Karlene said, firmly, 'It was an act of mercy. He could have left Albrecht to die.'
'He did.' Hagen was burning with excitement. 'Why can't you see that?'
'He could have killed the man.'
'Speared him, yes,' admitted Hagen. 'But that would have soiled the furs with blood. Instead he chose to stun-have you ever seen a man move so fast? I barely saw the blow and the hunter couldn't have stood a chance. Dumarest wanted his furs and supplies and, by God, he got them.'
And had left the hunter dressed in a quarry's garb. Only luck had saved him-the hunter running in for the kill had recognized him almost too late. The thrust of his spear, barely diverted, had caught him in the shoulder instead of the chest.
'A decoy,' said Hagen. 'The attack served a double purpose; while hunting the decoy they allowed him time to escape.' He frowned at his maps, his monitors. 'Which?' he murmured. 'East or West? Are you sure about the node?'
'You know what I told you.'
But not all she knew-suspicion, lying dormant, had suddenly flowered after she had seen Dumarest in his prison. Small things: men too eager to talk, hunters intent on private conversation, expressions she recognized from those more keen on winning bets than following a sport.
Inside information-had Hagen found a way to add to his income? Bets as to the result, the time and place? Tips to the hunters as to where the quarry would meet his end? Suspicions which had caused her to be reticent. She said, 'What happens now?'
'Nothing. The game goes on.'
'With Dumarest dressed the way he is?'
'There's nothing against it in the rules.' Hagen was patient. 'Now the hunters know what's happened they can guard against it. Work in groups,' he explained. 'Stay close together and ready. All Dumarest has gained is a little time.'
* * *
The time factor diminished as he lunged through snow and over ice. The furs helped, but he had been unable to take the electronically heated undergarment Albrecht had worn and the cold was an almost tangible enemy. It numbed feet and hands, clawed at his face, sucked at his energy. Stumbling, he fell, rolled down a slope, rose to his feet to stagger on. Behind him the betraying traces he had left showed like gashes on the smooth landscape.
As every footstep he took showed the path of his progress.
Only the wind could cover his trail and, with the wind, would come the blizzards, the freezing chill of incipient night.
And the hunters were close.
'There!' Indart pointed with his spear at the straggling line of footsteps. 'Some of you follow. I'll cut ahead to wait before Easthome.' He snarled at an objection. 'To hell with the trophy-I want the man!'
He lunged ahead before any could argue, four at his heels, following a man they could trust. Others, less influenced, moved on their own paths, some toward the other point of safety, the rest following the trail. If they could move no faster than Dumarest they would never catch him but it was easier to follow a path than to make one. Given time they would spot the hurrying figure. None had any doubt as to what would happen when they did.
Dumarest shared their conviction.
He had halted to examine the contents of the pouches, eating the food he found there, taking some of the stimulants they contained. The place he was heading for was marked by a beacon but first he had to get close enough to spot it. The sun was now well past zenith and the snow crackled beneath his feet. Clouds now flecked the sky and he studied them as he checked time and distance. Already the hunt had lasted longer than usual; he had deliberately taken a winding route.
Now he turned and moved in a direct line along the path of a gulley, rising to slip into a crater-like pit, rising again to lope along a ridge.
His movement was spotted and he heard the yell behind him as he raced on, exertion making him dangerously warm. Sweat would soak his clothing, would freeze, would cover him with a film of ice. Yet to delay would be to take too big a gamble.
Above him, floating high, drifted the eyes of watching scanners.
He ignored them, watching the sky, the gathering cloud. The sun grew darker, shadows thick over the azure- tinted snow. Dark patches into which his own shadow merged and blurred and, suddenly, disappeared.
'Gone!' Hagen shook his head. 'Thorn? Any sign?'
'None.'
'What is it?' Karlene had insisted on joining Hagen at the monitors. 'What's happened?'
'Dumarest's vanished. At least we can't spot him. Damn!' The hunters were close, coming in for the kill, but without a quarry they would look stupid. As would his broadcast. 'Thorn? Get in close. Use infra-red. We've got to locate him.'
'No!' Karlene shouted her objection. 'That isn't our job. Do it and I'll report you!'
'Damn you, woman, I'll-' He saw her face, read her determination. Swallowing his anger he said, mildly, 'We need it for the broadcast. It'll make no difference to the game but it makes a hell of a difference to the entertainment value of what we put out. Surely you can see that?'
'Do it and this is the last time we work together. I mean that!'
A threat he recognized. Turning to the monitors he said, 'All right, Thorn. Leave it for now. Concentrate on the node.'
* * *
Dumarest had gone to ground, burrowing into the snow, kicking it after him so as to block the entrance to the passage he was now making. Inching forward with twisting wriggles of his body, compacting the snow around him as if he had been a worm. Moving silently, invisibly as the guard had told him hunters on Erkalt had to do to reach a nest of perlats. The cold was a burning shroud around his body, the air limited so that his lungs panted for oxygen, the exertion sapping his reserves, but he kept on, the spear dragging behind him.
Halting he moved it forward, thrust it ahead, used it as a probe. It touched something hard and he moved to one side. A boulder, a long-buried mass of rock or a somnolent predator-all things he wanted to avoid. Instinct guided his direction; a wavering half-circle which should take him back far from where he had dived into the snow. Behind it and the hunters who even now could be probing at it with their spears.
He saw them as he cautiously thrust his head through the snow. A tight cluster with others standing closer to him, all looking at the place where he had entered the mound.
'Anything?' One called out to those busy with their spears. 'Did you get the swine?'
'Don't kill him if you find him,' said another. 'Let's make him pay for what he did to Albrecht.'
'Indart wants him.'
'Too bad. He should be here.' A figure thrust his spear into the snow. One humped and monstrous in his furs. Wind caught and lifted the crest of his hood. 'Come on the rest of you. Let's dig him out.'
The wind gusted as Dumarest eased himself from the mound. Rising he blended with the background, white, furred, indistinguishable from the others. Thrusting with his spear, trampling the snow, he masked the signs of his egress.
'Gone!' The big hunter snarled his anger. 'He's gone!'
'How?' Another straightened and looked around. 'If he's not here then where is he?'
A question answered as soon as someone thought to count heads. Dumarest moved forward, stabbing at the snow, probing to find the mass he had avoided. Rock or stone would be of no help but the luck which seemed to have deserted him could have returned.
'Here!' He called out, voice muffled, one arm waving. 'There's something down here!'
