He ran his tongue along the bowl rim to gather up the last drop, then licked upper and lower lips clean.
“What of the Barker?” he asked.
He still believed that Gammage’s plan of trying to make truce with Barkers would not work. But he was also wary of guessing the outcome of any of the Ancestor’s plans. He had witnessed too much of what had been accomplished here for that. Dolar has sent a party with two of the rumblers. The Rations fear those greatly, for they run forward, crunching all in their path, and cannot be turned aside in any way the Rattons have yet discovered. With those to break a path for our warriors we hope to free the Barker. In the meantime—Foskatt has found the other tapes, and they are being brought back. Ku-La is out of the healing place. Soon he will go to talk to his people.”
“As I must to the Elders of the caves.” Furtig stood up. He was no longer tired, nor was his fur matted by crawling through the dust of the ducts and then through the pelting of the storm. It was sleek and smooth. He fastened on his belt neatly, seeing that in the newly improvised loop there was still the lightning-bolt weapon of the Demons. Apparently that was yet his.
Such a weapon would impress the Elders. If he remembered rightly Gammage’s words during that last meeting, he would be given other weapons to influence their decision. The sooner he took the trail to that purpose then, the better. He said so as he finished checking his belt.
“Well enough,” Liliha agreed. Her guidance would take them through the lairs to the best point from which to strike out for the caves.
Furtig had slept a long time, almost a full day. It was close on evening and shadows were painting larger and larger pools for concealment as, at last, the three of them threaded a way through silent corridors, past echoing rooms which might not have known life and use since the Demons died or fled. As a guide Liliha went first, wearing a pack between her slim shoulders and around her waist the same belt of tools and weapons as the warriors wore. Then came Furtig and Foskatt, ready to play rear guard if needed.
They must move their swiftest while under the protection of the lair roofs, Furtig thought. For he did not forget the flyer. Why the Demon had not killed them on the bridge was a mystery to him. And he did not want death to strike out of the sky now. It was difficult enough to fight at ground level.
If Demons could see in the dark, then even the coming of night would not aid them. To the end of the lairs they could keep under cover, descending to the underground ways when there was need. But Furtig did not forget that wide expanse of open between the lairs and the beginning of the growth that provided normal cover for his kind. He hoped the night would be cloudy when they reached that point.
Liliha brought them to a window from which they could see that open space. They were at the edge of the lairs. Furtig’s sense of direction was in operation. They were to the north of that place where he had crossed before, but not too much so.
He studied the strip narrowly. His own fur was dark, not far different in shade from the withered grass. And Foskatt had the same natural adaptation to the country. It was different for Liliha. Not only was her fur lighter, but it was so thin a coating of fluff that she might well be sighted from above.
“Look you, woods warriors,” she said as he commented on that. She slipped off her pack and shook out something she had taken from it. Now she held not a small square but a mass of something—
Furtig shook his head and tried to concentrate on what she held. But it was no use—his keen sight failed him. He could not look at it directly! To do so made him queasy. He wanted to strike out, tear that disturbing substance from her.
But she was winding it about her. And where that stuff covered her body, he could no longer look. Finally only her head remained free of the distortion.
“Another Demon secret, and one but lately discovered. Gammage has but two of these, cut from a single one. When I wear this no one can look at me. Unless he wishes to have his eyes turn this way, that way, and his head whirl about. Now, do not worry about me, look to yourselves, warriors, and cross quickly. The flyer makes itself known by noise. If you hear it coming, take what cover the land offers.
“I shall meet you where the trees grow. Good traveling to you.”
Furtig could not look at her at all now. She had pulled a flap of the distorting stuff up over her head and become hidden. He had to turn away and knew she slipped out the window only by the faint sounds made by her going.
“The Demons,” remarked Foskatt, “seem to have an answer for any problem. Let us hope that such answers can, in turn, be used against them. She is well gone. It is indeed a kind of hiding I am glad we do not have to deal with often. To the trail then, clan brother!”
The window was wide enough to let them slip through together. Furtig crouched on the ground al- most happily. It was good to feel fresh soil and not pavement, the ways of the Demons. He did not look ahead yet, having no wish to see some eye-twisting shimmer in the moonlight covering Liliha’s going. His hunter’s training took over, and he fell back into the patterns he had learned as a youngling.
It was difficult to keep on listening for the beat in the sky, the possible return of the flyer. Once within the screen of the brush beyond the open, Furtig rose to his full height and gave a purring sigh of relief.
“For so far,” Foskatt echoed his feeling, “we have done well. But—“
Furtig swung around. He had picked up a scent that was not Liliha’s. No, this was strong and rank. He was downwind of a Tusker, probably more than one. And that surprised him, for Tuskers had no interest in the lairs, very little curiosity about their past, and were seldom to be found hereabouts.
There was still a truce between the People and the Tuskers. And they shared the same territories, since the Tuskers fed upon roots and vegetation. Though the Tuskers were meat, they had no appeal for the People, they were far too formidable to be prey.
Furtig could hear now that low grunting which was Tusker speech. None of the People could imitate it, any more than Tusker throat and tongue could shape the proper words of a warrior. But they understood sign language and could answer it.
A warning? Did the Tuskers know of the flyer? It might be well to suggest that they keep under cover. Furtig uttered a low wailing cry to announce his coming. And without waiting to see if Foskatt followed, swung into the heavy, disagreeable scent which would lead him to the grubbing ones.
When he reached them, they were in battle formation, their big heads, weighed down by the great curved tusks which named them, low to the ground. The old warriors stood still, watching with their small red eyes. One or two of the younger ones on the back fringes of the party pawed the soil, kicking it up in warning.
They were not a full family party as Furtig had expected. There were no females or younglings behind that outer defense of one great Elder and such of his male offspring as had not yet gone to start their own families. Furtig knew that Elder—the seam of an old scar across his nose marked him. Unlike the People the Tuskers had kept to four feet, never learning to walk on two. Also they used no weapons except those nature provided. But mind to mind they were no less than warriors of the caves or the lairs.
Furtig saw that they were deeply angered and would have to be approached with care. For the temper of such as Broken Nose was uncertain when he was in such a mood. Furtig advanced no closer, but sat down, curling his tail over his feet in a peace sign.
The younger Tuskers snorted. One pawed again, wrinkling lips to show fangs. Furtig paid them no attention. It was Broken Nose who ruled here. Having waited for a small time to show that he had not only come in peace but for good reason, he held out his hands and began to try to tell the complicated story of the Demons’ landing, of the flyer, in a series of signs.