"Just one."
The light went to his hands and then to his sword-knife at his belt. It centered there for a moment as if the Ventur was studying the weapon — as if that undrawn blade answered some private question for the other.
"You will come?" The green light pinpointed the dangling ladder.
Kana did not hesitate. He thrust his own torch back in its loop and stepped forward.
He made the short climb up the rope and wedged his shoulders through the trap door. It was a tight fit. Above was a pocket-sized room. A spongy pad covered a third of the space and he sat down on one end of it as his host emerged from the floor and made some adjustment which brought more light from the walls. There was, in addition to the pad, a flat box and a neat pile of containers. By the end of the cushion was a small brazier emitting coils of spicy, scented smoke. The quarters might be cramped, but the hidy-hole was provided with Venturi comforts. And now the frog-man seated himself on the other end of the pad, pushing aside his folded robe.
"You have watched us?" Kana asked.
"I have watched you." The ungainly head, its four golden eyes fixed on the Terran, gave a twitch of agreement.
"For the Masters-of-Trade?"
"For the nation," the other corrected swiftly. "You are traders in death. Such bargains may be evil — "
"You are a speaker-for-many?"
"I train to be a speaker-for-many. I am but one of limited years and small wisdom. You are a lord over many swords?"
It was Kana's turn to deny honors. "I, too, am but a learner of this trade. This is my first battle journey."
"Tell me, why do you creep through these buildings spying upon one another?" the Ventur asked, a note of real puzzlement in his voice.
"We train ourselves — that we may come upon the enemy secretly. It is a practice of our art."
The four eyes continued to regard him unblinkingly. "And the Llor is now this enemy you would creep upon unseen. But why — did not the Llor summon you to Fronn in their service? Why should you now turn against them?"
"We were brought to serve the Chortha Skura. He made a bargain with our Masters-of-Trade. But he was killed in the first battle. According to custom we then ceased from battle and asked to be returned to our own place. But the Llor invited our Masters to hold a meeting over this matter, and when they were gathered together the Llor killed them treacherously. It was then that we discovered that they had with them certain outlaws of our own kind whose desire was to hunt us all down lest we return to our Masters-of-Trade and report the truth of what was done.
"Now our enemies hold Tharc where our spaceships land. We came to Po'ult hoping to find a trading spacer that would carry a messenger off-world for us — "
"But those which land here are not ships of war."
"It does not matter whether they are or not. They are not so small that they have not space for one or two men besides their crew. And once our Masters-of-Trade know what has happened they will send ships to take us off."
"Then you do not wish to stay on Fronn? With such arts of war as you know you might win the leadership of this world."
"We are of Terra. To us that is the world to call home. All we wish is to leave Fronn in peace."
The Ventur leaned forward to draw in deep breaths of the smoke arising from the brazier. Then, without a word, he opened a round box and brought out two small basins or handleless cups. They were fashioned in the form of spiraled shells of a delicate blue-green across which moved amethyst shadows. Into each of these he measured a minute portion of golden liquid poured from a small flagon as beautifully made as the cups. Then he held out one to Kana while he lifted the other, chanting some words in his own tongue.
Kana accepted the cup gingerly. He could not refuse to drink — it was offered with too much ceremony, though what effect the native liquor might have on a Terran stomach and head worried him, even as the stuff slid smoothly over his tongue and he swallowed. There was no sensation of heat such as Terran strong drink brought — only a coolness, a tingling which spread outward to the tips of his fingers and the surface of his skin. He set down the empty cup. Now what he sensed was mingled in some odd way with the scent from the brazier and the green radiance of the walls, as if taste, touch, smell and sight were suddenly one, all the keener and sharper for that uniting.
The Ventur shrugged his robe into place about his shoulders.
"We go now to your Master-of-Swords — "
Did he heard those words with his ears, mused Kana, or did they ring in his mind only? He stood up, this strange clarity of the senses persisting, and watched the frog-man drop the rope into the darkness below the trap door. On the platform the Ventur paused to adjust his hood, hiding his strange face.
"He's in the other building," Kana warned, remembering the storm.
"Yes — " The robed shadow glided noiselessly along, almost entirely invisible to anyone who did not know where he was. Kana knew that that must have protected him as he spied upon the Combatants.
They covered the few feet between the door of the warehouse and the recessed entrance of headquarters clinging to one another and both Kana's coat and the skirts of the other's robe were soaked with sea spray as they won to their goal.
Not only were his senses more acute, Kana decided, but his reactions were swifter. He was conscious of so much he had not noted before — that there were subtle differences in the shades of green light from room to room — that sounds hitherto drowned out by the muffled roar of the wind were perceptible.
"What's that — !" A Swordsman coming down the hall halted at the sight of the Ventur.
"Messenger to Hansu," Kana explained, hurrying his companion on to meet the Blademaster.
Hansu and two of the Swordtans glanced up frowning at the interruption. But they were alert at the sight of the trader.
"Where did you — ?" the Blademaster began and then addressed the silent Ventur. "What is it that you wish?"
"It is rather what you wish, Master-of-Swords," the other returned. "You desire a meeting with our Masters-of-Trade. But I have not the right to answer in their name. This one of you" — the cowled head gave a half turn to indicate Kana "has made clear to me why you are here and what you wish. Grant me" — he mentioned a space of Fronnian time "and I shall have an answer for you."
Hansu did not hesitate. "Done! But how can you communicate with your people? In the storm — "
Kana received a vivid impression of the Ventur's amusement. "Do you then have no means among you of talking across distances, Terran? We have been rated a backward people by off-world races, but we have not displayed all our knowledge and resources before them. Come with me if you wish and see. There is no trickery in what I would do, only the use of things built by intelligent beings for their safety and comfort."
So it was that Kana and Hansu returned to that hidden room to watch the Ventur, his hampering robe discarded, open a thin box and display a silver mirror disc and a row of small levers. These he raised or lowered in a pattern, with infinite care, as if he worked out a complicated combination.
The mirror misted and at the coming of that film the Ventur moved quickly to snatch up a slender rod. With the pointed tip of that he traced a series of waving lines. They faded from the disc and there was a moment of waiting until the mist reappeared and a second collection of lines were inscribed. Four times that happened and then the trader put aside his pen.
"There is a matter of time now," he informed the Combatants. "We must wait until the Masters reply. I only report, it is for them to give orders."
Hansu grunted. There were cruel lines of weariness about the Blademaster's mouth, a cloud of fatigue in his eyes. Hansu was a man worn close to the edge of endurance. And what ate into him was not only the future of the Horde — but something even more important. He was fighting for more than their escape from Fronn — for a goal which might be of far greater importance than the lives of all the Archs on this world.