It was the curse Loskeetha had laid upon me, or the curse I had laid upon myself which held me there. For this was a major decision, not such a one as seeking water to drink, walking among haunted rocks, venturing forth from the cave slit. This meant throwing luck stones against fate. If I did take that trail, skulk along behind the swordsmen, try to free Orsya, then I could well be setting my feet on a road which would lead inevitably to Kaththea’s blood on my sword.
I owed my life to Orsya. What I owed to Kaththea I cannot find words to say. I was torn; ah, what a tearing that was. But it kept me from following the party which had the Krogan girl. I leaned, weak as one who had taken a death blow, against the rock behind which I had taken shelter, and watched them go. I continued to stare thereafter at the empty river valley when they had passed from sight.
Then something of those bonds broke and I came down to the place of slaying. One of the animals still lay, torn and frightfully mangled, in the wash at the stream’s edge, and there were other gruesome reminders of what had been done there. Without knowing why I stooped and picked up one of the broken Krogan spears. Water ran down its shaft and over my scarred hand and stiffened fingers. I watched it drip so, dully.
Loskeetha had said, no man knew what small decision would lead to a greater and more fatal one. How very right!
I had made the decision to come forth from the cave, another to seek water, now I faced a third and larger. The one I had tried to avoid was one I would have named days earlier must be taken or remain a foresworn coward. A curse laid upon me—and a cursed man moved under a shadow.
The Krogan spear slipped through fingers which could not grip its smooth shaft tightly enough, and clattered on the stones.
They had taken Orsya with them and she was not dead, of that I was sure. They had not left her to the Thas, yet they meant her no mercy, I was also sure. I walked here, breathed, could touch that broken weapon, feel—because Orsya had willed to make a decision. It must not have been an easy one, for she had gone against the will of her people.
“But, Kaththea,” I said aloud. I think I meant it as an appeal, though to whom, I did not know.
Somewhere before me lay the Dark Tower; I must accept that. I had a part to be played there.
One man—two—had broken the alternate futures.
I watched the water glide by, muddied from the half-dam the Thas had thrown up, stained still from what it washed here from sand and stone. Then, as one might break through a wall and see freedom, even with danger to come, I broke the spell—if spell it had been which had fallen on me in Loskeetha’s Garden. To breathe, walk, live, were decisions of sorts. I could never escape them. But I could make the ones my heart, mind and training demanded of me. Those I must do with the wisdom granted me. Therefore, I must set aside this fear and do as I would have done before Loskeetha set her sand to making pictures.
I owed a deep debt to Orsya and what I would repay. If the Dark Tower lay ahead, that I would also face when the time came, with what courage I could summon.
I came away from that river point more nearly a whole man and not one who looked ever over his shoulder for the hunter sniffing at his tracks.
Putting my scout craft to work I went again to the ridge on this side of the valley. It was very rough ground, and could not have been better designed for my purposes. I was surefooted enough to make speed from one place of concealment to another, hurrying to catch up with the party who had Orsya. My growing fear now was that they might have had mounts and those I could not overtake.
So spurred, I might have taken reckless chances, but one warning kept tugging at my thoughts. Though the Thas had seemed to withdraw, they had done so in anger. It might be that they, too, would dog the victors in that clash of wills and so be going in my direction. Thus, I not only watched downslope and ahead for those I tracked, but paused now and again, chaffing at the need, to scout behind. If the Thas did skulk there I did not sight them.
Eventually I did find those I followed. There were now four of them and in the van walked. the one who carried Orsya. She was still a limp and apparently lifeless burden. Only the fact that they did see fit to take her was an indication that she was alive.
The party which had used the flashing wands made me wary. Against such weapons my sword was no defense. I longed for one of the dart guns. Might as well long for a squad so armed, as well!
At least there were no signs of any mounts awaiting the party. Perhaps the fifth man had gone ahead to get them.
I used a convenient ridge and ran at the best speed I could dare to use over rough ground. That burst, when I peered down again, had brought me almost level with the party and their prisoner. They had come to a halt. The leader allowed Orsya to fall to the ground with callous disregard. She sprawled on a patch of grass just as she landed. But the men went a step or two beyond and dropped down, to sit at their ease, apparently to wait.
It was still a dark and cloudy day. The brush and trees along the river could afford a number of lurking places. But to reach those I would have to retreat and cross higher up. I hesitated, fearing to lose sight of the quarry lest mounts would be brought and they would go.
Four men . . . But with only a sword and the resulting need for hand to hand combat, I could not hope to win against such odds. Small use would I be then to either Orsya or Kaththea.
Yet the river drew me. Looking at the currents I thought that it ran deeper here. If Orsya could be aroused, escape into it, she might have a chance. For she would have the advantage of being in an element more at home to her than to the enemy.
Sitting here answered no problems. I was driven by the need for action. One of the swordsmen had opened a bag, and passed rations to his comrades.
I slipped off my small shoulder pack. The cloak blanket which made its cover caught my eyes. Against this barren, gray-brown land, the soft green of the Valley’s favorite coloring was very noticeable. I shook it free. Then I looked to the rocks above me. Could a man seem to be in two places?
With the cloak rolled again in a wad against my chest, I climbed up between two rocks. The wind . . . in so much was the wind favoring me.
I hacked at shrubs and broke off a mass of thick-twigged branches, pushing these into the cloak and fastening it about the bundle as best I could with its throat buckle and the latches from my jerkin. At close sight it could not possibly deceive any one . . . but, perhaps, just at a distance with the further embellishment I could give it. Pushing and pulling I set that unwieldy package up between the rocks. I dared not wedge it too tightly lest it not give way when I wanted. My cord, a length hastily knotted of grass, would it hold at all?
Now I crawled downhill, gentling that grass thread behind me, fearing any moment to have it break apart in my hand. By some smile of fortune it did not. I measured with my eye the space of open between me and my goal.
Given a stouter cord, a few other things I did not have, my chances would have doubled to perhaps fifty out of a hundred. But I had to be content with far less.
I opened my mouth. It had been years since I had tried this, in the days before I had taken my maiming wound. I had had no chance to practice.
Then I screamed. The sound came not from where I crouched, but from the spot where my stuffed cloak perched. So—I had not lost my skill at voice throwing! Once more I screeched, and the results were even better than I had dared to hope, since some echoing trick multiplied and reinforced that cry until it appeared to come from more than one throat. I jerked my grass cord. It broke and the loose end came flying at me.