preaching, as ever, about how these were the end times, and about the coming Victory, when Cat would return to Earth, the dogmen would be destroyed forever, and the catmen would regain their pure feline forms.
Father Cougar’s voice died away. He must be conferring with the scribe.
Finally the scribe reappeared and said, “Follow me.”
He led Lynx down a hallway to a cozy chamber whose walls were hung with tapestries. Father Cougar, wearing his vestments, sat on a sofa in the corner. He said warmly, “Lynx! Come in, come in.”
Lynx picked a chair and sat down.
Father Cougar settled back and stroked his scruffy gray whiskers. “Now, tell me what happened.”
Lynx explained about coming across the dogmen in the wasteland. Father Cougar listened intently, then said, “And they saw you?”
Lynx hesitated, then admitted, “Yes.”
Father Cougar narrowed his eyes. “How?”
Lynx stared at the floor. “I’m sorry, Father. . . . . was curious.”
Father Cougar sighed deeply. “As I thought.” He leaned forward, his gaze steady. “How many times must I tell you? Curiosity is the gravest of sins. And now you see what your curiosity has cost us. If you had avoided detection, we could have easily located these dogmen and captured them. But now they’ll be expecting us, and will move on. The danger to those who track them is greatly increased. And what if the dogmen should slip away? You may very well have cost us the great Victory we have awaited so long.”
Lynx felt ashamed, despondent. Everything Father Cougar was saying was absolutely true.
Father Cougar shook his head. “Well, there’s no helping it now.” He turned to the scribe and instructed, “Go to the inn. Fetch the templars.” The scribe nodded once, and hurried off.
Lynx felt awe. “Templars?”
“Yes,” Father Cougar said. “They arrived this morning. Two of them. Pursuing these dogmen you saw. They’ll want to question you.”
“Of course,” Lynx agreed at once, his shame quickly giving way to excitement.
Templars! Holy ones, invincible warriors of Cat. In ages past, their order had eradicated the frogmen, the birdmen, and the monkeymen, and now only the dogmen remained.
The scribe returned a short time later, leading the templars. They were the tallest, most muscular catmen that Lynx had ever seen. Both wore long white tabards, and upon their surcoats were embroidered the holy form of Cat.
Father Cougar gestured to them. “Lynx, these are our templar friends, Lion and Tiger.”
The templars nodded politely. Tiger was brawnier, stern and dignified, with gray in his fur and black stripes around his eyes. Lion had a great tawny mane and seemed almost to vibrate with barely restrained energy. And he was younger, perhaps only five or ten years older than Lynx himself.
Lion said quickly, “Tell us about the dogmen.”
So Lynx repeated his story. When he gave a description of the dogmen, the templars glanced at each other. When he got to the part about his escape from the canyon, the scribe interrupted, “Show them your tail!”
Lynx held up his injured tail.
Lion clapped his hands together and said to Tiger, “Well, look at that! Bloodied by dogmen, and he escaped to tell of it.” He turned to Lynx. “That’s more than many templars can boast.”
Lynx felt an almost unbearable rush of pride.
Lion said, “I’ve heard enough.” He turned to Tiger. “Let’s find this cave.”
Father Cougar said, “You mean to leave at once?”
“Yes,” Lion replied. “I see no reason to dally. The dogmen certainly will not.”
“Take me with you!” Lynx exclaimed. “I’ll lead you there.”
Father Cougar looked worried. “That might be dangerous. Your parents—”
Lynx said, “It’s my fault for letting the dogmen see me. You have to let me make up for it. No one knows the wasteland like I do.”
Father Cougar turned to the templars. “I suppose it’s up to you.”
Tiger opened his mouth for the first time. “I don’t think—”
Lion spoke over him. “Yes, let him come. The dogmen cut him with their swords. He deserves a chance to pay them back in kind.” He grinned at Lynx and said, “But we’ll cut more than just their tails, won’t we?”
Tiger said nothing.
“Come on,” Lion said, and gestured for Lynx to follow.
Lynx went with the templars back to the inn, where they gathered supplies. Lion pulled a shortsword out from among his belongings and tossed it to Lynx, who caught it and put it on. Then Lynx led the templars into the wasteland. The sun was rising by the time they reached the cave.
Tiger scouted about, kneeling in places to sniff the earth, then said, “This way.”
The trail led westward, deeper into the wastes. That night the templars made camp beneath the open sky, and in the morning they continued on again. As far as Lynx knew, no catman had ever come this far before. His boldness waned, and he started to wonder what he’d gotten himself into.
On the third day, the templars stopped to rest beside a circular black pit a hundred yards across. Thick yellow grass grew all around the pit, and vines hung over its edge and into the darkness. There was something eerie and intriguing about the formation.
Lynx wondered aloud, “Could the dogmen be hiding in there?”
Tiger said, “The tracks lead on.”
Lion shrugged. “It can’t hurt to check. Call us if you see anything.”
Lynx wandered over to the pit. Its sides were rough and angular, and he scrambled easily down the many shelves of rock until he reached the cavern floor. Stray beams of sunlight lanced down through the opening overhead and caught the dust that floated in the air. Lynx turned in a slow circle, then stopped as he saw something utterly unexpected.
He drew his sword and cried out, “Lion! Lion!”
Half-buried in the side of the cave lay a strange object that was bigger than a cottage and made of a silver metal. From the object’s side protruded a structure that seemed to be a wing. The object was extraordinarily weathered, and its side was ripped open. That dark gash beckoned to Lynx. He took a step forward, then another.
From the cliff wall above, Lion called out, “Wait.”
Lynx glanced back. Lion was climbing down into the cavern. Tiger stood above, at the pit’s edge.
Lion said, “What are you doing?”
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Lynx said. “I’m going to look inside.” He crept nearer.
“Why?” Lion called sharply.
“I . . . ” Lynx was very close now. “I just . . . ”
“This is curiosity,” Lion warned. “This is wrong.”
“It isn’t,” Lynx insisted, half to himself. Though why it wasn’t, he could not really say. He slipped through the gash.
For a moment everything was dark. Then a hundred spots of light—red, blue, yellow, green—flickered to life all around him. He crouched in alarm. He’d never seen anything like these lights, but his attention was quickly drawn away from them and toward a metal coffin that was built into the far wall. Its lid was made of glass, and inside he could make out the rough outline of a body.
Suddenly a loud voice spoke, seeming to come from all around. The language was unfamiliar. Lynx whirled, but saw no one.
The coffin slowly opened. Lynx backed away, cursing himself. Once again his curiosity had betrayed him, had led him to intrude upon this strange tomb, and now he had awoken something ancient and powerful. His fearful imagination conjured up images of a living corpse with blazing red eyes. But what actually emerged was no less surprising.
A monkeyman. He seemed dazed, and was dressed in some gray uniform, its chest and shoulders decorated with insignia. He glanced at Lynx, then staggered past him. Lynx stared in wonder and horror. The monkeymen were supposed to have been wiped out centuries ago.
A second shape, much smaller, leapt from the coffin, and Lynx gasped as he observed its perfect grace. For all
