“You won’t win this bout, Ranger, any more than you won the last. If I die you’ll go down under their knives and spears—a fitting end for a barbarian.”
The sergeant shrugged although that motion almost wrung a cry of pain from him. Cummi’s half-open eyes narrowed and a grin drew back his lips in an animal snarl.
“So I did mark you! Well, that will make you easier meat for Wulf and his men when the time comes.”
“You have it arranged very neatly, I suppose.” Kartr dared to yawn. He might not be able to read what was going on behind the Ageratan’s block, but he could guess how he himself would answer such an impasse and he gave Cummi credit for devising something as easy. “I will be taken care of and then you will lay an ambush for whoever comes with the galdine. It will be simpler to get it from a dead man.”
But Cummi’s eyes were closed again and he gave no sign that the other might have scored. Kartr looked to Wulf. The chieftain was sitting cross-legged again, staring into the fire. Was Cummi busy now making mind contact with that hunched figure? The sergeant sighed. During the past few days he had discovered that there were vast unexplored possibilities tied up with this gift of his. Why, the adept who had schooled him had known practically nothing—he knew that after meeting with Zicti, discovering communication with Zinga. If he had their ability now he might well be able to intercept any orders or suggestions the Ageratan was trying to plant in Wulf’s mind. He had no idea of the extent of Cummi’s power—if he were a mutant, anything was possible.
The rest of the clan were still bunched in the dark by the tents. But they were squatting down, there was no immediate danger of attack. He had only to be alert and ready—
Time passed leadenly. Now and again someone crept up to feed the fire. Wulf drowsed and awakened with a jerk of the head. To all appearances Cummi either slept or was unconscious. But Kartr stayed on guard. Fortunately the pain in his shoulder would not let him rest.
At last the sound he had been straining to hear came—the faint swish of the lifeboat’s air passage. He drew a deep breath of relief and straightened. Then he glanced down. Cummi’s eyes were open, dark holes of evil malevolence. What was the Ageratan going to try?
Wulf stirred and Kartr’s hand reached for the blaster Cummi had dropped. The chieftain arose stiffly to his feet. Three more men came out of the shadows to join him.
“Kartr!” That mental call was imperative and it came from Zicti not Zinga. “There is no galdine!”
Even as the message reached the ranger Cummi uncoiled, his legs flailing out in a move which might have brought Kartr down had he not sprung backward at the same instant. The Ageratan was crazy if he thought he could ever surprise a sensitive. But by his maneuver the Vice-Lord had been able to get to his hands and knees.
This was it! Kartr lurched to the left, keeping the fire between him and the clansmen who were moving to come up to him. They had their knives out. And he couldn’t turn his blaster on the poor fools, he couldn’t!
He lashed a kick at Cummi, who, reflexes weakened by the fever, could not dodge the blow. As the Ageratan sprawled flat on his face, the ranger hurdled his body and began to back toward the woods in the general direction of the hidden aircraft.
Seconds later he heard a welcome voice behind him.
“I have them covered, Kartr—”
“Cummi controls them—”
“Okay. I’ve got him, too. Fall back to the trees, Zicti is waiting for us.” Rolth spoke calmly as he stepped out of the shadows to stand shoulder to shoulder with the sergeant.
Cummi caught at Wulf as the chieftain passed him. Using the native as a support he pulled himself up on his feet.
“So you don’t have galdine,” he spat at them. His face was no longer malevolent. It was twisted and white with pure fear.
“I may be a dead man,” he went on softly, “but I still have time to finish you, too.” He released Wulf suddenly and pushed him at the rangers. “Kill—!” he screamed.
“We’ll do what we can for you—” Kartr said slowly.
The Ageratan was holding himself erect with an effort which was draining the last resources of his strength. “Still living by the code, fool! I shall live to see your blood—barbarian!”
“Ahhhhhhhh!” The scream was shrill and it bit rawly at the nerves. It could only have been torn from a woman’s throat.
Wulf and his men half turned just as a second scream broke. There was a frenzied gabble of words which Kartr did not catch. But Zicti’s thought translated for them.
“One of this tribe—a maiden—has fallen ill. They believe that the demons of Cummi have entered into her—”
Wulf had gone to the source of the screaming; now he came back into the firelight walking heavily.
“The demons”—he spoke directly to the Ageratan—“are in Quetta. If you are truly a sky god—bring them forth.”
Cummi swayed, conquering the weakness of his body by sheer power of will.
“It is their doing.” He pointed to the rangers. “Ask them.”
But Wulf’s attention did not waver.
“Koomee is a sky god, he has sworn it. These have not sworn it. Koomee brought the devils hither in his body. They are the devils of Koomee, not the devils of my people. Now let Koomee summon them forth out of the body of my daughter!”
Cummi’s ravaged face, gaunt and hollowed, was a mask of pain in the flickering light. His black eyes held on the rangers.
“Galdine.” Kartr saw the Ageratan’s lips form the word. Then slowly, as if he were fighting to the last, he lost control and toppled forward into the trampled dirt and ashes on the very edge of the fire.
Wulf stooped and twisted his fingers in the Ageratan’s cropped hair, fumbling for a hold, and then he jerked up the head. But Cummi had not lost consciousness. And, before either of the horrified rangers could move, the chieftain drew his knife in a quick stroke across the stretched throat of the Vice-Lord.
“Here is an open door for the devils to enter,” he remarked, “and also much blood for them to drink. May they speedily find it.” He wiped the knife on Cummi’s tunic. “Sometimes it takes very much blood to satisfy the thirst of a strong demon,” he ended as he looked up at the rangers.
Rolth’s blaster was ready but Kartr shook his head. Together they backed into the darkness under the trees.
“They will follow—” suggested the Faltharian.
“Not yet,” came Zicti’s reassurance. “I think that they are still a little daunted by their chieftain’s act. After all, it is not every day that one slays a god—or ex-god. Now, let us make haste to the lifeboat.”
It was morning again and there was a sun bright and hot across Kartr’s knees but his thoughts were dull and gray.
“We couldn’t do anything to help them.” Smitt was making his report. “If we had had the galdine—maybe—if they would let us near them. But we have tried during these last three days. When Dalgre and I went there two hours ago one of them crawled out just to throw a knife at us. Most of them must be already dead.” He spread out his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I do not think any will be alive by nightfall.”
“Twenty people—maybe more—murdered. It was murder,” Kartr returned bleakly.
“We don’t catch it,” Dalgre wondered.
“Immunity shots—and the Zacathans have never come down with emphire. But this is the way it used to hit—when it was a plague. It hasn’t been like this for years—”
“We’ve had galdine. And we’ve known emphire a long time, remember. It struck us just after the Ciran worlds were explored. Through generations,” Rolth pointed out, “we may have built up some natural immunity to it, also. Man does, by natural selection. But how do we know how many other germs we may carry with us—harmless to us but devastating to this world. The best thing we can do from now on is to stay away from the natives.”
“And that move may not be altogether altruistic,” added Zinga. “Suppose they have bred some pleasant little viruses of their own. Let us pray that our immunity shots continue to work.”
“It is a tragedy, but one we can do nothing to end.” Zicti pulled off his traveling cloak and let the sun beat warmly on his shoulders. “From now on we shall keep away from these people. I gather that they are not a numerous race—?”
“I believe not,” answered Kartr. “From the little I was able to learn there are only a few small family clans—but they unite once a year at—”