Reith looked around the compound, at the dusty stone and timber structures of Smargash, at the black and white Lokhars, at the shabby old inn. Here had been the single interim of peace and security he had known on Tschai; now events were forcing him once more into the unknown. In a hollow voice he said, "We need fifteen minutes to collect our gear."

Anacho said in a dismal voice, "The situation does not accord with my hopes ...

But I must make the best of it. Tschai is a world of anguish."

CHAPTER TWO

ZARFO CAME TO the inn with white Seraf robes and spine helmets. "Wear these; conceivably you may win an additional hour or two. Hurry-the wagon is at the point of departure."

"One moment." Reith surveyed the compound. "There may be other spies, watching our every move."

"Well, then, by the back lane. After all, we cannot anticipate every contingency."

Reith made no further comments; Zarfo was becoming peevish and anxious to get them out of Smargash, no matter in what direction.

Silently, each man thinking his own thoughts, they went to the motorwagon terminus. Zarfo told them: "Say nothing to anyone; pretend to meditate: that is the way of the Serafs. At sundown face the east and utter a loud cry:

'Ah-oo-cha!' No one knows what it means but that is the Seraf way. If pressed, state that you come to buy essences. So then: aboard the wagon! May you avoid the Dirdir and succeed in all your future undertakings. And if not, remember that death comes only once!"

"Thank you for the consolation," said Reith.

The motor-wagon trundled off on its eight tall wheels: away from Smargash, out over the plain toward the west. Reith, Anacho and Traz sat alone in the aft passenger cubicle.

Anacho was pessimistic in regard to their chances. "The Dirdir will not be confused for long. The difficulties will only make them keen. Do you know that the Dirdir young are like beasts? They must be tamed, then trained and educated.

The Dirdir spirit remains feral; hunting is a lust."

"Self-preservation is no less a lust with me," Reith stated.

The sun sank behind the rim; gray-brown dust settled over the landscape. The wagon paused at a dismal little village; the passengers stretched their legs, drank brackish water raised from a well, haggled for buns with a withered old crone who asked outrageous prices and laughed wildly at counter-proposals.

The wagon proceeded, leaving the old woman muttering beside her tray of buns.

The dusk faded through umber into darkness. From across the wasteland came a weird hooting: the call of night-hounds. In the east rose the pink moon Az, followed presently by blue Braz. Ahead loomed a jut of rock: an ancient volcanic neck, so Reith surmised. From the summit glowed three wan yellow lights. Looking up through his scanscope* Reith saw the ruins of a castle ... He dozed for an hour and awoke to find the wagon rolling through soft sand beside a river. On the opposite bank psillas stood outlined against the moonlit sky. Presently they passed a many-cupolaed manor-house, apparently uninhabited and in the process of decay.

Half an hour later, at midnight, the wagon rumbled into the compound of a large village, to halt for the right. The passengers composed themselves to sleep on their benches or on top of the wagon.

Carina 4269 finally rose: a cool amber disc only gradually dispelling the morning mist. Vendors brought trays of pickled meats, pastes, strips of boiled bark, toasted pilgrim pod, from which the passengers made a breakfast.

The wagon proceeded to the west toward the Rim Mountains, now jutting high into the sky. Reith occasionally swept the sky with his scanscope but discovered no signs of pursuit.

"Too early yet," said Anacho cheerlessly. "Never fear; it will come."

At noon the wagon reached Siadz, the terminus: a dozen stone huts surrounding a cistern.

To Reith's intense disgust, no transportation, neither motorwagon nor leap-horse, could be hired for transportation onward across the rim.

"Do you know what lies beyond?" demanded the elder of the village. "The chasms."

"Is there no trail, no trade-route?"

"Who would enter the chasms, for trade or otherwise? What sort of folk are you?"

"Serafs," said Anacho. "We explore for asofa root."

"Ah, the Serafs and their perfumes. I have heard tales. Well, don't play your immortal antics on us; we are a simple people. In any event, there is no asofa among the chasms; only cripthorn, spumet and rack-belly."

"Nevertheless, we will go forth to search."

"Go then. There is said to be an ancient road somewhere to the north, but I know of none who have seen it."

"What people inhabit the chasms? Are they friendly?"

"'People'? A joke. A few pysantillas, red cors under every rock, bodebirds. If you are extremely unlucky you might meet a fere."

"It seems a dire region."

"Aye, a thousand miles of cataclysm. Still, who knows? Where cowards never venture, heroes find splendor. So it may be with your perfume. Strike out to the north and seek the ancient road to the coast. It will be no more than a mark, a crumble. When darkness comes, make yourself secure: night-hounds range the wastes!"

Reith said, "You have dissuaded us; we will return east with the motorwagon."

"Wise, wise! Why, after all, throw away your lives, Seraf or no?"

Reith and his companions rode the motor-wagon a mile back down the road, then inconspicuously slid to the ground. The wagon lumbered east and presently disappeared into the amber murk.

There was silence about them. They stood on coarse gray soil, with here and there wisps of salmon-colored thorn and at even greater intervals a coarse tangle of pilgrim plant, which Reith saw with a certain glum satisfaction. "So long as we find pilgrim plant we won't starve."

Traz gave a dubious grunt. "We had best reach the mountains before dark. On the flat night-hounds have advantage over three men."

"I know an even better reason for haste," said Anacho. "The Dirdir won't be puzzled long."

Reith searched the empty sky, the bleak landscape. "They might conceivably become discouraged."

"Never! When thwarted they grow excited, furious with zeal."

"We're not far from the mountains. We can hide in the shadow of the boulders, or in one of the ravines."

An hour's travel brought them under the crumbling basalt palisade. Traz suddenly halted, sniffed the air. Reith could smell nothing, but long since had learned to defer to Traz's perceptions.

"Phung* droppings," said Traz. "About two days old."

Reith nervously checked the availability of his handgun. Eight explosive pellets remained. When these were gone the gun became useless. It might be, thought Reith, that his luck was running out. He asked Traz, "Is it likely to be close at hand?"

Traz shrugged. "The Phung are mad things. For all I know, one stands behind that boulder."

Reith and Anacho looked uneasily about. Anacho finally said, "Our first concern must be the Dirdir. The critical period has begun. They will have traced us aboard the motor-wagon; they can easily follow us to Siadz. Still, we are not completely without advantage, especially if they lack game-finding instruments."

"What instruments are these?" asked Reith.

"Detectors of human odor or heat radiation. Some trace footprints by residual warmth, others observe exhalations of carbon dioxide and locate a man from a distance of five miles."

"And when they catch their game?"

"The Dirdir are conservative. They do not recognize change," said Anacho. "They need not hunt but are driven by inner forces. They consider themselves beasts of prey, and impose no restraint upon themselves."