“Are you all right?”
Startled, he turned to see Altai kneeling beside him.
“Yes. I’ll be fine as soon as I catch my breath.”
‘The Komani will have the fire out soon,” she said. “We’d better move quickly.”
Vorgens scrambled to his feet. “I’m ready.”
Silently she led him deeper into the brush, past a clump of tall trees. Beyond the trees stood Sittas, his robes tinged red by the last rays of the sinking sun.
“I took the liberty,” Altai said as they approached the priest, “of borrowing three flyers from one of the Komani tents that I had to set on fire. They will never miss them.”
“You set on fire? You mean yon did all that … yourself?”
She nodded and tried not to look smug, but Vorgens could see that she was proud of herself. “It wasn’t too difficult. None of the tents was occupied. The Komani used them for storing ammunition and equipment. All it took was a couple of small grenades to set off everything.”
“And a lot of courage,” Vorgens added.
By this time they were close enough for Sittas to Join the conversation. “You made it safely,” the old priest said.
“A few singes here and there, but I’m still alive.”
“It’ll be dark soon,” Altai said. “We’d better wait for a while before trying to take off on the flyers.”
They spent the last few minutes of daylight examining the saddfe-like, one-man Komani flyers. None of them had ridden one before, but after a few tests of the controls, Vorgens showed them how to handle it.
Night finally came, softened by the ever-present airglow, A flicker of fire still rose from the Komani camp.