A world which clung to its offspring with a jealous tenacity. An electro-chemical affinity which bonded one to the other with a unique strength. One to which Dumarest could not help but respond.
Ysanne watched as, slowly, he straightened to stand upright, dirt cascading from his hands which, empty, he lifted before his eyes. Looking at them as he looked at the sun from beneath their shadow, the sky, the scudding cloud.
A man in love with a dream-and, suddenly, she was jealous of a world.
Farnham was stubborn. "Earl, we need arms. Guns to protect ourselves. You can't leave us helpless like this."
"You're protected." Dumarest gestured toward the Erce, empty now of the Ypsheim and their supplies. The ramp was lowered and the hatch open but behind it Talion stood on guard. "The area is constantly being monitored. If anything is spotted we'll sound the alarm and you can run for cover. If it's dangerous we'll take care of it."
"But-"
"If you want weapons then cut some stakes. Branches with points make effective spears. Lash a stone to a short one and you've a club. Good enough against anything you're liable to run up against. You don't need guns."
"And you do?" Farnham was bitter; a man denied the power to force his will on others. "You and that renegade."
Dumarest lifted the weapon he carried, one taken from the guards on Krantz. Urich carried another. He said, mildly, "We're going exploring and don't know what we may find. Now why don't you get on with your own job and leave me mine?"
Belkner frowned as Dumarest joined him where he stood beside a raft. It was small; one of two broken down and smuggled aboard together with agricultural implements and other goods before they had left Krantz. The driver was a young man with a mouth marred by an old injury so that he bore a permanent sneer.
"Ulls needs to watch his tongue." Belkner looked at Urich. "I heard what he said. It was uncalled for. I'll speak to him about it."
"Why bother?" Urich climbed into the open body of the vehicle. "We leaving or what?"
"We're leaving." Belkner was the last aboard. "Right, Nyne, take us up."
The raft lifted as the driver fed power to the antigrav units, the engine humming, fading to a soft and feral purr. Below the ground fell away, taking on the semblance of a toy montage, and Dumarest studied it as he leaned over the edge of the raft.
Belkner had organized well. A short distance from the Erce the main building had been made of sod cut from the sward, ringed with a moat for drainage, roofed with struts supporting tautly drawn plastic sheeting. Windows blocked with mesh provided light, air and protection. Other constructions held the kitchen, the latrines, a workshop, a supply warehouse, baths fed with water from an artesian well. Cables snaking from the ship provided power for machines and lights suspended from high-slung cables. Scattered on the surrounding terrain small figures moved in calculated patterns as they sowed the precious seed.
"Selected grains," explained Belkner. "Tough and vigorous enough to avoid the need of ploughing. The yield is small but they require no attention. Later, when we've settled, we'll break new ground and diversify the crops."
Dumarest nodded, looking at the scattered figures. All carried blisters, all were stamped with the marks of fatigue, but the spur of necessity had driven them hard. Work and sleep, work and sleep, their only recreation the time spent in eating. If nothing else the Ypsheim were not lazy-but how long would it be before they'd had enough?
"North?" The driver twisted in his seat. "Do we head north?"
"North," said Dumarest. "To the hills."
A range which swung in a curve around the valley in which they had landed to fret and fall into massed detritus toward the south. So much had been noticed when they had dropped from the skies; now a closer investigation was to be made. Not for Belkner's benefit but for his own.
Dumarest looked at the skies, the blue dome traced with cloud, the golden ball of the sun, dazzling, painful to his eyes. A warm and comforting sun which touched the sward, the patches of massed blooms, the distant sheen of sparkling water.
At his side Urich whispered, "No terrors, Earl. No monsters or creatures of nightmare. No acid rain or drifting motes of searing fire. No burning mountains. No strangling mists. Well, so much for legend."
And so much for the talk of trees loaded with a variety of jewels, the rivers of wine, the hills of precious metals, the fruits which restored youth. The balms and salves to ease all pain. The juices to cure all ills. The things which made Earth the paradise it was supposed to be.
But, if they were absent; the crystal palaces were not.
"There!" Belkner rose in the body of the raft, pointing, his free hand shading his eyes. "Did you see it? There!"
A flash of sudden brilliance, eye-bright, burning with a diamond glitter. It vanished to be repeated to one side. A bright mote which winked and was replaced by another, still brighter, spread along the line of the distant hills.
"Silica," said Urich. "Exposed veins catching and reflecting the sun. Like mirrors," he explained. "I've seen it before. On Ventle and Anchor the veins are tainted with minerals so they hold a variety of colors. Tourists come to see them."
Dazzling displays of natural beauty to be seen at their best when the sun was right and the weather. Dumarest had seen such things but he doubted if this was the same. The raft rose higher at his order, the speed increasing, the soft breeze created by their passage ruffling his hair.
"There!" said Belkner again. "To the left of that peak. See? It looks like-" He broke off as the raft carried them closer then ended, incredulously, "A castle! It's a castle!"
But one never built by men.
It clung to the side of a crag, sheer rock falling below, seams and cracks to either side. A mass of glistening substance which could have been glass or hardened foam laced with silica. A shapeless form yet one bearing the suggestion of spires and turrets and soaring buttresses. Of pointed arches and enigmatic windows and the vague hint of massive doors. An edifice of diamond, blazing when reflecting the sun, nacreous when it did not.
And, from it, rising like a stream of dispersing smoke, a cloud of glittering shapes spun and wheeled and soared in winged abandon.
"Angels!" Nyne ignored the raft which shuddered beneath his hands. "By God-they're angels!"
Dumarest lunged forward, knocking Nyne from his seat, snatching at the controls as again the raft shuddered, tilting as it hit the turbulence rising from the heated stone of the hills. There was a moment in which earth and sky spun in wild confusion then the vehicle had leveled and was lifting.
Rising into a swarm of wheeling shapes.
Figures which swept close to avoid contact at the last second, the wind of their passing merging with the rustle of shimmering wings. Man-sized, slim, gracefully contoured, beautifully marked.
As Sheiner lifted his gun, Belkner said sharply, "No! You can't fire! You can't hurt them! They're… they're…"
Images born in wistful dreams when land bound men had yearned for the ability to fly. Concepts of perfection, of life untrammeled with mud and cold and baking heat. The ideal of freedom personified in wings, the empty expanses of the air, the liberty to go over mountains and across seas.
"Please," said Belkner. "They are too lovely to destroy."
Urich shrugged, not lowering the weapon, waiting for Dumarest to give the word. But there was no need to blast the wheeling shapes from the sky, no threat to be met with a hail of hammering missiles. Dumarest leaned back, relaxed, watching. A man at ease though one hand remained on the gun at his side; hard experience had taught him that to be careless was to invite destruction.
"Birds," whispered Belkner. "But so large!"