"You underestimate the rapacity and greed of Sivishe," grumbled Anacho. "To do what you propose will require two fortunes, or more." He dug up the node. "A
purple. We can't leave it behind."
"Very well," said Reith. "I'll carry it."
"No," said Traz. "I'll carry it. You two already have most of the load."
"We'll divide it into three parts," said Reith. "It won't be all that much more."
Night came at last; the three shouldered their packs and continued. Traz hopping, hobbling, grimacing in pain. Down the north slope they moved, and the closer they approached the Portal of Gleams, the more ghastly and detestable seemed the Zone.
Dawn found them at the base of the hills, with the Portal yet ten miles north.
As they rested in a shadowed fissure, Reith swept the landscape through his scanscope. The Forelands seemed quiet and almost devoid of life. Far to the northwest a dozen shapes made for the Portal of Gleams, hoping to reach safety before full daylight. They ran with the peculiar scuttling gait that men instinctively used within the Zone, as if they thereby made themselves inconspicuous. A band of hunters stood on a relatively nearby crag, still and alert as eagles. They watched the fleeing men with regret. Reith put aside all hope of reaching the Portal before dark. The three passed another dreary day behind a boulder, with camouflage cloth overhead.
During the middle morning a sky-car drifted overhead. "They're looking for the missing hunts," said Anacho in a hushed voice. "Undoubtedly there will be a tsau'gsh ... We are in great danger."
Reith looked after the sky-car, then gauged the miles to the Portal. "By midnight we should be safe."
"We may not last till midnight, if the Dirdir close off the Forelands, as well they may do."
"We can't set out now; they'd take us for sure."
Anacho gave a dour nod. "Agreed."
Towards middle afternoon another sky-car came to hover over the Forelands.
Anacho hissed between his teeth. "We are trapped." But after half an hour the sky-car once more drifted south beyond the hills.
Reith made a careful scrutiny of the landscape. "I see no hunts. Ten miles means at least two hours. Shall we make a run for it?"
Traz looked down at his leg with a wistful expression. "You two go on. I'll follow when the sun goes down."
"Too late by then," said Anacho. "Already it is too late."
Once more Reith searched the ridges. He helped Traz to his feet. "It's all of us or none."
They started out across the barrens, feeling naked and vulnerable. Any hunt which chanced to look down from the ridge into this particular sector could not fail to notice them.
They proceeded for half an hour, scuttling half-crouched like the others. From time to time Reith paused to sweep the landscape to the rear with his scanscope, dreading lest he see the dire shapes in pursuit. But the miles fell behind, and hope correspondingly began to rise. Traz's face was gray with pain and exhaustion; nevertheless he forced the pace, tottering at a half-run, until Reith suspected that he ran from sheer hysteria.
But suddenly Traz stopped. He looked back at the ridges. "They are watching us."
Reith scrutinized the ridges, slopes and dark gulches, but saw nothing. Traz had already set off at an erratic lope, with Anacho hunching along behind. Reith followed. A few hundred yards further north he paused again, and this time thought he saw a flicker of light reflecting from metal. Dirdir? Reith gauged the distance ahead. They had come roughly halfway across the barrens. Reith drew a deep breath and ran off after Traz and Anacho. Conceivably the Dirdir might not choose to pursue so far across the Forelands.
A second time he halted and looked back. All uncertainty was gone: four shapes bounded down the slopes. There could be no doubt as to their intent.
Reith caught up with Traz and Anacho. Traz ran with glaring eyes, mouth open so that his teeth showed. Reith took the heaviest bag from the lad's shoulder, threw it over his own. If anything, Traz slowed his pace a trifle. Anacho gauged the distance ahead, studied the pursuing Dirdir. "We have a chance."
The three ran, hearts pounding, lungs burning. Traz's face was like a skull.
Anacho relieved him of the remaining parcel.
The Portal of Gleams was visible: a haven of wonderful security. Behind came the hunters, by prodigious leaps.
Traz was faltering, with the Portal yet a half-mile ahead. "Onmale!" called Reith.
The effect was startling. Traz seemed to expand, to grow tall. He stopped short and swung about to face the pursuers. His face was that of a stranger: a person sagacious, fierce and dominant, the personification in fact of the emblem Onmale.
Onmale was too proud to flee.
"Run!" cried Reith in a panic. "If we must fight, let's fight on our own terms!"
Traz, or Onmale-the two were confused-seized a pack from Reith and one from Anacho and sprang ahead toward the Portal.
Reith wasted a half-second gauging the distance to the first Dirdir, then continued his flight. Traz soared across the barrens. Anacho, his face pink and distorted, pounded behind.
Traz gained the Portal. He turned and waited, catapult in one hand, sword in the other. Anacho passed through, then Reith, not fifty feet in advance of the foremost Dirdir. Traz backed to stand just beyond the boundary, challenging the Dirdir to attack. The Dirdir gave a shrill scream of fury. It shook its head, and its effulgences, standing high, vibrated. Then, curvetting, it loped south, after its comrades, already on their way back to the hills.
Anacho leaned panting against the Portal of Gleams. Reith stood with the breath rasping in his throat. Traz's face was vacant and gray. His knees buckled; he fell to the ground and lay quiet, giving not so much as a twitch.
Reith staggered forward, turned him over. Traz seemed not to breathe. Reith straddled his body and applied artificial respiration. Traz gave a throat-wrenching gasp. Presently he began to breathe evenly.
The solicitors, touts and beggars who normally kept station by the Portal of Gleams had scattered, aghast at the approach of the Dirdir. First to return was a young man in a long maroon gown, who now stood making gracious movements of concern. "An outrage," he lamented. "The conduct of the Dirdir! Never should they chase so close to the gate! They have almost killed this poor young man!"
"Quiet," snapped Anacho. "You disturb us."
The young man stood aside. Reith and Anacho lifted Traz to his feet, where he stood in something of a stupor.
The young man once again came forward, his soft brown eyes all-seeing, all-knowing. "Allow me to assist. I am Issam the Thang; I represent the Hopeful Venture Inn, which promises a restful atmosphere. Allow me to assist you with your parcels." Picking up Traz's pack he turned a startled gaze toward Reith and Anacho. "Sequins?"
Anacho seized his pack. "Be off with you! Our plans are established!"
"As you will," said Issam the Thang, "but the Hopeful Venture Inn is near at hand, and something apart from the tumult and gaming. While comfortable, the expense does not approach the exorbitant fees of the Alawan."
"Very well," said Reith. "Take us to the Hopeful Venture."
Anacho muttered under his breath; to which Issam the Thang made a delicate gesture of reproach. "This way, if you will."
They trudged toward Maust, Traz hobbling on his lame leg.
"My memory is a jumble," he muttered. "I recall crossing the Forelands; I remember that someone shouted into my ear-"
"It was I," said Reith.
"--then after, nothing real, and next I lay beside the Portal." And a moment later he mused: "I heard roaring voices. A thousand faces looked past me, warriors' faces, raging. I have seen such things in dreams." His voice dwindled; he said no more.