which the Terran was +bound, the beetle-head did not look at this helpless prey. + +They were firing wildly, with desperation in every heavy thrust of +bolt. Then one Throg threw down his blaster, raised his arms over his +head, and voicing the same high wail uttered by his comrade-in-arms +earlier, he ran straight into the mist where a shape materialized, +closed in behind him, cutting him off from his fellows. + +That break demoralized the others. The Throg commander burned down two +of his company with his blaster, but three more broke past him to the +fog. One of the remaining party reversed his blaster, swung the stock +against the officer's carapace, beating him to his knees, before the +attacker raced on into the billows of the mist. Another threw himself on +the ground and lay there, pounding his claws against the baked earth. +While a remaining two continued with stolid precision to fire at the +lurking shapes which could only be half seen; and a third helped the +officer to his feet. + +The Throg commander reeled back against the frame, his musky body scent +filling Shann's nostrils. But he, too, paid no attention to the Terran, +though his horny arms scraped across Shann's. Holding both of his claws +to his head, he staggered on, to be engulfed by a new arm of the fog. + +Then, as if the swallowing of the officer had given the mist a fresh +appetite, the wan light waved in a last vast billow over the clear area +about the frame. Shann felt its substance cold, slimy, on his skin. This +was a deadly breath of un-life. + +He was weakened, sapped of strength, so that he hung in his bounds, his +head lolling forward on his breast. Warmth pressed against him, a warm +wet touch on his cold skin, a sensation of friendly concern in his mind. +Shann gasped, found that he was no longer filling his lungs with that +chill staleness which was the breath of the fog. He opened his eyes, +struggling to raise his head. The gray light had retreated, but though a +Throg blaster lay close to his feet, another only a yard beyond, there +was no sign of the aliens. + +Instead, standing on their hind feet to press against him in a demand +for his attention, were the wolverines. And seeing them, Shann dared to +believe that the impossible could be true; somehow he was safe. + +He spoke. And Taggi and Togi answered with eager whines. The mist was +withdrawing more slowly than it had come. Here and there things lay very +still on the ground. + +"Lantee!" + +This time the call came not into his mind but out of the air. Shann made +an effort at reply which was close to a croak. + +"Over here!" + +A new shape in the fog was moving with purpose toward him. Thorvald +strode into the open, sighted Shann, and began to run. + +"What did they----?" he began. + +Shann wanted to laugh, but the sound which issued from his dry throat +was very little like mirth. He struggled helplessly until he managed to +get out some words which made sense. + +"... hadn't started in on me yet. You were just in time." + +Thorvald loosened the wires which held the younger man to the frame and +stood ready to catch him as he slumped forward. And the officer's hold +wiped away the last clammy residue of the mist. Though he did not seem +able to keep on his feet, Shann's mind was clear. + +"What happened?" he demanded. + +"The power." Thorvald was examining him hastily but with attention for +every cut and bruise. "The beetle-heads didn't really get to work on +you----" + +"Told you that," Shann said impatiently. "But what brought that fog and +got the Throgs?" + +Thorvald smiled grimly. The ghostly light was fading as the fog +retreated, but Shann could see well enough to note that around the +other's neck hung one of the Wyvern disks. + +"It was a variation of the veil of illusion. You faced your memories +under the influence of that; so did I. But it would seem that the Throgs +had ones worse than either of us could produce. You can't play the role +of thug all over the galaxy and not store up in the subconscious a fine +line of private fears and remembered enemies. We provided the means for +releasing those, and they simply raised their own devils to order. +Neatest justice ever rendered. It seems that the 'power' has a big +kick--in a different way--when a Terran will manages to spark it." + +"And you did?" + +"I made a small beginning. Also I had the full backing of the Elders, +and a general staff of Wyverns in support. In a way I helped to provide +a channel for their concentration. Alone they can work 'magic'; with us +they can spread out into new fields. Tonight we hunted Throgs as a +united team--most successfully." + +"But they wouldn't go after the one in the skull." + +"No. Direct contact with a Throg mind appears to short-circuit them. I +did the contacting; they fed me what I needed. We have the answer to the +Throgs now--one answer." Thorvald looked back over the field where those +bodies lay so still. "We can kill Throgs. Maybe someday we can learn +another trick--how to live with them." He returned abruptly to the +present. "You did contact the transport?" + +Shann explained what had happened in the com dome. "I think when the +ship broke contact that way they understood." + +"We'll take it that they did, and be on the move." Thorvald helped Shann +to his feet. "If a cruiser berths here shortly, I don't propose to be +under its tail flames when it sets down." + +The cruiser came. And a mop-up squad patrolled outward from the +reclaimed camp, picked up two living Throgs, both wandering witlessly. +But Shann only heard of that later. He slept, so deep and dreamlessly +that when he roused he was momentarily dazed. + +A Survey uniform--with a cadet's badges--lay across the wall seat facing +his bunk in the barracks he had left ... how many days or weeks before? +The garments fitted well enough, but he removed the insignia to which he +was not entitled. When he ventured out he saw half a dozen troopers of +the patrol, together with Thorvald, watching the cruiser lift again into +the morning sky. + +Taggi and Togi, trailing leashes, galloped out of nowhere to hurl +themselves at him in uproarious welcome. And Thorvald must have heard +their eager whines even through the blast of the ship, for he turned and +waved Shann to join him. + +"Where is the cruiser going?" + +"To punch a Throg base out of this system," Thorvald answered. "They +located it--on Witch." + +"But we're staying on here?" + +Thorvald glanced at him oddly. "There won't be any settlement now. But +we have to establish a conditional embassy post. And the patrol has left +a guard." + +Embassy post. Shann digested that. Yes, of course, Thorvald, because of +his close contact with the Wyverns, would be left here for the present +to act as liaison officer-in-charge. + +"We don't propose," the other was continuing, "to allow to lapse any +contact with the one intelligent alien race we have discovered who can +furnish us with full-time partnership to our mutual benefit. And there +mustn't be any bungling here!" + +Shann nodded. That made sense. As soon as possible Warlock would witness +the arrival of another team, one slanted this time to the cultivation of +an alien friendship and alliance, rather than preparation for Terran +colonists. Would they keep him on? He supposed not; the wolverines' +usefulness was no longer apparent. + +"Don't you know your regulations?" There was a snap in Thorvald's demand +which startled Shann. He glanced up, discovered the other surveying him +critically. "You're not in uniform----" + +"No, sir," he admitted. "I couldn't find my own kit." + +"Where are your badges?" + +Shann's hand went up to the marks left when he had so carefully ripped +off the insignia. + +"My badges? I have no rank," he replied, bewildered. + +"Every team carries at least one cadet on strength." + +Shann flushed. There had been one cadet on this team; why did Thorvald +want to remember that? + +"Also," the other's voice sounded remote, "there can be appointments +made in the field--for cause. Those appointments are left to the +discretion of the officer-in-charge, and they are never questioned. I +repeat, you are not in uniform, Lantee. You will make the necessary +alteration and report to me at headquarters dome. As sole +representatives of Terra here we have a matter of protocol to be +discussed with our witches, and they have a right to expect punctuality +from a pair of warlocks, so get going!" + +Shann still stood, staring incredulously at the officer. Then Thorvald's +official severity vanished in a smile which was warm and real. + +"Get going," he ordered once more, "before I have to log you for +inattention to orders." + +Shann turned, nearly stumbling over Taggi, and then ran back to the +barracks in quest of some very important bits of braid he hoped he could +find in a hurry. + + + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + + +"A satisfying and mature novel which readers will seize upon if they +want to enjoy a good adventure story. + +"A survey base on a remote planet is wiped out by a raid of Earth's +enemies, the Throgs; the only survivor must face the perils of an +unexplored planet while trying somehow to strike back at the enemy.... + +"As always Norton creates both human and alien beings well, and tells a +story that you can't stop reading." + +--_New York Herald Tribune_ + + +"UP TO NORTON'S BEST STANDARDS." + +--_Library Journal_ + + +The Throg task force struck the Terran survey camp a few minutes after +dawn, without warning, and with a deadly precision which argued that the +aliens had fully reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base with methodical +accuracy. And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in the +heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, +nothing human would be left alive down there. + +And so Shann Lantee, most menial of the Terrans attached to the camp on +the planet Warlock, was left alone and weaponless in the strange, +hostile world, the human prey of the aliens from space and the aliens on +the ground alike. + + +ANDRE NORTON has become one of the highest rated authors of +science-fiction adventure now writing. A native of Cleveland, Ohio, a +book collector, and s-f fan, Ace Books have had the pleasure of +presenting her best novels in newsstand editions. + +A checklist of available Andre Norton books: + +STAR GUARD (D-199) +SARGASSO OF SPACE (D-249) +STAR BORN (D-299) +PLAGUE SHIP (D-345) +VOODOO PLANET (D-345) +SECRET OF THE LOST RACE (D-381) +THE SIOUX SPACEMAN (D-437) +THE TIME TRADERS (D-461) +GALACTIC DERELICT (D-498) +STAR HUNTER (D-509) +THE BEAST MASTER (D-509) + ++--------------------------------------------------------------------+ +| | +| Transcriber's Notes & Errata | +| | +| 'nonhuman' is used as an adjective. 'non-human' is used as a noun. | +| | +| 'skullmountain' and 'skull-mountain' are used once each. | +| | +| |Page|Error |Correction | | +| |11 |gods |gobs | | +| |17 |of world |of the world | | +| |26 |beetlehead |beetle-head | | +| |29 |beetleheads |beetle-heads | | +| |55 |eye-holes |eyeholes | | +| |71 |Thorfald's |Thorvald's | | +| |87 |overhand |overhang | | +| |88 |look |took | | +| |94 |edgeing |edging | | +| |111 |verticle |vertical | | +| |123 |fist |first | | +| |125 |ceremoney |ceremony | | +| |131 |be |he | | +| |131 |then |their | | +| |131 |trid-ee |tri-dee | | +| |132 |heeled |healed | | +| |133 |again |against | | +| |134 |midst |mist | | +| |144 |Shan |Shann | | +| |145 |assauged |assuaged | | +| |156 |occurred |occurred | | +| |156 |one one |one | | +| |164 |and and |and | | +| |166 |route |rout | | +| |168 |roll |role | | +| |170 |Shanned |Shann | | +| |180 |activited |activated | | +| |180 |furiuosly |furiously | | +| |182 |beetlehead |beetle-head | | ++--------------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Storm Over Warlock, by Andre Norton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORM OVER WARLOCK *** + +***** This file should be named 20788-8.txt or 20788-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/7/8/20788/ + +Produced by LN Yaddanapudi, Greg Weeks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Storm Over Warlock + +Author: Andre Norton + +Release Date: March 9, 2007 [EBook #20788] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORM OVER WARLOCK *** + + + + +Produced by LN Yaddanapudi, Greg Weeks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<div class="center"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;"> +<img src="images/illus-front.jpg" width="396" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div></div> +<h1>STORM OVER +WARLOCK</h1> + +<h3>by</h3> + +<h2>ANDRE NORTON</h2> + +<h3>ACE BOOKS, INC.</h3> + +<h3>23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N.Y.</h3> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + +<div style="margin-top:4em"><p class="center">STORM OVER WARLOCK</p> + +<p class="center">Copyright ©, 1960, by Andre Norton</p> + +<p class="center">An Ace Book, by arrangement with The World Publishing Co.</p> + +<p class="center">All Rights Reserved</p> + +<p class="center">Printed in U.S.A.</p></div> + +<div class="center bbox"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note</h4> + +<p>Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + +<p>Front matter consisting of a blurb and a list of other publications by +the author has been moved to the end of the text.</p> +</div> + +<div style="margin-left:5%; margin-right:5%"> +<h3>Table of Contents</h3> +<ol> +<li><a href="#DISASTER">DISASTER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#DEATH_OF_A_SHIP">DEATH OF A SHIP</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#TO_CLOSE_RANKS">TO CLOSE RANKS</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#SORTIE">SORTIE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#PURSUIT">PURSUIT</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THE_HOUND">THE HOUND</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#UNWELCOME_GUIDE">UNWELCOME GUIDE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#UTGARD">UTGARD</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ONE_ALONE">ONE ALONE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#A_TRAP_FOR_A_TRAPPER">A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THE_WITCH">THE WITCH</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THE_VEIL_OF_ILLUSION">THE VEIL OF ILLUSION</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#HE_WHO_DREAMS">HE WHO DREAMS....</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ESCAPE">ESCAPE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#DRAGON_SLAYER">DRAGON SLAYER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THIRD_PRISONER">THIRD PRISONER</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#THROG_JUSTICE">THROG JUSTICE</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#STORMS_ENDING">STORM'S ENDING</a><span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></span></li> +</ol></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DISASTER" id="DISASTER"></a>1. DISASTER</h2> + + +<p>The Throg task force struck the Terran Survey camp a few +minutes after dawn, without warning, and with a deadly +precision which argued that the aliens had fully reconnoitered +and prepared that attack. Eye-searing lances of energy +lashed back and forth across the base with methodical accuracy. +And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in +the heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red +bolts fell, nothing human would be left alive down there. +His teeth closed hard upon the thick stuff of the sleeve covering +his thin forearm, and in his throat a scream of terror and +rage was stillborn.</p> + +<p>More than caution kept him pinned on that narrow shelf +of rock. Watching that holocaust below, Shann Lantee could +not force himself to move. The sheer ruthlessness of the Throg +move-in left him momentarily weak. To listen to a tale of +Throgs in action, and to be an eye-witness to such action, were +two vastly different things. He shivered in spite of the warmth +of the Survey Corps uniform.</p> + +<p>As yet he had sighted none of the aliens, only their plate-shaped +flyers. They would stay aloft until their long-range +weapon cleared out all opposition. But how had they been +able to make such a complete annihilation of the Terran force? +The last report had placed the nearest Throg nest at least two +systems away from Warlock. And a patrol lane had been +drawn about the Circe system the minute that Survey had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +marked its second planet ready for colonization. Somehow +the beetles had slipped through that supposedly tight cordon +and would now consolidate their gains with their usual speed +at rooting. First an energy attack to finish the small Terran +force; then they would simply take over.</p> + +<p>A month later, or maybe two months, and they could not +have done it. The grids would have been up, and any Throg +ship venturing into Warlock's amber-tinted sky would abruptly +cease to be. In the race for survival as a galactic power, Terra +had that one small edge over the swarms of the enemy. They +need only stake out their new-found world and get the grids +assembled on its surface; then that planet would be locked to +the beetles. The critical period was between the first discovery +of a suitable colony world and the erection of grid +control. Planets in the past had been lost during that time lag, +just as Warlock was lost now.</p> + +<p>Throgs and Terrans.... For more than a century now, +planet time, they had been fighting their queer, twisted war +among the stars. Terrans hunted worlds for colonization, the +old hunger for land of their own driving men from the over-populated +worlds, out of Sol's system to the far stars. And +those worlds barren of intelligent native life, open to settlers, +were none too many and widely scattered. Perhaps half a +dozen were found in a quarter century, and of that six maybe +only one was suitable for human life without any costly and +lengthy adaption of man or world. Warlock was one of the +lucky finds which came so seldom.</p> + +<p>Throgs were predators, living on the loot they garnered. +As yet, mankind had not been able to discover whether they +did indeed swarm from any home world. Perhaps they lived +eternally on board their plate ships with no permanent base, +forced into a wandering life by the destruction of the planet +on which they had originally been spawned. But they were +raiders now, laying waste defenseless worlds, picking up the +wealth of shattered cities in which no native life remained. +And their hidden temporary bases were looped about the +galaxy, their need for worlds with an atmosphere similar to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +Terra's as necessary as that of man. For in spite of their grotesque +insectile bodies, their wholly alien minds, the Throgs +were warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing creatures.</p> + +<p>After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had +endeavored to promote a truce between the species, only to +discover that between Throg and man there appeared to be +no meeting ground at all—total differences of mental processes +producing insurmountable misunderstanding. There was simply +no point of communication. So the Terrans had suffered +one smarting defeat after another until they perfected the +grid. And now their colonies were safe, at least when time +worked in their favor.</p> + +<p>It had not on Warlock.</p> + +<p>A last vivid lash of red cracked over the huddle of domes +in the valley. Shann blinked, half blinded by that glare. His +jaws ached as he unclenched his teeth. That was the finish. +Breathing raggedly, he raised his head, beginning to realize +that he was the only one of his kind left alive on a none-too-hospitable +world controlled by enemies—without shelter or +supplies.</p> + +<p>He edged back into the narrow cleft which was the entrance +to the ledge. As a representative of his species he was +not impressive, and now with those shudders he could not +master, shaking his thin body, he looked even smaller and +more vulnerable. Shann drew his knees up close under his +chin. The hood of his woodsman's jacket was pushed back in +spite of the chill of the morning, and he wiped the back of +his hand across his lips and chin in an oddly childish gesture.</p> + +<p>None of the men below who had been alive only minutes +earlier had been close friends of his; Shann had never known +anyone but acquaintances in his short, roving life. Most people +had ignored him completely except to give orders, and one +or two had been actively malicious—like Garth Thorvald. +Shann grimaced at a certain recent memory, and then that +grimace faded into wonder. If young Thorvald hadn't purposefully +tried to get Shann into trouble by opening the wolverines'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +cage, Shann wouldn't be here now—alive and safe +for a time—he'd have been down there with the others.</p> + +<p>The wolverines! For the first time since Shann had heard +the crackle of the Throg attack he remembered the reason he +had been heading into the hills. Of all the men on the Survey +team, Shann Lantee had been the least important. The dirty, +tedious clean-up jobs, the dull routines which required no +technical training but which had to be performed to keep the +camp functioning comfortably, those had been his portion. +And he had accepted that status willingly, just to have a +chance to be included among Survey personnel. Not that he +had the slightest hope of climbing up to even an S-E-Three +rating in the service.</p> + +<p>Part of those menial activities had been to clean the animal +cages. And there Shann Lantee had found something new, +something so absorbing that most of the tiring dull labor had +ceased to exist except as tasks to finish before he could return +to the fascination of the animal runs.</p> + +<p>Survey teams had early discovered the advantage of using +mutated and highly trained Terran animals as assistants in the +exploration of strange worlds. From the biological laboratories +and breeding farms on Terra came a trickle of specialized +aides-de-camp to accompany man into space. Some were +fighters, silent, more deadly than weapons a man wore at his +belt or carried in his hands. Some were keener eyes, keener +noses, keener scouts than the human kind could produce. Bred +for intelligence, for size, for adaptability to alien conditions, +the animal explorers from Terra were prized.</p> + +<p>Wolverines, the ancient "devils" of the northlands on +Terra, were being tried for the first time on Warlock. Their +caution, a quality highly developed in their breed, made them +testers for new territory. Able to tackle in battle an animal +three times their size, they should be added protection for the +man they accompanied into the wilderness, and their wide +ranging, their ability to climb and swim, and above all, their +curiosity were assets.</p> + +<p>Shann had begun contact by cleaning their cages; he ended<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +captivated by these miniature bears with long bushy tails. +And to his unbounded delight the attraction was mutual. +Alone to Taggi and Togi he was a person, an important person. +Those teeth, which could tear flesh into ragged strips, +nipped gently at his fingers, closed without any pressure on +arm, even on nose and chin in what was the ultimate caress +of their kind. Since they were escape artists of no mean ability, +twice he had had to track and lead them back to camp from +forays of their own devising.</p> + +<p>But the second time he had been caught by Fadakar, the +chief of animal control, before he could lock up the delinquents. +And the memory of the resulting interview still had +the power to make him flush with impotent anger. Shann's +explanation had been contemptuously brushed aside, and he +had been delivered an ultimatum. If his carelessness occurred +again, he would be sent back on the next supply ship, +to be dismissed without an official sign-off on his work record, +thus locked out of even the lowest level of Survey for the rest +of his life.</p> + +<p>That was why Garth Thorvald's act of the night before had +made Shann brave the unknown darkness of Warlock alone +when he had discovered that the test animals were gone. He +had to locate and return them before Fadakar made his morning +inspection; Garth Thorvald's attempt to get him into bad +trouble had saved his life.</p> + +<p>Shann cowered back, striving to make his huddled body as +small as possible. One of the Throg flyers appeared silently +out of the misty amber of the morning sky, hovering over the +silent camp. The aliens were coming in to inspect the site of +their victory. And the safest place for any Terran now was as +far from the vicinity of those silent domes as he could get. +Shann's slight body was an asset as he wedged through the +narrow mouth of a cleft and so back into the cliff wall. The +climb before him he knew in part, for this was the path the +wolverines had followed on their two other escapes. A few +moments of tricky scrambling and he was out in a cuplike +depression choked with brush covered with the purplish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +foliage of Warlock. On the other side of that was a small cut +to a sloping hillside, giving on another valley, not as wide as +that in which the camp stood, but one well provided with +cover in the way of trees and high-growing bushes.</p> + +<p>A light wind pushed among the trees, and twice Shann +heard the harsh, rasping call of a clak-clak—one of the bat-like +leather-winged flyers that laired in pits along the cliff +walls. That present snap of two-tone complaint suggested +that the land was empty of strangers. For the clak-claks +vociferously and loudly resented encroachment on their +chosen hunting territory.</p> + +<p>Shann hesitated. He was driven by the urge to put as much +distance between him and the landing Throg ship as he could. +But to arouse the attention of inquisitive clak-claks was asking +for trouble. Perhaps it would be best to keep on along the top +of the cliff, rather than risk a descent to take cover in the +valley the flyers patrolled.</p> + +<p>A patch of dust, sheltered by a tooth-shaped projection +of rock, gave the Terran his first proof that Taggi and his mate +had preceded him, for printed firmly there was the familiar +paw mark of a wolverine. Shann began to hope that both +animals had taken to cover in the wilderness ahead.</p> + +<p>He licked dry lips. Having left secretly without any emergency +pack, he had no canteen, and now Shann inventoried +his scant possessions—a field kit, heavy-duty clothing, a short +hooded jacket with attached mittens, the breast marked with +the Survey insignia. His belt supported a sheathed stunner and +bush knife, and seam pockets held three credit tokens, a twist +of wire intended to reinforce the latch of the wolverine cage, +a packet of bravo tablets, two identity and work cards, and +a length of cord. No rations—save the bravos—no extra charge +for his stunner. But he did have, weighing down a loop on the +jacket, a small atomic torch.</p> + +<p>The path he followed ended abruptly in a cliff drop, and +Shann made a face at the odor rising from below, even though +that scent meant he could climb down to the valley floor here +without fearing any clak-clak attention. Chemical fumes from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +a mineral spring funneled against the wall, warding off any +nesting in this section.</p> + +<p>Shann drew up the hood of his jacket and snapped the +transparent face mask into place. He must get away—then +find food, water, a hiding place. That will to live which had +made Shann Lantee fight innumerable battles in the past was +in command, bracing him with a stubborn determination.</p> + +<p>The fumes swirled up in a smoke haze about his waist, but +he strode on, heading for the open valley and cleaner air. +That sickly lavender vegetation bordering the spring deepened +in color to the normal purple-green, and then he was in a +grove of trees, their branches pointed skyward at sharp angles +to the rust-red trunks.</p> + +<p>A small skitterer burst from moss-spotted ground covering, +giving an alarmed squeak, skimming out of sight as suddenly +as it had appeared. Shann squeezed between two trees and +then paused. The trunk of the larger was deeply scored with +scratches dripping viscid <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'gods'">gobs</ins> of sap, a sap which was a bright +froth of scarlet. Taggi had left his mark here, and not too long +ago.</p> + +<p>The soft carpet of moss showed no paw marks, but he +thought he knew the goal of the animals—a lake down-valley. +Shann was beginning to plan now. The Throgs had not +blasted the Terran camp out of existence; they had only made +sure of the death of its occupiers. Which meant they must +have some use for the installations. For the general loot of a +Survey field camp would be relatively worthless to those who +picked over the treasure of entire cities elsewhere. Why? What +did the Throgs want? And would the alien invaders continue +to occupy the domes for long?</p> + +<p>Shann did not realize what had happened to him since +that shock of ruthless attack. From early childhood, when +he had been thrown on his own to scratch a living—a borderline +existence of a living—on the Dumps of Tyr, he had had +to use his wits to keep life in a scrawny and undersized body. +However, since he had been eating regularly from Survey +rations, he was not quite so scrawny any more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>His formal education was close to zero, his informal and +off-center schooling vast. And that particular toughening process +which had been working on him for years now aided in +his speedy adaption to a new set of facts, formidable ones. He +was alone on a strange and perhaps hostile world. Water, +food, safe shelter, those were important now. And once again, +away from the ordered round of the camp where he had been +ruled by the desires and requirements of others, he was thinking, +planning in freedom. Later (his hand went to the butt +of his stunner) perhaps later he might just find a way of extracting +an accounting from the beetle-faces, too.</p> + +<p>For the present, he would have to keep away from the +Throgs, which meant well away from the camp. A fleck of +green showed through the amethyst foliage before him—the +lake! Shann wriggled through a last bush barrier and stood to +look out over that surface. A sleek brown head bobbed up. +Shann put fingers to his mouth and whistled. The head turned, +black button eyes regarded him, short legs began to churn +water. To his gratification the swimmer was obeying his summons.</p> + +<p>Taggi came ashore, pausing on the fine gray sand of the +verge to shake himself vigorously. Then the wolverine came +upslope at a clumsy gallop to Shann. With an unknown feeling +swelling inside him, the Terran went down on both knees, +burying both hands in the coarse brown fur, warming to the +uproarious welcome Taggi gave him.</p> + +<p>"Togi?" Shann asked as if the other could answer. He +gazed back to the lake, but Taggi's mate was nowhere in sight.</p> + +<p>The blunt head under his hand swung around, black button +nose pointed north. Shann had never been sure just how intelligent, +as mankind measured intelligence, the wolverines +were. He had come to suspect that Fadakar and the other experts +had underrated them and that both beasts understood +more than they were given credit for. Now he followed an +experiment of his own, one he had had a chance to try only a +few times before and never at length. Pressing his palm flat on +Taggi's head, Shann thought of Throgs and of their attack,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +trying to arouse in the animal a corresponding reaction to his +own horror and anger.</p> + +<p>And Taggi responded. A mutter became a growl, teeth +gleamed—those cruel teeth of a carnivore to whom they +were weapons of aggression. Danger.... Shann thought "danger." +Then he raised his hand, and the wolverine shuffled off, +heading north. The man followed.</p> + +<p>They discovered Togi busy in a small cove where a jagged +tangle of drift made a mat dating from the last high-water +period. She was finishing a hearty breakfast, the remains of a +water rat being buried thriftily against future need after the +instincts of her kind. When she was done she came to Shann, +inquiry plain to read in her eyes.</p> + +<p>There was water here, and good hunting. But the site was +too close to the Throgs. Let one of their exploring flyers sight +them, and the little group was finished. Better cover, that's +what the three fugitives must have. Shann scowled, not at +Togi, but at the landscape. He was tired and hungry, but he +must keep on going.</p> + +<p>A stream fed into the cove from the west, a guide of sorts. +With very little knowledge of the countryside, Shann was +inclined to follow that.</p> + +<p>Overhead the sun made its usual golden haze of the sky. +A flight of vivid green streaks marked a flock of lake ducks +coming for a morning feeding. Lake duck was good eating, +but Shann had no time to hunt one now. Togi started down +the bank of the stream, Taggi behind her. Either they had +caught his choice subtly through some undefined mental contact, +or they had already picked that road on their own.</p> + +<p>Shann's attention was caught by a piece of the drift. He +twisted the length free and had his first weapon of his own +manufacture, a club. Using it to hold back a low sweeping +branch, he followed the wolverines.</p> + +<p>Within the half hour he had breakfast, too. A pair of limp +skitterers, their long hind feet lashed together with a thong +of grass, hung from his belt. They were not particularly good +eating, but they were meat and acceptable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>The three, man and wolverines, made their way up the +stream to the valley wall and through a feeder ravine into the +larger space beyond. There, where the stream was born at +the foot of a falls, they made their first camp. Judging that +the morning haze would veil any smoke, Shann built a pocket-size +fire. He seared rather than roasted the skitterers after he +had made an awkward and messy business of skinning them, +and tore the meat from the delicate bones in greedy mouthfuls. +The wolverines lay side by side on the gravel, now and again +raising a head alertly to test the scent on the air, or gaze into +the distance.</p> + +<p>Taggi made a warning sound deep in the throat. Shann +tossed handfuls of sand over the dying fire. He had only time +to fling himself face-down, hoping the drab and weathered +cloth of his uniform faded into the color of the earth on which +he lay, every muscle tense.</p> + +<p>A shadow swung across the hillside. Shann's shoulders +hunched, and he cowered again. That terror he had known on +the ledge was back in full force as he waited for the beam to +lick at him as it had earlier at his fellows. The Throgs were +on the hunt....</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DEATH_OF_A_SHIP" id="DEATH_OF_A_SHIP"></a>2. DEATH OF A SHIP</h2> + + +<p>That sigh of displaced air was not as loud as a breeze, but it +echoed monstrously in Shann's ears. He could not believe in +his luck as that sound grew fainter, drew away into the valley +he had just left. With infinite caution he raised his head from +his arm, still hardly able to accept the fact that he had not +been sighted, that the Throgs and their flyer were gone.</p> + +<p>But that black plate was spinning out into the sun haze. One +of the beetles might have suspected that there were Terran +fugitives and ordered a routine patrol. After all, how could +the aliens know that they had caught all but one of the Survey +party in camp? Though with all the Terran scout flitters +grounded on the field, the men dead in their bunks, the surprise +would seem to be complete.</p> + +<p>As Shann moved, Taggi and Togi came to life also. They +had gone to earth with speed, and the man was sure that +both beasts had sensed danger. Not for the first time he knew +a burning desire for the formal education he had never had. +In camp he had listened, dragging out routine jobs in order +to overhear reports and the small talk of specialists keen on +their own particular hobbies. But so much of the information +Shann had thus picked up to store in a retentive memory he +had not understood and could not fit together. It had been as +if he were trying to solve some highly important puzzle with +at least a quarter of the necessary pieces missing, or with unrelated +bits from others intermixed. How much control did +a trained animal scout have over his furred or feathered assistants?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +And was part of that mastery a mental rapport built +up between man and animal?</p> + +<p>How well would the wolverines obey him now, especially +when they would not return to camp where cages stood +waiting as symbols of human authority? Wouldn't a trek into +the wilderness bring about a revolt for complete freedom? If +Shann could depend upon the animals, it would mean a great +deal. Not only would their superior hunting ability provide all +three with food, but their scouting senses, so much keener +than his, might erect a slender wall between life and death.</p> + +<p>Few large native beasts had been discovered on Warlock +by the Terran explorers. And of those four or five different +species, none had proved hostile if unprovoked. But that did +not mean that somewhere back in the wild lands into which +Shann was heading there were no heretofore unknowns, perhaps +slyer and as vicious as the wolverines when they were +aroused to rage.</p> + +<p>Then there were the "dreams," which had afforded the +prime source of camp discussion and dispute. Shann brushed +coarse sand from his boots and thought about the dreams. Did +they or did they not exist? You could start an argument any +time by making a definite statement for or against the peculiar +sort of dreaming reported by the first scout to set ship on this +world.</p> + +<p>The Circe system, of which Warlock was the second of +three planets, had first been scouted four years ago by one +of those explorers traveling solo in Survey service. Everyone +knew that the First-In Scouts were a weird breed, almost a +mutation of Terran stock—their reports were rife with strange +observations.</p> + +<p>So an alarming one concerning Circe (a yellow sun such +as Sol) and her three planets was not so rare. Witch, the +world nearest in orbit to Circe, was too hot for human occupancy +without drastic and too costly world-changing. +Wizard, the third out from the sun, was mostly bare rock and +highly poisonous water. But Warlock, swinging through space<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +between two forbidding neighbors, seemed to be just what +the settlement board ordered.</p> + +<p>Then the Survey scout, even in the cocoon safety of his +well-armed ship, began to dream. And from those dreams +a horror of the apparently empty world developed, until he +fled the planet to preserve his sanity. There had been a second +visit to Warlock in check; worlds so well adapted to human +emigration could not be lightly thrown away. And this time +there was a negative report, no trace of dreams, no registration +of any outside influence on the delicate and complicated +equipment the ship carried. So the Survey team had been dispatched +to prepare for the coming of the first pioneers, and +none of them had dreamed either—at least, no more than the +ordinary dreams all men accepted.</p> + +<p>Only there were those who pointed out that the seasons +had changed between the first and second visits to Warlock. +That first scout had planeted in summer; his successors had +come in fall and winter. They argued that the final release <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'of world'">of the +world</ins> for settlement should not be given until the full year on +Warlock had been sampled.</p> + +<p>But the pressure of Emigrant Control had forced their +hands, that and the fear of just what had eventually happened—an +attack from the Throgs. So they had speeded up the +process of declaring Warlock open. Only Ragnar Thorvald +had protested that decision up to the last and had gone back +to headquarters on the supply ship a month ago to make a +last appeal for a more careful study.</p> + +<p>Shann stopped brushing the sand from the tough fabric +above his knee. Ragnar Thorvald.... He remembered back to +the port landing apron on another world, remembered with +a sense of loss he could not define. That had been about the +second biggest day of his short life; the biggest had come +earlier when they had actually allowed him to sign on for +Survey duty.</p> + +<p>He had tumbled off the cross-continent cargo carrier, his +kit—a very meager kit—slung over his thin shoulder, a hot +eagerness expanding inside him until he thought that he could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +not continue to throttle down that wild happiness. There was +a waiting starship. And he—Shann Lantee from the Dumps +of Tyr, without any influence or schooling—was going to blast +off in her, wearing the brown-green uniform of Survey!</p> + +<p>Then he had hesitated uncertainly, had not quite dared +cross the few feet of apron lying between him and that compact +group wearing the same uniform—with a slight difference, +that of service bars and completion badges and rank +insignia—with the unconscious self-assurance of men who had +done this many times before.</p> + +<p>But after a moment that whole group had become in his +own shy appraisal just a background for one man. Shann had +never before known in his pinched and limited childhood, his +lost boyhood, anyone who aroused in him hero worship. And +he could not have put a name to the new emotion that +added so suddenly to his burning desire to make good, not +only to hold the small niche in Survey which he had already +so painfully achieved, but to climb, until he could stand so in +such a group talking easily to that tall man, his uncovered +head bronze-yellow in the sunlight, his cool gray eyes pale +in his brown face.</p> + +<p>Not that any of those wild dreams born in that minute or +two had been realized in the ensuing months. Probably those +dreams had always been as wild as the ones reported by the +first scout on Warlock. Shann grinned wryly now at the +short period of childish hope and half-confidence that he +could do big things. Only one Thorvald had ever noticed +Shann's existence in the Survey camp, and that had been +Garth.</p> + +<p>Garth Thorvald, a far less impressive—one could say +"smudged"—copy of his brother. Swaggering with an arrogance +Ragnar never showed, Garth was a cadet on his first +mission, intent upon making Shann realize the unbridgeable +gulf between a labor hand and an officer-to-be. He had appeared +to know right from their first meeting just how to make +Shann's life a misery.</p> + +<p>Now, in this slit of valley well away from the domes, Shann's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +fists balled. He pounded them against the earth in a way he +had so often hoped to plant them on Garth's smoothly handsome +face, his well-muscled body. One didn't survive the +Dumps of Tyr without learning how to use fists, and boots, +and a list of tricks they didn't teach in any academy. He had +always been sure that he could take Garth if they mixed it +up. But if he had loosed the tight rein he had kept on his +temper and offered that challenge, he would have lost his +chance with Survey. Garth had proved himself able to talk his +way out of any scrape, even minor derelictions of duty, and +he far out-ranked Shann. The laborer from Tyr had had to +swallow all that the other could dish out and hope that on his +next assignment he would not be a member of young Thorvald's +team. Though, because of Garth Thorvald, Shann's +toll of black record marks had mounted dangerously high and +each day the chance for any more duty tours had grown +dimmer.</p> + +<p>Shann laughed, and the sound was ugly. That was one +thing he didn't have to worry about any longer. There would +be no other assignments for him, the Throgs had seen to that. +And Garth ... well, there would never be a showdown between +them now. He stood up. The Throg ship had disappeared; +they could push on.</p> + +<p>He found a break in the cliff wall which was climbable, +and he coaxed the wolverines after him. When they stood on +the heights from which the falls tumbled, Taggi and Togi +rubbed against him, cried for his attention. They, too, appeared +to need the reassurance they got from contact with +him, for they were also fugitives on this alien world, the only +representatives of their kind.</p> + +<p>Since he did not have any definite goal in view, Shann continued +to be guided by the stream, following its wanderings +across a plateau. The sun was warm, so he carried his jacket +slung across one shoulder. Taggi and Togi ranged ahead, +twice catching skitterers, which they devoured voraciously. +A shadow on a sun-baked rock sent the Terran skidding for +cover until he saw that it was cast by one of the questing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +falcons from the upper peaks. But that shook his confidence, +so he again sought cover, ashamed at his own carelessness.</p> + +<p>In the late afternoon he reached the far end of the plateau, +faced a climb to peaks which still bore cones of snow, now +tinted a soft peach by the sun. Shann studied that possible +path and distrusted his own powers to take it without proper +equipment or supplies. He must turn either north or south, +though he would then have to abandon a sure water supply in +the stream. Tonight he would camp where he was. He had +not realized how tired he was until he found a likely half-cave +in the mountain wall and crawled in. There was too +much danger in fire here; he would have to do without that +first comfort of his kind.</p> + +<p>Luckily, the wolverines squeezed in beside him to fill the +hole. With their warm furred bodies sandwiching him, Shann +dozed, awoke, and dozed again, listening to night sounds—the +screams, cries, hunting calls, of the Warlock wilds. Now +and again one of the wolverines whined and moved uneasily.</p> + +<p>Fingers of sun picked at Shann through a shaft among the +rocks, striking his eyes. He moved, blinked blearily awake, +unable for the first few seconds to understand why the smooth +plasta wall of his bunk had become rough red stone. Then he +remembered. He was alone and he threw himself frantically +out of the cave, afraid the wolverines had wandered off. +Only both animals were busy clawing under a boulder with a +steady persistence which argued there was a purpose behind +that effort.</p> + +<p>A sharp sting on the back of one hand made that purpose +only too clear to Shann, and he retreated hurriedly from the +vicinity of the excavation. They had found an earth-wasp's +burrow and were hunting grubs, naturally arousing the rightful +inhabitants to bitter resentment.</p> + +<p>Shann faced the problem of his own breakfast. He had had +the immunity shots given to all members of the team, and he +had eaten game brought in by exploring parties and labeled +"safe." But how long he could keep to the varieties of native +food he knew was uncertain. Sooner or later he must experiment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +for himself. Already he drank the stream water without +the aid of purifiers, and so far there had been no ill results +from that necessary recklessness. Now the stream suggested +fish. But instead he chanced upon another water inhabitant +which had crawled up on land for some obscure purpose of its +own. It was a sluggish scaled thing, an easy victim to his club, +with thin, weak legs it could project at will from a finned and +armor-plated body.</p> + +<p>Shann offered the head and guts to Togi, who had abandoned +the wasp nest. She sniffed in careful investigation and +then gulped. Shann built a small fire and seared the firm +greenish flesh. The taste was flat, lacking salt, but the food +eased his emptiness. Enheartened, he started south, hoping +to find water sometime during the morning.</p> + +<p>By noon he had his optimism justified with the discovery of +a spring, and the wolverines had brought down a slender-legged +animal whose coat was close in shade to the dusky +purple of the vegetation. Smaller than a Terran deer, its head +bore, not horns, but a ridge of stiffened hair rising in a point +some twelve inches about the skull dome. Shann haggled off +some ragged steaks while the wolverines feasted in earnest, +carefully burying the head afterward.</p> + +<p>It was when Shann knelt by the spring pool to wash +that he caught the clamor of the clak-claks. He had seen or +heard nothing of the flyers since he had left the lake valley. +But from the noise now rising in an earsplitting volume, he +thought there was a sizable colony near-by and that the inhabitants +were thoroughly aroused.</p> + +<p>He crept on his hands and knees to near-by brush cover, +heading toward the source of that outburst. If the claks were +announcing a Throg scouting party, he wanted to know it.</p> + +<p>Lying flat, with branches forming a screen over him, the +Terran gazed out on a stretch of grassland which sloped at +a fairly steep angle to the south and which must lead to a portion +of countryside well below the level he was now traversing.</p> + +<p>The clak-claks were skimming back and forth, shrieking +their staccato war cries. Following the erratic dashes of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +flight formation, Shann decided that whatever they railed +against was on the lower level, out of his sight from that point. +Should he simply withdraw, since the disturbance was not +near him? Prudence dictated that; yet still he hesitated.</p> + +<p>He had no desire to travel north, or to try and scale the +mountains. No, south was his best path, and he should be very +sure that route was closed before he retreated.</p> + +<p>Since any additional fuss the clak-claks might make on +sighting him would be undistinguished in their now general +clamor, the Terran crawled on to where tall grass provided a +screen at the top of the slope. There he stopped short, his +hands digging into the earth in sudden braking action.</p> + +<p>Below, the ground steamed from a rocket flare-back, grasses +burned away from the fins of a small scoutship. But even as +Shann rose to one knee, his shout of welcome choked in his +throat. One of those fins sank, canting the ship crookedly, +preventing any new take-off. And over the crown of a low hill +to the west swung the ominous black plate of a Throg flyer.</p> + +<p>The Throg ship came up in a burst of speed, and Shann +waited tensely for some countermove from the scout. Those +small speedy Terran ships were prudently provided with +weapons triply deadly in proportion to their size. He was sure +that the Terran ship could hold its own against the Throg, +even eliminate the enemy. But there was no fire from the +slanting pencil of the scout. The Throg circled warily, obviously +expecting a trap. Twice it darted back in the direction +from which it had come. As it returned from its second +retreat, another of its kind showed, a black coin dot against +the amber of the sky.</p> + +<p>Shann felt sick inside. Now the Terran scout had lost any +advantage and perhaps all hope. The Throgs could box the +other in, cut the downed ship to pieces with their energy +beams. He wanted to crawl away and not witness this last +disaster for his kind. But some stubborn core of will kept him +where he was.</p> + +<p>The Throgs began to circle while beneath them the flock +of clak-claks screamed and dived at the slanting nose of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +Terran ship. Then that same slashing energy he had watched +quarter the camp snapped from the far plate across the +stricken scout. The man who had piloted her, if not dead +already (which might account for the lack of defense), must +have fallen victim to that. But the Throg was going to make +very sure. The second flyer halted, remaining poised long +enough to unleash a second bolt—dazzling any watching eyes +and broadcasting a vibration to make Shann's skin crawl +when the last faint ripple reached his lookout post.</p> + +<p>What happened then the overconfident Throg was not prepared +to take. Shann cried out, burying his face on his arm, +as pinwheels of scarlet light blotted out normal sight. There +was an explosion, a deafening blast. He cowered, blind, unable +to hear. Then, rubbing at his eyes, he tried to see what +had happened.</p> + +<p>Through watery blurs he made out the Throg ship, not +swinging now in serene indifference to Warlock's gravity, but +whirling end over end across the sky as might a leaf tossed in +a gust of wind. Its rim caught against a rust-red cliff, it rebounded +and crumpled. Then it came down, smashing perhaps +half a mile away from the smoking crater in which lay +the mangled wreckage of the Terran ship. The disabled scout +pilot must have played a last desperate game, making of his +ship bait for a trap.</p> + +<p>The Terran had taken one Throg with him. Shann rubbed +again at his eyes, just barely able to catch a glimpse of the +second ship flashing away westward. Perhaps it was only his +impaired sight, but it appeared to him that the Throg followed +an erratic path, either as if the pilot feared to be +caught by a second shot, or because that ship had also suffered +some injury.</p> + +<p>Acid smoke wreathed up from the valley making Shann +retch and cough. There could be no survivor from the Terran +scout, and he did not believe that any Throg had lived to +crawl free of the crumpled plate. But there would be other +beetles swarming here soon. They would not dare to leave +the scene unsearched. He wondered about that scout. Had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +the pilot been aiming for the Survey camp, the absence of +any rider beam from there warning him off so that he made +the detour which brought him here? Or had the Throgs tried +to blast the Terran ship in the upper atmosphere, crippling it, +making this a forced landing? But at least this battle had cost +the Throgs, settling a small portion of the Terran debt for the +lost camp.</p> + +<p>The length of time between Shann's sighting of the +grounded ship and the attack by the Throgs had been so +short that he had not really developed any strong hope of +rescue to be destroyed by the end of the crippled ship. On the +other hand, seeing the Throgs take a beating had exploded +his subconscious acceptance of their superiority. He might +not have even the resources of a damaged scout at his command. +But he did have Taggi, Togi, and his own brain. Since +he was fated to permanent exile on Warlock, there might just +be some way to make the beetles pay for that.</p> + +<p>He licked his lips. Real action against the aliens would take +a lot of planning. Shann would have to know more about +what made a Throg a Throg, more than all the wild stories he +had heard over the years. There <i>had</i> to be some way a Terran +could move effectively against a beetle-head. And he had a +lot of time, maybe the rest of his life to work out a few answers. +That Throg ship lying wrecked at the foot of the cliff +... perhaps he could do a little investigating before any rescue +squad arrived. Shann decided such a move was worth the +try and whistled to the wolverines.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="TO_CLOSE_RANKS" id="TO_CLOSE_RANKS"></a>3. TO CLOSE RANKS</h2> + + +<p>Shann made his way at an angle to avoid the smoking pit +cradling the wreckage of the Terran ship. There were no +signs of life about the Throg plate as he approached. A quarter +of its bulk was telescoped back into the rest, and surely +none of the aliens could have survived such a smash, tough as +they were reputed to be with those horny carapaces serving +them in place of more vulnerable human skin.</p> + +<p>He sniffed. There was a nauseous odor heavy on the morning +air, one which would make a lasting impression on any +human nose. The port door in the black ship stood open, perhaps +having burst in the impact against the cliff. Shann had almost +reached it when a crackle of chain lightning beat across +the ground before him, turning the edge of the buckled entrance +panel red.</p> + +<p>Shann dropped to the ground, drawing his stunner, knowing +at the same moment that such a weapon was about as +much use in meeting a blaster as a straw wand would be to +ward off a blazing coal. A chill numbness held him as +he waited for a second blast to charr the flesh between his +shoulders. So there had been a Throg survivor, after all.</p> + +<p>But as moments passed and the Throg did not move in to +make an easy kill, Shann collected his wits. Only one shot! +Was the beetle injured, unable to make sure of even an almost +defenseless prey? The Throgs seldom took prisoners. +When they did....</p> + +<p>The Terran's lips tightened. He worked his hand under his +prone body, feeling for the hilt of his knife. With that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +could speedily remove himself from the status of Throg prisoner, +and he would do it gladly if there was no hope of escape. +Had there been only one charge left in that blaster? +Shann could make half a dozen guesses as to why the other +had made no move, but that shot had come from behind him, +and he dared not turn his head or otherwise make an effort to +see what the other might be doing.</p> + +<p>Was it only his imagination, or had that stench grown +stronger during the last few seconds? Could the Throg be +creeping up on him? Shann strained his ears, trying to catch +some sound he could interpret. The few clak-claks that had +survived the blast about the ship were shrieking overhead, +and Shann made one attempt at counterattack.</p> + +<p>He whistled the wolverines' call. The pair had not been too +willing to follow him down into this valley, and they had +avoided the crater at a very wide circle. But if they would +obey him now, he just might have a chance.</p> + +<p>There! That <i>had</i> been a sound, and the smell <i>was</i> stronger. +The Throg must be coming to him. Again Shann whistled, +holding in his mind his hatred for the <ins class="corr" title="Hyphenated in line with majority usage">beetle-head</ins>, the need +for finishing off that alien. If the animals could pick either +thoughts or emotions out of their human companion, this was +the time for him to get those unspoken half-orders across.</p> + +<p>Shann slammed his hand hard against the ground, sent his +body rolling, his stunner up and ready.</p> + +<p>And now he could see that grotesque thing, swaying weakly +back and forth on its thin legs, yet holding a blaster, bringing +that weapon up to center it on him. The Throg was hunched +over and perhaps to Taggi presented the outline of some four-footed +creature to be hunted. For the wolverine male sprang +for the horn-shelled shoulders.</p> + +<p>Under that impact that Throg sagged forward. But Taggi, +outraged at the nature of creature he had attacked, squalled +and retreated. Shann had had his precious seconds of distraction. +He fired, the core of the stun beam striking full into +the flat dish of the alien's "face."</p> + +<p>That bolt, which would have shocked a mammal into insensibility,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +only slowed the Throg. Shann rolled again, gaining +a temporary cover behind the wrecked ship. He squirmed +under metal hot enough to scorch his jacket and saw the +reflection of a second blaster shot which had been fired seconds +late.</p> + +<p>Now the Throg had him tied down. But to get at the Terran +the alien would have to show himself, and Shann had one +chance in fifty, which was better than that of three minutes +ago—when the odds had been set at one in a hundred. He +knew that he could not press the wolverines in again. Taggi's +distaste was too manifest; Shann had been lucky that the +animal had made one abortive attack.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the Terran's escape and Taggi's action had made +the alien reckless. Shann had no clue to the thinking processes +of the non-human, but now the Throg staggered around the +end of the plate, his digits, which were closer to claws than +fingers, fumbling with his weapon. The Terran snapped another +shot from his stunner, hoping to slow the enemy down. +But he was trapped. If he turned to climb the cliff at his back, +the beetle-head could easily pick him off.</p> + +<p>A rock hurtled from the heights above, striking with deadly +accuracy on the domed, hairless head of the Throg. His armored +body crashed forward, struck against the ship, and rebounded +to the ground. Shann darted forward to seize the +blaster, kicking loose the claws which still grasped it, before +he flattened back to the cliff, the strange weapon over his arm, +his heart beating wildly.</p> + +<p>That rock had not bounded down the mountainside by +chance; it had been hurled with intent and aimed carefully +at its target. And no Throg would kill one of his fellows. Or +would he? Suppose orders had been issued to take a Terran +prisoner and the Throg by the ship had disobeyed? Then, why +a rock and not a blaster bolt?</p> + +<p>Shann edged along until the upslanted, broken side of the +Throg flyer provided him with protection from any overhead +attack. Under that shelter he waited for the next move from +his unknown rescuer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>The clak-claks wheeled closer to earth. One lit boldly on +the carapace of the inert Throg, shuffling ungainly along that +horny ridge. Cradling the blaster, the Terran continued to +wait. His patience was rewarded when that investigating clak-clak +took off uttering an enraged snap or two. He heard what +might be the scrape of boots across rock, but that might also +have come from horny skin meeting stone.</p> + +<p>Then the other must have lost his footing not too far above. +Accompanied by a miniature landslide of stones and earth, +a figure slid down several yards away. Shann waited in a half-crouch, +his looted blaster covering the man now getting to his +feet. There was no mistaking the familiar uniform, or even the +man. How Ragnar Thorvald had reached that particular spot +on Warlock or why, Shann could not know. But that he was +there, there was no denying.</p> + +<p>Shann hurried forward. It had been when he caught his +first sight of Thorvald that he realized just how deep his unacknowledged +loneliness had bit. There were two Terrans on +Warlock now, and he did not need to know why. But Thorvald +was staring back at him with the blankness of non-recognition.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" The demand held something close to suspicion.</p> + +<p>That note in the other's voice wiped away a measure of +Shann's confidence, threatened something which had flowered +in him since he had struck into the wilderness on his own. +Three words had reduced him again to Lantee, unskilled +laborer.</p> + +<p>"Lantee. I'm from the camp...."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's eagerness was plain in his next question: "How +many of you got away? Where are the rest?" He gazed past +Shann up the plateau slope as if he expected to see the personnel +of the camp sprout out of the cloak of grass along the +verge.</p> + +<p>"Just me and the wolverines," Shann answered in a colorless +voice. He cradled the blaster on his hip, turned a little +away from the officer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You ... and the wolverines?" Thorvald was plainly +startled. "But ... where? How?"</p> + +<p>"The Throgs hit very early yesterday morning. They caught +the rest in camp. The wolverines had escaped from their cage, +and I was out hunting them...." He told his story baldly.</p> + +<p>"You're sure about the rest?" Thorvald had a thin steel of +rage edging his voice. Almost, Shann thought, as if he could +turn that blade of rage against one Shann Lantee for being yet +alive when more important men had not survived.</p> + +<p>"I saw the attack from an upper ridge," the younger man +said, having been put on the defensive. Yet he had a right to +be alive, hadn't he? Or did Thorvald believe that he should +have gone running down to meet the <ins class="corr" title="Hyphenated in line with majority usage">beetle-heads</ins> with his +useless stunner? "They used energy beams ... didn't land +until it was all over."</p> + +<p>"I knew there was something wrong when the camp didn't +answer our enter-atmosphere signal," Thorvald said absently. +"Then one of those platters jumped us on braking orbit, and +my pilot was killed. When we set down on the automatics +here I had just time to rig a surprise for any trackers before I +took to the hills——"</p> + +<p>"The blast got one of them," Shann pointed out.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they'd nicked the booster rocket; she wouldn't climb +again. But they'll be back here to pick over the remains."</p> + +<p>Shann looked at the dead Throg. "Thanks for taking a +hand." His tone was as chill as the other's this time. "I'm +heading south...."</p> + +<p>And, he added silently, I intend to keep on that way. The +Throg attack had dissolved the pattern of the Survey team. +He didn't owe Thorvald any allegiance. And he had been +successfully on his own here since the camp had been overrun.</p> + +<p>"South," Thorvald repeated. "Well, that's as good a direction +as any right now."</p> + +<p>But they were not united. Shann found the wolverines and +patiently coaxed and wheedled them into coming with him +over a circuitous route which kept them away from both ships. +Thorvald went up the cliff, swung down again, a supply bag<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +slung over one shoulder. He stood watching as Shann brought +the animals in.</p> + +<p>Then Thorvald's arm swept out, his fingers closing possessively +about the barrel of the blaster. Shann's own hold on the +weapon tightened, and the force of the other's pull dragged +him partly around.</p> + +<p>"Let's have that——"</p> + +<p>"Why?" Shann supposed that because it had been the +other's well-aimed rock which had put the Throg out of commission +permanently, the officer was going to claim their only +spoils of war as personal booty, and a hot resentment flowered +in the younger man.</p> + +<p>"We don't take that away from here." Thorvald made the +weapon his with a quick twist.</p> + +<p>To Shann's utter astonishment, the Survey officer walked +back to kneel beside the dead Throg. He worked the grip of +the blaster under the alien's lax claws and inspected the +result with the care of one arranging a special and highly +important display. Shann's protest became vocal. "We'll need +that!"</p> + +<p>"It'll do us far more good right where it is...." Thorvald +paused and then added, with impatience roughening his voice +as if he disliked the need for making any explanations, "There +is no reason for us to advertise our being alive. If the Throgs +found a blaster missing, they'd start thinking and looking +around. I want to have a breathing spell before I have to play +quarry in one of their hunts."</p> + +<p>Put that way, his action did make sense. But Shann regretted +the loss of an arm so superior to their own weapons. +Now they could not loot the plateship either. In silence he +turned and started to trudge southward, without waiting +for Thorvald to catch up with him.</p> + +<p>Once away from the blasted area, the wolverines ranged +ahead at their clumsy gallop, which covered ground at a +surprising rate of speed. Shann knew that their curiosity made +them scouts surpassing any human and that the men who followed +would have ample warning of any danger to come.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +Without reference to his silent trail companion, he sent the +animals toward another strip of woodland which would give +them cover against the coming of any Throg flyer.</p> + +<p>As the hours advanced he began to cast about for a proper +night camp. The woods ought to give them a usable site.</p> + +<p>"This is a water wood," Thorvald said, breaking the silence +for the first time since they had left the wrecks.</p> + +<p>Shann knew that the other had knowledge, not only of the +general countryside, but of exploring techniques which he +himself did not possess, but to be reminded of that fact was an +irritant rather than a reassurance. Without answering, the +younger man bored on to locate the water promised.</p> + +<p>The wolverines found the small lake first and were splashing +along its shore when the Terrans caught up. Thorvald went +to work, but to Shann's surprise he did not unstrap the force-blade +ax at his belt. Bending over a sapling, he pounded away +with a stone at the green wood a few inches above the root +line until he was able to break through the slender trunk. +Shann drew his own knife and bent to tackle another treelet +when Thorvald stopped him with an order: "Use a stone +on that, the way I did."</p> + +<p>Shann could see no reason for such a laborious process. If +Thorvald did not want to use his ax, that was no reason that +Shann could not put his heavy belt knife to work. He hesitated, +ready to set the blade to the outer bark of the tree.</p> + +<p>"Look—" again that impatient edge in the officer's tone, +the need for explanation seeming to come very hard to the +other—"sooner or later the Throgs might just trace us here +and find this camp. If so, they are <i>not</i> going to discover any +traces to label us Terran——"</p> + +<p>"But who else could we be?" protested Shann. "There is +no native race on Warlock."</p> + +<p>Thorvald tossed his improvised stone ax from hand to hand.</p> + +<p>"But do the Throgs know that?"</p> + +<p>The implications, the possibilities, in that idea struck home +to Shann. Now he began to understand what Thorvald might +be planning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now there is going to be a native race." Shann made +a statement instead of a question and saw that the other was +watching him with a new intentness, as if he had at last been +recognized as a person instead of rank and file and very low +rank at that—Survey personnel.</p> + +<p>"There is going to be a native race," Thorvald affirmed.</p> + +<p>Shann resheathed his knife and went to search the pond +beach for a suitable stone to use in its place. Even so, he made +harder work of the clumsy chopping than Thorvald had. He +worried at one sapling after another until his hands were +skinned and his breath came in painful gusts from under +aching ribs. Thorvald had gone on to another task, ripping the +end of a long tough vine from just under the powdery surface +of the thick leaf masses fallen in other years.</p> + +<p>With this the officer lashed together the tops of the poles, +having planted their splintered butts in the ground, so that +he achieved a crudely conical erection. Leafy branches were +woven back and forth through this framework, with an entrance, +through which one might crawl on hands and knees, +left facing the lakeside. The shelter they completed was compact +and efficient but totally unlike anything Shann had ever +seen before, certainly far removed from the domes of the +camp. He said so, nursing his raw hands.</p> + +<p>"An old form," Thorvald replied, "native to a primitive +race on Terra. Certainly the beetle-heads haven't come across +its like before."</p> + +<p>"Are we going to stay here? Otherwise it is pretty heavy +work for one night's lodging."</p> + +<p>Thorvald tested the shelter with a sharp shake. The matted +leaves whispered, but the framework held.</p> + +<p>"Stage dressing. No, we won't linger here. But it's evidence +to support our play. Even a Throg isn't dense enough to believe +that natives would make a cross-country trip without +leaving evidence of their passing."</p> + +<p>Shann sat down with a sigh he made no effort to suppress. +He had a vision of Thorvald traveling southward, methodically +erecting these huts here and there to confound Throgs who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +might not ever chance upon them. But already the Survey +officer was busy with a new problem.</p> + +<p>"We need weapons——"</p> + +<p>"We have our stunners, a force ax, and our knives," Shann +pointed out. He did not add, as he would have liked that +they could have had a blaster.</p> + +<p>"Native weapons," Thorvald countered with his usual snap. +He went back to the beach and crawled about there, choosing +and rejecting stones picked out of the gravel.</p> + +<p>Shann scooped out a small pit just before their hut and +set about the making of a pocket-sized fire. He was hungry +and looked longingly now and again to the supply bag Thorvald +had brought with him. Dared he rummage in that for +rations? Surely the other would be carrying concentrates.</p> + +<p>"Who taught you how to make a fire that way?" Thorvald +was back from the pond, a selection of round stones about the +size of his fist resting between his chest and his forearm.</p> + +<p>"It's regulation, isn't it?" Shann countered defensively.</p> + +<p>"It's regulation," Thorvald agreed. He set down his stones +in a row and then tossed the supply bag over to his companion. +"Too late to hunt tonight. But well have to go easy on those +rations until we can get more."</p> + +<p>"Where?" Did Thorvald know of some supply cache they +could raid?</p> + +<p>"From the Throgs," the other answered matter of factly.</p> + +<p>"But they don't eat our kind of food...."</p> + +<p>"All the more reason for them to leave the camp supplies +untouched."</p> + +<p>"The camp?"</p> + +<p>For the first time Thorvald's lips curved in a shadow smile +which was neither joyous nor warming. "A native raid on an +invaders' camp. What could be more natural? And we'd +better make it soon."</p> + +<p>"But how can we?" To Shann what the other proposed +was sheer madness.</p> + +<p>"There was once an ancient service corps on Terra," Thorvald +answered, "which had a motto something like this:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +'The improbable we do at once; the impossible takes a little +longer.' What did you think we were going to do? Sulk +around out here in the bush and let the Throgs claim Warlock +for one of their pirate bases without opposition?"</p> + +<p>Since that was the only future Shann had visualized, he +was ready enough to admit the truth, only some shade of +tone in the officer's voice kept him from saying so aloud.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="SORTIE" id="SORTIE"></a>4. SORTIE</h2> + + +<p>Five days later they came up from the south so that this time +Shann's view of the Terran camp was from a different angle. +At first sight there had been little change in the general scene. +He wondered if the aliens were using the Terran dome +shelters themselves. Even in the twilight it was easy to pick +out such landmarks as the com dome with the shaft of a +broadcaster spearing from its top and the greater bulk of the +supply warehouse.</p> + +<p>"Two of their small flyers down on the landing field...." +Thorvald materialized from the shadow, his voice a thread of +whisper.</p> + +<p>By Shann's side the wolverines were moving restlessly. +Since Taggi's attack on the Throg neither beast would venture +near any site where they could scent the aliens. This was the +nearest point to which the men could urge either animal, +which was a disappointment, for the wolverines would have +been an excellent addition to the surprise sortie they planned +for tonight, halving the danger for the men.</p> + +<p>Shann ran his fingers across the coarse fur on the animals' +shoulders, exerting a light pressure to signal them to wait. But +he was not sure of their obedience. The foray was a crazy +idea, and Shann wondered again why he had agreed to it. Yet +he had gone along with Thorvald, even suggested a few modifications<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +and additions of his own, such as the contents of the +crude leaf sack now resting between his knees.</p> + +<p>Thorvald flitted away, seeking his own post to the west. +Shann was still waiting for the other's signal when there arose +from the camp a sound to chill the flesh of any listener, a wail +which could not have come from the throat of any normal +living thing, intelligent being or animal. Ululating in ear-torturing +intensity, the cry sank to a faint, ominous echo of +itself, to waver up the scale again.</p> + +<p>The wolverines went mad. Shann had witnessed their +quick kills in the wilds, but this stark ferocity of spitting, howling +rage was new. They answered that challenge from the +camp, streaking out from under his hands. Yet both animals +skidded to a stop before they passed the first dome and were +lost in the gloom. A spark glowed for an instant to his right; +Thorvald was ready to go, so Shann had no time to try and +recall the animals.</p> + +<p>He fumbled for those balls of soaked moss in his leaf bag. +The chemical smell from them blotted out that alien mustiness +which the wind brought from the campsite. Shann readied +the first sopping mess in his sling, snapped his fire sparker at +it, and had the ball awhirl for a toss almost in one continuous +movement. The moss burst into fire as it curved out and fell.</p> + +<p>To a witness it might have seemed that the missile materialized +out of the air, the effect being better than Shann had +hoped.</p> + +<p>A second ball for the sling—spark ... out ... down. The +first had smashed on the ground near the dome of the com +station, the force of impact flattening it into a round splatter +of now fiercely burning material. And his second, carefully +aimed, lit two feet beyond.</p> + +<p>Another wail tearing at the nerves. Shann made a third +throw, a fourth. He had an audience now. In the light of those +pools of fire the Throgs were scuttling back and forth, their +hunched bodies casting weird shadows on the dome walls. +They were making efforts to douse the fires, but Shann knew +from careful experimentation that once ignited the stuff<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +he had skimmed from the lip of one of the hot springs would +go on burning as long as a fraction of its viscid substance remained +unconsumed.</p> + +<p>Now Thorvald had gone into action. A Throg suddenly +halted, struggled frantically, and toppled over into the edge +of a fire splotch, legs looped together by the coils of the curious +weapon Thorvald had put together on their first night of +partnership. Three round stones of comparable weight had +each been fastened at the end of a vine cord, and those cords +united at a center point. Thorvald had demonstrated the +effectiveness of his creation by bringing down one of the +small "deer" of the grasslands, an animal normally fleet enough +to feel safe from both human and animal pursuit. And those +weighted ropes now trapped the Throg with the same efficiency.</p> + +<p>Having shot his last fireball, Shann ran swiftly to take up a +new position, downgrade and to the east of the domes. Here +he put into action another of the primitive weapons Thorvald +had devised, a spear hurled with a throwing stick, giving it +double range and twice as forceful penetration power. The +spears themselves were hardly more than crudely shaped +lengths of wood, their points charred in the fire. Perhaps these +missiles could neither kill nor seriously wound. But more than +one thudded home in a satisfactory fashion against the curving +back carapace or the softer front parts of a Throg in a +manner which certainly shook up and bruised the target. And +one of Shann's victims went to the ground, to lie kicking in a +way which suggested he had been more than just bruised.</p> + +<p>Fireballs, spears.... Thorvald had moved too. And now +down into the somewhat frantic melee of the aroused camp +fell a shower of slim weighted reeds, each provided with a +clay-ball head. The majority of those balls broke on landing +as the Terrans had intended. So, through the beetle smell of +the aliens, spread the acrid, throat-parching fumes of the hot +spring water. Whether those fumes had the same effect upon +Throg breathing apparatus as they did upon Terran, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +attackers could not tell, but they hoped such a bombardment +would add to the general confusion.</p> + +<p>Shann began to space the hurling of his crude spears with +more care, trying to place them with all the precision of aim +he could muster. There was a limit to their amount of varied +ammunition, although they had dedicated every waking moment +of the past few days to manufacture and testing. Luckily +the enemy had had none of their energy beams at the domes. +And so far they had made no move to lift their flyers for +retaliation blasts.</p> + +<p>But the Throgs were pulling themselves into order. +Blaster fire cut the dusk. Most of the aliens were now flat on +the ground, sending a creeping line of fire into the perimeter +of the camp area. A dark form moved between Shann and +the nearest patch of burning moss. The Terran raised a spear +to the ready before he caught a whiff of the pungent scent +emitted by a wolverine hot with battle rage. He whistled +coaxingly. With the Throgs eager to blast any moving thing, +the animals were in danger if they prowled about the scene.</p> + +<p>That blunt head moved. Shann caught the glint of eyes in +a furred mask; it was either Taggi or his mate. Then a puff +of mixed Throng and chemical scent from the camp must have +reached the wolverine. The animal coughed and fled westward, +passing Shann.</p> + +<p>Had Thorvald had time and opportunity to make his +planned raid on the supply dome? Time during such an embroilment +was hard to measure, and Shann could not be sure. +He began to count aloud, slowly, as they had agreed. When +he reached one hundred he would begin his retreat; on two +hundred he was to run for it, his goal the river a half mile +from the camp.</p> + +<p>The stream would take the fugitives to the sea where fiords +cut the coastline into a ragged fringe offering a wealth of +hiding places. Throgs seldom explored any territory on foot. +For them to venture into that maze would be putting themselves +at the mercy of the Terrans they hunted. And their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +flyers could comb the air above such a rocky wilderness without +result.</p> + +<p>Shann reached the count of one hundred. Twice a blaster +bolt singed ground within distance close enough to make him +wince, but most of the fire carried well above his head. All +of his spears were gone, save for one he had kept, hoping +for a last good target. One of the Throgs who appeared to be +directing the fire of the others was facing Shann's position. +And on pure chance that he might knock out that leader, +Shann chose him for his victim.</p> + +<p>The Terran had no illusions concerning his own marksmanship. +The most he could hope for, he thought, was to +have the primitive weapon thud home painfully on the other's +armored hide. Perhaps, if he were very lucky, he could knock +the other from his clawed feet. But that chance which hovers +over any battlefield turned in Shann's favor. At just the right +moment the Throg stretched his head up from the usual +hunched position where the carapace extended over his wide +shoulders to protect one of the alien's few vulnerable spots, +the soft underside of his throat. And the fire-sharpened point +of the spear went deep.</p> + +<p>Throgs were mute, or at least none of them had ever uttered +a vocal sound to be reported by Terrans. This one did not +cry out. But he staggered forward, forelimbs up, clawed +digits pulling at the wooden pin transfixing his throat just +under the mandible-equipped jaw, holding his head at an +unnatural angle. Without seeming to notice the others of his +kind, the Throg came on at a shambling run, straight at +Shann as if he could actually see through the dark and had +marked down the Terran for personal vengeance. There was +something so uncanny about that forward dash that Shann +retreated. As his hand groped for the knife at his belt his boot +heel caught in a tangle of weed and he struggled for balance. +The wounded Throg, still pulling at the spear shaft protruding +above the swelling barrel of his chest, pounded on.</p> + +<p>Shann sprawled backward and was caught in the elastic +embrace of a bush, so he did not strike the ground. He fought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +the grip of prickly branches and kicked to gain solid earth +under his feet. Then again he heard that piercing wail from +the camp, as chilling as it had been the first time. Spurred by +that, he won free. But he could not turn his back on the +wounded Throg, keeping rather a sidewise retreat.</p> + +<p>Already the alien had reached the dark beyond the rim of +the camp. His progress now was marked by the crashing +through low brush. Two of the Throgs back on the firing line +started up after their leader. Shann caught a whiff of their +odor as the wounded alien advanced with the single-mindedness +of a robot.</p> + +<p>It would be best to head for the river. Tall grass twisted +about the Terran's legs as he began to run. In spite of the +gloom, he hesitated to cross that open space. At night Warlock's +peculiar vegetation displayed a very alien attribute—ten ... twenty +varieties of grass, plant, and tree emitted a +wan phosphorescence, varying in degree, but affording each +an aura of light. And the path before Shann now was dotted +by splotches of that radiance, not as brilliant as the chemical-born +flames the attackers had kindled in the camp, but as +quick to betray the unwary who passed within their dim +circles. And there had never been any reason to believe that +Throg powers of sight were less than human; there was perhaps +some evidence to the contrary. Shann crouched, charting +the clumps ahead for a zigzag course which would take +him to at least momentary safety in the river bed.</p> + +<p>Perhaps a mile downstream was the transport the Terrans +had cobbled together no earlier than this afternoon, a raft +Thorvald had professed to believe would support them to the +sea which lay some fifty Terran miles to the west. But now +he had to cover that mile.</p> + +<p>The wolverines? Thorvald? There was one lure which might +draw the animals on to the rendezvous. Taggi had brought +down a "deer" just before they had left the raft. And instead +of allowing both beasts to feast at leisure, Shann had lashed +the carcass to the shaky platform of wood and brush, putting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +it out to swing in the current, though still moored to the bank.</p> + +<p>Wolverines always cached that part of the kill which they +did not consume at the first eating, usually burying it. He had +hoped that to leave the carcass in such a way would draw +both animals back to the raft when they were hungry. And +they had not fed particularly well that day.</p> + +<p>Thorvald? Well, the Survey officer had made it very plain +during the past five days of what Shann had come to look +upon as an uneasy partnership that he considered himself far +abler to manage in the field, while he had grave doubts of +Shann's efficiency in the direction of survival potential.</p> + +<p>The Terran started along the pattern of retreat he had laid +out to the river bed. His heart pounded as he ran, not because +of the physical effort he was expending, but because again +from the camp had come that blood-freezing howl. A lighter +line marked the lip of the cut in which the stream was set, +something he had not foreseen. He threw himself down to +crawl the last few feet, hugging the earth.</p> + +<p>That very pale luminescence was easily accounted for by +what lay below. Shann licked his lips and tasted the sting of +sap smeared on his face during his struggle with the bushes. +While the strip of meadow behind him now had been spotted +with light plants, the cut below showed an almost solid line +of them stringing willow-wise along the water's edge. To go +down at this point was simply to spotlight his presence for any +Throg on his trail. He could only continue along the upper +bank, hoping to finally find an end to the growth of luminescent +vegetation below.</p> + +<p>Shann was perhaps five yards from the point where he had +come to the river, when a commotion behind made him freeze +and turn his head cautiously. The camp was half hidden, and +the fires there must be dying. But a twisting, struggling mass +was rolling across the meadow in his general direction.</p> + +<p>Thorvald fighting off an attack? The wolverines? Shann +drew his legs under him, ready to erupt into a counter-offensive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +He hesitated between drawing stunner or knife. In his +brush with the injured Throg at the wreck the stunner had +had little impression on the enemy. And now he wondered if +his blade, though it was super-steel at its toughest, could +pierce any joint in the armored bodies of the aliens.</p> + +<p>There was surely a fight in progress. The whole crazily +weaving blot collapsed and rolled down upon three bright +light plants. Dull sheen of Throg casing was revealed ... +no sign of fur, or flesh, or clothing. Two of the aliens battling? +But why?</p> + +<p>One of those figures got up stiffly, bent over the huddle +still on the ground, and pulled at something. The wooden +shaft of Shann's spear was wanly visible. And the form on +the ground did not stir as that was jerked loose. The Throg +leader dead? Shann hoped so. He slid his knife back into the +sheath, tapped the hilt to make sure it was firmly in place, +and crawled on. The river, twisting here and there, was a +promising pool of dusky shadow ahead. The bank of willow-things +was coming to an end, and none too soon. For when he +glanced back again he saw another Throg run across the +meadow, and he watched them lift their fellow, carrying him +back to camp.</p> + +<p>The Throgs might seem indestructible, but he had put an +end to one, aided by luck and a very rough weapon. With +that to bolster his self-confidence to a higher notch, Shann +dropped by cautious degrees over the bank and down to the +water's edge. When his boots splashed into the oily flood he +began to tramp downstream, feeling the pull of the water, +first ankle high and then about his calves. This early in the +season they did hot have to fear floods, and hereabouts the +stream was wide and shallow, save in mid-current at the +center point.</p> + +<p>Twice more he had to skirt patches of light plants, and +once a young tree stood bathed in radiance with a pinkish +tinge instead of the usual ghostly gray. Within the haze +which tented the drooping branches, flitted small glittering,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +flying things; and the scent of its half-open buds was heavy +on the air, neither pleasant nor unpleasant in Shann's nostrils, +merely different.</p> + +<p>He dared to whistle, a soft call he hoped would carry along +the cut between the high banks. But, though he paused and +listened until it seemed that every cell in his thin body was +occupied in that act, he heard no answering call from the +wolverines, nor any suggestion that either the animals or +Thorvald were headed in the direction of the raft.</p> + +<p>What was he going to do if none of the others joined him +downstream? Thorvald had said not to linger there past daylight. +Yet Shann knew that unless he actually sighted a Throg +patrol splashing after him he would wait until he made sure +of the others' fate. Both Taggi and Togi were as important to +him as the Survey officer. Perhaps more so, he told himself +now, because he understood them to a certain degree and +found companionship in their undemanding company which +he could not claim from the man.</p> + +<p>Why <i>did</i> Thorvald insist upon their going on to the seashore? +To Shann's mind his own first plan of holing up back in +the eastern mountains was better. Those heights had as many +hiding places as the fiord country. But Thorvald had suddenly +become so set on this westward trek that he had given +in. As much as he inwardly rebelled when he took them, he +found himself obeying the older man's orders. It was only +when he was alone, as now, that he began to question both +Thorvald's motives and his authority.</p> + +<p>Three sprigs of a light bush set in a triangle. Shann paused +and then climbed out on the bank, shaking the water from +his boots as Taggi might shake such drops from a furred limb. +This was the sign they had set to mark their rendezvous +point, but....</p> + +<p>Shann whirled, drawing his stunner. The raft was a dark +blob on the surface of the water some feet farther on. And +now it was bobbing up and down violently. That was not the +result of any normal tug of current. He heard an indignant +squeal and relaxed with a little laugh. He need not have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +worried about the wolverines; that bait had drawn them all +right. Both of them were now engaged in eating, though they +had to conduct their feast on the rather shaky foundation of +the makeshift transport.</p> + +<p>They paid no attention as he waded out, pulling at the +anchor cord as he went. The wind must have carried his +familiar scent to them. As the water climbed to his shoulders +Shann put one hand on the outmost log of the raft. One of +the animals snarled a warning at being disturbed. Or had +that been at him?</p> + +<p>Shann stood where he was, listening intently. Yes, there +was a splashing sound from upstream. Whoever followed his +own recent trail was taking no care to keep that pursuit a +secret, and the pace of the newcomer was fast enough to spell +trouble.</p> + +<p>Throgs? Tensely the Terran waited for some reaction from +the wolverines. He was sure that if the aliens had followed +him, both animals would give warning. Save when they had +gone wild upon hearing that strange wail from the camp, +they avoided meeting the enemy.</p> + +<p>But from all sounds the animals had not stopped feeding. +So the other was no beetle-head. On the other hand, why +would Thorvald so advertise his coming, unless the need for +speed was greater than caution? Shann drew taut the mooring +cord, bringing out his knife to saw through that tough +length. A figure passed the three-sprig signal, ran onto the +raft.</p> + +<p>"Lantee?" The call came in a hoarse, demanding whisper.</p> + +<p>"Here."</p> + +<p>"Cut loose. We have to get out of here!"</p> + +<p>Thorvald flung himself forward, and together the men +scrambled up on the raft. The mangled carcass plunged into +the water, dislodged by their efforts. But before the wolverines +could follow it, the mooring vine snapped, and the river +current took them. Feeling the raft sway and begin to spin, +the wolverines whined, crouched in the middle of what +now seemed a very frail craft.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>Behind them, far away but too clear, sounded that eerie +howling, topping the sigh of the night wind.</p> + +<p>"I saw——" Thorvald gasped, pausing as if to catch full +lungfuls of air to back his words, "they have a 'hound!' That's +what you hear."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PURSUIT" id="PURSUIT"></a>5. PURSUIT</h2> + + +<p>As the raft revolved slowly it also slipped downstream at a +steadily increasing pace, for the current had them in hold. +The wolverines pressed close to Shann until the musky scent +of their fur, their animal warmth, enveloped him. One growled +deep in its throat, perhaps in answer to that wind-borne wail.</p> + +<p>"Hound?" Shann asked.</p> + +<p>Beside him in the dark Thorvald was working loose one of +the poles they had readied to help control the raft's voyaging. +The current carried them along, but there was a need for +those lengths of sapling to fend them free from rocks and +water-buried snags.</p> + +<p>"What hound?" the younger man demanded more sharply +when there came no immediate answer.</p> + +<p>"The Throgs' tracker. But why did they import one?" Thorvald's +puzzlement was plain in his tone. He added a moment +later, with some of his usual firmness, "We may be in +for bad trouble now. Use of a hound means an attempt to take +prisoners——"</p> + +<p>"Then they do not know that we are here, as Terrans, I +mean?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald seemed to be sorting out his thoughts when he +replied to that. "They could have brought a hound here just +on chance that they might miss one of us in the initial mop-up. +Or, if they believe we are natives, they could want a +specimen for study."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't they just blast down Terrans on sight?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>Shann saw the dark blot which was Thorvald's head shake +in negation.</p> + +<p>"They might need a live Terran—badly and soon."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"To operate the camp call beam."</p> + +<p>Shann's momentary bewilderment vanished. He knew +enough of Survey procedure to guess the reason for such a +move on the part of the aliens.</p> + +<p>"The settler transport?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the ship. She won't planet here without the proper +signal. And the Throgs can't give that. If they don't take her, +their time's run out before they have even made a start here."</p> + +<p>"But how could they know that the transport is nearly +due? When we intercept their calls they're pure gibberish to +us. Can they read our codes?"</p> + +<p>"The supposition is that they can't. Only, concerning +Throgs, all we know is supposition. Anyway, they do know +the routine for establishing a Terran colony, and we can't +alter that procedure except in small nonessentials," Thorvald +said grimly. "If that transport doesn't pick up the proper +signal to set down here on schedule, her captain will call in +the patrol escort ... then exit one Throg base. But if the +beetle-heads can trick the ship in and take her, then they'll +have a clear five or six more months here to consolidate their +own position. After that it would take more than just one +patrol cruiser to clear Warlock; it will require a fleet. So the +Throgs will have another world to play with, and an important +one. This lies on a direct line between the Odin and +Kulkulkan systems. A Throg base on such a trade route +could eventually cut us right out of this quarter of the galaxy."</p> + +<p>"So you think they want to capture us in order to bring +the transport in?"</p> + +<p>"By our type of reasoning, that would be a logical move—<i>if</i> +they know we are here. They haven't too many of those +hounds, and they don't risk them on petty jobs. I'd hoped +we'd covered our trail well. But we had to risk that attack +on the camp.... I needed the map case!" Again Thorvald<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +might have been talking to himself. "Time ... and the right +maps—" he brought his fist down on the raft, making the +platform tremble—"that's what I have to have now."</p> + +<p>Another patch of light-willows stretched along the river-banks, +and as they sailed through that ribbon of ghostly +radiance they could see each other's faces. Thorvald's was +bleak, hard, his eyes on the stream behind them as if he expected +at any moment to see a Throg emerge from the surface +of the water.</p> + +<p>"Suppose that thing—" Shann pointed upstream with his +chin—"follows us? What is it anyway?" Hound suggested +Terran dog, but he couldn't stretch his imagination to believe +in a working co-operation between Throg and any mammal.</p> + +<p>"A rather spectacular combination of toad and lizard, with +a few other grisly touches, is about as close as you can get to +a general description. And that won't be too accurate, because +like the Throgs its remote ancestors must have been of +the insect family. If the thing follows us, and I think we can +be sure that it will, we'll have to take steps. There is always +this advantage—those hounds cannot be controlled from a +flyer, and the beetle-heads never take kindly to foot slogging. +So we won't have to expect any speedy chase. If it slips its +masters in rough country, we can try to ambush it." In the dim +light Thorvald was frowning. "I flew over the territory ahead +on two sweeps, and it is a queer mixture. If we can reach the +rough country bordering the sea, we'll have won the first +round. I don't believe that the Throgs will be in a hurry to +track us in there. They'll try two alternatives to chasing us +on foot. One, use their energy beams to rake any suspect +valley, and since there are hundreds of valleys all pretty +much alike, that will take some time. Or they can attempt to +shake us out with a dumdum should they have one here, +which I doubt."</p> + +<p>Shann tensed. The stories of the effects of the Throg's dumdum +weapon were anything but pretty.</p> + +<p>"And to get a dumdum," Thorvald continued as if he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +were discussing a purely theoretical matter and not a threat +of something worse than death, "They'll have to bring in one +of their major ships. Which they will hesitate to do with a +cruiser near at hand. Our own danger spot now is the section +we should strike soon after dawn tomorrow if the rate of this +current is what I have timed it. There is a band of desert on +this side of the mountains. The river gorge deepens there and +the land is bare. Let them send a ship over and we could be +as visible as if we were sending up flares——"</p> + +<p>"How about taking cover now and going on only at +night?" suggested Shann.</p> + +<p>"Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But with time pressing us now, +no. If we keep straight on, we could reach the foothills in +about forty hours, maybe less. And we have to stay with the +river. To strike across country there without good supplies and +on foot is sheer folly."</p> + +<p>Two days. With perhaps the Throgs unleashing their +hound on land, combing from their flyers. With a desert.... +Shann put out his hands to the wolverines. The prospect certainly +didn't seem anywhere near as simple as it had the +night before when Thorvald had planned this escape. But +then the Survey officer had left out quite a few points which +were not pertinent. Was he also leaving out other essentials? +Shann wanted to ask, but somehow he could not.</p> + +<p>After a while he dozed, his head resting on his knees. He +awoke, roused out of a vivid dream, a dream so detailed and +so deeply impressed in a picture on his mind that he was confused +when he blinked at the riverbank visible in the half-light +of early dawn.</p> + +<p>Instead of that stretch of earth and ragged vegetation now +gliding past him as the raft angled along, he should have +been fronting a vast skull stark against the sky—a skull whose +outlines were oddly inhuman, from whose eyeholes issued +and returned flying things while its sharply protruding lower +jaw was lapped by water. In color that skull had been a +violent clash of blood-red and purple. Shann blinked again at +the riverbank, seeing transposed on it still that ghostly haze<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +of bone-bare dome, cavernous eyeholes and nose slit, fanged +jaws. That skull was a mountain, or a mountain was a skull—and +it was important to him; he must locate it!</p> + +<p>He moved stiffly, his legs and arms cramped but not cold. +The wolverines stirred on either side of him. Thorvald continued +to sleep, curled up beyond, the pole still clasped in +his hands. A flat map case was slung by a strap about his neck, +its thin envelope between his arm and his body as if for safekeeping. +On the smooth flap was the Survey seal, and it was +fastened with a finger lock.</p> + +<p>Thorvald had lost some of the bright hard surface he had +shown at the spaceport where Shann had first sighted him. +There were hollows in his cheeks, sending into high relief +those bone ridges beneath his eye sockets, giving him a faint +resemblance to the skull of Shann's dream. His face was +grimed, his field uniform stained and torn. Only his hair was +as bright as ever.</p> + +<p>Shann smeared the back of his hand across his own face, +not doubting that he must present an even more disreputable +appearance. He leaned forward cautiously to look into the +water, but that surface was not quiet enough to act as a +mirror.</p> + +<p>Getting to his feet as the raft bobbed under his shift of +weight, Shann studied the territory now about them. He +could not match Thorvald's inches, just as he must have a +third less bulk than the officer, but standing, he could sight +something of what now lay beyond the rising banks of the +cut. That grass which had been so thick in the meadowlands +around the camp had thinned into separate clumps, pale +lavender in color. And the scrawniness of stem and blade suggested +dehydration and poor soil. The earth showing between +those clumps was not of the usual blue, but pallid, too, +bleached to gray, while the bushes along the stream's edge +were few and smaller. They must have crossed the line into +the desert Thorvald had promised.</p> + +<p>Shann edged around to face west. There was light enough +in the sky to sight tall black pyramids waiting. They had to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +reach those distant mountains, mountains whose feet on the +other side were resting in sea water. He studied them carefully, +surveying each peak he could separate from its fellows.</p> + +<p>Did the skull lie among them? The conviction that the place +he had seen in his dream was real, that it was to be found on +Warlock, persisted. Not only was it a definite feature of +the landscape somewhere in the wild places of this world, but +it was also necessary for him to locate it. Why? Shann puzzled +over that, with a growing uneasiness which was not quite fear, +not yet, anyway.</p> + +<p>Thorvald moved. The raft tilted and the wolverines became +growly. Shann sat down, one hand out to the officer's +shoulder in warning. Feeling that touch Thorvald shifted, +one hand striking out blindly in a blow which Shann was just +able to avoid while with the other he pinned the map case yet +tighter to him.</p> + +<p>"Take it easy!" Shann urged.</p> + +<p>The other's eyelids flicked. He looked up, but not as if he +saw Shann at all.</p> + +<p>"The Cavern of the Veil——" he muttered. "Utgard...." +Then his eyes did focus and he sat up, gazing around him +with a frown.</p> + +<p>"We're in the desert," Shann announced.</p> + +<p>Thorvald got up, balancing on feet planted a little apart, +looking to the faded expanse of the waste spreading from the +river cut. He stared at the mountains before he squatted +down to fumble with the lock of the map case.</p> + +<p>The wolverines were growing restless, though they still did +not try to move about too freely on the raft, greeting Shann +with vocal complaint. He and Thorvald could satisfy their +hunger with a handful of concentrates from the survival kit. +But those dry tablets could not serve the animals. Shann +studied the terrain with more knowledge than he had possessed +a week earlier. This was not hunting land, but there +remained the bounty of the river.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to feed Taggi and Togi," he broke the silence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +abruptly. "If we don't, they'll be into the river and off on +their own."</p> + +<p>Thorvald glanced up from one of the tough, thin sheets of +map skin, again as if he had been drawn back from some +distance. His eyes moved from Shann to the unpromising +shore.</p> + +<p>"How? With what?" he wanted to know. Then the real +urgency of the situation must have penetrated his mental +isolation. "You have an idea——?"</p> + +<p>"There's those fish we found them eating back by the +mountain stream," Shann said, recalling an incident of a few +days earlier. "Rocks here, too, like those the fish were hiding +under. Maybe we can locate some of them here."</p> + +<p>He knew that Thorvald would be reluctant to work the +raft in shore, to spare time for such hunting. But there would +be no arguing with hungry wolverines, and he did not propose +to lose the animals for the officer's whim.</p> + +<p>However, Thorvald did not protest. They poled the raft +out of the main pull of the current, sending it in toward the +southern shore in the lee of a clump of light-willows. Shann +scrambled ashore, the wolverines after him, sniffling along at +his heels while he overturned likely looking rocks to unroof +some odd underwater dwellings. The fish with the rudimentary +legs were present and not agile enough even in their +native element to avoid well-clawed paws which scooped +them neatly out of the river shallows. There was also a sleek +furred creature with a broad flat head and paddle-equipped +forepaws, rather like a miniature seal, which Taggi appropriated +before Shann had a chance to examine it closely. In +fact, the wolverines wrought havoc along a half-mile +section of bank before the Terran could coax them back to +the raft.</p> + +<p>As they hunted, Shann got a better idea of the land about +the river. It was sere, the vegetation dwindling except for +some rough spikes of things pushing through the parched +ground like flayed fingers, their puffed redness in contrast to +the usual amethystine coloring of Warlock's growing things.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Under the climbing sun that whole stretch of country was +revealed in a stark bareness which at first repelled, and then +began to interest him.</p> + +<p>He discovered Thorvald standing on the upper bluff, looking +out toward the waiting mountains. The officer turned as +Shann urged the wolverines to the raft, and when he jumped +down the drop to join them, Shann saw he carried a map +strip unrolled in his hand.</p> + +<p>"The situation is not as good as we hoped," he told the +younger man. "Well have to leave the river to cross the +heights."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"There're rapids—bending in a falls." The officer squatted +down, spreading out the strip and making stabs at it with a +nervous finger tip. "Here we have to leave. This is all rough +ground. But lying to the south there's a gap which may be a +pass. This was made from an aerial survey."</p> + +<p>Shann knew enough to realize to what extent such a guide +could go wrong. Main features of the landscape would be +clear enough from aloft, but there might be unsurmountable +difficulties at ground level which were not distinguishable from +the air. Yet Thorvald had planned this journey as if he had +already explored their escape route and that it was as open +and easy as a stroll down Tyr's main transport way. Why was +it so necessary that they try to reach the sea? However, since +he had no objection to voice except a dislike for indefinite +information, Shann did not question the other's calm assumption +of command, not yet, anyway.</p> + +<p>As they embarked and worked back into the current, Shann +studied his companion. Thorvald had freely listed the difficulties +lying before them. Yet he did not seem in the least +worried about their being able to win through to the sea—or +if he was, his outer shell of unconcern remained uncracked. +Before their first day together had ended, the younger Terran +had learned that to Thorvald he was only another tool, to be +used by the Survey officer in some project which the other +believed of primary importance. And his resentment of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +valuation was under control so far. He valued Thorvald's +knowledge, but the other's attitude chilled and rebuffed his +need for something more than a half partnership of work.</p> + +<p>Why had Thorvald come back to Warlock in the first place? +And why had it been necessary for him to risk his life—perhaps +more than his life if their theory was correct concerning +the Throgs' wish to capture a Terran—to get that +set of maps from the plundered camp? When he had first +talked of that raid, his promised loot had been supplies to fill +their daily needs; there had been no mention of maps. By all +signs Thorvald was engaged on some mission. And what +would happen if he, Shann, suddenly stopped being the +other's obedient underling and demanded a few explanations +here and now?</p> + +<p>Only Shann knew enough about men to also know that he +would not get any information out of Thorvald that the latter +was not ready to give, and that such a showdown, coming +prematurely, would only end in his own discomfiture. He +smiled wryly now, remembering his emotions when he had +first seen Ragnar Thorvald months ago. As if the officer ever +considered the likes, dislikes—or dreams—of one Shann Lantee. +No, reality and dreams seldom approached each other. +Dreams....</p> + +<p>"On any of those shoreline maps," he asked suddenly, "do +they have marked a mountain shaped like a skull?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald thrust with his pole. "Skull?" he repeated, a +little absently, as he so often did in answer to Shann's questions +unless they dealt with some currently important matter.</p> + +<p>"A queer sort of skull," Shann said. Just as vividly as +when he had first awakened, he could picture that skull +mountain with the flying things about its eye sockets. And +that, too, was odd; dream impressions usually faded with +the passing of waking hours. "It has a protruding lower jaw +and the waves wash that ... red-and-purple rock——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>He had Thorvald's complete attention now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where did you hear about it?" That demand followed +quickly.</p> + +<p>"I didn't hear about it. I dreamed of it last night. I stood +there right in front of it. There were birds—or things flying +like birds—going in and out of the <ins class="corr" title="Hyphen removed in line with majority usage.">eyeholes</ins>——"</p> + +<p>"What else?" Thorvald leaned across his pole, his eyes alive, +avid, as if he would pull the reply he wanted out of Shann by +force.</p> + +<p>"That was all I remember—the skull mountain." He did not +add his other impression, that he was meant to find that +skull, that he <i>must</i> find it.</p> + +<p>"Nothing...." Thorvald paused, and then spoke slowly, +with a visible reluctance. "Nothing else? No cavern with a +green veil—a wide green veil—strung across it?"</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head. "Just the skull mountain."</p> + +<p>Thorvald looked as if he didn't quite believe that, but +Shann's expression must have been convincing, for he laughed +shortly.</p> + +<p>"Well, there goes one nice neat theory up in smoke!" he +commented. "No, your skull doesn't appear on any of our +maps, and so probably my cavern does not exist either. They +may both be smoke screens——"</p> + +<p>"What——?" But Shann never finished that query.</p> + +<p>A wind was rising in the desert to blow across the slit which +held the river, carrying with it a fine shifting of sand which +coasted down into the water as a gray haze, coating men, +animals, and raft, and sighing as snow sighs when it falls.</p> + +<p>Only that did not drown out another cry, a thin cry, diluted +by the miles of land stretching behind them, but yet carrying +that long ululating howl they had heard in the Throg camp. +Thorvald grinned mirthlessly.</p> + +<p>"The hound's on trail."</p> + +<p>He bent to the pole, using it to aid the pace of the current. +Shann, chilled in spite of the sun's heat, followed his example, +wondering if time had ceased to fight on their side.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_HOUND" id="THE_HOUND"></a>6. THE HOUND</h2> + + +<p>The sun was a harsh ball of heat baking the ground and then, +in some odd manner, drawing back that same fieriness. In +the coolness of the eastern mountains Shann would not have +believed that Warlock could hold such heat. The men discarded +their jackets early as they swung to dip the poles. But +they dared not strip off the rest of their clothing lest their +skin burn. And again gusts of wind now drove sand over the +edge of the cut to blanket the water.</p> + +<p>Shann wiped his eyes, pausing in his eternal push-push, +to look at the rocks which they were passing in threatening +proximity. For the slash which held the river had narrowed. +And the rock of its walls was naked of earth, save for +sheltered pockets holding the drift of sand dust, while boulders +of all sizes cut into the path of the flowing water.</p> + +<p>He had not been mistaken; they were going faster, faster +even than their efforts with the poles would account for. With +the narrowing of the bed of the stream, the current was taking +on a new swiftness. Shann said as much and Thorvald +nodded.</p> + +<p>"We're approaching the first of the rapids."</p> + +<p>"Where we get off and walk around," Shann croaked +wearily. The dust gritted between his teeth, irritated his eyes. +"Do we stay beside the river?"</p> + +<p>"As long as we can," Thorvald replied somberly. "We have +no way of transporting water."</p> + +<p>Yes, a man could live on very slim rations of food, continue +to beat his way over a bad trail if he had the concentrate +tablets they carried. But there was no going without water, +and in this heat such an effort would finish them quickly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +Always they both listened for another cry from behind, a +cry to tell them just how near the Throg hunting party had +come.</p> + +<p>"No Throg flyers yet," Shann observed. He had expected +one of those black plates to come cruising the moment the +hound had pointed the direction for their pursuers.</p> + +<p>"Not in a storm such as this." Thorvald, without releasing +his hold on the raft pole, pointed with his chin to the swirling +haze cloaking the air above the cut walls. Here the river dug +yet deeper into the beginning of a canyon. They could +breathe better. The dust still sifted down but not as thickly as +a half hour earlier. Though over their heads the sky was now +a grayish lid, shutting out the sun, bringing a portion of coolness +to the travelers.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer glanced from side to side, watching the +banks as if hunting for some special mark or sign. At last he +used his pole as a pointer to indicate a rough pile of boulders +ahead. Some former landslide had quarter dammed the river +at that point, and the drift of seasonal floods was caught in +and among the rocky pile to form a prickly peninsula.</p> + +<p>"In there——"</p> + +<p>They brought the raft to shore, fighting the faster current. +The wolverines, who had been subdued by the heat and the +dust, flung themselves to the rocks with the eagerness of passengers +deserting a sinking ship for certain rescue. Thorvald +settled the map case more securely between his arm and side +before he took the same leap. When they were all ashore he +prodded the raft out into the stream again, pushing the platform +along until it was sucked by the current past the line +of boulders.</p> + +<p>"Listen!"</p> + +<p>But Shann had already caught that distant rumble of sound. +It was steady, beating like some giant drum. Certainly it did +not herald a Throg ship in flight and it came from ahead, +not from their back trail.</p> + +<p>"Rapids ... perhaps even the falls," Thorvald interpreted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +that faint thunder. "Now, let's see what kind of a road we +can find here."</p> + +<p>The tongue of boulders, spiked with driftwood, was firmly +based against the wall of the cut. But it sloped up to within +a few feet of the top of that gap, more than one landslide +having contributed to its fashioning. The landing stage paralleled +the river for perhaps some fifty feet. Beyond it water +splashed a straight wall. They would have to climb and follow +the stream along the top of the embankment, maybe being +forced well away from the source of the water.</p> + +<p>By unspoken consent they both knelt and drank deeply +from their cupped hands, splashing more of the liquid over +their heads, washing the dust from their skins. Then they +began to climb the rough assent up which the wolverines had +already vanished. The murk above them was less solid, +but again the fine grit streaked their faces, embedding itself +in their hair.</p> + +<p>Shann paused to scrape a film of mud from his lips and +chin. Then he made the last pull, bracing his slight body +against the push of the wind he met there. A palm struck +hard between his shoulders, nearly sending him sprawling. +He had only wits enough left to recognize that as an order to +get on, and he staggered ahead until rock arched over him +and the sand drift was shut off.</p> + +<p>His shoulder met solid stone, and having rubbed the sand +from his eyes, Shann realized he was in a pocket in the cliff +walls. Well overhead he caught a glimpse of natural amber +sky through a slit, but here was a twilight which thickened +into complete darkness.</p> + +<p>There was no sign of wolverines. Thorvald moved along the +pocket southward, and Shann followed him. Once more +they faced a dead end. For the crevice, with the sheer descent +to the river on the right, the cliff wall at its back, came to an +abrupt stop in a drop which caught at Shann's stomach when +he ventured to look down.</p> + +<p>If some battleship of the interstellar fleet had aimed a force +beam across the mountains of Warlock, cutting down to what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +lay under the first envelope of planet-skin, perhaps the resulting +wound might have resembled that slash. What had caused +such a break between the height on which they stood and +the much taller peak beyond, Shann could not guess. But it +must have been a cataclysm of spectacular dimensions. There +was certainly no descending to the bottom of that cut and +reclimbing the rock face on the other side. The fugitives would +either have to return to the river with all its ominous warnings +of trouble to come, or find some other path across that gap +which now provided such an effective barrier to the west.</p> + +<p>"Down!" Just as Thorvald had pushed him out of the murk +of the dust storm into the crevice, so now did that officer jerk +Shann from his feet, forcing him to the floor of the half cave +from which they had partially emerged.</p> + +<p>A shadow moved across the bright band of sunlit sky.</p> + +<p>"Back!" Thorvald caught at Shann again, his greater +strength prevailing as he literally dragged the younger man +into the dusk of the crevice. And he did not pause, nor allow +Shann to do so, even when they were well undercover again. +At last they reached the dark hole in the southern wall which +they had passed earlier. And a push from Thorvald sent his +companion into that.</p> + +<p>Then a blow greater than any the Survey officer had aimed +at him struck Shann. He was hurled against a rough wall with +impetus enough to explode the air from his lungs, the ensuing +pain so great that he feared his ribs had given under that +thrust. Before his eyes fire lashed down the slit, searing him +into temporary blindness. That flash was the last thing he +remembered as thick darkness closed in, shutting him into the +nothingness of unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>It hurt to breathe; he was slowly aware first of that pain +and then the fact that he <i>was</i> breathing, that he had to endure +the pain for the sake of breath. His whole body was +jarred into a dull torment as a weight pressed upon his twisted +legs. Then strong animal breath puffed into his face. Shann +lifted one hand by will power, touched thick fur, felt the +rasp of a tongue laid wetly across his fingers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>Something close to terror engulfed him for a second or two +when he knew that he could not see! The black about him +was colored by jagged flashes of red which he somehow +guessed were actually inside his eyes. He groped through +that fire-pierced darkness. An animal whimper from the throat +of the shaggy body pressed against him; he answered that +movement.</p> + +<p>"Taggi?"</p> + +<p>The shove against him was almost enough to pin him once +more to the wall, a painful crush on his aching ribs, as the +wolverine responded to his name. That second nudge from +the other side must be Togi's bid for attention.</p> + +<p>But what had happened? Thorvald had hurled him back +just after that shadow had swung over the ledge. That +shadow! Shann's wits quickened as he tried to make sense of +what he could remember. A Throg ship! Then that fiery lash +which had cut after them could only have resulted from one +of those energy bolts such as had wiped out the others of his +kind at the camp. But he was still alive—!</p> + +<p>"Thorvald?" He called through his personal darkness. When +there was no answer, Shann called again, more urgently. Then +he hunched forward on his hands and knees, pushing Taggi +gently aside, running his hands over projecting rocks, uneven +flooring.</p> + +<p>His fingers touched what could only be cloth, before they +met the warmth of flesh. And he half threw himself against +the supine body of the Survey officer, groping awkwardly for +heartbeat, for some sign that the other was still living.</p> + +<p>"What——?" The one word came thickly, but Shann gave +something close to a sob of relief as he caught the faint mutter. +He squatted back on his heels, pressed his forearm +against his aching eyes in a kind of fierce will to see.</p> + +<p>Perhaps that pressure did relieve some of the blackout, +for when he blinked again, the complete dark and the fiery +trails had faded to gray, and he was sure he saw dimly a +source of light to his left.</p> + +<p>The Throg ship had fired upon them. But the aliens could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +not have used the full force of their weapon or neither of the +Terrans would still be alive. Which meant, Shann's thoughts +began to make sense—sense which brought apprehension—the +Throgs probably intended to disable rather than kill. They +wanted prisoners, just as Thorvald had warned.</p> + +<p>How long did the Terrans have before the aliens would +come to collect them? There was no fit landing place hereabouts +for their flyer. The beetle-heads would have to set +down at the edge of the desert land and climb the mountains +on foot. And the Throgs were not good at that. So, the fugitives +still had a measure of time.</p> + +<p>Time to do what? The country itself held them securely +captive. That drop to the southwest was one barrier. To retreat +eastward would mean running straight into the hands +of the hunters. To descend again to the river, their raft gone, +was worse than useless. There was only this side pocket in +which they sheltered. And once the Throgs arrived, they +could scoop the Terrans out at their leisure, perhaps while +stunned by a controlling energy beam.</p> + +<p>"Taggi? Togi?" Shann was suddenly aware that he had +not heard the wolverines for some time.</p> + +<p>He was answered by a weirdly muffled call—from the +south! Had the animals found a new exit? Was this niche more +than just a niche? A cave of some length, or even a passage +running back into the interior of the peaks? With that faint +hope spurring him, Shann bent again over Thorvald, able +now to make out the other's huddled form. Then he drew +the torch from the inner loop of his coat and pressed the lowest +stud.</p> + +<p>His eyes smarted in answer to that light, watered until tears +patterned the grime and dust on his cheeks. But he could +make out what lay before them, a hole leading into the cliff +face, the hole which might furnish the door to escape.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer moved, levering himself up, his eyes +screwed tightly shut.</p> + +<p>"Lantee?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here. And there's a tunnel—right behind you. The wolverines +went that way...."</p> + +<p>To his surprise there was a thin ghost of a smile on Thorvald's +usually straight-lipped mouth. "And we'd better be +away before visitors arrive?"</p> + +<p>So he, too, must have thought his way through the sequence +of past action to the same conclusion concerning the +Throg movements.</p> + +<p>"Can you see, Lantee?" The question was painfully casual, +but a note in it, almost a reaching for reassurance, cut for the +first time through the wall which had stood between them +from their chance meeting by the wrecked ship.</p> + +<p>"Better now. I couldn't when I first came to," Shann answered +quickly.</p> + +<p>Thorvald opened his eyes, but Shann guessed that he was +as blind as he himself had been, He caught at the officer's +nearer hand, drawing it to rest on his own belt.</p> + +<p>"Grab hold!" Shann was giving the orders now. "By the +look of that opening we had better try crawling. I've a torch +on at low——"</p> + +<p>"Good enough." The other's fingers fumbled on the band +about Shann's slim waist until they gripped tight at his back. +He started on into the opening, drawing Thorvald by that +hold with him.</p> + +<p>Luckily, they did not have to crawl far, for shortly past +the entrance the fault or vein they were following became +a passage high enough for even the tall Thorvald to travel +without stooping. And then only a little later he released his +hold on Shann, reporting he could now see well enough to +manage on his own.</p> + +<p>The torch beam caught on a wall and awoke from there a +glitter which hurt their eyes—a green-gold cluster of crystals. +Several feet on, there was another flash of embedded crystals. +Those might promise priceless wealth, but neither Terran +paused to examine them more closely or touch their surfaces. +From time to time Shann whistled. And always he was answered +by the wolverines, their calls coming from ahead. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +the men continued to hope that they were not walking into a +trap from which the Throgs could extract them.</p> + +<p>"Snap off your torch a moment!" Thorvald ordered.</p> + +<p>Shann obeyed. The subdued light vanished. Yet there was +still light to be seen—ahead and above.</p> + +<p>"Front door," Thorvald observed. "How do we get up?"</p> + +<p>The torch showed them that, a narrow ladder of ledges +branching off when the passage they followed took a turn to +the left and east. Afterward Shann remembered that climb +with wonder that they had actually made it, though their +advance had been slow, passing the torch from one to another +to make sure of their footing.</p> + +<p>Shann was top man when a last spurt of effort enabled him +to draw himself out into the open, his hands raw, his nails +broken and torn. He sat there, stupefied with his own weariness, +to stare about.</p> + +<p>Thorvald called impatiently, and Shann reached for the +torch to hold it for the officer. Then Thorvald crawled out; +he, too, looked around in dull surprise.</p> + +<p>On either side, peaks cut high into the amber of the sky. +But this bowl in which the men had found refuge was rich in +growing things. Though the trees were stunted, the grass grew +almost as high here as it did on the meadows of the lowlands. +Quartering the pocket valley, galloped the wolverines, expressing +in that wild activity their delight in this freedom.</p> + +<p>"Good campsite."</p> + +<p>Thorvald shook his head. "We can't stay here."</p> + +<p>And, to underline that gloomy prophesy, there issued from +that hole through which they had just come, muffled and +broken, but still threatening, the howl of the Throgs' hound.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer caught the torch from Shann's hold +and knelt to flash it into the interior of the passage. As the +beam slowly circled that opening, he held out his other arm, +measuring the size of the aperture.</p> + +<p>"When that thing gets on a hot scent"—he snapped off +the beam—"the beetle-heads won't be able to control it. There +will be no reason for them to attempt to. Those hounds obey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +their first orders: kill—or capture. And I think this one operates +on 'capture.' So they'll loose it to run ahead of their party."</p> + +<p>"And we move to knock it out?" Shann relied now on the +other's experience.</p> + +<p>Thorvald rose. "It would need a blaster on full power to +finish off a hound. No, we can't kill it. But we can make it a +doorkeeper to our advantage." He trotted down into the valley, +Shann beside him without understanding in the least, but +aware that Thorvald did have some plan. The officer bent, +searched the ground, and began to pull from under the loose +surface dirt one of those nets of tough vines which they had +used for cords. He thrust a double handful of this hasty harvest +into Shann's hold with a single curt order: "Twist these +together and make as thick a rope as you can!"</p> + +<p>Shann twisted, discovering to his pleased surprise that +under pressure the vines exuded a sticky purple sap which not +only coated his hands, but also acted as an adhesive for the +vines themselves so that his task was not nearly as formidable +as it had first seemed. With his force ax Thorvald cut down +two of the stunted trees and stripped them of branches, wedging +the poles into the rocks about the entrance of the hole.</p> + +<p>They were working against time, but on Thorvald's part +with practiced efficiency. Twice more that cry of the hunter +arose from the depths behind them. As the westering sun, +almost down now, shone into the valley hollow Thorvald set +up the frame of his trap.</p> + +<p>"We can't knock it out, any more than we can knock out +a Throg. But a beam from a stunner ought to slow it up long +enough for this to work."</p> + +<p>Taggi burst out of the grass, approaching the hole with +purpose. And Togi was right at his heels. Both of them +stared into that opening, drooling a little, the same eagerness +in their pose as they had displayed when hunting. Shann +remembered how that first howl of the Throg hound had +drawn both animals to the edge of the occupied camp in +spite of their marked distaste for its alien masters.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They're after it too." He told Thorvald what he had noted +on the night of their sortie.</p> + +<p>"Maybe they can keep it occupied," the other commented. +"But we don't want them to actually mix with it; that might +be fatal."</p> + +<p>A clamor broke out in the interior passage. Taggi snarled, +backing away a few steps before he uttered his own war cry.</p> + +<p>"Ready!" Thorvald jumped to the net slung from the poles; +Shann raised his stunner.</p> + +<p>Togi underlined her mate's challenge with a series of snarls +rising in volume. There was a tearing, scrambling sound from +within. Then Shann fired at the jack-in-the-box appearance of +a monstrous head, and Thorvald released the deadfall.</p> + +<p>The thing squalled. Ropes beat, growing taut. The wolverines +backed from jaws which snapped fruitlessly. To Shann's +relief the Terran animals appeared content to bait the now +imprisoned—or collared—horror, without venturing to make +any close attack.</p> + +<p>But he reckoned that too soon. Perhaps the stunner had +slowed up the hound's reflexes, for those jaws stilled with a +last shattering snap, the toad-lizard mask—a head which was +against all nature as the Terrans knew it—was quiet in the +strangle leash of the rope, the rest of the body serving as a +cork to fill the exit hole. Taggi had been waiting only for such +a chance. He sprang, claws ready. And Togi went in after her +mate to share the battle.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="UNWELCOME_GUIDE" id="UNWELCOME_GUIDE"></a>7. UNWELCOME GUIDE</h2> + + +<p>There was a small eruption of earth and stone as the hound +came alive, fighting to reach its tormentors. The resulting din +was deafening. Shann, avoiding by a hand's breadth a snap +of jaws with power to crush his leg into bone powder and +mangled flesh, cuffed Togi across her nose and buried his +hands in the fur about Taggi's throat as he heaved the male +wolverine back from the struggling monster. He shouted orders, +and to his surprise Togi did obey, leaving him free to +yank Taggi away. Perhaps neither wolverine had expected the +full fury of the hound.</p> + +<p>Though he suffered a slash across the back of one hand, +delivered by the over-excited Taggi, in the end Shann was +able to get both animals away from the hole, now corked so +effectively by the slavering thing. Thorvald was actually +laughing as he watched his younger companion in action.</p> + +<p>"This ought to slow up the beetles! If they haul their little +doggie back, it's apt to take out some of its rage on them, and +I'd like to see them dig around it."</p> + +<p>Considering that the monstrous head was swinging from +side to side in a collar of what seemed to be immovable rocks, +Shann thought Thorvald right. He went down on his knees +beside the wolverines, soothing them with hand and voice, +trying to get them to obey his orders willingly.</p> + +<p>"Ha!" Thorvald brought his mud-stained hands together +with a clap, the sharp sound attracting the attention of both +animals.</p> + +<p>Shann scrambled up, swung out his bleeding hand in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +simple motion which meant to hunt, being careful to signal +down the valley westward. Taggi gave a last reluctant +growl at the hound, to be answered by one of its ear-torturing +howls, and then trotted off, Togi tagging behind.</p> + +<p>Thorvald caught Shann's slashed hand, inspecting the +bleeding cut. From the aid packet at his belt he brought out +powder and a strip of protecting plasta-flesh to cleanse and +bind the wound.</p> + +<p>"You'll do," he commented. "But we'd better get out of +here before full dark."</p> + +<p>The small paradise of the valley was no safe campsite. It +could not be so long as that monstrosity on the hillside +behind them roared and howled its rage to the darkening sky. +Trailing the wolverines, the men caught up with the animals +drinking from a small spring and thankfully shared that +water. Then they pushed on, not able to forget that somewhere +in the peaks about must lurk the Throg flyer ready to +attack on sight.</p> + +<p>Only darkness could not be held off by the will of men. +Here in the open there was no chance to use the torch. As +long as they were within the valley boundaries the phosphorescent +bushes marked a path. But by the coming of +complete darkness they were once more out in a region of +bare rock.</p> + +<p>The wolverines had killed a brace of skitterers, consuming +hide and soft bones as well as the meager flesh which was +not enough to satisfy their hunger. However, to Shann's relief, +they did not wander too far ahead. And as the men stopped +at last on a ledge where a fall of rock gave them some limited +shelter both animals crowded in against the humans, adding +the heat of their bodies to the slight comfort of that cramped +resting place.</p> + +<p>From time to time Shann was startled out of a troubled +half sleep by the howl of the hound. Luckily that sound never +seemed any louder. If the Throgs had caught up with their +hunter, and certainly they must have done so by now, they +either could not, or would not free it from the trap. Shann<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +dozed again, untroubled by any dreams, to awake hearing +the shrieks of clak-claks. But when he studied the sky he was +able to sight none of the cliff-dwelling Warlockian bats.</p> + +<p>"More likely they are paying attention to our friend back +in the valley," Thorvald said dryly, rightly reading Shann's +glance to the clouds overhead. "Ought to keep them busy."</p> + +<p>Clak-claks were meat eaters, only they preferred their +chosen prey weak and easy to attack. The imprisoned hound +would certainly attract their kind. And those shrill cries now +belling through the mountain heights ought to draw everyone +of their species within miles.</p> + +<p>"There it is!" Thorvald, pulling himself to his feet by a rock +handhold, gazed westward, his gaunt face eager.</p> + +<p>Shann, expecting no less than a cruising Throg ship, +searched for cover on their perch. Perhaps if they flattened +themselves behind the fall of stones, they might be able to +escape attention. Yet Thorvald made no move into hiding. +And so Shann followed the line of the other's fixed stare.</p> + +<p>Before and below them lay a maze of heights and valleys, +sharp drops, and saw-toothed rises. But on the far rim of that +section of badlands shone the green of a Warlockian sea +rippling on to the only dimly seen horizon. They were now +within sight of their goal.</p> + +<p>Had they had one of the exploration sky-flitters from the +overrun camp, they could have walked its beach sands within +the hour. Instead, they fought their way through a Devil-designed +country for the next two days. Twice they had +narrow escapes from the Throg ship—or ships—which continued +to sweep across the rugged line of the coast, and only +a quick dive to cover, wasting precious time cowering like +trapped animals, saved them from discovery. But at least the +hound did not bay again on the tangled trail they left, and +they hoped that the trap and the clak-claks had put that +monster permanently out of service.</p> + +<p>On the third day they came down to one of those fiords +which tongued inland, fringing the coast. There had been no +lack of hunting in the narrow valleys through which they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +had threaded, so both men and wolverines were well fed. +Though animal fur wore better than the now tattered uniforms +of the men.</p> + +<p>"Now where?" Shann asked.</p> + +<p>Would he now learn the purpose driving Thorvald on to +this coastland? Certainly such broken country afforded good +hiding, but no better concealment than the mountains of the +interior.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer turned slowly around on the shingle, +studying the heights behind them as well as the angle of +the inlet where the wavelets lapped almost at their battered +boot tips. Opening his treasured map case, he began a patient +checking of landmarks against several of the strips he carried. +"We'll have to get on down to the true coast."</p> + +<p>Shann leaned against the trunk of a conical branched +mountain tree, pulling absently at the shreds of wine-colored +bark being shed in seasonal change. The chill they +had known in the upper valleys was succeeded here by a +humid warmth. Spring was becoming a summer such as this +northern continent knew. Even the fresh wind, blowing in +from the outer sea, had already lost some of the bite they had +felt two days before when its salt-laden mistiness had first +struck them.</p> + +<p>"Then what do we do there?" Shann persisted.</p> + +<p>Thorvald brought over the map, his black-rimmed nail +tracing a route down one of the fiords, slanting out to indicate +a lace of islands extending in a beaded line across the sea.</p> + +<p>"We head for these."</p> + +<p>To Shann that made no sense at all. Those islands ... why, +they would offer less chance of establishing a safe base than +the broken land in which they now stood. Even the survey +scouts had given those spots of sea-encircled earth the most +cursory examination from the air.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked bluntly. So far he had followed orders +because they had for the most part made sense. But he was +not giving obedience to Thorvald as a matter of rank alone.</p> + +<p>"Because there is something out there, something which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +may make all the difference now. Warlock isn't an empty +world."</p> + +<p>Shann jerked free a long thong of loose bark, rolling it +between his fingers. Had Thorvald cracked? He knew that +the officer had disagreed with the findings of the team and +had been an unconvinced minority of one who had refused +to subscribe to the report that Warlock had no native intelligent +life and therefore was ready and waiting for human +settlement because it was technically an empty world. But +to continue to cling to that belief without a single concrete +proof was certainly a sign of mental imbalance.</p> + +<p>And Thorvald was regarding him now with frowning impatience. +You were supposed to humor delusions, weren't +you? Only, could you surrender and humor a wild idea which +might mean your death? If Thorvald wanted to go island-hopping +in chance of discovering what never had existed, +Shann need not accompany him. And if the officer tried to +use force, well, Shann was armed with a stunner, and had, he +believed, more control over the wolverines. Perhaps if he +merely gave lip agreement to this project.... Only he didn't +believe, noting the light deep in those gray eyes holding on +him, that anybody could talk Thorvald out of this particular +obsession.</p> + +<p>"You don't believe me, do you?" The impatience arose hotly +in that demand.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I?" Shann tried to temporize. "You've had +a lot of exploration experience; you should know about such +things. I don't pretend to be any authority."</p> + +<p>Thorvald refolded the map and placed it in the case. Then +he pulled at the sealing of his blouse, groping in an inner +secret pocket. He uncurled his fingers to display his treasure.</p> + +<p>On his palm lay a coin-shaped medallion, bone-white but +possessing an odd luster which bone would not normally +show. And it was carved. Shann put out a finger, though he +had a strange reluctance to touch the object. When he did he +experienced a sensation close to the tingle of a mild electric<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +shock. And once he had made that contact, he was also impelled +to pick up that disk and examine it more closely.</p> + +<p>The carved pattern was very intricate and had been done +with great delicacy and skill, though the whorls, oddly shaped +knobs, ribbon tracings, made no connected design he could +determine. After a moment or two of study, Shann became +aware that his eyes, following those twists and twirls, were +"fixed," that it required a distinct effort to look away from the +thing. Feeling some of that same alarm as he had known +when he first heard the wailing of the Throg hound, he let +the disk fall back into <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'Thorfald'">Thorvald</ins>'s hold, even more disturbed +when he discovered that to relinquish his grasp required some +exercise of will.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald restored the coin to his hiding place.</p> + +<p>"You tell me. I can say this much, there is no listing for +anything even remotely akin to this in the Archives."</p> + +<p>Shann's eyes widened. He absently rubbed the fingers +which had held the bone coin—if it was a coin—back and +forth across the torn front of his blouse. That tingle ... did he +still feel it? Or was his imagination at work again? But an +object not listed in the exhaustive Survey Archives would +mean some totally new civilization, a new stellar race.</p> + +<p>"It is definitely a created article," the Survey officer continued. +"And it was found on the beach of one of those sea +islands."</p> + +<p>"Throg?" But Shann already knew the answer to that.</p> + +<p>"Throg work—<i>this</i>?" Thorvald was openly scornful. "Throgs +have no conception of such art. You must have seen their +metal plates—those are the beetle-heads' idea of beauty. Have +those the slightest resemblance to this?"</p> + +<p>"Then who made it?"</p> + +<p>"Either Warlock has—or once had—a native race advanced +enough in a well-established form of civilization to develop +such a sophisticated type of art, or there have been other +visitors from space here before us and the Throgs. And the +latter possibility I don't believe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>——"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because this was carved of bone or an allied substance. +We haven't been quite able to identify it in the labs, but it is +basically organic material. It was found exposed to the +weather and yet it is in perfect condition, could have been +carved any time within the past five years. It has been +handled, yes, but not roughly. And we have come across evidences +of no other star-cruising races or species save ourselves +and the Throgs. No, I say this was made here on Warlock, not +too long ago, and by intelligent beings of a very high grade +of civilization."</p> + +<p>"But they would have cities," protested Shann. "We've +been here for months, explored all over this continent. We +would have seen them or some traces of them."</p> + +<p>"An old race, maybe," Thorvald mused, "a very old race, +perhaps in decline, reduced to a remnant in numbers with +good reason to retire into hiding. No, we've discovered no +cities, no evidence of a native culture past or present. But +this—" he touched the front of his blouse—"was found on the +shore of an island. We may have been looking in the wrong +place for our natives."</p> + +<p>"The sea...." Shann glanced with new interest at the +green water surging in wavelets along the edge of the fiord.</p> + +<p>"Just so, the sea!"</p> + +<p>"But scouts have been here for more than a year, one +team or another. And nobody saw anything or found any +traces."</p> + +<p>"All four of our base camps were set inland, our explorations +along the coast were mainly carried out by flitter, except +for one party—the one which found this. And there may +be excellent local reasons why any native never showed himself +to us. For that matter, they may not be able to exist on +land at all, any more than we could live without artificial +aids in the sea."</p> + +<p>"Now——?"</p> + +<p>"Now we must make a real attempt to find them if they do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +exist anywhere near here. A friendly native race could make +all the difference in the world in any struggle with the +Throgs."</p> + +<p>"Then you did have more than the dreams to back you +when you argued with Fenniston!" Shann cut in.</p> + +<p>Thorvald's eyes were on him again. "When did you hear +that, Lantee?"</p> + +<p>To his great embarrassment, Shann found himself flushing. +"I heard you, the day you left for Headquarters," he admitted, +and then added in his own defense, "Probably half the +camp did, too."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's gathering frown flickered away. He gave a +snort of laughter. "Yes, I guess we did rather get to the +bellowing point that morning. The dreams——" he came back +to the subject—"Yes, the dreams were—are—important. We +had their warning from the start. Lorry was the First-In Scout +who charted Warlock, and he is a good man. I guess I can +break secret now to tell you that his ship was equipped with +a new experimental device which recorded—well, you might +call it an "emanation"—a radiation so faint its source could +not be traced. And it registered whenever Lorry had one of +those dreams. Unfortunately, the machine was very new, very +much in the untested stage, and its performance when +checked later in the lab was erratic enough so the powers-that-be +questioned all its readings. They produced a half dozen +answers to account for that tape, and Lorry only caught the +recording as long as he was on a big bay to the south.</p> + +<p>"Then when two check flights came in later, carrying perfected +machines and getting no recordings, it was all written +off as a mistake in the first experiment. A planet such as Warlock +is too big a find to throw away when there was no proof +of occupancy. And the settlement boys rushed matters right +along."</p> + +<p>Shann recalled his own vivid dream of the skull-rock set +in the lap of water—this sea? And another small point fell into +place to furnish the beginning of a pattern. "I was asleep on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +the raft when I dreamed about that skullmountain," he said +slowly, wondering if he were making sense.</p> + +<p>Thorvald's head came up with the alert stance of Taggi +on a strong game scent.</p> + +<p>"Yes, on the raft you dreamed of a skull-rock. And I of a +cavern with a green veil. Both of us were on water—water +which had an eventual connection with the sea. Could water +be a conductor? I wonder...." Once again his hand went into +his blouse. He crossed the strip of gravel beach and dipped +fingers into the water, letting the drops fall on the carved disk +he now held in his other hand.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" Shann could see no purpose in that.</p> + +<p>Thorvald did not answer. He had pressed wet hand to dry +now, palm to palm, the coin cupped tightly between them. +He turned a quarter circle, to face the still distant open sea.</p> + +<p>"That way." He spoke with a new odd tonelessness.</p> + +<p>Shann stared into the other's face. All the eager alertness +of only a moment earlier had been wiped away. Thorvald was +no longer the man he had known, but in some frightening +way a husk, holding a quite different personality. The younger +Terran answered his fear with an attack from the old days of +rough in-fighting in the Dumps of Tyr. He brought his right +hand down hard in a sharp chop across the officer's wrists. +The bone coin spun to the sand and Thorvald stumbled, staggering +forward a step or two. Before he could recover balance +Shann had stamped on the medallion.</p> + +<p>Thorvald whirled, his stunner drawn with a speed for +which Shann gave him high marks. But the younger man's +own weapon was already out and ready. And he talked—fast.</p> + +<p>"That thing's dangerous! What did you do—what did it +do to you?"</p> + +<p>His demand got through to a Thorvald who was himself +again.</p> + +<p>"What was <i>I</i> doing?" came a counter demand.</p> + +<p>"You were acting like a mind-controlled."</p> + +<p>Thorvald stared at him incredulously, then with a growing +spark of interest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The minute you dripped water on that thing you changed," +Shann continued.</p> + +<p>Thorvald reholstered his stunner. "Yes," he mused, "why +<i>did</i> I want to drip water on it? Something prompted me...." +He ran his still damp hand up the angle of his jaw, across his +forehead as if to relieve some pain there. "What else did I +do?"</p> + +<p>"Faced to the sea and said 'that way,'" Shann replied +promptly.</p> + +<p>"And why did you move in to stop me?"</p> + +<p>Shann shrugged. "When I first touched that thing I felt a +shock. And I've seen mind-controlled——" He could have bitten +his tongue for betraying that. The world of the mind-controlled +was very far from the life Thorvald and his kind knew.</p> + +<p>"Very interesting," commented the other. "For one of so +few years you seem to have seen a lot, Lantee—and apparently +remembered most of it. But I would agree that you +are right about this little plaything; it carries a danger with +it, being far less innocent than it looks." He tore off one of the +fluttering scraps of rag which now made up his sleeve. "If +you'll just remove your foot, we'll put it out of business for +now."</p> + +<p>He proceeded to wrap the disk well in his bit of cloth, +taking care not to touch it again with his bare fingers while +he stowed it away.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what we have in this—a key to unlock a +door, a trap to catch the unwary. I can't guess how or why +it works. But we can be reasonably sure it's not just some +carefree maiden's locket, nor the equivalent of a credit to +spend in the nearest bar. So it pointed me to the sea, did it? +Well, that much I am willing to allow. Maybe we'll be able +to return it to the owner, <i>after</i> we learn who—or what—that +owner is."</p> + +<p>Shann gazed down at the green water, opaque, not to be +pierced to the depths by human sight. Anything might lurk +there. Suddenly the Throgs became normal when balanced +against an unknown living in the murky depths of an aquatic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +world. Another attack on the Throg-held camp could be well +preferred to such exploration as Thorvald had in mind. Yet +Shann did not voice any protest as the Survey officer faced +again in the same direction as the disk had pointed him moments +before.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="UTGARD" id="UTGARD"></a>8. UTGARD</h2> + + +<p>A wind from the west sprang up an hour before sunset, lashing +waves inland until their spray was a salt mist in the air, +a mist to sodden clothing, plaster hair to the skull, leaving a +brine slime across the skin. Yet Thorvald hunted no shelter, in +spite of the promise in the rough shoreline at their backs. The +sand in which their boots slipped and slid was coarse stuff, +hardly finer than gravel, studded with nests of drift—bone-white +or grayed or pale lavender—smoothed and stored by +the seasons of low tides and high, seasonal storms and hurricanes. +A wild shore and a forbidding one, to arouse Shann's +distrust, perhaps a fitting goal for that disk's guiding.</p> + +<p>Shann had tasted loneliness in the mountains, experienced +the strange world of the river at night lighted by the +wan radiance of glowing shrubs and plants, forced the starkness +of the heights. Yet there had been through all that journeying +a general resemblance to his own past on other worlds. +A tree was a tree, whether it bore purple foliage or was red-veined. +A rock was a rock, a river a river. They were equally +hard and wet on Warlock or Tyr.</p> + +<p>But now a veil he could not describe, even in his own +thoughts, hung between him and the sand over which he +walked, between him and the sea which sent spray to wet +his torn clothing, between him and that wild wrack of long-ago +storms. He could put out his hand and touch sand, drift, +spray; yet they were a setting where something lay hidden +behind that setting—something watched, calculatingly, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +intelligence, and a set of emotions and values he did not, could +not share.</p> + +<p>"... storm coming." Thorvald paused in the buffeting of +wind and spray, watching the fury of the tossing sea. The sun +was still a pale smear just above the horizon. And it gave +light enough to make out that trickle of islands melting out to +obscurity.</p> + +<p>"Utgard——"</p> + +<p>"Utgard?" Shann repeated, the strange word holding no +meaning for him.</p> + +<p>"Legend of my people." Thorvald smeared spray from his +face with one hand. "Utgard, those outermost islands where +dwell the giants who are the mortal enemies of the old gods."</p> + +<p>Those dark lumps, most of them bare rock, only a few +crowned with stunted vegetation, might well harbor <i>anything</i>, +Shann decided, giants or the malignant spirits of any +race. Perhaps even the Throgs had their tales of evil things in +the night, beetle monsters to people wild, unknown lands. He +caught at Thorvald's arm and suggested a practical course of +action.</p> + +<p>"We'll need shelter before the storm strikes." To Shann's +relief the other nodded.</p> + +<p>They trailed back across the beach, their backs now to the +sea and Utgard. That harsh-sounding name did so well fit +the line of islands and islets, Shann repeated it to himself. +Here the beach was narrow, a strip of blue sand-gravel walled +by wave-worn boulders. And from that barrier of stones piled +into a breastwork by chance, interwoven with bone-bare drift, +arose the first of the cliffs. Shann studied the terrain with increasing +uneasiness. To be caught between a sea, whipped +inland by a storm wind, and that cliff would be a risk he did +not like to consider, as ignorant of field lore as he was. They +must locate some break nearer than the fiord, down which +they had come. And they must find it soon, before the daylight +was gone and the full fury of bad weather struck.</p> + +<p>In the end the wolverines discovered an exit, just as they +had found the passage through the mountain. Taggi nosed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +into a darker line down the face of the cliff and disappeared, +Togi duplicating that feat. Shann trailed them, finding the +opening a tight squeeze.</p> + +<p>He squirmed into dimness, his outstretched hands meeting +a rough stone surface sloping upward. After gaining a point +about eight feet above the beach he was able to look back and +down through the seaward slit. Open to the sky the crevice +proved a doorway to a narrow valley, not unlike those which +housed the fiords, but provided with a thick growth of vegetation +well protected by the high walls.</p> + +<p>Working as a now well-rehearsed team, the men set up +a shelter of saplings and brush, the back to the slit through +which wind was still able to tear a way. Walled in by +stone and knowing that no Throg flyer would attempt to fly +in the face of the coming storm, they dared make a fire. The +warmth was a comfort to their bodies, just as the light of the +flames, men's age-old hearth companion, was a comfort to the +fugitives' spirits. Those dancing spears of red, for Shann at +least, burned away that veil of other-worldliness which had +enwrapped the beach, providing in the night an illusion of +the home he had never really known.</p> + +<p>But the wind and the weather did not keep truce very long. +A wailing blast around the upper peaks produced a caterwauling +to equal the voices of half a dozen Throg hounds. +And in their poor shelter the Terrans not only heard the thunderous +boom of surf, but felt the vibration of that beat pounding +through the very ground on which they lay. The sea must +have long since covered the beach over which they had +come and was now trying its strength against the rock of the +cliff barrier. They could not talk to each other over that din, +although shoulder touched shoulder.</p> + +<p>The last flush of amber vanished from the sky with the +speed of a dropped curtain. Tonight no period of twilight +divided night from day, but their portion of Warlock was +plunged abruptly into darkness. The wolverines crowded +into their small haven, whining deep in their throats. Shann +ran his hands along their furred bodies, trying to give them a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +reassurance he himself did not feel. Never before when on +stable land had he been so aware of the unleashed terrors +nature could exert, the forces against which all mankind's +controls were as nothing.</p> + +<p>Time could no longer be measured by any set of minutes +or hours. There was only darkness, the howling winds, and +the salty rain which must be in part the breath of the sea +driven in upon them. The comforting fire vanished, chill and +dankness crept up to cramp their bodies, so that now and +again they were forced to their feet, to swing arms, stamp, +drive the blood into faster circulation.</p> + +<p>Later came a time when the wind died, no longer driving +the rain bullet-hard against and through their flimsy shelter. +Then they slept in the thick unconsciousness of exhaustion.</p> + +<p>A red-purple skull—and from its eye sockets the flying +things—kept coming ... going.... Shann trod on an unsteady +foundation which dipped under his weight as had the +raft of the river voyage. He was drawing nearer to that great +head, could see now how waves curled about the angle of +the lower jaw, slapping inward between gaps of missing teeth—which +were really broken fangs of rock—as if the skull now +and then sucked reviving moisture from the water. The aperture +marking the nose was closer to a snout, and the hole +was dark, dark as the empty eye sockets. Yet that darkness +was drawing him past any effort to escape he could summon. +And then that on which he rode so perilously was carried forward +by the waves, grated against the jawbone, while against +his own fighting will his hands arose above his head, reaching +for a hold to draw his shrinking body up the stark surface to +that snout-passage.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!" A hand jerked him back, broke that compulsion—and +the dream. Shann opened his eyes with difficulty, his +lashes seemed glued to his cheeks.</p> + +<p>He might have been surveying a submerged world. Thin +streamers of fog twined up from the earth as if they grew +from seeds planted by the storm. But there was no wind, no +sound from the peaks. Only under his stiff body Shann could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +still feel that vibration which was the sea battering against +the cliff wall.</p> + +<p>Thorvald was crouched beside him, his hand still urgent +on the younger man's shoulder. The officer's face was drawn +so finely that his features, sharp under the tanned skin, were +akin to the skull Shann still half saw among the ascending +pillars of fog.</p> + +<p>"Storm's over."</p> + +<p>Shann shivered as he sat up, hugging his arms to his chest, +his tattered uniform soggy under that pressure. He felt as if +he would never be warm again. When he moved sluggishly to +the pit where they had kindled their handful of fire the night +before he realized that the wolverines were missing.</p> + +<p>"Taggi——?" His voice sounded rusty in his own ears, as if +some of the moisture thick in the air about them had affected +his vocal cords.</p> + +<p>"Hunting." Thorvald's answer was clipped. He was gathering +a handful of sticks from the back of their lean-to, where +the protection of their own bodies had kept that kindling dry. +Shann snapped a length between his hands, dropped it into +the pit.</p> + +<p>When they did coax a blaze into being they stripped, +wringing out their clothing, propping it piece by steaming +piece on sticks by the warmth of the flames. The moist air bit +at their bodies and they moved briskly, striving to keep warm +by exercise. Still the fog curled, undisturbed by any shaft of +sun.</p> + +<p>"Did you dream?" Thorvald asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Yes." Shann did not elaborate. Disturbing as his dream +had been, the feeling that it was not to be shared was also +strong, as strong as some order.</p> + +<p>"And so did I," Thorvald said bleakly. "You saw your +skull-mountain?"</p> + +<p>"I was climbing it when you awoke me," Shann returned +unwillingly.</p> + +<p>"And I was going through my green veil when Taggi took +off and wakened me. You are sure your skull exists?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And so am I that the cavern of the veil is somewhere on +this world. But why?" Thorvald stood up, the firelight marking +plainly the lines between his tanned arms, his brown face and +throat, and the paleness of his lean body. "Why do we dream +those particular dreams?"</p> + +<p>Shann tested the dryness of a shirt. He had no reason to +try and explain the wherefore of those dreams, only was he +certain that he would sometime, somewhere, find that skull, +and that when he did he would climb to the doorway of the +snout, pass behind to depths where the flying things might +nest—not because he wanted to make such an expedition, +but because he must.</p> + +<p>He drew his hands across his ribs, where pressure still +brought an aching reminder of the crushing force of the +energy whip the Throgs had wielded. There was no extra +flesh on his body, yet muscles slid easily under the skin, a +darker skin than Thorvald's, deepening to a warm brown +where it had been weathered. His hair, unclipped now for a +month, was beginning to curl about his head in tight dark +rings. Since he had always been the youngest or the smallest +or the weakest in the world of the Dumps, of the Service, +of the Team, Shann had very little personal vanity. He did +possess a different type of pride, born of his own stubborn +achievement in winning out over a long roster of discouragements, +failures, and adverse odds.</p> + +<p>"Why do we dream?" he repeated Thorvald's question. "No +answer, sir." He gave the traditional reply of the Service recruit. +And a little to his surprise Thorvald laughed with a +tinge of real amusement.</p> + +<p>"Where do you come from, Lantee?" He asked as if he were +honestly interested.</p> + +<p>"Tyr."</p> + +<p>"Caldon mines." The Survey officer automatically matched +planet to product. "How did you come into Survey?"</p> + +<p>Shann drew on his shirt. "Signed on as casual labor," he +returned with a spark of defiance. Thorvald had joined the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +Service the right way as a cadet, then a Team man, finally an +officer, climbing that nice even ladder with every rung ready +for him when he was prepared to mount it. What did his kind +know about the labor Barracks where the dull-minded, the +failures, the petty criminals on the run, lived hard under a +secret social system of their own? It had taken every bit of +physical endurance and energy, every fraction of stubborn +will Shann could summon, for him to survive his first three +months in those barracks—unbroken and still eager to be +Survey. He could still wonder at the unbelievable chance +which had rescued him from that merely because Training +Center had needed another odd hand to clean cages and feed +troughs for the experimental animals.</p> + +<p>And from the center he made a Team, because when +working in a smaller group his push and attention to duty had +been noticed and had paid off. Three years it had taken, but +he <i>had</i> made Team stature. Not that that meant anything +now. Shann pulled his boots on over the legs of rough dried +coveralls and glanced up, to find Thorvald watching him with +a new, questioning directness the younger man could not +understand.</p> + +<p>Shann sealed his blouse and stood up, knowing the bite of +hunger, dull but persistent. It was a feeling he had had so +many times in the past that now he hardly gave it a second +thought.</p> + +<p>"Supplies?" He brought the subject back to the present and +the practical. What did it matter why or how one Shann +Lantee had come to Warlock in the first place?</p> + +<p>"What we have left of the concentrates we had better keep +for emergencies." Thorvald made no move to open the very +shrunken bag he had brought from the scoutship.</p> + +<p>He walked over to a rocky outcrop and tugged loose a +yellowish tuft of plant, neither moss nor fungi but sharing attributes +of both. Shann recognized it without enthusiasm as +one of the varieties of native produce which could be safely +digested by Terran stomachs. The stuff was almost tasteless +and possessed a rather unpleasant odor. Consumed in bulk it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +would satisfy hunger for a time. Shann hoped that with the +wolverines to aid they could go back to hunting soon.</p> + +<p>However, Thorvald showed no desire to head inland where +they might expect to locate game. He disagreed with Shann's +suggestion for tracking Taggi and Togi when those two +emerged from the underbrush obviously well fed and contented +after their early morning activity.</p> + +<p>When Shann protested with some heat, the other countered: +"Didn't you ever hear of fish, Lantee? After a storm such as +last night's, we ought to discover good pickings along the +shore."</p> + +<p>But Shann was also sure that it was not only the thought +of food which drew Thorvald back to the sea.</p> + +<p>They crawled back through the bolt hole. The beach of +gravel-sand had vanished save for a narrow ribbon of land +just at the foot of the cliffs, where the water curled in white +lace about the barrier of boulders. There was no change +in the dullness of the sky; no sun broke through the thick lid +of clouds. And the green of the sea was ashened to gray which +matched that overcast until one could strain one's eyes trying +to find the horizon, unable to mark the dividing line here +between air and water.</p> + +<p>Utgard was a broken necklace, the outermost island-beads +lost, the inner ones more isolated by the rise in water, more +forbidding. Shann let out a startled hiss of breath.</p> + +<p>The top of a near-by rock detached itself, drew up into a +hunched thing of armor-plated scales and heavy wide-jawed +head. A tail cracked into the air; a double tail split into +equal forks for half-way down its length. A leg lifted as a +forefoot, webbed, clawed for a new hold. This sea beast was +the most formidable native thing he had sighted on Warlock, +approaching in its ugliness the hound of the Throgs.</p> + +<p>Breathing in labored gusts, the thing slapped its tail down +on the stones with a limpness which suggested that the raising +of that appendage had overtaxed its limited supply of strength. +The head sank forward, resting across one of the forelimbs. +Then Shann sighted the fearsome wound in the side just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +before one of the larger hind legs, a ragged hole through +which pumped with every one of those breaths a dark purplish +stream, licked away by the waves as it trickled slickly +down the rock.</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald shook his head. "Not on our records," he replied +absently, studying the dying creature with avid attention. +"Must have been driven in by the storm. This proves there is +more in the sea then we knew!"</p> + +<p>Again the forked tail lifted and fell, the head, raised from +the forelimb, stretching up and back until the white underfolds +of the throat were exposed as the snout pointed almost +vertically to the sky. The jaws opened and from between them +came a moaning whistle, a complaint which was drowned +out by the wash of the waves. Then, as if that was the last +effort, the webbed, clawed feet relaxed their grip of the rock +and the scaled body slid sidewise, out of their sight, into the +water. There was a feather of spume to mark the plunge and +nothing else.</p> + +<p>Shann, watching to see if the reptile would surface again, +sighted another object, a rounded shape floating on the sea, +bobbing lightly as had their river raft.</p> + +<p>"Look!"</p> + +<p>Thorvald's gaze followed his pointing finger and then before +Shann could protest, the officer leaped outward from their +perch on the cliff to the broad rock where the scaled sea +dweller had lain moments earlier. He stood there, watching +that drifting object with the closest attention, as Shann made +the same crossing in his wake.</p> + +<p>The drifting thing was oval, perhaps some six feet long and +three wide, the mid point rising in a curve from the water's +edge. As far as Shann could make out in the half-light the +color was a reddish-brown, the surface rough. And he thought +by the way that it moved that it must be flotsam of the storm, +buoyant enough to ride the waves with close to cork resiliency. +To Shann's dismay his companion began to strip.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Get that."</p> + +<p>Shann surveyed the water about the rock. The forked tail +had sunk just there. Was the Survey officer mad enough to +think he could swim unmenaced through a sea which might +be infested with more such creatures? It seemed that he was, +for Thorvald's white body arched out in a dive. Shann waited, +half crouched and tense, as though he could in some way +attack anything rising from the depths to strike at his companion.</p> + +<p>A brown arm flashed above the surface. Thorvald swam +strongly toward the floating object. He reached it, his outstretched +hand rasping across the surface. And it responded +so quickly to that touch that Shann guessed it was even +lighter and easier to handle than he had first thought.</p> + +<p>Thorvald headed back, herding the thing before him. And +when he climbed out on the rock, Shann was pulling up his +trophy. They flipped the find over, to discover it hollow. They +had, in effect, a ready-made craft not unlike a canoe with +blunted bows. But the substance was surely organic: Was it +shell? Shann speculated, running his finger tips over the irregular +surface.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer dressed. "We have our boat," he commented. +"Now for Utgard——"</p> + +<p>Use this frail thing to dare the trip to the islands? But +Shann did not protest. If the officer determined to try such a +voyage, he would do it. And neither did the younger man +doubt that he would accompany Thorvald.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ONE_ALONE" id="ONE_ALONE"></a>9. ONE ALONE</h2> + + +<p>Once again the beach was a wide expanse of shingle, drying +fast under a sun hotter than any Shann had yet known on +Warlock. Summer had taken a big leap forward. The Terrans +worked in partial shade below a cliff <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'overhand'">overhang</ins>, not only for +the protection against the sun's rays, but also as a precaution +against any roving Throg air patrol.</p> + +<p>Under Thorvald's direction the curious shell dragged from +the sea—if it were a shell, and the texture as well as the +general shape suggested that—was equipped with a framework +to act as a stabilizing outrigger. What resulted was +certainly an odd-looking craft, but one which obeyed the +paddles and rode the waves easily.</p> + +<p>In the full sunlight the outline of islands was clear-cut—red-and-gray-rock +above an aquamarine sea. The Terrans had +sighted no more of the sea monsters, and the major evidence +of native life along the shore was a new species of clak-claks, +roosting in cliff holes and scavenging along the sands, and +various queer fish and shelled things stranded in small tide +pools—to the delight of the wolverines, who fished eagerly up +and down the beach, ready to investigate all debris of the +storm.</p> + +<p>"That should serve." Thorvald tightened the last lashing, +straightening up, his fists resting on his hips, to regard the +craft with a measure of pride.</p> + +<p>Shann was not quite so content. He had matched the Survey +officer in industry, but the need for haste still eluded him. +So the ship—such as it was—was ready. Now they would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +off to explore Thorvald's Utgard. But a small and nagging +doubt inside the younger man restrained his enthusiasm over +such a voyage. Fork-tail had come out of the section of ocean +which they must navigate in this very crude transport. And +Shann had no desire to meet an uninjured and alert fork-tail +in the latter's own territory.</p> + +<p>"Which island do we head for?" Shann kept private his +personal doubts of their success. The outmost tip of that chain +was only a distant smudge lying low on the water.</p> + +<p>"The largest ... that one with trees."</p> + +<p>Shann whistled. Since the night of the storm the wolverines +were again more amenable to the very light discipline +he tried to keep. Perhaps the fury of that elemental burst had +tightened the bond between men and animals, both alien to +this world. Now Taggi and his mate padded toward him in +answer to his summons. But would the wolverines trust the +boat? Shann dared not risk their swimming, nor would he +agree to leaving them behind.</p> + +<p>Thorvald had already stored their few provisions on board. +And now Shann steadied the craft against a rock which +served them as a wharf, while he coaxed Taggi gently. Though +the wolverine protested, he at last scrambled in, to hunch at +the bottom of the shell, the picture of apprehension. Togi <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'look'">took</ins> +longer to make up her mind. And at length Shann picked +her up bodily, soothing her with quiet speech and stroking +hands, to put her beside her mate.</p> + +<p>The shell settled under the weight of the passengers, but +Thorvald's foresight concerning the use of the outrigger +proved right, for the craft was seaworthy. It answered readily +to the dip of their paddles as they headed in a curve, keeping +the first of the islands between them and the open sea for a +breakwater.</p> + +<p>From the air, Thorvald's course would have been a crooked +one, for he wove back and forth between the scattered islands +of the chain, using their lee calm for the protection of the +canoe. About two thirds of the group were barren rock, inhabited +only by clak-claks and creatures closer to true Terran<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +birds in that they wore a body plumage which resembled +feathers, though their heads were naked and leathery. And, +Shann noted, the clak-claks and the birds did not roost on +the same islands, each choosing their own particular home +while the other species did not invade that territory.</p> + +<p>The first large-sized island they approached was crowned +by trees, but it had no beach, no approach from sea level. +Perhaps it might be possible to climb to the top of the cliff +walls. But Thorvald did not suggest that they try it, heading +on toward the next large outcrop of land and rock.</p> + +<p>Here white lace patterned in a ring well out from the +shore to mark a circle of reefs. They nosed their way patiently +around the outer circumference of that threatening barrier, +hunting the entrance to the lagoon. Within, there were at +least two beaches with climbable ascents to the upper reaches +inland. Though Shann noted that the vegetation showing was +certainly not luxuriant, the few trees within their range of +vision being pallid growths, rather like those they had sighted +on the fringe of the desert. Leather-headed flyers wheeled out +over their canoe, coasting on outspread wings to peer down at +the Terran invaders in a manner which suggested intelligent +curiosity.</p> + +<p>A full flock gathered to escort them as they continued +along the outer line of the reef. Thorvald impatiently dug his +paddle deeper. They had explored more than half of the +reef now without chancing on an entrance channel.</p> + +<p>"Regular fence," Shann commented. One could begin to +believe that the barrier had been deliberately reared to +frustrate visitors. Hot sunshine, reflected back from the surface +of the waves, burned their exposed skin, so they dared not +discard their ragged clothing. And the wolverines were growing +increasingly restless. Shann did not know how much +longer the animals would consent to their position as passengers +without raising active protest.</p> + +<p>"How about trying the next one?" he asked, knowing at the +same time his companion was not in any mood to accept such +a suggestion with good will.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>The officer made no reply, but continued to use his steer +paddle in a fashion which spelled out his stubborn determination +to find a passage. This was a personal thing now, +between Ragnar Thorvald of the Terran Survey and a wall of +rock, and the man's will was as strongly rooted as those +water-washed stones.</p> + +<p>On the southwestern tip of the reef they discovered a possible +opening. Shann eyed the narrow space between two +fanglike rocks dubiously. To him that width of water lane +seemed dangerously limited, the sudden slam of a wave +could dash them against either of those pillars, with disastrous +results, before they could move to save themselves. But +Thorvald pointed their blunt bow toward the passage with +seeming confidence, and Shann knew that as far as the +officer was concerned, this was their door to the lagoon.</p> + +<p>Thorvald might be stubborn, but he was not a fool. And +his training and skill in such maneuvers was proved when the +canoe rode in a rising swell in and by those rocks to gain the +safety, in seconds, of the calm lagoon. Shann sighed with relief, +but ventured no comment.</p> + +<p>Now they must paddle back along the inner side of the +reef to locate the beaches, for fronting them on this side of +the well-protected island were cliffs as formidable as those +which guarded the first of the chain at which they had aimed.</p> + +<p>Shann glanced now and then over the side of the boat, +hoping in these shallows to sight the sea bed or some of the +inhabitants of these waters. But there was no piercing that +green murk. Here and there nodules of rock projected inches +or feet above the surface, awash in the wavelets, to be avoided +by the voyagers. Shann's shoulders ached and burned, his +muscles were unaccustomed to the steady swing of the +paddles, and the fire of the sun stabbed easily through only +two layers of ragged cloth to his skin. He ran a dry tongue +over dryer lips and gazed eagerly ahead in search of the first +of the beaches.</p> + +<p>What was so important about this island that Thorvald <i>had</i> +to make a landing here? The officer's stories of a native race<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +which they might turn against the Throgs to their own advantage +was thin, very thin indeed. Especially now, as Shann +weighed an unsupported theory against that ache in his +shoulders, the possibility of being marooned on the inhospitable +shore ahead, against the fifty probable dangers he could +total up with very little expenditure of effort. A small nagging +doubt of Thorvald's obsession began to grow in his mind. +How could Shann even be sure that that carved disk and +Thorvald's hokus-pokus with it had been on the level? On the +other hand what motive would the officer have for trying such +an act just to impress Shann?</p> + +<p>The beach at last! As they headed the canoe in that direction +the wolverines nearly brought disaster on them. The +animals' restlessness became acute as they sighted and scented +the shore and knew that they were close. Taggi reared, +plunged over the side of the craft, and Shann had just time to +fling his weight in the opposite direction as a counterbalance +when Togi followed. They splashed shoreward while Thorvald +swore fluently and Shann grabbed to save the precious +supply bag. In a shower of gravel the animals made land +and humped well up on the strand before pausing to shake +themselves and splatter far and wide the burden of moisture +transported by their shaggy fur.</p> + +<p>Ashore, the canoe became a clumsy burden and, light as +the craft was, both of the men sweated to get it up on the +beach without snagging the outrigger against stones and +brush. With the thought of a Throg patrol in mind they +worked swiftly to cover it.</p> + +<p>Taggi raised an egg-patterned snout from a hollow and +licked at the stippling of greenish yolk matting his fur. The +wolverines had wasted no time in sampling the contents of a +wealth of nesting places beginning just above the high-water +mark, cupping two to four tough-shelled eggs in each. Treading +a path among those clutches, the Terrans climbed a red-earthed +slope toward the interior of the island.</p> + +<p>They found water, not the clear running of a mountain +spring, but a stalish pool in a stone-walled depression on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +crest of a rise, filled by the bounty of the rain. The warm +liquid was brackish, but satisfied in part their thirst, and they +drank eagerly.</p> + +<p>The outer cliff wall of the island was just that, a wall, for +there was an inner slope to match the outer. And at the bottom +of it a showing of purple-green foliage where plants and +stunted trees fought for living space. But there was nothing +else, though they quartered that growing section with the +care of men trying to locate an enemy outpost.</p> + +<p>That night they camped in the hollow, roasted eggs in a +fire, and ate the fishy-tasting contents because it was food, +not because they relished what they swallowed. Tonight no +cloud bank hung overhead. A man, gazing up, could see the +stars. The stars and other things, for over the distant shore of +the mainland they sighted the cruising lights of a Throg ship +and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling points +to swing out toward their own hiding hole.</p> + +<p>"They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to +them both.</p> + +<p>"The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him. "If they +do not take a prisoner to talk her in and allay suspicion, then—" +he snapped his fingers—"the Patrol will be on their +tails, but quick!"</p> + +<p>So just by keeping out of Throg range, they were, in a way, +still fighting. Shann settled back, his tender shoulders resting +against a tree hole. He tried to count the number of days +and nights lying behind him now since that early morning +when he had watched the Terran camp die under the aliens' +weapons. But one day faded into another so that he could +remember only action parts clearly—the attack on the +grounded scoutship, the sortie they had made in turn on the +occupied camp, the dust storm on the river, the escape from +the Throg ship in the mountain crevice, and their meeting +with the hound. Then that storm which had driven them to +seek cover after their curious experience with the disk. And +now this day when they had safely reached the island.</p> + +<p>"Why this island?" he asked suddenly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That carved piece was found here on the edge of this +valley," Thorvald returned matter-of-factly.</p> + +<p>"But today we found nothing at all——"</p> + +<p>"Yet this island supplies us with a starting point."</p> + +<p>A starting point for what? A detailed search of all the +islands, great and small, in the chain? And how did they +dare continue to paddle openly from one to the next with +the Throgs sweeping the skies? They would have provided an +excellent target today as they combed that reef for an hour +or more. Wearily, Shann spread out his hands in the very +faint light of their tiny fire, poked with a finger tip at smarting +points which would have been blisters had those hands +not known a toughening process in the past. More paddling +tomorrow? But that was tomorrow, and at least they need not +worry tonight about any Throg attack once they had doused +the fire, an action which was now being methodically attended +to by Thorvald. Shann pushed down on the bed of leaves he +had heaped together. The night was quiet. He could hear +only the murmur of the sea, a lulling croon of sound to make +one sleep deep, perhaps dreamlessly.</p> + +<p>Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann +turned over drowsily in that welcome heat, stretching a little +as might a cat at ease. Then he really awoke under the press +of memory, and the need for alertness rode him once more. +Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last night's fire +were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there +were no signs.</p> + +<p>Not only did he now lie alone, but he was possessed by +the feeling that he had not been deserted only momentarily, +that Taggi, Togi and the Survey officer were indeed gone. +Shann sat up, got to his feet, breathing faster, a prickle of +uneasiness spreading in him, bringing him to that inner slope, +up it to the crest from which he could see that beach where +last night they had concealed the canoe.</p> + +<p>Those lengths of brush and tufts of grass they had used +for a screen were strewn about as if tossed in haste. And not +too long before....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>For the canoe was out in the calm waters within the reef, +the paddle blade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly +in the sun. On the shingle below, the wolverines prowled back +and forth, whining in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald——!"</p> + +<p>Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing +the name ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the +man in the boat did not turn his head; there was no change +in the speed of that paddle dip.</p> + +<p>Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding +the last few feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the +water only by a painful wrench of his body.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright +under the sun did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore +at his clothes and kicked off his boots.</p> + +<p>He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters +as he plunged into the water, swam for the canoe <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'edgeing'">edging</ins> +along the reef, plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest. +Shann was not a powerful swimmer. His first impetus +gave him a good start, but after that he had to fight for each +foot he gained, and the fear grew in him that the other would +reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He wasted +no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath +and energy into the effort of overtaking the craft.</p> + +<p>And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along +the log which furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers +tightened on the slimy wood he looked up, and loosed that +hold again in time perhaps to save his life.</p> + +<p>For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an +impromptu half dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture, +a picture so astounding that he was a little dazed.</p> + +<p>Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle +had to be put to another use. Had Shann not released his +hold on the log and gone under water, that crudely fashioned +piece of wood might, have broken his skull. He saw only too +clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an ugly weapon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which +made it as inhuman as a Throg's.</p> + +<p>Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once +more. The paddle was back at the task for which it had been +carved, the canoe was underway again, its occupant paying +no more attention to what lay behind than if he <i>had</i> successfully +disposed of the man in the water. To follow would be +only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so +lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try +any tricks such as oversetting the canoe, not when Thorvald +was an expert who could easily finish off a fumbling opponent.</p> + +<p>Shann swam wearily to shore where the wolverines waited, +unable yet to make sense of that attack in the lagoon. What +had happened to Thorvald? What motive had led the other +to leave Shann and the animals on this island, the island +Thorvald had called a starting point in his search for the +natives of Warlock? Or had every bit of that tall tale been +invented by the Survey officer for some obscure purpose of +his own, certainly no sane purpose? Against that logic Shann +could only set the carved disk, and he had only Thorvald's +word that that had been discovered here.</p> + +<p>He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and +knees and lay, winded and gasping. Taggi came to lick his +face, nuzzle him, making a small, bewildered whimpering. +While above, the leather-headed birds called and swooped, +fearful and angry for their disturbed nesting place. The Terran +retched, coughed up water, and then sat up to look +around.</p> + +<p>The spread of lagoon was bare. Thorvald must have +rounded the south point of land and be very close to the reef +passage, perhaps through it by now. Not stopping for his +clothes, Shann started up the slope, crawling part of the way +on his hands and knees.</p> + +<p>He reached the crest again and got to his feet. The sun +made an eye-dazzling glitter of the waves. But under the +shade of his hands Shann saw the canoe again, beyond the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +reef, heading on out along the island chain, not back to shore +as he had expected. Thorvald was still on the hunt, but for +what? A reality which existed, or a dream in his own disturbed +brain?</p> + +<p>Shann sat down. He was very hungry, for that adventure +in the lagoon had sapped his strength. And he was a prisoner +along with the wolverines, a prisoner on an island which was +half the size of the valley which held the Survey camp. As +far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water was that +tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated +by a sun such as the one now beating down on him. +And between him and the shore was the sea, a sea which +harbored such creatures as the fork-tail he had watched die.</p> + +<p>Thorvald was still steadily on course, not to the next island +in the chain, a small, bare knob, but to the one beyond that. +He could have been hurrying to a meeting. Where and with +what?</p> + +<p>Shann got to his feet, started down to the beach once more, +sure now that the officer had no intention of returning, that +he was again on his own with only his wits and strength to +keep him alive—alive and somehow free of this water-washed +prison.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_TRAP_FOR_A_TRAPPER" id="A_TRAP_FOR_A_TRAPPER"></a>10. A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER</h2> + + +<p>Shann took up the piece of soft chalklike stone he had found +and drew another short white mark on the rust-red of a +boulder well above tide level. That made three such marks, +three days since Thorvald had marooned him. And he was no +nearer the shore now than he had been on that first morning! +He sat where he was by the boulder, aware that he should be +up, trying to climb to the less accessible nests of the sea birds. +The prisoners, man and wolverines, had cleaned out all those +they had discovered on beach and cliffs. But at the thought +of more eggs, Shann's stomach knotted in pain and he began +to retch.</p> + +<p>There had been no sign of Thorvald since Shann had +watched him steer between the two westward islands. And +the younger Terran's faint hope that the officer would return +had died. On the shore a few feet away lay his own pitiful +attempt to solve the problem of escape.</p> + +<p>The force ax had vanished with Thorvald, along with all +the rest of the meager supplies which had been the officer's +original contribution to their joint equipment. Shann had used +his knife on brush and small trees, trying to put together some +kind of a raft. But he had not been able to discover here any +of those vines necessary for binding, and his best efforts had +all come to grief when he tried them in a lagoon launching. +So far he had achieved no form of raft which would keep +him afloat longer than five minutes, let alone support three +of them as far as the next island.</p> + +<p>Shann pulled listlessly at the framework of his latest try,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +fully disheartened. He tried not to think of the unescapable +fact that the water in the rain tank had sunk to only an inch +or so of muddy scum. Last night he had dug in the heart of +the interior valley where the rankness of the vegetation was +a promise of moisture, to uncover damp clay and then a brackish +ooze. Far too little to satisfy both him and the animals.</p> + +<p>There were surely fish somewhere in the lagoon. Shann +wondered if the raw flesh of sea dwellers could supply the +water they needed. But lacking net, line, or hooks, how did +one fish? Yesterday, using his stunner, he had brought down +a bird, to discover the carcass so rank even the wolverines, +never dainty eaters, refused to gnaw it.</p> + +<p>The animals prowled the two beaches, and Shann guessed +they hunted shell dwellers, for at times they dug energetically +in the gravel. Togi was busied in this way now, the sand +flowing from under her pumping legs, her claws raking in +good earnest.</p> + +<p>And it was Togi's excavation which brought Shann a first +ray of hope. Her excitement was so marked that he believed +she was in quest of some worthwhile game and he +moved across to inspect the pit. A patch of brown, which +had been skimmed bare by one raking paw, made him +shout.</p> + +<p>Taggi shambled downslope, going to work beside his mate +with an eagerness as open as hers. Shann hovered at the edge +of the pit they were rapidly enlarging. The brown patch was +larger, disclosing itself as a hump doming up from the gravel. +The Terran did not need to run his hands over that rough +surface to recognize the nature of the find. This was another +shell such as had come floating in after the storm to form the +raw material of their canoe.</p> + +<p>However, as fast as the wolverines dug, they did not appear +to make correspondingly swift headway in uncovering +their find as might reasonably be expected. In fact, a witness +could guess that the shell was sinking at a pace only a +fraction slower than the burrowers were using to free it. Intrigued +by that, Shann went back to the waterline, secured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +one of the lengths he had been trying to weave into his failures, +and returned to use it as a makeshift shovel.</p> + +<p>Now, with three of them at the digging, the brown hump +was uncovered, and Shann pried down around its edge, trying +to lever it up and over. To his amazement, his tool was +caught and held, nearly jerked from his hands. To his retaliating +tug the obstruction below-ground gave way, and the +Terran sprawled back, the length of wood coming clear, to +show the other end smashed and splintered as if it had been +caught between mashing gears.</p> + +<p>For the first time he understood that they were dealing not +with an empty shell casing buried by drift under this small +beach, but with a shell still inhabited by the Warlockian to +whom it was a natural covering, and that that inhabitant +would fight to continue ownership. A moment's examination +of that splintered wood also suggested that the shell's present +wearer appeared well able to defend itself.</p> + +<p>Shann attempted to call off the wolverines, but they were +out of control now, digging frantically to get at this new prey. +And he knew that if he pulled them away by force, they were +apt to turn those punishing claws and snapping jaws on him.</p> + +<p>It was for their protection that he returned to digging, +though he no longer tried to pry up the shell. Taggi leaped to +the top of that dome, sweeping paws downward to clear its +surface, while Togi prowled around its circumference, pausing +now and then to send dirt and gravel spattering, but +treading warily as might one alert for a sudden attack.</p> + +<p>They had the creature almost clear now, though the shell +still rested firmly on the ground, and they had no notion of +what it might protect. It was smaller, perhaps two thirds the +size of the one which Thorvald had fashioned into a seagoing +craft. But it could provide them with transportation to the +mainland if Shann was able to repeat the feat of turning it +into an outrigger canoe.</p> + +<p>Taggi joined his mate on the ground and both wolverines +padded about the dome, obviously baffled. Now and then +they assaulted the shell with a testing paw. Claws raked and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +did not leave any marks but shallow scratches. They could continue +that forever, as far as Shann could see, without solving +the problem in the least.</p> + +<p>He sat back on his heels and studied the scene in detail. +The excavation holding the shelled creature was some three +yards above the high-water mark, with a few more feet +separating that from the point where lazy waves now washed +the finer sand. Shann watched the slow inward slip of those +waves with growing interest. Where their combined efforts +had failed to win this odd battle, perhaps the sea itself could +now be pressed into service.</p> + +<p>Shann began his own excavation, a trough to lead from +the waterline to the pit occupied by the obstinate shell. Of +course the thing living in or under that covering might be only +too familiar with salt water. But it had placed its burrow, or +hiding place, above the reach of the waves and so might be +disconcerted by the sudden appearance of water in its bed. +However, the scheme was worth trying, and he went to +work doggedly, wishing he could make the wolverines understand +so they would help him.</p> + +<p>They still prowled about their captive, scrapping at the +sand about the shell casing. At least their efforts would keep +the half-prisoner occupied and prevent its escape. Shann put +another piece of his raft to work as a shovel, throwing up a +shower of sand and gravel while sweat dampened his tattered +blouse and was salt and sticky on his arms and face.</p> + +<p>He finished his trench, one which ran at an angle he +hoped would feed water into the pit rapidly once he knocked +away the last barrier against the waves. And, splashing out +into the green water, he did just that.</p> + +<p>His calculations proved correct. Waves lapped, then flowed +in a rapidly thickening stream, puddling out about the shell +as the wolverines drew back, snarling. Shann lashed his +knife fast to a stout length of sapling, so equipping himself +with a spear. He stood with it ready in his hand, not knowing +just what to expect. And when the answer to his water attack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +came, the move was so sudden that in spite of his preparation +he was caught gaping.</p> + +<p>For the shell fairly erupted out of the mess of sand and +water. A complete fringe of jointed, clawed brown limbs +churned in a forward-and-upward dash. But the water +worked to frustrate that charge. For one of the pit walls +crumbled, over-balancing the creature so that the fore end +of the shell lifted from the ground, the legs clawing wildly at +the air.</p> + +<p>Shann thrust with the spear, feeling the knife point go +home so deeply that he could not pull his improvised weapon +free. A limb snapped claws only inches away from his leg as +he pushed down on the haft with all his strength. That attack +along with the initial upset of balance did the job. The shell +flopped over, its rounded hump now embedded in the watery +sand of the pit while the frantic struggles of the creature to +right itself only buried it the deeper.</p> + +<p>The Terran stared down upon a segmented under belly +where legs were paired in riblike formation. Shann could locate +no head, no good target. But he drew his stunner and +beamed at either end of the oval, and then, for good measure, +in the middle, hoping in one of those three general blasts to +contact the thing's central nervous system. He was not to +know which of those shots did the trick, but the frantic +wiggling of the legs slowed and finally ended, as a clockwork +toy might run down for want of winding—and at last projected, +at crooked angles, completely still. The shell creature +might not be dead, but it was tamed for now.</p> + +<p>Taggi had only been waiting for a good chance to do +battle. He grabbed one of those legs, worried it, and then +leaped to tear at the under body. Unlike the outer shell, this +portion of the creature had no proper armor and the wolverine +plunged joyfully into the business of the kill, his mate following +suit.</p> + +<p>The process of butchery was a bloody, even beastly job, +and Shann was shaken before it was complete. But he kept at +his labors, determined to have that shell, his one chance of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +escape from the Island. The wolverines feasted on the greenish-white +flesh, but he could not bring himself to sample it, climbing +to the heights in search of eggs, and making a happy find +of a niche filled with the edible moss-fungi.</p> + +<p>By late afternoon he had the shell scooped fairly clean +and the wolverines had carried away for burial such portions +as they had not been able to consume at their first eating. +Meanwhile, the leather-headed birds had grown bold enough +to snatch up the fragments he tossed out on the water, struggling +for that bounty against feeders arising from the depths +of the lagoon.</p> + +<p>At the coming of dusk Shann hauled the bloodstained, +grisly trophy well up the beach and wedged it among the +rocks, determined not to lose his treasure. Then he stripped +and washed, first his clothing and then himself, rubbing his +hands and arms with sand until his skin was tender. He was +still exultant at his luck. The drift would supply him with +materials for an outrigger. One more day's work—or maybe +two—and he could leave. He wrung out his blouse and +gazed toward the distant line of the shore. Once he had his +new canoe ready he would try to make the trip back in the +early morning while the mists were still on the sea. That +should give him cover against any Throg flight.</p> + +<p>That night Shann slept in the deep fog of bodily exhaustion. +There were no dreams, nothing but an unconsciousness +which even a Throg attack could not have pierced. He +roused in the morning with an odd feeling of guilt. The water +hole he had scooped in the valley yielded him some swallows +tasting of earth, but he had almost forgotten the flavor +of a purer liquid. Munching on a fistful of moss, he hurried +down to the shore, half fearing to find the shell gone, his luck +out once again.</p> + +<p>Not only was the shell where he had wedged it, but he +had done better than he knew when he had left it exposed in +the night. Small things scuttled away from it into hiding, and +several birds arose—scavengers had been busy lightening his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +unwelcome task for that morning. And seeing how the clean-up +process had gone, Shann had a second inspiration.</p> + +<p>Pushing the thing down the beach, he sank it in the shallows +with several rocks to anchor it. Within a few seconds the +shell was invaded by a whole school of spiny-tailed fish, that +ate greedily. Leaving his find to their cleansing, Shann went +back to prospect the pile of raft material, choosing pieces +which could serve for an outrigger frame. He was handicapped +as he had been all along by the absence of the vines +one could use for lashings. And he had reached the point of +considering a drastic sacrifice of his clothing to get the +necessary strips when he saw Taggi dragging behind him one +of the jointed legs the wolverines had put in storage the day +before.</p> + +<p>Now and again Taggi laid his prize on the shingle, holding +it firmly pinned with his forepaws as he tried to worry +loose a section of flesh. But apparently that feat was beyond +even his notable teeth, and at length he left it lying there in +disgust while he returned to a cache for more palatable fare. +Shann went to examine more closely the triple-jointed limb.</p> + +<p>The casing was not as hard as horn or shell, he discovered +upon testing; it more resembled tough skin laid +over bone. With a knife he tried to loosen the skin—a tedious +job requiring a great deal of patience, since the tissue tore if +pulled away too fast. But with care he acquired a few thongs +perhaps a foot long. Using two of these, he made a trial binding +of one stick to another, and experimented farther, soaking +the whole construction in sea water and then exposing it to +the direct rays of the sun.</p> + +<p>When he examined his test piece an hour later, the skin +thongs had set into place with such success that the one +piece of wood might have been firmly glued to the other. +Shann shuffled his feet in a little dance of triumph as he +went on to the lagoon to inspect the water-logged shell. The +scavengers had done well. One scraping, two at the most, +would have the whole thing clean and ready to use.</p> + +<p>But that night Shann dreamed. No climbing of a skull-shaped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +mountain this time. Instead, he was again on the +beach, laboring under an overwhelming compulsion, building +something for an alien purpose he could not understand. And +he worked as hopelessly as a beaten slave, knowing that what +he made was to his own undoing. Yet he could not halt the +making, because just beyond the limit of his vision there +stood a dominant will which held him in bondage.</p> + +<p>And he awoke on the beach in the very early dawn, not +knowing how he had come there. His body was bathed in +sweat, as it had been during his day's labors under the sun, +and his muscles ached with fatigue.</p> + +<p>But when he saw what lay at his feet he cringed. The framework +of the outrigger, close to completion the night before, +was dismantled—smashed. All those strips of hide he had so +laboriously culled were cut—into inch-long bits which could +be of no service.</p> + +<p>Shann whirled, ran to the shell he had the night before +pulled from the water and stowed in safety. Its rounded dome +was dulled where it had been battered, but there was no +break in the surface. He ran his hands anxiously over the +curve to make sure. Then, very slowly, he came back to the +mess of broken wood and snipped hide. And he was sure, only +too sure, of one thing. He, himself, had wrought that destruction. +In his dream he had built to satisfy the whim of an enemy; +in reality he had destroyed; and that was also, he believed, +to satisfy an enemy.</p> + +<p>The dream was a part of it. But who or what could set a +man dreaming and so take over his body, make him in fact +betray himself? But then, what had made Thorvald maroon +him here? For the first time, Shann guessed a new, if wild, +explanation for the officer's desertion. Dreams—and the disk +which had worked so strangely on Thorvald. Suppose everything +the other had surmised was the truth! Then that disk +<i>had</i> been found on this very island, and here somewhere must +lie a clue to the riddle.</p> + +<p>Shann licked his lips. Suppose that Thorvald had been sent +away under just such a strong compulsion as the one which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +had ruled Shann last night? Why was he left behind if the +other had been moved away to protect some secret? Was it that +Shann himself was wanted here, wanted so much that when +he at last found a means of escape he was set to destroy it? +That act might have been forced upon him for two reasons: to +keep him here, and to impress upon him how powerless he +was.</p> + +<p>Powerless! A flicker of stubborn will stirred to respond to +that implied challenge. All right, the mysterious <i>they</i> had made +him do this. But they had underrated him by letting him +learn, almost contemptuously, of their presence by that revelation. +So warned, he was in a manner armed; he could prepare +to fight back.</p> + +<p>He squatted by the wreckage as he thought that through, +turning over broken pieces. And, Shann realized, he must +present at the moment a satisfactory picture of despondency to +any spy. A spy, that was it! Someone or something must have +him under observation, or his activities of the day before +would not have been so summarily countered. And if there was +a spy, then there was his answer to the riddle. To trap the +trapper. Such action might be a project beyond his resources, +but it was his own counterattack.</p> + +<p>So now he had to play a role. Not only must he search the +island for the trace of his spy, but he must do it in such a +fashion that his purpose would not be plain to the enemy +he suspected. The wolverines could help. Shann arose, allowed +his shoulders to droop, slouching to the slope with all the air +of a beaten man which he could assume, whistling for Taggi +and Togi.</p> + +<p>When they came, his exploration began. Ostensibly he was +hunting for lengths of drift or suitable growing saplings to take +the place of those he had destroyed under orders. But he kept +a careful watch on the animal pair, hoping by their reactions +to pick up a clue to any hidden watcher.</p> + +<p>The larger of the two beaches marked the point where the +Terrans had first landed and where the shell thing had been +killed. The smaller was more of a narrow tongue thrust out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +into the lagoon, much of it choked with sizable boulders. On +earlier visits there Taggi and Togi had poked into the hollows +among these with their usual curiosity. But now both +animals remained upslope, showing no inclination to descend +to the water line.</p> + +<p>Shann caught hold of Taggi's scruff, pulling him along. The +wolverine twisted and whined, but he did not fight for freedom +as he would have upon scenting Throg. Not that the Terran +had ever believed one of those aliens was responsible for the +happenings on the island.</p> + +<p>Taggi came down under Shann's urging, but he was plainly +ill at ease. And at last he snarled a warning when the man +would have drawn him closer to two rocks which met overhead +in a crude semblance of an arch. There was a stick of +drift protruding from that hollow affording Shann a legitimate +excuse to venture closer. He dropped his hold on the wolverines, +stooped to gather in the length of wood, and at the same +time glanced into the pocket.</p> + +<p>Water lay just beyond, making this a doorway to the lagoon. +The sun had not yet penetrated into the shadow, if it +ever did. Shann reached for the wood, at the same time drawing +his finger across the flat rock which would furnish a +steppingstone for anything using that door as an entrance to +the island.</p> + +<p>Wet! Which might mean his visitor had recently arrived, +or else merely that a splotch of spray had landed there not +too long before. But in his mind Shann was convinced that he +had found the spy's entrance. Could he turn it into a trap? He +added a piece of drift to his bundle and picked up two more +before he returned to the cliff ahead.</p> + +<p>A trap.... He revolved in his mind all the traps he knew +which could be used here. He already had decided upon the +bait—his own work. And if his plans went through—and hope +does not die easily—then this time he would not waste his +labor either.</p> + +<p>So he went back to the same job he had done the day before, +making do with skin strips he had considered second-best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +before, smoothing, cutting. Only the trap occupied his +mind, and close to sunset he knew just what he was going to +do and how.</p> + +<p>Though the Terran did not know the nature of the unseen +opponent, he thought he could guess two weaknesses which +might deliver the other into his hands. First, the enemy was +entirely confident of success in this venture. No being who +was able to control Shann as completely and ably as had +been done the night before would credit any prey with the +power to strike back in force.</p> + +<p>Second, such a confident enemy would be unable to resist +watching the manipulation of a captive. The Terran was +certain that his opponent would be on the scene somewhere +when he was led, dreaming, to destroy his work once more.</p> + +<p>He might be wrong on both of those counts, but inwardly +he didn't believe so. However, he had to wait until the dark +to set up his own answer, one so simple he was certain the +enemy would not suspect it at all.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_WITCH" id="THE_WITCH"></a>11. THE WITCH</h2> + + +<p>There were patches of light in the inner valley marking +the phosphorescent plants, some creeping at ground level, +others tall as saplings. On other nights Shann had welcomed +that wan radiance, but now he lay in as relaxed a position +as possible, marking each of those potential betrayers as he +tried to counterfeit the attitude of sleep and at the same time +plan out his route.</p> + +<p>He had purposely settled in a pool of shadow, the wolverines +beside him. And he thought that the bulk of the animal's +bodies would cover his own withdrawal when the time +came to move. One arm lying limply across his middle was in +reality clutching to him an intricate arrangement of small +hide straps which he had made by sacrificing most of the +remainder of his painfully acquired thongs. The trap must be +set in place soon!</p> + +<p>Now that he had charted a path to the crucial point avoiding +all light plants, Shann was ready to move. The Terran +pressed his hand on Taggi's head in the one imperative +command the wolverine was apt to obey—the order to stay +where he was.</p> + +<p>Shann sat up and gave the same voiceless instruction to +Togi. Then he inched out of the hollow, a worm's progress to +that narrow way along the cliff top—the path which anyone or +anything coming up from that sea gate on the beach would +have to pass in order to witness the shoreline occupied by the +half-built outrigger.</p> + +<p>So much of his plan was based upon luck and guesses,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +but those were all Shann had. And as he worked at the +stretching of his snare, the Terran's heart pounded, and he +tensed at every sound out of the night. Having tested all the +anchoring of his net, he tugged at a last knot, and then +crouched to listen not only with his ears, but with all his +strength of mind and body.</p> + +<p>Pound of waves, whistle of wind, the sleepy complaint of +some bird.... A regular splashing! One of the fish in the +lagoon? Or what he awaited? The Terran retreated as noiselessly +as he had come, heading for the hollow where he +had bedded down.</p> + +<p>He reached there breathless, his heart pumping, his mouth +dry as if he had been racing. Taggi stirred and thrust a nose +inquiringly against Shann's arm. But the wolverine made no +sound, as if he, too, realized that some menace lay beyond +the rim of the valley. Would that other come up the path +Shann had trapped? Or had he been wrong? Was the enemy +already stalking him from the other beach? The grip of his +stunner was slippery in his damp hand; he hated this waiting.</p> + +<p>The canoe ... his work on it had been a careless botching. +Better to have the job done right. Why, it was perfectly clear +now how he had been mistaken! His whole work plan was +wrong; he could see the right way of doing things laid out +as clear as a blueprint in his mind. A picture in his mind!</p> + +<p>Shann stood up and both wolverines moved uneasily, +though neither made a sound. A picture in his mind! But +this time he wasn't asleep; he wasn't dreaming a dream—to +be used for his own defeat. Only (that other could not know +this) the pressure which had planted the idea of new work +to be done in his mind—an idea one part of him accepted as +fact—had not taken warning from his move. He was supposed +to be under control; the Terran was sure of that. All right, so +he would play that part. He must if he would entice the +trapper into his trap.</p> + +<p>He holstered his stunner, walked out into the open, paying +no heed now to the patches of light through which he must +pass on his way to the path his own feet had already worn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +to the boat beach. As he went, Shann tried to counterfeit +what he believed would be the gait of a man under compulsion.</p> + +<p>Now he was on the rim fronting the downslope, fighting +against his desire to turn and see for himself if anything had +climbed behind. The canoe was all wrong, a bad job which +he must make better at once so that in the morning he would +be free of this island prison.</p> + +<p>The pressure of that other's will grew stronger. And the +Terran read into that the overconfidence which he believed +would be part of the enemy's character. The one who was +sending him to destroy his own work had no suspicion that +the victim was not entirely malleable, ready to be used as he +himself would use a knife or a force ax. Shann strode steadily +downslope. With a small spurt of fear he knew that in a way +that unseen other was right; the pressure was taking over, +even though he was awake this time. The Terran tried to will +his hand to his stunner, but his fingers fell instead on the hilt +of his knife. He drew the blade as panic seethed in his head, +chilling him from within. He had underestimated the other's +power....</p> + +<p>And that panic flared into open fight, making him forget his +careful plans. Now he <i>must</i> wrench free from this control. +The knife was moving to slash a hide lashing, directed by his +hand, but not his will.</p> + +<p>A soundless gasp, a flash of dismay rocked him, but neither +was his gasp nor his dismay. That pressure snapped off; he +was free. But the other wasn't! Knife still in fist, Shann +turned and ran upslope, his torch in his other hand. He could +see a shape now writhing, fighting, outlined against a light +bush. And, fearing that the stranger might win free and disappear, +the Terran spotlighted the captive in the beam, reckless +of Throg or enemy reinforcements.</p> + +<p>The other crouched, plainly startled by the sudden burst +of light. Shann stopped abruptly. He had not really built up +any mental picture of what he had expected to find in his +snare, but this prisoner was as weirdly alien to him as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +Throg. The light on the torch was reflected off a skin which +glittered as if scaled, glittered with the brilliance of jewels +in bands and coils of color spreading from the throat down +the chest, spiraling about upper arms, around waist and +thighs, as if the stranger wore a treasure house of gems as +part of a living body. Except for those patterned loops, coils, +and bands, the body had no clothing, though a belt about +the slender middle supported a pair of pouches and some +odd implements held in loops.</p> + +<p>Roughly the figure was more humanoid than the Throgs. +The upper limbs were not too unlike Shann's arms, though the +hands had four digits of equal length instead of five. But the +features were nonhuman, closer to saurian in contour. It had +large eyes, blazing yellow in the dazzle of the flash, with +<ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'verticle'">vertical</ins> slits of green for pupils. A nose united with the jaw to +make a snout, and above the domed forehead a sharp V-point +of raised spiky growth extended back and down until +behind the shoulder blades it widened and expanded to resemble +a pair of wings.</p> + +<p>The captive no longer struggled, but sat quietly in the +tangle of the snare Shann had set, watching the Terran +steadily as if there were no difficulty in seeing through the +brilliance of the beam to the man who held it. And, oddly +enough, Shann experienced no repulsion toward its reptilian +appearance as he had upon first sighting the beetle-Throg. On +impulse he put down his torch on a rock and walked into the +light to face squarely the thing out of the sea.</p> + +<p>Still eying Shann, the captive raised one limb and gave +an absent-minded tug to the belt it wore. Shann, noting that +gesture, was struck by a wild surmise, leading him to study +the prisoner more narrowly. Allowing for the alien structure +of bone, the nonhuman skin; this creature was delicate, +graceful, in its way beautiful, with a fragility of limb which +backed up his suspicions. Moved by no pressure from the +other, but by his own will and sense of fitness, Shann stooped +to cut the control line of his snare.</p> + +<p>The captive continued to watch as Shann sheathed his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +blade and then held out his hand. Yellow eyes, never blinking +since his initial appearance, regarded him, not with any trace +of fear or dismay, but with a calm measurement which was +curiosity based upon a strong belief in its own superiority. +He did not know how he knew, but Shann was certain that +the creature out of the sea was still entirely confident, that +it made no fight because it did not conceive of any possible +danger from him. And again, oddly enough, he was not irritated +by this unconscious arrogance; rather he was intrigued +and amused.</p> + +<p>"Friends?" Shann used the basic galactic speech devised +by Survey and the Free Traders, semantics which depended +upon the proper inflection of voice and tone to project meaning +when the words were foreign.</p> + +<p>The other made no sound, and the Terran began to wonder +if his captive had any audible form of speech. He withdrew +a step or two then pulled at the snare, drawing the cords +away from the creature's slender ankles. Rolling the thongs +into a ball, he tossed the crude net back over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Friends?" he repeated again, showing his empty hands, +trying to give that one word the proper inflection, hoping the +other could read his peaceful intent in his features if not by +his speech.</p> + +<p>In one lithe, flowing movement the alien arose. Fully erect, +the Warlockian had a frail appearance. Shann, for his breed, +was not tall. But the native was still smaller, not more than +five feet, that stiff V of head crest just topping Shann's shoulder. +Whether any of those fittings at its belt could be a weapon +the Terran had no way of telling. However, the other +made no move to draw any of them.</p> + +<p>Instead, one of the four-digit hands came up. Shann felt +the feather touch of strange finger tips on his chin, across his +lips, up his cheek, to at last press firmly on his forehead at a +spot just between the eyebrows. What followed was communication +of a sort, not in words or in any describable flow +of thoughts. There was no feeling of enmity—at least nothing +strong enough to be called that. Curiosity, yes, and then a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +growing doubt, not of the Terran himself, but of the other's +preconceived ideas concerning him. Shann was other than the +native had judged him, and the stranger was disturbed, that +self-confidence a little ruffled. And also Shann was right in his +guess. He smiled, his amusement growing—not aimed at his +companion on this cliff top, but at himself. For he was dealing +with a woman, a very young woman, and someone as fully +feminine in her way as any human girl could be.</p> + +<p>"Friends?" he asked for the third time.</p> + +<p>But the other still exuded a wariness, a wariness mixed +with surprise. And the tenuous message which passed between +them then astounded Shann. To this Warlockian out +of the night he was not following the proper pattern of male +behaviour at all; he should have been in awe of the other +merely because of her sex. A diffidence rather than an assumption +of equality should have colored his response, judged by +her standards. At first, he caught a flash of anger at this preposterous +attitude of his; then her curiosity won, but there +was still no reply to his question.</p> + +<p>The finger tips no longer made contact between them. +Stepping back, her hands now reached for one of the pouches +at her belt. Shann watched that movement carefully. And +because he did not trust her too far, he whistled.</p> + +<p>Her head came up. She might be dumb, but plainly she +was not deaf. And she gazed down into the hollow as the wolverines +answered his summons with growls. Her profile reminded +Shann of something for an instant; but it should have +been golden-yellow instead of silver with two jeweled patterns +ringing the snout. Yes, that small plaque he had seen in +the cabin of one of the ship's officers. A very old Terran legend—"Dragon," +the officer had named the creature. Only that +one had possessed a serpent's body, a lizard's legs and wings.</p> + +<p>Shann gave a sudden start, aware his thoughts had made +him careless, or had she in some way led him into that bypath +of memory for her own purposes? Because now she held some +object in the curve of her curled fingers, regarding him with +those unblinking yellow eyes. Eyes ... eyes.... Shann dimly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +heard the alarm cry of the wolverines. He tried to snap draw +his stunner, but it was too late.</p> + +<p>There was a haze about him hiding the rocks, the island +valley with its radiant plants, the night sky, the bright beam +of the torch. Now he moved through that haze as one walks +through a dream approaching nightmare, striding with an +effort as if wading through a deterring flood. Sound, sight—one +after another those senses were taken from him. Desperately +Shann held to one thing, his own sense of identity. +He was Shann Lantee, Terran breed, out of Tyr, of the Survey +Service. Some part of him repeated those facts with vast +urgency against an almost overwhelming force which strove +to defeat that awareness of self, making him nothing but a tool—or +a weapon—for another's use.</p> + +<p>The Terran fought, soundlessly but fiercely, on a battleground +which was within him, knowing in a detached way +that his body obeyed another's commands.</p> + +<p>"I am Shann—" he cried without audible speech. "I am myself. +I have two hands, two legs.... I think for myself! I am +a <i>man</i>——"</p> + +<p>And to that came an answer of sorts, a blow of will striking +at his resistance, a will which struggled to drown him before +ebbing, leaving behind it a faint suggestion of bewilderment, +of a dawn of concern.</p> + +<p>"I am a <i>man</i>!" he hurled that assertion as he might have +thrust deep with one of the crude spears he had used against +the Throgs. For against what he faced now his weapons were +as crude as spears fronting blasters. "I am Shann Lantee, +Terran, man...." Those were facts; no haze could sweep +them from his mind or take away that heritage.</p> + +<p>And again there was the lightening of the pressure, the +slight recoil, which could only be a prelude to another assault +upon his last stronghold. He clutched his three facts to him +as a shield, groping for others which might have afforded a +weapon of rebuttal.</p> + +<p>Dreams, these Warlockians dealt in and through dreams. +And the opposite of dreams are facts! His name, his breed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +his sex—these were facts. And Warlock itself was a fact. +The earth under his boots was a fact. The water which +washed around the island was a fact. The air he breathed was +a fact. Flesh, blood, bones—facts, all of them. Now he was +a struggling identity imprisoned in a rebel body. But that +body was real. He tried to feel it. Blood pumped from his +heart, his lungs filled and emptied; he struggled to feel those +processes.</p> + +<p>With a terrifying shock, the envelope which had held him +vanished. Shann was choking, struggling in water. He flailed +out with his arms, kicked his legs. One hand grated painfully +against stone. Hardly knowing what he did, but fighting for +his life, Shann caught at that rock and drew his head out of +water. Coughing and gasping, half drowned, he was weak +with the panic of his close brush with death.</p> + +<p>For a long moment he could only cling to the rock which +had saved him, retching and dazed, as the water washed about +his body, a current tugging at his trailing legs. There was +light of a sort here, patches of green which glowed with the +same subdued light as the bushes of the outer world, for he +was no longer under the night sky. A rock-roof was but +inches over his head; he must be in some cave or tunnel under +the surface of the sea. Again a gust of panic shook him +as he felt trapped.</p> + +<p>The water continued to pull at Shann, and in his weakened +condition it was a temptation to yield to that pull; the +more he fought it the more he was exhausted. At last the Terran +turned on his back, trying to float with the stream, sure +he could no longer battle it.</p> + +<p>Luckily those few inches of space above the surface of the +water continued, and he had air to breathe. But the fear of +that ending, of being swept under the surface, chewed at his +nerves. And his bodily danger burned away the last of the +spell which had held him, brought him into this place, wherever +it might be.</p> + +<p>Was it only his heightened imagination, or had the current +grown swifter? Shann tried to gauge the speed of his passage<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +by the way the patches of green light slipped by. Now +he turned and began to swim slowly, feeling as if his arms +were leaden weights, his ribs a cage to bind his aching lungs.</p> + +<p>Another patch of light ... larger ... spreading across the +roof over head. Then, he was out! Out of the tunnel into a +cavern so vast that its arching roof was like a skydome far +above his head. But here the patches of light were brighter, +and they were arranged in odd groups which had a familiar +look to them.</p> + +<p>Only, better than freedom overhead, there was a shore +not too distant. Shann swam for that haven, summoning up +the last rags of his strength, knowing that if he could not +reach it very soon he was finished. Somehow he made it and +lay gasping, his cheek resting on sand finer than any of the +outer world, his fingers digging into it for purchase to drag his +body on. But when he collapsed, his legs were still awash in +water.</p> + +<p>No footfall could be heard on that sand. But he knew that +he was no longer alone. He braced his hands and with painful +effort levered up his body. Somehow he made it to his +knees, but he could not stand. Instead he half tumbled back, +so that he faced them from a sitting position.</p> + +<p><i>Them</i>—there were three of them—the dragon-headed ones +with their slender, jewel-set bodies glittering even in this +subdued light, their yellow eyes fastened on him with a remoteness +which did not approach any human emotion, save +perhaps that of a cold and limited wonder. But behind them +came a fourth, one he knew by the patterns on her body.</p> + +<p>Shann clasped his hands about his knees to still the trembling +of his body, and eyed them back with all the defiance he +could muster. Nor did he doubt that he had been brought +here, his body as captive to their will, as had been that of +their spy or messenger in his crude snare on the island.</p> + +<p>"Well, you have me," he said hoarsely. "Now what?"</p> + +<p>His words boomed weirdly out over the water, were echoed +from the dim outer reaches of the cavern. There was no answer. +They merely stood watching him. Shann stiffened, determined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +to hold to his defiance and to that identity which he +now knew was his weapon against the powers they used.</p> + +<p>The one who had somehow drawn him there moved at last, +circling around the other three with a suggestion of diffidence +in her manner. Shann jerked back his head as her hand +stretched to touch his face. And then, guessing that she +sought her peculiar form of communication, he submitted to +her finger tips, though now his skin crawled under that light +but firm pressure and he shrank from the contract.</p> + +<p>There were no sensations this time. To his amazement a +concrete inquiry shaped itself in his brain, as clear as if the +question had been asked aloud: "Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Shann...." he began vocally, and then turned words into +thoughts. "Shann Lantee, Terran, man." He made his answer +the same which had kept him from succumbing to their complete +domination.</p> + +<p>"Name—Shann Lantee, man—yes." The other accepted +those, "Terran?" That was a question.</p> + +<p>Did these people have any notion of space travel? Could +they understand the concept of another world holding intelligent +beings?</p> + +<p>"I come from another world...." He tried to make a clean-cut +picture in his mind—a globe in space, a ship blasting +free....</p> + +<p>"Look!" The fingers still rested between his eyebrows, but +with her other hand the Warlockian was pointing up to the +dome of the cavern.</p> + +<p>Shann followed her order. He studied those patches of +light which had seemed so vaguely familiar at his first sighting, +studying them closely to know them for what they were. +A star map! A map of the heavens as they could be seen from +the outer crust of Warlock.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I come from the stars," he answered, booming with +his voice.</p> + +<p>The fingers dropped from his forehead; the scaled head +swung around to exchange glances, which were perhaps some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +unheard communication with the other three. Then the hand +was extended again.</p> + +<p>"Come!"</p> + +<p>Fingers fell from his head to his right wrist, closing there +with surprising strength; and some of that strength together +with a new energy flowed from them into him, so that he +found and kept his feet as the other drew him up.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_VEIL_OF_ILLUSION" id="THE_VEIL_OF_ILLUSION"></a>12. THE VEIL OF ILLUSION</h2> + + +<p>Perhaps his status was that of a prisoner, but Shann was too +tired to press for an explanation. He was content to be left +alone in the unusual circular, but roofless, room of the structure +to which they had brought him. There was a thick mat-like +pallet in one corner, short for the length of his body, but +softer than any bed he had rested on since he had left the +Terran camp before the coming of the Throgs. Above him +glimmered those patches of light symbolizing the lost stars. +He blinked at them until they all ran together in bands +like the jeweled coils on Warlockian bodies; then he slept—dreamlessly.</p> + +<p>The Terran awoke with all his senses alert; some silent +alarm might have triggered that instant awareness of himself +and his surroundings. There had been no change in the star +pattern still overhead; no one had entered the round chamber. +Shann rolled over on his mat bed, conscious that all his +aches had vanished. Just as his mind was clearly active, so did +his body also respond effortlessly to his demands. He was not +aware of any hunger or thirst, though a considerable length +of time must have passed since he had made his mysteriously +contrived exit from the outer world.</p> + +<p>In spite of the humidity of the air, his ragged garments had +dried on his body. Shann got to his feet, trying to order the +sorry remnants of his uniform, eager to be on the move. +Though to where and for what purpose he could not have +answered.</p> + +<p>The door through which he had entered remained closed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +refusing to yield to his push. Shann stepped back, eyeing the +distance to the top of the partition between the roofless rooms. +The walls were smooth with the gloss of a sea shell's interior, +but the exuberant confidence which had been with him since +his awakening refused to accept such a minor obstacle.</p> + +<p>He made two test leaps, both times his fingers striking +the wall well below the top of the partition. Shann gathered +himself together as might a cat and tried the third time, putting +into that effort every last ounce of strength, determination +and will. He made it, though his arms jerked as the weight +of his body hung from his hands. Then a scramble, a knee +hooked over the top, and he was perched on the wall, able to +study the rest of the building.</p> + +<p>In shape, the structure was unlike anything he had seen on +his home world or reproduced in any of the tri-dee records +of Survey accessible to him. The rooms were either circular +or oval, each separated from the next by a short passage, so +that the overall impression was that of ten strings of beads +radiating from a central knot of one large chamber, all with +the uniform nacre walls and a limited amount of furnishings.</p> + +<p>As he balanced on the narrow perch, Shann could sight +no other movement in the nearest line of rooms, those connected +by corridors with his own. He got to his feet to walk +the tightrope of the upper walls toward that inner chamber +which was the heart of the Warlockian—palace? town? +apartment dwelling? At least it was the only structure on the +island, for he could see the outer rim of that smooth soft sand +ringing it about. The island itself was curiously symmetrical, +a perfect oval, too perfect to be a natural outcrop of sand and +rock.</p> + +<p>There was no day or night here in the cavern. The light +from the roof patches remained constantly the same, and +that flow was abetted within the building by a soft radiation +from the walls. Shann reached the next room in line, hunkering +down to see within it. To all appearances the chamber +was exactly the same as the one he had just left; there were +the same unadorned walls, a thick mat bed against the far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +side, and no indication whether it was in use or had not been +entered for days.</p> + +<p>He was on the next section of corridor wall when he caught +that faint taint in the air, the very familiar scent of wolverines. +Now it provided Shann with a guide as well as a promise +of allies.</p> + +<p>The next bead-room gave him what he wanted. Below +him Taggi and Togi paced back and forth. They had already +torn to bits the sleeping mat which had been the +chamber's single furnishing, and their temper was none too +certain. As Shann squatted well above their range of vision, +Taggi reared against the opposite wall, his claws finding no +hold on the smooth coating of its surface. They were as competently +imprisoned as if they had been dropped into a huge +fishbowl, and they were not taking to it kindly.</p> + +<p>How had the animals been brought here? Down that water +tunnel by the same unknown method he himself had been +transported until that almost disastrous awakening in the center +of the flood? The Terran did not doubt that the doors +of the room were as securely fastened as those of his own +further down the corridor. For the moment the wolverines +were safe; he could not free them. And he was growing +increasingly certain that if he found any of his native jailers, +it would be at the center of that wheel of rooms and corridors.</p> + +<p>Shann made no attempt to attract the animals' attention, +but kept on along his tightrope path. He passed two more +rooms, both empty, both differing in no way from those he +had already inspected; and then he came to the central +chamber, four times as big as any of the rest and with a +much brighter wall light.</p> + +<p>The Terran crouched, one hand on the surface of the +partition top as an additional balance, the other gripping his +stunner. For some reason his captors had not disarmed him. +Perhaps they believed they had no necessity to fear his off-world +weapon.</p> + +<p>"Have you grown wings?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>The words formed in his brain, bringing with them a sense +of calm amusement to reduce all his bold exploration to the +level of a child's first staggering steps. Shann fought his first +answering flare of pure irritation. To lose even a fraction of +control was to open a door for them. He remained where he +was as if he had never "heard" that question, surveying the +room below with all the impassiveness he could summon.</p> + +<p>Here the walls were no smooth barrier, but honeycombed +with niches in a regular pattern. And in each of the +niches rested a polished skull, a nonhuman skull. Only the +outlines of those ranked bones were familiar; for just so had +looked the great purple-red rock where the wheeling flyers +issued from the eye sockets. A rock island had been fashioned +into a skull—by design or nature?</p> + +<p>And upon closer observation the Terran could see that +there was a difference among these ranked skulls, a mutation +of coloring from row to row, a softening of outline, perhaps +by the wearing of time.</p> + +<p>There was also a table of dull black, rising from the flooring +on legs which were not more than a very few inches high, +so that from his present perch the board appeared to rest on +the pavement itself. Behind the table in a row, as shopkeepers +might await a customer, three of the Warlockians, seated +cross-legged on mats, their hands folded primly before them. +And at the side a fourth, the one whom he had trapped on +the island.</p> + +<p>Not one of those spiked heads rose to view him. But they +knew that he was there; perhaps they had known the very +instant he had left the room or cell in which they had shut +him. And they were so very sure of themselves.... Once +again Shann subdued a spark of anger. That same patience +with its core of stubborn determination which had brought +him to Warlock backed his moves now. The Terran swung +down, landing lightly on his feet, facing the three behind the +table, towering well over them as he stood erect, yet gaining +no sense of satisfaction from that merely physical fact.</p> + +<p>"You have come." The words sounded as if they might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +be a part of some polite formula. So he replied in kind and +aloud.</p> + +<p>"I have come." Without waiting for their bidding, he +dropped into the same cross-legged pose, fronting them now +on a more equal level across their dead black table.</p> + +<p>"And why have you come, star voyager?" That thought +seemed to be a concentrated effort from all three rather than +any individual questioning.</p> + +<p>"And why did you bring me?" He hesitated, trying to +think of some polite form of address. Those he knew which +were appropriate to their sex on other worlds seemed incongruous +when applied to the bizarre figures now facing him. +"Wise ones," he finally chose.</p> + +<p>Those unblinking yellow eyes conveyed no emotion; certainly +his human gaze could detect no change of expression +on their nonhuman faces.</p> + +<p>"You are a male."</p> + +<p>"I am," he agreed, not seeing just what that fact had to do +with either diplomatic fencing or his experiences of the immediate +past.</p> + +<p>"Where then is your thoughtguider?"</p> + +<p>Shann puzzled over that conception, guessed at its meaning.</p> + +<p>"I am my own thoughtguider," he returned stoutly, with +all the conviction he could manage to put into that reply.</p> + +<p>Again he met a yellow-green stare, but he sensed a change +in them. Some of their complacency had ebbed; his reply had +been as a stone dropped into a quiet pool, sending ripples out +afar to disturb the customary mirror surface of smooth +serenity.</p> + +<p>"The star-born one speaks the truth!" That came from the +Warlockian who had been his <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'fist'">first</ins> contact.</p> + +<p>"It would appear that he does." The agreement was +measured, and Shann knew that he was meant to "overhear" +that.</p> + +<p>"It would seem, Readers-of-the-rods"—the middle one of +the triumvirate at the table spoke now—"that all living things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +do not follow our pattern of life. But that is possible. A male +who thinks for himself ... unguided, who dreams perhaps! +Or who can understand the truth of dreaming! Strange indeed +must be his people. Sharers-of-my-visions, let us consult +the Old Ones concerning this." For the first time one of those +crested heads moved, the gaze shifted from Shann to the +ranks of the skulls, pausing at one.</p> + +<p>Shann, ready for any wonder, did not betray his amazement +when the ivory inhabitant of that particular niche +moved, lifted from its small compartment, and drifted buoyantly +through the air to settle at the right-hand corner of the +table. Only when it had safely grounded did the eyes of +the Warlockian move to another niche on the other side of the +curving room, this time bringing up from close to floor level +a time-darkened skull to occupy the left corner of the table.</p> + +<p>There was a third shifting from the weird storehouse, a last +skull to place between the other two. And now the youngest +native arose from her mat to bring a bowl of green crystal. +One of her seniors took it in both hands, making a gesture of +offering it to all three skulls, and then gazed over its rim at +the Terran.</p> + +<p>"We shall cast the rods, man-who-thinks-without-a-guide. +Perhaps then we shall see how strong <i>your</i> dreams are—to be +bent to your using, or to break you for your impudence."</p> + +<p>Her hands swayed the bowl from side to side, and there +was an answering whisper from its interior as if the contents +slid loosely there. Then one of her companions reached forward +and gave a quick tap to the bottom of that container, +spilling out upon the table a shower of brightly colored +slivers each an inch or so long.</p> + +<p>Shann, staring at the display in bewilderment, saw that in +spite of the seeming carelessness of that toss the small needles +had spread out on the blank surface to form a design in arrangement +and color. And he wondered how that skillful +trick had been accomplished.</p> + +<p>All three of the Warlockians bent their heads to study the +grouping of the tiny sticks, their young subordinate leaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +forward also, her eagerness less well controlled than her elders'. +And now it was as if a curtain had fallen between the +Terran and the aliens, all sense of communication which had +been with him since he had entered the skull-lined chamber +was summarily cut off.</p> + +<p>A hand moved, making the jeweled pattern—braceleting +wrist and extending up the arm—flash subdued fire. Fingers +swept the sticks back into the bowl; four pairs of yellow +eyes raised to regard Shann once more, but the blanket of +their withdrawal still held.</p> + +<p>The youngest Warlockian took the bowl from the elder +who held it, stood for a long moment with it resting between +her palms, fixing Shann with an unreadable stare. Then she +came toward him. One of those at the table put out a restraining +hand.</p> + +<p>This time Shann did <i>not</i> master his start as he heard the +first audible voice which had not been his own. The skull at +the left hand on the table, by its yellowed color the oldest +of those summoned from the niches, was moving, moving because +its jaws gaped and then snapped, emitting a faint +bleat which might have been a word or two.</p> + +<p>She who would have halted the young Warlockian's advance, +withdrew her hand. Then her fingers curled in an unmistakable +beckoning gesture. Shann came to the table, but +he could not quite force himself near that chattering skull, +even though it had stopped its jig of speech.</p> + +<p>The bowl of sticks was offered to him. Still no message +from mind to mind, but he could guess at what they wanted +of him. The crystal substance was not cool to the touch as he +had expected; rather it was warm, as living flesh might feel. +And the colored sticks filled about two thirds of the interior, +lying all mixed together without any order.</p> + +<p>Shann concentrated on recalling the <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'ceremoney'">ceremony</ins> the Warlockian +had used before the first toss. She had offered the +bowl to the skulls in turn. The skulls! But he was no consulter +of skulls. Still holding the bowl close to his chest, Shann +looked up over the roofless walls at the star map on the roof<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +of the cavern. There, that was Rama; and to its left, just a +little above, was Tyr's system where swung the stark world of +his birth, and of which he had only few good memories, but +of which he was a part. The Terran raised the bowl to that +spot of light which marked Tyr's pale sun.</p> + +<p>Smiling with a wry twist, he lowered the bowl, and on impulse +of pure defiance he offered it to the skull that had +chattered. Immediately he realized that the move had had +an electric effect upon the aliens. Slowly at first, and then +faster, he began to swing the bowl from side to side, the +needles slipping, mixing within. And as he swung it, Shann +held it out over the expanse of the table.</p> + +<p>The Warlockian who had given him the bowl was the one +who struck it on the bottom, causing a rain of splinters. To +Shann's astonishment, mixed as they had been in the container, +they once more formed a pattern, and not the same +pattern the Warlockians had consulted earlier. The dampening +curtain between them vanished; he was in touch mind to +mind once again.</p> + +<p>"So be it." The center Warlockian spread out her four-fingered +thumbless hands above the scattered needles. "What +is read, is read."</p> + +<p>Again a formula. He caught a chorus of answer from the +others.</p> + +<p>"What is read, is read. To the dreamer the dream. Let the +dream be known for what it is, and there is life. Let the +dream encompass the dreamer falsely, and all is lost."</p> + +<p>"Who can question the wisdom of the Old Ones?" asked +their leader. "We are those who read the messages they send, +out of their mercy. This is a strange thing they bid us do, +man—open for you our own initiates' road to the veil of illusion. +That way has never been for males, who dream without +set purpose and have not the ability to know true from false, +have not the courage to face their dreams to the truth. Do +so—if you can!" There was a flash of mockery in that, combined +with something else—stronger than distaste, not as strong +as hatred, but certainly not friendly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>She held out her hands and Shann saw now, lying on a +slowly closing palm, a disk such as the one Thorvald had +shown him. The Terran had only one moment of fear and then +came blackness, more absolute than the dark of any night he +had ever known.</p> + +<p>Light once more, green light with an odd shimmering +quality to it. The skull-lined walls were gone; there were no +walls, no building held him. Shann strode forward, and +his boots sank in sand, that smooth, satin sand which had +ringed the island in the cavern. But he was certain he was +no longer on that island, even within that cavern, though far +above him there was still a dome of roof.</p> + +<p>The source of the green shimmer lay to his left. Somehow +he found himself reluctant to turn and face it. That would +commit him to action. But Shann turned.</p> + +<p>A veil, a veil of rippling green. Material? No, rather mist +or light. A veil depending from some source so far over his +head that its origin was hidden in the upper gloom, a veil +which was a barrier he must cross.</p> + +<p>With every nerve protesting, Shann walked forward, unable +to keep back. He flung up his arm to protect his face as +he marched into that stuff. It was warm, and the gas—if +gas it was—left no slick of moisture on his skin in spite of its +foggy consistency. And it was no veil or curtain, for although +he was already well into the murk, he saw no end to it. +Blindly he trudged on, unable to sight anything but the rolling +billows of green, pausing now and again to go down on +one knee and pat the sand underfoot, reassured at the reality +of that footing.</p> + +<p>And when he met nothing menacing, Shann began to relax. +His heart no longer labored; he made no move to draw +the stunner or knife. Where he was and for what purpose, +he had no idea. But there <i>was</i> a purpose in this and that the +Warlockians were behind it, he did not doubt. The "initiates' +road," the leader had said, and the conviction was steady in +his mind that he faced some test of alien devising.</p> + +<p>A cavern with a green veil—his memory awoke. Thorvald's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +dream! Shann paused, trying to remember how the other had +described this place. So he was enacting Thorvald's dream! +And could the Survey officer now be caught in Shann's +dream in turn, climbing up somewhere into the nose slit of a +skull-shaped mountain?</p> + +<p>Green fog without end, and Shann lost in it. How long had +he been here? Shann tried to reckon time, the time since his +coming into the water-world of the starred cavern. He realized +that he had not eaten, nor drank, nor desired to do so +either—nor did he now. Yet he was not weak; in fact, he +had never felt such tireless energy as possessed his spare body.</p> + +<p>Was this <i>all</i> a dream? His threatened drowning in the underground +stream a nightmare? Yet there was a pattern in +this, just as there had been a pattern in the needles he had +spilled across the table. One even led to another with +discernible logic; because he had tossed that particular pattern +he had come here.</p> + +<p>According to the ambiguous instructions or warnings of the +Warlockian witch, his safety in this place would depend +upon his ability to tell true dreams from false. But how ... +why? So far he had done nothing except walk through a +green fog, and for all he knew, he might well be traveling in +circles.</p> + +<p>Because there was nothing else to do, Shann walked on, his +boots pressing sand, rising from each step with a small +sucking sound. Then, as he stooped to search for some indication +of a path or road which might guide him, his ears +caught the slightest of noises—other small sucking whispers. +He was not the only wayfarer in this place!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="HE_WHO_DREAMS" id="HE_WHO_DREAMS"></a>13. HE WHO DREAMS....</h2> + + +<p>The mist was not a quiet thing; it billowed and curled until +it appeared to half-conceal darker shadows, any one of +which could be an enemy. Shann remained hunkered on the +sand, every sense abnormally alert, watching the fog. He was +still sure he could hear sounds which marked the progress +of another. What other? One of the Warlockians tracking +him to spy? Or was there some prisoner like himself lost out +there in the murk? Could it be Thorvald?</p> + +<p>Now the sound had ceased. He was not even sure from +what direction it had first come. Perhaps that other was listening +now, as intent upon locating him. Shann ran his +tongue over dry lips. The impulse to call out, to try and contact +any fellow traveler here, was strong. Only hard-learned +caution kept him silent. He got to his hands and knees, uncertain +as to his previous direction.</p> + +<p>Shann crept. Someone expecting a man walking erect +might be suitably distracted by the arrival of a half-seen figure +on all fours. He halted again to listen.</p> + +<p>He had been right! The sound of a very muffled footfall +or footfalls, carried to his ears. He was sure that the sound +was louder, that the unknown was approaching. Shann +stood, his hand close to his stunner. He was almost tempted +to spray that beam blindly before him, hoping to hit the unseen +by chance.</p> + +<p>A shadow—something more swift than a shadow, more +than one of the tricks the curling fog played on eyes—was +moving with purpose and straight for him. Still, prudence +restrained Shann from calling out.</p> + +<p>The figure grew clearer. A Terran! It could be Thorvald! +But remembering how they had last parted, Shann did not +hurry to meet him.</p> + +<p>That shadow-shape stretched out a long arm in a sweep +as if to pull aside some of the vapor concealing them from each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +other. Then Shann shivered as if that fog had suddenly turned +into the drive of frigid snow. For the mist did roll back so +that the two of them stood in an irregular clearing in its +midst.</p> + +<p>And he did not front Thorvald.</p> + +<p>Shann was caught up in the ice grip of an old fear, frozen +by it, but somehow clinging to a hope that he did not see +the unbelievable.</p> + +<p>Those hands drawing the lash of a whip back into striking +readiness ... a brutal nose broken askew, a blaster burn +puckering across cheek to misshapen ear ... that, evil, gloating +grin of anticipation. Flick, flick, the slight dance of the +lash in a master's hand as those thick fingers tightened about +the stock of the whip. In a moment it would whirl up to lay +a ribbon of fire about Shann's defenceless shoulders. Then +Logally would laugh and laugh, his sadistic mirth echoed by +those other men who played jackals to his rogue lion.</p> + +<p>Other men.... Shann shook his head dazedly. But he did +not stand again in the Dump-size bar of the Big Strike. And +he was no longer a terrorized youngster, fit meat for Logally's +amusement. Only the whip rose, the lash curled out, +catching Shann just as it had that time years ago, delivering +a red slash of pure agony. But Logally was dead, Shann's +mind screamed, fighting frantically against the evidence of +his eyes, of that pain in his chest and shoulder. The Dump +bully had been spaced by off-world miners, now also dead, +whose claims he had tried to jump out in the Ajax system.</p> + +<p>Logally drew back the lash, preparing to strike again. Shann +faced a man five years dead who walked and fought. Or, +Shann bit hard upon his lower lip, holding desperately to +sane reasoning—did he indeed face anything? Logally was +the ancient devil of his boyhood produced anew by the +witchery of Warlock. Or had Shann himself been led to recreate +both the man and the circumstances of their first meeting +with fear as a weapon to pull the creator down? Dream +true or false. Logally <i>was</i> dead; therefore, this dream was +false, it had to be.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Terran began to walk toward that grinning ogre rising +out of his old nightmares. His hand was no longer on the +butt of his stunner, but swung loosely at his side. He saw +the coming lash, the wicked promise in those small narrowed +eyes. This was Logally at the acme of his strength, when he +was most to be feared, as he had continued to exist over the +years in the depths of a boy-child's memory. But Logally was +<i>not</i> alive; only in a dream could he be.</p> + +<p>For the second time the lash bit at Shann, curling about his +body, to dissolve. There was no alteration in Logally's grin, +His muscular arm drew back as he aimed a third blow. Shann +continued to walk forward, bringing up one hand, not to +strike at that sweating, bristly jaw, but as if to push the other +out of his path. And in his mind he held one thought: this +was not Logally; it could not be. Ten years had passed since +they had met. And for five of those years Logally had been +dead. Here was Warlockian witchery, to be met by sane +Terran reasoning.</p> + +<p>Shann was alone. The mist, which had formed walls, enclosed +him again. But still there was a smarting brand across +his shoulder. Shann drew aside the rags of his uniform +blouse to discover a welt, raw and red. And seeing that, his +unbelief was shaken.</p> + +<p>When he had believed in Logally and in Logally's weapon, +the other had had reality enough to strike that blow, make +the lash cut deep. But when the Terran had faced the phantom +with the truth, then neither Logally nor his lash existed, +Shann shivered, trying not to think what might lie before +him. Visions out of nightmares which could put on substance! +He had dreamed of Logally in the past, many times. +And he had had other dreams, just as frightening. Must <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'be'">he</ins> +front those nightmares, all of them—? Why? To amuse his +captors, or to prove <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'then'">their</ins> contention that he was a fool to +challenge the powers of such mistresses of illusion?</p> + +<p>How did they know just what dreams to use in order to +break him? Or did he himself furnish the actors and the +action, projecting old terrors in this mist as a <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'trid-ee'">tri-dee</ins> tape<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +projected a story in three dimensions for the amusement of +the viewer?</p> + +<p>Dream true—was this progress through the mist also a +dream? Dreams within dreams.... Shann put his hand to +his head, uncertain, badly shaken. But that stubborn core of +determination within him was still holding. Next time he +would be prepared at once to face down any resurrected +memory.</p> + +<p>Walking slowly, pausing to listen for the slightest sound +which might herald the coming of a new illusion, Shann tried +to guess which of his nightmares might come to face him. But +he was to learn that there was more than one kind of dream. +Steeled against old fears, he was met by another emotion +altogether.</p> + +<p>There was a fluttering in the air, a little crooning cry +which pulled at his heart. Without any conscious thought, +Shann held out his hands, whistling on two notes a call which +his lips appeared to remember more quickly than his mind. +The shape which winged through the fog came straight to +his waiting hold, tore at long-walled-away hurt with its once +familiar beauty. It flew with a list; one of the delicately +tinted wings was injured, had never <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'heeled'">healed</ins> straight. But +the seraph nestled into the hollow of Shann's two palms +and looked up at him with all the old liquid trust.</p> + +<p>"Trav! Trav!" He cradled the tiny creature carefully, regarded +with joy its feathered body, the curled plumes on its +proudly held head, felt the silken patting of those infinitesimal +claws against his protecting fingers.</p> + +<p>Shann sat down in the sand, hardly daring to breathe. +Trav—again! The wonder of this never-to-be-hoped-for return +filled him with a surge of happiness almost too great to +bear, which hurt in its way with as great a pain as Logally's +lash; it was a pain rooted in love, not fear and hate.</p> + +<p>Logally's lash....</p> + +<p>Shann trembled. Trav raised one of those small claws toward +the Terran's face, crooning a soft caressing cry for recognition,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +for protection, trying to be a part of Shann's life +once more.</p> + +<p>Trav! How could he bear to will Trav into nothingness, to +bear to summon up another harsh memory which would +sweep Trav away? Trav was the only thing Shann had +ever known which he could love wholeheartedly, that had +answered his love with a return gift of affection so much +greater than the light body he now held.</p> + +<p>"Trav!" he whispered softly. Then he made his great effort +<ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'again'">against</ins> this second and far more subtle attack. With the same +agony which he had known years earlier, he resolutely summoned +a bitter memory, sat nursing once more a broken +thing which died in pain he could not ease, aware himself +of every moment of that pain. And what was worse, this +time there clung that nagging little doubt. What if he had +not forced the memory? Perhaps he could have taken Trav +with him unhurt, alive, at least for a while.</p> + +<p>Shann covered his face with his now empty hands. To +see a nightmare flicker out after facing squarely up to its +terror, that was no great task. To give up a dream which was +part of a lost heaven, that cut cruelly deep. The Terran +dragged himself to his feet, drained and weary, stumbling +on.</p> + +<p>Was there no end to this aimless circling through a world +of green smoke? He shambled ahead, moving his feet leadenly. +How long had he been here? There was no division in +time, just the unchanging light which was a part of the fog +through which he plodded.</p> + +<p>Then he heard more than any shuffle of foot across sand, +any crooning of a long dead seraph, the rising and falling of +a voice: a human voice—not quite singing or reciting, but +something between the two. Shann paused, searching his +memory, a memory which seemed bruised, for the proper +answer to match that sound.</p> + +<p>But, though he recalled scene after scene out of the years, +that voice did not trigger any return from his past. He +turned toward its source, dully determined to get over quickly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +the meeting which lay behind that signal. Only, though he +walked on and on, Shann did not appear any closer to the +man behind the voice, nor was he able to make out separate +words composing that chant, a chant broken now and then +by pauses, so that the Terran grew aware of the distress of +his fellow prisoner. For the impression that he sought another +captive came out of nowhere and grew as he cast +wider and wider in his quest.</p> + +<p>Then he might have turned some invisible corner in the +<ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'midst'">mist</ins>, for the chant broke out anew in stronger volume, and +now he was able to distinguish words he knew.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... where blow the winds between the worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hang the suns in dark of space.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Power is given a man to use.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him do so well before the last accounting—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The voice was hoarse, cracked, the words spaced with uneven +catches of breath, as if they had been repeated many, +many times to provide an anchor against madness, form a +tie to reality. And hearing that note, Shann slowed his pace. +This was out of no memory of his; he was sure of that.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... blow the winds between the worlds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hang the suns in ... dark—of—of—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That harsh croak of voice was running down, as a clock +runs down for lack of winding. Shann sped on, reacting to a +plea which did not lay in the words themselves.</p> + +<p>Once more the mist curled back, provided him with an +open space. A man sat on the sand, his fists buried wrist deep +in the smooth grains on either side of his body, his eyes set, +red-rimmed, glazed, his body rocking back and forth in time +to his labored chant.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... the dark of space—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Thorvald!" Shann skidded in the sand, went down on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +knees. The manner of their last parting was forgotten as he +took in the officer's condition.</p> + +<p>The other did not stop his swaying, but his head turned +with a stiff jerk, the gray eyes making a visible effort to focus +on Shann. Then some of the strain smoothed out of the gaunt +features and Thorvald laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Garth!"</p> + +<p>Shann stiffened but had no chance to protest that mistaken +identification as the other continued: "So you made class +one status, boy! I always knew you could if you'd work for +it. A couple of black marks on your record, sure. But those +can be rubbed out, boy, when you're willing to try. Thorvalds +always have been Survey. Our father would have been +proud."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's voice flattened, his smile faded, there was a +growing spark of some emotion in those gray eyes. Unexpectedly, +he hurled himself forward, his hands clawing for +Shann's throat. He bore the younger man down under him to +the sand where Lantee found himself fighting desperately for +his life against a man who could only be mad.</p> + +<p>Shann used a trick learned on the Dumps, and his opponent +doubled up with a gasp of agony to let the younger +man break free. He planted a knee on the small of Thorvald's +back, digging the officer into the sand, pinning down +his arms in spite of the other's struggles. Regaining his own +breath in gulps, Shann tried to appeal to some spark of +reason in the other.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald! This is Lantee—Lantee——" His name echoed in +the mist-walled void like an unhuman wail.</p> + +<p>"Lantee——? No, Throg! Lantee—Throg—killed my brother!"</p> + +<p>Sand puffed out with the breath, which expelled that indictment. +But Thorvald no longer fought, and Shann believed +him close to collapse.</p> + +<p>Shann relaxed his hold, rolling the other man over. Thorvald +obeyed his pull limply, lying face upward, sand in his +hair and eyebrows, crusting his slack lips. The younger man +brushed the dirt away gently as the other opened his eyes to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +regard Shann with his old impersonal stare.</p> + +<p>"You're alive," Thorvald stated bleakly. "Garth's dead. You +ought to be dead too."</p> + +<p>Shann drew back, rubbed sand from his hands, his concern +dampened by the other's patent hostility. Only that angry +accusation vanished in a blink of those gray eyes. Then +there was a warmer recognition in Thorvald's expression.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!" The younger man might just have come into +sight. "What are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>Shann tightened his belt. "Just about what you are." He +was still aloof, giving no acknowledgment of difference in +rank now. "Running around in this fog hunting the way out."</p> + +<p>Thorvald sat up, surveying the billowing walls of the hole +which contained them. Then he reached out a hand to draw +fingers down Shann's forearm.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> real," he observed simply, and his voice was +warm, welcoming.</p> + +<p>"Don't bet on it," Shann snapped. "The unreal can be +mighty real—here." His hand went up to the smarting brand +on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Thorvald nodded. "Masters of illusion," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Mistresses," Shann corrected. "This place is run by a gang +of pretty smart witches."</p> + +<p>"Witches? You've seen them? Where? And what—who +are they?" Thorvald pounced with a return of his old-time +sharpness.</p> + +<p>"They're females right enough, and they can make the impossible +happen. I'd say that classifies them as witches. One of +them tried to take me over back on the island. I set a trap +and caught her; then somehow she transported me——" Swiftly +he outlined the chain of events leading from his sudden +awakening in the river tunnel to his present penetration of +this fog-world.</p> + +<p>Thorvald listened eagerly. When the story was finished, he +rubbed his hands across his drawn face, smearing away the +last of the sand. "At least you have some idea of who they are +and a suggestion of how you got here. I don't remember that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +much about my own arrival. As far as I can remember I +went to sleep on the Island and woke up here!"</p> + +<p>Shann studied him and knew that Thorvald was telling +the truth. He could remember nothing of his departure in +the outrigger, the way he had fought Shann in the lagoon. +The Survey officer must have been under the control of +the Warlockians then. Quickly he gave the older man his +version of the other's actions in the outer world and Thorvald +was clearly astounded, though he did not question the facts +Shann presented.</p> + +<p>"They just <i>took</i> me!" Thorvald said in a husky half whisper. +"But why? And why are we here? Is this a prison?"</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head. "I think all this"—a wave of his +hand encompassed the green wall, what lay beyond it, and +in it—"is a test of some kind. This dream business.... A little +while ago I got to thinking that I wasn't here at all, that +I might be dreaming it all. Then I met you."</p> + +<p>Thorvald understood. "Yes, but this <i>could</i> be a dream +meeting. How can we tell?" He hesitated, almost diffidently, +before he asked: "Have you met anyone else here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Shann had no desire to go into that.</p> + +<p>"People out of your past life?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Again he did not elaborate.</p> + +<p>"So did I." Thorvald's expression was bleak; his encounters +in the fog must have proved no more pleasant than Shann's. +"That suggests that we do trigger the hallucinations ourselves. +But maybe we can really lick it now."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if these phantoms are born of our memories there +are about only two or three we could see together—maybe +a Throg on the rampage, or that hound we left back in the +mountains. And if we do sight anything like that, we'll know +what it is. On the other hand, if we stick together and one of +us sees something that the other can't ... well, that fact +alone will explode the ghost."</p> + +<p>There was sense in what he said. Shann aided the officer +to his feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I must be a better subject for their experiments than you," +the older man remarked ruefully. "They took me over completely +at the first."</p> + +<p>"You were carrying that disk," Shann pointed out. "Maybe +that acted as a focusing lens for whatever power they use to +make us play trained animals."</p> + +<p>"Could be!" Thorvald brought out the cloth-wrapped bone +coin. "I still have it." But he made no move to pull off the bit +of rag about it. "Now"—he gazed at the wall of green—"which +way?"</p> + +<p>Shann shrugged. Long ago he had lost any idea of keeping +a straight course through the murk. He might have turned +around any number of times since he first walked blindly into +this place. Then he pointed to the packet Thorvald held.</p> + +<p>"Why not flip that?" he asked. "Heads, we go that way—" +he indicated the direction in which they were facing—"tails, +we do a rightabout-face."</p> + +<p>There was an answering grin on Thorvald's lips. "As good +a guide as any we're likely to find here. We'll do it." He +pulled away the twist of cloth and with a swift snap, reminiscent +of that used by the Warlockian witch to empty the +bowl of sticks, he tossed the disk into the air.</p> + +<p>It spun, whirled, but—to their open-jawed amazement—it +did not fall to the sand. Instead it spun until it looked like +a small globe instead of a disk. And it lost its dead white for +a glow of green. When that glow became dazzling for Terran +eyes the miniature sun swung out, not in orbit but in straight +line of flight, heading to their right.</p> + +<p>With a muffled cry, Thorvald started in pursuit, Shann +running beside him. They were in a tunnel of the fog now, +and the pace set by the spinning coin was swift. The Terrans +continued to follow it at the best pace they could summon, +having no idea of where they were headed, but each with +the hope that they finally did have a guide to lead them +through this place of confusion and into a sane world where +they could face on more equal terms those who had sent them +there.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ESCAPE" id="ESCAPE"></a>14. ESCAPE</h2> + + +<p>"Something ahead!" Thorvald did not slacken the pace set +by the brilliant spot of green they trailed. Both of the Terrans +feared to fall behind, to lose touch with that guide. Their +belief that somehow the traveling disk would bring them to +the end of the mist and its attendant illusions had grown firmer +with every foot of ground they traversed.</p> + +<p>A dark, fixed point, now partly veiled by mist, lay beyond, +and it was toward that looming half-shadow that the spinning +disk hurtled. Now the mist curled away to display its +bulk—larger, blacker and four or five times Thorvald's height. +Both men stopped short, for the disk no longer played pathfinder. +It still whirled on its axis in the air, faster and faster, +until it appeared to be throwing off sparks, but the sparks +faded against a monolith of dark rock unlike the native stone +they had seen elsewhere. For it was neither red nor warmly +brown, but a dull, dead black. It could have been a huge +stone slab, trimmed, smoothed, set up on end as a monument +or marker, except that only infinite labor could have accomplished +such a task, and there was no valid reason for such +toil as far as the Terrans could perceive.</p> + +<p>"This is it." Thorvald moved closer.</p> + +<p>By the disk's action, they deduced that their guide had +drawn them to this featureless black steel with the precision +of a beam-controlled ship. However, the purpose still eluded +them. They had hoped for some exit from the territory of the +veil, but now they faced a solid slab of dark stone, neither a +conventional exit or entrance, as they proved by circling its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +base. Beneath their boots was the eternal sand, around them +the fog.</p> + +<p>"Now what?" Shann asked. They had made their trip +about the slab and were back again where the disk whirled +with unceasing vigor in a shower of emerald sparks.</p> + +<p>Thorvald shook his head, scanning the rock face before +them glumly. The eagerness had gone out of his expression, +a vast weariness replacing it.</p> + +<p>"There must have been some purpose in coming here," he +replied, but his tone had lost the assurance of moments earlier.</p> + +<p>"Well, if we strike away from here, we'll just get right back +in again." Shann waved a hand toward the mist, waiting as if +with a hunter's watch upon them. "And we certainly can't +go down." He dug a boot toe into the sand to demonstrate +the folly of that. "So, what about up?"</p> + +<p>He ducked under the spinning disk to lay his hands +against the surface of the giant slab. And in so doing he +made a discovery, revealed to his touch although hidden from +sight. For his fingers, running aimlessly across the cold, +slightly uneven surface of the stone, slipped into a hollow, +quite a deep hollow.</p> + +<p>Excited, half fearing that his sudden guess might be wrong, +Shann slid his hand higher in line with that hollow, to discover +a second. The first had been level with his chest, the +second perhaps eighteen inches or so above. He jumped, to +draw his fingers down the rock, with damage to his nails but +getting his proof. There <i>was</i> a third niche, deep enough to +hold more than just the toe of a boot, and a fourth above +that....</p> + +<p>"We've a ladder of sorts here," he reported. Without waiting +for any answer from Thorvald, Shann began to climb. +The holds were so well matched in shape and size that he +was sure they could not be natural; they had been bored +there for use—the use to which he was now putting them—a +ladder to the top of the slab. Though what he might find +there was beyond his power to imagine.</p> + +<p>The disk did not rise. Shann passed that core of light,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +climbing above it into the greater gloom. But the holes did +not fail him; each was waiting in a direct line with its companion. +And to an active man the scramble was not difficult. +He reached the summit, glanced around, and made a quick +grab for a secure handhold.</p> + +<p>Waiting for him was no level platform such as he had confidently +expected to find. The surface up which he had just +made his way fly-fashion was the outer wall of a well or +chimney. He looked down now into a pit where black nothingness +began within a yard of the top, for the radiance of +the mist did not penetrate far into that descent.</p> + +<p>Shann fought an attack of giddiness. It would be very easy +to lose control, to tumble over and be swallowed up in what +might well be a bottomless chasm. And what was the purpose +of this well? Was it a trap to entice a prisoner into an unwary +climb and then let gravity drag him over? The whole setup +was meaningless. Perhaps meaningless only to him, Shann +conceded, with a flash of level thinking. The situation could +be quite different as far as the natives were concerned. This +structure did have a reason, or it would never have been +erected in the first place.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" Thorvald's voice was rough with +impatience.</p> + +<p>"This thing's a well." Shann edged about a fraction to +call back. "The inside is open and—as far as I can tell—goes +clear to the planet's core."</p> + +<p>"Ladder on the inside too?"</p> + +<p>Shann squirmed. That was, of course, a very obvious supposition. +He kept a tight hold with his left hand, and with +the other, he did some exploring. Yes, here was a hollow +right enough, twin to those on the outside. But to swing over +that narrow edge of safety and begin a descent into the +black of the well was far harder than any action he had +taken since the morning the Throgs had raided the camp. +The green mist could hold no terrors greater than those +with which his imagination peopled the depths now waiting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +to engulf him. But Shann swung over, fitted his boot into the +first hollow, and started down.</p> + +<p>The only encouragement he gained during that nightmare +ordeal was that those holes were regularly spaced. But somehow +his confidence did not feed on that fact. There always +remained the nagging fear that when he searched for the +next it would not be there and he would cling to his perch +lacking the needful strength in aching arms and legs to reclimb +the inside ladder.</p> + +<p>He was fast losing that sense of well being which had been +his during his travels through the fog; a fatigue tugged at his +arms and weighed leaden on his shoulders. Mechanically he +prospected for the next hold, and then the next. Above, the +oblong of half-light grew smaller and smaller, sometimes half +blotted out by the movements of Thorvald's body as the +other followed him down that interior way.</p> + +<p>How far <i>was</i> down? Shann giggled lightheadedly at the +humor of that, or what seemed to be humor at the moment. +He was certain that they were now below the level of the +sand floor outside the slab. And yet no end had come to the +well hollow.</p> + +<p>No break of light down here; he might have been sightless. +But just as the blind develop an extra perceptive sense of +unseen obstacles, so did Shann now find that he was aware +of a change in the nature of the space about him. His weary +arms and legs held him against the solidity of a wall, yet +the impression that there was no longer another wall at his +back grew stronger with every niche which swung him +downward. And he was as sure as if he could see it, that he +was now in a wide-open space, another cavern; perhaps, but +this one totally dark.</p> + +<p>Deprived of sight, he relied upon his ears. And there was +a sound, faint, distorted perhaps by the acoustics of this +place, but keeping up a continuous murmur. Water! Not the +wash of waves with their persistent beat, but rather the +rippling of a running stream. Water must lie below!</p> + +<p>And just as his weariness had grown with his leaving behind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +the fog, so now did both hunger and thirst gnaw at +Shann, all the sharper for the delay. The Terran wanted to +reach that water, could picture it in his mind, putting away +the possibility—the probability—that it might be sea-born +and salt, and so unfit to drink.</p> + +<p>The upper opening to the cavern of the fog was now so +far above him that he had to strain to see it. And that warmth +which had been there was gone. A dank chill wrapped him +here, dampened the holds to which he clung until he was +afraid of slipping. While the murmur of the water grew +louder, until its <i>slap-slap</i> sounded within arms' distance. His +boot toe skidded from a niche. Shann fought to hold on +with numbed fingers. The other foot went. He swung by his +hands, kicking vainly to regain a measure of footing.</p> + +<p>Then his arms could no longer support him, and he cried +out as he fell. Water closed about him with an icy shock +which for a moment paralyzed him. He flailed out, fighting +the flood to get his head above the surface where he could +gasp in precious gulps of air.</p> + +<p>There was a current here, a swiftly running one. Shann +remembered the one which had carried him into that cavern +in which the Warlockians had their strange dwelling. Although +there were no clusters of crystals in this tunnel to +supply him with light, the Terran began to nourish a faint +hope that he was again in that same stream, that those light +crystals would appear, and that he might eventually return +to the starting point of this meaningless journey.</p> + +<p>So he strove only to keep his head above water. Hearing +a splashing behind him, he called out: "Thorvald?"</p> + +<p>"Lantee?" The answer came back at once; the splashing +grew louder as the other swam to catch up.</p> + +<p>Shann swallowed a mouthful of the water lapping against +his chin. The taste was brackish, but not entirely salt, and +though it stung his lips, the liquid relieved a measure of his +thirst.</p> + +<p>Only no glowing crystals appeared to stud these walls, and +Shann's hope that they were on their way to the cavern of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +the island faded. The current grew swifter, and he had to +fight to keep his head above water, his tired body reacting +sluggishly to commands.</p> + +<p>The murmur of the racing flood drummed louder in his +ears, or was that sound the same? He could no longer be +sure. Shann only knew that it was close to impossible to +snatch the necessary breath as he was rolled over and over +in the hurrying flood.</p> + +<p>In the end he was ejected into blazing, blinding light, into +a suffocation of wild water as the bullet in an ancient Terran +rifle might have been fired at no specific target. Gasping, +beaten, more than half-drowned, Shann was pummeled +by waves, literally driven up on a rocky surface which +skinned his body cruelly. He lay there, his arms moving +feebly until he contrived to raise himself in time to be +wretchedly sick. Somehow he crawled on a few feet farther +before he subsided again, blinded by the light, flinching +from the heat of the rocks on which he lay, but unable to do +more for himself.</p> + +<p>His first coherent thought was that his speculation concerning +the reality of this experience was at last resolved. This +could not possibly be an hallucination; at least this particular +sequence of events was not. And he was still hazily considering +that when a hand fell on his shoulder, fingers biting into +his raw flesh.</p> + +<p>Shann snarled, rolled over on his side. Thorvald, water +dripping from his rags—or rather steaming from them—his +shaggy hair plastered to his skull, sat there.</p> + +<p>"You all right?"</p> + +<p><ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'Shan'">Shann</ins> sat up in turn, shielding his smarting eyes. He was +bruised, battered badly enough, but he could claim no +major injuries.</p> + +<p>"I think so. Where are we?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald's lips stretched across his teeth in what was more +a grimace than a smile. "Right off the map, any map I know. +Take a look."</p> + +<p>They were on a scrap of beach—beach which was more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +like a reef, for it lacked any covering comparable to sand +except for some cupfuls of coarse gravel locked in rock depressions. +Rocks, red as the rust of dried blood, rose in fantastic +water-sculptured shapes around the small semi-level +space they had somehow won.</p> + +<p>This space was V-shaped, washed by equal streams on +either side of the prong of rock by water which spouted from +the face of a sheer cliff not too far away, with force enough +to spray several feet beyond its exit point. Shann seeing +that and guessing at its significance, drew a deep breath, +and heard the ghost of an answering chuckle from his companion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's where we came out, boy. Like to make a return +trip?"</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head, and then wished that he had not +so rashly made that move, for the world swung in a dizzy +whirl. Things had happened too fast. For the moment it was +enough that they were out of the underground ways, back +under the amber sky, feeling the bite of Warlock's sun.</p> + +<p>Steadying his head with both hands, Shann turned slowly, +to survey what might lie at their backs. The water, pouring +by on either side, suggested that they were again on an +island. Warlock, he thought gloomily, seemed to be for Terrans +a succession of islands, all hard to escape.</p> + +<p>The tangle of rocks did not encourage any exploration. +Just gazing at them added to his weariness. They rose, tier +by tier, to a ragged crown against the sky. Shann continued to +sit staring at them.</p> + +<p>"To climb that...." His voice trailed into the silence of +complete discouragement.</p> + +<p>"You climb—or swim," Thorvald stated. But, Shann noted, +the Survey officer was not in a hurry to make either move.</p> + +<p>Nowhere in that wilderness of rock was there the least +relieving bit of purple foliage. Nor did any clak-claks or +leather-headed birds tour the sky over their heads. Shann's +thirst might have been partially <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'assauged'">assuaged</ins>, but his hunger remained. +And it was that need which forced him at last into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +action. The barren heights promised nothing in the way of +food, but remembering the harvest the wolverines had taken +from under the rocks along the river, he got to his feet and +lurched out on the reef which had been their salvation, +hunting some pool which might hold an edible captive or +two.</p> + +<p>So it was that Shann made the discovery of a possible +path consisting of a ledge running toward the other end of +the island, if this were an island where they had taken +refuge. The spray of the water drenched that way, feeding +small pools in the uneven surface, and strips of yellow weed +trailed in slimy ribbons back below the surface of the waves.</p> + +<p>He called to Thorvald and gestured to his find. And then, +close together, linking hands when the going became hazardous, +the men followed the path. Twice they made finds +in the pools, finned or clawed grotesque creatures, which they +killed and ate, wolfing down the few fragments of odd-tasting +flesh. Then, in a small crevice, which could hardly be +dignified by the designation of "cave," Thorvald chanced +upon a quite exciting discovery—a clutch of four greenish +eggs, each as large as his doubled fist.</p> + +<p>Their outer covering was more like tough membrane than +true shell, and the Terrans worried it open with difficulty. +Shann shut his eyes, trying not to think of what he mouthed +as he sucked his share dry. At least that semi-liquid stayed +put in his middle, though he expected disastrous results from +the experiment.</p> + +<p>More than a little heartened by this piece of luck, they +kept on, though the ledge changed from a reasonably level +surface to a series of rising, unequal steps, drawing them +away from the water. At long last they came to the end of +that path. Shann leaned back against a convenient spur of +rock.</p> + +<p>"Company!" he alerted Thorvald.</p> + +<p>The Survey officer joined him to share an outcrop of rock +from which they were provided with an excellent view of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +the scene below, and it was a scene to hold their full attention.</p> + +<p>That soft sweep of sand which had floored the cavern of +the fog lay here also, a gray-blue carpet sloping gently out +of the sea. For Shann had no doubt that the wide stretch of +water before them was the western ocean. Walling the beach +on either side, and extending well out into the water so that +the farthest piles were awash except for their crowns, were +pillars of stone, shaped with the same finish as that slab +which had provided them a ladder of escape. And because of +the regularity of their spacing, Shann did not believe them +works of nature.</p> + +<p>Grouped between them now were the players of the +drama. One of the Warlockian witches, her gem body patterns +glittering in the sunlight, was walking backward out +of the sea, her hands held palms together, breast high, in a +Terran attitude of prayer. And following her something swam +in the water, clearly not another of her own species. But her +actions suggested that by some invisible means she was +drawing that water dweller after her. Waiting on shore were +two others of her kind, viewing her actions with close attention, +the attention of scholars for an instructor.</p> + +<p>"Wyverns!"</p> + +<p>Shann looked inquiringly at his companion. Thorvald +added a whisper of explanation. "A legend of Terra—they +were supposed to have a snake's tail instead of hind legs, but +the heads.... They're Wyverns!"</p> + +<p>Wyverns. Shann liked the sound of that word; to his +mind it well fitted the Warlockian witches. And the one they +were watching in action continued her steady backward retreat, +rolling her bemused captive out of the water. What +emerged into the blaze of sunlight was one of those fork-tailed +sea dwellers such as the Terrans had seen die after the +storm. The thing crawled out of the shallows, its eyes focused +in a blind stare on the praying hands of the Wyvern.</p> + +<p>She halted, well up on the sand, when the body of her +victim or prisoner—Shann was certain that the fork-tail was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +one or the other—was completely out of the water. Then, +with lightning speed, she dropped her hands.</p> + +<p>Instantly fork-tail came to life. Fanged jaws snapped. +Aroused, the beast was the incarnation of evil rage, a rage +which had a measure of intelligence to direct it into deadly +action. And facing it, seemingly unarmed and defenseless, +were the slender, fragile Wyverns.</p> + +<p>Yet none of the small group of natives made any attempt +to escape. Shann thought them suicidal in their indifference +as fork-tail, short legs sending the fine sand flying in a dust +cloud, made a rush toward its enemies.</p> + +<p>The Wyvern who had led the beast ashore did not move. +But one of her companions swung up a hand, as if negligently +waving the monster to a stop. Between her first two +digits was a disk. Thorvald caught at Shann's arm.</p> + +<p>"See that! It's a copy of the one I had; it must be!"</p> + +<p>They were too far away to be sure it was a duplicate, but +It was coin-shaped and bone-white. And now the Wyvern +swung it back and forth in a metronome sweep. Fork-tail +skidded to a stop, its head beginning—reluctantly at first, +and then, with increasing speed—to echo that left-right +sweep. This Wyvern had the sea beast under control, even +as her companion had earlier held it.</p> + +<p>Chance dictated what happened next. As had her sister +charmer, the Wyvern began a backward withdrawal up the +length of the beach, drawing the sea thing in her wake. They +were very close to the foot of the drop above which the +Terrans stood, fascinated, when the sand betrayed the witch. +Her foot slipped into a hole and she was thrown backward, +her control disk spinning out of her fingers.</p> + +<p>At once the monster she had charmed shot forth its head, +snapped at that spinning trifle—and swallowed it. Then the +fork-tail hunched in a posture Shann had seen the wolverines +use when they were about to spring. The weaponless +Wyvern was the prey, and both her companions were too far +away to interfere.</p> + +<p>Why he moved he could not have explained. There was no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +reason for him to go to the aid of the Warlockian, one of the +same breed who had ruled him against his will. But Shann +sprang, landing in the sand on his hands and knees.</p> + +<p>The sea thing whipped around, undecided between two +possible victims. Shann had his knife free, was on his feet, +his eyes on the beast's, knowing that he had appointed himself +dragon slayer for no good reason.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DRAGON_SLAYER" id="DRAGON_SLAYER"></a>15. DRAGON SLAYER</h2> + + +<p>"Ayeeee!" Sheer defiance, not only of the beast he fronted, +but of the Wyverns as well, brought that old rallying cry to +his lips—the call used on the Dumps of Tyr to summon +gang aid against outsiders. Fork-tail had crouched again +for a spring, but that throat-crackling blast appeared to +startle it.</p> + +<p>Shann, blade ready, took a dancing step to the right. The +thing was scaled, perhaps as well armored against frontal +attack as was the shell-creature he had fought with the aid +of the wolverines. He wished he had the Terran animals +now—with Taggi and his mate to tease and feint about the +monster, as they had done with the Throg hound—for he +would have a better chance. If only the animals were here!</p> + +<p>Those eyes—red-pitted eyes in a gargoyle head following +his every movement—perhaps those were the only vulnerable +points.</p> + +<p>Muscles tensed beneath that scaled hide. The Terran +readied himself for a sidewise leap, his knife hand raised to +rake at those eyes. A brown shape with a V of lighter fur +banding its back crossed the far range of Shann's vision. He +could not believe what he saw, not even when a snarling +animal, slavering with rage, came at a lumbering gallop to +stand beside him, a second animal on its heels.</p> + +<p>Uttering his own battle cry, Taggi attacked. The fork-tail's +head swung, imitating the movements of the wolverine +as it had earlier mimicked the swaying of the disk in the +Wyvern's hand. Togi came in from the other side. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +might have been hounds keeping a bull in play. And never +had they shown such perfect team work, almost as if they +could sense what Shann desired of them.</p> + +<p>That forked tail lashed viciously, a formidable weapon. +Bone, muscles, scaled flesh, half buried in the sand, swept +up a cloud of grit into the face of the man and the animals. +Shann fell back, pawing with his free hand at his eyes. The +wolverines circled warily, trying for the attack they favored—the +spring to the shoulders, the usually fatal assault on the +spine behind the neck. But the armored head of the fork-tail, +slung low, warned them off. Again the tail lashed, and +this time Taggi was caught and hurled across the beach.</p> + +<p>Togi uttered a challenge, made a reckless dash, and +raked down the length of the fork-tail's body, fastening on +that tail, weighing it to earth with her own poundage +while the sea creature fought to dislodge her. Shann, his +eyes watering from the sand, but able to see, watched that +battle for a long second, judging that fork-tail was completely +engaged in trying to free its best weapon from the +grip of the wolverine. The latter clawed and bit with a fury +which suggested Togi intended to immobilize that weapon +by tearing it to shreds.</p> + +<p>Fork-tail wrenched its body, striving to reach its tormentor +with fangs or clawed feet. And in that struggle to +achieve an impossible position, its head slued far about, uncovering +the unprotected area behind the skull base which usually +lay under the spiny collar about its shoulders.</p> + +<p>Shann went in. With one hand he gripped the edge of +that collar—its serrations tearing his flesh—and at the same +time he drove his knife blade deep into the soft underfolds, +ripping on toward the spinal column. The blade nicked +against bone as the fork-tail's head slammed back, catching +Shann's hand and knife together in a trap. The Terran was +jerked from his feet, and flung to one side with the force of +the beast's reaction.</p> + +<p>Blood spurted up, his own blood mingled with that of +the monster. Only Togi's riding of the tail prevented Shann's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +being beaten to death. The armored snout pointed skyward +as the creature ground the sharp edge of its collar down on +the Terran's arm. Shann, frantic with pain, drove his free fist +into one of those eyes.</p> + +<p>Fork-tail jerked convulsively; its head snapped down again +and Shann was free. The Terran threw himself back, keeping +his feet with an effort. Fork-tail was writhing, churning up +the sand in a cloud. But it could not rid itself of the knife +Shann had planted with all his strength, and which the +blows of its own armored collar were now driving deeper +and deeper into its back.</p> + +<p>It howled thinly, with an abnormal shrilling. Shann, +nursing his bleeding forearm against his chest, rolled free +from the waves of sand it threw about, bringing up against +one of the rock pillars. With that to steady him, he somehow +found his feet, and stood weaving, trying to see through the +rain of dust.</p> + +<p>The convulsions which churned up that concealing cloud +were growing more feeble. Then Shann heard the triumphant +squall from Togi, saw her brown body still on the +torn tail just above the forking. The wolverine used her +claws to hitch her way up the spine of the sea monster, +heading for the mountain of blood spouting from behind +the head. Fork-tail fought to raise that head once more; +then the massive jaw thudded into the sand, teeth snapping +fruitlessly as a flood of grit overrode the tongue, packed into +the gaping mouth.</p> + +<p>How long had it taken—that frenzy of battle on the +bloodstained beach? Shann could have set no limit in +clock-ruled time. He pressed his wounded arm tighter to him, +lurched past the still twitching sea thing to that splotch of +brown fur on the sand, shaping the wolverine's whistle with +dry lips. Togi was still busy with the kill, but Taggi lay +where that murderous tail had thrown him.</p> + +<p>Shann fell on his knees, as the beach around him developed +a curious tendency to sway. He put his good hand +to the ruffled back fur of the motionless wolverine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Taggi!"</p> + +<p>A slight quiver answered. Shann tried awkwardly to raise +the animal's head with his own hand. As far as he could see, +there were no open wounds; but there might be broken +bones, internal injuries he did not have the skill to heal.</p> + +<p>"Taggi?" He called again gently, striving to bring that +heavy head up on his knee.</p> + +<p>"The furred one is not dead."</p> + +<p>For a moment Shann was not aware that those words had +formed in his mind, had not been heard by his ears. He +looked up, eyes blazing at the Wyvern coming toward him +in a graceful glide across the crimsoned sand. And in a space +of heartbeats his thrust of anger cooled into a stubborn +enmity.</p> + +<p>"No thanks to you," he said deliberately aloud. If the +Wyvern witch wanted to understand him, let her make the +effort; he did not try to touch her thoughts with his.</p> + +<p>Taggi stirred again, and Shann glanced down quickly. The +wolverine gasped, opened his eyes, shook his miniature bear +head, scattering pellets of sand. He sniffed at a dollop of +blood, the dark, alien blood, spattered on Shann's breeches, +and then his head came up with a reassuring alertness as he +looked to where his mate was still worrying the now quiet +fork-tail.</p> + +<p>With an effort, Taggi got to his feet, Shann aiding him. +The man ran his hand down over ribs, seeking any broken +bones. Taggi growled a warning once when that examination +brought pain in its wake, but Shann could detect no real +damage. As might a cat, the wolverine must have met the +shock of that whip-tail stroke relaxed enough to escape +serious injury. Taggi had been knocked out, but now he was +able to navigate again. He pulled free from Shann's grip, +lumbering across the sand to the kill.</p> + +<p>Someone else was crossing that strip of beach. Passing the +Wyvern as if he did not see them, Thorvald came directly to +Shann. A few seconds later he had the torn arm stretched +across his own bent knee, examining the still bleeding hurt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's a nasty one," he commented.</p> + +<p>Shann heard the words and they made sense, but the instability +of his surroundings was increasing, while Thorvald's +handling sent sharp stabs of pain up his arm and +somehow into his head, where they ended in red bursts to +cloud his sight.</p> + +<p>Out of the reddish mist which had fogged most of the landscape +there emerged a single object, a round white disk. And +in Shann's clouded mind a well-rooted apprehension stirred. +He struck out with his one hand, and through luck connected. +The disk flew out of sight. His vision cleared enough +so he could sight the Wyvern who had been leaning over +Thorvald's shoulder centering her weird weapon on him. Making +a great effort, Shann got out the words, words which he +also shaped in his mind as he said them aloud: "You're not +taking me over—again!"</p> + +<p>There was no emotion to be read on that jewel-banded +face or in her unblinking eyes. He caught at Thorvald, determined +to get across his warning.</p> + +<p>"Don't let them use those disks on us!"</p> + +<p>"I'll do my best."</p> + +<p>Only the haze had taken Thorvald again. Did one of the +Wyverns have a disk focused on them? Were they being +pulled into one of those blank periods, to awaken as prisoners +once more—say, in the cavern of the veil? The Terran fought +with every ounce of will power to escape unconsciousness, +but he failed.</p> + +<p>This time he did not awaken half-drowning in an underground +stream or facing a green mist. And there was an +ache in his arm which was somehow reassuring with the very +insistence of pain. Before opening his eyes, his fingers crossed +the smooth slick of a bandage there, went on to investigate +by touch a sleep mat such as he had found in the cavern +structure. Was he back in that web of rooms and corridors?</p> + +<p>Shann delayed opening his eyes until a kind of shame +drove him to it. He first saw an oval opening almost the +length of his body as it was stretched only a foot of two below<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +the sill of that window. And through its transparent surface +came the golden light of the sun—no green mist, no crystals +mocking the stars.</p> + +<p>The room in which he lay was small with smooth walls, +much like that in which he had been imprisoned on the island. +And there were no other furnishings save the mat on which +he rested. Over him was a light cover netted of fibers resembling +yarn, with feathers knotted into it to provide a downy +upper surface. His clothing was gone, but the single covering +was too warm and he pushed it away from his shoulders and +chest as he wriggled up to see the view beyond the window.</p> + +<p>His torn arm came into full view. From wrist to elbow it +was encased in an opaque skin sheath, unlike any bandage of +his own world. Surely that had not come out of any Survey +aid pack. Shann gazed toward the window, but beyond lay +only a reach of sky. Except for a lemon cloud or two ruffled +high above the horizon, nothing broke that soft amber curtain. +He might be quartered in a tower well above ground +level, which did not match his former experience with Wyvern +accommodations.</p> + +<p>"Back with us again?" Thorvald, one hand lifting a door +panel, came in. His ragged uniform was gone, and he wore +only breeches of a sleek green material and his own scuffed-and-battered +boots.</p> + +<p>Shann settled back on the mat. "Where are we?"</p> + +<p>"I think you might term this the capital city," Thorvald answered. +"In relation to the mainland, we're on an island +well out to sea—westward."</p> + +<p>"How did we get here?" That climb in the slab, the stream +underground.... Had it been an interior river running under +the bed of the sea? But Shann was not prepared for the +other's reply.</p> + +<p>"By wishing."</p> + +<p>"By <i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald nodded, his expression serious. "They wished us +here. Listen, Lantee, when you jumped down to mix it with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +that fork-tailed thing, did you wish you had the wolverines +with you?"</p> + +<p>Shann thought back; his memories of what had <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'occured'">occurred</ins> +before that battle were none too clear. But, yes, he had +wished Taggi and Togi present at that moment to distract +the enraged beast.</p> + +<p>"You mean I wished them?" The whole idea was probably +a part of the Wyvern jargon of dreaming and he added, +"Or did I just dream everything?" There was the bandage +on his arm, the soreness under that bandage. But also there +had been Logally's lash brand back in the cavern, which had +bitten into his flesh with the pain of a real blow.</p> + +<p>"No, you weren't dreaming. You happened to be tuned +in one of those handy little gadgets our lady friends here +use. And, so tuned in, your desire for the wolverines being +pretty powerful just then, they came."</p> + +<p>Shann grimaced. This was unbelievable. Yet there were +his meetings with Logally and Trav. How could anyone rationally +explain them? And how had he, in the beginning, +been jumped from the top of the cliff on the island of his +marooning into the midst of an underground flood without +any conscious memory of an intermediate journey?</p> + +<p>"How does it work?" he asked simply.</p> + +<p>Thorvald laughed. "You tell me. They have these disks, +one to a Wyvern, and they control forces with them. Back +there on the beach we interrupted a class in such control; +they were the novices learning their trade. We've stumbled on +something here which can't be defined or understood by any +of our previous standards of comparison. It's frankly magic, +judged by our terms."</p> + +<p>"Are we prisoners?" Shann wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Ask me something I'm sure of. I've been free to come +and go within limits. No one's exhibited any signs of hostility; +most of them simply ignore me. I've had two interviews, via +this mind-reading act of theirs, with their rulers, or elders, +or chief sorceresses—all three titles seem to apply. They ask +questions, I answer as best I can, but sometimes we appear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +to have no common meeting ground. Then I ask some questions, +they evade gracefully, or reply in a kind of unintelligible +double-talk, and that's as far as our communication has progressed +so far."</p> + +<p>"Taggi and Togi?"</p> + +<p>"Have a run of their own and as far as I can tell are +better satisfied with life than I am. Oddly enough, they respond +more quickly and more intelligently to orders. Perhaps +this business of being shunted around by the disks has +conditioned them in some way."</p> + +<p>"What about these Wyverns? Are they all female?"</p> + +<p>"No, but their tribal system is strictly matriarchal, which +follows a pattern even Terra once knew: the fertile earth +mother and her priestesses, who became the witches when +the gods overruled the goddesses. The males are few in +number and lack the power to activate the disks. In fact," +Thorvald laughed ruefully, "one gathers that in this civilization +our opposite numbers have, more or less, the status +of pets at the best, and necessary evils at the worst. Which +put <i>us</i> at a disadvantage from the start."</p> + +<p>"You think that they won't take us seriously because we +are males?"</p> + +<p>"Might just work out that way. I've tried to get through +to them about danger from the Throgs, telling them what it +would mean to them to have the beetle-heads settle in here +for good. They just brush aside the whole idea."</p> + +<p>"Can't you argue that the Throgs are males, too? Or +aren't they?"</p> + +<p>The Survey officer shook his head. "That's a point no +human can answer. We've been sparring with Throgs for +years and there have been libraries of reports written about +them and their behavior patterns, all of which add up to +about two paragraphs of proven facts and hundreds of surmises +beginning with the probable and skimming out into +the wild fantastic. You can claim anything about a Throg +and find a lot of very intelligent souls ready to believe you. +But whether those beetle-heads squatting over on the mainland<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +are able to answer to 'he,' 'she,' or 'it,' your solution is +just as good as mine. We've always considered the ones +we fight to be males, but they might just as possibly be amazons. +Frankly, these Wyverns couldn't care less either; at +least that's the impression they give."</p> + +<p>"But anyway," Shann observed, "it hasn't come to 'we're +all girls together' either."</p> + +<p>Thorvald laughed again. "Not so you can notice. We're +not the only unwilling visitor in the vicinity."</p> + +<p>Shann sat up. "A Throg?"</p> + +<p>"A something. Non-Warlockian, or non-Wyvern. And perhaps +trouble for us."</p> + +<p>"You haven't seen this other?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald sat down cross-legged. The amber light from the +window made red-gold of his hair, added ruddiness to his +less-gaunt features.</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't. As far as I can tell, the stranger's not right +here. I caught stray thought beams twice—surprise expressed +by newly arrived Wyverns who met me and apparently expected +to be fronted by something quite physically different."</p> + +<p>"Another Terran scout?"</p> + +<p>"No. I imagine that to the Wyverns we must look a lot +alike. Just as we couldn't tell one of them from her sister if +their body patterns didn't differ. Discovered one thing about +those patterns—the more intricate they run, the higher the +'power,' not of the immediate wearer, but of her ancestors. +They're marked when they qualify for their disk and presented +with the rating of the greatest witch in their family line +as an inducement to live up to those deeds and surpass them +if possible. Quite a bit of logic to that. Given the right conditioning, +such a system might even work in our service.</p> + +<p>That nugget of information was the stuff from which Survey +reports were made. But at the moment the information concerning +the other captive was of more value to Shann. He +steadied his body against the wall with his good hand and +got to his feet. Thorvald watched him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I take it you have visions of action. Tell me, Lantee, why +<i>did</i> you take that header off the cliff to mix it with fork-tail?"</p> + +<p>Shann wondered himself. He had no reason for that impulsive +act. "I don't know——"</p> + +<p>"Chivalry? Fair Wyvern in distress?" the other prodded. +"Or did the back lash from one of those disks draw you +in?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know——"</p> + +<p>"And why did you use your knife instead of your stunner?"</p> + +<p>Shann was startled. For the first time he realized that he +had fronted the greatest native menace they had discovered +on Warlock with the more primitive of his weapons. Why +had he not tried the stunner on the beast? He had just never +thought of it when he had taken that leap into the role of +dragon slayer.</p> + +<p>"Not that it would have done you any good to try the ray; +it has no effect on fork-tail."</p> + +<p>"You tried it?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally. But you didn't know that, or did you pick +up that information earlier?"</p> + +<p>"No," answer Shann slowly. "No, I don't know why I used +the knife. The stunner would have been more natural." +Suddenly he shivered, and the face he turned to Thorvald +was very sober.</p> + +<p>"How much do they control us?" he asked, his voice +dropping to a half whisper as if the walls about them could +pick up those words and relay them to other ears. "What +can they do?"</p> + +<p>"A good question." Thorvald lost his light tone. "Yes, +what can they feed into our minds without our knowing? +Perhaps those disks are only window dressing, and they can +work without them. A great deal will depend upon the impression +we can make on these witches." He began to smile +again, more wryly. "The name we gave this planet is certainly +a misnomer. A warlock is a male sorcerer, not a witch."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And what are the chances of our becoming warlocks ourselves?"</p> + +<p>Again Thorvald's smile faded, but he gave a curt little nod +to Shann as if approving that thought. "That is something +we are going to look into, and now! If we have to convince +some stubborn females, as well as fight Throgs, well"—he +shrugged—"we'll have a busy, busy, time."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THIRD_PRISONER" id="THIRD_PRISONER"></a>16. THIRD PRISONER</h2> + + +<p>"Well, it works as good as new." Shann held his hand and +arm out into the full path of the sun. He had just stripped off +the skin-case bandage, to show the raw seam of a half-healed +scar, but as he flexed muscles, bent and twisted his +arm, there was only a small residue of soreness left.</p> + +<p>"Now what, or where?" he asked Thorvald with some +eagerness. Several days' imprisonment in this room had +made him impatient for the outer world again. Like the +officer, he now wore breeches of the green fabric, the only +material known to the Wyverns, and his own badly worn +boots. Oddly enough, the Terrans' weapons, stunner and +knife, had been left to them, a point which made them uneasy, +since it suggested that the Wyverns believed they had +nothing to fear from clumsy alien arms.</p> + +<p>"Your guess is as good as mine," Thorvald answered that +double question. "But it is you they want to see; they insisted +upon it, rather emphatically in fact."</p> + +<p>The Wyvern city existed as a series of cell-like hollows +in the interior of a rock-walled island. Outside there had +been no tampering with the natural rugged features of the +escarpment, and within, the silence was almost complete. +For all the Terrans could learn, the population of the stone-walled +hive might have been several thousand, or just the +handful that they had seen with their own eyes along the +passages which had been declared open territory for them.</p> + +<p>Shann half expected to find again a skull-walled chamber +where witches tossed colored sticks to determine his +future. But he came with Thorvald into an oval room in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +which most of the outer wall was a window. And seeing +what lay framed in that, Shann halted, again uncertain as +to whether he actually saw that, or whether he was willed +into visualizing a scene by the choice of his hostesses.</p> + +<p>They were lower now than the room in which he had +nursed his wound, not far above water level. And this window +faced the sea. Across a stretch of green water was his +red-purple skull, the waves lapping its lower jaw, spreading +their foam in between the gaping rock-fringe which formed +its teeth. And from the eye hollows flapped the clak-claks +of the sea coast, coming and going as if they carried to some +imprisoned brain within that giant bone case messages +from the outer world.</p> + +<p>"My dream——" Shann said.</p> + +<p>"Your dream." Thorvald had not echoed that; the answer +had come in his brain.</p> + +<p>Shann turned his head and surveyed the Wyvern awaiting +them with a concentration which was close to the rudeness +of an outright stare, a stare which held no friendship. +For by her skin patterns he knew her for the one who had +led that triumvir who had sent him into the cavern of the +mist. And with her was the younger witch he had trapped +on the night that all this baffling action had begun.</p> + +<p>"We meet again," he said slowly. "To what purpose?"</p> + +<p>"To our purpose ... and yours——"</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt that it is to yours." The Terran's thoughts +fell easily now into a formal pattern he would not have used +with one of his own kind. "But I do not expect any good to +me...."</p> + +<p>There was no readable expression on her face; he did +not expect to see any. But in their uneven mind touch he +caught a fleeting suggestion of bewilderment on her part, +as if she found his mental processes as hard to understand +as a puzzle with few leading clues.</p> + +<p>"We mean you no ill, star voyager. You are far more than +we first thought you, for you have dreamed false and have +known. Now dream true, and know it also."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yet," he challenged, "you would set me a task without +my consent."</p> + +<p>"We have a task for you, but already it was set in the +pattern of your true dreaming. And we do not set such patterns, +star man; that is done by the Greatest Power of all. +Each lives within her appointed pattern from the First +Awakening to the Final Dream. So we do not ask of you any +more than that which is already laid for your doing."</p> + +<p>She arose with that languid grace which was a part of +their delicate jeweled bodies and came to stand beside him, +a child in size, making his Terran flesh and bones awkward, +clodlike in contrast. She stretched out her four-digit hand, +her slender arm ringed with gemmed circles and bands, +measuring it beside his own, bearing that livid scar.</p> + +<p>"We are different, star man, yet still are we both dreamers. +And dreams hold power. Your dreams brought you across +the dark which lies between sun and distant sun. Our dreams +carry us on even stranger roads. And yonder"—one of her +fingers stiffened to a point, indicating the skull—"there is +another who dreams with power, a power which will destroy +us all unless the pattern is broken speedily."</p> + +<p>"And I must go to seek this dreamer?" His vision of climbing +through that nose hole was to be realized then.</p> + +<p>"You go."</p> + +<p>Thorvald stirred and the Wyvern turned her head to him. +"Alone," she added. "For this is your dream only, as it has +been from the beginning. There is for each his own dream, +and another cannot walk through it to alter the pattern, +even to save a life."</p> + +<p>Shann grinned crookedly, without humor. "It seems that +I'm elected," he said as much to himself as to Thorvald. +"But what do I do with this other dreamer?"</p> + +<p>"What your pattern moves you to do. Save that you do +not slay him——"</p> + +<p>"Throg!" Thorvald started forward. "You can't just walk +in on a Throg barehanded and be bound by orders such as +that!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Wyvern must have caught the sense of that vocal +protest, for her communication touched them both. "We +cannot deal with that one as his mind is closed to us. Yet +he is an elder among his kind and his people have been +searching land and sea for him since his air rider broke upon +the rocks and he entered into hiding over there. Make +your peace with him if you can, and also take him hence, +for his dreams are not ours, and he brings confusion to the +Reachers when they retire to run the Trails of Seeking."</p> + +<p>"Must be an important Throg," Shann deduced. "They +could have an officer of the beetle-heads under wraps over +there. Could we use him to bargain with the rest?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald's frown did not lighten. "We've never been able +to establish any form of contact in the past, though our best +qualified minds, reinforced by training, have tried...."</p> + +<p>Shann did not take fire at that rather delicate estimate of +his own lack of preparation for the carrying out of diplomatic +negotiations with the enemy; he knew it was true. But +there was one thing he could try—if the Wyverns permitted.</p> + +<p>"Will you give a disk of power to this star man?" He +pointed to Thorvald. "For he is my Elder One and a Reacher +for Knowledge. With such a focus his dream could march +with mine when I go to the Throg, and perhaps that can +aid in my doing what I could not accomplish alone. For that +is the secret of <i>my</i> people, Elder One. We link our powers +together to make a shield against our enemies, a common tool +for the work we must do."</p> + +<p>"And so it is with us also, star voyager. We are not so +unlike as the foolish might think. We learned much of you +while you both wandered in the Place of False Dreams. But +our power disks are our own and can not be given to a +stranger while their owners live. However...." She turned +again with an abruptness foreign to the usual Wyvern manner +and faced the older Terran.</p> + +<p>The officer might have been obeying an unvoiced order +as he put out his hands and laid them palm to palm on those +she held up to him, bending his head so gray eyes met<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +golden ones. The web of communication which had held all +three of them snapped. Thorvald and the Wyvern were +linked in a tight circuit which excluded Shann.</p> + +<p>Then the latter became conscious of movement beside +him. The younger Wyvern had joined him to watch the +clak-claks in their circling of the bare dome of the skull +island.</p> + +<p>"Why do they fly so?" Shann asked her.</p> + +<p>"Within they nest, care for their young. Also they hunt +the rock creatures that swarm in the lower darkness."</p> + +<p>"The rock creatures?" If the skull's interior was infested +by some other native fauna, he wanted to know it.</p> + +<p>By some method of her own the young Wyvern conveyed +a strong impression of revulsion, which was her personal +reaction to the "rock creatures."</p> + +<p>"Yet you imprison the Throg there——" he remarked.</p> + +<p>"Not so!" Her denial was instantaneous and vehement. +"The other worlder fled into that place in spite of our calling. +There he stays in hiding. Once we drew him out to the +sea, but he broke the power and fled inside again."</p> + +<p>"Broke free—" Shann pounced upon that. "From disk control?"</p> + +<p>"But surely." Her reply held something of wonder. "Why +do you ask, star voyager? Did you not also break free from +the power of the disk when I led you by the underground +ways, awaking in the river? Do you then rate this other one +as less than your own breed that you think him incapable +of the same action?"</p> + +<p>"Of Throgs I know as much as this...." He held up his +hand, measuring off a fraction of space between thumb and +forefinger.</p> + +<p>"Yet you knew them before you came to this world."</p> + +<p>"My people have known them for long. We have met and +fought many times among the stars."</p> + +<p>"And never have you talked mind to mind?"</p> + +<p>"Never. We have sought for that, but there has been no +communication between us, neither of mind nor of voice."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This one you name Throg is truly not as you," she assented. +"And we are not as you, being alien and female. +Yet, star man, you and I have shared a dream."</p> + +<p>Shann stared at her, startled, not so much by what she +said as the human shading of those words in his mind. Or +had that also been illusion?</p> + +<p>"In the veil ...that creature which came to you on wings +when you remembered that. A good dream, though it came +out of the past and so was false in the present. But I have +gathered it into my own store: such a fine dream, one that +you have cherished."</p> + +<p>"Trav was to be cherished," he agreed soberly. "I found +her in a broken sleep cage at a spaceport when I was a +child. We were both cold and hungry, alone and hurt. So +I stole and was glad that I stole Trav. For a little space we +both were very happy...." Forcibly he stifled memory.</p> + +<p>"So, though we are unlike in body and in mind, yet we +find beauty together if only in a dream. Therefore, between +your people and mine there can <i>be</i> a common speech. And +I may show you my dream store for your enjoyment, star +voyager."</p> + +<p>A flickering of pictures, some weird, some beautiful, all +a little distorted—not only by haste, but also by the haze of +alienness which was a part of her memory pattern—crossed +Shann's mind.</p> + +<p>"Such a sharing would be a rich feast," he agreed.</p> + +<p>"All right!" Those crisp words in his own tongue brought +Shann away from the window to Thorvald. The Survey officer +was no longer locked hand to hand with the Wyvern +witch, but his features were alive with a new eagerness.</p> + +<p>"We are going to try your idea, Lantee. They'll provide +me with a new, unmarked disk, show me how to use it. And +I'll do what I can to back you with it. But they insist that +you go today."</p> + +<p>"What do they really want me to do? Just <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'route'">rout</ins> out that +Throg? Or try to talk him into being a go-between with his +people? That <i>does</i> come under the heading of dreaming!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They want him out of there, back with his own kind if +possible. Apparently he's a disruptive influence for them; +he causes some kind of a mental foul up which interferes +drastically with their 'power.' They haven't been able to get +him to make any contact with them. This Elder One is firm +about your being the one ordained for the job, and that you'll +know what action to take when you get there."</p> + +<p>"Must have thrown the sticks for me again," Shann commented.</p> + +<p>"Well, they've definitely picked you to smoke out the +Throg, and they can't be talked into changing their minds +about that."</p> + +<p>"I'll be the smoked one if he has a blaster."</p> + +<p>"They say he's unarmed——"</p> + +<p>"What do they know about our weapons or a Throg's?"</p> + +<p>"The other one has no arms." Wyvern words in his mind +again. "This fact gives him great fear. That which he has +depended upon is broken. And since he has no weapon, he +is shut into a prison of his own terrors."</p> + +<p>But an adult Throg, even unarmed, was not to be considered +easy meat, Shann thought. Armored with horny +skin, armed with claws and those crushing mandibles of +the beetle mouth ... a third again as tall as he himself was. +No, even unarmed, the Throg had to be considered a menace.</p> + +<p>Shann was still thinking along that line as he splashed +through the surf which broke about the lower jaw of the +skull island, climbed up one of the pointed rocks which +masqueraded as a tooth, and reached for a higher hold to +lead him to the nose slit, the gateway to the alien's hiding +place.</p> + +<p>The clak-claks screamed and dived about him, highly resentful +of his intrusion. And when they grew so bold as to +buffet him with their wings, threaten him with their tearing +beaks, he was glad to reach the broken rock edging his +chosen door and duck inside. Once there, Shann looked +back. There was no sighting the cliff window where Thorvald<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +stood, nor was he aware in any way of mental contact +with the Survey officer; their hope of such a linkage might +be futile.</p> + +<p>Shann was reluctant to venture farther. His eyes had sufficiently +adjusted to the limited supply of light, and now the +Terran brought out the one aid the Wyverns had granted +him, a green crystal such as those which had played the <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'roll'">role</ins> +of stars on the cavern roof. He clipped its simple loop setting +to the front of his belt, leaving his hands free. Then, +having filled his lungs for the last time with clean, sea-washed +air, he started into the dome of the skull.</p> + +<p>There was a fetid thickness to this air only a few feet +away from the outer world. The odor of clak-clak droppings +and refuse from their nests was strong, but there was an +added staleness, as if no breeze ever scooped out the old +atmosphere to replace it with new. Fragile bones crunched +under Shann's boots, but as he drew away from the entrance, +the pale glow of the crystal increased its radiance, emitting +a light not unlike that of the phosphorescent bushes, so +that he was not swallowed up by dark.</p> + +<p>The cave behind the nose hole narrowed quickly into +a cleft, a narrow cleft which pierced into the bowl of the +skull. Shann proceeded with caution, pausing every few +steps. There came a murmur rising now and again to a +shriek, issuing, he guessed, from the clak-clak rookery above. +And the pound of sea waves was also a vibration carrying +through the rock. He was listening for something else, at the +same time testing the ill-smelling air for that betraying +muskiness which spelled Throg.</p> + +<p>When a twist in the narrow passage cut off the splotch +of daylight, Shann drew his stunner. The strongest bolt from +that could not jolt a Throg into complete paralysis, but it +would slow up any attack.</p> + +<p>Red—pinpoints of red—were edging a break in the rock +wall. They were gone in a flash. Eyes? Perhaps of the rock +dwellers which the Wyverns hated? More red dots, farther +ahead. Shann listened for a sound he could identify.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>But smell came before sound. That trace of effluvia which +in force could sicken a Terran, was his guide. The cleft +ended in a space to which the limited gleam of the crystal +could not provide a far wall. But that faint light did show +him his quarry.</p> + +<p>The Throg was not on his feet, ready for trouble, but +hunched close to the wall. And the alien did not move at +Shann's coming. Did the beetle-head sight him? Shann wondered. +He moved cautiously. And the round head, with its +bulbous eyes, turned a fraction; the mandibles about the +the ugly mouth opening quivered. Yes, the Throg could +see him.</p> + +<p>But still the alien made no move to rise out of his crouch, +to come at the Terran. Then Shann saw the fall of rock, the +stone which pinned a double-kneed leg to the floor. And in +a circle about the prisoner were the small, crushed, furred +things which had come to prey on the helpless to be slain +themselves by the well-aimed stones which were the Throg's +only weapons of defense.</p> + +<p>Shann sheathed his stunner. It was plain the Throg was +helpless and could not reach him. He tried to concentrate +mentally on a picture of the scene before him, hoping that +Thorvald or one of the Wyverns could pick it up. There +was no answer, no direction. Choice of action remained +solely his.</p> + +<p>The Terran made the oldest friendly gesture of his kind; +his empty hands held up, palm out. There was no answering +move from the Throg. Neither of the other's upper limbs +stirred, their claws still gripping the small rocks in readiness +for throwing. All Shann's knowledge of the alien's history +argued against an unarmed advance. The Throg's marksmanship, +as borne out by the circle of small bodies, was +excellent. And one of those rocks might well thud against +his own head, with fatal results. Yet he had been sent there +to get the Throg free and out of Wyvern territory.</p> + +<p>So rank was the beetle smell of the other that Shann +coughed. What he needed now was the aid of the wolverines,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +a diversion to keep the alien busy. But this time there +was no disk working to produce Taggi and Togi out of thin +air. And he could not continue to just stand there staring at +the Throg. There remained the stunner. Life on the +Dumps tended to make a man a fast draw, a matter of survival +for the fastest and most accurate marksman. And now +one of Shann's hands swept down with a speed which, learned +early, was never really to be forgotten.</p> + +<p>He had the rod out and was spraying on tight beam straight +at the Throg's head before the first stone struck his shoulder +and his weapon fell from a numbed hand. But a second +stone tumbled out of the Throg's claw. The alien tried to +reach for it, his movements slow, uncertain.</p> + +<p>Shann, his arm dangling, went in fast, bracing his good +shoulder against the boulder which pinned the Throg. The +alien aimed a blow at the Terran's head, but again so slowly +Shann had no difficulty in evading it. The boulder gave, +rolled, and <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'Shanned'">Shann</ins> cleared out of range, back to the opening +of the cleft, pausing only to scoop up his stunner.</p> + +<p>For a long moment the Throg made no move; his dazed +wits must have been working at very slow speed. Then the +alien heaved up his body to stand erect, favoring the leg +which had been trapped. Shann tensed, waiting for a rush. +What now? Would the Throg refuse to move? If so, what +could he do about it?</p> + +<p>With the impact of a blow, the message Shann had hoped +for struck into his mind. But his initial joy at that contact +was wiped out with the same speed.</p> + +<p>"Throg ship ... overhead."</p> + +<p>The Throg stood away from the wall, limped out, heading +for Shann, or perhaps only the cleft in which he stood. +Swinging the stunner awkwardly in his left hand, the Terran +retreated, mentally trying to contact Thorvald once +more. There was no answer. He was well up into the cleft, +moving crabwise, unwilling to turn his back on the Throg. +The alien was coming as steadily as his injured limb would +allow, trying for the exit to the outer world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>A Throg ship overhead.... Had the castaway somehow +managed to call his own kind? And what if he, Shann Lantee, +were to be trapped between the alien and a landing +party from the flyer? He did not expect any assistance from +the Wyverns, and what could Thorvald possibly do? From +behind him, at the entrance of the nose slit, he heard a sound—a +sound which was neither the scolding of a clak-clak nor +the eternal growl of the sea.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THROG_JUSTICE" id="THROG_JUSTICE"></a>17. THROG JUSTICE</h2> + + +<p>The musty stench was so strong that Shann could no longer +fight the demands of his outraged stomach. He rolled on his +side, retching violently until the sour smell of his illness +battled the foul odor of the ship. His memories of how he +had come into this place were vague; his body was a mass +of dull pain, as if he had been scorched. Scorched! Had the +Throgs used one of their energy whips to subdue him? The +last clear thing he could recall was that slow withdrawal +down the cleft inside the skull rock, the Throg not too far +away—the sound from the entrance.</p> + +<p>A Throg prisoner! Through the pain and the sickness the +horror of that bit doubly deep. Terrans did not fall alive into +Throg hands, not if they had the means of ending their existence +within reach. But his hands and arms were caught +behind him in an unbreakable lock, some gadget not unlike +the Terran force bar used to restrain criminals, he decided +groggily.</p> + +<p>The cubby in which he lay was black-dark. But the quivering +of the deck and the bulkheads about him told Shann +that the ship was in flight. And there could be but two destinations, +either the camp where the Throg force had taken +over the Terran installations or the mother ship of the raiders. +If Thorvald's earlier surmise was true and the aliens +were hunting a Terran to talk in the transport, then they +were heading for the camp.</p> + +<p>And because a man who still lives and who is not yet +broken can also hope, Shann began to think ahead to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +camp—the camp and a faint, thin chance of escape. For on +the surface of Warlock there was a thin chance; in the +mother ship of the Throgs none at all.</p> + +<p>Thorvald—and the Wyverns! Could he hope for any help +from them? Shann closed his eyes against the thick darkness +and tried to reach out to touch, somewhere, Thorvald with +his disk—or perhaps the Wyvern who had talked of Trav +and shared dreams. Shann focused his thoughts on the young +Wyvern witch, visualizing with all the detail he could summon +out of memory the brilliant patterns about her slender +arms, her thin, fragile wrists, those other designs overlaying +her features. He could see her in his mind, but she was only +a puppet, without life, certainly without power.</p> + +<p>Thorvald.... Now Shann fought to build a mental picture +of the Survey officer, making his stand at that window, +grasping his disk, with the sun bringing gold to his hair and +showing the bronze of his skin. Those gray eyes which could +be ice, that jaw with the tight set of a trap upon occasion....</p> + +<p>And Shann made contact! He touched something, a flickering +like a badly tuned tri-dee—far more fuzzy than the +mind pictures the Wyvern had paraded for him. But he had +touched! And Thorvald, too, had been aware of his contact.</p> + +<p>Shann fought to find that thread of awareness again. Patiently +he once more created his vision of Thorvald, adding +every detail he could recall, small things about the other +which he had not known that he had noticed—the tiny arrow-shaped +scar near the base of the officer's throat, the +way his growing hair curled at the ends, the look of one +eyebrow slanting abruptly toward his hairline when he was +dubious about something. Shann strove to make a figure as +vividly as Logally and Trav had been in the mist of the illusion.</p> + +<p>"... where?"</p> + +<p>This time Shann was prepared; he did not let that mind +image dissolve in his excitement at recapturing the link.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +"Throg ship," he said the words aloud, over and over, but +still he held to his picture of Thorvald.</p> + +<p>"... will...."</p> + +<p>Only that one word! The thread between them snapped +again. Only then did Shann become conscious of a change +in the ship's vibration. Were they setting down? And where? +Let it be at the camp! It must be the camp!</p> + +<p>There was no jar at that landing, just that one second +the vibration told him the ship was alive and air-borne, and +the next a dead quiet testified that they had landed. Shann, +his sore body stiff with tension, waited for the next move +on the part of his captors.</p> + +<p>He continued to lie in the dark, still queasy from the +stench of the cell, too keyed up to try to reach Thorvald. +There was a dull grating over his head, and he looked up +eagerly—to be blinded by a strong beam of light. Claws +hooked painfully under his arms and he was manhandled +up and out, dragged along a short passage and pitched free +of the ship, falling hard upon trodden earth and rolling +over gasping as the seared skin of his body was rasped and +abraded.</p> + +<p>The Terran lay face up now, and as his eyes adjusted +to the light, he saw a ring of Throg heads blotting out the +sky as they inspected their catch impassively. The mouth +mandibles of one moved with a faint clicking. Again claws +fastened in his armpits, brought Shann to his feet, holding +him erect.</p> + +<p>Then the Throg who had given that order moved closer. +His hand-claws clasped a small metal plate surmounted by +a hoop of thin wire over which was stretched a web of +threads glistening in the sun. Holding that hoop on a level +with his mouth, the alien clicked his mandibles, and those +sounds became barely distinguishable basic galactic words.</p> + +<p>"You Throg meat!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Shann wondered if the alien meant that +statement literally. Or was it a conventional expression for +a prisoner among their land.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do as told!"</p> + +<p>That was clear enough, and for the moment the Terran +did not see that he had any choice in the matter. But Shann +refused to make any sign of agreement to either of those +two limited statements. Perhaps the beetle-heads did not +expect any. The alien who had pulled him to his feet continued +to hold him erect, but the attention of the Throg with +the translator switched elsewhere.</p> + +<p>From the alien ship emerged a second party. The Throg +in their midst was unarmed and limping. Although to Terran +eyes one alien was the exact counterpart of the other, +Shann thought that this one was the prisoner in the skull +cave. Yet the indications now suggested that he had only +changed one captivity for another and was in disgrace +among his kind. Why?</p> + +<p>The Throg limped up to front the leader with the translator, +and his guards fell back. Again mandibles clicked, +were answered, though the sense of that exchange eluded +Shann. At one point in the report—if report it was—he himself +appeared to be under discussion, for the injured Throg +waved a hand-claw in the Terran's direction. But the end +to the conference came quickly enough and in a manner +which Shann found shocking.</p> + +<p>Two of the guards stepped forward, caught at the injured +Throg's arms and drew him away, leading him out +into a space beyond the grounded ship. They dropped their +hold on him, returning at a trot. The officer clicked an order. +Blasters were unholstered, and the Throg in the field shriveled +under a vicious concentration of cross bolts. Shann gasped. +He certainly had no liking for Throgs, but this execution +carried overtones of a cold-blooded ferocity which transcended +anything he had known, even in the callous brutality +of the Dumps.</p> + +<p>Limp, and more than a little sick again, he watched the +Throg officer turn away. And a moment later he was forced +along in the other's wake to the domes of the once Terran +camp. Not just to the camp in general, he discovered a minute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +later, but to that structure which had housed the com +unit linking them with ships cruising the solar lanes and with +the patrol. So Thorvald had been right; they needed a Terran +to broadcast—to cover their tracks here and lay a trap +for the transport.</p> + +<p>Shann had no idea how much time he had passed among +the Wyverns; the transport with its load of unsuspecting +settlers might already be in the system of Circe, plotting a +landing orbit around Warlock, broadcasting her recognition +signal and a demand for a beam to ride her in. Only, this +time the Throgs were out of luck. They had picked up one +prisoner who could not help them, even if he wanted to do +so. The mysteries of the highly technical installations in this +dome were just that to Shann Lantee—complete mysteries. +He had not the slightest idea of how to activate the machines, +let alone broadcast in the proper code.</p> + +<p>A cold spot of terror gathered in his middle, spreading +outward through his smarting body. For he was certain +that the Throgs would not believe that. They would consider +his protestations of ignorance as a stubborn refusal to +co-operate. And what would happen to him then would be +beyond human endurance. Could he bluff—play for time? +But what would that time buy him except to delay the inevitable? +In the end, that small hope based on his momentary +contact with Thorvald made him decide to try that +bluff.</p> + +<p>There had been changes in the com dome since the capture +of the cap. A squat box on the floor sprouted a collection of +tubes from its upper surface. Perhaps that was some Throg +equivalent of Terran equipment in place on the wide table +facing the door.</p> + +<p>The Throg leader clicked into his translator: "You call +ship!"</p> + +<p>Shann was thrust down into the operator's chair, his +bound arms still twisted behind him so that he had to lean +forward to keep on the seat at all. Then the Throg who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +had pushed him there, roughly forced a set of com earphones +and speech mike onto his head.</p> + +<p>"Call ship!" clicked the alien officer.</p> + +<p>So time must be running out. Now was the moment to +bluff. Shann shook his head, hoping that the gesture of negation +was common to both their species.</p> + +<p>"I don't know the code," he said aloud.</p> + +<p>The Throg's bulbous eyes gazed, at his moving lips. Then +the translator was held before the Terran's mouth. Shann +repeated his words, heard them reissue as a series of clicks, +and waited. So much depended now on the reaction of the +beetle-head officer. Would he summarily apply pressure to +enforce his order, or would he realize that it was possible +that all Terrans did not know that code, and so he could +not produce in a captive's head any knowledge that had +never been there—with or without physical coercion?</p> + +<p>Apparently the latter logic prevailed for the present. The +Throg drew the translator back to his mandibles.</p> + +<p>"When ship call—you answer—make lip talk your words! +Say bad sickness here—need help. Code man dead—you +talk in his place. I listen. You say wrong, you die—you die +a long time. Hurt bad all that time——"</p> + +<p>Clear enough. So he had been able to buy a little time! +But how soon before the incoming ship would call? The +Throgs seemed to expect it. Shann licked his blistered lips. +He was sure that the Throg officer meant exactly what he +said in that last grisly threat. Only, would anyone—Throg +or human—live very long in this camp if Shann got his warning +through? The transport would have been accompanied +on the big jump by a patrol cruiser, especially now with +Throgs littering deep space the way they were in this sector. +Let Shann alert the ship, and the cruiser would know; +swift punitive action would be visited on the camp. Throgs +could begin to make their helpless prisoner regret his rashness; +then all of them would be blotted out together, prisoner +and captors alike, when the cruiser came in.</p> + +<p>If that was his last chance, he'd play it that way. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +Throgs would kill him anyhow, he hadn't the least doubt +of that. They kept no long-term Terran prisoners and never +had. And at least he could take this nest of devil beetles +along with him. Not that the thought did anything to dampen +the fear which made him weak and dizzy. Shann Lantee +might be tough enough to fight his way out of the Dumps, +but to stand up and defy Throgs face-to-face like a video +hero was something else. He knew that he could not do any +spectacular act; if he could hold out to the end without +cracking he would be satisfied.</p> + +<p>Two more Throgs entered the dome. They stalked to +the far end of the table which held the com equipment, +and frequently pausing to consult a Terran work tape set in +a reader, they made adjustments to the spotter beam broadcaster. +They worked slowly but competently, testing each +circuit. Preparing to draw in the Terran transport, holding +the large ship until they had it helpless on the ground. The +Terran began to wonder how they proposed to take the +ship over once they did have it on planet.</p> + +<p>Transports were armed for ground fighting. Although they +rode in on a beam broadcast from a camp, they were prepared +for unpleasant surprises on a planet's surface; such +were certainly not unknown in the history of Survey. Which +meant that the Throgs had in turn some assault weapon +they believed superior, for they radiated confidence now. +But could they handle a patrol cruiser ready to fight?</p> + +<p>The Throg technicians made a last check of the beam, +reporting in clicks to the officer. The alien gave an order +to Shann's guard before following them out. A loop of wire +rope dropped over the Terran's head, tightened about his +chest, dragging him back against the chair until he grunted +with pain. Two more loops made him secure in a most uncomfortable +posture, and then he was left alone in the com +dome.</p> + +<p>An abortive struggle against the wire rope taught him +the folly of such an effort. He was in deep freeze as far +as any bodily movement was concerned. Shann closed his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +eyes, settled to that same concentration he had labored to +acquire on the Throg ship. If there was any chance of the +Wyvern communication working again, here and now was +the time for it!</p> + +<p>Again he built his mental picture of Thorvald, as detailed +as he had made it in the Throg ship. And with that to the +forefront of his mind, Shann strove to pick up the thread +which could link them. Was the distance between this camp +and the seagirt city of the Wyverns too great? Did the +Throgs unconsciously dampen out that mental reaching as +the Wyverns had said they did when they had sent him to +free the captive in the skull?</p> + +<p>Drops gathered in the unkempt tight curls on his head, +trickled down to sting on his tender skin. He was bathed +in the moisture summoned by an effort as prolonged and +severe as if he labored physically under a hot sun at the +top speed of which his body was capable.</p> + +<p>Thorvald—</p> + +<p>Thorvald! But not standing by the window in the Wyvern +stronghold! Thorvald with the amethyst of heavy Warlockian +foliage at his back. So clear was the new picture that Shann +might have stood only a few feet away. Thorvald there, +with the wolverines at his side. And behind him sun glinted +on the gem-patterned skin of more than one Wyvern.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>That demand from the Survey officer, curt, clear—so perfect +the word might have rung audibly through the dome.</p> + +<p>"The camp!" Shann hurled that back, frantic with fear +than once again their contact might fail.</p> + +<p>"They want me to call in the transport." He added that.</p> + +<p>"How soon?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. They have the guide beam set. I'm to say +there's illness here; they know I can't code."</p> + +<p>All he could see now was Thorvald's face, intent, the +officer's eyes cold sparks of steel, bearing the impress of a +will as implacable as a Throg's. Shann added his own decision.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll warn the ship off; they'll send in the patrol."</p> + +<p>There was no change in Thorvald's expression. "Hold +out as long as you can!"</p> + +<p>Cold enough, no promise of help, nothing on which to +build hope. Yet the fact that Thorvald was on the move, +away from the Wyvern city, meant something. And Shann +was sure that thick vegetation could be found only on the +mainland. Not only was Thorvald ashore, but there were +Wyverns with him. Could the officer have persuaded the +witches of Warlock to foresake their hands-off policy and +join him in an attack on the Throg camp? No promise, not +even a suggestion that the party Shann had envisioned was +moving in his direction. Yet somehow he believed that they +were.</p> + +<p>There was a sound from the doorway of the dome. Shann +opened his eyes. There were Throgs entering, one to go to +the guide beam, two heading for his chair. He closed his eyes +again in a last attempt, backed by every remaining ounce of +his energy and will.</p> + +<p>"Ship's in range. Throgs here."</p> + +<p>Thorvald's face, dimmer now, snapped out while a blow +on Shann's jaw rocked his head cruelly, made his ears sing, +his eyes water. He saw Throgs—Throgs only. And one held +the translator.</p> + +<p>"You talk!"</p> + +<p>A tri-jointed arm reached across his shoulder, triggered a +lever, pressed a button. The head set cramping his ear let +out a sudden growl of sound—the com was <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'activited'">activated</ins>. A claw +jammed the mike closer to Shann's lips, but also slid in range +the webbed loop of the translator.</p> + +<p>Shann shook his head at the incoming rattle of code. The +Throg with the translator was holding the other head set close +to his own ear pit. And the claws of the guard came down on +Shann's shoulders in a cruel grip, a threat of future brutality.</p> + +<p>The rattle of code continued while Shann thought <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'furiuosly'">furiously</ins>. +This was it! He had to give a warning, and then the aliens +would do to him just what the officer had threatened. Shann<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +could not seem to think clearly. It was as if in his efforts to +contact Thorvald, he had exhausted some part of his brain, +so that now he was dazed just when he needed quick wits +the most!</p> + +<p>This whole scene had a weird unreality. He had seen its +like a thousand times on fiction tapes—the Terran hero menaced +by aliens intent on saving ... saving....</p> + +<p>Was it out of one of those fiction tapes he had devoured +in the past that Shann recalled that scrap of almost forgotten +information?</p> + +<p>The Terran began to speak into the mike, for there had +come a pause in the rattle of code. He used Terran, not basic, +and he shaped the words slowly.</p> + +<p>"Warlock calling—trouble—sickness here—com officer dead."</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by another burst of code. The claws +of his guard twisted into the naked flesh of his shoulders in +vicious warning.</p> + +<p>"Warlock calling—" he repeated. "Need help——"</p> + +<p>"Who are you?"</p> + +<p>The demand came in basic. On board the transport they +would have a list of every member of the Survey team.</p> + +<p>"Lantee." Shann drew a deep breath. He was so conscious +of those claws on his shoulders, of what would follow.</p> + +<p>"This is Mayday!" he said distinctly, hoping desperately +that someone in the control cabin of the ship now in orbit +would catch the true meaning of that ancient call of complete +disaster. "Mayday—beetles—over and out!"</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="STORMS_ENDING" id="STORMS_ENDING"></a>18. STORM'S ENDING</h2> + + +<p>Shann had no answer from the transport, only the continuing +hum of a contact still open between the dome and the control +cabin miles above Warlock. The Terran breathed slowly, +deeply, felt the claws of the Throg bite his flesh as his chest +expanded. Then, as if a knife slashed, the hum of that contact +was gone. He had time to know a small flash of triumph. +He had done it; he had aroused suspicion in the transport.</p> + +<p>When the Throg officer clicked to the alien manning the +landing beam, Shann's exultation grew. The <ins class="corr" title="Hyphenated in line with majority usage.">beetle-head</ins> must +have accepted that cut in communication as normal; he was +still expecting the Terran ship to drop neatly into his claws.</p> + +<p>But Shann's respite was to be very short, only timed by +a few breaths. The Throg at the riding beam was watching +the indicators. Now he reported to his superior, who swung +back to face the prisoner. Although Shann could read no expression +on the beetle's face, he did not need any clue to the +other's probable emotions. Knowing that his captive had somehow +tricked him, the alien would now proceed relentlessly to +put into effect the measures he had threatened.</p> + +<p>How long before the patrol cruiser would planet? That +crew was used to alarms, and their speed was three or four +times greater than that of the bulkier transports. If the Throgs +didn't scatter now, before they could be caught in one attack....</p> + +<p>The wire rope which held Shann clamped to the chair was +loosened, and he set his teeth against the pain of restored +circulation, This was nothing compared to what he faced; he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +knew that. They jerked him to his feet, faced him toward +the outer door, and propelled him through it with a speed +and roughness indicative of their feelings.</p> + +<p>The hour was close to dusk and Shann glanced wistfully +at promising shadows, though he had given up hope of rescue +by now. If he could just get free of his guards, he could +at least give the beetle-heads a good run.</p> + +<p>He saw that the camp was deserted. There was no sign +about the domes that any Throgs sheltered there. In fact, +Shann saw no aliens at all except those who had come from +the com dome with him. Of course! The rest must be in ambush, +waiting for the transport to planet. What about the +Throg ship or ships? Those must have been hidden also. And +the only hiding place for them would be aloft. There was a +chance that the Throgs had so flung away their chance for +any quick retreat.</p> + +<p>Yes; the aliens could scatter over the countryside and so +escape the first blast from the cruiser. But they would simply +maroon themselves to be hunted down by patrol landing +parties who would comb the territory. The beetles could so +prolong their lives for a few hours, maybe a few days, but +they were really ended on that moment when the transport +cut communication. Shann was sure that the officer, at least, +understood that.</p> + +<p>The Terran was dragged away from the domes toward +the river down which he and Thorvald had once escaped. +Moving through the dusk in parallel lines, he caught sight of +other Throg squads, well armed, marching in order to suggest +that they were not yet alarmed. However, he had been +right about the ships—there were no flyers grounded on the +improvised field.</p> + +<p>Shann made himself as much of a burden as he could. At +the best, he could so delay the guards entrusted with his +safekeeping; at the worst, he could earn for himself a quick +ending by blaster which would be better than the one they +had for him. He went limp, falling forward into the trampled +grass. There was an exasperated click from the Throg who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +had been herding him, and the Terran tried not to flinch +from a sharp kick delivered by a clawed foot.</p> + +<p>Feigning unconsciousness, the Terran listened to the unintelligible +clicks exchanged by Throgs standing over him. +His future depended now on how deep lay the alien officer's +anger. If the beetle-head wanted to carry out his earlier +threats, he would have to order Shann's transportation by the +fleeing force. Otherwise his life might well end here and now.</p> + +<p>Claws hooked once more on Shann. He was boosted up +on the horny carapace of a guard, the bonds on his arms taken +off and his numbed hands brought forward, to be held by his +captor so that he lay helpless, a cloak over the other's hunched +shoulders.</p> + +<p>The ghost flares of bushes and plants blooming in the gathering +twilight gave a limited light to the scene. There was +no way of counting the number of Throgs on the move. But +Shann was sure that all the enemy ships must have been emptied +except for skeleton crews, and perhaps others had been +ferried in from their hidden base somewhere in Circe's system.</p> + +<p>He could only see a little from his position on the Throg's +back, but ahead a ripple of beetle bodies slipped over the +bank of the river cut. The aliens were working their way into +cover, fitting into the dapple shadows with a skill which argued +a long practice in such elusive maneuvers. Did they plan +to try to fight off a cruiser attack? That was pure madness. +Or, Shann wondered, did they intend to have the Terrans +met by one of their own major ships somewhere well above +the surface of Warlock?</p> + +<p>His bearer turned away from the stream cut, carrying +Shann out into that field which had first served the Terrans +as a landing strip, then offered the same service to the Throgs. +They passed two more parties of aliens on the move, manhandling +with them bulky objects the Terran could not identify. +Then he was dumped unceremoniously to the hard earth, +only to lie there a few seconds before he was flopped over on +a framework which grated unpleasantly against his raw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +shoulders, his wrists and ankles being made fast so that his +body was spread-eagled. There was a click of orders; the +frame was raised and dropped with a jarring movement into +a base, and he was held erect, once more facing the Throg +with the translator. This was it! Shann began to regret every +small chance he had had to end more cleanly. If he had attacked +one of the guards, even with his hands bound, he might +have flustered the Throg into retaliatory blaster fire.</p> + +<p>Fear made a thicker fog about him than the green mist +of the illusion. Only this was no illusion. Shann stared at the +Throg officer with sick eyes, knowing that no one ever quite +believes that a last evil will strike at him, that he had clung +to a hope which had no existence.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!"</p> + +<p>The call burst in his head with a painful force. His dazed +attention was outwardly on the alien with the translator, but +that inner demand had given him a shock.</p> + +<p>"Here! Thorvald? Where?"</p> + +<p>The other struck in again with an urgent demand singing +through Shann's brain.</p> + +<p>"Give us a fix point—away from camp but not too far. +Quick!"</p> + +<p>A fix point—what did the Survey officer mean? A fix point.... +For some reason Shann thought of the ledge on which +he had lain to watch the first Throg attack. And the picture +of it was etched on his mind as clearly as memory could paint +it.</p> + +<p>"Thorvald——" Again his voice and his mind call were echoes +of each other. But this time he had no answer. Had that demand +meant Thorvald and the Wyverns were moving in, +putting to use the strange distance-erasing power the witches +of Warlock could use by desire? But why had they not come +sooner? And what could they hope to accomplish against +the now scattered but certainly unbroken enemy forces? The +Wyverns had not been able to turn their power against one +injured Throg—by their own accounting—how could they possibly +cope with well-armed and alert aliens in the field?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You die—slow——" The Throg officer clicked, and the emotionless, +toneless translation was all the more daunting for +that lack of color. "Your people come—see——"</p> + +<p>So that was the reason they had brought him to the landing +field. He was to furnish a grisly warning to the crew of +the cruiser. However, there the Throgs were making a bad +mistake if they believed that his death by any ingenious method +could scare off Terran retaliation.</p> + +<p>"I die—you follow——" Shann tried to make that promise emphatic.</p> + +<p>Did the Throg officer expect the Terran to beg for his life +or a quick death? Again he made his threat—straight into +the web, hearing it split into clicks.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," the Throg returned. "But you die the first."</p> + +<p>"Get to it!" Shann's voice scaled up. He was close to the +ragged edge, and the last push toward the breaking point +had not been the Throg speech, but that message from Thorvald. +If the Survey officer was going to make any move in the +mottled dusk, it would have to be soon.</p> + +<p>Mottled dusk.... The Throgs had moved a little away +from him. Shann looked beyond them to the perimeter of +the cleared field, not really because he expected to see any +rescuers break from cover there. And when he did see a +change, Shann thought his own sight was at fault.</p> + +<p>Those splotches of waxy light which marked certain trees, +bushes, and scrubby ground-hugging plants were spreading, +running together in pools. And from those center cores of +concentrated glow, tendrils of mist lazily curled out, as a +many-armed creature of the sea might allow its appendages +to float in the water which supported it. Tendrils crossed, +met, and thickened. There was a growing river of eerie light +which spread, again resembling a sea wave licking out onto +the field. And where it touched, unlike the wave, it did not +retreat, but lapped on. Was he actually seeing that? Shann +could not be sure.</p> + +<p>Only the gray light continued to build, faster now, its speed +of advance matching its increase in bulk. Shann somehow connected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +it with the veil of illusion. If it was real, there was a +purpose behind it.</p> + +<p>There was an aroused clicking from the Throgs. A blaster +bolt cracked, its spiteful, sickly yellow slicing into the nearest +tongue of gray. But that luminous fog engulfed the blast +and was not dispelled. Shann forced his head around against +the support which held him. The mist crept across the field +from all quarters, walling them in.</p> + +<p>Running at the ungainly lope which was their best effort at +speed were half a dozen Throgs emerging from the river +section. Their attitude suggested panic-stricken flight, and +when one tripped on some unseen obstruction and went down—to +fall beneath a descending tongue of phosphorescence—he +uttered a strange high-pitched squeal, thin and faint, but +still a note of complete, mindless terror.</p> + +<p>The Throgs surrounding Shann were firing at the fog, first +with precision, then raggedly, as their bolts did nothing to +cut that opaque curtain drawing in about them. From inside +that mist came other sounds—noises, calls, and cries all alien +to him, and perhaps also to the Throgs. There were shapes +barely to be discerned through the swirls; perhaps some were +Throgs in flight. But certainly others were non-Throg in outline. +And the Terran was sure that at least three of those +shapes, all different, had been in pursuit of one fleeing Throg, +heading him off from that small open area still holding about +Shann.</p> + +<p>For the Throgs were being herded in from all sides—the +handful who had come from the river, the others who had +brought Shann there. And the action of the mist was pushing +them into a tight knot. Would they eventually turn on him, +wanting to make sure of their prisoner before they made a +last stand against whatever lurked in the fog? To Shann's +continued relief the aliens seemed to have forgotten him. +Even when one cowered back against the very edge of the +frame on which the Terran was bound, the beetle-head did +not look at this helpless prey.</p> + +<p>They were firing wildly, with desperation in every heavy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +thrust of bolt. Then one Throg threw down his blaster, raised +his arms over his head, and voicing the same high wail uttered +by his comrade-in-arms earlier, he ran straight into the +mist where a shape materialized, closed in behind him, cutting +him off from his fellows.</p> + +<p>That break demoralized the others. The Throg commander +burned down two of his company with his blaster, but three +more broke past him to the fog. One of the remaining party +reversed his blaster, swung the stock against the officer's carapace, +beating him to his knees, before the attacker raced on +into the billows of the mist. Another threw himself on the +ground and lay there, pounding his claws against the baked +earth. While a remaining two continued with stolid precision +to fire at the lurking shapes which could only be half seen; +and a third helped the officer to his feet.</p> + +<p>The Throg commander reeled back against the frame, his +musky body scent filling Shann's nostrils. But he, too, paid +no attention to the Terran, though his horny arms scraped +across Shann's. Holding both of his claws to his head, he +staggered on, to be engulfed by a new arm of the fog.</p> + +<p>Then, as if the swallowing of the officer had given the +mist a fresh appetite, the wan light waved in a last vast billow +over the clear area about the frame. Shann felt its substance +cold, slimy, on his skin. This was a deadly breath of +un-life.</p> + +<p>He was weakened, sapped of strength, so that he hung in +his bounds, his head lolling forward on his breast. Warmth +pressed against him, a warm wet touch on his cold skin, a +sensation of friendly concern in his mind. Shann gasped, found +that he was no longer filling his lungs with that chill staleness +which was the breath of the fog. He opened his eyes, struggling +to raise his head. The gray light had retreated, but +though a Throg blaster lay close to his feet, another only a +yard beyond, there was no sign of the aliens.</p> + +<p>Instead, standing on their hind feet to press against him +in a demand for his attention, were the wolverines. And seeing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +them, Shann dared to believe that the impossible could +be true; somehow he was safe.</p> + +<p>He spoke. And Taggi and Togi answered with eager +whines. The mist was withdrawing more slowly than it had +come. Here and there things lay very still on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Lantee!"</p> + +<p>This time the call came not into his mind but out of the +air. Shann made an effort at reply which was close to a croak.</p> + +<p>"Over here!"</p> + +<p>A new shape in the fog was moving with purpose toward +him. Thorvald strode into the open, sighted Shann, and began +to run.</p> + +<p>"What did they——?" he began.</p> + +<p>Shann wanted to laugh, but the sound which issued from +his dry throat was very little like mirth. He struggled helplessly +until he managed to get out some words which made +sense.</p> + +<p>"... hadn't started in on me yet. You were just in time."</p> + +<p>Thorvald loosened the wires which held the younger man +to the frame and stood ready to catch him as he slumped forward. +And the officer's hold wiped away the last clammy residue +of the mist. Though he did not seem able to keep on his +feet, Shann's mind was clear.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"The power." Thorvald was examining him hastily but with +attention for every cut and bruise. "The beetle-heads didn't +really get to work on you——"</p> + +<p>"Told you that," Shann said impatiently. "But what brought +that fog and got the Throgs?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald smiled grimly. The ghostly light was fading as +the fog retreated, but Shann could see well enough to note +that around the other's neck hung one of the Wyvern disks.</p> + +<p>"It was a variation of the veil of illusion. You faced your +memories under the influence of that; so did I. But it would +seem that the Throgs had ones worse than either of us could +produce. You can't play the role of thug all over the galaxy +and not store up in the subconscious a fine line of private fears<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +and remembered enemies. We provided the means for releasing +those, and they simply raised their own devils to order. +Neatest justice ever rendered. It seems that the 'power' has +a big kick—in a different way—when a Terran will manages +to spark it."</p> + +<p>"And you did?"</p> + +<p>"I made a small beginning. Also I had the full backing of +the Elders, and a general staff of Wyverns in support. In a +way I helped to provide a channel for their concentration. +Alone they can work 'magic'; with us they can spread out +into new fields. Tonight we hunted Throgs as a united team—most +successfully."</p> + +<p>"But they wouldn't go after the one in the skull."</p> + +<p>"No. Direct contact with a Throg mind appears to short-circuit +them. I did the contacting; they fed me what I needed. +We have the answer to the Throgs now—one answer." Thorvald +looked back over the field where those bodies lay so +still. "We can kill Throgs. Maybe someday we can learn another +trick—how to live with them." He returned abruptly to +the present. "You did contact the transport?"</p> + +<p>Shann explained what had happened in the com dome. "I +think when the ship broke contact that way they understood."</p> + +<p>"We'll take it that they did, and be on the move." Thorvald +helped Shann to his feet. "If a cruiser berths here shortly, +I don't propose to be under its tail flames when it sets down."</p> + +<p>The cruiser came. And a mop-up squad patrolled outward +from the reclaimed camp, picked up two living Throgs, both +wandering witlessly. But Shann only heard of that later. He +slept, so deep and dreamlessly that when he roused he was +momentarily dazed.</p> + +<p>A Survey uniform—with a cadet's badges—lay across the +wall seat facing his bunk in the barracks he had left ... how +many days or weeks before? The garments fitted well enough, +but he removed the insignia to which he was not entitled. +When he ventured out he saw half a dozen troopers of the +patrol, together with Thorvald, watching the cruiser lift again +into the morning sky.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>Taggi and Togi, trailing leashes, galloped out of nowhere +to hurl themselves at him in uproarious welcome. And Thorvald +must have heard their eager whines even through the +blast of the ship, for he turned and waved Shann to join +him.</p> + +<p>"Where is the cruiser going?"</p> + +<p>"To punch a Throg base out of this system," Thorvald answered. +"They located it—on Witch."</p> + +<p>"But we're staying on here?"</p> + +<p>Thorvald glanced at him oddly. "There won't be any settlement +now. But we have to establish a conditional embassy +post. And the patrol has left a guard."</p> + +<p>Embassy post. Shann digested that. Yes, of course, Thorvald, +because of his close contact with the Wyverns, would +be left here for the present to act as liaison officer-in-charge.</p> + +<p>"We don't propose," the other was continuing, "to allow +to lapse any contact with the one intelligent alien race we +have discovered who can furnish us with full-time partnership +to our mutual benefit. And there mustn't be any bungling +here!"</p> + +<p>Shann nodded. That made sense. As soon as possible Warlock +would witness the arrival of another team, one slanted +this time to the cultivation of an alien friendship and alliance, +rather than preparation for Terran colonists. Would they keep +him on? He supposed not; the wolverines' usefulness was no +longer apparent.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know your regulations?" There was a snap in +Thorvald's demand which startled Shann. He glanced up, +discovered the other surveying him critically. "You're not in +uniform——"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," he admitted. "I couldn't find my own kit."</p> + +<p>"Where are your badges?"</p> + +<p>Shann's hand went up to the marks left when he had so +carefully ripped off the insignia.</p> + +<p>"My badges? I have no rank," he replied, bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Every team carries at least one cadet on strength."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Shann flushed. There had been one cadet on this team; +why did Thorvald want to remember that?</p> + +<p>"Also," the other's voice sounded remote, "there can be +appointments made in the field—for cause. Those appointments +are left to the discretion of the officer-in-charge, and +they are never questioned. I repeat, you are not in uniform, +Lantee. You will make the necessary alteration and report +to me at headquarters dome. As sole representatives of Terra +here we have a matter of protocol to be discussed with our +witches, and they have a right to expect punctuality from a +pair of warlocks, so get going!"</p> + +<p>Shann still stood, staring incredulously at the officer. Then +Thorvald's official severity vanished in a smile which was +warm and real.</p> + +<p>"Get going," he ordered once more, "before I have to log +you for inattention to orders."</p> + +<p>Shann turned, nearly stumbling over Taggi, and then ran +back to the barracks in quest of some very important bits of +braid he hoped he could find in a hurry.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 131px;"> +<img src="images/illus-back.jpg" width="131" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="center" style="font-size:larger; font-weight:bold;">STORM OVER WARLOCK</p> + +<p>"A satisfying and mature novel +which readers will seize upon if +they want to enjoy a good adventure +story.</p> + +<p>"A survey base on a remote +planet is wiped out by a raid of +Earth's enemies, the Throgs; the +only survivor must face the perils +of an unexplored planet while trying +somehow to strike back at the +enemy....</p> + +<p>"As always Norton creates both +human and alien beings well, and +tells a story that you can't stop +reading."</p> + +<p><span class="ralign">—<i>New York Herald Tribune</i></span><br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<p class="center" style="font-size:larger; font-weight:bold;">"UP TO NORTON'S BEST STANDARDS."</p> + +<p><span class="ralign">—<i>Library Journal</i></span><br /></p> + +<p>The Throg task force struck the Terran survey camp +a few minutes after dawn, without warning, and with a +deadly precision which argued that the aliens had fully +reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base +with methodical accuracy. And a single cowering witness, +flattened on a ledge in the heights above, knew +that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, nothing +human would be left alive down there.</p> + +<p>And so Shann Lantee, most menial of the Terrans +attached to the camp on the planet Warlock, was left +alone and weaponless in the strange, hostile world, the +human prey of the aliens from space and the aliens on +the ground alike.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + +<p>ANDRE NORTON has become one of the highest rated +authors of science-fiction adventure now writing. A +native of Cleveland, Ohio, a book collector, and s-f fan, +Ace Books have had the pleasure of presenting her best +novels in newsstand editions.</p> + +<p>A checklist of available Andre Norton books:</p> + +<ul class="off"><li>STAR GUARD (D-199)</li> +<li>SARGASSO OF SPACE (D-249)</li> +<li>STAR BORN (D-299)</li> +<li>PLAGUE SHIP (D-345)</li> +<li>VOODOO PLANET (D-345)</li> +<li>SECRET OF THE LOST RACE (D-381)</li> +<li>THE SIOUX SPACEMAN (D-437)</li> +<li>THE TIME TRADERS (D-461)</li> +<li>GALACTIC DERELICT (D-498)</li> +<li>STAR HUNTER (D-509)</li> +<li>THE BEAST MASTER (D-509)</li> +</ul> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="bbox"> +<h4 style="margin-top:0">Transcriber's Notes & Errata</h4> +<ul> +<li>'nonhuman' is used as an adjective. 'non-human' is used as a noun.</li> +<li>'skullmountain' and 'skull-mountain' are used once each.</li> +</ul> + +<p>The following typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr style="font-weight:bold"><td align='left'>Page</td><td align='left'>Error</td><td align='left'>Correction</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>11</td><td align='left'>gods</td><td align='left'>gobs</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>17</td><td align='left'>of world</td><td align='left'>of the world</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>26</td><td align='left'>beetlehead</td><td align='left'>beetle-head</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>29</td><td align='left'>beetleheads</td><td align='left'>beetle-heads</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>55</td><td align='left'>eye-holes</td><td align='left'>eyeholes</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>71</td><td align='left'>Thorfald's</td><td align='left'>Thorvald's</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>87</td><td align='left'>overhand</td><td align='left'>overhang</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>88</td><td align='left'>look</td><td align='left'>took</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>94</td><td align='left'>edgeing</td><td align='left'>edging</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>111</td><td align='left'>verticle</td><td align='left'>vertical</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>123</td><td align='left'>fist</td><td align='left'>first</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>125</td><td align='left'>ceremoney</td><td align='left'>ceremony</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>131</td><td align='left'>be</td><td align='left'>he</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>131</td><td align='left'>then</td><td align='left'>their</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>131</td><td align='left'>trid-ee</td><td align='left'>tri-dee</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>132</td><td align='left'>heeled</td><td align='left'>healed</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>133</td><td align='left'>again</td><td align='left'>against</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>134</td><td align='left'>midst</td><td align='left'>mist</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>144</td><td align='left'>Shan</td><td align='left'>Shann</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>145</td><td align='left'>assauged</td><td align='left'>assuaged</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>156</td><td align='left'>occurred</td><td align='left'>occurred</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>156</td><td align='left'>one one</td><td align='left'>one</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>164</td><td align='left'>and and</td><td align='left'>and</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>166</td><td align='left'>route</td><td align='left'>rout</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>168</td><td align='left'>roll</td><td align='left'>role</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>170</td><td align='left'>Shanned</td><td align='left'>Shann</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>180</td><td align='left'>activited</td><td align='left'>activated</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>180</td><td align='left'>furiuosly</td><td align='left'>furiously</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>182</td><td align='left'>beetlehead</td><td align='left'>beetle-head</td></tr> +</table></div> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Storm Over Warlock, by Andre Norton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORM OVER WARLOCK *** + +***** This file should be named 20788-h.htm or 20788-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/7/8/20788/ + +Produced by LN Yaddanapudi, Greg Weeks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Storm Over Warlock + +Author: Andre Norton + +Release Date: March 9, 2007 [EBook #20788] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORM OVER WARLOCK *** + + + + +Produced by LN Yaddanapudi, Greg Weeks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + +by + +ANDRE NORTON + +ACE BOOKS, INC. + +23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N.Y. + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + +Copyright (C), 1960, by Andre Norton + +An Ace Book, by arrangement with The World Publishing Co. + +All Rights Reserved + +Printed in U.S.A. + + ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ +| Transcriber's Note | +| | +| Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the | +| U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. | +| | +| Front matter consisting of a blurb and a list of other | +| publications by the author has been moved to the end of the | +| text. | ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + +1. DISASTER + + +The Throg task force struck the Terran Survey camp a few minutes after +dawn, without warning, and with a deadly precision which argued that the +aliens had fully reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base with methodical +accuracy. And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in the +heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, +nothing human would be left alive down there. His teeth closed hard upon +the thick stuff of the sleeve covering his thin forearm, and in his +throat a scream of terror and rage was stillborn. + +More than caution kept him pinned on that narrow shelf of rock. Watching +that holocaust below, Shann Lantee could not force himself to move. The +sheer ruthlessness of the Throg move-in left him momentarily weak. To +listen to a tale of Throgs in action, and to be an eye-witness to such +action, were two vastly different things. He shivered in spite of the +warmth of the Survey Corps uniform. + +As yet he had sighted none of the aliens, only their plate-shaped +flyers. They would stay aloft until their long-range weapon cleared out +all opposition. But how had they been able to make such a complete +annihilation of the Terran force? The last report had placed the nearest +Throg nest at least two systems away from Warlock. And a patrol lane had +been drawn about the Circe system the minute that Survey had marked its +second planet ready for colonization. Somehow the beetles had slipped +through that supposedly tight cordon and would now consolidate their +gains with their usual speed at rooting. First an energy attack to +finish the small Terran force; then they would simply take over. + +A month later, or maybe two months, and they could not have done it. The +grids would have been up, and any Throg ship venturing into Warlock's +amber-tinted sky would abruptly cease to be. In the race for survival as +a galactic power, Terra had that one small edge over the swarms of the +enemy. They need only stake out their new-found world and get the grids +assembled on its surface; then that planet would be locked to the +beetles. The critical period was between the first discovery of a +suitable colony world and the erection of grid control. Planets in the +past had been lost during that time lag, just as Warlock was lost now. + +Throgs and Terrans ... For more than a century now, planet time, they +had been fighting their queer, twisted war among the stars. Terrans +hunted worlds for colonization, the old hunger for land of their own +driving men from the over-populated worlds, out of Sol's system to the +far stars. And those worlds barren of intelligent native life, open to +settlers, were none too many and widely scattered. Perhaps half a dozen +were found in a quarter century, and of that six maybe only one was +suitable for human life without any costly and lengthy adaption of man +or world. Warlock was one of the lucky finds which came so seldom. + +Throgs were predators, living on the loot they garnered. As yet, mankind +had not been able to discover whether they did indeed swarm from any +home world. Perhaps they lived eternally on board their plate ships with +no permanent base, forced into a wandering life by the destruction of +the planet on which they had originally been spawned. But they were +raiders now, laying waste defenseless worlds, picking up the wealth of +shattered cities in which no native life remained. And their hidden +temporary bases were looped about the galaxy, their need for worlds with +an atmosphere similar to Terra's as necessary as that of man. For in +spite of their grotesque insectile bodies, their wholly alien minds, the +Throgs were warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing creatures. + +After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had endeavored to +promote a truce between the species, only to discover that between Throg +and man there appeared to be no meeting ground at all--total differences +of mental processes producing insurmountable misunderstanding. There was +simply no point of communication. So the Terrans had suffered one +smarting defeat after another until they perfected the grid. And now +their colonies were safe, at least when time worked in their favor. + +It had not on Warlock. + +A last vivid lash of red cracked over the huddle of domes in the valley. +Shann blinked, half blinded by that glare. His jaws ached as he +unclenched his teeth. That was the finish. Breathing raggedly, he raised +his head, beginning to realize that he was the only one of his kind left +alive on a none-too-hospitable world controlled by enemies--without +shelter or supplies. + +He edged back into the narrow cleft which was the entrance to the ledge. +As a representative of his species he was not impressive, and now with +those shudders he could not master, shaking his thin body, he looked +even smaller and more vulnerable. Shann drew his knees up close under +his chin. The hood of his woodsman's jacket was pushed back in spite of +the chill of the morning, and he wiped the back of his hand across his +lips and chin in an oddly childish gesture. + +None of the men below who had been alive only minutes earlier had been +close friends of his; Shann had never known anyone but acquaintances in +his short, roving life. Most people had ignored him completely except to +give orders, and one or two had been actively malicious--like Garth +Thorvald. Shann grimaced at a certain recent memory, and then that +grimace faded into wonder. If young Thorvald hadn't purposefully tried +to get Shann into trouble by opening the wolverines' cage, Shann +wouldn't be here now--alive and safe for a time--he'd have been down +there with the others. + +The wolverines! For the first time since Shann had heard the crackle of +the Throg attack he remembered the reason he had been heading into the +hills. Of all the men on the Survey team, Shann Lantee had been the +least important. The dirty, tedious clean-up jobs, the dull routines +which required no technical training but which had to be performed to +keep the camp functioning comfortably, those had been his portion. And +he had accepted that status willingly, just to have a chance to be +included among Survey personnel. Not that he had the slightest hope of +climbing up to even an S-E-Three rating in the service. + +Part of those menial activities had been to clean the animal cages. And +there Shann Lantee had found something new, something so absorbing that +most of the tiring dull labor had ceased to exist except as tasks to +finish before he could return to the fascination of the animal runs. + +Survey teams had early discovered the advantage of using mutated and +highly trained Terran animals as assistants in the exploration of +strange worlds. From the biological laboratories and breeding farms on +Terra came a trickle of specialized aides-de-camp to accompany man into +space. Some were fighters, silent, more deadly than weapons a man wore +at his belt or carried in his hands. Some were keener eyes, keener +noses, keener scouts than the human kind could produce. Bred for +intelligence, for size, for adaptability to alien conditions, the animal +explorers from Terra were prized. + +Wolverines, the ancient "devils" of the northlands on Terra, were being +tried for the first time on Warlock. Their caution, a quality highly +developed in their breed, made them testers for new territory. Able to +tackle in battle an animal three times their size, they should be added +protection for the man they accompanied into the wilderness, and their +wide ranging, their ability to climb and swim, and above all, their +curiosity were assets. + +Shann had begun contact by cleaning their cages; he ended captivated by +these miniature bears with long bushy tails. And to his unbounded +delight the attraction was mutual. Alone to Taggi and Togi he was a +person, an important person. Those teeth, which could tear flesh into +ragged strips, nipped gently at his fingers, closed without any pressure +on arm, even on nose and chin in what was the ultimate caress of their +kind. Since they were escape artists of no mean ability, twice he had +had to track and lead them back to camp from forays of their own +devising. + +But the second time he had been caught by Fadakar, the chief of animal +control, before he could lock up the delinquents. And the memory of the +resulting interview still had the power to make him flush with impotent +anger. Shann's explanation had been contemptuously brushed aside, and he +had been delivered an ultimatum. If his carelessness occurred again, he +would be sent back on the next supply ship, to be dismissed without an +official sign-off on his work record, thus locked out of even the lowest +level of Survey for the rest of his life. + +That was why Garth Thorvald's act of the night before had made Shann +brave the unknown darkness of Warlock alone when he had discovered that +the test animals were gone. He had to locate and return them before +Fadakar made his morning inspection; Garth Thorvald's attempt to get him +into bad trouble had saved his life. + +Shann cowered back, striving to make his huddled body as small as +possible. One of the Throg flyers appeared silently out of the misty +amber of the morning sky, hovering over the silent camp. The aliens were +coming in to inspect the site of their victory. And the safest place for +any Terran now was as far from the vicinity of those silent domes as he +could get. Shann's slight body was an asset as he wedged through the +narrow mouth of a cleft and so back into the cliff wall. The climb +before him he knew in part, for this was the path the wolverines had +followed on their two other escapes. A few moments of tricky scrambling +and he was out in a cuplike depression choked with brush covered with +the purplish foliage of Warlock. On the other side of that was a small +cut to a sloping hillside, giving on another valley, not as wide as that +in which the camp stood, but one well provided with cover in the way of +trees and high-growing bushes. + +A light wind pushed among the trees, and twice Shann heard the harsh, +rasping call of a clak-clak--one of the bat-like leather-winged flyers +that laired in pits along the cliff walls. That present snap of two-tone +complaint suggested that the land was empty of strangers. For the +clak-claks vociferously and loudly resented encroachment on their chosen +hunting territory. + +Shann hesitated. He was driven by the urge to put as much distance +between him and the landing Throg ship as he could. But to arouse the +attention of inquisitive clak-claks was asking for trouble. Perhaps it +would be best to keep on along the top of the cliff, rather than risk a +descent to take cover in the valley the flyers patrolled. + +A patch of dust, sheltered by a tooth-shaped projection of rock, gave +the Terran his first proof that Taggi and his mate had preceded him, for +printed firmly there was the familiar paw mark of a wolverine. Shann +began to hope that both animals had taken to cover in the wilderness +ahead. + +He licked dry lips. Having left secretly without any emergency pack, he +had no canteen, and now Shann inventoried his scant possessions--a field +kit, heavy-duty clothing, a short hooded jacket with attached mittens, +the breast marked with the Survey insignia. His belt supported a +sheathed stunner and bush knife, and seam pockets held three credit +tokens, a twist of wire intended to reinforce the latch of the wolverine +cage, a packet of bravo tablets, two identity and work cards, and a +length of cord. No rations--save the bravos--no extra charge for his +stunner. But he did have, weighing down a loop on the jacket, a small +atomic torch. + +The path he followed ended abruptly in a cliff drop, and Shann made a +face at the odor rising from below, even though that scent meant he +could climb down to the valley floor here without fearing any clak-clak +attention. Chemical fumes from a mineral spring funneled against the +wall, warding off any nesting in this section. + +Shann drew up the hood of his jacket and snapped the transparent face +mask into place. He must get away--then find food, water, a hiding +place. That will to live which had made Shann Lantee fight innumerable +battles in the past was in command, bracing him with a stubborn +determination. + +The fumes swirled up in a smoke haze about his waist, but he strode on, +heading for the open valley and cleaner air. That sickly lavender +vegetation bordering the spring deepened in color to the normal +purple-green, and then he was in a grove of trees, their branches +pointed skyward at sharp angles to the rust-red trunks. + +A small skitterer burst from moss-spotted ground covering, giving an +alarmed squeak, skimming out of sight as suddenly as it had appeared. +Shann squeezed between two trees and then paused. The trunk of the +larger was deeply scored with scratches dripping viscid gobs of sap, a +sap which was a bright froth of scarlet. Taggi had left his mark here, +and not too long ago. + +The soft carpet of moss showed no paw marks, but he thought he knew the +goal of the animals--a lake down-valley. Shann was beginning to plan +now. The Throgs had not blasted the Terran camp out of existence; they +had only made sure of the death of its occupiers. Which meant they must +have some use for the installations. For the general loot of a Survey +field camp would be relatively worthless to those who picked over the +treasure of entire cities elsewhere. Why? What did the Throgs want? And +would the alien invaders continue to occupy the domes for long? + +Shann did not realize what had happened to him since that shock of +ruthless attack. From early childhood, when he had been thrown on his +own to scratch a living--a borderline existence of a living--on the +Dumps of Tyr, he had had to use his wits to keep life in a scrawny and +undersized body. However, since he had been eating regularly from Survey +rations, he was not quite so scrawny any more. + +His formal education was close to zero, his informal and off-center +schooling vast. And that particular toughening process which had been +working on him for years now aided in his speedy adaption to a new set +of facts, formidable ones. He was alone on a strange and perhaps hostile +world. Water, food, safe shelter, those were important now. And once +again, away from the ordered round of the camp where he had been ruled +by the desires and requirements of others, he was thinking, planning in +freedom. Later (his hand went to the butt of his stunner) perhaps later +he might just find a way of extracting an accounting from the +beetle-faces, too. + +For the present, he would have to keep away from the Throgs, which meant +well away from the camp. A fleck of green showed through the amethyst +foliage before him--the lake! Shann wriggled through a last bush barrier +and stood to look out over that surface. A sleek brown head bobbed up. +Shann put fingers to his mouth and whistled. The head turned, black +button eyes regarded him, short legs began to churn water. To his +gratification the swimmer was obeying his summons. + +Taggi came ashore, pausing on the fine gray sand of the verge to shake +himself vigorously. Then the wolverine came upslope at a clumsy gallop +to Shann. With an unknown feeling swelling inside him, the Terran went +down on both knees, burying both hands in the coarse brown fur, warming +to the uproarious welcome Taggi gave him. + +"Togi?" Shann asked as if the other could answer. He gazed back to the +lake, but Taggi's mate was nowhere in sight. + +The blunt head under his hand swung around, black button nose pointed +north. Shann had never been sure just how intelligent, as mankind +measured intelligence, the wolverines were. He had come to suspect that +Fadakar and the other experts had underrated them and that both beasts +understood more than they were given credit for. Now he followed an +experiment of his own, one he had had a chance to try only a few times +before and never at length. Pressing his palm flat on Taggi's head, +Shann thought of Throgs and of their attack, trying to arouse in the +animal a corresponding reaction to his own horror and anger. + +And Taggi responded. A mutter became a growl, teeth gleamed--those cruel +teeth of a carnivore to whom they were weapons of aggression. Danger ... +Shann thought "danger." Then he raised his hand, and the wolverine +shuffled off, heading north. The man followed. + +They discovered Togi busy in a small cove where a jagged tangle of drift +made a mat dating from the last high-water period. She was finishing a +hearty breakfast, the remains of a water rat being buried thriftily +against future need after the instincts of her kind. When she was done +she came to Shann, inquiry plain to read in her eyes. + +There was water here, and good hunting. But the site was too close to +the Throgs. Let one of their exploring flyers sight them, and the little +group was finished. Better cover, that's what the three fugitives must +have. Shann scowled, not at Togi, but at the landscape. He was tired and +hungry, but he must keep on going. + +A stream fed into the cove from the west, a guide of sorts. With very +little knowledge of the countryside, Shann was inclined to follow that. + +Overhead the sun made its usual golden haze of the sky. A flight of +vivid green streaks marked a flock of lake ducks coming for a morning +feeding. Lake duck was good eating, but Shann had no time to hunt one +now. Togi started down the bank of the stream, Taggi behind her. Either +they had caught his choice subtly through some undefined mental contact, +or they had already picked that road on their own. + +Shann's attention was caught by a piece of the drift. He twisted the +length free and had his first weapon of his own manufacture, a club. +Using it to hold back a low sweeping branch, he followed the wolverines. + +Within the half hour he had breakfast, too. A pair of limp skitterers, +their long hind feet lashed together with a thong of grass, hung from +his belt. They were not particularly good eating, but they were meat and +acceptable. + +The three, man and wolverines, made their way up the stream to the +valley wall and through a feeder ravine into the larger space beyond. +There, where the stream was born at the foot of a falls, they made their +first camp. Judging that the morning haze would veil any smoke, Shann +built a pocket-size fire. He seared rather than roasted the skitterers +after he had made an awkward and messy business of skinning them, and +tore the meat from the delicate bones in greedy mouthfuls. The +wolverines lay side by side on the gravel, now and again raising a head +alertly to test the scent on the air, or gaze into the distance. + +Taggi made a warning sound deep in the throat. Shann tossed handfuls of +sand over the dying fire. He had only time to fling himself face-down, +hoping the drab and weathered cloth of his uniform faded into the color +of the earth on which he lay, every muscle tense. + +A shadow swung across the hillside. Shann's shoulders hunched, and he +cowered again. That terror he had known on the ledge was back in full +force as he waited for the beam to lick at him as it had earlier at his +fellows. The Throgs were on the hunt.... + + + + +2. DEATH OF A SHIP + + +That sigh of displaced air was not as loud as a breeze, but it echoed +monstrously in Shann's ears. He could not believe in his luck as that +sound grew fainter, drew away into the valley he had just left. With +infinite caution he raised his head from his arm, still hardly able to +accept the fact that he had not been sighted, that the Throgs and their +flyer were gone. + +But that black plate was spinning out into the sun haze. One of the +beetles might have suspected that there were Terran fugitives and +ordered a routine patrol. After all, how could the aliens know that they +had caught all but one of the Survey party in camp? Though with all the +Terran scout flitters grounded on the field, the men dead in their +bunks, the surprise would seem to be complete. + +As Shann moved, Taggi and Togi came to life also. They had gone to earth +with speed, and the man was sure that both beasts had sensed danger. Not +for the first time he knew a burning desire for the formal education he +had never had. In camp he had listened, dragging out routine jobs in +order to overhear reports and the small talk of specialists keen on +their own particular hobbies. But so much of the information Shann had +thus picked up to store in a retentive memory he had not understood and +could not fit together. It had been as if he were trying to solve some +highly important puzzle with at least a quarter of the necessary pieces +missing, or with unrelated bits from others intermixed. How much control +did a trained animal scout have over his furred or feathered +assistants? And was part of that mastery a mental rapport built up +between man and animal? + +How well would the wolverines obey him now, especially when they would +not return to camp where cages stood waiting as symbols of human +authority? Wouldn't a trek into the wilderness bring about a revolt for +complete freedom? If Shann could depend upon the animals, it would mean +a great deal. Not only would their superior hunting ability provide all +three with food, but their scouting senses, so much keener than his, +might erect a slender wall between life and death. + +Few large native beasts had been discovered on Warlock by the Terran +explorers. And of those four or five different species, none had proved +hostile if unprovoked. But that did not mean that somewhere back in the +wild lands into which Shann was heading there were no heretofore +unknowns, perhaps slyer and as vicious as the wolverines when they were +aroused to rage. + +Then there were the "dreams," which had afforded the prime source of +camp discussion and dispute. Shann brushed coarse sand from his boots +and thought about the dreams. Did they or did they not exist? You could +start an argument any time by making a definite statement for or against +the peculiar sort of dreaming reported by the first scout to set ship on +this world. + +The Circe system, of which Warlock was the second of three planets, had +first been scouted four years ago by one of those explorers traveling +solo in Survey service. Everyone knew that the First-In Scouts were a +weird breed, almost a mutation of Terran stock--their reports were rife +with strange observations. + +So an alarming one concerning Circe (a yellow sun such as Sol) and her +three planets was not so rare. Witch, the world nearest in orbit to +Circe, was too hot for human occupancy without drastic and too costly +world-changing. Wizard, the third out from the sun, was mostly bare rock +and highly poisonous water. But Warlock, swinging through space between +two forbidding neighbors, seemed to be just what the settlement board +ordered. + +Then the Survey scout, even in the cocoon safety of his well-armed ship, +began to dream. And from those dreams a horror of the apparently empty +world developed, until he fled the planet to preserve his sanity. There +had been a second visit to Warlock in check; worlds so well adapted to +human emigration could not be lightly thrown away. And this time there +was a negative report, no trace of dreams, no registration of any +outside influence on the delicate and complicated equipment the ship +carried. So the Survey team had been dispatched to prepare for the +coming of the first pioneers, and none of them had dreamed either--at +least, no more than the ordinary dreams all men accepted. + +Only there were those who pointed out that the seasons had changed +between the first and second visits to Warlock. That first scout had +planeted in summer; his successors had come in fall and winter. They +argued that the final release of the world for settlement should not be +given until the full year on Warlock had been sampled. + +But the pressure of Emigrant Control had forced their hands, that and +the fear of just what had eventually happened--an attack from the +Throgs. So they had speeded up the process of declaring Warlock open. +Only Ragnar Thorvald had protested that decision up to the last and had +gone back to headquarters on the supply ship a month ago to make a last +appeal for a more careful study. + +Shann stopped brushing the sand from the tough fabric above his knee. +Ragnar Thorvald ... He remembered back to the port landing apron on +another world, remembered with a sense of loss he could not define. That +had been about the second biggest day of his short life; the biggest had +come earlier when they had actually allowed him to sign on for Survey +duty. + +He had tumbled off the cross-continent cargo carrier, his kit--a very +meager kit--slung over his thin shoulder, a hot eagerness expanding +inside him until he thought that he could not continue to throttle down +that wild happiness. There was a waiting starship. And he--Shann Lantee +from the Dumps of Tyr, without any influence or schooling--was going to +blast off in her, wearing the brown-green uniform of Survey! + +Then he had hesitated uncertainly, had not quite dared cross the few +feet of apron lying between him and that compact group wearing the same +uniform--with a slight difference, that of service bars and completion +badges and rank insignia--with the unconscious self-assurance of men who +had done this many times before. + +But after a moment that whole group had become in his own shy appraisal +just a background for one man. Shann had never before known in his +pinched and limited childhood, his lost boyhood, anyone who aroused in +him hero worship. And he could not have put a name to the new emotion +that added so suddenly to his burning desire to make good, not only to +hold the small niche in Survey which he had already so painfully +achieved, but to climb, until he could stand so in such a group talking +easily to that tall man, his uncovered head bronze-yellow in the +sunlight, his cool gray eyes pale in his brown face. + +Not that any of those wild dreams born in that minute or two had been +realized in the ensuing months. Probably those dreams had always been as +wild as the ones reported by the first scout on Warlock. Shann grinned +wryly now at the short period of childish hope and half-confidence that +he could do big things. Only one Thorvald had ever noticed Shann's +existence in the Survey camp, and that had been Garth. + +Garth Thorvald, a far less impressive--one could say "smudged"--copy of +his brother. Swaggering with an arrogance Ragnar never showed, Garth was +a cadet on his first mission, intent upon making Shann realize the +unbridgeable gulf between a labor hand and an officer-to-be. He had +appeared to know right from their first meeting just how to make Shann's +life a misery. + +Now, in this slit of valley well away from the domes, Shann's fists +balled. He pounded them against the earth in a way he had so often hoped +to plant them on Garth's smoothly handsome face, his well-muscled body. +One didn't survive the Dumps of Tyr without learning how to use fists, +and boots, and a list of tricks they didn't teach in any academy. He had +always been sure that he could take Garth if they mixed it up. But if he +had loosed the tight rein he had kept on his temper and offered that +challenge, he would have lost his chance with Survey. Garth had proved +himself able to talk his way out of any scrape, even minor derelictions +of duty, and he far out-ranked Shann. The laborer from Tyr had had to +swallow all that the other could dish out and hope that on his next +assignment he would not be a member of young Thorvald's team. Though, +because of Garth Thorvald, Shann's toll of black record marks had +mounted dangerously high and each day the chance for any more duty tours +had grown dimmer. + +Shann laughed, and the sound was ugly. That was one thing he didn't have +to worry about any longer. There would be no other assignments for him, +the Throgs had seen to that. And Garth ... well, there would never be a +showdown between them now. He stood up. The Throg ship had disappeared; +they could push on. + +He found a break in the cliff wall which was climbable, and he coaxed +the wolverines after him. When they stood on the heights from which the +falls tumbled, Taggi and Togi rubbed against him, cried for his +attention. They, too, appeared to need the reassurance they got from +contact with him, for they were also fugitives on this alien world, the +only representatives of their kind. + +Since he did not have any definite goal in view, Shann continued to be +guided by the stream, following its wanderings across a plateau. The sun +was warm, so he carried his jacket slung across one shoulder. Taggi and +Togi ranged ahead, twice catching skitterers, which they devoured +voraciously. A shadow on a sun-baked rock sent the Terran skidding for +cover until he saw that it was cast by one of the questing falcons from +the upper peaks. But that shook his confidence, so he again sought +cover, ashamed at his own carelessness. + +In the late afternoon he reached the far end of the plateau, faced a +climb to peaks which still bore cones of snow, now tinted a soft peach +by the sun. Shann studied that possible path and distrusted his own +powers to take it without proper equipment or supplies. He must turn +either north or south, though he would then have to abandon a sure water +supply in the stream. Tonight he would camp where he was. He had not +realized how tired he was until he found a likely half-cave in the +mountain wall and crawled in. There was too much danger in fire here; he +would have to do without that first comfort of his kind. + +Luckily, the wolverines squeezed in beside him to fill the hole. With +their warm furred bodies sandwiching him, Shann dozed, awoke, and dozed +again, listening to night sounds--the screams, cries, hunting calls, of +the Warlock wilds. Now and again one of the wolverines whined and moved +uneasily. + +Fingers of sun picked at Shann through a shaft among the rocks, striking +his eyes. He moved, blinked blearily awake, unable for the first few +seconds to understand why the smooth plasta wall of his bunk had become +rough red stone. Then he remembered. He was alone and he threw himself +frantically out of the cave, afraid the wolverines had wandered off. +Only both animals were busy clawing under a boulder with a steady +persistence which argued there was a purpose behind that effort. + +A sharp sting on the back of one hand made that purpose only too clear +to Shann, and he retreated hurriedly from the vicinity of the +excavation. They had found an earth-wasp's burrow and were hunting +grubs, naturally arousing the rightful inhabitants to bitter resentment. + +Shann faced the problem of his own breakfast. He had had the immunity +shots given to all members of the team, and he had eaten game brought in +by exploring parties and labeled "safe." But how long he could keep to +the varieties of native food he knew was uncertain. Sooner or later he +must experiment for himself. Already he drank the stream water without +the aid of purifiers, and so far there had been no ill results from that +necessary recklessness. Now the stream suggested fish. But instead he +chanced upon another water inhabitant which had crawled up on land for +some obscure purpose of its own. It was a sluggish scaled thing, an easy +victim to his club, with thin, weak legs it could project at will from a +finned and armor-plated body. + +Shann offered the head and guts to Togi, who had abandoned the wasp +nest. She sniffed in careful investigation and then gulped. Shann built +a small fire and seared the firm greenish flesh. The taste was flat, +lacking salt, but the food eased his emptiness. Enheartened, he started +south, hoping to find water sometime during the morning. + +By noon he had his optimism justified with the discovery of a spring, +and the wolverines had brought down a slender-legged animal whose coat +was close in shade to the dusky purple of the vegetation. Smaller than a +Terran deer, its head bore, not horns, but a ridge of stiffened hair +rising in a point some twelve inches about the skull dome. Shann haggled +off some ragged steaks while the wolverines feasted in earnest, +carefully burying the head afterward. + +It was when Shann knelt by the spring pool to wash that he caught the +clamor of the clak-claks. He had seen or heard nothing of the flyers +since he had left the lake valley. But from the noise now rising in an +earsplitting volume, he thought there was a sizable colony near-by and +that the inhabitants were thoroughly aroused. + +He crept on his hands and knees to near-by brush cover, heading toward +the source of that outburst. If the claks were announcing a Throg +scouting party, he wanted to know it. + +Lying flat, with branches forming a screen over him, the Terran gazed +out on a stretch of grassland which sloped at a fairly steep angle to +the south and which must lead to a portion of countryside well below the +level he was now traversing. + +The clak-claks were skimming back and forth, shrieking their staccato +war cries. Following the erratic dashes of their flight formation, +Shann decided that whatever they railed against was on the lower level, +out of his sight from that point. Should he simply withdraw, since the +disturbance was not near him? Prudence dictated that; yet still he +hesitated. + +He had no desire to travel north, or to try and scale the mountains. No, +south was his best path, and he should be very sure that route was +closed before he retreated. + +Since any additional fuss the clak-claks might make on sighting him +would be undistinguished in their now general clamor, the Terran crawled +on to where tall grass provided a screen at the top of the slope. There +he stopped short, his hands digging into the earth in sudden braking +action. + +Below, the ground steamed from a rocket flare-back, grasses burned away +from the fins of a small scoutship. But even as Shann rose to one knee, +his shout of welcome choked in his throat. One of those fins sank, +canting the ship crookedly, preventing any new take-off. And over the +crown of a low hill to the west swung the ominous black plate of a Throg +flyer. + +The Throg ship came up in a burst of speed, and Shann waited tensely for +some countermove from the scout. Those small speedy Terran ships were +prudently provided with weapons triply deadly in proportion to their +size. He was sure that the Terran ship could hold its own against the +Throg, even eliminate the enemy. But there was no fire from the slanting +pencil of the scout. The Throg circled warily, obviously expecting a +trap. Twice it darted back in the direction from which it had come. As +it returned from its second retreat, another of its kind showed, a black +coin dot against the amber of the sky. + +Shann felt sick inside. Now the Terran scout had lost any advantage and +perhaps all hope. The Throgs could box the other in, cut the downed ship +to pieces with their energy beams. He wanted to crawl away and not +witness this last disaster for his kind. But some stubborn core of will +kept him where he was. + +The Throgs began to circle while beneath them the flock of clak-claks +screamed and dived at the slanting nose of the Terran ship. Then that +same slashing energy he had watched quarter the camp snapped from the +far plate across the stricken scout. The man who had piloted her, if not +dead already (which might account for the lack of defense), must have +fallen victim to that. But the Throg was going to make very sure. The +second flyer halted, remaining poised long enough to unleash a second +bolt--dazzling any watching eyes and broadcasting a vibration to make +Shann's skin crawl when the last faint ripple reached his lookout post. + +What happened then the overconfident Throg was not prepared to take. +Shann cried out, burying his face on his arm, as pinwheels of scarlet +light blotted out normal sight. There was an explosion, a deafening +blast. He cowered, blind, unable to hear. Then, rubbing at his eyes, he +tried to see what had happened. + +Through watery blurs he made out the Throg ship, not swinging now in +serene indifference to Warlock's gravity, but whirling end over end +across the sky as might a leaf tossed in a gust of wind. Its rim caught +against a rust-red cliff, it rebounded and crumpled. Then it came down, +smashing perhaps half a mile away from the smoking crater in which lay +the mangled wreckage of the Terran ship. The disabled scout pilot must +have played a last desperate game, making of his ship bait for a trap. + +The Terran had taken one Throg with him. Shann rubbed again at his eyes, +just barely able to catch a glimpse of the second ship flashing away +westward. Perhaps it was only his impaired sight, but it appeared to him +that the Throg followed an erratic path, either as if the pilot feared +to be caught by a second shot, or because that ship had also suffered +some injury. + +Acid smoke wreathed up from the valley making Shann retch and cough. +There could be no survivor from the Terran scout, and he did not believe +that any Throg had lived to crawl free of the crumpled plate. But there +would be other beetles swarming here soon. They would not dare to leave +the scene unsearched. He wondered about that scout. Had the pilot been +aiming for the Survey camp, the absence of any rider beam from there +warning him off so that he made the detour which brought him here? Or +had the Throgs tried to blast the Terran ship in the upper atmosphere, +crippling it, making this a forced landing? But at least this battle had +cost the Throgs, settling a small portion of the Terran debt for the +lost camp. + +The length of time between Shann's sighting of the grounded ship and the +attack by the Throgs had been so short that he had not really developed +any strong hope of rescue to be destroyed by the end of the crippled +ship. On the other hand, seeing the Throgs take a beating had exploded +his subconscious acceptance of their superiority. He might not have even +the resources of a damaged scout at his command. But he did have Taggi, +Togi, and his own brain. Since he was fated to permanent exile on +Warlock, there might just be some way to make the beetles pay for that. + +He licked his lips. Real action against the aliens would take a lot of +planning. Shann would have to know more about what made a Throg a Throg, +more than all the wild stories he had heard over the years. There _had_ +to be some way a Terran could move effectively against a beetle-head. +And he had a lot of time, maybe the rest of his life to work out a few +answers. That Throg ship lying wrecked at the foot of the cliff ... +perhaps he could do a little investigating before any rescue squad +arrived. Shann decided such a move was worth the try and whistled to the +wolverines. + + + + +3. TO CLOSE RANKS + + +Shann made his way at an angle to avoid the smoking pit cradling the +wreckage of the Terran ship. There were no signs of life about the Throg +plate as he approached. A quarter of its bulk was telescoped back into +the rest, and surely none of the aliens could have survived such a +smash, tough as they were reputed to be with those horny carapaces +serving them in place of more vulnerable human skin. + +He sniffed. There was a nauseous odor heavy on the morning air, one +which would make a lasting impression on any human nose. The port door +in the black ship stood open, perhaps having burst in the impact against +the cliff. Shann had almost reached it when a crackle of chain lightning +beat across the ground before him, turning the edge of the buckled +entrance panel red. + +Shann dropped to the ground, drawing his stunner, knowing at the same +moment that such a weapon was about as much use in meeting a blaster as +a straw wand would be to ward off a blazing coal. A chill numbness held +him as he waited for a second blast to charr the flesh between his +shoulders. So there had been a Throg survivor, after all. + +But as moments passed and the Throg did not move in to make an easy +kill, Shann collected his wits. Only one shot! Was the beetle injured, +unable to make sure of even an almost defenseless prey? The Throgs +seldom took prisoners. When they did.... + +The Terran's lips tightened. He worked his hand under his prone body, +feeling for the hilt of his knife. With that he could speedily remove +himself from the status of Throg prisoner, and he would do it gladly if +there was no hope of escape. Had there been only one charge left in that +blaster? Shann could make half a dozen guesses as to why the other had +made no move, but that shot had come from behind him, and he dared not +turn his head or otherwise make an effort to see what the other might be +doing. + +Was it only his imagination, or had that stench grown stronger during +the last few seconds? Could the Throg be creeping up on him? Shann +strained his ears, trying to catch some sound he could interpret. The +few clak-claks that had survived the blast about the ship were shrieking +overhead, and Shann made one attempt at counterattack. + +He whistled the wolverines' call. The pair had not been too willing to +follow him down into this valley, and they had avoided the crater at a +very wide circle. But if they would obey him now, he just might have a +chance. + +There! That _had_ been a sound, and the smell _was_ stronger. The Throg +must be coming to him. Again Shann whistled, holding in his mind his +hatred for the beetle-head, the need for finishing off that alien. If +the animals could pick either thoughts or emotions out of their human +companion, this was the time for him to get those unspoken half-orders +across. + +Shann slammed his hand hard against the ground, sent his body rolling, +his stunner up and ready. + +And now he could see that grotesque thing, swaying weakly back and forth +on its thin legs, yet holding a blaster, bringing that weapon up to +center it on him. The Throg was hunched over and perhaps to Taggi +presented the outline of some four-footed creature to be hunted. For the +wolverine male sprang for the horn-shelled shoulders. + +Under that impact that Throg sagged forward. But Taggi, outraged at the +nature of creature he had attacked, squalled and retreated. Shann had +had his precious seconds of distraction. He fired, the core of the stun +beam striking full into the flat dish of the alien's "face." + +That bolt, which would have shocked a mammal into insensibility, only +slowed the Throg. Shann rolled again, gaining a temporary cover behind +the wrecked ship. He squirmed under metal hot enough to scorch his +jacket and saw the reflection of a second blaster shot which had been +fired seconds late. + +Now the Throg had him tied down. But to get at the Terran the alien +would have to show himself, and Shann had one chance in fifty, which was +better than that of three minutes ago--when the odds had been set at one +in a hundred. He knew that he could not press the wolverines in again. +Taggi's distaste was too manifest; Shann had been lucky that the animal +had made one abortive attack. + +Perhaps the Terran's escape and Taggi's action had made the alien +reckless. Shann had no clue to the thinking processes of the non-human, +but now the Throg staggered around the end of the plate, his digits, +which were closer to claws than fingers, fumbling with his weapon. The +Terran snapped another shot from his stunner, hoping to slow the enemy +down. But he was trapped. If he turned to climb the cliff at his back, +the beetle-head could easily pick him off. + +A rock hurtled from the heights above, striking with deadly accuracy on +the domed, hairless head of the Throg. His armored body crashed forward, +struck against the ship, and rebounded to the ground. Shann darted +forward to seize the blaster, kicking loose the claws which still +grasped it, before he flattened back to the cliff, the strange weapon +over his arm, his heart beating wildly. + +That rock had not bounded down the mountainside by chance; it had been +hurled with intent and aimed carefully at its target. And no Throg would +kill one of his fellows. Or would he? Suppose orders had been issued to +take a Terran prisoner and the Throg by the ship had disobeyed? Then, +why a rock and not a blaster bolt? + +Shann edged along until the upslanted, broken side of the Throg flyer +provided him with protection from any overhead attack. Under that +shelter he waited for the next move from his unknown rescuer. + +The clak-claks wheeled closer to earth. One lit boldly on the carapace +of the inert Throg, shuffling ungainly along that horny ridge. Cradling +the blaster, the Terran continued to wait. His patience was rewarded +when that investigating clak-clak took off uttering an enraged snap or +two. He heard what might be the scrape of boots across rock, but that +might also have come from horny skin meeting stone. + +Then the other must have lost his footing not too far above. Accompanied +by a miniature landslide of stones and earth, a figure slid down several +yards away. Shann waited in a half-crouch, his looted blaster covering +the man now getting to his feet. There was no mistaking the familiar +uniform, or even the man. How Ragnar Thorvald had reached that +particular spot on Warlock or why, Shann could not know. But that he was +there, there was no denying. + +Shann hurried forward. It had been when he caught his first sight of +Thorvald that he realized just how deep his unacknowledged loneliness +had bit. There were two Terrans on Warlock now, and he did not need to +know why. But Thorvald was staring back at him with the blankness of +non-recognition. + +"Who are you?" The demand held something close to suspicion. + +That note in the other's voice wiped away a measure of Shann's +confidence, threatened something which had flowered in him since he had +struck into the wilderness on his own. Three words had reduced him again +to Lantee, unskilled laborer. + +"Lantee. I'm from the camp...." + +Thorvald's eagerness was plain in his next question: "How many of you +got away? Where are the rest?" He gazed past Shann up the plateau slope +as if he expected to see the personnel of the camp sprout out of the +cloak of grass along the verge. + +"Just me and the wolverines," Shann answered in a colorless voice. He +cradled the blaster on his hip, turned a little away from the officer. + +"You ... and the wolverines?" Thorvald was plainly startled. "But ... +where? How?" + +"The Throgs hit very early yesterday morning. They caught the rest in +camp. The wolverines had escaped from their cage, and I was out hunting +them...." He told his story baldly. + +"You're sure about the rest?" Thorvald had a thin steel of rage edging +his voice. Almost, Shann thought, as if he could turn that blade of rage +against one Shann Lantee for being yet alive when more important men had +not survived. + +"I saw the attack from an upper ridge," the younger man said, having +been put on the defensive. Yet he had a right to be alive, hadn't he? Or +did Thorvald believe that he should have gone running down to meet the +beetle-heads with his useless stunner? "They used energy beams ... +didn't land until it was all over." + +"I knew there was something wrong when the camp didn't answer our +enter-atmosphere signal," Thorvald said absently. "Then one of those +platters jumped us on braking orbit, and my pilot was killed. When we +set down on the automatics here I had just time to rig a surprise for +any trackers before I took to the hills----" + +"The blast got one of them," Shann pointed out. + +"Yes, they'd nicked the booster rocket; she wouldn't climb again. But +they'll be back here to pick over the remains." + +Shann looked at the dead Throg. "Thanks for taking a hand." His tone was +as chill as the other's this time. "I'm heading south...." + +And, he added silently, I intend to keep on that way. The Throg attack +had dissolved the pattern of the Survey team. He didn't owe Thorvald any +allegiance. And he had been successfully on his own here since the camp +had been overrun. + +"South," Thorvald repeated. "Well, that's as good a direction as any +right now." + +But they were not united. Shann found the wolverines and patiently +coaxed and wheedled them into coming with him over a circuitous route +which kept them away from both ships. Thorvald went up the cliff, swung +down again, a supply bag slung over one shoulder. He stood watching as +Shann brought the animals in. + +Then Thorvald's arm swept out, his fingers closing possessively about +the barrel of the blaster. Shann's own hold on the weapon tightened, and +the force of the other's pull dragged him partly around. + +"Let's have that----" + +"Why?" Shann supposed that because it had been the other's well-aimed +rock which had put the Throg out of commission permanently, the officer +was going to claim their only spoils of war as personal booty, and a hot +resentment flowered in the younger man. + +"We don't take that away from here." Thorvald made the weapon his with a +quick twist. + +To Shann's utter astonishment, the Survey officer walked back to kneel +beside the dead Throg. He worked the grip of the blaster under the +alien's lax claws and inspected the result with the care of one +arranging a special and highly important display. Shann's protest became +vocal. "We'll need that!" + +"It'll do us far more good right where it is...." Thorvald paused and +then added, with impatience roughening his voice as if he disliked the +need for making any explanations, "There is no reason for us to +advertise our being alive. If the Throgs found a blaster missing, they'd +start thinking and looking around. I want to have a breathing spell +before I have to play quarry in one of their hunts." + +Put that way, his action did make sense. But Shann regretted the loss of +an arm so superior to their own weapons. Now they could not loot the +plateship either. In silence he turned and started to trudge southward, +without waiting for Thorvald to catch up with him. + +Once away from the blasted area, the wolverines ranged ahead at their +clumsy gallop, which covered ground at a surprising rate of speed. Shann +knew that their curiosity made them scouts surpassing any human and that +the men who followed would have ample warning of any danger to come. +Without reference to his silent trail companion, he sent the animals +toward another strip of woodland which would give them cover against the +coming of any Throg flyer. + +As the hours advanced he began to cast about for a proper night camp. +The woods ought to give them a usable site. + +"This is a water wood," Thorvald said, breaking the silence for the +first time since they had left the wrecks. + +Shann knew that the other had knowledge, not only of the general +countryside, but of exploring techniques which he himself did not +possess, but to be reminded of that fact was an irritant rather than a +reassurance. Without answering, the younger man bored on to locate the +water promised. + +The wolverines found the small lake first and were splashing along its +shore when the Terrans caught up. Thorvald went to work, but to Shann's +surprise he did not unstrap the force-blade ax at his belt. Bending over +a sapling, he pounded away with a stone at the green wood a few inches +above the root line until he was able to break through the slender +trunk. Shann drew his own knife and bent to tackle another treelet when +Thorvald stopped him with an order: "Use a stone on that, the way I +did." + +Shann could see no reason for such a laborious process. If Thorvald did +not want to use his ax, that was no reason that Shann could not put his +heavy belt knife to work. He hesitated, ready to set the blade to the +outer bark of the tree. + +"Look--" again that impatient edge in the officer's tone, the need for +explanation seeming to come very hard to the other--"sooner or later the +Throgs might just trace us here and find this camp. If so, they are +_not_ going to discover any traces to label us Terran----" + +"But who else could we be?" protested Shann. "There is no native race on +Warlock." + +Thorvald tossed his improvised stone ax from hand to hand. + +"But do the Throgs know that?" + +The implications, the possibilities, in that idea struck home to Shann. +Now he began to understand what Thorvald might be planning. + +"Now there is going to be a native race." Shann made a statement instead +of a question and saw that the other was watching him with a new +intentness, as if he had at last been recognized as a person instead of +rank and file and very low rank at that--Survey personnel. + +"There is going to be a native race," Thorvald affirmed. + +Shann resheathed his knife and went to search the pond beach for a +suitable stone to use in its place. Even so, he made harder work of the +clumsy chopping than Thorvald had. He worried at one sapling after +another until his hands were skinned and his breath came in painful +gusts from under aching ribs. Thorvald had gone on to another task, +ripping the end of a long tough vine from just under the powdery surface +of the thick leaf masses fallen in other years. + +With this the officer lashed together the tops of the poles, having +planted their splintered butts in the ground, so that he achieved a +crudely conical erection. Leafy branches were woven back and forth +through this framework, with an entrance, through which one might crawl +on hands and knees, left facing the lakeside. The shelter they completed +was compact and efficient but totally unlike anything Shann had ever +seen before, certainly far removed from the domes of the camp. He said +so, nursing his raw hands. + +"An old form," Thorvald replied, "native to a primitive race on Terra. +Certainly the beetle-heads haven't come across its like before." + +"Are we going to stay here? Otherwise it is pretty heavy work for one +night's lodging." + +Thorvald tested the shelter with a sharp shake. The matted leaves +whispered, but the framework held. + +"Stage dressing. No, we won't linger here. But it's evidence to support +our play. Even a Throg isn't dense enough to believe that natives would +make a cross-country trip without leaving evidence of their passing." + +Shann sat down with a sigh he made no effort to suppress. He had a +vision of Thorvald traveling southward, methodically erecting these huts +here and there to confound Throgs who might not ever chance upon them. +But already the Survey officer was busy with a new problem. + +"We need weapons----" + +"We have our stunners, a force ax, and our knives," Shann pointed out. +He did not add, as he would have liked that they could have had a +blaster. + +"Native weapons," Thorvald countered with his usual snap. He went back +to the beach and crawled about there, choosing and rejecting stones +picked out of the gravel. + +Shann scooped out a small pit just before their hut and set about the +making of a pocket-sized fire. He was hungry and looked longingly now +and again to the supply bag Thorvald had brought with him. Dared he +rummage in that for rations? Surely the other would be carrying +concentrates. + +"Who taught you how to make a fire that way?" Thorvald was back from the +pond, a selection of round stones about the size of his fist resting +between his chest and his forearm. + +"It's regulation, isn't it?" Shann countered defensively. + +"It's regulation," Thorvald agreed. He set down his stones in a row and +then tossed the supply bag over to his companion. "Too late to hunt +tonight. But well have to go easy on those rations until we can get +more." + +"Where?" Did Thorvald know of some supply cache they could raid? + +"From the Throgs," the other answered matter of factly. + +"But they don't eat our kind of food...." + +"All the more reason for them to leave the camp supplies untouched." + +"The camp?" + +For the first time Thorvald's lips curved in a shadow smile which was +neither joyous nor warming. "A native raid on an invaders' camp. What +could be more natural? And we'd better make it soon." + +"But how can we?" To Shann what the other proposed was sheer madness. + +"There was once an ancient service corps on Terra," Thorvald answered, +"which had a motto something like this: 'The improbable we do at once; +the impossible takes a little longer.' What did you think we were going +to do? Sulk around out here in the bush and let the Throgs claim Warlock +for one of their pirate bases without opposition?" + +Since that was the only future Shann had visualized, he was ready enough +to admit the truth, only some shade of tone in the officer's voice kept +him from saying so aloud. + + + + +4. SORTIE + + +Five days later they came up from the south so that this time Shann's +view of the Terran camp was from a different angle. At first sight there +had been little change in the general scene. He wondered if the aliens +were using the Terran dome shelters themselves. Even in the twilight it +was easy to pick out such landmarks as the com dome with the shaft of a +broadcaster spearing from its top and the greater bulk of the supply +warehouse. + +"Two of their small flyers down on the landing field...." Thorvald +materialized from the shadow, his voice a thread of whisper. + +By Shann's side the wolverines were moving restlessly. Since Taggi's +attack on the Throg neither beast would venture near any site where they +could scent the aliens. This was the nearest point to which the men +could urge either animal, which was a disappointment, for the wolverines +would have been an excellent addition to the surprise sortie they +planned for tonight, halving the danger for the men. + +Shann ran his fingers across the coarse fur on the animals' shoulders, +exerting a light pressure to signal them to wait. But he was not sure of +their obedience. The foray was a crazy idea, and Shann wondered again +why he had agreed to it. Yet he had gone along with Thorvald, even +suggested a few modifications and additions of his own, such as the +contents of the crude leaf sack now resting between his knees. + +Thorvald flitted away, seeking his own post to the west. Shann was still +waiting for the other's signal when there arose from the camp a sound to +chill the flesh of any listener, a wail which could not have come from +the throat of any normal living thing, intelligent being or animal. +Ululating in ear-torturing intensity, the cry sank to a faint, ominous +echo of itself, to waver up the scale again. + +The wolverines went mad. Shann had witnessed their quick kills in the +wilds, but this stark ferocity of spitting, howling rage was new. They +answered that challenge from the camp, streaking out from under his +hands. Yet both animals skidded to a stop before they passed the first +dome and were lost in the gloom. A spark glowed for an instant to his +right; Thorvald was ready to go, so Shann had no time to try and recall +the animals. + +He fumbled for those balls of soaked moss in his leaf bag. The chemical +smell from them blotted out that alien mustiness which the wind brought +from the campsite. Shann readied the first sopping mess in his sling, +snapped his fire sparker at it, and had the ball awhirl for a toss +almost in one continuous movement. The moss burst into fire as it curved +out and fell. + +To a witness it might have seemed that the missile materialized out of +the air, the effect being better than Shann had hoped. + +A second ball for the sling--spark ... out ... down. The first had +smashed on the ground near the dome of the com station, the force of +impact flattening it into a round splatter of now fiercely burning +material. And his second, carefully aimed, lit two feet beyond. + +Another wail tearing at the nerves. Shann made a third throw, a fourth. +He had an audience now. In the light of those pools of fire the Throgs +were scuttling back and forth, their hunched bodies casting weird +shadows on the dome walls. They were making efforts to douse the fires, +but Shann knew from careful experimentation that once ignited the stuff +he had skimmed from the lip of one of the hot springs would go on +burning as long as a fraction of its viscid substance remained +unconsumed. + +Now Thorvald had gone into action. A Throg suddenly halted, struggled +frantically, and toppled over into the edge of a fire splotch, legs +looped together by the coils of the curious weapon Thorvald had put +together on their first night of partnership. Three round stones of +comparable weight had each been fastened at the end of a vine cord, and +those cords united at a center point. Thorvald had demonstrated the +effectiveness of his creation by bringing down one of the small "deer" +of the grasslands, an animal normally fleet enough to feel safe from +both human and animal pursuit. And those weighted ropes now trapped the +Throg with the same efficiency. + +Having shot his last fireball, Shann ran swiftly to take up a new +position, downgrade and to the east of the domes. Here he put into +action another of the primitive weapons Thorvald had devised, a spear +hurled with a throwing stick, giving it double range and twice as +forceful penetration power. The spears themselves were hardly more than +crudely shaped lengths of wood, their points charred in the fire. +Perhaps these missiles could neither kill nor seriously wound. But more +than one thudded home in a satisfactory fashion against the curving back +carapace or the softer front parts of a Throg in a manner which +certainly shook up and bruised the target. And one of Shann's victims +went to the ground, to lie kicking in a way which suggested he had been +more than just bruised. + +Fireballs, spears.... Thorvald had moved too. And now down into the +somewhat frantic melee of the aroused camp fell a shower of slim +weighted reeds, each provided with a clay-ball head. The majority of +those balls broke on landing as the Terrans had intended. So, through +the beetle smell of the aliens, spread the acrid, throat-parching fumes +of the hot spring water. Whether those fumes had the same effect upon +Throg breathing apparatus as they did upon Terran, the attackers could +not tell, but they hoped such a bombardment would add to the general +confusion. + +Shann began to space the hurling of his crude spears with more care, +trying to place them with all the precision of aim he could muster. +There was a limit to their amount of varied ammunition, although they +had dedicated every waking moment of the past few days to manufacture +and testing. Luckily the enemy had had none of their energy beams at the +domes. And so far they had made no move to lift their flyers for +retaliation blasts. + +But the Throgs were pulling themselves into order. Blaster fire cut the +dusk. Most of the aliens were now flat on the ground, sending a creeping +line of fire into the perimeter of the camp area. A dark form moved +between Shann and the nearest patch of burning moss. The Terran raised a +spear to the ready before he caught a whiff of the pungent scent emitted +by a wolverine hot with battle rage. He whistled coaxingly. With the +Throgs eager to blast any moving thing, the animals were in danger if +they prowled about the scene. + +That blunt head moved. Shann caught the glint of eyes in a furred mask; +it was either Taggi or his mate. Then a puff of mixed Throng and +chemical scent from the camp must have reached the wolverine. The animal +coughed and fled westward, passing Shann. + +Had Thorvald had time and opportunity to make his planned raid on the +supply dome? Time during such an embroilment was hard to measure, and +Shann could not be sure. He began to count aloud, slowly, as they had +agreed. When he reached one hundred he would begin his retreat; on two +hundred he was to run for it, his goal the river a half mile from the +camp. + +The stream would take the fugitives to the sea where fiords cut the +coastline into a ragged fringe offering a wealth of hiding places. +Throgs seldom explored any territory on foot. For them to venture into +that maze would be putting themselves at the mercy of the Terrans they +hunted. And their flyers could comb the air above such a rocky +wilderness without result. + +Shann reached the count of one hundred. Twice a blaster bolt singed +ground within distance close enough to make him wince, but most of the +fire carried well above his head. All of his spears were gone, save for +one he had kept, hoping for a last good target. One of the Throgs who +appeared to be directing the fire of the others was facing Shann's +position. And on pure chance that he might knock out that leader, Shann +chose him for his victim. + +The Terran had no illusions concerning his own marksmanship. The most he +could hope for, he thought, was to have the primitive weapon thud home +painfully on the other's armored hide. Perhaps, if he were very lucky, +he could knock the other from his clawed feet. But that chance which +hovers over any battlefield turned in Shann's favor. At just the right +moment the Throg stretched his head up from the usual hunched position +where the carapace extended over his wide shoulders to protect one of +the alien's few vulnerable spots, the soft underside of his throat. And +the fire-sharpened point of the spear went deep. + +Throgs were mute, or at least none of them had ever uttered a vocal +sound to be reported by Terrans. This one did not cry out. But he +staggered forward, forelimbs up, clawed digits pulling at the wooden pin +transfixing his throat just under the mandible-equipped jaw, holding his +head at an unnatural angle. Without seeming to notice the others of his +kind, the Throg came on at a shambling run, straight at Shann as if he +could actually see through the dark and had marked down the Terran for +personal vengeance. There was something so uncanny about that forward +dash that Shann retreated. As his hand groped for the knife at his belt +his boot heel caught in a tangle of weed and he struggled for balance. +The wounded Throg, still pulling at the spear shaft protruding above the +swelling barrel of his chest, pounded on. + +Shann sprawled backward and was caught in the elastic embrace of a bush, +so he did not strike the ground. He fought the grip of prickly branches +and kicked to gain solid earth under his feet. Then again he heard that +piercing wail from the camp, as chilling as it had been the first time. +Spurred by that, he won free. But he could not turn his back on the +wounded Throg, keeping rather a sidewise retreat. + +Already the alien had reached the dark beyond the rim of the camp. His +progress now was marked by the crashing through low brush. Two of the +Throgs back on the firing line started up after their leader. Shann +caught a whiff of their odor as the wounded alien advanced with the +single-mindedness of a robot. + +It would be best to head for the river. Tall grass twisted about the +Terran's legs as he began to run. In spite of the gloom, he hesitated to +cross that open space. At night Warlock's peculiar vegetation displayed +a very alien attribute--ten ... twenty varieties of grass, plant, and +tree emitted a wan phosphorescence, varying in degree, but affording +each an aura of light. And the path before Shann now was dotted by +splotches of that radiance, not as brilliant as the chemical-born flames +the attackers had kindled in the camp, but as quick to betray the unwary +who passed within their dim circles. And there had never been any reason +to believe that Throg powers of sight were less than human; there was +perhaps some evidence to the contrary. Shann crouched, charting the +clumps ahead for a zigzag course which would take him to at least +momentary safety in the river bed. + +Perhaps a mile downstream was the transport the Terrans had cobbled +together no earlier than this afternoon, a raft Thorvald had professed +to believe would support them to the sea which lay some fifty Terran +miles to the west. But now he had to cover that mile. + +The wolverines? Thorvald? There was one lure which might draw the +animals on to the rendezvous. Taggi had brought down a "deer" just +before they had left the raft. And instead of allowing both beasts to +feast at leisure, Shann had lashed the carcass to the shaky platform of +wood and brush, putting it out to swing in the current, though still +moored to the bank. + +Wolverines always cached that part of the kill which they did not +consume at the first eating, usually burying it. He had hoped that to +leave the carcass in such a way would draw both animals back to the raft +when they were hungry. And they had not fed particularly well that day. + +Thorvald? Well, the Survey officer had made it very plain during the +past five days of what Shann had come to look upon as an uneasy +partnership that he considered himself far abler to manage in the field, +while he had grave doubts of Shann's efficiency in the direction of +survival potential. + +The Terran started along the pattern of retreat he had laid out to the +river bed. His heart pounded as he ran, not because of the physical +effort he was expending, but because again from the camp had come that +blood-freezing howl. A lighter line marked the lip of the cut in which +the stream was set, something he had not foreseen. He threw himself down +to crawl the last few feet, hugging the earth. + +That very pale luminescence was easily accounted for by what lay below. +Shann licked his lips and tasted the sting of sap smeared on his face +during his struggle with the bushes. While the strip of meadow behind +him now had been spotted with light plants, the cut below showed an +almost solid line of them stringing willow-wise along the water's edge. +To go down at this point was simply to spotlight his presence for any +Throg on his trail. He could only continue along the upper bank, hoping +to finally find an end to the growth of luminescent vegetation below. + +Shann was perhaps five yards from the point where he had come to the +river, when a commotion behind made him freeze and turn his head +cautiously. The camp was half hidden, and the fires there must be dying. +But a twisting, struggling mass was rolling across the meadow in his +general direction. + +Thorvald fighting off an attack? The wolverines? Shann drew his legs +under him, ready to erupt into a counter-offensive. He hesitated +between drawing stunner or knife. In his brush with the injured Throg at +the wreck the stunner had had little impression on the enemy. And now he +wondered if his blade, though it was super-steel at its toughest, could +pierce any joint in the armored bodies of the aliens. + +There was surely a fight in progress. The whole crazily weaving blot +collapsed and rolled down upon three bright light plants. Dull sheen of +Throg casing was revealed ... no sign of fur, or flesh, or clothing. Two +of the aliens battling? But why? + +One of those figures got up stiffly, bent over the huddle still on the +ground, and pulled at something. The wooden shaft of Shann's spear was +wanly visible. And the form on the ground did not stir as that was +jerked loose. The Throg leader dead? Shann hoped so. He slid his knife +back into the sheath, tapped the hilt to make sure it was firmly in +place, and crawled on. The river, twisting here and there, was a +promising pool of dusky shadow ahead. The bank of willow-things was +coming to an end, and none too soon. For when he glanced back again he +saw another Throg run across the meadow, and he watched them lift their +fellow, carrying him back to camp. + +The Throgs might seem indestructible, but he had put an end to one, +aided by luck and a very rough weapon. With that to bolster his +self-confidence to a higher notch, Shann dropped by cautious degrees +over the bank and down to the water's edge. When his boots splashed into +the oily flood he began to tramp downstream, feeling the pull of the +water, first ankle high and then about his calves. This early in the +season they did hot have to fear floods, and hereabouts the stream was +wide and shallow, save in mid-current at the center point. + +Twice more he had to skirt patches of light plants, and once a young +tree stood bathed in radiance with a pinkish tinge instead of the usual +ghostly gray. Within the haze which tented the drooping branches, +flitted small glittering, flying things; and the scent of its half-open +buds was heavy on the air, neither pleasant nor unpleasant in Shann's +nostrils, merely different. + +He dared to whistle, a soft call he hoped would carry along the cut +between the high banks. But, though he paused and listened until it +seemed that every cell in his thin body was occupied in that act, he +heard no answering call from the wolverines, nor any suggestion that +either the animals or Thorvald were headed in the direction of the raft. + +What was he going to do if none of the others joined him downstream? +Thorvald had said not to linger there past daylight. Yet Shann knew that +unless he actually sighted a Throg patrol splashing after him he would +wait until he made sure of the others' fate. Both Taggi and Togi were as +important to him as the Survey officer. Perhaps more so, he told himself +now, because he understood them to a certain degree and found +companionship in their undemanding company which he could not claim from +the man. + +Why _did_ Thorvald insist upon their going on to the seashore? To +Shann's mind his own first plan of holing up back in the eastern +mountains was better. Those heights had as many hiding places as the +fiord country. But Thorvald had suddenly become so set on this westward +trek that he had given in. As much as he inwardly rebelled when he took +them, he found himself obeying the older man's orders. It was only when +he was alone, as now, that he began to question both Thorvald's motives +and his authority. + +Three sprigs of a light bush set in a triangle. Shann paused and then +climbed out on the bank, shaking the water from his boots as Taggi might +shake such drops from a furred limb. This was the sign they had set to +mark their rendezvous point, but.... + +Shann whirled, drawing his stunner. The raft was a dark blob on the +surface of the water some feet farther on. And now it was bobbing up and +down violently. That was not the result of any normal tug of current. He +heard an indignant squeal and relaxed with a little laugh. He need not +have worried about the wolverines; that bait had drawn them all right. +Both of them were now engaged in eating, though they had to conduct +their feast on the rather shaky foundation of the makeshift transport. + +They paid no attention as he waded out, pulling at the anchor cord as he +went. The wind must have carried his familiar scent to them. As the +water climbed to his shoulders Shann put one hand on the outmost log of +the raft. One of the animals snarled a warning at being disturbed. Or +had that been at him? + +Shann stood where he was, listening intently. Yes, there was a splashing +sound from upstream. Whoever followed his own recent trail was taking no +care to keep that pursuit a secret, and the pace of the newcomer was +fast enough to spell trouble. + +Throgs? Tensely the Terran waited for some reaction from the wolverines. +He was sure that if the aliens had followed him, both animals would give +warning. Save when they had gone wild upon hearing that strange wail +from the camp, they avoided meeting the enemy. + +But from all sounds the animals had not stopped feeding. So the other +was no beetle-head. On the other hand, why would Thorvald so advertise +his coming, unless the need for speed was greater than caution? Shann +drew taut the mooring cord, bringing out his knife to saw through that +tough length. A figure passed the three-sprig signal, ran onto the raft. + +"Lantee?" The call came in a hoarse, demanding whisper. + +"Here." + +"Cut loose. We have to get out of here!" + +Thorvald flung himself forward, and together the men scrambled up on the +raft. The mangled carcass plunged into the water, dislodged by their +efforts. But before the wolverines could follow it, the mooring vine +snapped, and the river current took them. Feeling the raft sway and +begin to spin, the wolverines whined, crouched in the middle of what now +seemed a very frail craft. + +Behind them, far away but too clear, sounded that eerie howling, topping +the sigh of the night wind. + +"I saw----" Thorvald gasped, pausing as if to catch full lungfuls of air +to back his words, "they have a 'hound!' That's what you hear." + + + + +5. PURSUIT + + +As the raft revolved slowly it also slipped downstream at a steadily +increasing pace, for the current had them in hold. The wolverines +pressed close to Shann until the musky scent of their fur, their animal +warmth, enveloped him. One growled deep in its throat, perhaps in answer +to that wind-borne wail. + +"Hound?" Shann asked. + +Beside him in the dark Thorvald was working loose one of the poles they +had readied to help control the raft's voyaging. The current carried +them along, but there was a need for those lengths of sapling to fend +them free from rocks and water-buried snags. + +"What hound?" the younger man demanded more sharply when there came no +immediate answer. + +"The Throgs' tracker. But why did they import one?" Thorvald's +puzzlement was plain in his tone. He added a moment later, with some of +his usual firmness, "We may be in for bad trouble now. Use of a hound +means an attempt to take prisoners----" + +"Then they do not know that we are here, as Terrans, I mean?" + +Thorvald seemed to be sorting out his thoughts when he replied to that. +"They could have brought a hound here just on chance that they might +miss one of us in the initial mop-up. Or, if they believe we are +natives, they could want a specimen for study." + +"Wouldn't they just blast down Terrans on sight?" + +Shann saw the dark blot which was Thorvald's head shake in negation. + +"They might need a live Terran--badly and soon." + +"Why?" + +"To operate the camp call beam." + +Shann's momentary bewilderment vanished. He knew enough of Survey +procedure to guess the reason for such a move on the part of the aliens. + +"The settler transport?" + +"Yes, the ship. She won't planet here without the proper signal. And the +Throgs can't give that. If they don't take her, their time's run out +before they have even made a start here." + +"But how could they know that the transport is nearly due? When we +intercept their calls they're pure gibberish to us. Can they read our +codes?" + +"The supposition is that they can't. Only, concerning Throgs, all we +know is supposition. Anyway, they do know the routine for establishing a +Terran colony, and we can't alter that procedure except in small +nonessentials," Thorvald said grimly. "If that transport doesn't pick up +the proper signal to set down here on schedule, her captain will call in +the patrol escort ... then exit one Throg base. But if the beetle-heads +can trick the ship in and take her, then they'll have a clear five or +six more months here to consolidate their own position. After that it +would take more than just one patrol cruiser to clear Warlock; it will +require a fleet. So the Throgs will have another world to play with, and +an important one. This lies on a direct line between the Odin and +Kulkulkan systems. A Throg base on such a trade route could eventually +cut us right out of this quarter of the galaxy." + +"So you think they want to capture us in order to bring the transport +in?" + +"By our type of reasoning, that would be a logical move--_if_ they know +we are here. They haven't too many of those hounds, and they don't risk +them on petty jobs. I'd hoped we'd covered our trail well. But we had to +risk that attack on the camp.... I needed the map case!" Again Thorvald +might have been talking to himself. "Time ... and the right maps--" he +brought his fist down on the raft, making the platform tremble--"that's +what I have to have now." + +Another patch of light-willows stretched along the river-banks, and as +they sailed through that ribbon of ghostly radiance they could see each +other's faces. Thorvald's was bleak, hard, his eyes on the stream behind +them as if he expected at any moment to see a Throg emerge from the +surface of the water. + +"Suppose that thing--" Shann pointed upstream with his chin--"follows +us? What is it anyway?" Hound suggested Terran dog, but he couldn't +stretch his imagination to believe in a working co-operation between +Throg and any mammal. + +"A rather spectacular combination of toad and lizard, with a few other +grisly touches, is about as close as you can get to a general +description. And that won't be too accurate, because like the Throgs its +remote ancestors must have been of the insect family. If the thing +follows us, and I think we can be sure that it will, we'll have to take +steps. There is always this advantage--those hounds cannot be controlled +from a flyer, and the beetle-heads never take kindly to foot slogging. +So we won't have to expect any speedy chase. If it slips its masters in +rough country, we can try to ambush it." In the dim light Thorvald was +frowning. "I flew over the territory ahead on two sweeps, and it is a +queer mixture. If we can reach the rough country bordering the sea, +we'll have won the first round. I don't believe that the Throgs will be +in a hurry to track us in there. They'll try two alternatives to chasing +us on foot. One, use their energy beams to rake any suspect valley, and +since there are hundreds of valleys all pretty much alike, that will +take some time. Or they can attempt to shake us out with a dumdum should +they have one here, which I doubt." + +Shann tensed. The stories of the effects of the Throg's dumdum weapon +were anything but pretty. + +"And to get a dumdum," Thorvald continued as if he were discussing a +purely theoretical matter and not a threat of something worse than +death, "They'll have to bring in one of their major ships. Which they +will hesitate to do with a cruiser near at hand. Our own danger spot now +is the section we should strike soon after dawn tomorrow if the rate of +this current is what I have timed it. There is a band of desert on this +side of the mountains. The river gorge deepens there and the land is +bare. Let them send a ship over and we could be as visible as if we were +sending up flares----" + +"How about taking cover now and going on only at night?" suggested +Shann. + +"Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But with time pressing us now, no. If we keep +straight on, we could reach the foothills in about forty hours, maybe +less. And we have to stay with the river. To strike across country there +without good supplies and on foot is sheer folly." + +Two days. With perhaps the Throgs unleashing their hound on land, +combing from their flyers. With a desert.... Shann put out his hands to +the wolverines. The prospect certainly didn't seem anywhere near as +simple as it had the night before when Thorvald had planned this escape. +But then the Survey officer had left out quite a few points which were +not pertinent. Was he also leaving out other essentials? Shann wanted to +ask, but somehow he could not. + +After a while he dozed, his head resting on his knees. He awoke, roused +out of a vivid dream, a dream so detailed and so deeply impressed in a +picture on his mind that he was confused when he blinked at the +riverbank visible in the half-light of early dawn. + +Instead of that stretch of earth and ragged vegetation now gliding past +him as the raft angled along, he should have been fronting a vast skull +stark against the sky--a skull whose outlines were oddly inhuman, from +whose eyeholes issued and returned flying things while its sharply +protruding lower jaw was lapped by water. In color that skull had been a +violent clash of blood-red and purple. Shann blinked again at the +riverbank, seeing transposed on it still that ghostly haze of bone-bare +dome, cavernous eyeholes and nose slit, fanged jaws. That skull was a +mountain, or a mountain was a skull--and it was important to him; he +must locate it! + +He moved stiffly, his legs and arms cramped but not cold. The wolverines +stirred on either side of him. Thorvald continued to sleep, curled up +beyond, the pole still clasped in his hands. A flat map case was slung +by a strap about his neck, its thin envelope between his arm and his +body as if for safekeeping. On the smooth flap was the Survey seal, and +it was fastened with a finger lock. + +Thorvald had lost some of the bright hard surface he had shown at the +spaceport where Shann had first sighted him. There were hollows in his +cheeks, sending into high relief those bone ridges beneath his eye +sockets, giving him a faint resemblance to the skull of Shann's dream. +His face was grimed, his field uniform stained and torn. Only his hair +was as bright as ever. + +Shann smeared the back of his hand across his own face, not doubting +that he must present an even more disreputable appearance. He leaned +forward cautiously to look into the water, but that surface was not +quiet enough to act as a mirror. + +Getting to his feet as the raft bobbed under his shift of weight, Shann +studied the territory now about them. He could not match Thorvald's +inches, just as he must have a third less bulk than the officer, but +standing, he could sight something of what now lay beyond the rising +banks of the cut. That grass which had been so thick in the meadowlands +around the camp had thinned into separate clumps, pale lavender in +color. And the scrawniness of stem and blade suggested dehydration and +poor soil. The earth showing between those clumps was not of the usual +blue, but pallid, too, bleached to gray, while the bushes along the +stream's edge were few and smaller. They must have crossed the line into +the desert Thorvald had promised. + +Shann edged around to face west. There was light enough in the sky to +sight tall black pyramids waiting. They had to reach those distant +mountains, mountains whose feet on the other side were resting in sea +water. He studied them carefully, surveying each peak he could separate +from its fellows. + +Did the skull lie among them? The conviction that the place he had seen +in his dream was real, that it was to be found on Warlock, persisted. +Not only was it a definite feature of the landscape somewhere in the +wild places of this world, but it was also necessary for him to locate +it. Why? Shann puzzled over that, with a growing uneasiness which was +not quite fear, not yet, anyway. + +Thorvald moved. The raft tilted and the wolverines became growly. Shann +sat down, one hand out to the officer's shoulder in warning. Feeling +that touch Thorvald shifted, one hand striking out blindly in a blow +which Shann was just able to avoid while with the other he pinned the +map case yet tighter to him. + +"Take it easy!" Shann urged. + +The other's eyelids flicked. He looked up, but not as if he saw Shann at +all. + +"The Cavern of the Veil----" he muttered. "Utgard...." Then his eyes did +focus and he sat up, gazing around him with a frown. + +"We're in the desert," Shann announced. + +Thorvald got up, balancing on feet planted a little apart, looking to +the faded expanse of the waste spreading from the river cut. He stared +at the mountains before he squatted down to fumble with the lock of the +map case. + +The wolverines were growing restless, though they still did not try to +move about too freely on the raft, greeting Shann with vocal complaint. +He and Thorvald could satisfy their hunger with a handful of +concentrates from the survival kit. But those dry tablets could not +serve the animals. Shann studied the terrain with more knowledge than he +had possessed a week earlier. This was not hunting land, but there +remained the bounty of the river. + +"We'll have to feed Taggi and Togi," he broke the silence abruptly. "If +we don't, they'll be into the river and off on their own." + +Thorvald glanced up from one of the tough, thin sheets of map skin, +again as if he had been drawn back from some distance. His eyes moved +from Shann to the unpromising shore. + +"How? With what?" he wanted to know. Then the real urgency of the +situation must have penetrated his mental isolation. "You have an +idea--?" + +"There's those fish we found them eating back by the mountain stream," +Shann said, recalling an incident of a few days earlier. "Rocks here, +too, like those the fish were hiding under. Maybe we can locate some of +them here." + +He knew that Thorvald would be reluctant to work the raft in shore, to +spare time for such hunting. But there would be no arguing with hungry +wolverines, and he did not propose to lose the animals for the officer's +whim. + +However, Thorvald did not protest. They poled the raft out of the main +pull of the current, sending it in toward the southern shore in the lee +of a clump of light-willows. Shann scrambled ashore, the wolverines +after him, sniffling along at his heels while he overturned likely +looking rocks to unroof some odd underwater dwellings. The fish with the +rudimentary legs were present and not agile enough even in their native +element to avoid well-clawed paws which scooped them neatly out of the +river shallows. There was also a sleek furred creature with a broad flat +head and paddle-equipped forepaws, rather like a miniature seal, which +Taggi appropriated before Shann had a chance to examine it closely. In +fact, the wolverines wrought havoc along a half-mile section of bank +before the Terran could coax them back to the raft. + +As they hunted, Shann got a better idea of the land about the river. It +was sere, the vegetation dwindling except for some rough spikes of +things pushing through the parched ground like flayed fingers, their +puffed redness in contrast to the usual amethystine coloring of +Warlock's growing things. Under the climbing sun that whole stretch of +country was revealed in a stark bareness which at first repelled, and +then began to interest him. + +He discovered Thorvald standing on the upper bluff, looking out toward +the waiting mountains. The officer turned as Shann urged the wolverines +to the raft, and when he jumped down the drop to join them, Shann saw he +carried a map strip unrolled in his hand. + +"The situation is not as good as we hoped," he told the younger man. +"Well have to leave the river to cross the heights." + +"Why?" + +"There're rapids--bending in a falls." The officer squatted down, +spreading out the strip and making stabs at it with a nervous finger +tip. "Here we have to leave. This is all rough ground. But lying to the +south there's a gap which may be a pass. This was made from an aerial +survey." + +Shann knew enough to realize to what extent such a guide could go wrong. +Main features of the landscape would be clear enough from aloft, but +there might be unsurmountable difficulties at ground level which were +not distinguishable from the air. Yet Thorvald had planned this journey +as if he had already explored their escape route and that it was as open +and easy as a stroll down Tyr's main transport way. Why was it so +necessary that they try to reach the sea? However, since he had no +objection to voice except a dislike for indefinite information, Shann +did not question the other's calm assumption of command, not yet, +anyway. + +As they embarked and worked back into the current, Shann studied his +companion. Thorvald had freely listed the difficulties lying before +them. Yet he did not seem in the least worried about their being able to +win through to the sea--or if he was, his outer shell of unconcern +remained uncracked. Before their first day together had ended, the +younger Terran had learned that to Thorvald he was only another tool, to +be used by the Survey officer in some project which the other believed +of primary importance. And his resentment of the valuation was under +control so far. He valued Thorvald's knowledge, but the other's attitude +chilled and rebuffed his need for something more than a half partnership +of work. + +Why had Thorvald come back to Warlock in the first place? And why had it +been necessary for him to risk his life--perhaps more than his life if +their theory was correct concerning the Throgs' wish to capture a +Terran--to get that set of maps from the plundered camp? When he had +first talked of that raid, his promised loot had been supplies to fill +their daily needs; there had been no mention of maps. By all signs +Thorvald was engaged on some mission. And what would happen if he, +Shann, suddenly stopped being the other's obedient underling and +demanded a few explanations here and now? + +Only Shann knew enough about men to also know that he would not get any +information out of Thorvald that the latter was not ready to give, and +that such a showdown, coming prematurely, would only end in his own +discomfiture. He smiled wryly now, remembering his emotions when he had +first seen Ragnar Thorvald months ago. As if the officer ever considered +the likes, dislikes--or dreams--of one Shann Lantee. No, reality and +dreams seldom approached each other. Dreams.... + +"On any of those shoreline maps," he asked suddenly, "do they have +marked a mountain shaped like a skull?" + +Thorvald thrust with his pole. "Skull?" he repeated, a little absently, +as he so often did in answer to Shann's questions unless they dealt with +some currently important matter. + +"A queer sort of skull," Shann said. Just as vividly as when he had +first awakened, he could picture that skull mountain with the flying +things about its eye sockets. And that, too, was odd; dream impressions +usually faded with the passing of waking hours. "It has a protruding +lower jaw and the waves wash that ... red-and-purple rock----" + +"What?" + +He had Thorvald's complete attention now. + +"Where did you hear about it?" That demand followed quickly. + +"I didn't hear about it. I dreamed of it last night. I stood there right +in front of it. There were birds--or things flying like birds--going in +and out of the eyeholes----" + +"What else?" Thorvald leaned across his pole, his eyes alive, avid, as +if he would pull the reply he wanted out of Shann by force. + +"That was all I remember--the skull mountain." He did not add his other +impression, that he was meant to find that skull, that he _must_ find +it. + +"Nothing...." Thorvald paused, and then spoke slowly, with a visible +reluctance. "Nothing else? No cavern with a green veil--a wide green +veil--strung across it?" + +Shann shook his head. "Just the skull mountain." + +Thorvald looked as if he didn't quite believe that, but Shann's +expression must have been convincing, for he laughed shortly. + +"Well, there goes one nice neat theory up in smoke!" he commented. "No, +your skull doesn't appear on any of our maps, and so probably my cavern +does not exist either. They may both be smoke screens----" + +"What--?" But Shann never finished that query. + +A wind was rising in the desert to blow across the slit which held the +river, carrying with it a fine shifting of sand which coasted down into +the water as a gray haze, coating men, animals, and raft, and sighing as +snow sighs when it falls. + +Only that did not drown out another cry, a thin cry, diluted by the +miles of land stretching behind them, but yet carrying that long +ululating howl they had heard in the Throg camp. Thorvald grinned +mirthlessly. + +"The hound's on trail." + +He bent to the pole, using it to aid the pace of the current. Shann, +chilled in spite of the sun's heat, followed his example, wondering if +time had ceased to fight on their side. + + + + +6. THE HOUND + + +The sun was a harsh ball of heat baking the ground and then, in some odd +manner, drawing back that same fieriness. In the coolness of the eastern +mountains Shann would not have believed that Warlock could hold such +heat. The men discarded their jackets early as they swung to dip the +poles. But they dared not strip off the rest of their clothing lest +their skin burn. And again gusts of wind now drove sand over the edge of +the cut to blanket the water. + +Shann wiped his eyes, pausing in his eternal push-push, to look at the +rocks which they were passing in threatening proximity. For the slash +which held the river had narrowed. And the rock of its walls was naked +of earth, save for sheltered pockets holding the drift of sand dust, +while boulders of all sizes cut into the path of the flowing water. + +He had not been mistaken; they were going faster, faster even than their +efforts with the poles would account for. With the narrowing of the bed +of the stream, the current was taking on a new swiftness. Shann said as +much and Thorvald nodded. + +"We're approaching the first of the rapids." + +"Where we get off and walk around," Shann croaked wearily. The dust +gritted between his teeth, irritated his eyes. "Do we stay beside the +river?" + +"As long as we can," Thorvald replied somberly. "We have no way of +transporting water." + +Yes, a man could live on very slim rations of food, continue to beat his +way over a bad trail if he had the concentrate tablets they carried. But +there was no going without water, and in this heat such an effort would +finish them quickly. Always they both listened for another cry from +behind, a cry to tell them just how near the Throg hunting party had +come. + +"No Throg flyers yet," Shann observed. He had expected one of those +black plates to come cruising the moment the hound had pointed the +direction for their pursuers. + +"Not in a storm such as this." Thorvald, without releasing his hold on +the raft pole, pointed with his chin to the swirling haze cloaking the +air above the cut walls. Here the river dug yet deeper into the +beginning of a canyon. They could breathe better. The dust still sifted +down but not as thickly as a half hour earlier. Though over their heads +the sky was now a grayish lid, shutting out the sun, bringing a portion +of coolness to the travelers. + +The Survey officer glanced from side to side, watching the banks as if +hunting for some special mark or sign. At last he used his pole as a +pointer to indicate a rough pile of boulders ahead. Some former +landslide had quarter dammed the river at that point, and the drift of +seasonal floods was caught in and among the rocky pile to form a prickly +peninsula. + +"In there----" + +They brought the raft to shore, fighting the faster current. The +wolverines, who had been subdued by the heat and the dust, flung +themselves to the rocks with the eagerness of passengers deserting a +sinking ship for certain rescue. Thorvald settled the map case more +securely between his arm and side before he took the same leap. When +they were all ashore he prodded the raft out into the stream again, +pushing the platform along until it was sucked by the current past the +line of boulders. + +"Listen!" + +But Shann had already caught that distant rumble of sound. It was +steady, beating like some giant drum. Certainly it did not herald a +Throg ship in flight and it came from ahead, not from their back trail. + +"Rapids ... perhaps even the falls," Thorvald interpreted that faint +thunder. "Now, let's see what kind of a road we can find here." + +The tongue of boulders, spiked with driftwood, was firmly based against +the wall of the cut. But it sloped up to within a few feet of the top of +that gap, more than one landslide having contributed to its fashioning. +The landing stage paralleled the river for perhaps some fifty feet. +Beyond it water splashed a straight wall. They would have to climb and +follow the stream along the top of the embankment, maybe being forced +well away from the source of the water. + +By unspoken consent they both knelt and drank deeply from their cupped +hands, splashing more of the liquid over their heads, washing the dust +from their skins. Then they began to climb the rough assent up which the +wolverines had already vanished. The murk above them was less solid, but +again the fine grit streaked their faces, embedding itself in their +hair. + +Shann paused to scrape a film of mud from his lips and chin. Then he +made the last pull, bracing his slight body against the push of the wind +he met there. A palm struck hard between his shoulders, nearly sending +him sprawling. He had only wits enough left to recognize that as an +order to get on, and he staggered ahead until rock arched over him and +the sand drift was shut off. + +His shoulder met solid stone, and having rubbed the sand from his eyes, +Shann realized he was in a pocket in the cliff walls. Well overhead he +caught a glimpse of natural amber sky through a slit, but here was a +twilight which thickened into complete darkness. + +There was no sign of wolverines. Thorvald moved along the pocket +southward, and Shann followed him. Once more they faced a dead end. For +the crevice, with the sheer descent to the river on the right, the cliff +wall at its back, came to an abrupt stop in a drop which caught at +Shann's stomach when he ventured to look down. + +If some battleship of the interstellar fleet had aimed a force beam +across the mountains of Warlock, cutting down to what lay under the +first envelope of planet-skin, perhaps the resulting wound might have +resembled that slash. What had caused such a break between the height on +which they stood and the much taller peak beyond, Shann could not guess. +But it must have been a cataclysm of spectacular dimensions. There was +certainly no descending to the bottom of that cut and reclimbing the +rock face on the other side. The fugitives would either have to return +to the river with all its ominous warnings of trouble to come, or find +some other path across that gap which now provided such an effective +barrier to the west. + +"Down!" Just as Thorvald had pushed him out of the murk of the dust +storm into the crevice, so now did that officer jerk Shann from his +feet, forcing him to the floor of the half cave from which they had +partially emerged. + +A shadow moved across the bright band of sunlit sky. + +"Back!" Thorvald caught at Shann again, his greater strength prevailing +as he literally dragged the younger man into the dusk of the crevice. +And he did not pause, nor allow Shann to do so, even when they were well +undercover again. At last they reached the dark hole in the southern +wall which they had passed earlier. And a push from Thorvald sent his +companion into that. + +Then a blow greater than any the Survey officer had aimed at him struck +Shann. He was hurled against a rough wall with impetus enough to explode +the air from his lungs, the ensuing pain so great that he feared his +ribs had given under that thrust. Before his eyes fire lashed down the +slit, searing him into temporary blindness. That flash was the last +thing he remembered as thick darkness closed in, shutting him into the +nothingness of unconsciousness. + +It hurt to breathe; he was slowly aware first of that pain and then the +fact that he _was_ breathing, that he had to endure the pain for the +sake of breath. His whole body was jarred into a dull torment as a +weight pressed upon his twisted legs. Then strong animal breath puffed +into his face. Shann lifted one hand by will power, touched thick fur, +felt the rasp of a tongue laid wetly across his fingers. + +Something close to terror engulfed him for a second or two when he knew +that he could not see! The black about him was colored by jagged flashes +of red which he somehow guessed were actually inside his eyes. He groped +through that fire-pierced darkness. An animal whimper from the throat of +the shaggy body pressed against him; he answered that movement. + +"Taggi?" + +The shove against him was almost enough to pin him once more to the +wall, a painful crush on his aching ribs, as the wolverine responded to +his name. That second nudge from the other side must be Togi's bid for +attention. + +But what had happened? Thorvald had hurled him back just after that +shadow had swung over the ledge. That shadow! Shann's wits quickened as +he tried to make sense of what he could remember. A Throg ship! Then +that fiery lash which had cut after them could only have resulted from +one of those energy bolts such as had wiped out the others of his kind +at the camp. But he was still alive----! + +"Thorvald?" He called through his personal darkness. When there was no +answer, Shann called again, more urgently. Then he hunched forward on +his hands and knees, pushing Taggi gently aside, running his hands over +projecting rocks, uneven flooring. + +His fingers touched what could only be cloth, before they met the warmth +of flesh. And he half threw himself against the supine body of the +Survey officer, groping awkwardly for heartbeat, for some sign that the +other was still living. + +"What----?" The one word came thickly, but Shann gave something close to a +sob of relief as he caught the faint mutter. He squatted back on his +heels, pressed his forearm against his aching eyes in a kind of fierce +will to see. + +Perhaps that pressure did relieve some of the blackout, for when he +blinked again, the complete dark and the fiery trails had faded to gray, +and he was sure he saw dimly a source of light to his left. + +The Throg ship had fired upon them. But the aliens could not have used +the full force of their weapon or neither of the Terrans would still be +alive. Which meant, Shann's thoughts began to make sense--sense which +brought apprehension--the Throgs probably intended to disable rather +than kill. They wanted prisoners, just as Thorvald had warned. + +How long did the Terrans have before the aliens would come to collect +them? There was no fit landing place hereabouts for their flyer. The +beetle-heads would have to set down at the edge of the desert land and +climb the mountains on foot. And the Throgs were not good at that. So, +the fugitives still had a measure of time. + +Time to do what? The country itself held them securely captive. That +drop to the southwest was one barrier. To retreat eastward would mean +running straight into the hands of the hunters. To descend again to the +river, their raft gone, was worse than useless. There was only this side +pocket in which they sheltered. And once the Throgs arrived, they could +scoop the Terrans out at their leisure, perhaps while stunned by a +controlling energy beam. + +"Taggi? Togi?" Shann was suddenly aware that he had not heard the +wolverines for some time. + +He was answered by a weirdly muffled call--from the south! Had the +animals found a new exit? Was this niche more than just a niche? A cave +of some length, or even a passage running back into the interior of the +peaks? With that faint hope spurring him, Shann bent again over +Thorvald, able now to make out the other's huddled form. Then he drew +the torch from the inner loop of his coat and pressed the lowest stud. + +His eyes smarted in answer to that light, watered until tears patterned +the grime and dust on his cheeks. But he could make out what lay before +them, a hole leading into the cliff face, the hole which might furnish +the door to escape. + +The Survey officer moved, levering himself up, his eyes screwed tightly +shut. + +"Lantee?" + +"Here. And there's a tunnel--right behind you. The wolverines went that +way...." + +To his surprise there was a thin ghost of a smile on Thorvald's usually +straight-lipped mouth. "And we'd better be away before visitors arrive?" + +So he, too, must have thought his way through the sequence of past +action to the same conclusion concerning the Throg movements. + +"Can you see, Lantee?" The question was painfully casual, but a note in +it, almost a reaching for reassurance, cut for the first time through +the wall which had stood between them from their chance meeting by the +wrecked ship. + +"Better now. I couldn't when I first came to," Shann answered quickly. + +Thorvald opened his eyes, but Shann guessed that he was as blind as he +himself had been, He caught at the officer's nearer hand, drawing it to +rest on his own belt. + +"Grab hold!" Shann was giving the orders now. "By the look of that +opening we had better try crawling. I've a torch on at low----" + +"Good enough." The other's fingers fumbled on the band about Shann's +slim waist until they gripped tight at his back. He started on into the +opening, drawing Thorvald by that hold with him. + +Luckily, they did not have to crawl far, for shortly past the entrance +the fault or vein they were following became a passage high enough for +even the tall Thorvald to travel without stooping. And then only a +little later he released his hold on Shann, reporting he could now see +well enough to manage on his own. + +The torch beam caught on a wall and awoke from there a glitter which +hurt their eyes--a green-gold cluster of crystals. Several feet on, +there was another flash of embedded crystals. Those might promise +priceless wealth, but neither Terran paused to examine them more closely +or touch their surfaces. From time to time Shann whistled. And always he +was answered by the wolverines, their calls coming from ahead. So the +men continued to hope that they were not walking into a trap from which +the Throgs could extract them. + +"Snap off your torch a moment!" Thorvald ordered. + +Shann obeyed. The subdued light vanished. Yet there was still light to +be seen--ahead and above. + +"Front door," Thorvald observed. "How do we get up?" + +The torch showed them that, a narrow ladder of ledges branching off when +the passage they followed took a turn to the left and east. Afterward +Shann remembered that climb with wonder that they had actually made it, +though their advance had been slow, passing the torch from one to +another to make sure of their footing. + +Shann was top man when a last spurt of effort enabled him to draw +himself out into the open, his hands raw, his nails broken and torn. He +sat there, stupefied with his own weariness, to stare about. + +Thorvald called impatiently, and Shann reached for the torch to hold it +for the officer. Then Thorvald crawled out; he, too, looked around in +dull surprise. + +On either side, peaks cut high into the amber of the sky. But this bowl +in which the men had found refuge was rich in growing things. Though the +trees were stunted, the grass grew almost as high here as it did on the +meadows of the lowlands. Quartering the pocket valley, galloped the +wolverines, expressing in that wild activity their delight in this +freedom. + +"Good campsite." + +Thorvald shook his head. "We can't stay here." + +And, to underline that gloomy prophesy, there issued from that hole +through which they had just come, muffled and broken, but still +threatening, the howl of the Throgs' hound. + +The Survey officer caught the torch from Shann's hold and knelt to flash +it into the interior of the passage. As the beam slowly circled that +opening, he held out his other arm, measuring the size of the aperture. + +"When that thing gets on a hot scent"--he snapped off the beam--"the +beetle-heads won't be able to control it. There will be no reason for +them to attempt to. Those hounds obey their first orders: kill--or +capture. And I think this one operates on 'capture.' So they'll loose it +to run ahead of their party." + +"And we move to knock it out?" Shann relied now on the other's +experience. + +Thorvald rose. "It would need a blaster on full power to finish off a +hound. No, we can't kill it. But we can make it a doorkeeper to our +advantage." He trotted down into the valley, Shann beside him without +understanding in the least, but aware that Thorvald did have some plan. +The officer bent, searched the ground, and began to pull from under the +loose surface dirt one of those nets of tough vines which they had used +for cords. He thrust a double handful of this hasty harvest into Shann's +hold with a single curt order: "Twist these together and make as thick a +rope as you can!" + +Shann twisted, discovering to his pleased surprise that under pressure +the vines exuded a sticky purple sap which not only coated his hands, +but also acted as an adhesive for the vines themselves so that his task +was not nearly as formidable as it had first seemed. With his force ax +Thorvald cut down two of the stunted trees and stripped them of +branches, wedging the poles into the rocks about the entrance of the +hole. + +They were working against time, but on Thorvald's part with practiced +efficiency. Twice more that cry of the hunter arose from the depths +behind them. As the westering sun, almost down now, shone into the +valley hollow Thorvald set up the frame of his trap. + +"We can't knock it out, any more than we can knock out a Throg. But a +beam from a stunner ought to slow it up long enough for this to work." + +Taggi burst out of the grass, approaching the hole with purpose. And +Togi was right at his heels. Both of them stared into that opening, +drooling a little, the same eagerness in their pose as they had +displayed when hunting. Shann remembered how that first howl of the +Throg hound had drawn both animals to the edge of the occupied camp in +spite of their marked distaste for its alien masters. + +"They're after it too." He told Thorvald what he had noted on the night +of their sortie. + +"Maybe they can keep it occupied," the other commented. "But we don't +want them to actually mix with it; that might be fatal." + +A clamor broke out in the interior passage. Taggi snarled, backing away +a few steps before he uttered his own war cry. + +"Ready!" Thorvald jumped to the net slung from the poles; Shann raised +his stunner. + +Togi underlined her mate's challenge with a series of snarls rising in +volume. There was a tearing, scrambling sound from within. Then Shann +fired at the jack-in-the-box appearance of a monstrous head, and +Thorvald released the deadfall. + +The thing squalled. Ropes beat, growing taut. The wolverines backed from +jaws which snapped fruitlessly. To Shann's relief the Terran animals +appeared content to bait the now imprisoned--or collared--horror, +without venturing to make any close attack. + +But he reckoned that too soon. Perhaps the stunner had slowed up the +hound's reflexes, for those jaws stilled with a last shattering snap, +the toad-lizard mask--a head which was against all nature as the Terrans +knew it--was quiet in the strangle leash of the rope, the rest of the +body serving as a cork to fill the exit hole. Taggi had been waiting +only for such a chance. He sprang, claws ready. And Togi went in after +her mate to share the battle. + + + + +7. UNWELCOME GUIDE + + +There was a small eruption of earth and stone as the hound came alive, +fighting to reach its tormentors. The resulting din was deafening. +Shann, avoiding by a hand's breadth a snap of jaws with power to crush +his leg into bone powder and mangled flesh, cuffed Togi across her nose +and buried his hands in the fur about Taggi's throat as he heaved the +male wolverine back from the struggling monster. He shouted orders, and +to his surprise Togi did obey, leaving him free to yank Taggi away. +Perhaps neither wolverine had expected the full fury of the hound. + +Though he suffered a slash across the back of one hand, delivered by the +over-excited Taggi, in the end Shann was able to get both animals away +from the hole, now corked so effectively by the slavering thing. +Thorvald was actually laughing as he watched his younger companion in +action. + +"This ought to slow up the beetles! If they haul their little doggie +back, it's apt to take out some of its rage on them, and I'd like to see +them dig around it." + +Considering that the monstrous head was swinging from side to side in a +collar of what seemed to be immovable rocks, Shann thought Thorvald +right. He went down on his knees beside the wolverines, soothing them +with hand and voice, trying to get them to obey his orders willingly. + +"Ha!" Thorvald brought his mud-stained hands together with a clap, the +sharp sound attracting the attention of both animals. + +Shann scrambled up, swung out his bleeding hand in the simple motion +which meant to hunt, being careful to signal down the valley westward. +Taggi gave a last reluctant growl at the hound, to be answered by one of +its ear-torturing howls, and then trotted off, Togi tagging behind. + +Thorvald caught Shann's slashed hand, inspecting the bleeding cut. From +the aid packet at his belt he brought out powder and a strip of +protecting plasta-flesh to cleanse and bind the wound. + +"You'll do," he commented. "But we'd better get out of here before full +dark." + +The small paradise of the valley was no safe campsite. It could not be +so long as that monstrosity on the hillside behind them roared and +howled its rage to the darkening sky. Trailing the wolverines, the men +caught up with the animals drinking from a small spring and thankfully +shared that water. Then they pushed on, not able to forget that +somewhere in the peaks about must lurk the Throg flyer ready to attack +on sight. + +Only darkness could not be held off by the will of men. Here in the open +there was no chance to use the torch. As long as they were within the +valley boundaries the phosphorescent bushes marked a path. But by the +coming of complete darkness they were once more out in a region of bare +rock. + +The wolverines had killed a brace of skitterers, consuming hide and soft +bones as well as the meager flesh which was not enough to satisfy their +hunger. However, to Shann's relief, they did not wander too far ahead. +And as the men stopped at last on a ledge where a fall of rock gave them +some limited shelter both animals crowded in against the humans, adding +the heat of their bodies to the slight comfort of that cramped resting +place. + +From time to time Shann was startled out of a troubled half sleep by the +howl of the hound. Luckily that sound never seemed any louder. If the +Throgs had caught up with their hunter, and certainly they must have +done so by now, they either could not, or would not free it from the +trap. Shann dozed again, untroubled by any dreams, to awake hearing the +shrieks of clak-claks. But when he studied the sky he was able to sight +none of the cliff-dwelling Warlockian bats. + +"More likely they are paying attention to our friend back in the +valley," Thorvald said dryly, rightly reading Shann's glance to the +clouds overhead. "Ought to keep them busy." + +Clak-claks were meat eaters, only they preferred their chosen prey weak +and easy to attack. The imprisoned hound would certainly attract their +kind. And those shrill cries now belling through the mountain heights +ought to draw everyone of their species within miles. + +"There it is!" Thorvald, pulling himself to his feet by a rock handhold, +gazed westward, his gaunt face eager. + +Shann, expecting no less than a cruising Throg ship, searched for cover +on their perch. Perhaps if they flattened themselves behind the fall of +stones, they might be able to escape attention. Yet Thorvald made no +move into hiding. And so Shann followed the line of the other's fixed +stare. + +Before and below them lay a maze of heights and valleys, sharp drops, +and saw-toothed rises. But on the far rim of that section of badlands +shone the green of a Warlockian sea rippling on to the only dimly seen +horizon. They were now within sight of their goal. + +Had they had one of the exploration sky-flitters from the overrun camp, +they could have walked its beach sands within the hour. Instead, they +fought their way through a Devil-designed country for the next two days. +Twice they had narrow escapes from the Throg ship--or ships--which +continued to sweep across the rugged line of the coast, and only a quick +dive to cover, wasting precious time cowering like trapped animals, +saved them from discovery. But at least the hound did not bay again on +the tangled trail they left, and they hoped that the trap and the +clak-claks had put that monster permanently out of service. + +On the third day they came down to one of those fiords which tongued +inland, fringing the coast. There had been no lack of hunting in the +narrow valleys through which they had threaded, so both men and +wolverines were well fed. Though animal fur wore better than the now +tattered uniforms of the men. + +"Now where?" Shann asked. + +Would he now learn the purpose driving Thorvald on to this coastland? +Certainly such broken country afforded good hiding, but no better +concealment than the mountains of the interior. + +The Survey officer turned slowly around on the shingle, studying the +heights behind them as well as the angle of the inlet where the wavelets +lapped almost at their battered boot tips. Opening his treasured map +case, he began a patient checking of landmarks against several of the +strips he carried. "We'll have to get on down to the true coast." + +Shann leaned against the trunk of a conical branched mountain tree, +pulling absently at the shreds of wine-colored bark being shed in +seasonal change. The chill they had known in the upper valleys was +succeeded here by a humid warmth. Spring was becoming a summer such as +this northern continent knew. Even the fresh wind, blowing in from the +outer sea, had already lost some of the bite they had felt two days +before when its salt-laden mistiness had first struck them. + +"Then what do we do there?" Shann persisted. + +Thorvald brought over the map, his black-rimmed nail tracing a route +down one of the fiords, slanting out to indicate a lace of islands +extending in a beaded line across the sea. + +"We head for these." + +To Shann that made no sense at all. Those islands ... why, they would +offer less chance of establishing a safe base than the broken land in +which they now stood. Even the survey scouts had given those spots of +sea-encircled earth the most cursory examination from the air. + +"Why?" he asked bluntly. So far he had followed orders because they had +for the most part made sense. But he was not giving obedience to +Thorvald as a matter of rank alone. + +"Because there is something out there, something which may make all the +difference now. Warlock isn't an empty world." + +Shann jerked free a long thong of loose bark, rolling it between his +fingers. Had Thorvald cracked? He knew that the officer had disagreed +with the findings of the team and had been an unconvinced minority of +one who had refused to subscribe to the report that Warlock had no +native intelligent life and therefore was ready and waiting for human +settlement because it was technically an empty world. But to continue to +cling to that belief without a single concrete proof was certainly a +sign of mental imbalance. + +And Thorvald was regarding him now with frowning impatience. You were +supposed to humor delusions, weren't you? Only, could you surrender and +humor a wild idea which might mean your death? If Thorvald wanted to go +island-hopping in chance of discovering what never had existed, Shann +need not accompany him. And if the officer tried to use force, well, +Shann was armed with a stunner, and had, he believed, more control over +the wolverines. Perhaps if he merely gave lip agreement to this +project.... Only he didn't believe, noting the light deep in those gray +eyes holding on him, that anybody could talk Thorvald out of this +particular obsession. + +"You don't believe me, do you?" The impatience arose hotly in that +demand. + +"Why shouldn't I?" Shann tried to temporize. "You've had a lot of +exploration experience; you should know about such things. I don't +pretend to be any authority." + +Thorvald refolded the map and placed it in the case. Then he pulled at +the sealing of his blouse, groping in an inner secret pocket. He +uncurled his fingers to display his treasure. + +On his palm lay a coin-shaped medallion, bone-white but possessing an +odd luster which bone would not normally show. And it was carved. Shann +put out a finger, though he had a strange reluctance to touch the +object. When he did he experienced a sensation close to the tingle of a +mild electric shock. And once he had made that contact, he was also +impelled to pick up that disk and examine it more closely. + +The carved pattern was very intricate and had been done with great +delicacy and skill, though the whorls, oddly shaped knobs, ribbon +tracings, made no connected design he could determine. After a moment or +two of study, Shann became aware that his eyes, following those twists +and twirls, were "fixed," that it required a distinct effort to look +away from the thing. Feeling some of that same alarm as he had known +when he first heard the wailing of the Throg hound, he let the disk fall +back into Thorvald's hold, even more disturbed when he discovered that +to relinquish his grasp required some exercise of will. + +"What is it?" + +Thorvald restored the coin to his hiding place. + +"You tell me. I can say this much, there is no listing for anything even +remotely akin to this in the Archives." + +Shann's eyes widened. He absently rubbed the fingers which had held the +bone coin--if it was a coin--back and forth across the torn front of his +blouse. That tingle ... did he still feel it? Or was his imagination at +work again? But an object not listed in the exhaustive Survey Archives +would mean some totally new civilization, a new stellar race. + +"It is definitely a created article," the Survey officer continued. "And +it was found on the beach of one of those sea islands." + +"Throg?" But Shann already knew the answer to that. + +"Throg work--_this_?" Thorvald was openly scornful. "Throgs have no +conception of such art. You must have seen their metal plates--those are +the beetle-heads' idea of beauty. Have those the slightest resemblance +to this?" + +"Then who made it?" + +"Either Warlock has--or once had--a native race advanced enough in a +well-established form of civilization to develop such a sophisticated +type of art, or there have been other visitors from space here before us +and the Throgs. And the latter possibility I don't believe----" + +"Why?" + +"Because this was carved of bone or an allied substance. We haven't been +quite able to identify it in the labs, but it is basically organic +material. It was found exposed to the weather and yet it is in perfect +condition, could have been carved any time within the past five years. +It has been handled, yes, but not roughly. And we have come across +evidences of no other star-cruising races or species save ourselves and +the Throgs. No, I say this was made here on Warlock, not too long ago, +and by intelligent beings of a very high grade of civilization." + +"But they would have cities," protested Shann. "We've been here for +months, explored all over this continent. We would have seen them or +some traces of them." + +"An old race, maybe," Thorvald mused, "a very old race, perhaps in +decline, reduced to a remnant in numbers with good reason to retire into +hiding. No, we've discovered no cities, no evidence of a native culture +past or present. But this--" he touched the front of his blouse--"was +found on the shore of an island. We may have been looking in the wrong +place for our natives." + +"The sea...." Shann glanced with new interest at the green water surging +in wavelets along the edge of the fiord. + +"Just so, the sea!" + +"But scouts have been here for more than a year, one team or another. +And nobody saw anything or found any traces." + +"All four of our base camps were set inland, our explorations along the +coast were mainly carried out by flitter, except for one party--the one +which found this. And there may be excellent local reasons why any +native never showed himself to us. For that matter, they may not be able +to exist on land at all, any more than we could live without artificial +aids in the sea." + +"Now----?" + +"Now we must make a real attempt to find them if they do exist anywhere +near here. A friendly native race could make all the difference in the +world in any struggle with the Throgs." + +"Then you did have more than the dreams to back you when you argued with +Fenniston!" Shann cut in. + +Thorvald's eyes were on him again. "When did you hear that, Lantee?" + +To his great embarrassment, Shann found himself flushing. "I heard you, +the day you left for Headquarters," he admitted, and then added in his +own defense, "Probably half the camp did, too." + +Thorvald's gathering frown flickered away. He gave a snort of laughter. +"Yes, I guess we did rather get to the bellowing point that morning. The +dreams--" he came back to the subject--"Yes, the dreams +were--are--important. We had their warning from the start. Lorry was the +First-In Scout who charted Warlock, and he is a good man. I guess I can +break secret now to tell you that his ship was equipped with a new +experimental device which recorded--well, you might call it an +"emanation"--a radiation so faint its source could not be traced. And it +registered whenever Lorry had one of those dreams. Unfortunately, the +machine was very new, very much in the untested stage, and its +performance when checked later in the lab was erratic enough so the +powers-that-be questioned all its readings. They produced a half dozen +answers to account for that tape, and Lorry only caught the recording as +long as he was on a big bay to the south. + +"Then when two check flights came in later, carrying perfected machines +and getting no recordings, it was all written off as a mistake in the +first experiment. A planet such as Warlock is too big a find to throw +away when there was no proof of occupancy. And the settlement boys +rushed matters right along." + +Shann recalled his own vivid dream of the skull-rock set in the lap of +water--this sea? And another small point fell into place to furnish the +beginning of a pattern. "I was asleep on the raft when I dreamed about +that skullmountain," he said slowly, wondering if he were making sense. + +Thorvald's head came up with the alert stance of Taggi on a strong game +scent. + +"Yes, on the raft you dreamed of a skull-rock. And I of a cavern with a +green veil. Both of us were on water--water which had an eventual +connection with the sea. Could water be a conductor? I wonder...." Once +again his hand went into his blouse. He crossed the strip of gravel +beach and dipped fingers into the water, letting the drops fall on the +carved disk he now held in his other hand. + +"What are you doing?" Shann could see no purpose in that. + +Thorvald did not answer. He had pressed wet hand to dry now, palm to +palm, the coin cupped tightly between them. He turned a quarter circle, +to face the still distant open sea. + +"That way." He spoke with a new odd tonelessness. + +Shann stared into the other's face. All the eager alertness of only a +moment earlier had been wiped away. Thorvald was no longer the man he +had known, but in some frightening way a husk, holding a quite different +personality. The younger Terran answered his fear with an attack from +the old days of rough in-fighting in the Dumps of Tyr. He brought his +right hand down hard in a sharp chop across the officer's wrists. The +bone coin spun to the sand and Thorvald stumbled, staggering forward a +step or two. Before he could recover balance Shann had stamped on the +medallion. + +Thorvald whirled, his stunner drawn with a speed for which Shann gave +him high marks. But the younger man's own weapon was already out and +ready. And he talked--fast. + +"That thing's dangerous! What did you do--what did it do to you?" + +His demand got through to a Thorvald who was himself again. + +"What was _I_ doing?" came a counter demand. + +"You were acting like a mind-controlled." + +Thorvald stared at him incredulously, then with a growing spark of +interest. + +"The minute you dripped water on that thing you changed," Shann +continued. + +Thorvald reholstered his stunner. "Yes," he mused, "why _did_ I want to +drip water on it? Something prompted me ..." He ran his still damp hand +up the angle of his jaw, across his forehead as if to relieve some pain +there. "What else did I do?" + +"Faced to the sea and said 'that way,'" Shann replied promptly. + +"And why did you move in to stop me?" + +Shann shrugged. "When I first touched that thing I felt a shock. And +I've seen mind-controlled----" He could have bitten his tongue for +betraying that. The world of the mind-controlled was very far from the +life Thorvald and his kind knew. + +"Very interesting," commented the other. "For one of so few years you +seem to have seen a lot, Lantee--and apparently remembered most of it. +But I would agree that you are right about this little plaything; it +carries a danger with it, being far less innocent than it looks." He +tore off one of the fluttering scraps of rag which now made up his +sleeve. "If you'll just remove your foot, we'll put it out of business +for now." + +He proceeded to wrap the disk well in his bit of cloth, taking care not +to touch it again with his bare fingers while he stowed it away. + +"I don't know what we have in this--a key to unlock a door, a trap to +catch the unwary. I can't guess how or why it works. But we can be +reasonably sure it's not just some carefree maiden's locket, nor the +equivalent of a credit to spend in the nearest bar. So it pointed me to +the sea, did it? Well, that much I am willing to allow. Maybe we'll be +able to return it to the owner, _after_ we learn who--or what--that +owner is." + +Shann gazed down at the green water, opaque, not to be pierced to the +depths by human sight. Anything might lurk there. Suddenly the Throgs +became normal when balanced against an unknown living in the murky +depths of an aquatic world. Another attack on the Throg-held camp could +be well preferred to such exploration as Thorvald had in mind. Yet Shann +did not voice any protest as the Survey officer faced again in the same +direction as the disk had pointed him moments before. + + + + +8. UTGARD + + +A wind from the west sprang up an hour before sunset, lashing waves +inland until their spray was a salt mist in the air, a mist to sodden +clothing, plaster hair to the skull, leaving a brine slime across the +skin. Yet Thorvald hunted no shelter, in spite of the promise in the +rough shoreline at their backs. The sand in which their boots slipped +and slid was coarse stuff, hardly finer than gravel, studded with nests +of drift--bone-white or grayed or pale lavender--smoothed and stored by +the seasons of low tides and high, seasonal storms and hurricanes. A +wild shore and a forbidding one, to arouse Shann's distrust, perhaps a +fitting goal for that disk's guiding. + +Shann had tasted loneliness in the mountains, experienced the strange +world of the river at night lighted by the wan radiance of glowing +shrubs and plants, forced the starkness of the heights. Yet there had +been through all that journeying a general resemblance to his own past +on other worlds. A tree was a tree, whether it bore purple foliage or +was red-veined. A rock was a rock, a river a river. They were equally +hard and wet on Warlock or Tyr. + +But now a veil he could not describe, even in his own thoughts, hung +between him and the sand over which he walked, between him and the sea +which sent spray to wet his torn clothing, between him and that wild +wrack of long-ago storms. He could put out his hand and touch sand, +drift, spray; yet they were a setting where something lay hidden behind +that setting--something watched, calculatingly, with intelligence, and +a set of emotions and values he did not, could not share. + +"... storm coming." Thorvald paused in the buffeting of wind and spray, +watching the fury of the tossing sea. The sun was still a pale smear +just above the horizon. And it gave light enough to make out that +trickle of islands melting out to obscurity. + +"Utgard----" + +"Utgard?" Shann repeated, the strange word holding no meaning for him. + +"Legend of my people." Thorvald smeared spray from his face with one +hand. "Utgard, those outermost islands where dwell the giants who are +the mortal enemies of the old gods." + +Those dark lumps, most of them bare rock, only a few crowned with +stunted vegetation, might well harbor _anything_, Shann decided, giants +or the malignant spirits of any race. Perhaps even the Throgs had their +tales of evil things in the night, beetle monsters to people wild, +unknown lands. He caught at Thorvald's arm and suggested a practical +course of action. + +"We'll need shelter before the storm strikes." To Shann's relief the +other nodded. + +They trailed back across the beach, their backs now to the sea and +Utgard. That harsh-sounding name did so well fit the line of islands and +islets, Shann repeated it to himself. Here the beach was narrow, a strip +of blue sand-gravel walled by wave-worn boulders. And from that barrier +of stones piled into a breastwork by chance, interwoven with bone-bare +drift, arose the first of the cliffs. Shann studied the terrain with +increasing uneasiness. To be caught between a sea, whipped inland by a +storm wind, and that cliff would be a risk he did not like to consider, +as ignorant of field lore as he was. They must locate some break nearer +than the fiord, down which they had come. And they must find it soon, +before the daylight was gone and the full fury of bad weather struck. + +In the end the wolverines discovered an exit, just as they had found the +passage through the mountain. Taggi nosed into a darker line down the +face of the cliff and disappeared, Togi duplicating that feat. Shann +trailed them, finding the opening a tight squeeze. + +He squirmed into dimness, his outstretched hands meeting a rough stone +surface sloping upward. After gaining a point about eight feet above the +beach he was able to look back and down through the seaward slit. Open +to the sky the crevice proved a doorway to a narrow valley, not unlike +those which housed the fiords, but provided with a thick growth of +vegetation well protected by the high walls. + +Working as a now well-rehearsed team, the men set up a shelter of +saplings and brush, the back to the slit through which wind was still +able to tear a way. Walled in by stone and knowing that no Throg flyer +would attempt to fly in the face of the coming storm, they dared make a +fire. The warmth was a comfort to their bodies, just as the light of the +flames, men's age-old hearth companion, was a comfort to the fugitives' +spirits. Those dancing spears of red, for Shann at least, burned away +that veil of other-worldliness which had enwrapped the beach, providing +in the night an illusion of the home he had never really known. + +But the wind and the weather did not keep truce very long. A wailing +blast around the upper peaks produced a caterwauling to equal the voices +of half a dozen Throg hounds. And in their poor shelter the Terrans not +only heard the thunderous boom of surf, but felt the vibration of that +beat pounding through the very ground on which they lay. The sea must +have long since covered the beach over which they had come and was now +trying its strength against the rock of the cliff barrier. They could +not talk to each other over that din, although shoulder touched +shoulder. + +The last flush of amber vanished from the sky with the speed of a +dropped curtain. Tonight no period of twilight divided night from day, +but their portion of Warlock was plunged abruptly into darkness. The +wolverines crowded into their small haven, whining deep in their +throats. Shann ran his hands along their furred bodies, trying to give +them a reassurance he himself did not feel. Never before when on stable +land had he been so aware of the unleashed terrors nature could exert, +the forces against which all mankind's controls were as nothing. + +Time could no longer be measured by any set of minutes or hours. There +was only darkness, the howling winds, and the salty rain which must be +in part the breath of the sea driven in upon them. The comforting fire +vanished, chill and dankness crept up to cramp their bodies, so that now +and again they were forced to their feet, to swing arms, stamp, drive +the blood into faster circulation. + +Later came a time when the wind died, no longer driving the rain +bullet-hard against and through their flimsy shelter. Then they slept in +the thick unconsciousness of exhaustion. + +A red-purple skull--and from its eye sockets the flying things--kept +coming ... going.... Shann trod on an unsteady foundation which dipped +under his weight as had the raft of the river voyage. He was drawing +nearer to that great head, could see now how waves curled about the +angle of the lower jaw, slapping inward between gaps of missing +teeth--which were really broken fangs of rock--as if the skull now and +then sucked reviving moisture from the water. The aperture marking the +nose was closer to a snout, and the hole was dark, dark as the empty eye +sockets. Yet that darkness was drawing him past any effort to escape he +could summon. And then that on which he rode so perilously was carried +forward by the waves, grated against the jawbone, while against his own +fighting will his hands arose above his head, reaching for a hold to +draw his shrinking body up the stark surface to that snout-passage. + +"Lantee!" A hand jerked him back, broke that compulsion--and the dream. +Shann opened his eyes with difficulty, his lashes seemed glued to his +cheeks. + +He might have been surveying a submerged world. Thin streamers of fog +twined up from the earth as if they grew from seeds planted by the +storm. But there was no wind, no sound from the peaks. Only under his +stiff body Shann could still feel that vibration which was the sea +battering against the cliff wall. + +Thorvald was crouched beside him, his hand still urgent on the younger +man's shoulder. The officer's face was drawn so finely that his +features, sharp under the tanned skin, were akin to the skull Shann +still half saw among the ascending pillars of fog. + +"Storm's over." + +Shann shivered as he sat up, hugging his arms to his chest, his tattered +uniform soggy under that pressure. He felt as if he would never be warm +again. When he moved sluggishly to the pit where they had kindled their +handful of fire the night before he realized that the wolverines were +missing. + +"Taggi----?" His voice sounded rusty in his own ears, as if some of the +moisture thick in the air about them had affected his vocal cords. + +"Hunting." Thorvald's answer was clipped. He was gathering a handful of +sticks from the back of their lean-to, where the protection of their own +bodies had kept that kindling dry. Shann snapped a length between his +hands, dropped it into the pit. + +When they did coax a blaze into being they stripped, wringing out their +clothing, propping it piece by steaming piece on sticks by the warmth of +the flames. The moist air bit at their bodies and they moved briskly, +striving to keep warm by exercise. Still the fog curled, undisturbed by +any shaft of sun. + +"Did you dream?" Thorvald asked abruptly. + +"Yes." Shann did not elaborate. Disturbing as his dream had been, the +feeling that it was not to be shared was also strong, as strong as some +order. + +"And so did I," Thorvald said bleakly. "You saw your skull-mountain?" + +"I was climbing it when you awoke me," Shann returned unwillingly. + +"And I was going through my green veil when Taggi took off and wakened +me. You are sure your skull exists?" + +"Yes." + +"And so am I that the cavern of the veil is somewhere on this world. But +why?" Thorvald stood up, the firelight marking plainly the lines between +his tanned arms, his brown face and throat, and the paleness of his lean +body. "Why do we dream those particular dreams?" + +Shann tested the dryness of a shirt. He had no reason to try and explain +the wherefore of those dreams, only was he certain that he would +sometime, somewhere, find that skull, and that when he did he would +climb to the doorway of the snout, pass behind to depths where the +flying things might nest--not because he wanted to make such an +expedition, but because he must. + +He drew his hands across his ribs, where pressure still brought an +aching reminder of the crushing force of the energy whip the Throgs had +wielded. There was no extra flesh on his body, yet muscles slid easily +under the skin, a darker skin than Thorvald's, deepening to a warm brown +where it had been weathered. His hair, unclipped now for a month, was +beginning to curl about his head in tight dark rings. Since he had +always been the youngest or the smallest or the weakest in the world of +the Dumps, of the Service, of the Team, Shann had very little personal +vanity. He did possess a different type of pride, born of his own +stubborn achievement in winning out over a long roster of +discouragements, failures, and adverse odds. + +"Why do we dream?" he repeated Thorvald's question. "No answer, sir." He +gave the traditional reply of the Service recruit. And a little to his +surprise Thorvald laughed with a tinge of real amusement. + +"Where do you come from, Lantee?" He asked as if he were honestly +interested. + +"Tyr." + +"Caldon mines." The Survey officer automatically matched planet to +product. "How did you come into Survey?" + +Shann drew on his shirt. "Signed on as casual labor," he returned with a +spark of defiance. Thorvald had joined the Service the right way as a +cadet, then a Team man, finally an officer, climbing that nice even +ladder with every rung ready for him when he was prepared to mount it. +What did his kind know about the labor Barracks where the dull-minded, +the failures, the petty criminals on the run, lived hard under a secret +social system of their own? It had taken every bit of physical endurance +and energy, every fraction of stubborn will Shann could summon, for him +to survive his first three months in those barracks--unbroken and still +eager to be Survey. He could still wonder at the unbelievable chance +which had rescued him from that merely because Training Center had +needed another odd hand to clean cages and feed troughs for the +experimental animals. + +And from the center he made a Team, because when working in a smaller +group his push and attention to duty had been noticed and had paid off. +Three years it had taken, but he _had_ made Team stature. Not that that +meant anything now. Shann pulled his boots on over the legs of rough +dried coveralls and glanced up, to find Thorvald watching him with a +new, questioning directness the younger man could not understand. + +Shann sealed his blouse and stood up, knowing the bite of hunger, dull +but persistent. It was a feeling he had had so many times in the past +that now he hardly gave it a second thought. + +"Supplies?" He brought the subject back to the present and the +practical. What did it matter why or how one Shann Lantee had come to +Warlock in the first place? + +"What we have left of the concentrates we had better keep for +emergencies." Thorvald made no move to open the very shrunken bag he had +brought from the scoutship. + +He walked over to a rocky outcrop and tugged loose a yellowish tuft of +plant, neither moss nor fungi but sharing attributes of both. Shann +recognized it without enthusiasm as one of the varieties of native +produce which could be safely digested by Terran stomachs. The stuff was +almost tasteless and possessed a rather unpleasant odor. Consumed in +bulk it would satisfy hunger for a time. Shann hoped that with the +wolverines to aid they could go back to hunting soon. + +However, Thorvald showed no desire to head inland where they might +expect to locate game. He disagreed with Shann's suggestion for tracking +Taggi and Togi when those two emerged from the underbrush obviously well +fed and contented after their early morning activity. + +When Shann protested with some heat, the other countered: "Didn't you +ever hear of fish, Lantee? After a storm such as last night's, we ought +to discover good pickings along the shore." + +But Shann was also sure that it was not only the thought of food which +drew Thorvald back to the sea. + +They crawled back through the bolt hole. The beach of gravel-sand had +vanished save for a narrow ribbon of land just at the foot of the +cliffs, where the water curled in white lace about the barrier of +boulders. There was no change in the dullness of the sky; no sun broke +through the thick lid of clouds. And the green of the sea was ashened to +gray which matched that overcast until one could strain one's eyes +trying to find the horizon, unable to mark the dividing line here +between air and water. + +Utgard was a broken necklace, the outermost island-beads lost, the inner +ones more isolated by the rise in water, more forbidding. Shann let out +a startled hiss of breath. + +The top of a near-by rock detached itself, drew up into a hunched thing +of armor-plated scales and heavy wide-jawed head. A tail cracked into +the air; a double tail split into equal forks for half-way down its +length. A leg lifted as a forefoot, webbed, clawed for a new hold. This +sea beast was the most formidable native thing he had sighted on +Warlock, approaching in its ugliness the hound of the Throgs. + +Breathing in labored gusts, the thing slapped its tail down on the +stones with a limpness which suggested that the raising of that +appendage had overtaxed its limited supply of strength. The head sank +forward, resting across one of the forelimbs. Then Shann sighted the +fearsome wound in the side just before one of the larger hind legs, a +ragged hole through which pumped with every one of those breaths a dark +purplish stream, licked away by the waves as it trickled slickly down +the rock. + +"What is that?" + +Thorvald shook his head. "Not on our records," he replied absently, +studying the dying creature with avid attention. "Must have been driven +in by the storm. This proves there is more in the sea then we knew!" + +Again the forked tail lifted and fell, the head, raised from the +forelimb, stretching up and back until the white underfolds of the +throat were exposed as the snout pointed almost vertically to the sky. +The jaws opened and from between them came a moaning whistle, a +complaint which was drowned out by the wash of the waves. Then, as if +that was the last effort, the webbed, clawed feet relaxed their grip of +the rock and the scaled body slid sidewise, out of their sight, into the +water. There was a feather of spume to mark the plunge and nothing else. + +Shann, watching to see if the reptile would surface again, sighted +another object, a rounded shape floating on the sea, bobbing lightly as +had their river raft. + +"Look!" + +Thorvald's gaze followed his pointing finger and then before Shann could +protest, the officer leaped outward from their perch on the cliff to the +broad rock where the scaled sea dweller had lain moments earlier. He +stood there, watching that drifting object with the closest attention, +as Shann made the same crossing in his wake. + +The drifting thing was oval, perhaps some six feet long and three wide, +the mid point rising in a curve from the water's edge. As far as Shann +could make out in the half-light the color was a reddish-brown, the +surface rough. And he thought by the way that it moved that it must be +flotsam of the storm, buoyant enough to ride the waves with close to +cork resiliency. To Shann's dismay his companion began to strip. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Get that." + +Shann surveyed the water about the rock. The forked tail had sunk just +there. Was the Survey officer mad enough to think he could swim +unmenaced through a sea which might be infested with more such +creatures? It seemed that he was, for Thorvald's white body arched out +in a dive. Shann waited, half crouched and tense, as though he could in +some way attack anything rising from the depths to strike at his +companion. + +A brown arm flashed above the surface. Thorvald swam strongly toward the +floating object. He reached it, his outstretched hand rasping across the +surface. And it responded so quickly to that touch that Shann guessed it +was even lighter and easier to handle than he had first thought. + +Thorvald headed back, herding the thing before him. And when he climbed +out on the rock, Shann was pulling up his trophy. They flipped the find +over, to discover it hollow. They had, in effect, a ready-made craft not +unlike a canoe with blunted bows. But the substance was surely organic: +Was it shell? Shann speculated, running his finger tips over the +irregular surface. + +The Survey officer dressed. "We have our boat," he commented. "Now for +Utgard--" + +Use this frail thing to dare the trip to the islands? But Shann did not +protest. If the officer determined to try such a voyage, he would do it. +And neither did the younger man doubt that he would accompany Thorvald. + + + + +9. ONE ALONE + + +Once again the beach was a wide expanse of shingle, drying fast under a +sun hotter than any Shann had yet known on Warlock. Summer had taken a +big leap forward. The Terrans worked in partial shade below a cliff +overhang, not only for the protection against the sun's rays, but also +as a precaution against any roving Throg air patrol. + +Under Thorvald's direction the curious shell dragged from the sea--if it +were a shell, and the texture as well as the general shape suggested +that--was equipped with a framework to act as a stabilizing outrigger. +What resulted was certainly an odd-looking craft, but one which obeyed +the paddles and rode the waves easily. + +In the full sunlight the outline of islands was +clear-cut--red-and-gray-rock above an aquamarine sea. The Terrans had +sighted no more of the sea monsters, and the major evidence of native +life along the shore was a new species of clak-claks, roosting in cliff +holes and scavenging along the sands, and various queer fish and shelled +things stranded in small tide pools--to the delight of the wolverines, +who fished eagerly up and down the beach, ready to investigate all +debris of the storm. + +"That should serve." Thorvald tightened the last lashing, straightening +up, his fists resting on his hips, to regard the craft with a measure of +pride. + +Shann was not quite so content. He had matched the Survey officer in +industry, but the need for haste still eluded him. So the ship--such as +it was--was ready. Now they would be off to explore Thorvald's Utgard. +But a small and nagging doubt inside the younger man restrained his +enthusiasm over such a voyage. Fork-tail had come out of the section of +ocean which they must navigate in this very crude transport. And Shann +had no desire to meet an uninjured and alert fork-tail in the latter's +own territory. + +"Which island do we head for?" Shann kept private his personal doubts of +their success. The outmost tip of that chain was only a distant smudge +lying low on the water. + +"The largest ... that one with trees." + +Shann whistled. Since the night of the storm the wolverines were again +more amenable to the very light discipline he tried to keep. Perhaps the +fury of that elemental burst had tightened the bond between men and +animals, both alien to this world. Now Taggi and his mate padded toward +him in answer to his summons. But would the wolverines trust the boat? +Shann dared not risk their swimming, nor would he agree to leaving them +behind. + +Thorvald had already stored their few provisions on board. And now Shann +steadied the craft against a rock which served them as a wharf, while he +coaxed Taggi gently. Though the wolverine protested, he at last +scrambled in, to hunch at the bottom of the shell, the picture of +apprehension. Togi took longer to make up her mind. And at length Shann +picked her up bodily, soothing her with quiet speech and stroking hands, +to put her beside her mate. + +The shell settled under the weight of the passengers, but Thorvald's +foresight concerning the use of the outrigger proved right, for the +craft was seaworthy. It answered readily to the dip of their paddles as +they headed in a curve, keeping the first of the islands between them +and the open sea for a breakwater. + +From the air, Thorvald's course would have been a crooked one, for he +wove back and forth between the scattered islands of the chain, using +their lee calm for the protection of the canoe. About two thirds of the +group were barren rock, inhabited only by clak-claks and creatures +closer to true Terran birds in that they wore a body plumage which +resembled feathers, though their heads were naked and leathery. And, +Shann noted, the clak-claks and the birds did not roost on the same +islands, each choosing their own particular home while the other species +did not invade that territory. + +The first large-sized island they approached was crowned by trees, but +it had no beach, no approach from sea level. Perhaps it might be +possible to climb to the top of the cliff walls. But Thorvald did not +suggest that they try it, heading on toward the next large outcrop of +land and rock. + +Here white lace patterned in a ring well out from the shore to mark a +circle of reefs. They nosed their way patiently around the outer +circumference of that threatening barrier, hunting the entrance to the +lagoon. Within, there were at least two beaches with climbable ascents +to the upper reaches inland. Though Shann noted that the vegetation +showing was certainly not luxuriant, the few trees within their range of +vision being pallid growths, rather like those they had sighted on the +fringe of the desert. Leather-headed flyers wheeled out over their +canoe, coasting on outspread wings to peer down at the Terran invaders +in a manner which suggested intelligent curiosity. + +A full flock gathered to escort them as they continued along the outer +line of the reef. Thorvald impatiently dug his paddle deeper. They had +explored more than half of the reef now without chancing on an entrance +channel. + +"Regular fence," Shann commented. One could begin to believe that the +barrier had been deliberately reared to frustrate visitors. Hot +sunshine, reflected back from the surface of the waves, burned their +exposed skin, so they dared not discard their ragged clothing. And the +wolverines were growing increasingly restless. Shann did not know how +much longer the animals would consent to their position as passengers +without raising active protest. + +"How about trying the next one?" he asked, knowing at the same time his +companion was not in any mood to accept such a suggestion with good +will. + +The officer made no reply, but continued to use his steer paddle in a +fashion which spelled out his stubborn determination to find a passage. +This was a personal thing now, between Ragnar Thorvald of the Terran +Survey and a wall of rock, and the man's will was as strongly rooted as +those water-washed stones. + +On the southwestern tip of the reef they discovered a possible opening. +Shann eyed the narrow space between two fanglike rocks dubiously. To him +that width of water lane seemed dangerously limited, the sudden slam of +a wave could dash them against either of those pillars, with disastrous +results, before they could move to save themselves. But Thorvald pointed +their blunt bow toward the passage with seeming confidence, and Shann +knew that as far as the officer was concerned, this was their door to +the lagoon. + +Thorvald might be stubborn, but he was not a fool. And his training and +skill in such maneuvers was proved when the canoe rode in a rising swell +in and by those rocks to gain the safety, in seconds, of the calm +lagoon. Shann sighed with relief, but ventured no comment. + +Now they must paddle back along the inner side of the reef to locate the +beaches, for fronting them on this side of the well-protected island +were cliffs as formidable as those which guarded the first of the chain +at which they had aimed. + +Shann glanced now and then over the side of the boat, hoping in these +shallows to sight the sea bed or some of the inhabitants of these +waters. But there was no piercing that green murk. Here and there +nodules of rock projected inches or feet above the surface, awash in the +wavelets, to be avoided by the voyagers. Shann's shoulders ached and +burned, his muscles were unaccustomed to the steady swing of the +paddles, and the fire of the sun stabbed easily through only two layers +of ragged cloth to his skin. He ran a dry tongue over dryer lips and +gazed eagerly ahead in search of the first of the beaches. + +What was so important about this island that Thorvald _had_ to make a +landing here? The officer's stories of a native race which they might +turn against the Throgs to their own advantage was thin, very thin +indeed. Especially now, as Shann weighed an unsupported theory against +that ache in his shoulders, the possibility of being marooned on the +inhospitable shore ahead, against the fifty probable dangers he could +total up with very little expenditure of effort. A small nagging doubt +of Thorvald's obsession began to grow in his mind. How could Shann even +be sure that that carved disk and Thorvald's hokus-pokus with it had +been on the level? On the other hand what motive would the officer have +for trying such an act just to impress Shann? + +The beach at last! As they headed the canoe in that direction the +wolverines nearly brought disaster on them. The animals' restlessness +became acute as they sighted and scented the shore and knew that they +were close. Taggi reared, plunged over the side of the craft, and Shann +had just time to fling his weight in the opposite direction as a +counterbalance when Togi followed. They splashed shoreward while +Thorvald swore fluently and Shann grabbed to save the precious supply +bag. In a shower of gravel the animals made land and humped well up on +the strand before pausing to shake themselves and splatter far and wide +the burden of moisture transported by their shaggy fur. + +Ashore, the canoe became a clumsy burden and, light as the craft was, +both of the men sweated to get it up on the beach without snagging the +outrigger against stones and brush. With the thought of a Throg patrol +in mind they worked swiftly to cover it. + +Taggi raised an egg-patterned snout from a hollow and licked at the +stippling of greenish yolk matting his fur. The wolverines had wasted no +time in sampling the contents of a wealth of nesting places beginning +just above the high-water mark, cupping two to four tough-shelled eggs +in each. Treading a path among those clutches, the Terrans climbed a +red-earthed slope toward the interior of the island. + +They found water, not the clear running of a mountain spring, but a +stalish pool in a stone-walled depression on the crest of a rise, +filled by the bounty of the rain. The warm liquid was brackish, but +satisfied in part their thirst, and they drank eagerly. + +The outer cliff wall of the island was just that, a wall, for there was +an inner slope to match the outer. And at the bottom of it a showing of +purple-green foliage where plants and stunted trees fought for living +space. But there was nothing else, though they quartered that growing +section with the care of men trying to locate an enemy outpost. + +That night they camped in the hollow, roasted eggs in a fire, and ate +the fishy-tasting contents because it was food, not because they +relished what they swallowed. Tonight no cloud bank hung overhead. A +man, gazing up, could see the stars. The stars and other things, for +over the distant shore of the mainland they sighted the cruising lights +of a Throg ship and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling +points to swing out toward their own hiding hole. + +"They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to them both. + +"The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him. "If they do not take a +prisoner to talk her in and allay suspicion, then--" he snapped his +fingers--"the Patrol will be on their tails, but quick!" + +So just by keeping out of Throg range, they were, in a way, still +fighting. Shann settled back, his tender shoulders resting against a +tree hole. He tried to count the number of days and nights lying behind +him now since that early morning when he had watched the Terran camp die +under the aliens' weapons. But one day faded into another so that he +could remember only action parts clearly--the attack on the grounded +scoutship, the sortie they had made in turn on the occupied camp, the +dust storm on the river, the escape from the Throg ship in the mountain +crevice, and their meeting with the hound. Then that storm which had +driven them to seek cover after their curious experience with the disk. +And now this day when they had safely reached the island. + +"Why this island?" he asked suddenly. + +"That carved piece was found here on the edge of this valley," Thorvald +returned matter-of-factly. + +"But today we found nothing at all----" + +"Yet this island supplies us with a starting point." + +A starting point for what? A detailed search of all the islands, great +and small, in the chain? And how did they dare continue to paddle openly +from one to the next with the Throgs sweeping the skies? They would have +provided an excellent target today as they combed that reef for an hour +or more. Wearily, Shann spread out his hands in the very faint light of +their tiny fire, poked with a finger tip at smarting points which would +have been blisters had those hands not known a toughening process in the +past. More paddling tomorrow? But that was tomorrow, and at least they +need not worry tonight about any Throg attack once they had doused the +fire, an action which was now being methodically attended to by +Thorvald. Shann pushed down on the bed of leaves he had heaped together. +The night was quiet. He could hear only the murmur of the sea, a lulling +croon of sound to make one sleep deep, perhaps dreamlessly. + +Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann turned over drowsily +in that welcome heat, stretching a little as might a cat at ease. Then +he really awoke under the press of memory, and the need for alertness +rode him once more. Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last +night's fire were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there +were no signs. + +Not only did he now lie alone, but he was possessed by the feeling that +he had not been deserted only momentarily, that Taggi, Togi and the +Survey officer were indeed gone. Shann sat up, got to his feet, +breathing faster, a prickle of uneasiness spreading in him, bringing him +to that inner slope, up it to the crest from which he could see that +beach where last night they had concealed the canoe. + +Those lengths of brush and tufts of grass they had used for a screen +were strewn about as if tossed in haste. And not too long before.... + +For the canoe was out in the calm waters within the reef, the paddle +blade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly in the sun. On the +shingle below, the wolverines prowled back and forth, whining in +bewilderment. + +"Thorvald----!" + +Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing the name +ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the man in the boat +did not turn his head; there was no change in the speed of that paddle +dip. + +Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding the last few +feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the water only by a +painful wrench of his body. + +"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright under the sun +did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore at his clothes and kicked +off his boots. + +He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters as he +plunged into the water, swam for the canoe edging along the reef, +plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest. Shann was not a +powerful swimmer. His first impetus gave him a good start, but after +that he had to fight for each foot he gained, and the fear grew in him +that the other would reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He +wasted no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath and +energy into the effort of overtaking the craft. + +And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along the log which +furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers tightened on the slimy +wood he looked up, and loosed that hold again in time perhaps to save +his life. + +For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an impromptu half +dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture, a picture so astounding +that he was a little dazed. + +Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle had to be put +to another use. Had Shann not released his hold on the log and gone +under water, that crudely fashioned piece of wood might, have broken his +skull. He saw only too clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an +ugly weapon, and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which +made it as inhuman as a Throg's. + +Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once more. The paddle +was back at the task for which it had been carved, the canoe was +underway again, its occupant paying no more attention to what lay behind +than if he _had_ successfully disposed of the man in the water. To +follow would be only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so +lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try any tricks such +as oversetting the canoe, not when Thorvald was an expert who could +easily finish off a fumbling opponent. + +Shann swam wearily to shore where the wolverines waited, unable yet to +make sense of that attack in the lagoon. What had happened to Thorvald? +What motive had led the other to leave Shann and the animals on this +island, the island Thorvald had called a starting point in his search +for the natives of Warlock? Or had every bit of that tall tale been +invented by the Survey officer for some obscure purpose of his own, +certainly no sane purpose? Against that logic Shann could only set the +carved disk, and he had only Thorvald's word that that had been +discovered here. + +He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and knees and lay, +winded and gasping. Taggi came to lick his face, nuzzle him, making a +small, bewildered whimpering. While above, the leather-headed birds +called and swooped, fearful and angry for their disturbed nesting place. +The Terran retched, coughed up water, and then sat up to look around. + +The spread of lagoon was bare. Thorvald must have rounded the south +point of land and be very close to the reef passage, perhaps through it +by now. Not stopping for his clothes, Shann started up the slope, +crawling part of the way on his hands and knees. + +He reached the crest again and got to his feet. The sun made an +eye-dazzling glitter of the waves. But under the shade of his hands +Shann saw the canoe again, beyond the reef, heading on out along the +island chain, not back to shore as he had expected. Thorvald was still +on the hunt, but for what? A reality which existed, or a dream in his +own disturbed brain? + +Shann sat down. He was very hungry, for that adventure in the lagoon had +sapped his strength. And he was a prisoner along with the wolverines, a +prisoner on an island which was half the size of the valley which held +the Survey camp. As far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water +was that tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated +by a sun such as the one now beating down on him. And between him and +the shore was the sea, a sea which harbored such creatures as the +fork-tail he had watched die. + +Thorvald was still steadily on course, not to the next island in the +chain, a small, bare knob, but to the one beyond that. He could have +been hurrying to a meeting. Where and with what? + +Shann got to his feet, started down to the beach once more, sure now +that the officer had no intention of returning, that he was again on his +own with only his wits and strength to keep him alive--alive and somehow +free of this water-washed prison. + + + + +10. A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER + + +Shann took up the piece of soft chalklike stone he had found and drew +another short white mark on the rust-red of a boulder well above tide +level. That made three such marks, three days since Thorvald had +marooned him. And he was no nearer the shore now than he had been on +that first morning! He sat where he was by the boulder, aware that he +should be up, trying to climb to the less accessible nests of the sea +birds. The prisoners, man and wolverines, had cleaned out all those they +had discovered on beach and cliffs. But at the thought of more eggs, +Shann's stomach knotted in pain and he began to retch. + +There had been no sign of Thorvald since Shann had watched him steer +between the two westward islands. And the younger Terran's faint hope +that the officer would return had died. On the shore a few feet away lay +his own pitiful attempt to solve the problem of escape. + +The force ax had vanished with Thorvald, along with all the rest of the +meager supplies which had been the officer's original contribution to +their joint equipment. Shann had used his knife on brush and small +trees, trying to put together some kind of a raft. But he had not been +able to discover here any of those vines necessary for binding, and his +best efforts had all come to grief when he tried them in a lagoon +launching. So far he had achieved no form of raft which would keep him +afloat longer than five minutes, let alone support three of them as far +as the next island. + +Shann pulled listlessly at the framework of his latest try, fully +disheartened. He tried not to think of the unescapable fact that the +water in the rain tank had sunk to only an inch or so of muddy scum. +Last night he had dug in the heart of the interior valley where the +rankness of the vegetation was a promise of moisture, to uncover damp +clay and then a brackish ooze. Far too little to satisfy both him and +the animals. + +There were surely fish somewhere in the lagoon. Shann wondered if the +raw flesh of sea dwellers could supply the water they needed. But +lacking net, line, or hooks, how did one fish? Yesterday, using his +stunner, he had brought down a bird, to discover the carcass so rank +even the wolverines, never dainty eaters, refused to gnaw it. + +The animals prowled the two beaches, and Shann guessed they hunted shell +dwellers, for at times they dug energetically in the gravel. Togi was +busied in this way now, the sand flowing from under her pumping legs, +her claws raking in good earnest. + +And it was Togi's excavation which brought Shann a first ray of hope. +Her excitement was so marked that he believed she was in quest of some +worthwhile game and he moved across to inspect the pit. A patch of +brown, which had been skimmed bare by one raking paw, made him shout. + +Taggi shambled downslope, going to work beside his mate with an +eagerness as open as hers. Shann hovered at the edge of the pit they +were rapidly enlarging. The brown patch was larger, disclosing itself as +a hump doming up from the gravel. The Terran did not need to run his +hands over that rough surface to recognize the nature of the find. This +was another shell such as had come floating in after the storm to form +the raw material of their canoe. + +However, as fast as the wolverines dug, they did not appear to make +correspondingly swift headway in uncovering their find as might +reasonably be expected. In fact, a witness could guess that the shell +was sinking at a pace only a fraction slower than the burrowers were +using to free it. Intrigued by that, Shann went back to the waterline, +secured one of the lengths he had been trying to weave into his +failures, and returned to use it as a makeshift shovel. + +Now, with three of them at the digging, the brown hump was uncovered, +and Shann pried down around its edge, trying to lever it up and over. To +his amazement, his tool was caught and held, nearly jerked from his +hands. To his retaliating tug the obstruction below-ground gave way, and +the Terran sprawled back, the length of wood coming clear, to show the +other end smashed and splintered as if it had been caught between +mashing gears. + +For the first time he understood that they were dealing not with an +empty shell casing buried by drift under this small beach, but with a +shell still inhabited by the Warlockian to whom it was a natural +covering, and that that inhabitant would fight to continue ownership. A +moment's examination of that splintered wood also suggested that the +shell's present wearer appeared well able to defend itself. + +Shann attempted to call off the wolverines, but they were out of control +now, digging frantically to get at this new prey. And he knew that if he +pulled them away by force, they were apt to turn those punishing claws +and snapping jaws on him. + +It was for their protection that he returned to digging, though he no +longer tried to pry up the shell. Taggi leaped to the top of that dome, +sweeping paws downward to clear its surface, while Togi prowled around +its circumference, pausing now and then to send dirt and gravel +spattering, but treading warily as might one alert for a sudden attack. + +They had the creature almost clear now, though the shell still rested +firmly on the ground, and they had no notion of what it might protect. +It was smaller, perhaps two thirds the size of the one which Thorvald +had fashioned into a seagoing craft. But it could provide them with +transportation to the mainland if Shann was able to repeat the feat of +turning it into an outrigger canoe. + +Taggi joined his mate on the ground and both wolverines padded about the +dome, obviously baffled. Now and then they assaulted the shell with a +testing paw. Claws raked and did not leave any marks but shallow +scratches. They could continue that forever, as far as Shann could see, +without solving the problem in the least. + +He sat back on his heels and studied the scene in detail. The excavation +holding the shelled creature was some three yards above the high-water +mark, with a few more feet separating that from the point where lazy +waves now washed the finer sand. Shann watched the slow inward slip of +those waves with growing interest. Where their combined efforts had +failed to win this odd battle, perhaps the sea itself could now be +pressed into service. + +Shann began his own excavation, a trough to lead from the waterline to +the pit occupied by the obstinate shell. Of course the thing living in +or under that covering might be only too familiar with salt water. But +it had placed its burrow, or hiding place, above the reach of the waves +and so might be disconcerted by the sudden appearance of water in its +bed. However, the scheme was worth trying, and he went to work doggedly, +wishing he could make the wolverines understand so they would help him. + +They still prowled about their captive, scrapping at the sand about the +shell casing. At least their efforts would keep the half-prisoner +occupied and prevent its escape. Shann put another piece of his raft to +work as a shovel, throwing up a shower of sand and gravel while sweat +dampened his tattered blouse and was salt and sticky on his arms and +face. + +He finished his trench, one which ran at an angle he hoped would feed +water into the pit rapidly once he knocked away the last barrier against +the waves. And, splashing out into the green water, he did just that. + +His calculations proved correct. Waves lapped, then flowed in a rapidly +thickening stream, puddling out about the shell as the wolverines drew +back, snarling. Shann lashed his knife fast to a stout length of +sapling, so equipping himself with a spear. He stood with it ready in +his hand, not knowing just what to expect. And when the answer to his +water attack came, the move was so sudden that in spite of his +preparation he was caught gaping. + +For the shell fairly erupted out of the mess of sand and water. A +complete fringe of jointed, clawed brown limbs churned in a +forward-and-upward dash. But the water worked to frustrate that charge. +For one of the pit walls crumbled, over-balancing the creature so that +the fore end of the shell lifted from the ground, the legs clawing +wildly at the air. + +Shann thrust with the spear, feeling the knife point go home so deeply +that he could not pull his improvised weapon free. A limb snapped claws +only inches away from his leg as he pushed down on the haft with all his +strength. That attack along with the initial upset of balance did the +job. The shell flopped over, its rounded hump now embedded in the watery +sand of the pit while the frantic struggles of the creature to right +itself only buried it the deeper. + +The Terran stared down upon a segmented under belly where legs were +paired in riblike formation. Shann could locate no head, no good target. +But he drew his stunner and beamed at either end of the oval, and then, +for good measure, in the middle, hoping in one of those three general +blasts to contact the thing's central nervous system. He was not to know +which of those shots did the trick, but the frantic wiggling of the legs +slowed and finally ended, as a clockwork toy might run down for want of +winding--and at last projected, at crooked angles, completely still. The +shell creature might not be dead, but it was tamed for now. + +Taggi had only been waiting for a good chance to do battle. He grabbed +one of those legs, worried it, and then leaped to tear at the under +body. Unlike the outer shell, this portion of the creature had no proper +armor and the wolverine plunged joyfully into the business of the kill, +his mate following suit. + +The process of butchery was a bloody, even beastly job, and Shann was +shaken before it was complete. But he kept at his labors, determined to +have that shell, his one chance of escape from the Island. The +wolverines feasted on the greenish-white flesh, but he could not bring +himself to sample it, climbing to the heights in search of eggs, and +making a happy find of a niche filled with the edible moss-fungi. + +By late afternoon he had the shell scooped fairly clean and the +wolverines had carried away for burial such portions as they had not +been able to consume at their first eating. Meanwhile, the +leather-headed birds had grown bold enough to snatch up the fragments he +tossed out on the water, struggling for that bounty against feeders +arising from the depths of the lagoon. + +At the coming of dusk Shann hauled the bloodstained, grisly trophy well +up the beach and wedged it among the rocks, determined not to lose his +treasure. Then he stripped and washed, first his clothing and then +himself, rubbing his hands and arms with sand until his skin was tender. +He was still exultant at his luck. The drift would supply him with +materials for an outrigger. One more day's work--or maybe two--and he +could leave. He wrung out his blouse and gazed toward the distant line +of the shore. Once he had his new canoe ready he would try to make the +trip back in the early morning while the mists were still on the sea. +That should give him cover against any Throg flight. + +That night Shann slept in the deep fog of bodily exhaustion. There were +no dreams, nothing but an unconsciousness which even a Throg attack +could not have pierced. He roused in the morning with an odd feeling of +guilt. The water hole he had scooped in the valley yielded him some +swallows tasting of earth, but he had almost forgotten the flavor of a +purer liquid. Munching on a fistful of moss, he hurried down to the +shore, half fearing to find the shell gone, his luck out once again. + +Not only was the shell where he had wedged it, but he had done better +than he knew when he had left it exposed in the night. Small things +scuttled away from it into hiding, and several birds arose--scavengers +had been busy lightening his unwelcome task for that morning. And +seeing how the clean-up process had gone, Shann had a second +inspiration. + +Pushing the thing down the beach, he sank it in the shallows with +several rocks to anchor it. Within a few seconds the shell was invaded +by a whole school of spiny-tailed fish, that ate greedily. Leaving his +find to their cleansing, Shann went back to prospect the pile of raft +material, choosing pieces which could serve for an outrigger frame. He +was handicapped as he had been all along by the absence of the vines one +could use for lashings. And he had reached the point of considering a +drastic sacrifice of his clothing to get the necessary strips when he +saw Taggi dragging behind him one of the jointed legs the wolverines had +put in storage the day before. + +Now and again Taggi laid his prize on the shingle, holding it firmly +pinned with his forepaws as he tried to worry loose a section of flesh. +But apparently that feat was beyond even his notable teeth, and at +length he left it lying there in disgust while he returned to a cache +for more palatable fare. Shann went to examine more closely the +triple-jointed limb. + +The casing was not as hard as horn or shell, he discovered upon testing; +it more resembled tough skin laid over bone. With a knife he tried to +loosen the skin--a tedious job requiring a great deal of patience, since +the tissue tore if pulled away too fast. But with care he acquired a few +thongs perhaps a foot long. Using two of these, he made a trial binding +of one stick to another, and experimented farther, soaking the whole +construction in sea water and then exposing it to the direct rays of the +sun. + +When he examined his test piece an hour later, the skin thongs had set +into place with such success that the one piece of wood might have been +firmly glued to the other. Shann shuffled his feet in a little dance of +triumph as he went on to the lagoon to inspect the water-logged shell. +The scavengers had done well. One scraping, two at the most, would have +the whole thing clean and ready to use. + +But that night Shann dreamed. No climbing of a skull-shaped mountain +this time. Instead, he was again on the beach, laboring under an +overwhelming compulsion, building something for an alien purpose he +could not understand. And he worked as hopelessly as a beaten slave, +knowing that what he made was to his own undoing. Yet he could not halt +the making, because just beyond the limit of his vision there stood a +dominant will which held him in bondage. + +And he awoke on the beach in the very early dawn, not knowing how he had +come there. His body was bathed in sweat, as it had been during his +day's labors under the sun, and his muscles ached with fatigue. + +But when he saw what lay at his feet he cringed. The framework +of the outrigger, close to completion the night before, was +dismantled--smashed. All those strips of hide he had so laboriously +culled were cut--into inch-long bits which could be of no service. + +Shann whirled, ran to the shell he had the night before pulled from the +water and stowed in safety. Its rounded dome was dulled where it had +been battered, but there was no break in the surface. He ran his hands +anxiously over the curve to make sure. Then, very slowly, he came back +to the mess of broken wood and snipped hide. And he was sure, only too +sure, of one thing. He, himself, had wrought that destruction. In his +dream he had built to satisfy the whim of an enemy; in reality he had +destroyed; and that was also, he believed, to satisfy an enemy. + +The dream was a part of it. But who or what could set a man dreaming and +so take over his body, make him in fact betray himself? But then, what +had made Thorvald maroon him here? For the first time, Shann guessed a +new, if wild, explanation for the officer's desertion. Dreams--and the +disk which had worked so strangely on Thorvald. Suppose everything the +other had surmised was the truth! Then that disk _had_ been found on +this very island, and here somewhere must lie a clue to the riddle. + +Shann licked his lips. Suppose that Thorvald had been sent away under +just such a strong compulsion as the one which had ruled Shann last +night? Why was he left behind if the other had been moved away to +protect some secret? Was it that Shann himself was wanted here, wanted +so much that when he at last found a means of escape he was set to +destroy it? That act might have been forced upon him for two reasons: to +keep him here, and to impress upon him how powerless he was. + +Powerless! A flicker of stubborn will stirred to respond to that implied +challenge. All right, the mysterious _they_ had made him do this. But +they had underrated him by letting him learn, almost contemptuously, of +their presence by that revelation. So warned, he was in a manner armed; +he could prepare to fight back. + +He squatted by the wreckage as he thought that through, turning over +broken pieces. And, Shann realized, he must present at the moment a +satisfactory picture of despondency to any spy. A spy, that was it! +Someone or something must have him under observation, or his activities +of the day before would not have been so summarily countered. And if +there was a spy, then there was his answer to the riddle. To trap the +trapper. Such action might be a project beyond his resources, but it was +his own counterattack. + +So now he had to play a role. Not only must he search the island for the +trace of his spy, but he must do it in such a fashion that his purpose +would not be plain to the enemy he suspected. The wolverines could help. +Shann arose, allowed his shoulders to droop, slouching to the slope with +all the air of a beaten man which he could assume, whistling for Taggi +and Togi. + +When they came, his exploration began. Ostensibly he was hunting for +lengths of drift or suitable growing saplings to take the place of those +he had destroyed under orders. But he kept a careful watch on the animal +pair, hoping by their reactions to pick up a clue to any hidden watcher. + +The larger of the two beaches marked the point where the Terrans had +first landed and where the shell thing had been killed. The smaller was +more of a narrow tongue thrust out into the lagoon, much of it choked +with sizable boulders. On earlier visits there Taggi and Togi had poked +into the hollows among these with their usual curiosity. But now both +animals remained upslope, showing no inclination to descend to the water +line. + +Shann caught hold of Taggi's scruff, pulling him along. The wolverine +twisted and whined, but he did not fight for freedom as he would have +upon scenting Throg. Not that the Terran had ever believed one of those +aliens was responsible for the happenings on the island. + +Taggi came down under Shann's urging, but he was plainly ill at ease. +And at last he snarled a warning when the man would have drawn him +closer to two rocks which met overhead in a crude semblance of an arch. +There was a stick of drift protruding from that hollow affording Shann a +legitimate excuse to venture closer. He dropped his hold on the +wolverines, stooped to gather in the length of wood, and at the same +time glanced into the pocket. + +Water lay just beyond, making this a doorway to the lagoon. The sun had +not yet penetrated into the shadow, if it ever did. Shann reached for +the wood, at the same time drawing his finger across the flat rock which +would furnish a steppingstone for anything using that door as an +entrance to the island. + +Wet! Which might mean his visitor had recently arrived, or else merely +that a splotch of spray had landed there not too long before. But in his +mind Shann was convinced that he had found the spy's entrance. Could he +turn it into a trap? He added a piece of drift to his bundle and picked +up two more before he returned to the cliff ahead. + +A trap.... He revolved in his mind all the traps he knew which could be +used here. He already had decided upon the bait--his own work. And if +his plans went through--and hope does not die easily--then this time he +would not waste his labor either. + +So he went back to the same job he had done the day before, making do +with skin strips he had considered second-best before, smoothing, +cutting. Only the trap occupied his mind, and close to sunset he knew +just what he was going to do and how. + +Though the Terran did not know the nature of the unseen opponent, he +thought he could guess two weaknesses which might deliver the other into +his hands. First, the enemy was entirely confident of success in this +venture. No being who was able to control Shann as completely and ably +as had been done the night before would credit any prey with the power +to strike back in force. + +Second, such a confident enemy would be unable to resist watching the +manipulation of a captive. The Terran was certain that his opponent +would be on the scene somewhere when he was led, dreaming, to destroy +his work once more. + +He might be wrong on both of those counts, but inwardly he didn't +believe so. However, he had to wait until the dark to set up his own +answer, one so simple he was certain the enemy would not suspect it at +all. + + + + +11. THE WITCH + + +There were patches of light in the inner valley marking the +phosphorescent plants, some creeping at ground level, others tall as +saplings. On other nights Shann had welcomed that wan radiance, but now +he lay in as relaxed a position as possible, marking each of those +potential betrayers as he tried to counterfeit the attitude of sleep and +at the same time plan out his route. + +He had purposely settled in a pool of shadow, the wolverines beside him. +And he thought that the bulk of the animal's bodies would cover his own +withdrawal when the time came to move. One arm lying limply across his +middle was in reality clutching to him an intricate arrangement of small +hide straps which he had made by sacrificing most of the remainder of +his painfully acquired thongs. The trap must be set in place soon! + +Now that he had charted a path to the crucial point avoiding all light +plants, Shann was ready to move. The Terran pressed his hand on Taggi's +head in the one imperative command the wolverine was apt to obey--the +order to stay where he was. + +Shann sat up and gave the same voiceless instruction to Togi. Then he +inched out of the hollow, a worm's progress to that narrow way along the +cliff top--the path which anyone or anything coming up from that sea +gate on the beach would have to pass in order to witness the shoreline +occupied by the half-built outrigger. + +So much of his plan was based upon luck and guesses, but those were all +Shann had. And as he worked at the stretching of his snare, the Terran's +heart pounded, and he tensed at every sound out of the night. Having +tested all the anchoring of his net, he tugged at a last knot, and then +crouched to listen not only with his ears, but with all his strength of +mind and body. + +Pound of waves, whistle of wind, the sleepy complaint of some bird.... A +regular splashing! One of the fish in the lagoon? Or what he awaited? +The Terran retreated as noiselessly as he had come, heading for the +hollow where he had bedded down. + +He reached there breathless, his heart pumping, his mouth dry as if he +had been racing. Taggi stirred and thrust a nose inquiringly against +Shann's arm. But the wolverine made no sound, as if he, too, realized +that some menace lay beyond the rim of the valley. Would that other come +up the path Shann had trapped? Or had he been wrong? Was the enemy +already stalking him from the other beach? The grip of his stunner was +slippery in his damp hand; he hated this waiting. + +The canoe ... his work on it had been a careless botching. Better to +have the job done right. Why, it was perfectly clear now how he had been +mistaken! His whole work plan was wrong; he could see the right way of +doing things laid out as clear as a blueprint in his mind. A picture in +his mind! + +Shann stood up and both wolverines moved uneasily, though neither made a +sound. A picture in his mind! But this time he wasn't asleep; he wasn't +dreaming a dream--to be used for his own defeat. Only (that other could +not know this) the pressure which had planted the idea of new work to be +done in his mind--an idea one part of him accepted as fact--had not +taken warning from his move. He was supposed to be under control; the +Terran was sure of that. All right, so he would play that part. He must +if he would entice the trapper into his trap. + +He holstered his stunner, walked out into the open, paying no heed now +to the patches of light through which he must pass on his way to the +path his own feet had already worn to the boat beach. As he went, Shann +tried to counterfeit what he believed would be the gait of a man under +compulsion. + +Now he was on the rim fronting the downslope, fighting against his +desire to turn and see for himself if anything had climbed behind. The +canoe was all wrong, a bad job which he must make better at once so that +in the morning he would be free of this island prison. + +The pressure of that other's will grew stronger. And the Terran read +into that the overconfidence which he believed would be part of the +enemy's character. The one who was sending him to destroy his own work +had no suspicion that the victim was not entirely malleable, ready to be +used as he himself would use a knife or a force ax. Shann strode +steadily downslope. With a small spurt of fear he knew that in a way +that unseen other was right; the pressure was taking over, even though +he was awake this time. The Terran tried to will his hand to his +stunner, but his fingers fell instead on the hilt of his knife. He drew +the blade as panic seethed in his head, chilling him from within. He had +underestimated the other's power.... + +And that panic flared into open fight, making him forget his careful +plans. Now he _must_ wrench free from this control. The knife was moving +to slash a hide lashing, directed by his hand, but not his will. + +A soundless gasp, a flash of dismay rocked him, but neither was his gasp +nor his dismay. That pressure snapped off; he was free. But the other +wasn't! Knife still in fist, Shann turned and ran upslope, his torch in +his other hand. He could see a shape now writhing, fighting, outlined +against a light bush. And, fearing that the stranger might win free and +disappear, the Terran spotlighted the captive in the beam, reckless of +Throg or enemy reinforcements. + +The other crouched, plainly startled by the sudden burst of light. Shann +stopped abruptly. He had not really built up any mental picture of what +he had expected to find in his snare, but this prisoner was as weirdly +alien to him as a Throg. The light on the torch was reflected off a +skin which glittered as if scaled, glittered with the brilliance of +jewels in bands and coils of color spreading from the throat down the +chest, spiraling about upper arms, around waist and thighs, as if the +stranger wore a treasure house of gems as part of a living body. Except +for those patterned loops, coils, and bands, the body had no clothing, +though a belt about the slender middle supported a pair of pouches and +some odd implements held in loops. + +Roughly the figure was more humanoid than the Throgs. The upper limbs +were not too unlike Shann's arms, though the hands had four digits of +equal length instead of five. But the features were nonhuman, closer to +saurian in contour. It had large eyes, blazing yellow in the dazzle of +the flash, with vertical slits of green for pupils. A nose united with +the jaw to make a snout, and above the domed forehead a sharp V-point of +raised spiky growth extended back and down until behind the shoulder +blades it widened and expanded to resemble a pair of wings. + +The captive no longer struggled, but sat quietly in the tangle of the +snare Shann had set, watching the Terran steadily as if there were no +difficulty in seeing through the brilliance of the beam to the man who +held it. And, oddly enough, Shann experienced no repulsion toward its +reptilian appearance as he had upon first sighting the beetle-Throg. On +impulse he put down his torch on a rock and walked into the light to +face squarely the thing out of the sea. + +Still eying Shann, the captive raised one limb and gave an absent-minded +tug to the belt it wore. Shann, noting that gesture, was struck by a +wild surmise, leading him to study the prisoner more narrowly. Allowing +for the alien structure of bone, the nonhuman skin; this creature was +delicate, graceful, in its way beautiful, with a fragility of limb which +backed up his suspicions. Moved by no pressure from the other, but by +his own will and sense of fitness, Shann stooped to cut the control line +of his snare. + +The captive continued to watch as Shann sheathed his blade and then +held out his hand. Yellow eyes, never blinking since his initial +appearance, regarded him, not with any trace of fear or dismay, but with +a calm measurement which was curiosity based upon a strong belief in its +own superiority. He did not know how he knew, but Shann was certain that +the creature out of the sea was still entirely confident, that it made +no fight because it did not conceive of any possible danger from him. +And again, oddly enough, he was not irritated by this unconscious +arrogance; rather he was intrigued and amused. + +"Friends?" Shann used the basic galactic speech devised by Survey and +the Free Traders, semantics which depended upon the proper inflection of +voice and tone to project meaning when the words were foreign. + +The other made no sound, and the Terran began to wonder if his captive +had any audible form of speech. He withdrew a step or two then pulled at +the snare, drawing the cords away from the creature's slender ankles. +Rolling the thongs into a ball, he tossed the crude net back over his +shoulder. + +"Friends?" he repeated again, showing his empty hands, trying to give +that one word the proper inflection, hoping the other could read his +peaceful intent in his features if not by his speech. + +In one lithe, flowing movement the alien arose. Fully erect, the +Warlockian had a frail appearance. Shann, for his breed, was not tall. +But the native was still smaller, not more than five feet, that stiff V +of head crest just topping Shann's shoulder. Whether any of those +fittings at its belt could be a weapon the Terran had no way of telling. +However, the other made no move to draw any of them. + +Instead, one of the four-digit hands came up. Shann felt the feather +touch of strange finger tips on his chin, across his lips, up his cheek, +to at last press firmly on his forehead at a spot just between the +eyebrows. What followed was communication of a sort, not in words or in +any describable flow of thoughts. There was no feeling of enmity--at +least nothing strong enough to be called that. Curiosity, yes, and then +a growing doubt, not of the Terran himself, but of the other's +preconceived ideas concerning him. Shann was other than the native had +judged him, and the stranger was disturbed, that self-confidence a +little ruffled. And also Shann was right in his guess. He smiled, his +amusement growing--not aimed at his companion on this cliff top, but at +himself. For he was dealing with a woman, a very young woman, and +someone as fully feminine in her way as any human girl could be. + +"Friends?" he asked for the third time. + +But the other still exuded a wariness, a wariness mixed with surprise. +And the tenuous message which passed between them then astounded Shann. +To this Warlockian out of the night he was not following the proper +pattern of male behaviour at all; he should have been in awe of the +other merely because of her sex. A diffidence rather than an assumption +of equality should have colored his response, judged by her standards. +At first, he caught a flash of anger at this preposterous attitude of +his; then her curiosity won, but there was still no reply to his +question. + +The finger tips no longer made contact between them. Stepping back, her +hands now reached for one of the pouches at her belt. Shann watched that +movement carefully. And because he did not trust her too far, he +whistled. + +Her head came up. She might be dumb, but plainly she was not deaf. And +she gazed down into the hollow as the wolverines answered his summons +with growls. Her profile reminded Shann of something for an instant; but +it should have been golden-yellow instead of silver with two jeweled +patterns ringing the snout. Yes, that small plaque he had seen in the +cabin of one of the ship's officers. A very old Terran legend--"Dragon," +the officer had named the creature. Only that one had possessed a +serpent's body, a lizard's legs and wings. + +Shann gave a sudden start, aware his thoughts had made him careless, or +had she in some way led him into that bypath of memory for her own +purposes? Because now she held some object in the curve of her curled +fingers, regarding him with those unblinking yellow eyes. Eyes ... +eyes.... Shann dimly heard the alarm cry of the wolverines. He tried to +snap draw his stunner, but it was too late. + +There was a haze about him hiding the rocks, the island valley with its +radiant plants, the night sky, the bright beam of the torch. Now he +moved through that haze as one walks through a dream approaching +nightmare, striding with an effort as if wading through a deterring +flood. Sound, sight--one after another those senses were taken from him. +Desperately Shann held to one thing, his own sense of identity. He was +Shann Lantee, Terran breed, out of Tyr, of the Survey Service. Some part +of him repeated those facts with vast urgency against an almost +overwhelming force which strove to defeat that awareness of self, making +him nothing but a tool--or a weapon--for another's use. + +The Terran fought, soundlessly but fiercely, on a battleground which was +within him, knowing in a detached way that his body obeyed another's +commands. + +"I am Shann--" he cried without audible speech. "I am myself. I have two +hands, two legs.... I think for myself! I am a _man_----" + +And to that came an answer of sorts, a blow of will striking at his +resistance, a will which struggled to drown him before ebbing, leaving +behind it a faint suggestion of bewilderment, of a dawn of concern. + +"I am a _man_!" he hurled that assertion as he might have thrust deep +with one of the crude spears he had used against the Throgs. For against +what he faced now his weapons were as crude as spears fronting blasters. +"I am Shann Lantee, Terran, man...." Those were facts; no haze could +sweep them from his mind or take away that heritage. + +And again there was the lightening of the pressure, the slight recoil, +which could only be a prelude to another assault upon his last +stronghold. He clutched his three facts to him as a shield, groping for +others which might have afforded a weapon of rebuttal. + +Dreams, these Warlockians dealt in and through dreams. And the opposite +of dreams are facts! His name, his breed, his sex--these were facts. +And Warlock itself was a fact. The earth under his boots was a fact. The +water which washed around the island was a fact. The air he breathed was +a fact. Flesh, blood, bones--facts, all of them. Now he was a struggling +identity imprisoned in a rebel body. But that body was real. He tried to +feel it. Blood pumped from his heart, his lungs filled and emptied; he +struggled to feel those processes. + +With a terrifying shock, the envelope which had held him vanished. Shann +was choking, struggling in water. He flailed out with his arms, kicked +his legs. One hand grated painfully against stone. Hardly knowing what +he did, but fighting for his life, Shann caught at that rock and drew +his head out of water. Coughing and gasping, half drowned, he was weak +with the panic of his close brush with death. + +For a long moment he could only cling to the rock which had saved him, +retching and dazed, as the water washed about his body, a current +tugging at his trailing legs. There was light of a sort here, patches of +green which glowed with the same subdued light as the bushes of the +outer world, for he was no longer under the night sky. A rock-roof was +but inches over his head; he must be in some cave or tunnel under the +surface of the sea. Again a gust of panic shook him as he felt trapped. + +The water continued to pull at Shann, and in his weakened condition it +was a temptation to yield to that pull; the more he fought it the more +he was exhausted. At last the Terran turned on his back, trying to float +with the stream, sure he could no longer battle it. + +Luckily those few inches of space above the surface of the water +continued, and he had air to breathe. But the fear of that ending, of +being swept under the surface, chewed at his nerves. And his bodily +danger burned away the last of the spell which had held him, brought him +into this place, wherever it might be. + +Was it only his heightened imagination, or had the current grown +swifter? Shann tried to gauge the speed of his passage by the way the +patches of green light slipped by. Now he turned and began to swim +slowly, feeling as if his arms were leaden weights, his ribs a cage to +bind his aching lungs. + +Another patch of light ... larger ... spreading across the roof over +head. Then, he was out! Out of the tunnel into a cavern so vast that its +arching roof was like a skydome far above his head. But here the patches +of light were brighter, and they were arranged in odd groups which had a +familiar look to them. + +Only, better than freedom overhead, there was a shore not too distant. +Shann swam for that haven, summoning up the last rags of his strength, +knowing that if he could not reach it very soon he was finished. Somehow +he made it and lay gasping, his cheek resting on sand finer than any of +the outer world, his fingers digging into it for purchase to drag his +body on. But when he collapsed, his legs were still awash in water. + +No footfall could be heard on that sand. But he knew that he was no +longer alone. He braced his hands and with painful effort levered up his +body. Somehow he made it to his knees, but he could not stand. Instead +he half tumbled back, so that he faced them from a sitting position. + +_Them_--there were three of them--the dragon-headed ones with their +slender, jewel-set bodies glittering even in this subdued light, their +yellow eyes fastened on him with a remoteness which did not approach any +human emotion, save perhaps that of a cold and limited wonder. But +behind them came a fourth, one he knew by the patterns on her body. + +Shann clasped his hands about his knees to still the trembling of his +body, and eyed them back with all the defiance he could muster. Nor did +he doubt that he had been brought here, his body as captive to their +will, as had been that of their spy or messenger in his crude snare on +the island. + +"Well, you have me," he said hoarsely. "Now what?" + +His words boomed weirdly out over the water, were echoed from the dim +outer reaches of the cavern. There was no answer. They merely stood +watching him. Shann stiffened, determined to hold to his defiance and +to that identity which he now knew was his weapon against the powers +they used. + +The one who had somehow drawn him there moved at last, circling around +the other three with a suggestion of diffidence in her manner. Shann +jerked back his head as her hand stretched to touch his face. And then, +guessing that she sought her peculiar form of communication, he +submitted to her finger tips, though now his skin crawled under that +light but firm pressure and he shrank from the contract. + +There were no sensations this time. To his amazement a concrete inquiry +shaped itself in his brain, as clear as if the question had been asked +aloud: "Who are you?" + +"Shann...." he began vocally, and then turned words into thoughts. +"Shann Lantee, Terran, man." He made his answer the same which had kept +him from succumbing to their complete domination. + +"Name--Shann Lantee, man--yes." The other accepted those, "Terran?" That +was a question. + +Did these people have any notion of space travel? Could they understand +the concept of another world holding intelligent beings? + +"I come from another world...." He tried to make a clean-cut picture in +his mind--a globe in space, a ship blasting free.... + +"Look!" The fingers still rested between his eyebrows, but with her +other hand the Warlockian was pointing up to the dome of the cavern. + +Shann followed her order. He studied those patches of light which had +seemed so vaguely familiar at his first sighting, studying them closely +to know them for what they were. A star map! A map of the heavens as +they could be seen from the outer crust of Warlock. + +"Yes, I come from the stars," he answered, booming with his voice. + +The fingers dropped from his forehead; the scaled head swung around to +exchange glances, which were perhaps some unheard communication with +the other three. Then the hand was extended again. + +"Come!" + +Fingers fell from his head to his right wrist, closing there with +surprising strength; and some of that strength together with a new +energy flowed from them into him, so that he found and kept his feet as +the other drew him up. + + + + +12. THE VEIL OF ILLUSION + + +Perhaps his status was that of a prisoner, but Shann was too tired to +press for an explanation. He was content to be left alone in the unusual +circular, but roofless, room of the structure to which they had brought +him. There was a thick mat-like pallet in one corner, short for the +length of his body, but softer than any bed he had rested on since he +had left the Terran camp before the coming of the Throgs. Above him +glimmered those patches of light symbolizing the lost stars. He blinked +at them until they all ran together in bands like the jeweled coils on +Warlockian bodies; then he slept--dreamlessly. + +The Terran awoke with all his senses alert; some silent alarm might have +triggered that instant awareness of himself and his surroundings. There +had been no change in the star pattern still overhead; no one had +entered the round chamber. Shann rolled over on his mat bed, conscious +that all his aches had vanished. Just as his mind was clearly active, so +did his body also respond effortlessly to his demands. He was not aware +of any hunger or thirst, though a considerable length of time must have +passed since he had made his mysteriously contrived exit from the outer +world. + +In spite of the humidity of the air, his ragged garments had dried on +his body. Shann got to his feet, trying to order the sorry remnants of +his uniform, eager to be on the move. Though to where and for what +purpose he could not have answered. + +The door through which he had entered remained closed, refusing to +yield to his push. Shann stepped back, eyeing the distance to the top of +the partition between the roofless rooms. The walls were smooth with the +gloss of a sea shell's interior, but the exuberant confidence which had +been with him since his awakening refused to accept such a minor +obstacle. + +He made two test leaps, both times his fingers striking the wall well +below the top of the partition. Shann gathered himself together as might +a cat and tried the third time, putting into that effort every last +ounce of strength, determination and will. He made it, though his arms +jerked as the weight of his body hung from his hands. Then a scramble, a +knee hooked over the top, and he was perched on the wall, able to study +the rest of the building. + +In shape, the structure was unlike anything he had seen on his home +world or reproduced in any of the tri-dee records of Survey accessible +to him. The rooms were either circular or oval, each separated from the +next by a short passage, so that the overall impression was that of ten +strings of beads radiating from a central knot of one large chamber, all +with the uniform nacre walls and a limited amount of furnishings. + +As he balanced on the narrow perch, Shann could sight no other movement +in the nearest line of rooms, those connected by corridors with his own. +He got to his feet to walk the tightrope of the upper walls toward that +inner chamber which was the heart of the Warlockian--palace? town? +apartment dwelling? At least it was the only structure on the island, +for he could see the outer rim of that smooth soft sand ringing it +about. The island itself was curiously symmetrical, a perfect oval, too +perfect to be a natural outcrop of sand and rock. + +There was no day or night here in the cavern. The light from the roof +patches remained constantly the same, and that flow was abetted within +the building by a soft radiation from the walls. Shann reached the next +room in line, hunkering down to see within it. To all appearances the +chamber was exactly the same as the one he had just left; there were the +same unadorned walls, a thick mat bed against the far side, and no +indication whether it was in use or had not been entered for days. + +He was on the next section of corridor wall when he caught that faint +taint in the air, the very familiar scent of wolverines. Now it provided +Shann with a guide as well as a promise of allies. + +The next bead-room gave him what he wanted. Below him Taggi and Togi +paced back and forth. They had already torn to bits the sleeping mat +which had been the chamber's single furnishing, and their temper was +none too certain. As Shann squatted well above their range of vision, +Taggi reared against the opposite wall, his claws finding no hold on the +smooth coating of its surface. They were as competently imprisoned as if +they had been dropped into a huge fishbowl, and they were not taking to +it kindly. + +How had the animals been brought here? Down that water tunnel by the +same unknown method he himself had been transported until that almost +disastrous awakening in the center of the flood? The Terran did not +doubt that the doors of the room were as securely fastened as those of +his own further down the corridor. For the moment the wolverines were +safe; he could not free them. And he was growing increasingly certain +that if he found any of his native jailers, it would be at the center of +that wheel of rooms and corridors. + +Shann made no attempt to attract the animals' attention, but kept on +along his tightrope path. He passed two more rooms, both empty, both +differing in no way from those he had already inspected; and then he +came to the central chamber, four times as big as any of the rest and +with a much brighter wall light. + +The Terran crouched, one hand on the surface of the partition top as an +additional balance, the other gripping his stunner. For some reason his +captors had not disarmed him. Perhaps they believed they had no +necessity to fear his off-world weapon. + +"Have you grown wings?" + +The words formed in his brain, bringing with them a sense of calm +amusement to reduce all his bold exploration to the level of a child's +first staggering steps. Shann fought his first answering flare of pure +irritation. To lose even a fraction of control was to open a door for +them. He remained where he was as if he had never "heard" that question, +surveying the room below with all the impassiveness he could summon. + +Here the walls were no smooth barrier, but honeycombed with niches in a +regular pattern. And in each of the niches rested a polished skull, a +nonhuman skull. Only the outlines of those ranked bones were familiar; +for just so had looked the great purple-red rock where the wheeling +flyers issued from the eye sockets. A rock island had been fashioned +into a skull--by design or nature? + +And upon closer observation the Terran could see that there was a +difference among these ranked skulls, a mutation of coloring from row to +row, a softening of outline, perhaps by the wearing of time. + +There was also a table of dull black, rising from the flooring on legs +which were not more than a very few inches high, so that from his +present perch the board appeared to rest on the pavement itself. Behind +the table in a row, as shopkeepers might await a customer, three of the +Warlockians, seated cross-legged on mats, their hands folded primly +before them. And at the side a fourth, the one whom he had trapped on +the island. + +Not one of those spiked heads rose to view him. But they knew that he +was there; perhaps they had known the very instant he had left the room +or cell in which they had shut him. And they were so very sure of +themselves.... Once again Shann subdued a spark of anger. That same +patience with its core of stubborn determination which had brought him +to Warlock backed his moves now. The Terran swung down, landing lightly +on his feet, facing the three behind the table, towering well over them +as he stood erect, yet gaining no sense of satisfaction from that merely +physical fact. + +"You have come." The words sounded as if they might be a part of some +polite formula. So he replied in kind and aloud. + +"I have come." Without waiting for their bidding, he dropped into the +same cross-legged pose, fronting them now on a more equal level across +their dead black table. + +"And why have you come, star voyager?" That thought seemed to be a +concentrated effort from all three rather than any individual +questioning. + +"And why did you bring me?" He hesitated, trying to think of some polite +form of address. Those he knew which were appropriate to their sex on +other worlds seemed incongruous when applied to the bizarre figures now +facing him. "Wise ones," he finally chose. + +Those unblinking yellow eyes conveyed no emotion; certainly his human +gaze could detect no change of expression on their nonhuman faces. + +"You are a male." + +"I am," he agreed, not seeing just what that fact had to do with either +diplomatic fencing or his experiences of the immediate past. + +"Where then is your thoughtguider?" + +Shann puzzled over that conception, guessed at its meaning. + +"I am my own thoughtguider," he returned stoutly, with all the +conviction he could manage to put into that reply. + +Again he met a yellow-green stare, but he sensed a change in them. Some +of their complacency had ebbed; his reply had been as a stone dropped +into a quiet pool, sending ripples out afar to disturb the customary +mirror surface of smooth serenity. + +"The star-born one speaks the truth!" That came from the Warlockian who +had been his first contact. + +"It would appear that he does." The agreement was measured, and Shann +knew that he was meant to "overhear" that. + +"It would seem, Readers-of-the-rods"--the middle one of the triumvirate +at the table spoke now--"that all living things do not follow our +pattern of life. But that is possible. A male who thinks for himself ... +unguided, who dreams perhaps! Or who can understand the truth of +dreaming! Strange indeed must be his people. Sharers-of-my-visions, let +us consult the Old Ones concerning this." For the first time one of +those crested heads moved, the gaze shifted from Shann to the ranks of +the skulls, pausing at one. + +Shann, ready for any wonder, did not betray his amazement when the ivory +inhabitant of that particular niche moved, lifted from its small +compartment, and drifted buoyantly through the air to settle at the +right-hand corner of the table. Only when it had safely grounded did the +eyes of the Warlockian move to another niche on the other side of the +curving room, this time bringing up from close to floor level a +time-darkened skull to occupy the left corner of the table. + +There was a third shifting from the weird storehouse, a last skull to +place between the other two. And now the youngest native arose from her +mat to bring a bowl of green crystal. One of her seniors took it in both +hands, making a gesture of offering it to all three skulls, and then +gazed over its rim at the Terran. + +"We shall cast the rods, man-who-thinks-without-a-guide. Perhaps then we +shall see how strong _your_ dreams are--to be bent to your using, or to +break you for your impudence." + +Her hands swayed the bowl from side to side, and there was an answering +whisper from its interior as if the contents slid loosely there. Then +one of her companions reached forward and gave a quick tap to the bottom +of that container, spilling out upon the table a shower of brightly +colored slivers each an inch or so long. + +Shann, staring at the display in bewilderment, saw that in spite of the +seeming carelessness of that toss the small needles had spread out on +the blank surface to form a design in arrangement and color. And he +wondered how that skillful trick had been accomplished. + +All three of the Warlockians bent their heads to study the grouping of +the tiny sticks, their young subordinate leaning forward also, her +eagerness less well controlled than her elders'. And now it was as if a +curtain had fallen between the Terran and the aliens, all sense of +communication which had been with him since he had entered the +skull-lined chamber was summarily cut off. + +A hand moved, making the jeweled pattern--braceleting wrist and +extending up the arm--flash subdued fire. Fingers swept the sticks back +into the bowl; four pairs of yellow eyes raised to regard Shann once +more, but the blanket of their withdrawal still held. + +The youngest Warlockian took the bowl from the elder who held it, stood +for a long moment with it resting between her palms, fixing Shann with +an unreadable stare. Then she came toward him. One of those at the table +put out a restraining hand. + +This time Shann did _not_ master his start as he heard the first audible +voice which had not been his own. The skull at the left hand on the +table, by its yellowed color the oldest of those summoned from the +niches, was moving, moving because its jaws gaped and then snapped, +emitting a faint bleat which might have been a word or two. + +She who would have halted the young Warlockian's advance, withdrew her +hand. Then her fingers curled in an unmistakable beckoning gesture. +Shann came to the table, but he could not quite force himself near that +chattering skull, even though it had stopped its jig of speech. + +The bowl of sticks was offered to him. Still no message from mind to +mind, but he could guess at what they wanted of him. The crystal +substance was not cool to the touch as he had expected; rather it was +warm, as living flesh might feel. And the colored sticks filled about +two thirds of the interior, lying all mixed together without any order. + +Shann concentrated on recalling the ceremony the Warlockian had used +before the first toss. She had offered the bowl to the skulls in turn. +The skulls! But he was no consulter of skulls. Still holding the bowl +close to his chest, Shann looked up over the roofless walls at the star +map on the roof of the cavern. There, that was Rama; and to its left, +just a little above, was Tyr's system where swung the stark world of his +birth, and of which he had only few good memories, but of which he was a +part. The Terran raised the bowl to that spot of light which marked +Tyr's pale sun. + +Smiling with a wry twist, he lowered the bowl, and on impulse of pure +defiance he offered it to the skull that had chattered. Immediately he +realized that the move had had an electric effect upon the aliens. +Slowly at first, and then faster, he began to swing the bowl from side +to side, the needles slipping, mixing within. And as he swung it, Shann +held it out over the expanse of the table. + +The Warlockian who had given him the bowl was the one who struck it on +the bottom, causing a rain of splinters. To Shann's astonishment, mixed +as they had been in the container, they once more formed a pattern, and +not the same pattern the Warlockians had consulted earlier. The +dampening curtain between them vanished; he was in touch mind to mind +once again. + +"So be it." The center Warlockian spread out her four-fingered thumbless +hands above the scattered needles. "What is read, is read." + +Again a formula. He caught a chorus of answer from the others. + +"What is read, is read. To the dreamer the dream. Let the dream be known +for what it is, and there is life. Let the dream encompass the dreamer +falsely, and all is lost." + +"Who can question the wisdom of the Old Ones?" asked their leader. "We +are those who read the messages they send, out of their mercy. This is a +strange thing they bid us do, man--open for you our own initiates' road +to the veil of illusion. That way has never been for males, who dream +without set purpose and have not the ability to know true from false, +have not the courage to face their dreams to the truth. Do so--if you +can!" There was a flash of mockery in that, combined with something +else--stronger than distaste, not as strong as hatred, but certainly not +friendly. + +She held out her hands and Shann saw now, lying on a slowly closing +palm, a disk such as the one Thorvald had shown him. The Terran had only +one moment of fear and then came blackness, more absolute than the dark +of any night he had ever known. + +Light once more, green light with an odd shimmering quality to it. The +skull-lined walls were gone; there were no walls, no building held him. +Shann strode forward, and his boots sank in sand, that smooth, satin +sand which had ringed the island in the cavern. But he was certain he +was no longer on that island, even within that cavern, though far above +him there was still a dome of roof. + +The source of the green shimmer lay to his left. Somehow he found +himself reluctant to turn and face it. That would commit him to action. +But Shann turned. + +A veil, a veil of rippling green. Material? No, rather mist or light. A +veil depending from some source so far over his head that its origin was +hidden in the upper gloom, a veil which was a barrier he must cross. + +With every nerve protesting, Shann walked forward, unable to keep back. +He flung up his arm to protect his face as he marched into that stuff. +It was warm, and the gas--if gas it was--left no slick of moisture on +his skin in spite of its foggy consistency. And it was no veil or +curtain, for although he was already well into the murk, he saw no end +to it. Blindly he trudged on, unable to sight anything but the rolling +billows of green, pausing now and again to go down on one knee and pat +the sand underfoot, reassured at the reality of that footing. + +And when he met nothing menacing, Shann began to relax. His heart no +longer labored; he made no move to draw the stunner or knife. Where he +was and for what purpose, he had no idea. But there _was_ a purpose in +this and that the Warlockians were behind it, he did not doubt. The +"initiates' road," the leader had said, and the conviction was steady in +his mind that he faced some test of alien devising. + +A cavern with a green veil--his memory awoke. Thorvald's dream! Shann +paused, trying to remember how the other had described this place. So he +was enacting Thorvald's dream! And could the Survey officer now be +caught in Shann's dream in turn, climbing up somewhere into the nose +slit of a skull-shaped mountain? + +Green fog without end, and Shann lost in it. How long had he been here? +Shann tried to reckon time, the time since his coming into the +water-world of the starred cavern. He realized that he had not eaten, +nor drank, nor desired to do so either--nor did he now. Yet he was not +weak; in fact, he had never felt such tireless energy as possessed his +spare body. + +Was this _all_ a dream? His threatened drowning in the underground +stream a nightmare? Yet there was a pattern in this, just as there had +been a pattern in the needles he had spilled across the table. One even +led to another with discernible logic; because he had tossed that +particular pattern he had come here. + +According to the ambiguous instructions or warnings of the Warlockian +witch, his safety in this place would depend upon his ability to tell +true dreams from false. But how ... why? So far he had done nothing +except walk through a green fog, and for all he knew, he might well be +traveling in circles. + +Because there was nothing else to do, Shann walked on, his boots +pressing sand, rising from each step with a small sucking sound. Then, +as he stooped to search for some indication of a path or road which +might guide him, his ears caught the slightest of noises--other small +sucking whispers. He was not the only wayfarer in this place! + + + + +13. HE WHO DREAMS.... + + +The mist was not a quiet thing; it billowed and curled until it appeared +to half-conceal darker shadows, any one of which could be an enemy. +Shann remained hunkered on the sand, every sense abnormally alert, +watching the fog. He was still sure he could hear sounds which marked +the progress of another. What other? One of the Warlockians tracking him +to spy? Or was there some prisoner like himself lost out there in the +murk? Could it be Thorvald? + +Now the sound had ceased. He was not even sure from what direction it +had first come. Perhaps that other was listening now, as intent upon +locating him. Shann ran his tongue over dry lips. The impulse to call +out, to try and contact any fellow traveler here, was strong. Only +hard-learned caution kept him silent. He got to his hands and knees, +uncertain as to his previous direction. + +Shann crept. Someone expecting a man walking erect might be suitably +distracted by the arrival of a half-seen figure on all fours. He halted +again to listen. + +He had been right! The sound of a very muffled footfall or footfalls, +carried to his ears. He was sure that the sound was louder, that the +unknown was approaching. Shann stood, his hand close to his stunner. He +was almost tempted to spray that beam blindly before him, hoping to hit +the unseen by chance. + +A shadow--something more swift than a shadow, more than one of the +tricks the curling fog played on eyes--was moving with purpose and +straight for him. Still, prudence restrained Shann from calling out. + +The figure grew clearer. A Terran! It could be Thorvald! But remembering +how they had last parted, Shann did not hurry to meet him. + +That shadow-shape stretched out a long arm in a sweep as if to pull +aside some of the vapor concealing them from each other. Then Shann +shivered as if that fog had suddenly turned into the drive of frigid +snow. For the mist did roll back so that the two of them stood in an +irregular clearing in its midst. + +And he did not front Thorvald. + +Shann was caught up in the ice grip of an old fear, frozen by it, but +somehow clinging to a hope that he did not see the unbelievable. + +Those hands drawing the lash of a whip back into striking readiness ... +a brutal nose broken askew, a blaster burn puckering across cheek to +misshapen ear ... that, evil, gloating grin of anticipation. Flick, +flick, the slight dance of the lash in a master's hand as those thick +fingers tightened about the stock of the whip. In a moment it would +whirl up to lay a ribbon of fire about Shann's defenceless shoulders. +Then Logally would laugh and laugh, his sadistic mirth echoed by those +other men who played jackals to his rogue lion. + +Other men.... Shann shook his head dazedly. But he did not stand again +in the Dump-size bar of the Big Strike. And he was no longer a +terrorized youngster, fit meat for Logally's amusement. Only the whip +rose, the lash curled out, catching Shann just as it had that time years +ago, delivering a red slash of pure agony. But Logally was dead, Shann's +mind screamed, fighting frantically against the evidence of his eyes, of +that pain in his chest and shoulder. The Dump bully had been spaced by +off-world miners, now also dead, whose claims he had tried to jump out +in the Ajax system. + +Logally drew back the lash, preparing to strike again. Shann faced a man +five years dead who walked and fought. Or, Shann bit hard upon his lower +lip, holding desperately to sane reasoning--did he indeed face anything? +Logally was the ancient devil of his boyhood produced anew by the +witchery of Warlock. Or had Shann himself been led to recreate both the +man and the circumstances of their first meeting with fear as a weapon +to pull the creator down? Dream true or false. Logally _was_ dead; +therefore, this dream was false, it had to be. + +The Terran began to walk toward that grinning ogre rising out of his old +nightmares. His hand was no longer on the butt of his stunner, but swung +loosely at his side. He saw the coming lash, the wicked promise in those +small narrowed eyes. This was Logally at the acme of his strength, when +he was most to be feared, as he had continued to exist over the years in +the depths of a boy-child's memory. But Logally was _not_ alive; only in +a dream could he be. + +For the second time the lash bit at Shann, curling about his body, to +dissolve. There was no alteration in Logally's grin, His muscular arm +drew back as he aimed a third blow. Shann continued to walk forward, +bringing up one hand, not to strike at that sweating, bristly jaw, but +as if to push the other out of his path. And in his mind he held one +thought: this was not Logally; it could not be. Ten years had passed +since they had met. And for five of those years Logally had been dead. +Here was Warlockian witchery, to be met by sane Terran reasoning. + +Shann was alone. The mist, which had formed walls, enclosed him again. +But still there was a smarting brand across his shoulder. Shann drew +aside the rags of his uniform blouse to discover a welt, raw and red. +And seeing that, his unbelief was shaken. + +When he had believed in Logally and in Logally's weapon, the other had +had reality enough to strike that blow, make the lash cut deep. But when +the Terran had faced the phantom with the truth, then neither Logally +nor his lash existed, Shann shivered, trying not to think what might lie +before him. Visions out of nightmares which could put on substance! He +had dreamed of Logally in the past, many times. And he had had other +dreams, just as frightening. Must he front those nightmares, all of +them----? Why? To amuse his captors, or to prove their contention that he +was a fool to challenge the powers of such mistresses of illusion? + +How did they know just what dreams to use in order to break him? Or did +he himself furnish the actors and the action, projecting old terrors in +this mist as a tri-dee tape projected a story in three dimensions for +the amusement of the viewer? + +Dream true--was this progress through the mist also a dream? Dreams +within dreams.... Shann put his hand to his head, uncertain, badly +shaken. But that stubborn core of determination within him was still +holding. Next time he would be prepared at once to face down any +resurrected memory. + +Walking slowly, pausing to listen for the slightest sound which might +herald the coming of a new illusion, Shann tried to guess which of his +nightmares might come to face him. But he was to learn that there was +more than one kind of dream. Steeled against old fears, he was met by +another emotion altogether. + +There was a fluttering in the air, a little crooning cry which pulled at +his heart. Without any conscious thought, Shann held out his hands, +whistling on two notes a call which his lips appeared to remember more +quickly than his mind. The shape which winged through the fog came +straight to his waiting hold, tore at long-walled-away hurt with its +once familiar beauty. It flew with a list; one of the delicately tinted +wings was injured, had never healed straight. But the seraph nestled +into the hollow of Shann's two palms and looked up at him with all the +old liquid trust. + +"Trav! Trav!" He cradled the tiny creature carefully, regarded with joy +its feathered body, the curled plumes on its proudly held head, felt the +silken patting of those infinitesimal claws against his protecting +fingers. + +Shann sat down in the sand, hardly daring to breathe. Trav--again! The +wonder of this never-to-be-hoped-for return filled him with a surge of +happiness almost too great to bear, which hurt in its way with as great +a pain as Logally's lash; it was a pain rooted in love, not fear and +hate. + +Logally's lash.... + +Shann trembled. Trav raised one of those small claws toward the Terran's +face, crooning a soft caressing cry for recognition, for protection, +trying to be a part of Shann's life once more. + +Trav! How could he bear to will Trav into nothingness, to bear to summon +up another harsh memory which would sweep Trav away? Trav was the only +thing Shann had ever known which he could love wholeheartedly, that had +answered his love with a return gift of affection so much greater than +the light body he now held. + +"Trav!" he whispered softly. Then he made his great effort against this +second and far more subtle attack. With the same agony which he had +known years earlier, he resolutely summoned a bitter memory, sat nursing +once more a broken thing which died in pain he could not ease, aware +himself of every moment of that pain. And what was worse, this time +there clung that nagging little doubt. What if he had not forced the +memory? Perhaps he could have taken Trav with him unhurt, alive, at +least for a while. + +Shann covered his face with his now empty hands. To see a nightmare +flicker out after facing squarely up to its terror, that was no great +task. To give up a dream which was part of a lost heaven, that cut +cruelly deep. The Terran dragged himself to his feet, drained and weary, +stumbling on. + +Was there no end to this aimless circling through a world of green +smoke? He shambled ahead, moving his feet leadenly. How long had he been +here? There was no division in time, just the unchanging light which was +a part of the fog through which he plodded. + +Then he heard more than any shuffle of foot across sand, any crooning of +a long dead seraph, the rising and falling of a voice: a human +voice--not quite singing or reciting, but something between the two. +Shann paused, searching his memory, a memory which seemed bruised, for +the proper answer to match that sound. + +But, though he recalled scene after scene out of the years, that voice +did not trigger any return from his past. He turned toward its source, +dully determined to get over quickly the meeting which lay behind that +signal. Only, though he walked on and on, Shann did not appear any +closer to the man behind the voice, nor was he able to make out separate +words composing that chant, a chant broken now and then by pauses, so +that the Terran grew aware of the distress of his fellow prisoner. For +the impression that he sought another captive came out of nowhere and +grew as he cast wider and wider in his quest. + +Then he might have turned some invisible corner in the mist, for the +chant broke out anew in stronger volume, and now he was able to +distinguish words he knew. + + "... where blow the winds between the worlds, + And hang the suns in dark of space. + For Power is given a man to use. + Let him do so well before the last accounting--" + +The voice was hoarse, cracked, the words spaced with uneven catches of +breath, as if they had been repeated many, many times to provide an +anchor against madness, form a tie to reality. And hearing that note, +Shann slowed his pace. This was out of no memory of his; he was sure of +that. + + "... blow the winds between the worlds, + And hang the suns in ... dark--of--of--" + +That harsh croak of voice was running down, as a clock runs down for +lack of winding. Shann sped on, reacting to a plea which did not lay in +the words themselves. + +Once more the mist curled back, provided him with an open space. A man +sat on the sand, his fists buried wrist deep in the smooth grains on +either side of his body, his eyes set, red-rimmed, glazed, his body +rocking back and forth in time to his labored chant. + + "... the dark of space--" + +"Thorvald!" Shann skidded in the sand, went down on his knees. The +manner of their last parting was forgotten as he took in the officer's +condition. + +The other did not stop his swaying, but his head turned with a stiff +jerk, the gray eyes making a visible effort to focus on Shann. Then some +of the strain smoothed out of the gaunt features and Thorvald laughed +softly. + +"Garth!" + +Shann stiffened but had no chance to protest that mistaken +identification as the other continued: "So you made class one status, +boy! I always knew you could if you'd work for it. A couple of black +marks on your record, sure. But those can be rubbed out, boy, when +you're willing to try. Thorvalds always have been Survey. Our father +would have been proud." + +Thorvald's voice flattened, his smile faded, there was a growing spark +of some emotion in those gray eyes. Unexpectedly, he hurled himself +forward, his hands clawing for Shann's throat. He bore the younger man +down under him to the sand where Lantee found himself fighting +desperately for his life against a man who could only be mad. + +Shann used a trick learned on the Dumps, and his opponent doubled up +with a gasp of agony to let the younger man break free. He planted a +knee on the small of Thorvald's back, digging the officer into the sand, +pinning down his arms in spite of the other's struggles. Regaining his +own breath in gulps, Shann tried to appeal to some spark of reason in +the other. + +"Thorvald! This is Lantee--Lantee----" His name echoed in the mist-walled +void like an unhuman wail. + +"Lantee----? No, Throg! Lantee--Throg--killed my brother!" + +Sand puffed out with the breath, which expelled that indictment. But +Thorvald no longer fought, and Shann believed him close to collapse. + +Shann relaxed his hold, rolling the other man over. Thorvald obeyed his +pull limply, lying face upward, sand in his hair and eyebrows, crusting +his slack lips. The younger man brushed the dirt away gently as the +other opened his eyes to regard Shann with his old impersonal stare. + +"You're alive," Thorvald stated bleakly. "Garth's dead. You ought to be +dead too." + +Shann drew back, rubbed sand from his hands, his concern dampened by the +other's patent hostility. Only that angry accusation vanished in a blink +of those gray eyes. Then there was a warmer recognition in Thorvald's +expression. + +"Lantee!" The younger man might just have come into sight. "What are you +doing here?" + +Shann tightened his belt. "Just about what you are." He was still aloof, +giving no acknowledgment of difference in rank now. "Running around in +this fog hunting the way out." + +Thorvald sat up, surveying the billowing walls of the hole which +contained them. Then he reached out a hand to draw fingers down Shann's +forearm. + +"You _are_ real," he observed simply, and his voice was warm, welcoming. + +"Don't bet on it," Shann snapped. "The unreal can be mighty real--here." +His hand went up to the smarting brand on his shoulder. + +Thorvald nodded. "Masters of illusion," he murmured. + +"Mistresses," Shann corrected. "This place is run by a gang of pretty +smart witches." + +"Witches? You've seen them? Where? And what--who are they?" Thorvald +pounced with a return of his old-time sharpness. + +"They're females right enough, and they can make the impossible happen. +I'd say that classifies them as witches. One of them tried to take me +over back on the island. I set a trap and caught her; then somehow she +transported me----" Swiftly he outlined the chain of events leading from +his sudden awakening in the river tunnel to his present penetration of +this fog-world. + +Thorvald listened eagerly. When the story was finished, he rubbed his +hands across his drawn face, smearing away the last of the sand. "At +least you have some idea of who they are and a suggestion of how you got +here. I don't remember that much about my own arrival. As far as I can +remember I went to sleep on the Island and woke up here!" + +Shann studied him and knew that Thorvald was telling the truth. He could +remember nothing of his departure in the outrigger, the way he had +fought Shann in the lagoon. The Survey officer must have been under the +control of the Warlockians then. Quickly he gave the older man his +version of the other's actions in the outer world and Thorvald was +clearly astounded, though he did not question the facts Shann presented. + +"They just _took_ me!" Thorvald said in a husky half whisper. "But why? +And why are we here? Is this a prison?" + +Shann shook his head. "I think all this"--a wave of his hand encompassed +the green wall, what lay beyond it, and in it--"is a test of some kind. +This dream business.... A little while ago I got to thinking that I +wasn't here at all, that I might be dreaming it all. Then I met you." + +Thorvald understood. "Yes, but this _could_ be a dream meeting. How can +we tell?" He hesitated, almost diffidently, before he asked: "Have you +met anyone else here?" + +"Yes." Shann had no desire to go into that. + +"People out of your past life?" + +"Yes." Again he did not elaborate. + +"So did I." Thorvald's expression was bleak; his encounters in the fog +must have proved no more pleasant than Shann's. "That suggests that we +do trigger the hallucinations ourselves. But maybe we can really lick it +now." + +"How?" + +"Well, if these phantoms are born of our memories there are about only +two or three we could see together--maybe a Throg on the rampage, or +that hound we left back in the mountains. And if we do sight anything +like that, we'll know what it is. On the other hand, if we stick +together and one of us sees something that the other can't ... well, +that fact alone will explode the ghost." + +There was sense in what he said. Shann aided the officer to his feet. + +"I must be a better subject for their experiments than you," the older +man remarked ruefully. "They took me over completely at the first." + +"You were carrying that disk," Shann pointed out. "Maybe that acted as a +focusing lens for whatever power they use to make us play trained +animals." + +"Could be!" Thorvald brought out the cloth-wrapped bone coin. "I still +have it." But he made no move to pull off the bit of rag about it. +"Now"--he gazed at the wall of green--"which way?" + +Shann shrugged. Long ago he had lost any idea of keeping a straight +course through the murk. He might have turned around any number of times +since he first walked blindly into this place. Then he pointed to the +packet Thorvald held. + +"Why not flip that?" he asked. "Heads, we go that way--" he indicated +the direction in which they were facing--"tails, we do a +rightabout-face." + +There was an answering grin on Thorvald's lips. "As good a guide as any +we're likely to find here. We'll do it." He pulled away the twist of +cloth and with a swift snap, reminiscent of that used by the Warlockian +witch to empty the bowl of sticks, he tossed the disk into the air. + +It spun, whirled, but--to their open-jawed amazement--it did not fall to +the sand. Instead it spun until it looked like a small globe instead of +a disk. And it lost its dead white for a glow of green. When that glow +became dazzling for Terran eyes the miniature sun swung out, not in +orbit but in straight line of flight, heading to their right. + +With a muffled cry, Thorvald started in pursuit, Shann running beside +him. They were in a tunnel of the fog now, and the pace set by the +spinning coin was swift. The Terrans continued to follow it at the best +pace they could summon, having no idea of where they were headed, but +each with the hope that they finally did have a guide to lead them +through this place of confusion and into a sane world where they could +face on more equal terms those who had sent them there. + + + + +14. ESCAPE + + +"Something ahead!" Thorvald did not slacken the pace set by the +brilliant spot of green they trailed. Both of the Terrans feared to fall +behind, to lose touch with that guide. Their belief that somehow the +traveling disk would bring them to the end of the mist and its attendant +illusions had grown firmer with every foot of ground they traversed. + +A dark, fixed point, now partly veiled by mist, lay beyond, and it was +toward that looming half-shadow that the spinning disk hurtled. Now the +mist curled away to display its bulk--larger, blacker and four or five +times Thorvald's height. Both men stopped short, for the disk no longer +played pathfinder. It still whirled on its axis in the air, faster and +faster, until it appeared to be throwing off sparks, but the sparks +faded against a monolith of dark rock unlike the native stone they had +seen elsewhere. For it was neither red nor warmly brown, but a dull, +dead black. It could have been a huge stone slab, trimmed, smoothed, set +up on end as a monument or marker, except that only infinite labor could +have accomplished such a task, and there was no valid reason for such +toil as far as the Terrans could perceive. + +"This is it." Thorvald moved closer. + +By the disk's action, they deduced that their guide had drawn them to +this featureless black steel with the precision of a beam-controlled +ship. However, the purpose still eluded them. They had hoped for some +exit from the territory of the veil, but now they faced a solid slab of +dark stone, neither a conventional exit or entrance, as they proved by +circling its base. Beneath their boots was the eternal sand, around +them the fog. + +"Now what?" Shann asked. They had made their trip about the slab and +were back again where the disk whirled with unceasing vigor in a shower +of emerald sparks. + +Thorvald shook his head, scanning the rock face before them glumly. The +eagerness had gone out of his expression, a vast weariness replacing it. + +"There must have been some purpose in coming here," he replied, but his +tone had lost the assurance of moments earlier. + +"Well, if we strike away from here, we'll just get right back in again." +Shann waved a hand toward the mist, waiting as if with a hunter's watch +upon them. "And we certainly can't go down." He dug a boot toe into the +sand to demonstrate the folly of that. "So, what about up?" + +He ducked under the spinning disk to lay his hands against the surface +of the giant slab. And in so doing he made a discovery, revealed to his +touch although hidden from sight. For his fingers, running aimlessly +across the cold, slightly uneven surface of the stone, slipped into a +hollow, quite a deep hollow. + +Excited, half fearing that his sudden guess might be wrong, Shann slid +his hand higher in line with that hollow, to discover a second. The +first had been level with his chest, the second perhaps eighteen inches +or so above. He jumped, to draw his fingers down the rock, with damage +to his nails but getting his proof. There _was_ a third niche, deep +enough to hold more than just the toe of a boot, and a fourth above +that.... + +"We've a ladder of sorts here," he reported. Without waiting for any +answer from Thorvald, Shann began to climb. The holds were so well +matched in shape and size that he was sure they could not be natural; +they had been bored there for use--the use to which he was now putting +them--a ladder to the top of the slab. Though what he might find there +was beyond his power to imagine. + +The disk did not rise. Shann passed that core of light, climbing above +it into the greater gloom. But the holes did not fail him; each was +waiting in a direct line with its companion. And to an active man the +scramble was not difficult. He reached the summit, glanced around, and +made a quick grab for a secure handhold. + +Waiting for him was no level platform such as he had confidently +expected to find. The surface up which he had just made his way +fly-fashion was the outer wall of a well or chimney. He looked down now +into a pit where black nothingness began within a yard of the top, for +the radiance of the mist did not penetrate far into that descent. + +Shann fought an attack of giddiness. It would be very easy to lose +control, to tumble over and be swallowed up in what might well be a +bottomless chasm. And what was the purpose of this well? Was it a trap +to entice a prisoner into an unwary climb and then let gravity drag him +over? The whole setup was meaningless. Perhaps meaningless only to him, +Shann conceded, with a flash of level thinking. The situation could be +quite different as far as the natives were concerned. This structure did +have a reason, or it would never have been erected in the first place. + +"What's the matter?" Thorvald's voice was rough with impatience. + +"This thing's a well." Shann edged about a fraction to call back. "The +inside is open and--as far as I can tell--goes clear to the planet's +core." + +"Ladder on the inside too?" + +Shann squirmed. That was, of course, a very obvious supposition. He kept +a tight hold with his left hand, and with the other, he did some +exploring. Yes, here was a hollow right enough, twin to those on the +outside. But to swing over that narrow edge of safety and begin a +descent into the black of the well was far harder than any action he had +taken since the morning the Throgs had raided the camp. The green mist +could hold no terrors greater than those with which his imagination +peopled the depths now waiting to engulf him. But Shann swung over, +fitted his boot into the first hollow, and started down. + +The only encouragement he gained during that nightmare ordeal was that +those holes were regularly spaced. But somehow his confidence did not +feed on that fact. There always remained the nagging fear that when he +searched for the next it would not be there and he would cling to his +perch lacking the needful strength in aching arms and legs to reclimb +the inside ladder. + +He was fast losing that sense of well being which had been his during +his travels through the fog; a fatigue tugged at his arms and weighed +leaden on his shoulders. Mechanically he prospected for the next hold, +and then the next. Above, the oblong of half-light grew smaller and +smaller, sometimes half blotted out by the movements of Thorvald's body +as the other followed him down that interior way. + +How far _was_ down? Shann giggled lightheadedly at the humor of that, or +what seemed to be humor at the moment. He was certain that they were now +below the level of the sand floor outside the slab. And yet no end had +come to the well hollow. + +No break of light down here; he might have been sightless. But just as +the blind develop an extra perceptive sense of unseen obstacles, so did +Shann now find that he was aware of a change in the nature of the space +about him. His weary arms and legs held him against the solidity of a +wall, yet the impression that there was no longer another wall at his +back grew stronger with every niche which swung him downward. And he was +as sure as if he could see it, that he was now in a wide-open space, +another cavern; perhaps, but this one totally dark. + +Deprived of sight, he relied upon his ears. And there was a sound, +faint, distorted perhaps by the acoustics of this place, but keeping up +a continuous murmur. Water! Not the wash of waves with their persistent +beat, but rather the rippling of a running stream. Water must lie below! + +And just as his weariness had grown with his leaving behind the fog, so +now did both hunger and thirst gnaw at Shann, all the sharper for the +delay. The Terran wanted to reach that water, could picture it in his +mind, putting away the possibility--the probability--that it might be +sea-born and salt, and so unfit to drink. + +The upper opening to the cavern of the fog was now so far above him that +he had to strain to see it. And that warmth which had been there was +gone. A dank chill wrapped him here, dampened the holds to which he +clung until he was afraid of slipping. While the murmur of the water +grew louder, until its _slap-slap_ sounded within arms' distance. His +boot toe skidded from a niche. Shann fought to hold on with numbed +fingers. The other foot went. He swung by his hands, kicking vainly to +regain a measure of footing. + +Then his arms could no longer support him, and he cried out as he fell. +Water closed about him with an icy shock which for a moment paralyzed +him. He flailed out, fighting the flood to get his head above the +surface where he could gasp in precious gulps of air. + +There was a current here, a swiftly running one. Shann remembered the +one which had carried him into that cavern in which the Warlockians had +their strange dwelling. Although there were no clusters of crystals in +this tunnel to supply him with light, the Terran began to nourish a +faint hope that he was again in that same stream, that those light +crystals would appear, and that he might eventually return to the +starting point of this meaningless journey. + +So he strove only to keep his head above water. Hearing a splashing +behind him, he called out: "Thorvald?" + +"Lantee?" The answer came back at once; the splashing grew louder as the +other swam to catch up. + +Shann swallowed a mouthful of the water lapping against his chin. The +taste was brackish, but not entirely salt, and though it stung his lips, +the liquid relieved a measure of his thirst. + +Only no glowing crystals appeared to stud these walls, and Shann's hope +that they were on their way to the cavern of the island faded. The +current grew swifter, and he had to fight to keep his head above water, +his tired body reacting sluggishly to commands. + +The murmur of the racing flood drummed louder in his ears, or was that +sound the same? He could no longer be sure. Shann only knew that it was +close to impossible to snatch the necessary breath as he was rolled over +and over in the hurrying flood. + +In the end he was ejected into blazing, blinding light, into a +suffocation of wild water as the bullet in an ancient Terran rifle might +have been fired at no specific target. Gasping, beaten, more than +half-drowned, Shann was pummeled by waves, literally driven up on a +rocky surface which skinned his body cruelly. He lay there, his arms +moving feebly until he contrived to raise himself in time to be +wretchedly sick. Somehow he crawled on a few feet farther before he +subsided again, blinded by the light, flinching from the heat of the +rocks on which he lay, but unable to do more for himself. + +His first coherent thought was that his speculation concerning the +reality of this experience was at last resolved. This could not possibly +be an hallucination; at least this particular sequence of events was +not. And he was still hazily considering that when a hand fell on his +shoulder, fingers biting into his raw flesh. + +Shann snarled, rolled over on his side. Thorvald, water dripping from +his rags--or rather steaming from them--his shaggy hair plastered to his +skull, sat there. + +"You all right?" + +Shann sat up in turn, shielding his smarting eyes. He was bruised, +battered badly enough, but he could claim no major injuries. + +"I think so. Where are we?" + +Thorvald's lips stretched across his teeth in what was more a grimace +than a smile. "Right off the map, any map I know. Take a look." + +They were on a scrap of beach--beach which was more like a reef, for it +lacked any covering comparable to sand except for some cupfuls of coarse +gravel locked in rock depressions. Rocks, red as the rust of dried +blood, rose in fantastic water-sculptured shapes around the small +semi-level space they had somehow won. + +This space was V-shaped, washed by equal streams on either side of the +prong of rock by water which spouted from the face of a sheer cliff not +too far away, with force enough to spray several feet beyond its exit +point. Shann seeing that and guessing at its significance, drew a deep +breath, and heard the ghost of an answering chuckle from his companion. + +"Yes, that's where we came out, boy. Like to make a return trip?" + +Shann shook his head, and then wished that he had not so rashly made +that move, for the world swung in a dizzy whirl. Things had happened too +fast. For the moment it was enough that they were out of the underground +ways, back under the amber sky, feeling the bite of Warlock's sun. + +Steadying his head with both hands, Shann turned slowly, to survey what +might lie at their backs. The water, pouring by on either side, +suggested that they were again on an island. Warlock, he thought +gloomily, seemed to be for Terrans a succession of islands, all hard to +escape. + +The tangle of rocks did not encourage any exploration. Just gazing at +them added to his weariness. They rose, tier by tier, to a ragged crown +against the sky. Shann continued to sit staring at them. + +"To climb that...." His voice trailed into the silence of complete +discouragement. + +"You climb--or swim," Thorvald stated. But, Shann noted, the Survey +officer was not in a hurry to make either move. + +Nowhere in that wilderness of rock was there the least relieving bit of +purple foliage. Nor did any clak-claks or leather-headed birds tour the +sky over their heads. Shann's thirst might have been partially assuaged, +but his hunger remained. And it was that need which forced him at last +into action. The barren heights promised nothing in the way of food, +but remembering the harvest the wolverines had taken from under the +rocks along the river, he got to his feet and lurched out on the reef +which had been their salvation, hunting some pool which might hold an +edible captive or two. + +So it was that Shann made the discovery of a possible path consisting of +a ledge running toward the other end of the island, if this were an +island where they had taken refuge. The spray of the water drenched that +way, feeding small pools in the uneven surface, and strips of yellow +weed trailed in slimy ribbons back below the surface of the waves. + +He called to Thorvald and gestured to his find. And then, close +together, linking hands when the going became hazardous, the men +followed the path. Twice they made finds in the pools, finned or clawed +grotesque creatures, which they killed and ate, wolfing down the few +fragments of odd-tasting flesh. Then, in a small crevice, which could +hardly be dignified by the designation of "cave," Thorvald chanced upon +a quite exciting discovery--a clutch of four greenish eggs, each as +large as his doubled fist. + +Their outer covering was more like tough membrane than true shell, and +the Terrans worried it open with difficulty. Shann shut his eyes, trying +not to think of what he mouthed as he sucked his share dry. At least +that semi-liquid stayed put in his middle, though he expected disastrous +results from the experiment. + +More than a little heartened by this piece of luck, they kept on, though +the ledge changed from a reasonably level surface to a series of rising, +unequal steps, drawing them away from the water. At long last they came +to the end of that path. Shann leaned back against a convenient spur of +rock. + +"Company!" he alerted Thorvald. + +The Survey officer joined him to share an outcrop of rock from which +they were provided with an excellent view of the scene below, and it +was a scene to hold their full attention. + +That soft sweep of sand which had floored the cavern of the fog lay here +also, a gray-blue carpet sloping gently out of the sea. For Shann had no +doubt that the wide stretch of water before them was the western ocean. +Walling the beach on either side, and extending well out into the water +so that the farthest piles were awash except for their crowns, were +pillars of stone, shaped with the same finish as that slab which had +provided them a ladder of escape. And because of the regularity of their +spacing, Shann did not believe them works of nature. + +Grouped between them now were the players of the drama. One of the +Warlockian witches, her gem body patterns glittering in the sunlight, +was walking backward out of the sea, her hands held palms together, +breast high, in a Terran attitude of prayer. And following her something +swam in the water, clearly not another of her own species. But her +actions suggested that by some invisible means she was drawing that +water dweller after her. Waiting on shore were two others of her kind, +viewing her actions with close attention, the attention of scholars for +an instructor. + +"Wyverns!" + +Shann looked inquiringly at his companion. Thorvald added a whisper of +explanation. "A legend of Terra--they were supposed to have a snake's +tail instead of hind legs, but the heads.... They're Wyverns!" + +Wyverns. Shann liked the sound of that word; to his mind it well fitted +the Warlockian witches. And the one they were watching in action +continued her steady backward retreat, rolling her bemused captive out +of the water. What emerged into the blaze of sunlight was one of those +fork-tailed sea dwellers such as the Terrans had seen die after the +storm. The thing crawled out of the shallows, its eyes focused in a +blind stare on the praying hands of the Wyvern. + +She halted, well up on the sand, when the body of her victim or +prisoner--Shann was certain that the fork-tail was one or the +other--was completely out of the water. Then, with lightning speed, she +dropped her hands. + +Instantly fork-tail came to life. Fanged jaws snapped. Aroused, the +beast was the incarnation of evil rage, a rage which had a measure of +intelligence to direct it into deadly action. And facing it, seemingly +unarmed and defenseless, were the slender, fragile Wyverns. + +Yet none of the small group of natives made any attempt to escape. Shann +thought them suicidal in their indifference as fork-tail, short legs +sending the fine sand flying in a dust cloud, made a rush toward its +enemies. + +The Wyvern who had led the beast ashore did not move. But one of her +companions swung up a hand, as if negligently waving the monster to a +stop. Between her first two digits was a disk. Thorvald caught at +Shann's arm. + +"See that! It's a copy of the one I had; it must be!" + +They were too far away to be sure it was a duplicate, but It was +coin-shaped and bone-white. And now the Wyvern swung it back and forth +in a metronome sweep. Fork-tail skidded to a stop, its head +beginning--reluctantly at first, and then, with increasing speed--to +echo that left-right sweep. This Wyvern had the sea beast under control, +even as her companion had earlier held it. + +Chance dictated what happened next. As had her sister charmer, the +Wyvern began a backward withdrawal up the length of the beach, drawing +the sea thing in her wake. They were very close to the foot of the drop +above which the Terrans stood, fascinated, when the sand betrayed the +witch. Her foot slipped into a hole and she was thrown backward, her +control disk spinning out of her fingers. + +At once the monster she had charmed shot forth its head, snapped at that +spinning trifle--and swallowed it. Then the fork-tail hunched in a +posture Shann had seen the wolverines use when they were about to +spring. The weaponless Wyvern was the prey, and both her companions were +too far away to interfere. + +Why he moved he could not have explained. There was no reason for him +to go to the aid of the Warlockian, one of the same breed who had ruled +him against his will. But Shann sprang, landing in the sand on his hands +and knees. + +The sea thing whipped around, undecided between two possible victims. +Shann had his knife free, was on his feet, his eyes on the beast's, +knowing that he had appointed himself dragon slayer for no good reason. + + + + +15. DRAGON SLAYER + + +"Ayeeee!" Sheer defiance, not only of the beast he fronted, but of the +Wyverns as well, brought that old rallying cry to his lips--the call +used on the Dumps of Tyr to summon gang aid against outsiders. Fork-tail +had crouched again for a spring, but that throat-crackling blast +appeared to startle it. + +Shann, blade ready, took a dancing step to the right. The thing was +scaled, perhaps as well armored against frontal attack as was the +shell-creature he had fought with the aid of the wolverines. He wished +he had the Terran animals now--with Taggi and his mate to tease and +feint about the monster, as they had done with the Throg hound--for he +would have a better chance. If only the animals were here! + +Those eyes--red-pitted eyes in a gargoyle head following his every +movement--perhaps those were the only vulnerable points. + +Muscles tensed beneath that scaled hide. The Terran readied himself for +a sidewise leap, his knife hand raised to rake at those eyes. A brown +shape with a V of lighter fur banding its back crossed the far range of +Shann's vision. He could not believe what he saw, not even when a +snarling animal, slavering with rage, came at a lumbering gallop to +stand beside him, a second animal on its heels. + +Uttering his own battle cry, Taggi attacked. The fork-tail's head swung, +imitating the movements of the wolverine as it had earlier mimicked the +swaying of the disk in the Wyvern's hand. Togi came in from the other +side. They might have been hounds keeping a bull in play. And never had +they shown such perfect team work, almost as if they could sense what +Shann desired of them. + +That forked tail lashed viciously, a formidable weapon. Bone, muscles, +scaled flesh, half buried in the sand, swept up a cloud of grit into the +face of the man and the animals. Shann fell back, pawing with his free +hand at his eyes. The wolverines circled warily, trying for the attack +they favored--the spring to the shoulders, the usually fatal assault on +the spine behind the neck. But the armored head of the fork-tail, slung +low, warned them off. Again the tail lashed, and this time Taggi was +caught and hurled across the beach. + +Togi uttered a challenge, made a reckless dash, and raked down the +length of the fork-tail's body, fastening on that tail, weighing it to +earth with her own poundage while the sea creature fought to dislodge +her. Shann, his eyes watering from the sand, but able to see, watched +that battle for a long second, judging that fork-tail was completely +engaged in trying to free its best weapon from the grip of the +wolverine. The latter clawed and bit with a fury which suggested Togi +intended to immobilize that weapon by tearing it to shreds. + +Fork-tail wrenched its body, striving to reach its tormentor with fangs +or clawed feet. And in that struggle to achieve an impossible position, +its head slued far about, uncovering the unprotected area behind the +skull base which usually lay under the spiny collar about its shoulders. + +Shann went in. With one hand he gripped the edge of that collar--its +serrations tearing his flesh--and at the same time he drove his knife +blade deep into the soft underfolds, ripping on toward the spinal +column. The blade nicked against bone as the fork-tail's head slammed +back, catching Shann's hand and knife together in a trap. The Terran was +jerked from his feet, and flung to one side with the force of the +beast's reaction. + +Blood spurted up, his own blood mingled with that of the monster. Only +Togi's riding of the tail prevented Shann's being beaten to death. The +armored snout pointed skyward as the creature ground the sharp edge of +its collar down on the Terran's arm. Shann, frantic with pain, drove his +free fist into one of those eyes. + +Fork-tail jerked convulsively; its head snapped down again and Shann was +free. The Terran threw himself back, keeping his feet with an effort. +Fork-tail was writhing, churning up the sand in a cloud. But it could +not rid itself of the knife Shann had planted with all his strength, and +which the blows of its own armored collar were now driving deeper and +deeper into its back. + +It howled thinly, with an abnormal shrilling. Shann, nursing his +bleeding forearm against his chest, rolled free from the waves of sand +it threw about, bringing up against one of the rock pillars. With that +to steady him, he somehow found his feet, and stood weaving, trying to +see through the rain of dust. + +The convulsions which churned up that concealing cloud were growing more +feeble. Then Shann heard the triumphant squall from Togi, saw her brown +body still on the torn tail just above the forking. The wolverine used +her claws to hitch her way up the spine of the sea monster, heading for +the mountain of blood spouting from behind the head. Fork-tail fought to +raise that head once more; then the massive jaw thudded into the sand, +teeth snapping fruitlessly as a flood of grit overrode the tongue, +packed into the gaping mouth. + +How long had it taken--that frenzy of battle on the bloodstained beach? +Shann could have set no limit in clock-ruled time. He pressed his +wounded arm tighter to him, lurched past the still twitching sea thing +to that splotch of brown fur on the sand, shaping the wolverine's +whistle with dry lips. Togi was still busy with the kill, but Taggi lay +where that murderous tail had thrown him. + +Shann fell on his knees, as the beach around him developed a curious +tendency to sway. He put his good hand to the ruffled back fur of the +motionless wolverine. + +"Taggi!" + +A slight quiver answered. Shann tried awkwardly to raise the animal's +head with his own hand. As far as he could see, there were no open +wounds; but there might be broken bones, internal injuries he did not +have the skill to heal. + +"Taggi?" He called again gently, striving to bring that heavy head up on +his knee. + +"The furred one is not dead." + +For a moment Shann was not aware that those words had formed in his +mind, had not been heard by his ears. He looked up, eyes blazing at the +Wyvern coming toward him in a graceful glide across the crimsoned sand. +And in a space of heartbeats his thrust of anger cooled into a stubborn +enmity. + +"No thanks to you," he said deliberately aloud. If the Wyvern witch +wanted to understand him, let her make the effort; he did not try to +touch her thoughts with his. + +Taggi stirred again, and Shann glanced down quickly. The wolverine +gasped, opened his eyes, shook his miniature bear head, scattering +pellets of sand. He sniffed at a dollop of blood, the dark, alien blood, +spattered on Shann's breeches, and then his head came up with a +reassuring alertness as he looked to where his mate was still worrying +the now quiet fork-tail. + +With an effort, Taggi got to his feet, Shann aiding him. The man ran his +hand down over ribs, seeking any broken bones. Taggi growled a warning +once when that examination brought pain in its wake, but Shann could +detect no real damage. As might a cat, the wolverine must have met the +shock of that whip-tail stroke relaxed enough to escape serious injury. +Taggi had been knocked out, but now he was able to navigate again. He +pulled free from Shann's grip, lumbering across the sand to the kill. + +Someone else was crossing that strip of beach. Passing the Wyvern as if +he did not see them, Thorvald came directly to Shann. A few seconds +later he had the torn arm stretched across his own bent knee, examining +the still bleeding hurt. + +"That's a nasty one," he commented. + +Shann heard the words and they made sense, but the instability of his +surroundings was increasing, while Thorvald's handling sent sharp stabs +of pain up his arm and somehow into his head, where they ended in red +bursts to cloud his sight. + +Out of the reddish mist which had fogged most of the landscape there +emerged a single object, a round white disk. And in Shann's clouded mind +a well-rooted apprehension stirred. He struck out with his one hand, and +through luck connected. The disk flew out of sight. His vision cleared +enough so he could sight the Wyvern who had been leaning over Thorvald's +shoulder centering her weird weapon on him. Making a great effort, Shann +got out the words, words which he also shaped in his mind as he said +them aloud: "You're not taking me over--again!" + +There was no emotion to be read on that jewel-banded face or in her +unblinking eyes. He caught at Thorvald, determined to get across his +warning. + +"Don't let them use those disks on us!" + +"I'll do my best." + +Only the haze had taken Thorvald again. Did one of the Wyverns have a +disk focused on them? Were they being pulled into one of those blank +periods, to awaken as prisoners once more--say, in the cavern of the +veil? The Terran fought with every ounce of will power to escape +unconsciousness, but he failed. + +This time he did not awaken half-drowning in an underground stream or +facing a green mist. And there was an ache in his arm which was somehow +reassuring with the very insistence of pain. Before opening his eyes, +his fingers crossed the smooth slick of a bandage there, went on to +investigate by touch a sleep mat such as he had found in the cavern +structure. Was he back in that web of rooms and corridors? + +Shann delayed opening his eyes until a kind of shame drove him to it. He +first saw an oval opening almost the length of his body as it was +stretched only a foot of two below the sill of that window. And through +its transparent surface came the golden light of the sun--no green mist, +no crystals mocking the stars. + +The room in which he lay was small with smooth walls, much like that in +which he had been imprisoned on the island. And there were no other +furnishings save the mat on which he rested. Over him was a light cover +netted of fibers resembling yarn, with feathers knotted into it to +provide a downy upper surface. His clothing was gone, but the single +covering was too warm and he pushed it away from his shoulders and chest +as he wriggled up to see the view beyond the window. + +His torn arm came into full view. From wrist to elbow it was encased in +an opaque skin sheath, unlike any bandage of his own world. Surely that +had not come out of any Survey aid pack. Shann gazed toward the window, +but beyond lay only a reach of sky. Except for a lemon cloud or two +ruffled high above the horizon, nothing broke that soft amber curtain. +He might be quartered in a tower well above ground level, which did not +match his former experience with Wyvern accommodations. + +"Back with us again?" Thorvald, one hand lifting a door panel, came in. +His ragged uniform was gone, and he wore only breeches of a sleek green +material and his own scuffed-and-battered boots. + +Shann settled back on the mat. "Where are we?" + +"I think you might term this the capital city," Thorvald answered. "In +relation to the mainland, we're on an island well out to sea--westward." + +"How did we get here?" That climb in the slab, the stream underground.... +Had it been an interior river running under the bed of the sea? But +Shann was not prepared for the other's reply. + +"By wishing." + +"By _what_?" + +Thorvald nodded, his expression serious. "They wished us here. Listen, +Lantee, when you jumped down to mix it with that fork-tailed thing, did +you wish you had the wolverines with you?" + +Shann thought back; his memories of what had occurred before that battle +were none too clear. But, yes, he had wished Taggi and Togi present at +that moment to distract the enraged beast. + +"You mean I wished them?" The whole idea was probably a part of the +Wyvern jargon of dreaming and he added, "Or did I just dream +everything?" There was the bandage on his arm, the soreness under that +bandage. But also there had been Logally's lash brand back in the +cavern, which had bitten into his flesh with the pain of a real blow. + +"No, you weren't dreaming. You happened to be tuned in one of those +handy little gadgets our lady friends here use. And, so tuned in, your +desire for the wolverines being pretty powerful just then, they came." + +Shann grimaced. This was unbelievable. Yet there were his meetings with +Logally and Trav. How could anyone rationally explain them? And how had +he, in the beginning, been jumped from the top of the cliff on the +island of his marooning into the midst of an underground flood without +any conscious memory of an intermediate journey? + +"How does it work?" he asked simply. + +Thorvald laughed. "You tell me. They have these disks, one to a Wyvern, +and they control forces with them. Back there on the beach we +interrupted a class in such control; they were the novices learning +their trade. We've stumbled on something here which can't be defined or +understood by any of our previous standards of comparison. It's frankly +magic, judged by our terms." + +"Are we prisoners?" Shann wanted to know. + +"Ask me something I'm sure of. I've been free to come and go within +limits. No one's exhibited any signs of hostility; most of them simply +ignore me. I've had two interviews, via this mind-reading act of theirs, +with their rulers, or elders, or chief sorceresses--all three titles +seem to apply. They ask questions, I answer as best I can, but sometimes +we appear to have no common meeting ground. Then I ask some questions, +they evade gracefully, or reply in a kind of unintelligible double-talk, +and that's as far as our communication has progressed so far." + +"Taggi and Togi?" + +"Have a run of their own and as far as I can tell are better satisfied +with life than I am. Oddly enough, they respond more quickly and more +intelligently to orders. Perhaps this business of being shunted around +by the disks has conditioned them in some way." + +"What about these Wyverns? Are they all female?" + +"No, but their tribal system is strictly matriarchal, which follows a +pattern even Terra once knew: the fertile earth mother and her +priestesses, who became the witches when the gods overruled the +goddesses. The males are few in number and lack the power to activate +the disks. In fact," Thorvald laughed ruefully, "one gathers that in +this civilization our opposite numbers have, more or less, the status of +pets at the best, and necessary evils at the worst. Which put _us_ at a +disadvantage from the start." + +"You think that they won't take us seriously because we are males?" + +"Might just work out that way. I've tried to get through to them about +danger from the Throgs, telling them what it would mean to them to have +the beetle-heads settle in here for good. They just brush aside the +whole idea." + +"Can't you argue that the Throgs are males, too? Or aren't they?" + +The Survey officer shook his head. "That's a point no human can answer. +We've been sparring with Throgs for years and there have been libraries +of reports written about them and their behavior patterns, all of which +add up to about two paragraphs of proven facts and hundreds of surmises +beginning with the probable and skimming out into the wild fantastic. +You can claim anything about a Throg and find a lot of very intelligent +souls ready to believe you. But whether those beetle-heads squatting +over on the mainland are able to answer to 'he,' 'she,' or 'it,' your +solution is just as good as mine. We've always considered the ones we +fight to be males, but they might just as possibly be amazons. Frankly, +these Wyverns couldn't care less either; at least that's the impression +they give." + +"But anyway," Shann observed, "it hasn't come to 'we're all girls +together' either." + +Thorvald laughed again. "Not so you can notice. We're not the only +unwilling visitor in the vicinity." + +Shann sat up. "A Throg?" + +"A something. Non-Warlockian, or non-Wyvern. And perhaps trouble for +us." + +"You haven't seen this other?" + +Thorvald sat down cross-legged. The amber light from the window made +red-gold of his hair, added ruddiness to his less-gaunt features. + +"No, I haven't. As far as I can tell, the stranger's not right here. I +caught stray thought beams twice--surprise expressed by newly arrived +Wyverns who met me and apparently expected to be fronted by something +quite physically different." + +"Another Terran scout?" + +"No. I imagine that to the Wyverns we must look a lot alike. Just as we +couldn't tell one of them from her sister if their body patterns didn't +differ. Discovered one thing about those patterns--the more intricate +they run, the higher the 'power,' not of the immediate wearer, but of +her ancestors. They're marked when they qualify for their disk and +presented with the rating of the greatest witch in their family line as +an inducement to live up to those deeds and surpass them if possible. +Quite a bit of logic to that. Given the right conditioning, such a +system might even work in our service." + +That nugget of information was the stuff from which Survey reports were +made. But at the moment the information concerning the other captive was +of more value to Shann. He steadied his body against the wall with his +good hand and got to his feet. Thorvald watched him. + +"I take it you have visions of action. Tell me, Lantee, why _did_ you +take that header off the cliff to mix it with fork-tail?" + +Shann wondered himself. He had no reason for that impulsive act. "I +don't know----" + +"Chivalry? Fair Wyvern in distress?" the other prodded. "Or did the back +lash from one of those disks draw you in?" + +"I don't know----" + +"And why did you use your knife instead of your stunner?" + +Shann was startled. For the first time he realized that he had fronted +the greatest native menace they had discovered on Warlock with the more +primitive of his weapons. Why had he not tried the stunner on the beast? +He had just never thought of it when he had taken that leap into the +role of dragon slayer. + +"Not that it would have done you any good to try the ray; it has no +effect on fork-tail." + +"You tried it?" + +"Naturally. But you didn't know that, or did you pick up that +information earlier?" + +"No," answer Shann slowly. "No, I don't know why I used the knife. The +stunner would have been more natural." Suddenly he shivered, and the +face he turned to Thorvald was very sober. + +"How much do they control us?" he asked, his voice dropping to a half +whisper as if the walls about them could pick up those words and relay +them to other ears. "What can they do?" + +"A good question." Thorvald lost his light tone. "Yes, what can they +feed into our minds without our knowing? Perhaps those disks are only +window dressing, and they can work without them. A great deal will +depend upon the impression we can make on these witches." He began to +smile again, more wryly. "The name we gave this planet is certainly a +misnomer. A warlock is a male sorcerer, not a witch." + +"And what are the chances of our becoming warlocks ourselves?" + +Again Thorvald's smile faded, but he gave a curt little nod to Shann as +if approving that thought. "That is something we are going to look into, +and now! If we have to convince some stubborn females, as well as fight +Throgs, well"--he shrugged--"we'll have a busy, busy, time." + + + + +16. THIRD PRISONER + + +"Well, it works as good as new." Shann held his hand and arm out into +the full path of the sun. He had just stripped off the skin-case +bandage, to show the raw seam of a half-healed scar, but as he flexed +muscles, bent and twisted his arm, there was only a small residue of +soreness left. + +"Now what, or where?" he asked Thorvald with some eagerness. Several +days' imprisonment in this room had made him impatient for the outer +world again. Like the officer, he now wore breeches of the green fabric, +the only material known to the Wyverns, and his own badly worn boots. +Oddly enough, the Terrans' weapons, stunner and knife, had been left to +them, a point which made them uneasy, since it suggested that the +Wyverns believed they had nothing to fear from clumsy alien arms. + +"Your guess is as good as mine," Thorvald answered that double question. +"But it is you they want to see; they insisted upon it, rather +emphatically in fact." + +The Wyvern city existed as a series of cell-like hollows in the interior +of a rock-walled island. Outside there had been no tampering with the +natural rugged features of the escarpment, and within, the silence was +almost complete. For all the Terrans could learn, the population of the +stone-walled hive might have been several thousand, or just the handful +that they had seen with their own eyes along the passages which had been +declared open territory for them. + +Shann half expected to find again a skull-walled chamber where witches +tossed colored sticks to determine his future. But he came with Thorvald +into an oval room in which most of the outer wall was a window. And +seeing what lay framed in that, Shann halted, again uncertain as to +whether he actually saw that, or whether he was willed into visualizing +a scene by the choice of his hostesses. + +They were lower now than the room in which he had nursed his wound, not +far above water level. And this window faced the sea. Across a stretch +of green water was his red-purple skull, the waves lapping its lower +jaw, spreading their foam in between the gaping rock-fringe which formed +its teeth. And from the eye hollows flapped the clak-claks of the sea +coast, coming and going as if they carried to some imprisoned brain +within that giant bone case messages from the outer world. + +"My dream----" Shann said. + +"Your dream." Thorvald had not echoed that; the answer had come in his +brain. + +Shann turned his head and surveyed the Wyvern awaiting them with a +concentration which was close to the rudeness of an outright stare, a +stare which held no friendship. For by her skin patterns he knew her for +the one who had led that triumvir who had sent him into the cavern of +the mist. And with her was the younger witch he had trapped on the night +that all this baffling action had begun. + +"We meet again," he said slowly. "To what purpose?" + +"To our purpose ... and yours----" + +"I do not doubt that it is to yours." The Terran's thoughts fell easily +now into a formal pattern he would not have used with one of his own +kind. "But I do not expect any good to me...." + +There was no readable expression on her face; he did not expect to see +any. But in their uneven mind touch he caught a fleeting suggestion of +bewilderment on her part, as if she found his mental processes as hard +to understand as a puzzle with few leading clues. + +"We mean you no ill, star voyager. You are far more than we first +thought you, for you have dreamed false and have known. Now dream true, +and know it also." + +"Yet," he challenged, "you would set me a task without my consent." + +"We have a task for you, but already it was set in the pattern of your +true dreaming. And we do not set such patterns, star man; that is done +by the Greatest Power of all. Each lives within her appointed pattern +from the First Awakening to the Final Dream. So we do not ask of you any +more than that which is already laid for your doing." + +She arose with that languid grace which was a part of their delicate +jeweled bodies and came to stand beside him, a child in size, making his +Terran flesh and bones awkward, clodlike in contrast. She stretched out +her four-digit hand, her slender arm ringed with gemmed circles and +bands, measuring it beside his own, bearing that livid scar. + +"We are different, star man, yet still are we both dreamers. And dreams +hold power. Your dreams brought you across the dark which lies between +sun and distant sun. Our dreams carry us on even stranger roads. And +yonder"--one of her fingers stiffened to a point, indicating the +skull--"there is another who dreams with power, a power which will +destroy us all unless the pattern is broken speedily." + +"And I must go to seek this dreamer?" His vision of climbing through +that nose hole was to be realized then. + +"You go." + +Thorvald stirred and the Wyvern turned her head to him. "Alone," she +added. "For this is your dream only, as it has been from the beginning. +There is for each his own dream, and another cannot walk through it to +alter the pattern, even to save a life." + +Shann grinned crookedly, without humor. "It seems that I'm elected," he +said as much to himself as to Thorvald. "But what do I do with this +other dreamer?" + +"What your pattern moves you to do. Save that you do not slay him----" + +"Throg!" Thorvald started forward. "You can't just walk in on a Throg +barehanded and be bound by orders such as that!" + +The Wyvern must have caught the sense of that vocal protest, for her +communication touched them both. "We cannot deal with that one as his +mind is closed to us. Yet he is an elder among his kind and his people +have been searching land and sea for him since his air rider broke upon +the rocks and he entered into hiding over there. Make your peace with +him if you can, and also take him hence, for his dreams are not ours, +and he brings confusion to the Reachers when they retire to run the +Trails of Seeking." + +"Must be an important Throg," Shann deduced. "They could have an officer +of the beetle-heads under wraps over there. Could we use him to bargain +with the rest?" + +Thorvald's frown did not lighten. "We've never been able to establish +any form of contact in the past, though our best qualified minds, +reinforced by training, have tried...." + +Shann did not take fire at that rather delicate estimate of his own lack +of preparation for the carrying out of diplomatic negotiations with the +enemy; he knew it was true. But there was one thing he could try--if the +Wyverns permitted. + +"Will you give a disk of power to this star man?" He pointed to +Thorvald. "For he is my Elder One and a Reacher for Knowledge. With such +a focus his dream could march with mine when I go to the Throg, and +perhaps that can aid in my doing what I could not accomplish alone. For +that is the secret of _my_ people, Elder One. We link our powers +together to make a shield against our enemies, a common tool for the +work we must do." + +"And so it is with us also, star voyager. We are not so unlike as the +foolish might think. We learned much of you while you both wandered in +the Place of False Dreams. But our power disks are our own and can not +be given to a stranger while their owners live. However...." She turned +again with an abruptness foreign to the usual Wyvern manner and faced +the older Terran. + +The officer might have been obeying an unvoiced order as he put out his +hands and laid them palm to palm on those she held up to him, bending +his head so gray eyes met golden ones. The web of communication which +had held all three of them snapped. Thorvald and the Wyvern were linked +in a tight circuit which excluded Shann. + +Then the latter became conscious of movement beside him. The younger +Wyvern had joined him to watch the clak-claks in their circling of the +bare dome of the skull island. + +"Why do they fly so?" Shann asked her. + +"Within they nest, care for their young. Also they hunt the rock +creatures that swarm in the lower darkness." + +"The rock creatures?" If the skull's interior was infested by some other +native fauna, he wanted to know it. + +By some method of her own the young Wyvern conveyed a strong impression +of revulsion, which was her personal reaction to the "rock creatures." + +"Yet you imprison the Throg there----" he remarked. + +"Not so!" Her denial was instantaneous and vehement. "The other worlder +fled into that place in spite of our calling. There he stays in hiding. +Once we drew him out to the sea, but he broke the power and fled inside +again." + +"Broke free----" Shann pounced upon that. "From disk control?" + +"But surely." Her reply held something of wonder. "Why do you ask, star +voyager? Did you not also break free from the power of the disk when I +led you by the underground ways, awaking in the river? Do you then rate +this other one as less than your own breed that you think him incapable +of the same action?" + +"Of Throgs I know as much as this...." He held up his hand, measuring +off a fraction of space between thumb and forefinger. + +"Yet you knew them before you came to this world." + +"My people have known them for long. We have met and fought many times +among the stars." + +"And never have you talked mind to mind?" + +"Never. We have sought for that, but there has been no communication +between us, neither of mind nor of voice." + +"This one you name Throg is truly not as you," she assented. "And we are +not as you, being alien and female. Yet, star man, you and I have shared +a dream." + +Shann stared at her, startled, not so much by what she said as the human +shading of those words in his mind. Or had that also been illusion? + +"In the veil ...that creature which came to you on wings when you +remembered that. A good dream, though it came out of the past and so was +false in the present. But I have gathered it into my own store: such a +fine dream, one that you have cherished." + +"Trav was to be cherished," he agreed soberly. "I found her in a broken +sleep cage at a spaceport when I was a child. We were both cold and +hungry, alone and hurt. So I stole and was glad that I stole Trav. For a +little space we both were very happy...." Forcibly he stifled memory. + +"So, though we are unlike in body and in mind, yet we find beauty +together if only in a dream. Therefore, between your people and mine +there can _be_ a common speech. And I may show you my dream store for +your enjoyment, star voyager." + +A flickering of pictures, some weird, some beautiful, all a little +distorted--not only by haste, but also by the haze of alienness which +was a part of her memory pattern--crossed Shann's mind. + +"Such a sharing would be a rich feast," he agreed. + +"All right!" Those crisp words in his own tongue brought Shann away from +the window to Thorvald. The Survey officer was no longer locked hand to +hand with the Wyvern witch, but his features were alive with a new +eagerness. + +"We are going to try your idea, Lantee. They'll provide me with a new, +unmarked disk, show me how to use it. And I'll do what I can to back you +with it. But they insist that you go today." + +"What do they really want me to do? Just rout out that Throg? Or try to +talk him into being a go-between with his people? That _does_ come under +the heading of dreaming!" + +"They want him out of there, back with his own kind if possible. +Apparently he's a disruptive influence for them; he causes some kind of +a mental foul up which interferes drastically with their 'power.' They +haven't been able to get him to make any contact with them. This Elder +One is firm about your being the one ordained for the job, and that +you'll know what action to take when you get there." + +"Must have thrown the sticks for me again," Shann commented. + +"Well, they've definitely picked you to smoke out the Throg, and they +can't be talked into changing their minds about that." + +"I'll be the smoked one if he has a blaster." + +"They say he's unarmed----" + +"What do they know about our weapons or a Throg's?" + +"The other one has no arms." Wyvern words in his mind again. "This fact +gives him great fear. That which he has depended upon is broken. And +since he has no weapon, he is shut into a prison of his own terrors." + +But an adult Throg, even unarmed, was not to be considered easy meat, +Shann thought. Armored with horny skin, armed with claws and those +crushing mandibles of the beetle mouth ... a third again as tall as he +himself was. No, even unarmed, the Throg had to be considered a menace. + +Shann was still thinking along that line as he splashed through the surf +which broke about the lower jaw of the skull island, climbed up one of +the pointed rocks which masqueraded as a tooth, and reached for a higher +hold to lead him to the nose slit, the gateway to the alien's hiding +place. + +The clak-claks screamed and dived about him, highly resentful of his +intrusion. And when they grew so bold as to buffet him with their wings, +threaten him with their tearing beaks, he was glad to reach the broken +rock edging his chosen door and duck inside. Once there, Shann looked +back. There was no sighting the cliff window where Thorvald stood, nor +was he aware in any way of mental contact with the Survey officer; their +hope of such a linkage might be futile. + +Shann was reluctant to venture farther. His eyes had sufficiently +adjusted to the limited supply of light, and now the Terran brought out +the one aid the Wyverns had granted him, a green crystal such as those +which had played the role of stars on the cavern roof. He clipped its +simple loop setting to the front of his belt, leaving his hands free. +Then, having filled his lungs for the last time with clean, sea-washed +air, he started into the dome of the skull. + +There was a fetid thickness to this air only a few feet away from the +outer world. The odor of clak-clak droppings and refuse from their nests +was strong, but there was an added staleness, as if no breeze ever +scooped out the old atmosphere to replace it with new. Fragile bones +crunched under Shann's boots, but as he drew away from the entrance, the +pale glow of the crystal increased its radiance, emitting a light not +unlike that of the phosphorescent bushes, so that he was not swallowed +up by dark. + +The cave behind the nose hole narrowed quickly into a cleft, a narrow +cleft which pierced into the bowl of the skull. Shann proceeded with +caution, pausing every few steps. There came a murmur rising now and +again to a shriek, issuing, he guessed, from the clak-clak rookery +above. And the pound of sea waves was also a vibration carrying through +the rock. He was listening for something else, at the same time testing +the ill-smelling air for that betraying muskiness which spelled Throg. + +When a twist in the narrow passage cut off the splotch of daylight, +Shann drew his stunner. The strongest bolt from that could not jolt a +Throg into complete paralysis, but it would slow up any attack. + +Red--pinpoints of red--were edging a break in the rock wall. They were +gone in a flash. Eyes? Perhaps of the rock dwellers which the Wyverns +hated? More red dots, farther ahead. Shann listened for a sound he could +identify. + +But smell came before sound. That trace of effluvia which in force could +sicken a Terran, was his guide. The cleft ended in a space to which the +limited gleam of the crystal could not provide a far wall. But that +faint light did show him his quarry. + +The Throg was not on his feet, ready for trouble, but hunched close to +the wall. And the alien did not move at Shann's coming. Did the +beetle-head sight him? Shann wondered. He moved cautiously. And the +round head, with its bulbous eyes, turned a fraction; the mandibles +about the the ugly mouth opening quivered. Yes, the Throg could see him. + +But still the alien made no move to rise out of his crouch, to come at +the Terran. Then Shann saw the fall of rock, the stone which pinned a +double-kneed leg to the floor. And in a circle about the prisoner were +the small, crushed, furred things which had come to prey on the helpless +to be slain themselves by the well-aimed stones which were the Throg's +only weapons of defense. + +Shann sheathed his stunner. It was plain the Throg was helpless and +could not reach him. He tried to concentrate mentally on a picture of +the scene before him, hoping that Thorvald or one of the Wyverns could +pick it up. There was no answer, no direction. Choice of action remained +solely his. + +The Terran made the oldest friendly gesture of his kind; his empty hands +held up, palm out. There was no answering move from the Throg. Neither +of the other's upper limbs stirred, their claws still gripping the small +rocks in readiness for throwing. All Shann's knowledge of the alien's +history argued against an unarmed advance. The Throg's marksmanship, as +borne out by the circle of small bodies, was excellent. And one of those +rocks might well thud against his own head, with fatal results. Yet he +had been sent there to get the Throg free and out of Wyvern territory. + +So rank was the beetle smell of the other that Shann coughed. What he +needed now was the aid of the wolverines, a diversion to keep the alien +busy. But this time there was no disk working to produce Taggi and Togi +out of thin air. And he could not continue to just stand there staring +at the Throg. There remained the stunner. Life on the Dumps tended to +make a man a fast draw, a matter of survival for the fastest and most +accurate marksman. And now one of Shann's hands swept down with a speed +which, learned early, was never really to be forgotten. + +He had the rod out and was spraying on tight beam straight at the +Throg's head before the first stone struck his shoulder and his weapon +fell from a numbed hand. But a second stone tumbled out of the Throg's +claw. The alien tried to reach for it, his movements slow, uncertain. + +Shann, his arm dangling, went in fast, bracing his good shoulder against +the boulder which pinned the Throg. The alien aimed a blow at the +Terran's head, but again so slowly Shann had no difficulty in evading +it. The boulder gave, rolled, and Shann cleared out of range, back to +the opening of the cleft, pausing only to scoop up his stunner. + +For a long moment the Throg made no move; his dazed wits must have been +working at very slow speed. Then the alien heaved up his body to stand +erect, favoring the leg which had been trapped. Shann tensed, waiting +for a rush. What now? Would the Throg refuse to move? If so, what could +he do about it? + +With the impact of a blow, the message Shann had hoped for struck into +his mind. But his initial joy at that contact was wiped out with the +same speed. + +"Throg ship ... overhead." + +The Throg stood away from the wall, limped out, heading for Shann, or +perhaps only the cleft in which he stood. Swinging the stunner awkwardly +in his left hand, the Terran retreated, mentally trying to contact +Thorvald once more. There was no answer. He was well up into the cleft, +moving crabwise, unwilling to turn his back on the Throg. The alien was +coming as steadily as his injured limb would allow, trying for the exit +to the outer world. + +A Throg ship overhead.... Had the castaway somehow managed to call his +own kind? And what if he, Shann Lantee, were to be trapped between the +alien and a landing party from the flyer? He did not expect any +assistance from the Wyverns, and what could Thorvald possibly do? From +behind him, at the entrance of the nose slit, he heard a sound--a sound +which was neither the scolding of a clak-clak nor the eternal growl of +the sea. + + + + +17. THROG JUSTICE + + +The musty stench was so strong that Shann could no longer fight the +demands of his outraged stomach. He rolled on his side, retching +violently until the sour smell of his illness battled the foul odor of +the ship. His memories of how he had come into this place were vague; +his body was a mass of dull pain, as if he had been scorched. Scorched! +Had the Throgs used one of their energy whips to subdue him? The last +clear thing he could recall was that slow withdrawal down the cleft +inside the skull rock, the Throg not too far away--the sound from the +entrance. + +A Throg prisoner! Through the pain and the sickness the horror of that +bit doubly deep. Terrans did not fall alive into Throg hands, not if +they had the means of ending their existence within reach. But his hands +and arms were caught behind him in an unbreakable lock, some gadget not +unlike the Terran force bar used to restrain criminals, he decided +groggily. + +The cubby in which he lay was black-dark. But the quivering of the deck +and the bulkheads about him told Shann that the ship was in flight. And +there could be but two destinations, either the camp where the Throg +force had taken over the Terran installations or the mother ship of the +raiders. If Thorvald's earlier surmise was true and the aliens were +hunting a Terran to talk in the transport, then they were heading for +the camp. + +And because a man who still lives and who is not yet broken can also +hope, Shann began to think ahead to the camp--the camp and a faint, +thin chance of escape. For on the surface of Warlock there was a thin +chance; in the mother ship of the Throgs none at all. + +Thorvald--and the Wyverns! Could he hope for any help from them? Shann +closed his eyes against the thick darkness and tried to reach out to +touch, somewhere, Thorvald with his disk--or perhaps the Wyvern who had +talked of Trav and shared dreams. Shann focused his thoughts on the +young Wyvern witch, visualizing with all the detail he could summon out +of memory the brilliant patterns about her slender arms, her thin, +fragile wrists, those other designs overlaying her features. He could +see her in his mind, but she was only a puppet, without life, certainly +without power. + +Thorvald.... Now Shann fought to build a mental picture of the Survey +officer, making his stand at that window, grasping his disk, with the +sun bringing gold to his hair and showing the bronze of his skin. Those +gray eyes which could be ice, that jaw with the tight set of a trap upon +occasion.... + +And Shann made contact! He touched something, a flickering like a badly +tuned tri-dee--far more fuzzy than the mind pictures the Wyvern had +paraded for him. But he had touched! And Thorvald, too, had been aware +of his contact. + +Shann fought to find that thread of awareness again. Patiently he once +more created his vision of Thorvald, adding every detail he could +recall, small things about the other which he had not known that he had +noticed--the tiny arrow-shaped scar near the base of the officer's +throat, the way his growing hair curled at the ends, the look of one +eyebrow slanting abruptly toward his hairline when he was dubious about +something. Shann strove to make a figure as vividly as Logally and Trav +had been in the mist of the illusion. + +"... where?" + +This time Shann was prepared; he did not let that mind image dissolve in +his excitement at recapturing the link. "Throg ship," he said the words +aloud, over and over, but still he held to his picture of Thorvald. + +"... will...." + +Only that one word! The thread between them snapped again. Only then did +Shann become conscious of a change in the ship's vibration. Were they +setting down? And where? Let it be at the camp! It must be the camp! + +There was no jar at that landing, just that one second the vibration +told him the ship was alive and air-borne, and the next a dead quiet +testified that they had landed. Shann, his sore body stiff with tension, +waited for the next move on the part of his captors. + +He continued to lie in the dark, still queasy from the stench of the +cell, too keyed up to try to reach Thorvald. There was a dull grating +over his head, and he looked up eagerly--to be blinded by a strong beam +of light. Claws hooked painfully under his arms and he was manhandled up +and out, dragged along a short passage and pitched free of the ship, +falling hard upon trodden earth and rolling over gasping as the seared +skin of his body was rasped and abraded. + +The Terran lay face up now, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he +saw a ring of Throg heads blotting out the sky as they inspected their +catch impassively. The mouth mandibles of one moved with a faint +clicking. Again claws fastened in his armpits, brought Shann to his +feet, holding him erect. + +Then the Throg who had given that order moved closer. His hand-claws +clasped a small metal plate surmounted by a hoop of thin wire over which +was stretched a web of threads glistening in the sun. Holding that hoop +on a level with his mouth, the alien clicked his mandibles, and those +sounds became barely distinguishable basic galactic words. + +"You Throg meat!" + +For a moment Shann wondered if the alien meant that statement literally. +Or was it a conventional expression for a prisoner among their land. + +"Do as told!" + +That was clear enough, and for the moment the Terran did not see that he +had any choice in the matter. But Shann refused to make any sign of +agreement to either of those two limited statements. Perhaps the +beetle-heads did not expect any. The alien who had pulled him to his +feet continued to hold him erect, but the attention of the Throg with +the translator switched elsewhere. + +From the alien ship emerged a second party. The Throg in their midst was +unarmed and limping. Although to Terran eyes one alien was the exact +counterpart of the other, Shann thought that this one was the prisoner +in the skull cave. Yet the indications now suggested that he had only +changed one captivity for another and was in disgrace among his kind. +Why? + +The Throg limped up to front the leader with the translator, and his +guards fell back. Again mandibles clicked, were answered, though the +sense of that exchange eluded Shann. At one point in the report--if +report it was--he himself appeared to be under discussion, for the +injured Throg waved a hand-claw in the Terran's direction. But the end +to the conference came quickly enough and in a manner which Shann found +shocking. + +Two of the guards stepped forward, caught at the injured Throg's arms +and drew him away, leading him out into a space beyond the grounded +ship. They dropped their hold on him, returning at a trot. The officer +clicked an order. Blasters were unholstered, and the Throg in the field +shriveled under a vicious concentration of cross bolts. Shann gasped. He +certainly had no liking for Throgs, but this execution carried overtones +of a cold-blooded ferocity which transcended anything he had known, even +in the callous brutality of the Dumps. + +Limp, and more than a little sick again, he watched the Throg officer +turn away. And a moment later he was forced along in the other's wake to +the domes of the once Terran camp. Not just to the camp in general, he +discovered a minute later, but to that structure which had housed the +com unit linking them with ships cruising the solar lanes and with the +patrol. So Thorvald had been right; they needed a Terran to +broadcast--to cover their tracks here and lay a trap for the transport. + +Shann had no idea how much time he had passed among the Wyverns; the +transport with its load of unsuspecting settlers might already be in the +system of Circe, plotting a landing orbit around Warlock, broadcasting +her recognition signal and a demand for a beam to ride her in. Only, +this time the Throgs were out of luck. They had picked up one prisoner +who could not help them, even if he wanted to do so. The mysteries of +the highly technical installations in this dome were just that to Shann +Lantee--complete mysteries. He had not the slightest idea of how to +activate the machines, let alone broadcast in the proper code. + +A cold spot of terror gathered in his middle, spreading outward through +his smarting body. For he was certain that the Throgs would not believe +that. They would consider his protestations of ignorance as a stubborn +refusal to co-operate. And what would happen to him then would be beyond +human endurance. Could he bluff--play for time? But what would that time +buy him except to delay the inevitable? In the end, that small hope +based on his momentary contact with Thorvald made him decide to try that +bluff. + +There had been changes in the com dome since the capture of the cap. A +squat box on the floor sprouted a collection of tubes from its upper +surface. Perhaps that was some Throg equivalent of Terran equipment in +place on the wide table facing the door. + +The Throg leader clicked into his translator: "You call ship!" + +Shann was thrust down into the operator's chair, his bound arms still +twisted behind him so that he had to lean forward to keep on the seat at +all. Then the Throg who had pushed him there, roughly forced a set of +com earphones and speech mike onto his head. + +"Call ship!" clicked the alien officer. + +So time must be running out. Now was the moment to bluff. Shann shook +his head, hoping that the gesture of negation was common to both their +species. + +"I don't know the code," he said aloud. + +The Throg's bulbous eyes gazed, at his moving lips. Then the translator +was held before the Terran's mouth. Shann repeated his words, heard them +reissue as a series of clicks, and waited. So much depended now on the +reaction of the beetle-head officer. Would he summarily apply pressure +to enforce his order, or would he realize that it was possible that all +Terrans did not know that code, and so he could not produce in a +captive's head any knowledge that had never been there--with or without +physical coercion? + +Apparently the latter logic prevailed for the present. The Throg drew +the translator back to his mandibles. + +"When ship call--you answer--make lip talk your words! Say bad sickness +here--need help. Code man dead--you talk in his place. I listen. You say +wrong, you die--you die a long time. Hurt bad all that time----" + +Clear enough. So he had been able to buy a little time! But how soon +before the incoming ship would call? The Throgs seemed to expect it. +Shann licked his blistered lips. He was sure that the Throg officer +meant exactly what he said in that last grisly threat. Only, would +anyone--Throg or human--live very long in this camp if Shann got his +warning through? The transport would have been accompanied on the big +jump by a patrol cruiser, especially now with Throgs littering deep +space the way they were in this sector. Let Shann alert the ship, and +the cruiser would know; swift punitive action would be visited on the +camp. Throgs could begin to make their helpless prisoner regret his +rashness; then all of them would be blotted out together, prisoner and +captors alike, when the cruiser came in. + +If that was his last chance, he'd play it that way. The Throgs would +kill him anyhow, he hadn't the least doubt of that. They kept no +long-term Terran prisoners and never had. And at least he could take +this nest of devil beetles along with him. Not that the thought did +anything to dampen the fear which made him weak and dizzy. Shann Lantee +might be tough enough to fight his way out of the Dumps, but to stand up +and defy Throgs face-to-face like a video hero was something else. He +knew that he could not do any spectacular act; if he could hold out to +the end without cracking he would be satisfied. + +Two more Throgs entered the dome. They stalked to the far end of the +table which held the com equipment, and frequently pausing to consult a +Terran work tape set in a reader, they made adjustments to the spotter +beam broadcaster. They worked slowly but competently, testing each +circuit. Preparing to draw in the Terran transport, holding the large +ship until they had it helpless on the ground. The Terran began to +wonder how they proposed to take the ship over once they did have it on +planet. + +Transports were armed for ground fighting. Although they rode in on a +beam broadcast from a camp, they were prepared for unpleasant surprises +on a planet's surface; such were certainly not unknown in the history of +Survey. Which meant that the Throgs had in turn some assault weapon they +believed superior, for they radiated confidence now. But could they +handle a patrol cruiser ready to fight? + +The Throg technicians made a last check of the beam, reporting in clicks +to the officer. The alien gave an order to Shann's guard before +following them out. A loop of wire rope dropped over the Terran's head, +tightened about his chest, dragging him back against the chair until he +grunted with pain. Two more loops made him secure in a most +uncomfortable posture, and then he was left alone in the com dome. + +An abortive struggle against the wire rope taught him the folly of such +an effort. He was in deep freeze as far as any bodily movement was +concerned. Shann closed his eyes, settled to that same concentration he +had labored to acquire on the Throg ship. If there was any chance of the +Wyvern communication working again, here and now was the time for it! + +Again he built his mental picture of Thorvald, as detailed as he had +made it in the Throg ship. And with that to the forefront of his mind, +Shann strove to pick up the thread which could link them. Was the +distance between this camp and the seagirt city of the Wyverns too +great? Did the Throgs unconsciously dampen out that mental reaching as +the Wyverns had said they did when they had sent him to free the captive +in the skull? + +Drops gathered in the unkempt tight curls on his head, trickled down to +sting on his tender skin. He was bathed in the moisture summoned by an +effort as prolonged and severe as if he labored physically under a hot +sun at the top speed of which his body was capable. + +Thorvald---- + +Thorvald! But not standing by the window in the Wyvern stronghold! +Thorvald with the amethyst of heavy Warlockian foliage at his back. So +clear was the new picture that Shann might have stood only a few feet +away. Thorvald there, with the wolverines at his side. And behind him +sun glinted on the gem-patterned skin of more than one Wyvern. + +"Where?" + +That demand from the Survey officer, curt, clear--so perfect the word +might have rung audibly through the dome. + +"The camp!" Shann hurled that back, frantic with fear than once again +their contact might fail. + +"They want me to call in the transport." He added that. + +"How soon?" + +"Don't know. They have the guide beam set. I'm to say there's illness +here; they know I can't code." + +All he could see now was Thorvald's face, intent, the officer's eyes +cold sparks of steel, bearing the impress of a will as implacable as a +Throg's. Shann added his own decision. + +"I'll warn the ship off; they'll send in the patrol." + +There was no change in Thorvald's expression. "Hold out as long as you +can!" + +Cold enough, no promise of help, nothing on which to build hope. Yet the +fact that Thorvald was on the move, away from the Wyvern city, meant +something. And Shann was sure that thick vegetation could be found only +on the mainland. Not only was Thorvald ashore, but there were Wyverns +with him. Could the officer have persuaded the witches of Warlock to +foresake their hands-off policy and join him in an attack on the Throg +camp? No promise, not even a suggestion that the party Shann had +envisioned was moving in his direction. Yet somehow he believed that +they were. + +There was a sound from the doorway of the dome. Shann opened his eyes. +There were Throgs entering, one to go to the guide beam, two heading for +his chair. He closed his eyes again in a last attempt, backed by every +remaining ounce of his energy and will. + +"Ship's in range. Throgs here." + +Thorvald's face, dimmer now, snapped out while a blow on Shann's jaw +rocked his head cruelly, made his ears sing, his eyes water. He saw +Throgs--Throgs only. And one held the translator. + +"You talk!" + +A tri-jointed arm reached across his shoulder, triggered a lever, +pressed a button. The head set cramping his ear let out a sudden growl +of sound--the com was activated. A claw jammed the mike closer to +Shann's lips, but also slid in range the webbed loop of the translator. + +Shann shook his head at the incoming rattle of code. The Throg with the +translator was holding the other head set close to his own ear pit. And +the claws of the guard came down on Shann's shoulders in a cruel grip, a +threat of future brutality. + +The rattle of code continued while Shann thought furiously. This was it! +He had to give a warning, and then the aliens would do to him just what +the officer had threatened. Shann could not seem to think clearly. It +was as if in his efforts to contact Thorvald, he had exhausted some part +of his brain, so that now he was dazed just when he needed quick wits +the most! + +This whole scene had a weird unreality. He had seen its like a thousand +times on fiction tapes--the Terran hero menaced by aliens intent on +saving ... saving.... + +Was it out of one of those fiction tapes he had devoured in the past +that Shann recalled that scrap of almost forgotten information? + +The Terran began to speak into the mike, for there had come a pause in +the rattle of code. He used Terran, not basic, and he shaped the words +slowly. + +"Warlock calling--trouble--sickness here--com officer dead." + +He was interrupted by another burst of code. The claws of his guard +twisted into the naked flesh of his shoulders in vicious warning. + +"Warlock calling--" he repeated. "Need help----" + +"Who are you?" + +The demand came in basic. On board the transport they would have a list +of every member of the Survey team. + +"Lantee." Shann drew a deep breath. He was so conscious of those claws +on his shoulders, of what would follow. + +"This is Mayday!" he said distinctly, hoping desperately that someone in +the control cabin of the ship now in orbit would catch the true meaning +of that ancient call of complete disaster. "Mayday--beetles--over and +out!" + + + + +18. STORM'S ENDING + + +Shann had no answer from the transport, only the continuing hum of a +contact still open between the dome and the control cabin miles above +Warlock. The Terran breathed slowly, deeply, felt the claws of the Throg +bite his flesh as his chest expanded. Then, as if a knife slashed, the +hum of that contact was gone. He had time to know a small flash of +triumph. He had done it; he had aroused suspicion in the transport. + +When the Throg officer clicked to the alien manning the landing beam, +Shann's exultation grew. The beetle-head must have accepted that cut in +communication as normal; he was still expecting the Terran ship to drop +neatly into his claws. + +But Shann's respite was to be very short, only timed by a few breaths. +The Throg at the riding beam was watching the indicators. Now he +reported to his superior, who swung back to face the prisoner. Although +Shann could read no expression on the beetle's face, he did not need any +clue to the other's probable emotions. Knowing that his captive had +somehow tricked him, the alien would now proceed relentlessly to put +into effect the measures he had threatened. + +How long before the patrol cruiser would planet? That crew was used to +alarms, and their speed was three or four times greater than that of the +bulkier transports. If the Throgs didn't scatter now, before they could +be caught in one attack.... + +The wire rope which held Shann clamped to the chair was loosened, and he +set his teeth against the pain of restored circulation, This was nothing +compared to what he faced; he knew that. They jerked him to his feet, +faced him toward the outer door, and propelled him through it with a +speed and roughness indicative of their feelings. + +The hour was close to dusk and Shann glanced wistfully at promising +shadows, though he had given up hope of rescue by now. If he could just +get free of his guards, he could at least give the beetle-heads a good +run. + +He saw that the camp was deserted. There was no sign about the domes +that any Throgs sheltered there. In fact, Shann saw no aliens at all +except those who had come from the com dome with him. Of course! The +rest must be in ambush, waiting for the transport to planet. What about +the Throg ship or ships? Those must have been hidden also. And the only +hiding place for them would be aloft. There was a chance that the Throgs +had so flung away their chance for any quick retreat. + +Yes; the aliens could scatter over the countryside and so escape the +first blast from the cruiser. But they would simply maroon themselves to +be hunted down by patrol landing parties who would comb the territory. +The beetles could so prolong their lives for a few hours, maybe a few +days, but they were really ended on that moment when the transport cut +communication. Shann was sure that the officer, at least, understood +that. + +The Terran was dragged away from the domes toward the river down which +he and Thorvald had once escaped. Moving through the dusk in parallel +lines, he caught sight of other Throg squads, well armed, marching in +order to suggest that they were not yet alarmed. However, he had been +right about the ships--there were no flyers grounded on the improvised +field. + +Shann made himself as much of a burden as he could. At the best, he +could so delay the guards entrusted with his safekeeping; at the worst, +he could earn for himself a quick ending by blaster which would be +better than the one they had for him. He went limp, falling forward into +the trampled grass. There was an exasperated click from the Throg who +had been herding him, and the Terran tried not to flinch from a sharp +kick delivered by a clawed foot. + +Feigning unconsciousness, the Terran listened to the unintelligible +clicks exchanged by Throgs standing over him. His future depended now on +how deep lay the alien officer's anger. If the beetle-head wanted to +carry out his earlier threats, he would have to order Shann's +transportation by the fleeing force. Otherwise his life might well end +here and now. + +Claws hooked once more on Shann. He was boosted up on the horny carapace +of a guard, the bonds on his arms taken off and his numbed hands brought +forward, to be held by his captor so that he lay helpless, a cloak over +the other's hunched shoulders. + +The ghost flares of bushes and plants blooming in the gathering twilight +gave a limited light to the scene. There was no way of counting the +number of Throgs on the move. But Shann was sure that all the enemy +ships must have been emptied except for skeleton crews, and perhaps +others had been ferried in from their hidden base somewhere in Circe's +system. + +He could only see a little from his position on the Throg's back, but +ahead a ripple of beetle bodies slipped over the bank of the river cut. +The aliens were working their way into cover, fitting into the dapple +shadows with a skill which argued a long practice in such elusive +maneuvers. Did they plan to try to fight off a cruiser attack? That was +pure madness. Or, Shann wondered, did they intend to have the Terrans +met by one of their own major ships somewhere well above the surface of +Warlock? + +His bearer turned away from the stream cut, carrying Shann out into that +field which had first served the Terrans as a landing strip, then +offered the same service to the Throgs. They passed two more parties of +aliens on the move, manhandling with them bulky objects the Terran could +not identify. Then he was dumped unceremoniously to the hard earth, only +to lie there a few seconds before he was flopped over on a framework +which grated unpleasantly against his raw shoulders, his wrists and +ankles being made fast so that his body was spread-eagled. There was a +click of orders; the frame was raised and dropped with a jarring +movement into a base, and he was held erect, once more facing the Throg +with the translator. This was it! Shann began to regret every small +chance he had had to end more cleanly. If he had attacked one of the +guards, even with his hands bound, he might have flustered the Throg +into retaliatory blaster fire. + +Fear made a thicker fog about him than the green mist of the illusion. +Only this was no illusion. Shann stared at the Throg officer with sick +eyes, knowing that no one ever quite believes that a last evil will +strike at him, that he had clung to a hope which had no existence. + +"Lantee!" + +The call burst in his head with a painful force. His dazed attention was +outwardly on the alien with the translator, but that inner demand had +given him a shock. + +"Here! Thorvald? Where?" + +The other struck in again with an urgent demand singing through Shann's +brain. + +"Give us a fix point--away from camp but not too far. Quick!" + +A fix point--what did the Survey officer mean? A fix point ... For some +reason Shann thought of the ledge on which he had lain to watch the +first Throg attack. And the picture of it was etched on his mind as +clearly as memory could paint it. + +"Thorvald----" Again his voice and his mind call were echoes of each +other. But this time he had no answer. Had that demand meant Thorvald +and the Wyverns were moving in, putting to use the strange +distance-erasing power the witches of Warlock could use by desire? But +why had they not come sooner? And what could they hope to accomplish +against the now scattered but certainly unbroken enemy forces? The +Wyverns had not been able to turn their power against one injured +Throg--by their own accounting--how could they possibly cope with +well-armed and alert aliens in the field? + +"You die--slow----" The Throg officer clicked, and the emotionless, +toneless translation was all the more daunting for that lack of color. +"Your people come--see----" + +So that was the reason they had brought him to the landing field. He was +to furnish a grisly warning to the crew of the cruiser. However, there +the Throgs were making a bad mistake if they believed that his death by +any ingenious method could scare off Terran retaliation. + +"I die--you follow----" Shann tried to make that promise emphatic. + +Did the Throg officer expect the Terran to beg for his life or a quick +death? Again he made his threat--straight into the web, hearing it split +into clicks. + +"Perhaps," the Throg returned. "But you die the first." + +"Get to it!" Shann's voice scaled up. He was close to the ragged edge, +and the last push toward the breaking point had not been the Throg +speech, but that message from Thorvald. If the Survey officer was going +to make any move in the mottled dusk, it would have to be soon. + +Mottled dusk.... The Throgs had moved a little away from him. Shann +looked beyond them to the perimeter of the cleared field, not really +because he expected to see any rescuers break from cover there. And when +he did see a change, Shann thought his own sight was at fault. + +Those splotches of waxy light which marked certain trees, bushes, and +scrubby ground-hugging plants were spreading, running together in pools. +And from those center cores of concentrated glow, tendrils of mist +lazily curled out, as a many-armed creature of the sea might allow its +appendages to float in the water which supported it. Tendrils crossed, +met, and thickened. There was a growing river of eerie light which +spread, again resembling a sea wave licking out onto the field. And +where it touched, unlike the wave, it did not retreat, but lapped on. +Was he actually seeing that? Shann could not be sure. + +Only the gray light continued to build, faster now, its speed of advance +matching its increase in bulk. Shann somehow connected it with the veil +of illusion. If it was real, there was a purpose behind it. + +There was an aroused clicking from the Throgs. A blaster bolt cracked, +its spiteful, sickly yellow slicing into the nearest tongue of gray. But +that luminous fog engulfed the blast and was not dispelled. Shann forced +his head around against the support which held him. The mist crept +across the field from all quarters, walling them in. + +Running at the ungainly lope which was their best effort at speed were +half a dozen Throgs emerging from the river section. Their attitude +suggested panic-stricken flight, and when one tripped on some unseen +obstruction and went down--to fall beneath a descending tongue of +phosphorescence--he uttered a strange high-pitched squeal, thin and +faint, but still a note of complete, mindless terror. + +The Throgs surrounding Shann were firing at the fog, first with +precision, then raggedly, as their bolts did nothing to cut that opaque +curtain drawing in about them. From inside that mist came other +sounds--noises, calls, and cries all alien to him, and perhaps also to +the Throgs. There were shapes barely to be discerned through the swirls; +perhaps some were Throgs in flight. But certainly others were non-Throg +in outline. And the Terran was sure that at least three of those shapes, +all different, had been in pursuit of one fleeing Throg, heading him off +from that small open area still holding about Shann. + +For the Throgs were being herded in from all sides--the handful who had +come from the river, the others who had brought Shann there. And the +action of the mist was pushing them into a tight knot. Would they +eventually turn on him, wanting to make sure of their prisoner before +they made a last stand against whatever lurked in the fog? To Shann's +continued relief the aliens seemed to have forgotten him. Even when one +cowered back against the very edge of the frame on which the Terran was +bound, the beetle-head did not look at this helpless prey. + +They were firing wildly, with desperation in every heavy thrust of +bolt. Then one Throg threw down his blaster, raised his arms over his +head, and voicing the same high wail uttered by his comrade-in-arms +earlier, he ran straight into the mist where a shape materialized, +closed in behind him, cutting him off from his fellows. + +That break demoralized the others. The Throg commander burned down two +of his company with his blaster, but three more broke past him to the +fog. One of the remaining party reversed his blaster, swung the stock +against the officer's carapace, beating him to his knees, before the +attacker raced on into the billows of the mist. Another threw himself on +the ground and lay there, pounding his claws against the baked earth. +While a remaining two continued with stolid precision to fire at the +lurking shapes which could only be half seen; and a third helped the +officer to his feet. + +The Throg commander reeled back against the frame, his musky body scent +filling Shann's nostrils. But he, too, paid no attention to the Terran, +though his horny arms scraped across Shann's. Holding both of his claws +to his head, he staggered on, to be engulfed by a new arm of the fog. + +Then, as if the swallowing of the officer had given the mist a fresh +appetite, the wan light waved in a last vast billow over the clear area +about the frame. Shann felt its substance cold, slimy, on his skin. This +was a deadly breath of un-life. + +He was weakened, sapped of strength, so that he hung in his bounds, his +head lolling forward on his breast. Warmth pressed against him, a warm +wet touch on his cold skin, a sensation of friendly concern in his mind. +Shann gasped, found that he was no longer filling his lungs with that +chill staleness which was the breath of the fog. He opened his eyes, +struggling to raise his head. The gray light had retreated, but though a +Throg blaster lay close to his feet, another only a yard beyond, there +was no sign of the aliens. + +Instead, standing on their hind feet to press against him in a demand +for his attention, were the wolverines. And seeing them, Shann dared to +believe that the impossible could be true; somehow he was safe. + +He spoke. And Taggi and Togi answered with eager whines. The mist was +withdrawing more slowly than it had come. Here and there things lay very +still on the ground. + +"Lantee!" + +This time the call came not into his mind but out of the air. Shann made +an effort at reply which was close to a croak. + +"Over here!" + +A new shape in the fog was moving with purpose toward him. Thorvald +strode into the open, sighted Shann, and began to run. + +"What did they----?" he began. + +Shann wanted to laugh, but the sound which issued from his dry throat +was very little like mirth. He struggled helplessly until he managed to +get out some words which made sense. + +"... hadn't started in on me yet. You were just in time." + +Thorvald loosened the wires which held the younger man to the frame and +stood ready to catch him as he slumped forward. And the officer's hold +wiped away the last clammy residue of the mist. Though he did not seem +able to keep on his feet, Shann's mind was clear. + +"What happened?" he demanded. + +"The power." Thorvald was examining him hastily but with attention for +every cut and bruise. "The beetle-heads didn't really get to work on +you----" + +"Told you that," Shann said impatiently. "But what brought that fog and +got the Throgs?" + +Thorvald smiled grimly. The ghostly light was fading as the fog +retreated, but Shann could see well enough to note that around the +other's neck hung one of the Wyvern disks. + +"It was a variation of the veil of illusion. You faced your memories +under the influence of that; so did I. But it would seem that the Throgs +had ones worse than either of us could produce. You can't play the role +of thug all over the galaxy and not store up in the subconscious a fine +line of private fears and remembered enemies. We provided the means for +releasing those, and they simply raised their own devils to order. +Neatest justice ever rendered. It seems that the 'power' has a big +kick--in a different way--when a Terran will manages to spark it." + +"And you did?" + +"I made a small beginning. Also I had the full backing of the Elders, +and a general staff of Wyverns in support. In a way I helped to provide +a channel for their concentration. Alone they can work 'magic'; with us +they can spread out into new fields. Tonight we hunted Throgs as a +united team--most successfully." + +"But they wouldn't go after the one in the skull." + +"No. Direct contact with a Throg mind appears to short-circuit them. I +did the contacting; they fed me what I needed. We have the answer to the +Throgs now--one answer." Thorvald looked back over the field where those +bodies lay so still. "We can kill Throgs. Maybe someday we can learn +another trick--how to live with them." He returned abruptly to the +present. "You did contact the transport?" + +Shann explained what had happened in the com dome. "I think when the +ship broke contact that way they understood." + +"We'll take it that they did, and be on the move." Thorvald helped Shann +to his feet. "If a cruiser berths here shortly, I don't propose to be +under its tail flames when it sets down." + +The cruiser came. And a mop-up squad patrolled outward from the +reclaimed camp, picked up two living Throgs, both wandering witlessly. +But Shann only heard of that later. He slept, so deep and dreamlessly +that when he roused he was momentarily dazed. + +A Survey uniform--with a cadet's badges--lay across the wall seat facing +his bunk in the barracks he had left ... how many days or weeks before? +The garments fitted well enough, but he removed the insignia to which he +was not entitled. When he ventured out he saw half a dozen troopers of +the patrol, together with Thorvald, watching the cruiser lift again into +the morning sky. + +Taggi and Togi, trailing leashes, galloped out of nowhere to hurl +themselves at him in uproarious welcome. And Thorvald must have heard +their eager whines even through the blast of the ship, for he turned and +waved Shann to join him. + +"Where is the cruiser going?" + +"To punch a Throg base out of this system," Thorvald answered. "They +located it--on Witch." + +"But we're staying on here?" + +Thorvald glanced at him oddly. "There won't be any settlement now. But +we have to establish a conditional embassy post. And the patrol has left +a guard." + +Embassy post. Shann digested that. Yes, of course, Thorvald, because of +his close contact with the Wyverns, would be left here for the present +to act as liaison officer-in-charge. + +"We don't propose," the other was continuing, "to allow to lapse any +contact with the one intelligent alien race we have discovered who can +furnish us with full-time partnership to our mutual benefit. And there +mustn't be any bungling here!" + +Shann nodded. That made sense. As soon as possible Warlock would witness +the arrival of another team, one slanted this time to the cultivation of +an alien friendship and alliance, rather than preparation for Terran +colonists. Would they keep him on? He supposed not; the wolverines' +usefulness was no longer apparent. + +"Don't you know your regulations?" There was a snap in Thorvald's demand +which startled Shann. He glanced up, discovered the other surveying him +critically. "You're not in uniform----" + +"No, sir," he admitted. "I couldn't find my own kit." + +"Where are your badges?" + +Shann's hand went up to the marks left when he had so carefully ripped +off the insignia. + +"My badges? I have no rank," he replied, bewildered. + +"Every team carries at least one cadet on strength." + +Shann flushed. There had been one cadet on this team; why did Thorvald +want to remember that? + +"Also," the other's voice sounded remote, "there can be appointments +made in the field--for cause. Those appointments are left to the +discretion of the officer-in-charge, and they are never questioned. I +repeat, you are not in uniform, Lantee. You will make the necessary +alteration and report to me at headquarters dome. As sole +representatives of Terra here we have a matter of protocol to be +discussed with our witches, and they have a right to expect punctuality +from a pair of warlocks, so get going!" + +Shann still stood, staring incredulously at the officer. Then Thorvald's +official severity vanished in a smile which was warm and real. + +"Get going," he ordered once more, "before I have to log you for +inattention to orders." + +Shann turned, nearly stumbling over Taggi, and then ran back to the +barracks in quest of some very important bits of braid he hoped he could +find in a hurry. + + + + +STORM OVER WARLOCK + + +"A satisfying and mature novel which readers will seize upon if they +want to enjoy a good adventure story. + +"A survey base on a remote planet is wiped out by a raid of Earth's +enemies, the Throgs; the only survivor must face the perils of an +unexplored planet while trying somehow to strike back at the enemy.... + +"As always Norton creates both human and alien beings well, and tells a +story that you can't stop reading." + +--_New York Herald Tribune_ + + +"UP TO NORTON'S BEST STANDARDS." + +--_Library Journal_ + + +The Throg task force struck the Terran survey camp a few minutes after +dawn, without warning, and with a deadly precision which argued that the +aliens had fully reconnoitered and prepared that attack. Eye-searing +lances of energy lashed back and forth across the base with methodical +accuracy. And a single cowering witness, flattened on a ledge in the +heights above, knew that when the last of those yellow-red bolts fell, +nothing human would be left alive down there. + +And so Shann Lantee, most menial of the Terrans attached to the camp on +the planet Warlock, was left alone and weaponless in the strange, +hostile world, the human prey of the aliens from space and the aliens on +the ground alike. + + +ANDRE NORTON has become one of the highest rated authors of +science-fiction adventure now writing. A native of Cleveland, Ohio, a +book collector, and s-f fan, Ace Books have had the pleasure of +presenting her best novels in newsstand editions. + +A checklist of available Andre Norton books: + +STAR GUARD (D-199) +SARGASSO OF SPACE (D-249) +STAR BORN (D-299) +PLAGUE SHIP (D-345) +VOODOO PLANET (D-345) +SECRET OF THE LOST RACE (D-381) +THE SIOUX SPACEMAN (D-437) +THE TIME TRADERS (D-461) +GALACTIC DERELICT (D-498) +STAR HUNTER (D-509) +THE BEAST MASTER (D-509) + ++--------------------------------------------------------------------+ +| | +| Transcriber's Notes & Errata | +| | +| 'nonhuman' is used as an adjective. 'non-human' is used as a noun. | +| | +| 'skullmountain' and 'skull-mountain' are used once each. | +| | +| |Page|Error |Correction | | +| |11 |gods |gobs | | +| |17 |of world |of the world | | +| |26 |beetlehead |beetle-head | | +| |29 |beetleheads |beetle-heads | | +| |55 |eye-holes |eyeholes | | +| |71 |Thorfald's |Thorvald's | | +| |87 |overhand |overhang | | +| |88 |look |took | | +| |94 |edgeing |edging | | +| |111 |verticle |vertical | | +| |123 |fist |first | | +| |125 |ceremoney |ceremony | | +| |131 |be |he | | +| |131 |then |their | | +| |131 |trid-ee |tri-dee | | +| |132 |heeled |healed | | +| |133 |again |against | | +| |134 |midst |mist | | +| |144 |Shan |Shann | | +| |145 |assauged |assuaged | | +| |156 |occurred |occurred | | +| |156 |one one |one | | +| |164 |and and |and | | +| |166 |route |rout | | +| |168 |roll |role | | +| |170 |Shanned |Shann | | +| |180 |activited |activated | | +| |180 |furiuosly |furiously | | +| |182 |beetlehead |beetle-head | | ++--------------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Storm Over Warlock, by Andre Norton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORM OVER WARLOCK *** + +***** This file should be named 20788.txt or 20788.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/7/8/20788/ + +Produced by LN Yaddanapudi, Greg Weeks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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