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CHAPTER 19

      KING DUR'S anger was terrible.

      He paced from room to sumptuous room, snarling, striking both servants and courtiers as he passed, his words lashing every living thing within their reach.

      But within his rage, the cold jewel of his intellect was still at work, and presently he allowed the servants to turn back his silken sheets, take away his heavy, gold-laced jacket and embroidered shirt, and ease him into his satin night-robe. They snuffed the wax tapers, closed the silver-gauze bed hangings, and backed obsequiously from the royal bedroom. Only then could they flee, shuddering with relief.

      Dur's anger was now quite still, and at its most dangerous stage. He was ready. "ARM!"

      Arm's tortured senses leaped to attention. "M-master?"

      Dur sent a razor-cut that made the exhausted man gasp, and Arm's sides began heaving like a winded horse. Who would have thought, the king asked himself, that this simple man would have such an exquisite capacity for suffering?

      "You . . . have . . . failed me."

      "M-master, I beg you . . ." Another cut silenced him.

      Dur probed delicately. Another thrust and the man would lose consciousness; he must use restraint. So changing his tack he asked very gently, "Do you know what I do to those who fail me?"

      This frightened Arm still more. "Oh Master, I have not failed you. Not really failed. They've only slipped away temporarily. But we'll find them. Master, we will!"

      Dur let the pause lengthen. Then, with utmost sweetness, he asked, "When will you find them?"

      "We'll go now. Tonight. We won't rest, Master. We'll follow the barge until it stops, and then we'll kill them — all but the woman — and her we'll bring to you. Everything exactly as you wish! I swear it!" The man was babbling with panic. "We'll get them or die attempting it!"

      When the desperate yammering ceased, the king murmured, oh so softly, "Yes. It would be much better to die than to fail again. Because if you were to return empty-handed, my poor Arm . . ." He couldn't resist one more slice with the little rapier of pain.

      Arm staggered to his feet, sobbing. He kicked his men awake. "We'll run. We'll kill . . . kill them," he mumbled.

      As Arm raced south along the river, King Dur lay thinking. She was on the river, coming toward him. He must put out his nets.

      His mind moved outward into the night. They'd soon be so close that his strikes could kill. Yes. He'd have the pleasure of finishing them all himself — but no, not her. He'd cripple her. And she'd be aware, and helpless, when the soldiers brought her in. And then (Dur licked his lips) then Hawk would follow her.

      YOU MEAN that w-wagon's been with us ever since we met the Ezzeman? Hasty demanded incredulously.

      Ware nodded remotely. "Every step of the way."

      Wrapped in their quilts, they huddled around the fire at the center of the barge. They had eaten, and the women had unbraided their long hair to let it dry.

      Their eyes kept sliding toward the painted cart that stood beside them on the raft, its wheels lashed to the deck to keep it from rolling off. Hardly able to accept the truth of what Ware had told them, they stared at the solid evidence of wood, paint, and wheels.

      "So the Snake was fooling us the whole time — all the time he was pretending to help us," Zex muttered. He glanced at Itok's inert form, stretched nearby.

      The Ezzeman was still in a deathlike stupor and, not knowing what else to do, they had wrapped him closely and laid him by the fire to keep him warm. "He did help us, though. Many times," Hearth said, defending him.

      "But what's IN it?" Hasty demanded, preoccupied by the cart and the mystery it represented.

      Steel was pursuing another idea. "The rest of us hardly noticed the cart, Ware. Yet you remembered it. Why?"

      "And why didn't you tell us?" Zex added angrily.

      Ware did not answer. Because something was happening.

      Within his mind, he was seeing something like a brilliant bird, stretching its feathered wings and fanning out pinions of thought and sensation. Ess-Issa was waking.

      "How strange," she said. "I am at the center of some flowing element. Where is my Itok, and who are you?"

      Ware saw Hasty, kneeling in the open doorway of the cart, but — strange — he was seeing him through Ess-Issa's eyes, because beyond the boy was firelight and the black water moving.

      He felt a caressing push that tumbled his thoughts, touching his mind all over — back, front, sliding across layers of memory. It was like being in the paws of a huge, kindly cat. It was like being the leaves of a book fluttered by a breath of air.

      He heard Hearth's intake of breath and saw the tremor that ran through Steel at Ess-Issa's touch. Ember half-rose and then became still.

      The fire flickered on its wide stone, the barge moved on the river's current, and for an unguessable interval they all floated in Ess-Issa's consciousness, just as birds coast on the wind. Finally, she gave a dry, noiseless laugh. "I see in your memories that much has happened while I slept. Come, you may approach me."

      They all got up: Hearth, Steel, Zex, and Ember. Ware followed them into the painted cart. Hasty, who was still in the doorway, moved aside to let them pass.

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