“I don’t know about we. You did it.”

  “Your rock killed the one. It’s possible the adepts are injured because of that.”

  “If a controlled creature dies while an adept is using psionics on it, does that hurt an adept’s mind?”

  “The scant evidence we possess points to the likelihood.”

  “Good.”

  Horst paused, although he still didn’t look at me. “Yes. It is good. However, we’ve also learned that anger allows them an easier hold on our emotions.”

  “Not on our thoughts?”

  “The anger gives them easier emotive control. We don’t know why. Greater emotive control does seem to lend them a greater ability to control our thoughts.”

  I considered that. “You sure seem to know a lot about it.”

  “Not me. Mentor.”

  “Mentor is the name of the genius you spoke about earlier.”

  Horst nodded.

  Understanding struck me. “You’re his prized pupil, aren’t you?”

  Horst finally looked up, and he holstered the loaded thrower. He seemed more reticent than I remembered. “I dislike boasting of any kind.”

  “I’ll be damned,” I said. “Horst the Hunter is one of the smart boys. He’s Mentor’s fair-haired pupil.”

  Horst scowled, shaking his head.

  “False modesty is also a form of boasting,” I said.

  Horst sighed, and he snorted. Then, he looked up at the high-drifting shrikes. Afterward, he faced me again. “They’ll leave for the night, as shrikes don’t like to fly in the dark, and the adepts will want to land them far enough away from us so we can’t find and kill them before first light.”

  “We take off after they leave, running hard?”

  “Are you able to?” asked Horst.

  “I’m tired, and I don’t know how far I can run tonight, but I can give it a try.”

  “The adepts will surely find animals tomorrow.”

  “Animals like those?” I pointed up at the drifting shrikes.

  “I mean riding animals.”

  “Oh.”

  “We must reach the river before Styr Mordel reaches us.”

  “How far is the river?”

  “Another two days of travel.”

  I didn’t want to hear that.

  Horst sat down cross-legged. A moment later, I sat on my butt near him.

  “We might as well conserve our strength.”

  “Might as well,” I seconded.

  Fifteen minutes later, the shrikes started south. They flew hard, soon becoming specks and then disappearing from view.

  The sun had almost set.

  We climbed to our feet, and we began to trek.

  -22-

  We ran, walked, ran again and then walked until the sun appeared on the horizon. There had been two moons, and they’d given us enough light to trek at night.

  The morning found me haggard, reeling on my feet. Horst looked tired, but he still seemed hale enough. I concluded that he was one tough mo-fo, Mentor’s prized pupil, the best hunter on Kaldar. It showed. It showed all right.

  We stopped for breakfast, more of his provisions. After eating and drinking my fill, I hardly had any water left. Horst shook his second canteen, and it didn’t sound like he had much left either.

  “How far is the river?” I asked.

  He looked into the distance. We’d skirted the mountains and the blue zone of yesterday. The landscape was a tad greener than I remembered and the ferns taller. I saw several scrub trees, a cross between a normal leafy tree of North America and an evergreen. I no longer saw cobalt-colored moss, and there were scrawny rabbits about, or creatures that passed for rabbits.

  “Is this still the Great Brown Waste?” I asked.

  Horst looked at me, and for a moment, it seemed as if his mind wasn’t operating at full capacity. “One more day’s travel should bring us to the river. We’re leaving the Great Brown Waste, yes.”

  “You mean we head straight for the river and make it near dusk?”

  “That’s what one day’s travel means, yes.”

  It sounded like he was on automatic, his mind not all there. “How long are we stopping here?”

  It took Horst a half-beat before he said, “A half hour is a good idea.”

  I promptly lay on my side, opening and throwing the old blanket over me. I closed my eyes and must have instantly gone to sleep.

  The next thing I knew, Horst shoved my shoulder. I thought to hear shrike cries in the background.

  I peeled an eye open, and our shade had woefully shrunken from when I’d closed my eyes. I groaned as I sat up. The sun was near noon and two damn shrikes circled our position, screeching in triumph.

  Horst squatted beside me, with a dejected look on his face.

  “Did you fall asleep?” I asked.

  He gave a bare nod.

  “Even the iron man is made of flesh, huh?”

  “I failed you.”

  “Bah,” I said. “You’re human.” I climbed to my feet, studying the shrikes. The way they screeched and peered down at us, they seemed positively gloating. “Let’s go.”

  “We won’t make it now.”

  Horst was down, but I doubted he was out. “You’re probably right. But let’s try anyway.”

  After a moment, he nodded, and he hefted the backpack from where it sat on the ground, cinching it into place.

  I wasn’t mad at him for falling asleep. How could I blame the guy carrying all our supplies, doing the guiding and giving me some of his water? Horst had run out of gas and hit the snooze button. It happened.

  I studied the shrikes, soon shrugging. Let them have their time of gloating. We were still free men, and I planned to keep it that way.

  Five minutes later, we were on the trail, with the Kaldar pterosaurs drifting above, watching our every move and mocking us with their caws.

  Horst kept staring back at them.

  “Forget ’em. We can’t do anything about them now. So, don’t worry about them.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I do. I’m a Traveler, but I’ve been in combat before.”

  “Like a soldier?”

  “We didn’t call ourselves that. We were Marines.”

  “What are they?”

  “The baddest-ass fighters in the universe.”

  Horst stared at me. In time, his eyes widened as if in understanding. “You’re bragging.”

  “Some might call it that. I call it giving the facts.”

  “Marines are given to bragging?”

  “To telling it like it is,” I said.

  “So, you’re a soldier after all.”

  “No. I was a Marine. Now, I’m a Traveler.”

  “Marines are like soldiers then?”

  I shrugged. “If you’re Mentor’s fair-haired boy, I doubt you really see things so cut and dried. You’re the hunter who dares to go deep. I’m guessing that calls for mental flexibility.”

  Horst glanced back at the shrikes. He rubbed his chin afterward and glanced at me. “We can’t let Styr Mordel capture us.”

  I didn’t need to be a telepath to read the drift of his thoughts. “You plan on committing suicide if it calls for that?”

  “It’s distasteful, but I am.”

  “Not me.”

  That troubled Horst. “I wish I knew why Mordel desires your capture.”

  “How do you know he does?”

  “Five shrikes tell me.”

  “That means five adepts?”

  Horst nodded.

  “Why couldn’t the five be after you?”

  Horst shook his head. “I doubt all the adepts travel together. They likely used Far Speak to contact each other and coordinate the shrikes. There may be others ahead of us, attempting to block our path.”

  I trudged in silence, thinking about that. Then, I halted. “Horst. Wait a minute.”

  He looked back at me and stopped. He looked up at the shrikes and then said, “What’s wrong?”

  I stood there bemused. Horst had just said something that struck me wrong. He’d said five shrikes had meant five adepts. Only an adept could mind-link with a shrike. An adept was obviously a high-class telepath. The five hadn’t traveled together, but used—

  “What’s Far Speak?”

  Horst shrugged. “That seems obvious, doesn’t it? Those with psionic ability can talk to each other across great distances. Some can do it for much greater distances than others can—Far Speak. Mentor discovered the ability from some of their writings. We’ve tested it in our own way, and it has proven true.”

  “Some farther than others,” I said.

  Horst looked up at the airborne shrikes. “I suggest we keep moving while we can.”

  Far Speak. If Mentor was right about it, those of the Dark Brotherhood could communicate with each other via telepathy. Psi-masters had been able to do that. Before the Atomic War here five hundred Earth years ago, life science people had stumbled upon psi-master technology and attempted to perfect it. Could this Styr Mordel, for instance, communicate farther than a few miles? In fact, had he been able to communicate fifteen point eight-eight light-years with someone on Earth? For instance, had Mordel been able to communicate with Qiang in some fashion? Had Styr Mordel convinced Qiang to send a Traveler to Kaldar? It that why she’d conditioned me to come here?

  Thinking it, it sounded farfetched. Why would Mordel need a Traveler? Well…why did anyone need a Traveler? The answer was so they could Travel as well. Krekelens and psi-masters had used me in the past to Travel from Earth to another planet. Might this Styr Mordel have made a deal with Qiang? Or could he have manipulated Qiang from another planet?

  My eyes narrowed. I turned and looked up at the shrikes. Styr Mordel mind-linked with one of them—at least, Horst believed that to be true. Could I test my theory in some manner?

  “Horst, can a person communicate with a shrike to the controlling adept?”

  “That seems obvious: at least with you to him you can.”

  That’s what I thought. Thus, I cupped my hands around my mouth as if making a megaphone, and shouted up at the shrikes. “Styr Mordel, I wish to parley with you.”

  Neither creature responded to that.

  Why would Mordel need a Traveler? The only reason I could come up with was to leave Kaldar. If he followed me as Alvor the Sleek had followed me from Earth to Tynar last trip, Mordel could go from Kaldar to Earth, say.

  “Horst, is there a looming disaster threatening Kaldar?”

  “What?”

  “Is there a looming threat that could doom everyone on Kaldar?”

  “None that I know of.”

  I decided to play a hunch. I had no idea how it might help. I also couldn’t see how it could hurt.

  Once more, I cupped my hands around mouth as if making a megaphone. “Styr Mordel, why do you wish to flee Kaldar? What do you fear here?”

  This time, there was an immediate effect. A shrike began flapping, gaining height. The other continued to watch us. The flapper turned swiftly and dove at the other, striking with its talons and slashing with its scimitar-like beak. The two plummeted toward us, the stricken beast crying out and turning to fight for its remaining life.

  “Horst,” I shouted, “use your thrower.”

  Horst watched dumbfounded as the two pterosaurs plummeted fighting each other. The one was clearly winning. The other battled for survival and was losing. Then, Horst shouted, drew the thrower and followed the plummeting creatures. Each must have sensed the weapon, as they looked down at him.

  Horst fired.

  The two shrikes violently threw themselves apart from each other, flapping for height.

  The shell reached near and exploded, and both flying reptiles fell dead or dying toward the ground.

  I raced to each, using a rock and making sure. It was a matter of a few seconds each time.

  Horst reloaded the thrower, but he kept looking at the dead shrikes. He seemed bemused, bewildered.

  I returned to him, dropping the bloody rock near his booted feet.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Why did Mordel’s shrike attack the other?”

  If Horst didn’t know, I wasn’t going to tell him. Thus, I shrugged.

  “You shouted at the shrike, asking Mordel what he feared.”

  I nodded.

  Horst studied me. “What does Mordel fear?”

  I shrugged again.

  “How did you know he feared something?”

  “A lucky guess,” I said.

  Horst eyed me even more closely. “It was more than that.”

  “Mentor is a genius, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the area of survival, I’m something of a genius.”

  Horst eyed me anew, and I don’t think he bought my explanation. Once more, he stared at the two dead shrikes. Then, he laughed, shaking his head. Afterward, he finished loading the thrower, holstering it. He had four shells left.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “Mordel is going to be coming fast now.”

  Horst squinted at me. He opened his mouth as if to add something. Then, instead of talking, he turned and started trekking toward the unseen and distant river.

  -23-

  The day passed in endless drudgery putting one foot ahead of the other and with the sun beating down on us. We tried to conserve the last water, but around midafternoon, it was gone.

  We’d lost time sleeping until noon, but we’d recouped some of our lost strength in compensation.

  “I’m thirsty,” I now said.

  Horst made a sound that could have indicated anything.

  “Is there some of that bitter water around?”

  “None,” he said.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you about it before.”

  Horst shook his head, and we continued to plod along the trail.

  We saw a pool, and I lurched toward it. Horst ran after me, grabbed my garment and held me back. I whirled around to hit him.

  “It will kill you to drink from it,” he said, “And it will be an agonizing death as you vomit out your guts.”

  His sincerity convinced me. I think he realized words wouldn’t have done it, and that was why he’d given chase to grab me.

  We left the pool of tantalizingly poisoned water and plodded over the trail, with green grass in patches. I realized I hadn’t seen a fern for a time, and there were more of the scrub trees in evidence.

  “Tell me about yourself,” I mumbled.

  Horst said nothing for a time. Maybe he hadn’t heard me, or maybe he’d heard the words but their meaning hadn’t penetrated his thinking. We weren’t that beat yet, but we’d been conserving water before this. We were thirsty but still not truly suffering. Still, we were tired.

  “My parents died when I was twelve.”

  I perked up, listening.

  “My brothers and sisters died with them. So, did my grandmother and aunts, uncles and cousins.”

  “All of them died the same day?” I asked.

  Horst nodded.

  “That’s terrible.”

  He nodded again.

  “How—how did they die?”

  Like before, Horst fell silent, the scuffle of our boots the only sounds.

  “Shrulls,” he said later.

  “The rat-men?”

  “Several adepts raided our village. It lay on the far side of Lake Seemon. They came by dugout canoes, long lake vessels. There were over three hundred Shrulls along with ten adepts and their servitors. They struck at night, although the watchman rang the bell. My family rose up with the other villagers, and they fought. I saw some of it. My teacher knocked a hatchet from my hand and pulled me away. I yelled, and he struck me a savage blow across the head. I feared him then, and I listened to him. We fled into the dark, and we survived. My family fought, and they all died.”

  Horst shook his head.

  “What happened then?”

  Horst sighed, a long and sorrowful thing. “My teacher took me to Eldon. He said I had promise. There, he introduced me to Mentor. All I could think about was revenge against the Shrulls and the Brotherhood. I wanted to soak the land with their blood.”

  “And?”

  “Mentor took me under his wing. He was a young man then. He said I’d survived for a reason. He said God had set aside a special task for me. If I failed in this task, I would have failed my family that died protecting me that night.”

  “Whoa.”

  Horst nodded. “The burden fell upon me that day. I’ve striven to live up to it ever since.”

  That wasn’t what I’d meant. Old Mentor had laid quite a load on a young kid. Maybe it was what Horst had needed. I had no way of knowing. Maybe God had let Horst survive. Maybe the teacher had something to do with that as well.

  “I strive.” Horst shook his head. “I will not fall today. I will not let a little lack of water stop me from reaching the river. I will fulfill my duty to my family. I remember them, Bayard. I can still hear their cries some nights in my dreams. I miss them.”

  “I sympathize with you.”

  Horst glanced back at me. Were his eyes moist? He looked forward quickly enough. His shoulders might have stiffened. “If you know why Styr Mordel did what he did with his shrike, you must tell me.”

  “I would if I could, my friend.” Which wasn’t exactly true. I had my own debts to pay, my duty to those on Earth.

  Horst glanced back at me, and this time, there was fire in his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Bayard.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He grunted, and story-time ended abruptly as Horst fell silent. After a few minutes, he picked up the pace.

  I did likewise.

  We halted an hour later, stopping beside a big cactus. Horst drew his machete and hacked off purple fruit. With a smaller knife, he peeled away prickly skin.

  “Here.” He gave me the first piece.

  I bit into it, and water squirted into my mouth. I laughed, and I gobbled my piece fast, soon licking my fingers of juice.

  “Let’s get some more,” I said.

  “One can only drink so much Mot juice. You’ll sicken if you drink or eat more. Then, you’ll vomit and all that extra liquid will go to waste.”

  I sighed, but I trusted Horst. And our spirits rose as our bodies revived just a little.