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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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