wind was against them most of the way. On the few daylight hours of relative calm they were able to spot coral reefs teeming with great numbers of multicolored fish, and, here and there, shadowy black bulks of great size.
They kept at a safe altitude, not wanting to risk any chance that one of those dark shapes might somehow rise out of the water and bring them down. It was more peaceful when they reached the Galidon border, but the atmosphere looked a little strange over there, and they headed in toward the point of land that marked one of Olborn’s six points on the Tuligan side.
Olborn itself seemed a welcome relief—solid-looking, mostly coastal plain, a little chilly, but they had brought protective clothing with them. Nothing in the place looked grim, foreboding, or threatening.
They waited until darkness fell before making a landfall on the beach. They had decided to camp there, within easy reach of a quick getaway and with the great Doma as concealed as she could be.
No roads had led down to the coast, they’d been certain of that. With watery neighbors like the Galidon, they didn’t find this the least bit unusual.
It was a clear night; above, the spectacular sky of the Well World was displayed in all its glory, and, off to the north, a silvery disk covered part of the horizon.
It was the first time they had been in the right position with the right weather at the right moment to see New Pompeii. They stared at it in silence, thinking.
“So close, so damned close,” Mavra Chang whispered under her breath. It looked like you could reach out and touch it. She thought of the poor people who had almost certainly died there by now, and of the kindly, near- human computer, Obie, who had helped her escape. She wanted to get back to that place, and she swore to herself that she would, someday.
They turned in. Although the Lata were nocturnal, the trip had been a long and tiring one, the daytime travel taking more out of them, and they, too, slept. A watch was established, of course.
Mavra had second watch; the Lata would take the later ones, when they’d be at their peak. She sat there, looking out at the slightly rough sea, hearing the roar of the surf, and watching the skies.
They were glorious skies, she thought. Her element, the place to which she’d been born, the place for which she’s done everything, even sold herself, to attain. She looked at the others sleeping. The Lata were perfect here. Flying on those tiny wings would be fun, and there were no political or sexual pressures in their land to shape what happened. Even being short didn’t matter; they all looked alike. But their world was 355 kilometers on each of its six sides. Such a minute place, a stiflingly small area when you looked at those skies.
Renard, too, was better off here. The Well World was certainly bigger than New Pompeii, and more stimulating than new Muscovy. He was a walking dead man in the old life; here he had some power, a future, and, if things worked out, could possibly rise high in Agitar if they lost the war. From what he’d said of the people’s sentiments, a defeat would bring down the government, and one who helped end the war rather than press it would be more hero than, as he was now, traitor.
But not Mavra Chang. The Well World was an adventure, a challenge, but it was not her element. To go through the Well someday and come out something else—it wouldn’t matter. The Well didn’t change you inside, only physiologically. She would still want the stars.
Her reflections were broken by subtle sounds not far off. She wasn’t sure she heard anything for a short time, and she listened intently as her ears strained for them. She had just decided that she was imagining things, when she heard the noise again, off to the northwest, there, not very far—and closer.
She considered waking the others, but then thought better of it. The sounds had stopped. Still, she decided, a little investigation might be in order. A yell from her would rouse the others in a hurry anyway, and there was no use waking them for nothing.
Silently, softly, she crept toward where she’d last heard the sounds. There was a thin clump of trees near a marshland river mouth just up from the sounds; she decided that whatever made them had to be there. Slowly, carefully, she moved into the thin line of trees.
She heard a sound again to her right, and headed for it. Crouching behind a bush, she peered out.
There was a strange, large bird there. Its body was something like a peacock’s, its head a round ball, out of which came a beak that looked almost like a tiny air horn. Its eyes were round and yellow, reflecting the starlight. It was nocturnal, then. She breathed a sigh of relief, and the bird must have heard her. It turned and said, rather loudly and a little rudely, “
“Bwock wok, yourself,” Mavra whispered, and turned to go back to the nearby camp.
The trees exploded. Large bodies dropped all around her, one on top of her. “
Doma started, and all three of the others snapped awake at the two cut-short screams.
Renard saw them as the Lata took off; large shapes rushing them from the nearby trees. He almost made it to Doma, when one of them, much taller and furrier than he and with glowing yellow-black eyes, got a hand on him.
That was a mistake.
There was a crackle, the Olbornian screamed, and there was the odor of burning hair and flesh. Another one was trying for Doma’s reins, but the horse backed away as Renard leaped aboard. The Olbornian snarled and turned to reach out for Renard.
The Agitar got the vision of a great black cat’s face, with terribly luminous slit cat’s eyes, and he touched a hairy, clawed hand with three fingers and a thumb.
Which sent the Olbornian to cat heaven.
Doma didn’t need any cuing. Knowing its rider was aboard, the great winged horse thundered down the beach, knocking over black shapes not lucky enough to get out of the way, and it was airborne.
The Lata, whose stingers had helped clear the way, flew to him.
“We have to find Mavra!” Renard screamed. “They have her!”
“Stay in this area!” Hosuru shouted. “We don’t know what they have and we can’t afford to lose Doma! We’ll go after her, and if we can’t free her one of us will stay with her while the other comes back for you!”
It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he had no choice. Neither Doma nor he had exceptional night vision, and if the Lata lit up they’d all make perfect targets.
The two Lata, however, saw best in the dark. Just beyond the river there was a coach of some sort; a finely wrought piece of woodwork moving on great wooden wagon wheels pulled by a team of eight tiny burrolike animals. Four Olbornians, armed with projectile pistols, stood on running boards around it; two more drove it, one controlling the little mules and the other holding a sleek, effective-looking rifle. The doors and windows to the coach were sealed with hinged wooden panels. From the way the driver cracked the whip on the poor little animals, they knew what the coach’s cargo had to be.
“We can’t do anything but follow the damned thing,” Vistaru swore. “Renard can take care of himself.”
That was more than heartfelt sentiments. In all his time in Lata, he’d not discharged. They knew he carried a lot of static electricity, but until the brief fight they’d not realized how much or how lethal.
The coach beat down the grass until it reached a smooth, tar-paved road, and sped along it to the east. It was not terribly fast, and the Lata had no trouble keeping just behind and above it, out of sight.
“We could sting them to death,” Vistaru said wistfully.
“How much you got left?” Hosuru snapped. “I used mine three times. I’m nearly dry.”
The odds weren’t that good.
They studied the Olbornians and their coach. The Creatures were about 180 centimeters high; they were all completely covered in black fur, but they also wore some sort of clothing, baggy dark trousers of some sort and sleeveless shifts with a light border and woven insignia in the center. They had long, black, apparently functionless tails, and sleek cat’s bodies, but their arms and legs were muscular, and they obviously walked upright on two legs
