became deeper and deeper as it went toward the back of the room—the pool was perhaps fifteen meters long by about ten wide. In the water, clearly visible, were several small fish of the kind the Umiau liked the most, and clumps of the blue-green seaweed that was the other staple of their diet.
Skander rolled off and happily plunged into the water. It was only about four meters deep at its deepest point, but it felt wonderful.
The little cart left, the door closing behind it. It returned for Hain, who was too large for it. Another cart appeared in seconds, and the two, working in concert, took Hain down the same tunnel to the next door, which was furnished in the
Next, Vardia was taken to a room that had a rich black soil and good artificial sunlight. The room even had a chain dangling from its center, labeled, in Czillian,
She guessed from her own surroundings what the others’ must be like, and only wished she could see The Diviner and The Rel’s room. That would almost certainly tell more about the mysterious creatures than anything seen so far.
There was a mild crackling sound in their rooms, and then The Rel’s odd, toneless voice came to the other three.
“Please enjoy this night at the baron’s expense,” it said. “Tomorrow I shall arrange transportation for us which will take us to the border. We shall not have such pleasant and easy accommodations after this, so enjoy it. After tomorrow, things get tough.”
Vardia took a long drink and then sank her roots into the rich soil that felt incredible, indescribable. With a feeling of total well-being, she turned off the lights.
Skander was the last to sleep, since the Umiau had been cooped up in the saddle harness and was enjoying the freedom of the waters. At last she, too, crawled up the bank and pressed the light switch on the wall.
Each of them slept soundly (except possibly for The Diviner and The Rel, who didn’t seem to need it—the others weren’t sure), and all were awakened not only by the automatic turning on of the lights but by the voice of The Rel.
The creature conveyed emotion for the first time, not by tone but by the sharp, fast, excited way it spoke. “Something is terribly wrong!” it told them. “We are being detained for some technicality! We cannot leave today!”
“Do you mean,” Skander’s voice came to all of them in a tone of almost total disbelief, “that we’re under arrest?”
“It would seem so,” replied The Rel. “I cannot understand it.”
MURITHEL—SOMEWHERE IN THE INTERIOR
“We’re in some kind of trouble,” Nathan Brazil said half under his breath.
For three days now they had moved along the rocky mountain ledges, mostly under cover of darkness guided by Cousin Bat’s exceptional night vision and inbred sonar. They had passed hundreds, perhaps thousands of the bloodthirsty Murnies, often coming close to their villages in the dark, quietly working around their dulled campfires.
They had been exceptionally lucky, and they knew it. But now they had run out of mountains.
The mountains—hills, really—ended abruptly in a jagged cliff, stretching off at an angle away from the direction they had to go. Ahead, toward the east, flat, unbroken prairie spread out to the horizon.
The land was still dry this time of year, yet yellow grasses topped with pinkish blossoms carpeted the prairie. Also covering the plains were herds of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of the antelope that were the Murnies’ staple diet.
Murnie camps also dotted the plains, in small groups of three or four skin tents, never more than seven groups in a bunch, arranged in a circle.
Even as Brazil looked at the scene, appreciating their position, something, some wrongness ahead of him, nagged at his mind.
“How the hell are we ever going to get through them?” Wuju asked nervously. “We can’t fight them all, even in the dark.”
“Well, let’s camp here for the day,” Cousin Bat suggested, “and tonight I’ll take a trip across and see how far we really have to go to reach cover. Maybe you’ll think of something by the time I get back.”
They agreed it was the only thing they could do, so they carved out a niche in the rocky ledge and tried to sleep, first Brazil on guard, then Bat, and finally Wuju. The sequence was almost a routine by now.
Nathan Brazil was dreaming more of his strange dreams when he felt hands gently shaking him. “Nathan!” Wuju whispered urgently. “Wake up! It’s almost dark!”
He got up and tried to shake the sleep from his eyes. He was dizzy and upset from the small amount of food he had allowed himself from the dwindling supply in the packs. The deprivations were taking their toll on him. Wuju had it almost as bad, since there was precious little grass on the trail for one of her bulk. Yet she had never complained.
They all smelled like concentrated sweat and feces, and Brazil wondered idly if Murnies had good smellers. With no baths for three days and only leaves for toilet paper, he was certain that, in reverse circumstances, he could smell his party five kilometers upwind.
Cousin Bat was already waiting for the sun to sink completely behind them. Brazil went up to him quietly.
“You ready, Bat?” he asked the night creature.
“Not bad,” came the reply. “The wind’s wrong. If that plain’s too broad I might have to come down at least once. I don’t like that.”
Brazil nodded. “Well, I want you to land if possible, or at least skim close enough to get me a handful of those weeds.”
“Got something in mind?” the other asked.
“Maybe,” he replied. “If we’re lucky—and if we don’t have to run to the border.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the bat replied dryly. We’ve got to clear this bunch in one sweep, you know. Once committed, we’ll have no place to hide.”
Brazil looked at the creature strangely. “You know, I can’t quite figure you out,” he said.
“What’s to figure?” Bat replied. “It’s my neck, too, you know.”
“Why not just fly over and away? You might not make it all the way in a stretch, but you could pick your own places. Why stick with us?”
The bat gave that ratty smile, exposing those triple rows of sharply pointed little teeth.
“To tell you the truth, I thought about it a number of times, particularly in the last few days. It’s extremely tempting—all the more so now—but I can’t do it.”
“Why not?” pumped Brazil, puzzled.
The bat thought for a minute. “Let’s just say that, once before, I was in a position to help some people I knew were in danger. I don’t want more people on my conscience.”
“We all have our crosses to bear,” Brazil said in an understanding tone. “Myself more than most.”
“It boils down to more than just conscience, Brazil,” responded Cousin Bat earnestly. “I’ve known some other men. They, like me, wanted power, wealth, fame—all the reasons for striving. They’d lie, cheat, steal, torture, even kill for those. I want these things, too, Brazil, but what more right do I have to them than they? Perhaps, though I don’t know for sure, the fact that they would abandon you and I would not makes me superior to them. I’d like to think so.”
And with that, as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the rocks to the west, Cousin Bat took off into the dark.
A few seconds later, Wuju sidled up behind Brazil. “What a strange man,” she said wonderingly.
