Brightness Reef

Sara

It was a muddle, any way you looked at it.

The stun-bomb had driven the pack animals into hysterical flight, yanking free of their tethers to run wild through the maze of stony spires. Someone would have to go search for them, but only after the wounded were tended with what skill Sara possessed.

Those humans who were blinded — perhaps temporarily — needed to be calmed, then fed by hand. Later, the dead must be dragged to a flat spot where a pyre could be raised, to sear their corpses down to ineluctable dross — a neat, transportable pile to be gathered and sent to sea.

There was an added complication. Several dead Urunthai had been carrying husbands or larvae. Sara herded together the strongest that crawled out of pouches — those with any chance of surviving — into a makeshift pen where the diminutive males took charge of their offspring, chewing and regurgitating small bits of meat for the pasty, caterpillarlike, pre-infant urs.

In tales praising the glory of war, they never talk about the hard stuff that comes after a battle. Maybe people wouldn’t fight as much if they knew they’d have to clean up the awful mess.

Kurt and Jomah finally got her to sit down around sunset, to eat and rest for a while. By then the day had dimmed, and the campfire’s glow flickered across two ranks of sullen captives — human and urrish — who stared at each other, sulky, half-blind, and petulant. None seemed more melancholy than the former sage, the scholar-turned-prophet who had argued with Sara so confidently half a day before. Dedinger glared calculatingly at Kurt, who cradled the pistol carefully, never letting any of the prisoners out of his sight.

Before sitting down, Sara first checked Prity’s stitches, which still oozed enough to worry her. It had been difficult sewing the wound, with the chimp understandably twitching and with Sara’s eyes blurry from the stun-bomb. After she had done all she could for her little assistant and friend, Sara looked around for the Stranger. He had been a great help all afternoon, but she had not seen him in over an hour, and it was past time for his medicine.

Kurt said, “He went off thataway” — indicating southward, into the rocks — “to try catching some donkeys. Don’t worry. That fellow seems to know how to take care of himself.”

Sara quashed her initial reaction-to berate the ex-ploser for letting the star-man head into an unfamiliar wilderness all alone. The alien was a cripple, after all, and might get hurt or lost.

But then, she recalled, he was a strangely competent cripple. Clever and skilled in ways that had little to do with words. And for a man with such a peaceful demeanor, he fought very well.

With a shrug, Sara accepted what could not be changed and sat down to partake of the desert warriors’ wafer bread and a jug of leathery-tasting water.

“In the morning we must gather wood for a pyre, since we haven’t any scavenger toruses for proper mulching,” she said between mouthfuls, speaking more loudly than normal, because everyone was still rather hard of hearing. At best, it took a shout to carry over the steady ringing in her own ears. “And we should send someone for help.”

“I’ll go,” Jomah volunteered. “I’m the only one who wasn’t banged up in the battle. I’m strong an’ I’ve got a compass. Uncle Kurt knows I won’t get lost. And I can move real fast.”

The senior exploser looked uncomfortable. His nephew was very young. Still, after a moment’s reflection, Kurt nodded. “It makes sense. He can head—”

“Of course /an the one to send,” Ulgor interrupted, turning from tending the campfire. “I can run faster and farther than the child, and I know these hills well.”

Sara choked. “Not a chance! I can’t believe we haven’t tied you up yet with the others! Let you go? So you can hurry off and collect more of your fanatic friends?”

Ulgor turned her narrow head to peer at Sara sideways. “As if those friends are not already on their way, dear daughter of Nelo? UrKachu sent envoys ahead, don’t forget. Let us suffose that Kurt’s nephew could reach the Glade without encountering a ligger, or a fack of khoovrahs. If he heads north, I guarantee the first folks he encounters will ve UrKachu’s allies, hurrying to join us.”

Now it was Kurt’s turn to interrupt, with a short, hard laugh.

“And who says we’re headin’ north?” Both Ulgor and Sara looked at him. “What do you mean? Obviously we have to…”

Her voice trailed off as she saw the exploser smile. Come to think of it, Kurt never explicitly said the Glade was his destination. She had assumed, quite naturally, that his urgent business lay there. But he might have planned to leave our group at Crossroads, where the rest of us would turn uphill toward the Egg.

“Others of my guild have already gone to help the High Sages. But the boy and I have interests in another direction. And while we’re on the subject, I suggest you should consider coming along, Sara. For one thing, it’s the last direction the Urunthai are likely to look.”

It was the longest speech she had ever heard Kurt make, and her mind churned with implications. For instance, why was he saying this in front of Ulgor?

Because any determined urs could track a bunch of humans and donkeys over afresh trail. Obviously, Ulgor has to come along, or else be eliminated.

But then, didn’t the same logic require that they murder all the other survivors, too? Kurt surely knew that Sara would never permit that. Anyway, the problem would not go away simply because they got a couple of days’ head start. A good tracker, like Dwer, could hunt them even over a trail that had gone cold.

She started to raise these matters, then stopped, realizing that Kurt could not give a satisfactory answer with the seething outlaws listening nearby.

“You know I can’t go,” she said at last, shaking her head. “These men and urs will die if left here like this, all trussed up, and we clearly can’t release them.”

If she had any doubts about that, one look into Ded-inger’s wrath-filled eyes settled the matter. That cold fury was a problem only a great deal of time and distance would solve. The more the better. “I’ll stay and take care of them till their friends arrive,” she added. “The Urunthai will probably protect me, since I fought to help save some of them — though they may still keep me prisoner. I may even be able to stop ’em from slaughtering Dedinger’s gang.

“But you and Jomah ought to go ahead. Assuming we get some of the donkeys back, you can take Prity and the Stranger along. With tons of luck you might get them somewhere with a pharmacist and a strong militia outfit. I’ll follow for several arrowflights and brush away your trail, then I’ll use more donkeys to trample a mess of false paths leading out of here.”

A soft whistle of grudging respect escaped Ulgor. “You are, indeed, your vrother’s sister.”

Sara turned and pointed at the elegant tinker. “Of course this means you have used up the free time you earned by helping us at the battle’s end.” She bent to pick up a length of tent rope. “It’s time for you to join the others by the fire, neighbor.”

Ulgor backed away. “You and who else plan on enforcing that ruling?” she asked in defiant GalSix.

Kurt cocked the pistol. “Me and my magic wand, Ulgor. You just stop right there.”

Ulgorls long neck slumped in defeat. “Oh, all right,” she murmured, disconsolately. “If you’re going to ve so insistent. I suffose I can stand it for a little while.”

Amid Ulgor’s stream of placating words, it took a dura or two for Sara to realize — she’s still backing up!

Confused by mixed signals, Kurt wavered until Ded-inger cried out. “She’s faking, you fools!”

In a blur, Ulgor whipped around and plunged into the twilight dimness. Kurt fired once — and missed — as the urrish rump vanished amid the rocks. Their last sight of Ulgor was a flourish of twin braided tails. The captive urs lifted their heads from drug-hangover misery to chortle with amused glee. Several human captives laughed at the exploser’s discomfiture.

“You need more practice with that thing, grandpa,” Dedinger observed. “Or else hand it to a guy who hit something the one time he tried.”

Prity bared her teeth and snarled at the ex-sage, who sarcastically feigned terror, then laughed again.

He spent time around’chimps in Biblos, Sara thought, laying a hand on Prity’s knee to restrain her. He should know better.

Then again, there’s no fool like a bright fool.

“Well, that tears it,” Kurt muttered to Sara. “It’s my fault. I should’ve listened to you. Tied her up, even though she helped save my life. Now she can lurk out there watching us. Or run and bring her gang before we get far enough away.”

Sara shook her head. Far enough away for what? Surely Ulgor’s escape only hastened the inevitable.

The exploser motioned for her to come closer. When she sat down, Kurt’s lips pressed together hard before he finally decided to speak, so softly that her battered ears could barely hear.

“I’ve been thinkin’ lately, Sara … it seemed a gift from the Egg to find you traveling with us. A fluke-blessing of Ifni. Your skills could prove quite useful to something … a project I’m involved with. I was going to ask you at Crossroads.” “Ask me what?”

“To come south with us” — his voice lowered further still — “to Mount Guenn.”

“To Mount—” Sara blurted, standing up.

At Kurt’s panicked expression, she sat back down and dropped her voice. “You’re kidding, right? You know I have business at the Glade. Important business. If the radicals think the Stranger is important enough to kill over, don’t you think the sages ought to have a chance to look him over and decide what to do? Besides, if the aliens are his friends, it’s our duty to help him get modern medical—”

Kurt waved a hand. “All quite true. Still, with the path from here to the Glade blocked, and with another task waiting that could be more important—”

Sara stared at the man. Was he crazy as Dedinger? What could possibly be more important?

“—a task one of your colleagues has been working on, down at the place I mentioned, for several weeks now—”

One of my colleagues? Sara blinked. She had seen Bonner and Taine, a few days ago, at Biblos. Plovov was at Gathering. Then who…?

One name came to mind.

Purofsky the astronomer? Down at Mount Guenn? Doing what, in the Egg’s name?

“—a task which seems to cry out for your expertise, if I might be so bold.”

She shook her head. “That — place — is all the way beyond the Great Swamp, past the desert and the Spectral Flow! Or else you must take the long way around by river and then by sea—”

“We know a shortcut,” Kurt put in, absurdly.

“—and just a while ago we were plotting a mad dash just to reach the nearest village, as if it were as hopeless as a journey to a moon!”

“I never said it would be easy.” Kurt sighed. “Look, all I want to know right now is this. If I could convince you it was possible, would you come?”

Sara bit back her initial reply. Kurt had already pulled miracle powers and god-machines out of that satchel of his. Did he also have a magic carpet in there? Or a fabled antigravity sled? Or a gossamer-winged glider to catch the offshore wind and loft them to a distant mountain of fire?

“I can’t waste time talking nonsense.” She stood up, worried about the Stranger. It was getting dark fast, and though Ulgor had fled to the northwest, there was no guarantee she would not circle around to seek and surprise the man from space. “I’m going to go look—”

A scream interrupted, making her jump. A shrill ululation of surprise and outrage that warbled melodically, almost like a snatch of frantic song, rebounding off the rocks so many times that their bruised ears could not pin down where it came from. Sara’s back shivered with empathic terror at the awful sound.

Prity snatched up one of the long urrish knives and stepped closer to the nervous prisoners. Jomah fondled the smallest of the desert hunters’ bows, nocking an arrow against the string. Sara flexed her hands, knowing that a weapon should be in them, but the thought of holding one felt obscene. She could not bring herself to do it.

A character flaw, she admitted, a bit dazedly. One I shouldn’t pass on to kids. Not if we’re headed into an age of violence and “heroes.”

Tension built as the wail intensified. An eerie howl that seemed one part pain, one part despair, and eight parts humiliation, as if death would be preferable to whatever the screamer was going through. It grew louder and more frenzied with each passing dura, causing the prisoners to crowd together, peering anxiously into the gloom.

Then another sound joined, in basso counterpoint. A rapid, unrhythmic thumping that made the ground tremble like an approaching machine.

Kurt cocked the pistol, holding it in front of him.

Suddenly, a shadow took form at the western fringe of firelight. A monstrous shape, slanted and heavy, protruding forward at a rising angle, leading with an appendage that flailed and thrashed like a cluster of waving arms and legs. Sara gasped and stepped back.

A moment later it resolved itself, and she let out a shuddering sigh, recognizing Ulgor as the protrusion, moaning in distress and shame, held up in the air by the adamant embrace of two armored, pincer-equipped, chitinous arms.

Qheuenish arms. The remaining three out of five stumbled forward clumsily, fighting for balance as the writhing urs fought to break free.

“Resistance is useless,” a scratchy but familiar voice whistled from two leg-vents, a voice dry with the same caked dust that fooled Sara at first, into thinking the armor was slate gray. Only near the fire did a hint of the true shade of blue glimmer through.

“Hello f-f-folks,” croaked Blade, son of Log Biter of Dolo Dam. “Could anybody s-s-spare a drink of water?”

The night was clear, windy, and extremely cold for this time of year. They nursed their fuel supply for the fire and draped fragments of the shredded tent over huddled groups of captives, to help them retain body heat. Darkness hauled the urs — including a tightly bound Ulgor — down toward sleep, but the human insurgents muttered together under their makeshift shelter, making Sara ponder glumly what they must be scheming. Clearly they had less desire than the surviving members of UrKachu’s band to see more Urunthai arrive over the hilltops, tomorrow or the next day. If they sawed or chewed through their bindings in the darkness, what deterrence value would Kurt’s pistol hold in the event of a sudden charge?

Granted, many of the men were flash-blinded. And Blade was a comfort to have around. Even wheezing dust, and with the softer chitin of a blues he was an intimidating figure. With him present, Sara and the others might even risk taking turns trying to get some sleep.

If only we knew what’s happened to the star-man, she worried.

He’d been gone for several miduras. Even with Loocen now up to shed a wan glow across the country-side, it was all too easy to imagine the poor fellow getting lost out there.

“The gunshot helped lead me to your camp,” Blade explained once Sara and Jomah had sponged out his vents and eye circle, using up much of their precious water. “I was becoming rather desperate, unable to follow your trail in the fading light, when I heard the bang. A bit later, there was the reflection of your fire off yonder spire.”

Sara looked up. A flicker did seem to dance across the tall stone tower. Perhaps it would guide the Stranger home.

“Imagine my surprise, though, when someone came running forth to greet me!” Blade chuckled out three vents. “Of course, my shock was nothing like Ulgor’s when she saw me!”

The qheuen’s tale was simple, if valiant. He had waited underwater, back at Uryutta’s Oasis, until UrKachu’s fast group departed, followed by the slower expedition of captives and booty. Blade spent the time contemplating his options. Should he strike out for Crossroads or some other settlement? Or else try to follow and give help when help might do the most good? Either decision would mean dehydration and pain-not to mention danger. Sara noticed that Blade never mentioned a third option: to wait at the oasis until someone came along. Perhaps it never occurred to him.

“One thing I didn’t expect — to find you four in charge, having overcome both groups all by yourselves! It appears you never needed rescue, after all.”

Jomah laughed from atop Blade’s carapace, where he was sponging off the qheuen’s scent-slits. The boy hugged his blue cupola. “You saved the day!”

Sara nodded. “You’re the biggest hero of all, dear, dear friend.”

There seemed no more to say after that. Or else, everyone was too tired for more words. They watched the flames in silence for a while. At one point Sara stared at Loocen, observing the bright, reflected-sunlight twinkle of abandoned Buyur cities, those enduring reminders of the might and glory that once filled this solar system and that would again, someday.

We sooners are like Jijo’s dreams, she thought. Ghostlike wraiths who leave no trace when we are gone. Passing fantasies, while this patch of creation rests and makes ready for the next phase of achievement by some godlike race.

It was not a comforting contemplation. Sara did not wish to be a dream. She wanted what she did and thought in life to matter, if only as contributions to something that grew better with time, through her works, her children, her civilization. Perhaps this desire was rooted in the irreverent upbringing provided by her mother, whose offspring included a famous heretic, a legendary hunter, and a believer in crazy theories about a different kind of redemption for all of the races of the Six.

She thought back to her conversation with Dedinger.

We’ll probably never know which of us would have been right, if the Commons had been left alone to go its own way. Too bad. Each of us believes in something that’s beautiful, in its own way. At least, a whole lot more beautiful than extinction.

Silence allowed some of the world’s natural sounds to grow familiar once again, as residual tintinnations in her ears slowly ebbed.

I should be glad not to be completely deaf or blind at this point — let alone dead. If there’s any permanent damage, I’ll manage to live with it.

The Stranger set a good example, ever cheerful despite horrific loss of much that had made him who he was. She decided, at times like these, any attitude but gritty stoicism simply made no sense at all.

Of the sounds brought forth by the night, some were recognizable. A floating cadence of sighs that was wind, stroking the nearby prairie and then funneling through the columns of twisted stone. A distant, lowing moan told of a herd of gallaiters. Then came the grumbling rattle of a ligger, warning all others to stay out of its territory, and the keening of some strange bird.

While she listened, the keening changed in pitch, waxing steadily in volume. Soon she realized, That’s no bird.

It wasn’t long before the sound acquired a throaty power, steadily increasing until it took over possession of the night, pushing all competitors aside. Sara stood up and the bulging tent fragments rippled as others reacted to the rising clamor — a din that soon climaxed as a bawling roar, forcing her hands over her tender ears. Blade’s cupola shrank inward, and the captive urs bayed unhappy counterpoint, rocking their long necks back and forth. Pebbles fell from the nearby rocky spires, worrying Sara that the towers might topple under the howling shove of disturbed air.

That sound — I heard it once before.

The sky grew radiant as something bright passed into view — decelerating with a series of titanic booms — a glowing, many-studded tube whose heat was palpable, even at a distance of—

Of what? Sara had glimpsed a starship only once before, a far-off glitter from her treehouse window. Beyond that, she had pictures, sketches, and dry, abstract measurements to go on — all useless for comparison, as her mind went numb.

It must still be high up in the atmosphere, she realized. Yet it seemed so big…

The god-ship passed from roughly southwest to northeast, clearly descending, slowing down for a landing. It took no great ingenuity to guess its destination.

For all its awesome beauty, Sara did not feel anything this time but a sour churn of dread.

Lark

It was hard to make out much from a distance. The blaze of light coming from the Glade was so intense, it cast long shadows, even down the forested lanes of a mountainside, many leagues away.

“Now you see what you’re up against,” Ling told him, standing nearby, watched by a half-dozen wary militiamen. “This won’t be anything like taking down a couple of little bodyguard robots.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Lark answered, shading his eyes to peer against the glare, as searchlights roved across the crater where the alien station lay in ruins. After two days without sleep, the far-off engines reminded him of a growl of a she-ligger, just returned from a hunt to find her pup mauled and now nursing a killing rage.

“It’s still not too late, you know,” Ling went on. “If you hand over your zealot rebels — and your High Sages — the Rothen may accept individual rather than collective guilt. Punishment doesn’t have to be universal.”

Lark knew he should get angry. He ought to whirl and decry the hypocrisy of her offer — reminding her of the evidence everyone had seen and felt earlier, proving that her masters planned genocide all along.

Two things stopped him.

First, while everyone now knew the Rothen planned inciting bloody civil war, aimed foremost at the human population of Jijo, the details were still unclear.

And the devil lies in the details.

Anyway, Lark was too tired to endure another mental tussle with the young Danik biologist. He turned his head in a neck-twist that mimicked an urrish shrug, and hiss-clicked in GalTwo—

“Have we not (much) better things to do, than to discuss (intensely) absurd notions?”

This brought approving snickers from the guards, accompanying the two of them into hiding. Other groups were escorting Rann and Ro-kenn to separate concealed places, dispersing the hostages as far apart as possible.

Yes, but why did they put me in charge of Ling?

Maybe they figure she’ll be too busy constantly fighting with me to plan any escape.

For all he knew, the two of them might be stuck together for a long time to come.

Silence reigned as they watched the mighty starship cruise back and forth, shining its fierce beam onto every corner of the Glade, every place where a pavilion had stood, only miduras before. From a remote mountainside, it was transfixing, hypnotic.

“Sage, we must be going now, it’s still not safe.”

That was the militia sergeant, a small wiry woman named Shen, with glossy black hair, delicate features, and a deadly compound bow slung over one shoulder. Lark blinked, at first wondering who she was talking to.

Sage — ah, yes.

It would take some getting used to. Lark had always figured his heresy would disqualify him, despite his training and accomplishments.

But only a sage can rule in matters of life or death.

As the group resumed their trek, he could not help glancing at Ling. Though half the time he “wanted to strangle her,” that was only a figure of speech. Lark doubted he could ever carry out his duty, if it came to that. Even now, smudged and gaunt from exhaustion, her face was too lovely by far.

A midura or so later, a blaring cry of dismay filled the mountain range, echoing round frosted peaks to assail them from all sides, setting trees quivering. A militia soldier pointed back along the trail to where the starship’s artificial glow had just grown impossibly brighter. They all ran to the nearest switchback offering a view southwest and raised their hands to shield their eyes.

“Ifni!” Lark gasped, while guards clutched their crude weapons, or each other’s arms, or made futile hand gestures to ward off evil. Every face was white with reflected radiance.

“It… can’t … be …” Ling exhaled heavily, sighing each word.

The great Rothen ship still hovered over the Glade — as before, bathed in light.

Only now the light blazed down upon it from above — cast by a new entity.

Another ship.

A much, much bigger ship, like a grown urs towering over one of her larvae.

Uh… went Lark’s mind as he stared, struggling to adjust to the change in scale. But all he could come up with was a blaspheming thought.

The new monster was huge enough to have laid the Holy Egg and still have room inside for more.

Trapped underneath the behemoth, the Rothen craft gave a grinding noise and trembled, as if straining to escape, or even to move. But the light pouring down on it now seemed to take on qualities of physical substance, like a solid shaft, pressing it ever lower toward the ground. A golden color flowed around the smaller star-craft as it scraped hard against Jijo’s soil. The dense lambency coated and surrounded it, congealing like a glowing cone, hardening as it cooled.

Like wax, Lark thought, numbly. Then he turned with the others and ran through the forest night for as long and as hard as his body could bear it.

Asx

What is this, my rings? This shivering sensation, coursing through our stack? It feels like dread familiarity. Or a familiar dread.

Amid this horrible glare, we stand rooted in the festival glade with the Rothen ship grounded nearby, encased in a bubble of frozen time, with leaves and twigs caught motionless, mid-whirl, next to its gold-sealed hull.

And above, this new power. This new titan. The searing lights dim. Humming an overpowering song, the monstrous vessel descends, crushing every remaining tree on the south side of the valley, shoving a new bed for the river, filling the sky like a mountain.

Can you feel it, my rings?

Can you feel the premonition that throbs our core with acid vapors?

Along the vast flank of the starship, a hatch opens, large enough to swallow a small village.

Against the lighted interior, silhouettes enter view.

Tapered cones. Stacks of rings.

Frightful kinfolk we had hoped never to see again.

Sara

The Stranger hurried into camp a while after the second ship passed overhead. By then, Sara had recovered enough to bring her mind back down to matters close at hand.

Matters she could do something about.

The star-man came from the south, herding a half-dozen weary donkeys. He seemed excited, feverish with need to tell of something. His mouth opened and closed, gabbling incoherently, as if trying to force words by sheer will.

Sara felt his forehead and checked his eyes.

“I know,” she said, trying to calm his overwrought nerves. “We saw it too. A huge damn thing, bigger than Dolo Lake. I wish you could tell us whether it was your ship, or someone you don’t like much.”

In fact, she wasn’t even sure the man could hear her voice, let alone follow her meaning. He had been closer to the stun-grenade and less prepared.

Nevertheless, something seemed strange about his excitement. He did not point at the sky, as she would have expected, nor to the north, where the two ships were last seen descending, one after the other. Instead, he gestured southward, in the direction he had just come.

The Stranger’s gaze met hers, and he shuddered. His brow furrowed in concentration as he took several deep breaths. Then, with a light suddenly in his eyes, he sang,

His voice was raspy and Sara saw tears. Still, he went on, triggering verses that he knew by heart — that lay ready, even after many decades, creased in undamaged folds of his brain.

Sara nodded, trying to sift meaning out of the lullaby.

“All the pretty litt — oh, Ifni!”

She whirled to face the explosers.

“He’s seen more urs! They’re here already, swinging south to take us from behind!”

Kurt blinked a couple of times, then began to open his mouth — but was cut off by a fluting whistle of jubilation from the prisoners.

Ulgor stretched her neck toward them. “I told you our allies would not take long arriving. Now cut these cords so I can intercede, and fersuade our Urunthai friends not to treat you too badly.”

“Sara,” Kurt said, taking her elbow. But she shrugged him off. There was no time to spare.

“Kurt, you take Jornah, Prity, and the Stranger into the rocks. The Urunthai can’t follow well in rough terrain. You might reach high ground if Blade and I stall them. Try to find a cave or something. Go!”

She swiveled to face the blue qheuen. “Are you ready, Blade?”

“I am, Sara!” The blue clacked two fierce pincers and stepped forward, as if prepared to fight the Battle of Znunir Trading Post all over again.

More laughter made her turn around. This time it was Dedinger. The former sage chortled amusement.

“Oh, don’t mind me, sister. Your plan sounds delightful. It’ll save my life and those of my men. So by all means, Kurt, do as she says! Head for the rocks. Go!”

Sara quickly saw what Dedinger meant. If Urunthai reinforcements found they could not follow the fugitives through a boulder field, or down some narrow grotto, or up a garu tree, that could force them to renew their broken alliance with the band of human radicals, forgoing vengeance — at least for as long as it took the desert trappers to hunt Kurt and the others down.

She sagged, seeing the futility of it all.

We’ve been through so much, only to come right back where we started.

“Sara—” Kurt said again. Then the old man stopped what he had been about to say and cocked his head. “Listen.”

The clearing went silent. Moments later, she heard it too — the approaching clatter of rushing hooves. A great many of them. She could feel their rumbling haste through the soles of her feet.

Too late to come up with another plan. Too late for anything but dignity.

She took the Stranger’s arm. “Sorry I didn’t catch on when you first tried to warn us,” she said, brushing the worst streaks of dust off of his clothes and straightening his collar. If he was to be their prize, he should at least look the part of a valuable hostage, not some ragamuffin drifter. He repaid her with a tentative smile. Together, they turned south, to face the onrushing cavalry.

The newcomers swelled out of the darkness, from between giant pillars of stone. They’re urs, all right, she thought. Burly, powerful and well-armed they spilled into the clearing in a disciplined skirmish pattern, taking positions on all sides, brandishing their arbalests, scanning for danger signs. Sara was startled, and a bit insulted, when the vanguard simply ignored the standing humans and Blade, finding them no threat at all.

More surprisingly, they paid little more heed to the trussed-up prisoners, leaving them right where they were.

Sara noticed that the war paint of the new arrivals was unlike that of UrKachu’s band — more restrained, dabbed in smoother, more flowing lines. Could that mean they weren’t Urunthai, after all?

From the dismayed look on Ulgor’s face, Sara realized this was not the band of “friends” the tinker was expecting. She nursed a slim reed of hope. Could they be militia? They wore no formal brassards or tunics, nor did they act like the typical urrish militia unit — local herdsmen who drilled for fun every eighth day, when the weather was good.

Who are these guys?

Skirmishers whistled that the area was clear. Then a senior matron with a gray-fringed muzzle sauntered into the firelight. She approached the Dolo Villagers and lowered her neck, respectfully.

“We regret our tardiness, friends. It is sad you were inconvenienced, vut we are glad to see you overcane your trouvles, without helf.”

Sara stared as Kurt touched noses with the aged urs. “You’re not late if you arrive in the nick of time, Ulashtu. I knew you’d scent our affliction and come for us…”

At that point, Sara lost track of the conversation. For the Stranger pulled her about, squeezing her arm tight while a nervous, excited quaver throbbed along his skin.

More figures were approaching out of the darkness.

Perplexing shapes.

At first she thought it was another party of urs, outfitted for war. Very large urs, with strange, stiff necks and an odd way of moving. For an instant she recalled the ancient illustration that once rimmed the Parthenon — the one depicting savage, mythical centaurs.

A moment later, she sighed.

Silly thing. It’s only men riding donkeys. Ifni! This darkness would make anything ordinary seem mysterious, especially after all we’ve been thr—

She blinked and stared again.

They were big donkeys. The human riders’ feet did not drag but perched high off the ground, astride great torsos that seemed to pulsate with raw animal power.

“It’s them!” Jomah cried. “They’re real! They weren’t all killed off, after all!”

To Sara it felt like witnessing dragons, or dinosaurs, or stag-griffins come alive off the pages of a storybook. A dream made real — or a nightmare to some. The Urunthai prisoners let out a howl of anger and despair when they realized what was stepping into the firelight. This meant their one great achievement — their league’s sole claim to fame — was in fact a failure. A farce.

The riders dismounted, and Sara realized they were all women. She also saw that several more of the great beasts followed behind, bearing saddles but otherwise unburdened.

No, she thought, realizing what was about to be asked of her. They can’t seriously expect me to climb onto one of those things!

The nearest beast snorted as the Stranger reached up to stroke its mammoth head. The creature easily out-massed four or five urs, with jaws big enough to swallow a person’s arm, whole. Yet, the man from space pressed his cheek against its great neck.

With tears in his eyes, he sang again.