by Jean Lorrah
With the thought, he was in their perceptions again, scenting the welcome wetness, sharing their thirst.
Their keen noses told them far more than their eyes-they could not see the zebra off to their left, but the not-quite-horse smell was as clear as the smell inside a stable to Wulfston.
It didn’t disturb Traylo and Arlus when Wulfston shared their perceptions, so he remained within their minds, hearing the sounds of birds huddling down as the danger passed, smelling a wider variety of scents than he had ever imagined, but seeing little.
It wasn’t just that the dogs’ eyes were so close to ground level; their way of seeing was different. There were not nearly as many colors as Wulfston was used to, and everything was slightly out of focus.
With human instinct, he tried to see more clearly, but the blur of tannish grass persisted. Suddenly there was a movement ahead. A startled rodent dropped the stalk it had been chewing on and scurried for its burrow, Arlus and Traylo in hot pursuit.
There were two rodents, one to the left and one to the right! He tried to turn toward one-then-
— tripped over a hummock and fell sprawling, the grass giving way to let him hit the ground with a bruising thump.
Back in his own senses, Wulfston realized what had happened: he had been looking through both dogs’
eyes at once, each seeing the same rodent from a different perspective.
He laughed as he picked himself up, and decided he would not do that again-at least until he had had more practice at watching where he was going while he Read something else!
Now he could definitely see the lake ahead. The dogs, having lost the little rodent, raced merrily into the shallow water and stopped to lap it up eagerly. Wulfston was not far behind them. He knelt, and dipped up water with his hands, then went in farther to cool off, trying to watch for dangerous animals as he splashed the water all over himself.
Feeling much better, he left the lake and began pacing along the shore, looking for a path that might indicate human use. All he saw were animal prints, and a flock of flamingos farther down the shoreline.
He couldn’t believe people didn’t come to this beautiful lake! Yet he saw no sign of villages or towns, no roads, no cultivated fields. He also saw no sheltered place where he could spend the night.
Although he was able to build a rapport with the animal life of the plain, the rodents and insects and little birds had no interest in man, except to avoid him. All he could tell was that there were no other people nearby; none of the animals gave him a perspective to tell whether there was a trail, even a road, beyond his line of sight.
Above the lake, however, soared a fish eagle, perhaps the same one he had seen in his first sensing of the lake that morning. I wonder- He hardly dared to think of it.
But that eagle could see the entire lake, and all the land surrounding it.
“Traylo! Arlus!” Wulfston called the dogs to him, and sat down cross-legged on the sandy shore.
The pups were wet, their fur standing up in points, and when they came to him they shook, spraying him with water. But they were panting, their tongues lolling out to give them a clownish look, and it was not hard to persuade them that they wanted to lie down next to him and groom their coats.
Even if the dogs fell asleep, they would be easily roused and, should he succeed at his daring idea, would pull Wulfston’s attention back at any sign of danger.
Readers and Adepts both learned relaxation and concentration exercises. Wulfston easily put himself into the quiet but ready state necessary for performing the most difficult and delicate of Adept functions, but instead of bracing himself to use those powers he let himself once again become attuned to the life about him. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out to the eagle, trying to see what it saw.
Unlike the dogs, who welcomed his mental touch, the eagle merely allowed him to share its perceptions, and he sensed that it could and would drive him out if his presence became offensive. But all he wanted was to see-
— as he had never seen before!
The bird’s vision was as much sharper than Wulfstons as his was than the dogs’!
As he floated on the currents of air, the world spread below in brilliant, sharply defined array. One of the little rodents skittered through the grass; silver-hued fish swam beneath the surface of the lake; frogs hopped from one lily pad to another along the far shore. Just north of the area where Wulfston had come to the lakeshore, a herd of water buffalo grazed, some of them standing knee-deep in the water, pulling up the lush green weeds.
At first Wulfston could do no more than marvel at the view, and at the sensation of floating above the world, divorced from its cares or pleasures. He was master of his world, untouchable in his high flight.
He thrilled to the sensation of tendon and muscle reacting to each shift in the wind, feathers spreading and retracting, the great wings held effortlessly open, supporting him easily. The bird spiraled slowly, sliding down an invisible column of air, then caught an updraft and rose again, triumphant in the sun’s rays.
Wulfston had to struggle to make his own mind work, to look out the eagle’s eyes but analyze with a man’s mind. From here, his own path through the grassy plain was clear, as were the side trails the dogs had made. Their footprints along the lakeshore led as plainly as a cobbled street, and he could see himself, the dogs curled up on either side of him!
It was most disconcerting to observe his own body this way. He remembered Torio and Lenardo saying how disorienting it was, something belonging to the advanced stages of a Reader’s training. But this was not the same thing as a Reader’s visualizing. Their Code probably kept them from such a thing as looking through someone else’s eyes.
Still, he wished the bird would not focus on him that way; it was strange to see that tired-looking, scruffy man wearing nothing but a fraying silk shirt turned into a loincloth, and realize that it was himself. From this vantage point, he was the least significant object in the landscape.
The bird began another slow downward spiral, and this time Wulfston was better able to keep his mind on observing. Sure enough, he saw what he was looking for: perhaps half a mile farther along the lakeshore there was an inlet, and from it a road stretched southward-a wagon track, clearly showing twin paths of the wheels, with the grass trying to survive between.
There was his road to human habitation! In fact, in the eagle’s peripheral vision he thought he detected what might be man-made dwellings several miles away, but the bird would not oblige him by looking directly at them.
The eagle continued its lazy spiral, and Wulfston studied the landscape. There was more movement below- people on horses! They had intersected his trail from the south, and were turning to follow it toward the lake.
Who were they? “Look at them, eagle! Are they all black people, or are my white friends among them?
Look there! I have to know!”
With a shock that sent spasms of pain wrenching through his head, Wulfston was back in his own body.
Resenting his demands, the eagle had dismissed him from its mind.
Taking only long enough to quell the pain, Wulfston climbed to his feet and ran back along his own trail.
He was sure the horsemen were looking for him. But were they Sukuru’s people, or Zanos and Astra?
Backtracking through the grass, Wulfston saw how easy he would be to follow-but perhaps they weren’t expecting him to come to meet them. One thing concerned him: even on the edges of the eagle’s peripheral vision, surely Zanos’ bright red hair would have stood out, had the gladiator been there. Best consider these people his enemies until they proved otherwise.
He crouched, then crawled through the grass as he approached the area where he had seen the horsemen. Traylo and Arlus followed him, accepting him as pack leader and obeying his mental picture of them, staying close by his side until the danger was identified.
For the first time, he tried reaching out with his mind to Read people, but he got only a confused mu
ddle.
Astra, a Magister Reader, would surely not Read like that!
So he tried the horses. They were tired from a long ride, but aware of no strangers among the riders. So none of Wulfston’s friends were there.
“Come on, Traylo, Arlus,” he murmured, and started angling back toward the lake. It didn’t matter if these were Sukuru’s men or Z’Nelia’s-he didn’t want to be taken by either!
He could not tell whether he had been seen or Read, but a shout went up, and suddenly horses were galloping after him!
Not even an Adept could outrun a horse. He had to stand and fight.
There were nine of them, but no one shot an arrow or threw a spear at him this time. They spread out, and he saw nets unfurled. They wanted to capture, not kill him.
As the first rider approached, net spinning, Wulfston grasped control of it and flung it back over the man’s own head, tangling him in its folds.
While he struggled to free himself, though, the others spread in a circle around Wulfston.
He shot a lightning bolt searing the air before the nearest horse. The animal screamed and reared, but the grass caught fire!
It spread as swift as thought!
Lest the whole plain go up, Wulfston had to concentrate now on stopping that wildfire-and while he was doing so the riders were closing in, Traylo and Arlus growling and nipping at the horses’ feet, barely escaping being pounded into the ground.
In this environment, Wulfston could not use fire, his most effective device to stop horses.
But he could buckle the knees of the one now approaching him, as if a net had entangled its feet. It went down, dumping its rider in a heap, and Wulfston concentrated for a moment on sending the man deep into unconsciousness.
There were still eight riders.
He sent another slumping into Adept sleep, but the method was too slow. He could not stop the other seven before they netted him.
His own knees buckled as a wave of dizziness swept over him-there were minor Adepts among them, joining their powers against him! If they could make him waste enough energy-
He shook off their attempt, and darted between two horses, pushing the animals apart with sheer Adept strength. That was working directly against nature, not an act he could perform very often, especially when he was not in peak condition.
But how could he work with nature here? Fire was too dangerous, and the little animals of the plain too small to do any good.
Then he remembered-down there by the lake-he concentrated, creating a fear, a need to move, to run in this direction-
As his mind went off in search of his weapon, the riders circled him again, nets spread-
Again the attack on his mind-he fought it-flailed at the descending net-
He was tangled!
Adept power tore through the wiry strands, but not without cost. Wulfston could feel his powers weakening as he regained his feet, tossing the shreds of the net from him.
The horsemen turned, surrounding him again.
A pounding louder than the horses’ hoofs shook the plain.
The herd of water buffalo, drawn by Wulfston’s message, stampeded toward the riders!
Their horses screamed, bucked, and galloped off to save their own lives, carrying their riders along, like it or not.
Wulfston called Traylo and Arlus, gathered them close against him and held the terrified pups still while he concentrated on separating the mindless stampede around them. Choking dust rose, hoofs pounding within a hand’s span on either side, but Adept concentration gave them a tiny island of safety as the herd thundered past, driving Wulfston’s would-be captors eastward toward the jungle.
When the herd was gone, he remained, still holding the whimpering dogs, deliberately guiding the buffalo to force the riders to the edge of the jungle, miles away. They would come back, he knew-and he wanted to be far away before they did.
Finaly, Wulfston released his concentration, and calmed the two pups. He looked around at the flattened grass, the settling dust, and knew a moments triumph. He was alive-he had survived in this strange land, won against enemies who knew the territory.
He turned back toward the lake… and saw the smashed, dead body of the rider he had sent to sleep. In his concentration on saving himself, he had forgotten the completely helpless man.
As he stared at the mangled body, though, he remembered that even though these men had obviously had orders to take him without killing him, they would have carried him off to face death… or worse.
It would be best if Sukuru or Z’nelia-or both-thought him dead.
Distasteful though the work was, he stripped the bloody clothing off the corpse, took off his loincloth, smeared it with the man’s blood, and put it on the body. The man’s face was smashed beyond recognition-and the scavengers of the plain would begin their work before the riders could get back here. Let them think two men had died here, and the jackals had carried off one of the bodies entirely.
Naked, Wulfston carried the dead man’s clothes back to the lake and washed them. The fresh blood came out easily in the cold water, and there were only a few tears in the cloth.
This time he used his powers to dry the material, and studied the clothes: a tan tunic with a braided belt, and a faded yellow hooded cloak. Nondescript, and similar to what the other riders had worn. Plain leather sandals also had no identifying marks that Wulfston could see.
There were also a wristband with a pattern burned into it, and a talisman of some sort on a leather thong.
These he buried deep in the sand, then put on the dead man’s clothes, uncomfortable at the thought, but knowing no other way to blend in than to dress like someone who lived here. Surely he would be less conspicuous this way than stark naked!
As if to confirm that he was doing the right thing, when Wulfston turned to look for Traylo and Arlus he saw a horse approaching the lake-the dead man’s horse that had run off before the stampede, now over its terror and seeking water.
The horse put Wulfston on equal terms with his pursuers.
Furthermore, there was a leather water bag attached to the saddle. He emptied out the warm dregs and refilled it with fresh, cool water from the lake.
There were saddlebags, with the same design burned into them that he had seen on the man’s wristband.
They would have to be buried, too, but first he searched them, and found bread and cheese, an apple-and a knife!
He devoured the food, stuck the knife through his belt, and continued the search. A pouch of coins!
Coppers only, but at least a means of buying more food. There was also a small packet containing one bone and one metal needle and a folded paper of salt, which he put in the coin purse and suspended from his belt.
There was only one more item, a well-worn wooden plaque whose design appeared to be lettering rather than decoration. He wondered if Aradia could have read the language-she had shared their father’s love of books gathered from all over the world.
But the plaque might be identified, so it was buried with the saddlebags. Wulfston mounted the horse, called to the dogs, and set out for that wagon trail to the south, counting on the footprints of the animals who would come to drink at the lake during the night to obscure his trail along the shoreline.
That night he slept in one of the buildings he had seen from the eagle’s point of view. They turned out to be a deserted village, but gave Wulfston shelter for himself and the horse and dogs.
At dawn he set out along the wagon track again, spending the long hours practicing his rapport with Traylo and Arlus, or with other animals. He saw no people all day, just herds of wild animals. No wagons had been on this trail for days, for new grass was struggling to grow even in the ruts.
Its struggle was not entirely successful, though, for there had obviously been no rain recently-even the deepest ruts were dry. There were no rain clouds in sight; the sun beat yellow on the yellow plain, and Wulfston was grateful for the lightweight cloak with its hood to protect h
is head.
He sensed no pursuit. He hoped his ruse had worked, and his enemies thought him dead. It would give him time to find out what had happened to his friends.
Again he hunted, and shared fresh meat with the dogs, while the horse cropped the dry grass. When there was no watering hole, he figured out the use of a sort of leather bowl dangling from the bridle-he could pour some water from the water bag to share with the horse. Traylo and Arlus drank from it, too.
By noon of the second day on the deserted trail they were out of water.
The character of the land had changed: although the ubiquitous grass grew here now, the land was furrowed, as if it had been plowed and a crop grown at some time in the past year. In this part of the world, it appeared that crops would be grown in the rainy season, and the fields left fallow during this dry time of year.
Plowed fields had to mean people close by.
Wulfston wasn’t sure he was ready to meet anyone, yet he needed to trade coins for fruit and vegetables.
And he had to find out where his friends were.
He also had to learn to Read people, not just animals.
So he stuck to the wagon track, getting more tired and thirsty with every step, wondering where the nearest settlement was.
Instead of a village he saw in the distance a cluster of green trees. That meant water! The dogs smelled it and ran eagerly ahead, and the tired horse picked up his pace when Wulfston urged him.
On closer approach, he saw a stone well, and off to one side a cluster of houses. Only one person was to be seen; a young woman who had just filled a jug at the well, and was walking in the direction of the houses.
Wulfston hoped she would keep going, as he wanted to renew his water supply and be ready to retreat if he ran into trouble. The girl glanced at him, but continued on her way-probably taught not to talk to strangers. He could see why. In his lands she would be safe enough today, but there had been a time when such a pretty young girl would not have dared stray so far from home alone.
Wulfston’s attention turned from the girl to the well. He hadn’t known how thirsty he was until he was in sight and smell of water!