«Not a wizard,» Carialle corrected him. «Two.»
Keff nodded as the second one exploded into sight after the first. «They're not Noble Primitives. They're another species entirely.» He gawked. «Look at them, Cari! Actual humanoids, just like us!»
Carialle zoomed her lenses in for a good look. For once Keff's wishful thinking had come true. The visitor closest to Carialle's video pickup could have been any middle-aged man on any of the Central Worlds. Unlike the cave-dwelling farmers, the visitor had smooth facial skin with neither pelt, nor beard, nor mustache; and the hands were equipped with four fingers and an opposable thumb.
«Extraordinary. Vital signs, pulse elevated at eighty-five beats per minute, to judge by human standards from the flushed complexion and his expression. He's panting and cursing about something. Respiration between forty and sixty,» Carialle reported through Keff's mastoid implant.
«Just like humans in stress!» Keff repeated, beatifically.
«So were Brannel and his people,» Carialle replied, overlaying charts on her screen for comparison. «Except for superficial differences in appearance, this male and our Noble Primitives are alike. That's interesting. Did this new species evolve from the first group? If so, why didn't the Noble Primitive line dead-end? They should have ceased to exist when a superior mutation arose. And if the bald-faced ones evolved from the hairy ones, why are there so many different configurations of Noble Primitives like sheep, dogs, cats, and camels?»
«That's something I can ask them,» Keff said, now subvocalizing as the first airborne rider neared him. He started to signal to the newcomer.
The barefaced male exhibited the haughty mien of one who expected to be treated as a superior being. He had beautiful, long-fingered hands folded over a slight belly indicative of a sedentary lifestyle and good food. Upright and dignified, he rode in an ornate contraption which resembled a chair with a toboggan runner for a base. In profile, it was an uncial «h» with an extended and flared bottom serif, a chariot without horses. Like the metal globes that had heralded the visitors' arrival, the dark green chair hovered meters above the ground with no visible means of propulsion.
«What is holding that up?» Keff asked. «Skyhooks?»
«Sheer, bloody, pure power,» Carialle said. «Though, by the shell that preserves me, I can't see how he's manipulating it. He hasn't moved an extra muscle, but he's maneuvering like a space jockey.»
«Psi,» Keff said. «They've exhibited teleportation, and now telekinesis. Super psi. All the mentat races human-kind has encountered in the galaxy rolled together aren't as strong as these people. And they're so like humans. Hey, friend!» Keff waved an arm.
Paying no attention to Keff, the sled-like throne veered close to Carialle's skin and then spun on its axis to face the pink-gold chariot that followed, making the occupant of that one pull up sharply to avoid a midair collision. She sat up tall in her seat, eyes blazing with blue-green fire, waves of crisp bronze hair almost crackling with fury about her set face. Her slim figure attired in floating robes of ochre and gold chiffon, she seemed an ethereal being, except for her expression of extreme annoyance. She waved her long, thin hands in complex gestures and the man responded sneeringly in kind. Keff's mouth had dropped open.
«More sign language,» Carialle said, watching the woman's gestures with a critical eye. «New symbols. IT didn't have them in the glossary before.»
«I'm in love,» Keff said, dreamily. «Or at least in lust. Who is she?»
«I don't know, but she and that male are angry at each other. They're fighting over something.»
«I hope she wins.» Keff sighed, making mooncalf eyes at the new arrival. «She sure is beautiful. That's some figure she's got. And that hair! Just the same color as her skin. Wonderful.» The female sailed overhead and Keff's eyes lit up as he detected a lingering scent. «And she's wearing the most delicious perfume.»
Carialle noted the rise in his circulation and respiration and cleared her throat impatiently.
«Keff! She's an indigenous inhabitant of a planet we happen to be studying. Please disengage fifteen-year-old hormones and re-enable forty-five-year-old brain. We need to figure out who they are so we can free my tail and get off this planet.»
«I can't compartmentalize as easily as you can,» Keff grumbled. «Can I help it if I appreciate an attractive lady?»
«I'm no more immune to beauty than you are,» Carialle reminded him. «But if she's responsible for our troubles, I want to know why. I particularly want to know how!»
Across the field, some of the Noble Primitives had emerged from their burrow. Stooping in postures indicative of respect and healthy fear, they scurried toward the floating chairs, halting some distance away. Keff noticed Brannel among them, standing more erect than any of the others. Still defying authority, Keff thought, with wry admiration.
«Do you want to ask him what's going on?» Carialle said through the implant.
«Remember what he said about being punished for curiosity,» Keff reminded her. «These are the people he's afraid of. If I single him out, he's in for it. I'll catch him later for a private talk.»
The elder, Alteis, approached and bowed low to the two chair-holders. They ignored him, continuing to circle at ten meters, calling out at one another.
«I knew I could not trust you to wait for Nokias to lead us here, Asedow,» Potria shouted angrily. «One day, your eagerness to thrust out your hand for power will result in having it cut off at the shoulder.»
«You taunt me for breaking the rules when you also didn't wait,» Asedow retorted. «Where's Nokias, then?»
«I couldn't let you claim by default,» Potria said, «so your action forced me to follow at once. Now that I am here, I restate that I should possess the silver cylinder and the being inside. I will use it with greater responsibility than you.»
«The Ancient Ones would laugh at your disingenuousness, Potria,» Asedow said, scornfully. «You want them just to keep them from me. I declare,» he shouted to the skies, «that I am the legitimate keeper of these artifacts sent down through the ages to me, and by my hope of promotion, I will use them wisely and well.»
Potria circled Asedow, trying to get nearer to the great cylinder, but he cut her off again and again. She directed her chair to fly up and over him. He veered upward in a flash, cackling maddeningly. She hated him, hated him for thwarting her. At one time they had been friends, even toyed with the idea of becoming lovers. She had hoped that they could have been allies, taking power from Nokias and that bitch Iranika and ruling the South between them despite the fact that the first laws of the First Mages said only one might lead. She and Asedow could never agree on who that would be. As now, he wouldn't support her claim, and she wouldn't support his. So they were forced to follow archaic laws whose reasoning was laid down thousands of years ago and might never be changed. The two of them were set against one another like mad vermin in a too-small cage. She or Asedow must conquer, must be the clear winner in the final contest. Potria had determined in her deepest heart that she would be the victor.
The rustle in her mystic hearing told her that Asedow was gathering power from the ley lines for an attack. He had but to chase her away or knock her unconscious, and the contest was his. Killing was unnecessary and would only serve to make High Mage Nokias angry by depriving him of a strong subject and ally. Potria began to wind in the threads of power between her fingers, gathering and gathering until she had a web large enough to throw over him. It would contain the force of Asedow's spell and knock him out.
«That one is unworthy,» she heard Asedow call out. «Let me win, not her!»
Stretching the smothering web on her thumbs, she spread out her arms wide in the prayer sign, hands upright and palms properly turned in toward her to contain the blessing.
«In the name of Ureth, the Mother World of Paradise, I call all powers to serve me in this battle,» she chanted.
Asedow flashed past her in his chariot, throwing his spell. Raising herself, Potria dropped her spread counter-spell on top of him and laughed as his own blast of power caught him. His chair wobbled unsteadily to a halt a hundred meters distant. His cursing was audible and he was very angry. He switched his chair about on its axis. She saw his face, dark with blood as a thundercloud. He panted heavily.
«Thought you would have an easy win, did you?» Potria called, tauntingly. She began to ready an attack other own. Something not fatal but appropriate.
She felt disturbances in the ether. More mages were coming, probably attracted by the buildup of power in
