“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.”
XVI
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