Their thoughts moved around him, swirling chaos shot through with streaks of brightness and emotions and dancing, half-seen concepts. Greel understood little. But here he recognized something. And there something else came to him.
He lingered and tasted fully of their minds, and learned. But still it was like mind-mingling with an animal. He could not make himself felt. He could not get an answer.
Still they moved away, and their thoughts dimmed, and the mind-mingling became harder. Greel advanced. He hesitated when he got to the place where the tunnel curved. But he knew he must go on. He was a scout.
He lowered himself to the floor, squinted, and moved around the curve on hands and knees.
Beyond the curve, he started and gasped. He was in a great hall, an immense cavern with a vaulting roof and giant pillars that held up the sky. And the hall was bright with light, a strange, fiery light that danced over everything.
It was a place of legend. A hall of the Old Ones. It had to be. Never had Greel seen a chamber so vast. And he of all the People had wandered furthest and climbed highest.
The men were not in sight, but their fire danced around the mouth of the tunnel at the other end of the hall. It was intense, but not unbearable. The men had gone around another curve. Greel realized that he looked only at the dim reflection of their fire. So long as he did not see it direct, he was safe.
He moved out into the hall, the scout in him crying to climb the stone wall and explore the upper chamber from which the mighty pillars reared. But no. The fire-men were more important. The hall he could return to.
H’ssig rubbed up against his leg. He reached down and stroked the rat’s soft fur reassuringly. His mind- brother could sense the turmoil of his thoughts.
Men, yes, he was sure of that. And more he knew. Their thoughts were not those of the People, but they were man-thoughts, and some he could understand. One of them burned, burned to find other men. They seek the People, Greel thought.
That he knew. He was a scout and a mind-mingler. He did not make mistakes. But what he must do he did not know.
They sought the People. That might be good. When first that concept had touched him, Greel had quivered with joy. These fire-men were like the Old Ones of legend. If they sought the People, he would lead them. There would be rewards, and glory, and the taletellers would sing his name for generations.
More, it was his duty. Things went not well with the People in recent generations. The time of good had ended with the coming of the worm-things, who had driven the People from tunnel after tunnel. Even now, below his feet, the fight went on still in the Bad Levels and the tunnels of the People.
And Greel knew the People were losing.
It was slow. But certain. The worm-things were new to the People. More than animal, but less, less than men. They needed not the tunnels. They stalked through the earth itself, and nowhere were men safe.
The People fought back. Mind-minglers could sense the worm-things, and spears could slay them, and the great hunting rats could rip them to shreds. But always the worm-things fled back into the earth itself. And there were many worm-things, and few People.
But these new men, these fire-men, they could change the war. Legends said the Old Ones had fought with fire and stranger weapons, and these men lived in fire. They could aid the People. They could give mighty weapons to drive the worm-things back into the darkness from which they came.
But.
But these men were not quite men. Their minds were crippled, and much, much of their thought was alien to Greel. Only glimpses of it could he catch. He could not know them as he could know another of the People when they mingled minds.
He could lead them to the People. He knew the way. Back and down, a turn here, a twist there. Through the Middle Tunnels and the Bad Levels.
But what if he led them, and they were enemy to the People? What if they turned on the People with their fire? He feared for what they might do.
Without him, they would never find the People. Greel was certain of that. Only he, in long generations, had come this far. And only with stealth and mind-mingling and H’ssig alongside him. They would never find the ways he had come, the twisting tunnels that led deep, deep into the earth.
So the People were safe if he did not act. But then the worm-things would win, eventually. It might take many generations. But the People could not hold out.
His decision. No mind-mingler could reach a small part of the distance that separated him from the tunnels of the People. He alone must decide.
And he must decide soon. For he realized, with a shock, that the fire-men were coming back. Their odd thoughts grew stronger, and the light in the hall grew more and more intense.
He hesitated, then moved slowly backwards towards the tunnel from which he had come.
“Wait a minute,” Von der Stadt said when Ciffonetto was a quarter of the way up the wall. “Let’s try the other directions.”
Ciffonetto craned his head around awkwardly to look at his companion, gave it up as a bad job, and dropped back to the tunnel floor. He looked disgruntled. “We should get back,” he said. “We’ve got enough.”
Von der Stadt shrugged. “C’mon. You’re the one wanted to explore down here. So we might as well do a thorough job of it. Maybe we’re only a few feet away from another one of your big finds.”
“All right,” said Ciffonetto, pulling his flashlight from his belt where he had stashed it for his intended assault on the platform. “I suppose you have a point. It would be tragic if we got Nagel down here and he tripped over something we had missed.”
Von der Stadt nodded assent. Their flashlight beams melted together, and they strode quickly towards the deeper darkness of the tunnel mouth.
They were coming. Fear and indecision tumbled in Greel’s thoughts. He hugged the tunnel wall. Back he moved, fast and silent. He must keep away from their fire until he could decide what he must do.
But after the first turn, the tunnel ran long and straight. Greel was fast. But not fast enough. And his eyes were incautiously wide when the fire appeared suddenly in full fury.
His eyes burned. He squealed in sudden pain, and threw himself to the ground. The fire refused to go away. It danced before him even with his eyes closed, shifting colours horribly.
Greel fought for control. Still there was distance between them. Still he was armed. He reached out to H’ssig, nearby in the tunnel. The eyeless rat again would be his eyes.
Eyes still shut; Greel began to crawl back, away from the fire. H’ssig remained.
“What the hell was that?”
Von der Stadt’s whispered question hung in the air for an instant. He was frozen where he had rounded the curve. Ciffonetto, by his side, had also stopped dead at the sound.
The scientist looked puzzled. “I don’t know,” he said. “It was— odd. Sounded like some sort of animal in pain. A scream, sort of. But as if the screamer were trying to remain silent, almost.”
His flashlight darted this way and that, slicing ribbons of light from the velvet darkness, but revealing little. Von der Stadt’s beam pointed straight ahead, unmoving.
“I don’t like it,” Von der Stadt stated doubtfully. “Maybe there is something down here. But that doesn’t mean it’s friendly.” He shifted his flash to his left hand, and drew his pistol. “We’ll see,” he said.
Ciffonetto frowned, but said nothing. They started forward again.
They were big, and they moved fast. Greel realized with a sick despair that they would catch him. His choice had been made for him.
But perhaps it was right. They were men. Men like the Old Ones. They would help the People against the worm-things. A new age would dawn. The time of fear would pass. The horror would fade. The old glories of which the taletellers sing would return, and once again the People would build great halls and mighty tunnels.
Yes. They had decided for him, but the decision was right. It was the only decision. Man must meet man, and together they would face the worm-things. He kept his eyes closed. But he stood. And spoke.
