A silence fell. My old friends gathered around me.
“Remember Grangel,” said Caspor. “He was sort of Frossian.”
“He was,” said Flek, beginning a chain of reminiscences. I knew what she was doing. Trying to talk us into calm.
I said to the others, those still strange to us, “Why don’t you go on over to the commissary and get something to eat? Ongamar looks like she could use both food and a lot of sleep.”
Margaret and Mar-agern chivvied them out. Though Glory and Bamber Joy looked rebellious, they were too well mannered to object. The six of us continued talking. The others returned and scattered in various directions to take naps. Later that afternoon, when Ongamar and Margaret came back into the common room, they found me sitting there alone.
“Was your discussion valuable?” Margaret asked.
“Possibly,” I said, feeling a quick, almost furtive smile cross my face. “Our old talk road has yielded a plan, and Flek has made certain adjustments to her machinery. There’s one rather large detail to be sorted out yet, and given that uncertainty, one hesitates to say how valuable the discussion may have been. We’ll be ready shortly, however. You need to tell your people to prepare. We’re leaving for B’yurngrad!”
Those of us who assembled at the way-gate to B’yurngrad included Ferni and Ongamar, all those who had arrived through the gate from Fajnard, plus Caspor and Flek to see us off. Some of us had climbed and some of us had been hoisted; all seemed to have greeted the experience with grim resolution rather than any sense of adventure, except perhaps for Ferni. Ferni was the perennial adventurer, and I could tell that M’urgi was very much on his mind. Ferni, Mar-agern, and I carried armor, knives, and the components of the newly calibrated anti-ghyrm machine, as well as weapons ready for use. The others bore lighter packs of supplies, and Falija rode on Bamber’s shoulders.
Caspor said for the sixth time, “You understand, we have no idea where on B’yurngrad the way-gate will come out?”
I gritted my teeth. “Caspor, we know. We intend to use the gate to get on planet, then we’ll contact the Siblinghood and have them pick us up.”
“If they’re reachable,” said Ferni in a surly voice. “Which they were not when I left there.”
“You can always go back by ship, the way you came,” I suggested through still-gritted teeth. There was entirely too much repetition going on. I have never liked repetition.
Ferni growled, “There’s a two-day difference. Even if we can’t reach the Siblinghood, we ought to be able to…”
“Stop arguing,” said Flek. “You could emerge in wilderness somewhere, which is why you’re all wearing locators, so the ships with the heavier machines will be able to find you.”
“Let’s get on with it,” snapped Margaret. “You’re saying the same things over and over, and we’ve already waited extra time for them to recalibrate this equipment…”
I threw her a grateful glance. She winked at me. I thought how odd it was to wink at oneself.
“Keep in mind the machines aren’t thoroughly tested,” said Flek. “The running time on the prototype is short. With these new settings, it’ll burn itself out even sooner…”
“Right,” I said, almost shouting. “We know, Flek. We know there’s a risk, but Margaret’s right, we’ve talked it to death.”
Checking our weapons, Ferni and I went first through the gate, while Mar-agern, cradling her weapon somewhat apprehensively, brought up the rear.
We emerged between huge stones into a rock-walled, grass-carpeted corridor that was open to the air above us. A few paces away, the corridor split into two. The right turn brought us to the sister gate, the pale one that would lead, if Caspor was correct, directly to Cantardene.
“Well,” said Margaret, “I guess we don’t have to use that one. Ongamar’s already been rescued.”
“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Ongamar.
I pointed in the other direction. “That way.”
We squeezed through the very narrow opening to the left and came out between the boles of two huge trees at one edge of a small, sun-stippled glade. On its far side, a narrow opening showed us grasslands freckled with hide-covered tents, smoke skeining above them into a calm and cloudless sky. In the opening between glade and grassland, facing us, a woman sat enthroned, with a considerable company of armed tribesmen squatting at either side.
“That’s M’urgi,” said Ferni unnecessarily.
“How did she manage to be right here?” I marveled.
Ferni shifted the weight of his pack. “She probably went night walking, saw us coming out here, decided to meet us.”
“Night walking?” asked Margaret.
“You know. It’s an out-of-body thing.”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.” She leaned to one side, depositing her pack on the ground. “Naumi should wait, I think, but Mar-agern, Ongamar, we three should introduce ourselves.”
Ongamar chirped, “Might as well.”
“No time like the present,” said Mar-agern, dropping her load and weapon.
The three women walked toward the enthroned M’urgi, who was staring at them in total astonishment. The rest of us followed, getting just close enough to hear what went on. For a moment M’urgi looked past the women at me, then at Ferni, then back at them, standing up and moving toward them as they neared, gaze moving steadily among them.
“Who?” she asked.
Ongamar said, as we had rehearsed: “We were twelve years old. The proctor found out I wasn’t a two-three-four…”
“He said our family was fine,” grated M’urgi.
Mar-agern cleared her throat. “We weren’t fine, though I didn’t know it until I was twenty-two. We were supposed to be headed to Omniont space…”
“They asked for people who knew Mercan languages,” said M’urgi. “I paid no
