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Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann turned over drowsily in that welcome heat, stretching a little as might a cat at ease. Then he really awoke under the press of memory, and the need for alertness rode him once more. Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last night's fire were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there were no signs.
But he was not giving obedience to Thorvald as a matter of rank alone. "Because there is something out there, something which may make all the difference now. Warlock isn't an empty world." Shann jerked free a long thong of loose bark, rolling it between his fingers. Had Thorvald cracked?
Shann could not seem to think clearly. It was as if in his efforts to contact Thorvald, he had exhausted some part of his brain, so that now he was dazed just when he needed quick wits the most! This whole scene had a weird unreality. He had seen its like a thousand times on fiction tapes the Terran hero menaced by aliens intent on saving ... saving....
Then they sailed away to the eastward off the land and into the mouth of the adjoining firth and to a headland, which projected into the sea there, and which was entirely covered with woods. They found an anchorage for their ship, and put out the gangway to the land; and Thorvald and all of his companions went ashore. "It is a fair region here," said he; "and here I should like to make my home."
With the narrowing of the bed of the stream, the current was taking on a new swiftness. Shann said as much and Thorvald nodded. "We're approaching the first of the rapids." "Where we get off and walk around," Shann croaked wearily. The dust gritted between his teeth, irritated his eyes. "Do we stay beside the river?" "As long as we can," Thorvald replied somberly.
"The beetle-heads didn't really get to work on you " "Told you that," Shann said impatiently. "But what brought that fog and got the Throgs?" Thorvald smiled grimly. The ghostly light was fading as the fog retreated, but Shann could see well enough to note that around the other's neck hung one of the Wyvern disks. "It was a variation of the veil of illusion.
The stuff was almost tasteless and possessed a rather unpleasant odor. Consumed in bulk it would satisfy hunger for a time. Shann hoped that with the wolverines to aid they could go back to hunting soon. However, Thorvald showed no desire to head inland where they might expect to locate game.
Grettir told him how he had fared, and said that his strength was never put to harder proof, so long did the struggle between them last. Thorvald bade him be quiet and gentle in his conduct, and things would go well with him, otherwise his troubles would be many. Grettir answered that his temper was not improved; he was more easily roused than ever, and less able to bear opposition.
"Thorvald?" He called through his personal darkness. When there was no answer, Shann called again, more urgently. Then he hunched forward on his hands and knees, pushing Taggi gently aside, running his hands over projecting rocks, uneven flooring. His fingers touched what could only be cloth, before they met the warmth of flesh.
He was almost tempted to spray that beam blindly before him, hoping to hit the unseen by chance. A shadow something more swift than a shadow, more than one of the tricks the curling fog played on eyes was moving with purpose and straight for him. Still, prudence restrained Shann from calling out. The figure grew clearer. A Terran! It could be Thorvald!
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