Vance, Jack - Tschai 3 - The DirDir

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THE DIRDIR

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CHAPTER ONE

THE SUN CARINA 4269 had passed into the constellation Tartusz, to mark the onset of Balul Zac

Ag, the "unnatural dream time," when slaughter, slave-taking, pillage and arson came to a halt

across the Lokhar Highlands. Balul Zac Ag was the occasion for the Great Fair at Smargash, or

perhaps the Great Fair had come first, eventually to generate Balul Zac Ag after unknown hundreds

of years. From across the Lokhar Highlands and the regions surrounding Xar, Zhurveg, Seraf, Niss

and others came to Smargash to mingle and trade, to resolve stale feuds, to gather intelligence.

Hatred hung in the air like a stench; covert glances and whispered curses, in-drawn hisses of

detestation accented the color and confusion of the bazaar. Only the Lokhars (the men black-

skinned and white-haired, the women whiteskinned and black-haired) maintained faces of placid

unconcern.

On the second day of Balul Zac Ag, as Adam Reith wandered through the bazaar, he became aware

that he was being watched. The knowledge came as a dismal shock; on Tschai, surveillance always

led to a grim conclusion.

Perhaps he was mistaken, Reith told himself. He had dozens of enemies; to many others he

represented ideological disaster; but how could any of these have traced him to Smargash? Reith

continued along the crowded lanes of the bazaar, pausing at the booths to look back the way he had

come. But his follower, if in fact he existed, was lost in the confusion. There were Niss in black

robes, seven feet tall, striding like rapacious birds: Xars; Serafs; Dugbo nomads squatting over

their fires; Human Things expressionless behind pottery faceplates; Zhurvegs in coffee-brown

caftans; the black and white Lokhars of Smargash themselves. There was odd staccato noise: the

clank of iron, squeak of leather, harsh voices, shrill calls, the whine, rasp and jangle of Dugbo

music. There were odors: fern-spice, gland-oil, submusk, dust rising and settling, the reek of

pickled nuts, smoke from grilled meats, the perfume of the Serafs. There were colors: black, dull

brown, orange, old scarlet, dark blue, dark gold. Leaving the bazaar Reith crossed the dancing

field. He stopped short, and from the corner of his eye glimpsed a figure sliding behind a tent.

Thoughtfully Reith returned to the inn. Traz and the Dirdirman, Ankhe at afram Anacho, sat in

the refectory making a meal of bread and meat. They ate in silence; disparate beings, each found

the other incomprehensible. Anacho, tall, thin and pallid like all Dirdirmen, was completely

hairless, a quality he now tended to minimize under a soft tasseled cap after the style of the

Yao. His personality was unpredictable; he inclined toward garrulity, freakish jokes, sudden

petulances. Traz, square, somber and sturdy, was in most respects Anacho's obverse. Traz

considered Anacho vain, over-subtle, over-civilized; Anacho thought Traz tactless, severe and over-

literal. How the two managed to travel in comparative amity was a mystery to Reith.

Reith seated himself at the table. "I think I'm being watched," he announced.

Anacho leaned back in dismay. "Then we must prepare for disaster-or flight."

"I prefer flight," said Reith. He poured himself ale from a stone jug.

"You still intend to travel space to this mythical planet of yours?" Anacho spoke in the voice

of one who reasons with an obstinate child.

"I want to return to Earth, certainly."

"Bah," muttered Anacho. "You are the victim of a hoax, or an obsession. Can you not cure

yourself? The project is easier to discuss than to effectuate. Spaceships are not wart-scissors,

to be picked up at any bazaar booth."

Reith said sadly, "I know this only too well."

Anacho spoke in an offhand manner: "I suggest that you apply at the Grand Sivishe Spaceyards.

Almost anything can be procured, if one has enough sequins."

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"I suspect that I don't," said Reith.

"Go to the Carabas. Sequins can be had by the bucketful."

Traz gave a short snort of derision. "Do you take us for maniacs?"

"Where is the Carabas?" asked Reith.

"The Carabas is in the Dirdir Hunting Preserve, at the north of Kislovan. Men with luck and

strong nerves sometimes prosper."

"Fools, gamblers and murderers, rather," muttered Traz.

Reith asked, "How do these men, whatever their nature, gain the sequins?"

Anacho's voice was flippant and airy. "By the usual method: they dig up nodes of chrysospine."

Reith rubbed his chin. "Is this the source of sequins? I thought that the Dirdir or some such

folk minted them."

"Your ignorance is that of another planet indeed!" declared Anacho.

The muscles around Reith's mouth gave a rueful twitch. "It could hardly be otherwise."

"The chrysospine," said Anacho, "grows only in the Black Zone, which is to say, the Carabas,

where uranium compounds occur in the soil. A full node yields two hundred and eighty-two sequins,

of one or another color. A purple sequin is worth a hundred clears; a scarlet is fifty, and down

through the emeralds, blues, sards and milks. Even Traz knows as much."

Traz looked at Anacho with a curled lip. "'Even Traz'?"

Anacho paid him no heed. "All this to the side; we have no certain evidence of surveillance.

Adam Reith may well be mistaken."

"Adam Reith is not mistaken," said Traz. "'Even Traz,' as you put it, knows better than this."

Anacho raised his hairless eyebrows. "How so?"

"Notice the man who just entered the room."

"A Lokhar; what about him?"

"He is no Lokhar. He watches our every move."

Anacho's jaw fell a trifle slack.

Reith studied the man surreptitiously; he seemed less burly, less direct and abrupt than the

typical Lokhar. Anacho spoke in a subdued voice: "The lad is right. Notice how he drinks his ale,

head down instead of back ... Disturbing."

Reith muttered, "Who would be interested in us?"

Anacho gave a bark of caustic laughter. "Do you think that our exploits have gone unnoticed?

The events at Ao Hidis have aroused attention everywhere."

"So this man-whom would he serve?"

Anacho shrugged. "With his skin dyed black I can't even guess his breed."

"We'd better get some information," said Reith. He considered a moment. "I'll walk out through

the bazaar, then around into the Old Town. If the man yonder follows, give him a start and come

behind. If he stays, one of you stay, the other come after me."

Reith went out into the bazaar. At a Zhurveg pavilion he paused to examine a display of rugs,

woven, according to rumor, by legless children, kidnapped and maimed by the Zhurvegs themselves.

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He glanced back the way he had come. No one appeared to be following. He went on a little way, and

paused by the racks where hideous Niss women sold coils of braided leather rope, leap-horse

harness, crudely beautiful silver goblets. Still no one behind. He crossed the passage to examine

a Dugbo display of musical instruments. If he could take a cargo of Zhurveg rugs, Niss silver,

Dugbo musical instruments back to Earth, thought Reith, his fortune would be made. He looked over

his shoulder, and now he observed Anacho dawdling fifty yards behind. Anacho clearly had learned

nothing.

Reith sauntered on. He paused to watch a Dugbo necromancer: a twisted old man squatting behind

trays of misshapen bottles, jugs of salve, junction-stones to facilitate telepathy, love-sticks,

sheafs of curses indited on red and green paper. Above flew a dozen fantastic kites, which the old

Dugbo manipulated to produce a wan wailing music. He proffered Reith an amulet, which Reith

refused to buy. The necromancer spat epithets and caused his kites to dart and shriek discords.

Reith moved on, into the Dugbo encampment proper. Girls wearing scarves and flounced skirts of

black, old rose and ocher solicited Zhurvegs, Lokhars, Serafs, but taunted the prudish Niss who

stalked silently past, heads out-thrust, noses like scythes of polished bone. Beyond the

encampment lay the open plain and the far hills, black and gold in the light of Carina 4269.

A Dugbo girl approached Reith, jangling the silver ornaments at her waist, smiling a gap-

toothed grin. "What do you seek out here, my friend? Are you weary? This is my tent; enter,

refresh yourself."

Reith declined the invitation and stepped back before her fingers or those of her younger

sister could flutter near his pouch.

"Why are you reluctant?" sang the girl. "Look at me! Am I not graceful? I have polished my

limbs with Seraf wax; I am scented with haze-water; you could do far worse!"

"No doubt whatever," said Reith. "Still..."

"We will talk together, Adam Reith. We will tell each other of many strange matters."

"How do you know my name?" demanded Reith.

The girl waved her scarf at the younger girls, as if at insects. "Who at Smargash does not know

Adam Reith, who strides abroad like an Ilanth prince, and his mind always full of thoughts?"

"I am notorious then?"

"Oh, indeed. Must you go?"

"Yes. I have an engagement." Reith continued on his way. The girl watched after him with an odd

half-smile, which Reith, looking over his shoulder, found disconcerting.

A few hundred yards further along, Anacho approached from a side-lane. "The man dyed like a

Lokhar remained at the inn. For a period you were followed by a young woman dressed as a Dugbo. In

the encampment she accosted you, then followed no more."

"Strange," muttered Reith. He looked up and down the street. "No one follows us now?"

"No one is visible. We might well be under observation. Turn about, if you will."

Anacho ran his long white fingers over the fabric of Reith's jacket. "So I suspected." He

displayed a small black button. "And now we know who tracks you. Do you recognize this?"

"No. But I can guess. A tell-tale."

"A Dirdir adjunct for hunting, used by the very young or the very old to guide them after their

quarry."

"So the Dirdir are interested in me."

Anacho's face became long and pinched, as if he tasted something acrid. "The events at Ao Khaha

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have naturally attracted their attention."

"What should they want with me?"

"Dirdir motives are seldom subtle. They want to ask a few questions and then kill you."

"The time has come to move on."

Anacho glanced toward the sky. "That time has come and gone. I suspect that a Dirdir sky-car

approaches at this very moment ... Give me the button."

A Niss approached, black robes flapping to the stride of his legs. Anacho stepped forth, made a

swift movement toward the black gown. The Niss sprang around with a grunt of menace, and for a

moment seemed ready to abandon the unnatural restraints of Balul Zac Ag. Then he wheeled and

continued along his way.

Anacho gave his thin fluting chuckle. "The Dirdir will be puzzled when Adam Reith proves to be

a Niss."

"Before they learn differently, we had best be gone."

"Agreed, but how?"

"I suggest that we consult old Zarfo Detwiler."

"Luckily we know where to find him."

Skirting the bazaar, the two approached the ale-house, a ramshackle structure of stone and

weather-beaten planks. Today Zarfo sat within, to escape the dust and confusion of the bazaar. A

stone crock of ale almost hid his black-dyed face. He was dressed in unaccustomed elegance:

polished black boots, a maroon cape, a black tricorn hat pulled down over his flowing white hair.

He was somewhat drunk and even more garrulous than usual. With difficulty Reith made him aware of

his problem. Zarfo at last became exercised. "So, the Dirdir now! Infamous, and during Balul Zac

Ag! They had better control their arrogance, or know the wrath of the Lokhars!"

"All this to the side," said Reith, "how can we most quickly leave Smargash?"

Zarfo blinked and dipped another ladle of ale from the crock. "First I must learn where you

wish to go."

"The Isles of Cloud, or perhaps the Carabas."

Zarfo let the ladle sag in shock. "The Lokhars are the most avaricious of people, yet how many

attempt the Carabas? Few! And how many return with wealth? Have you noticed the great manor house

to the east, with the chain of carved ivory around the bower?"

"I have seen the manor."

"There are no other such manors near Smargash," said Zarfo portentously. "Do you get my

meaning?" He rapped on the bench. "Pot-boy! More ale."

"I mentioned the Isles of Cloud as well," said Reith.

"Tusa Tala on the Draschade is more convenient for the Isles. How to reach Tusa Tala? The motor-

wagon fares only to Siadz at the edge of the highlands; I know of no route down the chasms to the

Draschade. The caravan to Zara is two months gone. A skyraft is the only sensible conveyance."

"Well, then, where can we obtain a sky-raft?"

"Not from the Lokhars; we have none. Look yonder: a skyraft and a party of rich Xars! They are

about to depart. Maybe their destination is Tusa Tala. Let us inquire."

"A moment. We must get word to Traz." Reith called the potboy, sent him running to the inn.

Zarfo strode out across the compound with Reith and Anacho behind. Five Xars stood by their old

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sky-raft: short bullshouldered men with congested complexions. They wore rich robes of gray and

green; their black hair rose in rigid varnished columns, flaring slightly outward and sheared off

flat.

"Leaving Smargash so soon, friend Xars?" Zarfo called out in a cheerful voice.

The Xars muttered together and turned away.

Zarfo ignored the lack of affability. "Where then are you bound?"

"Lake Falas; where else?" declared the oldest Xar. "Our business is done; as usual we were

cheated. We are anxious to return to the swamps."

"Excellent. This gentleman and his two friends need transportation to a point in your general

direction. They asked me whether they should offer to pay; I said, 'Nonsense! The Xars are princes

of generosity-' "

"Hold!" the Xar called sharply. "I have at least three remarks to make. First, our raft is

crowded. Second, we are generous unless we lose sequins in the process. Third, these two

nondescripts have a reckless and desperate air about them, not at all reassuring. Is this the

third?" The reference was to Traz, who had arrived on the scene. "A mere lad but no less dubious

for all that."

Another Xar spoke. "Two further questions: How much can they pay? Where do they wish to go?"

Reith, considering the uncomfortably scant supply of sequins in his pouch, said, "A hundred

sequins is all we can offer; and we want to be taken to Tusa Tala."

The Xars threw up their hands in outrage. "Tusa Tala? A thousand miles northwest! We head

southeast to Lake Falas! A hundred sequins? Is this a joke? Mountebanks! Off with all of you,„

Zarfo swaggered threateningly forward. "A mountebank, you call me? Were it not Balul Zac Ag,

the 'unnatural dream time,' I would tweak all of your ludicrously long noses!"

The Xars made spitting sounds between their teeth, climbed aboard the raft and departed.

Zarfo stared after the departing raft. He heaved a sigh. "In this case, failure ... Well, all

may not prove so churlish. In the sky comes another craft; we shall put the proposal to those

aboard, or at an extremity, render them drunk and borrow the vehicle. A handsome craft, that.

Surely-"

Anacho gave a startled outcry. "A Dirdir sky-car! Already they are here! Away to concealment,

for our very lives!"

He started to dart away. Reith seized his arm. "Don't run; do you want them to identify us so

quickly?" To Zarfo: "Where shall we hide?"

"In the ale-house storeroom but never forget that this is Balul Zac Ag! The Dirdir would never

dare violence!"

"Bah," sneered Anacho. "What do they know of your customs, or care?"

"I will explain to them," declared Zarfo. He led the three to a shed beside the alehouse,

ushered them within. Through a crack in the plank Reith watched the Dirdir sky-car settle into the

compound. On sudden thought he turned to Traz, felt over his garments, and in vast dismay

discovered a black disc.

"Quick," said Anacho. "Give it here." He left the shed, went into the ale-house. A minute later

he returned. "An old Lokhar departing for his cottage now carries the tell-tale." He went to a

crack, peered out toward the field. "Dirdir, sure enough! As always when sport is to be had!"

The sky-car lay quiet: a craft different from any Reith had seen heretofore, the product of a

sure and sophisticated technology. Five Dirdir stepped to the ground: impressive creatures, harsh,

mercurial, decisive. They stood approximately at human height, and moved with sinister quickness,

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like lizards on a hot day. Their dermal surfaces suggested polished bone; their crania raised into

sharp blade-like crests, with incandescent antennae streaming back at either side. The contours of

the faces were oddly human, with deep eye-sockets, the scalp crests descending to suggest nasal

ridges. They half-hopped, half-loped, like leopards walking erect; it was not hard to see in them

the wild creatures which had hunted the hot plains of Sibol.

Three persons approached the Dirdir: the false Lokhar, the Dugbo girl, a man in nondescript

gray garments. The Dirdir spoke with the three for several minutes, then brought forth

instruments, which they pointed in different directions. Anacho hissed: "They locate their tell-

tales. And the old Lokhar in the alehouse still dawdles over his pot!"

"No matter," said Reith. "As well in the ale-house as anywhere else."

The Dirdir approached the ale-house, moving with their curious half-loping stride. Behind came

the three spies.

The old Lokhar chose this moment to lurch from the alehouse. The Dirdir inspected him in

puzzlement, and approached by great leaps. The Lokhar drew back in alarm. "What have we here?

Dirdir? Don't interfere with me!"

The Dirdir spoke in sibilant lisping voices which suggested the absence of a larynx. "Do you

know a man called Adam Reith?"

"Indeed not! Stand aside!"

Zarfo thrust himself forward. "Adam Reith, you say? What of him?"

"Where is he?"

"Why do you ask?"

The false Lokhar stepped forward, muttered to the Dirdir. The Dirdir said. "You know Adam Reith

well?"

"Not well. If you have money for him, leave it with me; he would have wanted it so."

"Where is he?"

Zarfo looked out across the sky. "You saw the sky-raft which departed as you arrived?"

"Yes."

"It might be that he and his friends were aboard."

"Who claims this to be true?"

"Not I," said Zarfo. "I offer only the suggestion."

"Nor I," said the old Lokhar who had carried the telltale.

"What is the direction?"

"Pah! You are the great trackers," sneered Zarfo. "Why ask us poor innocents?"

The Dirdir retreated across the compound in long strides. The skycar darted off into the air.

Zarfo confronted the three Dirdir agents, his big face twisted into a malevolent grin. "So here

you are in Smargash, violating our laws. Do you not know this is Balul Zac Ag?"

"We committed no violence," stated the false Lokhar, "but merely did our work."

"Dirty work, conducive to violence! You shall all be flogged. Where are the constables? I give

these three into custody!"

The three agents were hustled away, protesting and crying and making demands.

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Zarfo came to the shed. "Best that you leave at once. The Dirdir will not delay long." He

pointed across the compound. "The wagon to the west is ready to depart."

"Where does it take us?"

"Out to the highland rim. Beyond lie the chasms! A grim territory. But if you remain here, you

will be taken by the Dirdir. Balul Zac Ag or no."

Reith looked around the compound, at the dusty stone and timber structures of Smargash, at the

black and white Lokhars, at the shabby old inn. Here had been the single interim of peace and

security he had known on Tschai; now events were forcing him once more into the unknown. In a

hollow voice he said, "We need fifteen minutes to collect our gear."

Anacho said in a dismal voice, "The situation does not accord with my hopes ... But I must make

the best of it. Tschai is a world of anguish."

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CHAPTER TWO

ZARFO CAME TO the inn with white Seraf robes and spine helmets. "Wear these; conceivably you

may win an additional hour or two. Hurry-the wagon is at the point of departure."

"One moment." Reith surveyed the compound. "There may be other spies, watching our every move."

"Well, then, by the back lane. After all, we cannot anticipate every contingency."

Reith made no further comments; Zarfo was becoming peevish and anxious to get them out of

Smargash, no matter in what direction.

Silently, each man thinking his own thoughts, they went to the motorwagon terminus. Zarfo told

them: "Say nothing to anyone; pretend to meditate: that is the way of the Serafs. At sundown face

the east and utter a loud cry: 'Ah-oo-cha!' No one knows what it means but that is the Seraf way.

If pressed, state that you come to buy essences. So then: aboard the wagon! May you avoid the

Dirdir and succeed in all your future undertakings. And if not, remember that death comes only

once!"

"Thank you for the consolation," said Reith.

The motor-wagon trundled off on its eight tall wheels: away from Smargash, out over the plain

toward the west. Reith, Anacho and Traz sat alone in the aft passenger cubicle.

Anacho was pessimistic in regard to their chances. "The Dirdir will not be confused for long.

The difficulties will only make them keen. Do you know that the Dirdir young are like beasts? They

must be tamed, then trained and educated. The Dirdir spirit remains feral; hunting is a lust."

"Self-preservation is no less a lust with me," Reith stated.

The sun sank behind the rim; gray-brown dust settled over the landscape. The wagon paused at a

dismal little village; the passengers stretched their legs, drank brackish water raised from a

well, haggled for buns with a withered old crone who asked outrageous prices and laughed wildly at

counter-proposals.

The wagon proceeded, leaving the old woman muttering beside her tray of buns.

The dusk faded through umber into darkness. From across the wasteland came a weird hooting: the

call of night-hounds. In the east rose the pink moon Az, followed presently by blue Braz. Ahead

loomed a jut of rock: an ancient volcanic neck, so Reith surmised. From the summit glowed three

wan yellow lights. Looking up through his scanscope* Reith saw the ruins of a castle ... He dozed

for an hour and awoke to find the wagon rolling through soft sand beside a river. On the opposite

bank psillas stood outlined against the moonlit sky. Presently they passed a many-cupolaed manor-

house, apparently uninhabited and in the process of decay.

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Half an hour later, at midnight, the wagon rumbled into the compound of a large village, to

halt for the right. The passengers composed themselves to sleep on their benches or on top of the

wagon.

Carina 4269 finally rose: a cool amber disc only gradually dispelling the morning mist. Vendors

brought trays of pickled meats, pastes, strips of boiled bark, toasted pilgrim pod, from which the

passengers made a breakfast.

The wagon proceeded to the west toward the Rim Mountains, now jutting high into the sky. Reith

occasionally swept the sky with his scanscope but discovered no signs of pursuit.

"Too early yet," said Anacho cheerlessly. "Never fear; it will come."

At noon the wagon reached Siadz, the terminus: a dozen stone huts surrounding a cistern.

To Reith's intense disgust, no transportation, neither motorwagon nor leap-horse, could be

hired for transportation onward across the rim.

"Do you know what lies beyond?" demanded the elder of the village. "The chasms."

"Is there no trail, no trade-route?"

"Who would enter the chasms, for trade or otherwise? What sort of folk are you?"

"Serafs," said Anacho. "We explore for asofa root."

"Ah, the Serafs and their perfumes. I have heard tales. Well, don't play your immortal antics

on us; we are a simple people. In any event, there is no asofa among the chasms; only cripthorn,

spumet and rack-belly."

"Nevertheless, we will go forth to search."

"Go then. There is said to be an ancient road somewhere to the north, but I know of none who

have seen it."

"What people inhabit the chasms? Are they friendly?"

"'People'? A joke. A few pysantillas, red cors under every rock, bodebirds. If you are

extremely unlucky you might meet a fere."

"It seems a dire region."

"Aye, a thousand miles of cataclysm. Still, who knows? Where cowards never venture, heroes find

splendor. So it may be with your perfume. Strike out to the north and seek the ancient road to the

coast. It will be no more than a mark, a crumble. When darkness comes, make yourself secure: night-

hounds range the wastes!"

Reith said, "You have dissuaded us; we will return east with the motorwagon."

"Wise, wise! Why, after all, throw away your lives, Seraf or no?"

Reith and his companions rode the motor-wagon a mile back down the road, then inconspicuously

slid to the ground. The wagon lumbered east and presently disappeared into the amber murk.

There was silence about them. They stood on coarse gray soil, with here and there wisps of

salmon-colored thorn and at even greater intervals a coarse tangle of pilgrim plant, which Reith

saw with a certain glum satisfaction. "So long as we find pilgrim plant we won't starve."

Traz gave a dubious grunt. "We had best reach the mountains before dark. On the flat night-

hounds have advantage over three men."

"I know an even better reason for haste," said Anacho. "The Dirdir won't be puzzled long."

Reith searched the empty sky, the bleak landscape. "They might conceivably become discouraged."

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"Never! When thwarted they grow excited, furious with zeal."

"We're not far from the mountains. We can hide in the shadow of the boulders, or in one of the

ravines."

An hour's travel brought them under the crumbling basalt palisade. Traz suddenly halted,

sniffed the air. Reith could smell nothing, but long since had learned to defer to Traz's

perceptions.

"Phung* droppings," said Traz. "About two days old."

Reith nervously checked the availability of his handgun. Eight explosive pellets remained. When

these were gone the gun became useless. It might be, thought Reith, that his luck was running out.

He asked Traz, "Is it likely to be close at hand?"

Traz shrugged. "The Phung are mad things. For all I know, one stands behind that boulder."

Reith and Anacho looked uneasily about. Anacho finally said, "Our first concern must be the

Dirdir. The critical period has begun. They will have traced us aboard the motor-wagon; they can

easily follow us to Siadz. Still, we are not completely without advantage, especially if they lack

game-finding instruments."

"What instruments are these?" asked Reith.

"Detectors of human odor or heat radiation. Some trace footprints by residual warmth, others

observe exhalations of carbon dioxide and locate a man from a distance of five miles."

"And when they catch their game?"

"The Dirdir are conservative. They do not recognize change," said Anacho. "They need not hunt

but are driven by inner forces. They consider themselves beasts of prey, and impose no restraint

upon themselves."

"In other words," said Traz, "they will eat us."

Reith was gloomily silent. At last he said, "Well, we must not be captured."

"As Zarfo the Lokhar said, 'Death comes but once.' "

Traz pointed. "Notice the break into the palisade. If ever a road existed, there it must go."

Across barren hummocks of compacted gray soil, around tangles of thorn and tumbled beds of

rubble, the three hurried, perspiring and constantly watching the sky. At last they reached the

shadow of the notch, but could find no trace of the road. If ever it existed, detritus and erosion

had long ago expunged it from view.

Anacho suddenly gave a low sad call. "The sky-car. It comes. We are hunted."

Reith forced back a panicky urge to run. He looked up the notch. A small stream trickled down

the center, to terminate in a stagnant tarp. To the right rose a steep slope; to the left, a

massive buttress overhung an area of deep shade, at the back of which was an even deeper shadow:

the mouth of a cave.

The three crouched behind the tumble which choked half the ravine. Out over the plain the

Dirdir boat, with chilling deliberation, slid toward Siadz.

Reith said in a neutral voice, "They can't detect our radiation through the rocks. Our carbon

dioxide blows up the notch." He turned to look up the valley.

"No point in running," said Anacho. "There's no sanctuary. If they follow us this far they will

chase us forever."

Five minutes later the sky-car returned from Siadz, following the road east, at an altitude of

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two or three hundred yards. Suddenly it swerved and circled. Anacho said in a fateful voice, "They

have found our tracks."

The sky-car came across the plain, directly toward the notch. Reith brought forth his handgun.

"Eight pellets left. Enough to explode eight Dirdir."

"Not enough to explode one. They carry shields against such missiles."

In another half-minute the sky-car would be overhead. "Best that we take to the cave," said

Traz.

"Obviously the haunt of Phung," muttered Anacho. "Or an adit of the Pnume. Let us die cleanly,

in the open air."

"We can walk through the pond," said Traz, "and stand below the overhang. Our trail is then

broken; they may follow the stream up the valley."

"If we stand here," said Reith, "we're finished for sure."

The three ran through the shallow fringes of the pond, Anacho gingerly bringing up the rear.

They huddled under the loom of the cliff. The odor of Phung was strong and rich.

Over the shoulder of the mountain opposite came the skyboat. "They'll see us!" said Anacho in a

hollow voice. "We're in plain sight!"

"Into the cave," hissed Reith. "Back, further back!"

"The Phung-"

"There may be no Phung. The Dirdir are certain!" Reith groped back into the dark, followed by

Traz and finally Anacho. The shadow of the sky-car passed over the pond, flitted on up the valley.

Reith flashed his light here and there. They stood in a large chamber of irregular shape, the

far end obscured in murk. Light brown nodules and flakes covered the floor ankle-deep; the walls

were crusted over with horny hemispheres, each the size of a man's fist.

"Night-hound larvae," muttered Traz.

Anacho stole to the cave-mouth, looked cautiously forth. He jerked back. "They've missed our

trail; they're circling."

Reith extinguished the light and looked cautiously from the cave-mouth. A hundred yards away

the sky-car descended to the ground, silent as a falling leaf. Five Dirdir alighted. For a moment

they stood in consultation; then, each carrying a long transparent shield, they advanced into the

notch. As if at a signal, two leaped forward like silver leopards, peering along the ground. Two

others came behind at a slow lope, weapons ready; the fifth remained to the rear.

The pair in the lead stopped short, communicating in odd squeaks and grunts. "The hunting

language," Anacho muttered, "from the time they were yet beasts."

"They look no different now."

The Dirdir halted at the far shore of the pond. They looked, listened, smelled the air,

obviously aware their prey was close at hand.

Reith sighted along his handgun, but the Dirdir continually twitched their shields, frustrating

his aim.

One of the leading Dirdir searched the valley through binoculars; the other held a black

instrument before his eyes. At once he found something of interest. A great bound took him to the

spot where Reith, Traz and Anacho had halted before crossing to the cave. Sighting through the

black instrument, the Dirdir followed the tracks to the pond, then searched the space below the

overhang. He gave a series of grunts and squeaks; the shields jerked about.

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