“The ways of the gods,” Kartr answered loftily, “are not always the ways of men. Had I been a demon, Ord, would I have brought you out from under that tree, bandaged your hurt, and treated you well? I think that a doer of evil would not have done that for you.”
The other responded to this simple logic almost eagerly. “That is right. And when you come with me to the clan we shall have a great feast and later we shall go together to the Meeting Place of the Gods where you can be as you were in the very ancient days—”
“I want very much to go with you to your clan, Ord. How may we reach them?”
The boy’s hand pressed his injured side and he frowned. “It lies one day’s travel away—does the camp. I will not be able to walk swiftly—”
“We shall manage, Ord. Now this ‘Meeting Place of the Gods’—that is where your people live?”
“No—it is much farther away. Ten days of travel from here—maybe more. We go once a year, all the clans together, and there is trading and warriors are raised up at the Man Fire, and the maidens make their choices of mates. There is fine singing and the Dance of Spears—” His words trailed off.
Kartr smoothed the matted hair back from the boy’s eyes.
“Now you will sleep,” he ordered. The pale blue eyes closed and the boy’s breathing came even and unhurried. Kartr waited for a few minutes and then slipped into the fringe of trees where seconds later Zinga joined him.
“This ‘sky god’ he speaks of must be Cummi—” the sergeant began.
“Cummi, yes, and with him at large time is of importance. This Ord is a member of a primitive, superstitious culture—just the type Cummi could wish for—”
“He can start a fire in such tinder which would spread with ease,” Kartr agreed. “We’ve got to get to him!”
His fingernails drummed on his belt. “We’ll have to take the boy,” he continued. “And he says that the camp is at least a day’s journey away. I can’t carry him that distance—”
“No. We’ll take the lifeboat.”
“But, Zinga, he thinks you are a demon. He couldn’t be dragged aboard that with you in it—”
“No? But there is going to be no trouble. Use your wits, Kartr. You are a sensitive but you have no idea even yet of how much power you have to draw on at will. Ord will see and hear just what I want him to when we go and he will guide us to just the right spot, too. But we shall not land at his camp—I cannot control any number of minds—especially where Cummi has been tampering. So you will carry him in to his people and he will have no memory of the flight or of there being a second ranger.”
It went just as Zinga had promised. Ord seemed but half awake, lying between them in dreamy content. He answered the Zacathan’s questions readily. The visibility was better than it had been all day and they were flying out of the rain.
“Smoke!” Kartr pointed to the right.
“That must be their campsite. Now for a landing place—not too far away. You take him in—”
Ten minutes later Kartr grunted as he paused, the boy’s limp body in his arms. He was on the edge of an open park-like expanse in which were set up, in no particular order, a cluster of skin tents. He could sense some twenty individuals within range of mind touch. But not Cummi.
“Ord!”
A girl was running toward the ranger, long braids of the same yellow hair as the boy’s swinging over her shoulders.
“Ord?” She stopped short, staring with a hint of terror at the sergeant.
To his relief the boy roused at her cry and turned his head.
“Quetta!”
There were others coming from the tents now. Three men, hardly taller than the boy, moved warily along, their hands not far from the hafts of the long knives at their belts. Their cheeks and chins were covered with thick mats of hair—they were furred almost like animals.
“What you do?” The demand came from the tallest of the three.
“Your boy—hurt—I bring him—” Kartr shaped the unfamiliar words slowly and as clearly as he could.
“Father—this is a sky god—he seeks his brother—” Ord added.
“The sky god is away. He hunts.”
Kartr gave silent thanks for the chance to learn the ground before Cummi’s return. “I will wait—”
They did not dispute that. Ord was taken from him and established on a pile of furs in the largest of the tents. And the ranger was given a mat by the fire and offered a steaming bowl of stew. He ate hungrily but it was not appetizing stuff.
“How long ago did—did the sky god leave?” he asked at last.
Wulf, the hairy chieftain and Ord’s father, squinted and sucked upon a tightly rolled stick of dried leaves which he hit lit with a blazing splinter and moved contentedly between his bearded lips, puffing out a gray, acrid smoke.
“With the first light. He is very clever. With his magic he holds fast the beasts until the young men can spear them. We feast in plenty since he came to us. He will go to the Meeting Place of the Gods and there call upon his people and they shall come to us. Our maidens shall marry with them and we shall be great and rule this land—”
“Your people have lived here always?”
“Yes. This land is ours. There was a time of burning fire and the gods departed into the sky—then we were left behind. But we knew that they would come again and bring a good life with them. And so it has come to pass. First came Koomee”—he had trouble with the name—“now you are here. There will be others—as the old ones promised.”
He puffed silently for a moment or two and then added, “Koomee has enemies. He said that the demons fear that he may make us great again.”
Kartr nodded. He gave every appearance of listening closely to what the chieftain was saying, but he was listening with more than ears alone. They were expert woodsmen, these natives. For the past five minutes they had been creeping into position in the dark behind him. They planned a sudden rush—a neat enough idea—it might have worked with a non-sensitive caught in the trap. As it was he could turn and put hand on every one of them. And he must make some move before that rush came.
“You are a great and clever chieftain, Wulf. And you have many strong warriors, but why do they lurk in the dark like frightened children? Why does he with a split lip crouch there”—the sergeant pointed to his left—“and the one with the two knives there?” His hand moved from side pocket to the fire as Wulf’s head jerked around. A tongue of greenish flame shot up to bring light to the faces of the men who had believed themselves completely hidden.
There was a wild animal howl of fear as they threw themselves back out of that betraying light. They scattered. But to give full credit to the chieftain’s courage he did not move. Only the roll of leaves dropped from his mouth to singe the hide legging on his right knee.
“If I were a demon,” Kartr continued in his ordinary voice, “those would now be dead men, for I could have slain them as they hid. But I have no hatred for you or your people in my heart, Wulf.”
“You are Koomee’s enemy,” returned the other flatly.
“Has Cummi said so? Or do you only guess that? Let us wait until he returns—”
“He has returned.” The chieftain did not turn his head but there was a subtle alteration in his voice, a quickening of intelligence in his eyes as if another personality now inhabited the squat body.
Kartr got to his feet. But he did not draw his blaster. He could only use that weapon for a last defense. Surely the Ageratan wouldn’t hurl these poor fools at him—!
“That I shall believe when I face him. Gods do not fight from behind others—”
“So say the noble Patrol! The fearless rangers!” Wulf’s lips twisted as he shaped words entirely alien to his own tongue. “You are still bound by those outmoded codes? The worse for you. But I am glad you have come back to me, Sergeant Kartr, you are a better tool than these brainless woodsrunners.”
And before Wulf had half finished that speech a bolt of mental force struck Kartr. If Cummi had not betrayed himself by words he might have had a better chance. But the ranger was armed and prepared. And into him flowed Zinga’s support, so that he stood smiling faintly in the firelight as he parried and thrust in the silent motionless duel.