"You interest me, Crowder," he said blandly. "It would be intriguing to see if you were correct in your assumptions. The girl could be won, you say?"
"Yes, My Lord. And, once the thing was accomplished, what could she do? She or that old woman of Kund?" Crowder smiled as the prince pondered the question.
"Assassination," he said after a moment. "Those guards of hers would go through hell itself if so ordered. I have no desire, Crowder, to live in constant fear of unexpected death. The suggestion displeases me."
"But if the thing could be so arranged that she could be proved to be willing—" Crowder was sweating but not from the heat. "The Matriarch could hardly object to you as a husband for her ward. A monk of the Brotherhood could tie the knot." His chuckle was a suggestive leer. "A knot which you could cut whenever you so decided, My Lord. That goes without question."
The prince nodded, toying with the suggestion, seeing beyond the apparent simplicity of the courtier's plan. And yet it was an intriguing concept. The girl was attractive, aligned to wealth; it would be a good match. It would kill the monotony of the homeward flight if nothing else and give him the aura of responsibility the lack of which his ministers so deplored. At the worst he could always pose as her savior and gain her confidence via the path of blood.
Crowder's blood, naturally. The secret of Gath was worth a dozen such as he.
Chapter Ten
THEY REACHED the mountains, the path opening onto a sickle-shaped plain which curved its narrow length between the mountains and the sea. Megan guided them to the summit of the cliffs below which the sea roiled in thunderous fury. He halted and dropped the rope.
"Here," he announced. "This is the best place to stay."
One of the guards stepped closer to the edge. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." Megan's face was strained in the cold glow of the lights. "This is the place."
The Prince of Emmened looked down from his seat on the raft. He listened to the hungry roar of the sea and spoke to Crowder.
"Did the factor say which place was best?"
"No, My Lord. But this man has been here many times before. He should know."
"He should," agreed the prince. "But he is one we whipped on the first part of our journey. We will go closer to the mountains. Much closer."
He leaned back, smiling in ironical amusement as Crowder gave the order, smiling still wider as he saw how Megan's shoulders flinched from the weight of the rope. It had been a brave attempt but it had failed and he could gain satisfaction from the smallest of victories.
"That man," he ordered pointing to Megan. "When we camp give him nothing. If he argues tell him that he is paying for his failure. He will understand."
The Matriarch of Kund had no need to make a decision. Her retinue continued to the base of the foothills, well away from the sea, her rafts covering a generous expanse of ground. Too generous in view of the limited room and the numbers wanting to occupy it, but she had no thought for the problems of others. As her guards set up the tents and paid off the bearers she sat and brooded in the thick, warm darkness, her mind busy with a project which admitted of no delay.
The telepathic principle of the local animals had to be isolated in order to be used. Melga, she knew, would waste no time but such a thing was not quickly accomplished. There had to be time for testing, more time for experiment, still more time to ensure that the thing not only worked but was harmless.
Only then would she really feel safe.
She didn't move as the guards surrounded her with the plastic fabric of a tent, stiffening the walls and roof with inflatable sections, joining them to others so that she sat safe in the center of a growing complex of rooms. Later they would unpack some of her possessions, the tapestries, the mirror, other things. Now they were racing to beat the storm.
Dyne watched them with cerebral amusement. He knew to the minute exactly when the storm was due and knew, despite the time spent on the journey, that it was far from imminent. There was still plenty of time for him to do what had to be done.
"You will go to the mountains," he ordered two of his personal retinue, the stern young men who accepted him as their master in all things. "I want samples of both the air and the stone. You will take them from the mountain before, during and after the storm. I want a continuous sampling of the air. Do you understand?"
They bowed.
"Go now and set up your equipment. One other thing!" He called them when they were almost at the door. "You will wear earmuffs at all times. Do you understand? You will not attempt to listen to the noises of Gath. Now go!"
Alone he stepped to the door of his tent and called to the remaining member of his retinue. "Total seal," he ordered. His fingers were shaking a little as he boosted the power of his bracelet.
It was intoxicating, his communion with the gestalt of the Cyclan, and strong mental discipline was necessary to ration the use of the Samatchazi formulae, the activating of the Homochon elements; if the discipline was not strong enough it would be enforced from without. But this time he had reason for contact. It was important that the central intelligence should know of the latest events.
He thought about them while relaxing on his couch. Melga had verified his prediction and now there could be no doubt as to the telepathic ability of the local animals. To isolate it and then to use it was simply a matter of time.
His brain was dazzled with the vision of it.
The creatures were physiologically akin to humanity. The operating segment of their brains containing the telepathic faculty could be grafted into a living, human skull.
Such grafting had been accomplished before with the Homochon elements but they had been taken from formless creatures brooding in eternal night, locked in darkness beneath the miles of their ebony atmosphere. They gave instant communication and were instrumental in forming the gestalt of the Cyclan. But they did not give the ability to read human minds.
This discovery could. With it, coupled to the Homochon elements, the Cyclan would be truly omniscient.
His own reward could scarcely be less than immediate acceptance to the community of brains resting in the depths of their lonely world.
The narrow plain was alive with men, tents, guards, tourists and travelers. They were scattered thick on the crescent of land between the mountains and the sea, the glow of their lights and the red eyes of their fires a mosaic of living color in the sullen weight of the air.
"Those fires," said Seena. "When the wind blows won't they be dangerous?"
"With the storm will come rain," said Dumarest. He had learned as much from Megan. "Even if it didn't the flames wouldn't last long. There is nothing to burn but the grass." And the clothing of the travelers and some of the tourists, he thought, but didn't mention it. They were fools to have fires at such a time in such a place, but men have always yearned for the comfort of a dancing flame.
"It's eerie," she said, and shivered slightly, but not from the cold. "It's as if something were about to happen at any moment."
"The storm," he said absently. His eyes ranged from the stunted bulk of the mountains to where the plain fell into the sea. At one time the plain must have been much wider, the mountains much higher. The ocean and the wind had eaten at them both. Soon there would be no plain at all and only the sullen waves would hear the lauded music of the spheres. He mentioned it and she shrugged.
"If there really is such a thing. It seems hard to believe."
"So?" He was curious. "Why else did you come to Gath?"
"I attend the Matriarch."
"And she?"
"Goes where she will." He recognized the tone; he had heard it from the physician, a reminder of their relative positions. "I do not question the Matriarch," she said pointedly.