The Dawning Light

SYNOPSIS

The world of Nidor had known only peace and stability for the first four thousand years of its recorded history. A firm priesthood ruled the one-continent planet, and the pattern of life was serene and unchanging.

And then the Earthmen had come. They appeared from the sky} claiming to be emissaries from the Great Light, and the ruling priesthood granted them the right to establish a School of Divine Law on Nidor. They did—and strange things began to happen. New ways of doing things emanated from the School, changing the set patterns of Nidor.

In the School's early days, one KIV peGANZ BRAJJYD touched off a minor economic crisis by his discovery of a new method of combating pests. Two generations later, his grandson, NORVIS peRAHN BRAJJYD, developed a growth hormone that would double the per-acre yield of Nidor's main crop, the peych-bean. Much to Norvis' astonishment, credit for this invention was willfully stolen from him by the head Earthman of the School, SMITH, and given to another. Norvis was expelled and forced to flee. After narrowly escaping death from stoning for blasphemy, he changed his name to NORVIS peKRIN DMORNO to give the impression that Norvis peRahn was actually dead.

Deeming it unjust that only the farms of the Elders should have the new growth hormone, Norvis, with the aid of a priest-hating old sea captain named DEL peFenn VYLESS, secretly made the hormone and distributed it to farmers all over Nidor.

The result was an economic collapse that took fourteen years to straighten out. The carefully-balanced economy was destroyed by a sudden doubling of the food supply, and Nidor fell into the Great Depression. Del and Norvis formed the Merchants' Party, and by applying pressure on the Council of Elders they managed to restore Nidor's balance to a certain extent.

Once confusion is halted, the Party finds itself in difficulties. The Nidorians, too used to stability, are moving away from Del's rabid anti-priesthood stand and back to support of the Elders and the Earthmen. Norvis is still anxious to drive the Earthmen from Nidor and return to the Way of the Ancestors that had worked so well before their arrival.

The leaders of the Party come together to work out a plan. Aside from Del and Norvis, they are: KRIS peKYM YORGEN, the Party's strong man, a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome young man, who had been reared by Norvis and who shared the older man's burning hatred for the Earthmen; MARJA geDEL VYLESS, daughter of Del, a determined girl of keen intelligence; and GANZ peDEL VYLESS, Del's only son.

The conspirators seek something which will result in a panic that can be blamed on the Earthmen. Marja suggests the appallingly bold stroke of robbing the Bank of the Province of Dimay and accusing the Earthmen of the theft. Norvis and the others —without the knowledge of the absent Del—approve, and Kris peKym goes to Tammulcor, where he robs the unguarded bank with ridiculous ease.

He caches the haul—some eight million weights in cobalt—-on the offshore Bronze Islands, and returns to the Vashcor headquarters of the Party, where he learns that the entire province is in an uproar. With the metal backing for its paper money gone, Dimay's scrip is worthless— and Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd, head of the Council, has refused to replace the cobalt. Grandfather Kiv's action was motivated by an anonymous note—actually sent by Norvis, who is, unknown to anyone, Kiv's grandson—which informed him that if he replaced the cobalt, the thieves would dump their holdings, thus reducing the value of money all over Nidor.

Kris peKym now returns to Tammulcor, accompanied by his devoted First Officer, a Bronze Islander named DRAN peDRAN GORMEK. Kris sets up an office and gains control over the sympathies of the people of Tammulcor by offering to redeem their worthless paper money with half as much good money of the Bank of Pelvash. The Party's purpose in this has merely been to win popular support again in Tammulcor—but Kris, acting on his own, proceeds to lay the groundwork for a private project of his own, the destruction of the Earthmen. He is fearful of Del's opposition—but, just as he begins to explain his plan to a group of interested merchants, Norvis arrives from Vashcor with the news of Del's assassination.

This leaves Kris with a free hand, and he immediately assumes control of the Merchants' Party and begins his planning in earnest. Marja and Ganz peDel, who had come with Norvis, form the nucleus of a new party command. Dran peDran, aided by BOR pePRANNT HEBYLLA, a longshoreman who had once attempted to rob Kris and had been helped by the very man he intended to rob, begins to train men. Nidor's first army is assembled.

Marja begins to work on the women of Nidor, convincing them that the Earthmen are demons by spreading rumors that they represent the Outer Darkness instead of the Great Light. Rumors are also spread that the Earthmen have hidden the missing cobalt on the campus of their School.

Kris himself has already taken care of that rumor by taking his ship up the Tammul River and actually planting the cobalt in a shallow grave on the School's property.

The rumor about the cobalt filters through to the Elders, and two priests, Grandfather MARN peFULDA BRAJJYD, Priest-Mayor of Vashcor, and Grandfather BOR peDEL SESOM, Priest-Mayor of Tammulcor, come to Kris, telling him that they are in agreement with Kris' plan to get rid of the Earthmen. They inform him that the Council, aware of the rumors about the cobalt, plans to question the Earthman, Smith, in a public hearing.

With a hundred armed men, Kris goes to Gelusar to attend the hearing —and, to everyone's astonishment and consternation, the bearded Earthman refuses to admit either the truth or the falsity of the rumor.

Kris takes immediate advantage of the situation, inflaming the crowd by telling them that he can lead them to the cobalt. He spurs a mob on to Bel-rogas, five miles away, and digs up the coins he has planted. The angry mob kills the students and priests and burns the School to the ground. The Earthmen escape by floating off into the sky, surrounded by shining blue auras.

Kris brings the cobalt back to the Square of Holy Light in front of the Great Temple of Gelusar, and dramatically hands the money to the Elders to return it to the Bank of Dimay. Now that the coin has been replaced, Dimay scrip is again worth full face value—thus doubling the Party's reserves, since they had bought up large quantities of the then worthless paper at half price.

Kris is hailed as a hero by the Nidorians. Norvis, Ganz, and Marja come up from Tammulcor to consolidate their position. Victory is seemingly in their grasp; with the Earthmen driven off and the people solidly behind the Party, Norvis and Kris are jubilant. Kris is able to relax for a few moments. He spends some time with Marja, discovering that hasn't been paying as much attention to the girl as she merits.

But before the moment of triumph is barely begun, Kris is summoned by the Council of Elders. They request that he come to the Square of Holy Light to receive his reward.

He arrives at the Square in fulldress uniform, accompanied by his Hundred Men. But when Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz begins to speak, the words are not what Kris expects.

"We have," the Grandfather says, "absolute proof that you were responsible for the burial of the money on the campus of the School. You have committed the foulest crime that has ever been done on Nidor. Therefore, I order your arrest on charges of sacrilege, blasphemy, murder, and high treason!"

Kris sees that he has been trapped. The acolytes and Peacemen who surround the Square are armed with rifles.

"We have you, Kris peKym," the Elder Grandfather says. "Surrender, or I'll have you cut down like a peych-bean at harvest time!"

Chapter XV

"This place isn't fit for broken-down deests!" Kris, roared furiously, banging on the door of the cell. No one answered. He listened to the echoing of his voice for a moment, scowled, and kicked the door angrily. "Guard! Guard!"

Again no answer. Kris turned away and dropped miserably on the hard bench running along one side of the cell. "Great Light give me patience," he muttered.

The cells beneath the Great Temple had never been designed for comfort. Normally, the big bronze doors were left open, since the cells were designed for the penitential prayers of erring acolytes, but if it was necessary to close the doors, it could be done.

They were closed now, all of them. The Hundred Men had been jammed in, four to a cell, but Kris had been given a cell all to himself.

After a day and a half in the bowels of the Temple since the unexpected ambush in the Square of Holy Light, Kris was both miserable and furious. He had had no food, no one to talk to, not even a decent place to stretch his long legs.

The air in the cell seemed to be about half water vapor; the walls, although only slightly cooler than the steaming atmosphere, were dripping with condensation. A stream of tepid water poured out of a small pipe in the back of the cell and splashed endlessly into an open hole below it, thus providing both drinking water and sewage disposal. From above, a dim light filtered down through the tube, and only at midday was there enough light. The chimney was slanted at just the right angle to allow the Great Light to hit the floor at midday, so that praying acolytes who occupied the cell might make their proper devotions.

Kris shook his head at the thought of acolytes praying down here. How anyone could bring himself to stay in this dank place voluntarily was beyond him.

"Guard! Guard! Get me some food!"

His voice echoed down into the distance, but no one came. He had scarcely expected anyone, but he was determined to let them know from time to time that he was still down there and angry about it.

But if he was uncomfortable, what must the Hundred be suffering, jammed as they were four to a cell? Kris had no way of knowing; the walls were so thick that no sound had come to him in a day and a half.

He whacked his fist against the bronze door and roared again. "Are you leaving me to rot down here?"

This time, there was a sound in response—a scraping at the door that indicated that the bar was being raised. Then the door swung open. Air that was relatively fresh drifted in.

"It's about time," Kris snapped.

He watched as two rifle-bearing acolytes filed into the cell. Behind them came a third man, a young priest with a cast in one eye and a look of almost intolerable arrogance about his face.

"Where's my food?" Kris demanded.

The priest chuckled. "Food? Hah!"

The three stared menacingly at him, and for just an instant Kris thought they were going to execute him on the spot, without even the formality of a trial.

Then the priest gestured and said, "Come along, devil. The judges are waiting."

Kris hung back. "Am I to be tried?"

"It's the custom, before a blasphemer is stoned," the priest replied evenly. "Come, now."

The acolytes seized him roughly by the arms and pushed him to the door. They were small men, and ordinarily he could have flicked them away with two swipes of his hands. But they were armed, and there was little sense resisting. Even if he got away from these three, he'd never find his way out of the Temple alive.

Kris marched ahead of them, down a long, clammy-walled corridor, toward the steep, narrow stairway which led up to the Temple itself. For a while, he nursed the idea of running up the steps and getting away, but he realized that the men behind him could hardly miss, at this range.

As he started up the steps, he saw that they had been thinking a step ahead of him. Another acolyte stood at the top of the stairs, holding one of the three-foot peych-knives that had been taken from his men. Even if the rifles had missed, he would never have gotten past that.

His face was unsmiling and hard as he strode down the upper corridor toward the main auditorium. Somewhere in the background, a bell was tolling solemnly. He didn't like the sound of that.

Once, when he was eight, he had attended a Passing Service in the Temple. It was a mass service, for those killed in the rioting after the Peych Panic, and among those dead had been Kris' parents. He remembered the awe-inspiring solemnity of that service, the far-off shuddering of the great Temple gong and the low, constant murmur of priestly voices. It seemed to him now that he was marching steadily forward toward his own Passing Service, and the thought was not a cheering one.

He entered the auditorium. As he stepped over the threshold, a ringing voice cried, "Stand where you are!"

Kris stopped and looked up. On a dais at the front of the auditorium, the Council of Elders was arrayed in full panoply; sixteen stern faces glared coldly at him. Along the sides of the auditorium was an assemblage of priests, their blue tunics forming a solid wall down either side of the auditorium. In the center, a small, probably highly select, group of layman sat quietly.

Two small platforms had been erected at opposite ends of the auditorium, and a fierce light played down from above on each—not the Great Light, but an artificial illumination which hurt Kris' eyes.

One of the platforms was already occupied. A man stood bathed in light, arms folded, staring belligerently at Kris. Kris wrinkled his forehead, wondering where he had seen the man before.

On the platform, old Kiv pointed to Kris peKym.

"Show the blasphemer to his station!"

Guards and acolytes bustled around behind Kris, pushing him to the unoccupied platform. He ascended it and stood there, blinking in the harsh light.

"The trial shall now begin," Kiv said.

"Hold it!" Kris said loudly. His voice sounded harsh in his own ears. "Where are my men?"

"Your men are below," said the Elder Grandfather. "It is awkward to have all of them here at once— so you shall stand proxy for all!"

"I see. How convenient."

The Elder Yorgen stepped forward on the platform and delivered a long, rambling, and extremely solemn invocation. Kris listened to only the first few words, then let his attention drift away. He'd heard enough such speeches to know their general tenor.

The matter at hand was serious, though. He was in Grandfather Kiv's hands—and, battered as the Priesthood was, it could still muster enough strength to stone a hundred men quickly and quietly, before the populace knew exactly what was happening. The transition from adored hero to revered martyr would be a quick one.

Kris frowned. Had sacking Bel-rogas been a mistake? No. The School had to be destroyed.

But could they try him for it? Was there any proof that he, Kris peKym Yorgen, had actually led the onslaught? In truth, he hadn't—he'd merely brought the people there and shown them the buried money.

They had done the rest unbidden.

And this business of proving that Kris had planted the money at Bel-rogas. Could it be done? Kris knew his men were loyal; none would testify against him. In any event, the accusation was too fantastic to be credible, even though it happened to be true.

Then he stiffened. Did the Elders need proof? All they had to do was to put up a reasonably convincing prosecution and hustle Kris off the scene quickly. They could do to Kris what Kris had done to the School— squash first, answer questions later. Come what may, there was no more School now. Perhaps the Elders were figuring the same way—come what may, at the end of the trial there would be no more Kris peKym.

"The trial will now proceed," Grandfather Kiv said suddenly. Kris snapped his head up. "We charge you, Kris peKym of the Clan Yorgen, of blasphemy, murder, and sacrilege! How do you answer this charge?"

"I answer that the charge is false!" Kris declared. "Totally false!"

"We shall see," Grandfather Kiv said. "Let us hear the witness."

A priest came forward to the other small platform, stood in the glare of the light, and recited something to the mysteriously familiar man who stood there. The witness for the prosecution, Kris thought. Who is he?

Probably someone bribed to denounce me, he thought bitterly. Kiv doesn't miss a move.

They had him neatly penned, all right. Like a fool, he had walked straight into their ambush, and now they had him. Would his death crush the movement? He didn't know. Norvis was still at large some place, and Ganz peDel—but could they carry on alone? There was no certainty of that.

The priest finished administering the oath to the man in the testimonial box, and returned to his seat. Kiv, from the platform, said, "Stand forth and speak, Bryl pePrannt Hebylla!"

Of course! Kris recognized him then. It was Bor pePrannt's brother, who had been with Bor when the two of them had tried to hold up his office that day—so long ago!—when he was changing money.

"Tell the Council what you know, Bryl pePrannt," the Elder Grandfather said.

What does Bryl know? Kris wondered. And why would he betray a man who had befriended him?

"All I know, Ancient Grandfather, is what my brother told me. But my brother is innocent, Ancient Grandfather; he only did what this man"—he indicated Kris—"told him to do. He didn't know there was anything wrong."

"Never fear, Bryl pePrannt," the Elder Grandfather said. "Your brother will be freed."

So that was it! That was the dirty, filthy, underhanded trick they were playing—letting Bor go free on the condition that Bryl talk! Kris felt his muscles tighten and his stomach seemed to be a cold lump within him.

"Well," Bryl said, without looking at Kris, "on the fourth night after the Feast of the Inner Light, my brother was with this man on board his ship, the Krand. They came up to Gelusar with the cobalt hidden in a false bottom of the ship. They went overland from the bend in the river south of Gelusar and took the money to the Bel-rogas School—"

"Mourn its holy name," a lesser priest intoned.

"Yes ... uh—" Bryl seemed a little confused by the interruption, but the eyes of the Council were still on him. "Anyway, they took the cobalt and buried it on the School grounds and then came back to Tammulcor."

"Excellent," Grandfather Kiv said.

"Just a minute!" Kris shot to his feet. One of the acolytes standing nearby raised his peych-knife, but a signal from the Elder Grandfather stopped him.

"This man is a thief and a liar!" Kris shouted angrily. "What evidence do you have to back up this ridiculous story?"

"The evidence will be shown," Grandfather Kiv said coldly. "We have witnesses who saw the Krand come upriver with many deests on its deck—but we know that the ship never arrived at Gelusar. Also, we have the ship itself—and the double hull has been found. That, I think is enough to substantiate the story Bryl pePrannt tells."

Kris felt as though he had been slapped in the face. The Krand captured?

"Do you call that evidence enough to stone a man?" Kris asked loudly. His voice was still as firm as ever.

"It is," said Grandfather Kiv. "It is, and more than enough. But we have still more." He turned toward his left and called out: "Bring in the other witnesses!"

A group of acolytes appeared, bringing with them four men— members of Kris peKym's own crew. Kris sat down slowly.

The Elder Grandfather addressed the four crewmen. "As you have been told, it is no crime to follow the orders of your captain. Indeed, to fail to do so is mutiny. But it is one thing to commit a crime because you were ordered to do so, and another to comply freely with the act. To fail to testify here would indicate that you condone your captain's actions, that you deserve the same death as he does—stoning.

"Your testimony, however, will indicate to us that you were merely following orders and are, therefore, innocent of any crime. Will you testify?"

The sly snake! Kris thought. Loyal as they might be, what else could they do in a situation like that but spill everything? A bath of cold perspiration spangled his forehead as he saw now that there was no way out for him whatsoever.

The answer of the four was pure formality. It was obvious to Kris that they had already decided to tell the Council what had happened.

They did. One by one, they climbed into the testimonial box and told their stories. This time, unlike Bryl's testimony, they were questioned for detail. They gave detailed and explicit answers.

Kris could see the whole pattern. Bryl had come to Gelusar somehow —maybe he had blabbed what Bor had told him—maybe he'd thought he could get paid—maybe a lot of things—

And the shrewd old man had used Bryl's worthless, undocumented testimony to club the crewmen into giving testimony that was far from useless. It clinched the case against Kris peKym Yorgen perfectly. Like a meat-deest being led to the butcher's, like a peych-stalk under the farmer's knife, Kris peKym would be put to the stones.

When it was all over, the Council conferred for a few minutes. Then Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd rose ominously and said, "Have you anything to say before sentence is given, Kris peKym Yorgen?"

Kris stood up slowly. "Yes, Elder Grandfather, I do." He turned and looked at the hushed crowd in the auditorium. "The Council will condemn me to death. I will die for what I have done. But let me tell you this: they have condemned me because they are still under the influence of the devil Earthmen, the demons of the Outer Darkness. They condemn me, but I do not condemn them—they have already condemned themselves far beyond anything I could do or say."

Then, as the crowd began to whisper, he turned back to the Elder Grandfather. His hand jabbed out in a sharp gesture. "And I tell you, Elder Grandfather, that for this day's work, the Great Light Himself will condemn you even more than you have already condemned yourself."

"I stand ready to assume responsibility for my deeds," Grandfather Kiv said. "May the Great Light deal with me as I deserve, if I have erred this afternoon." He drew his robes solemnly about him. There was a long, tense, crackling moment of silence.

"Kris peKym Yorgen, we, the Elder Grandfathers of the Sixteen Clans of Nidor, in Council assembled, find you guilty of the multiple crimes of sacrilege against the property of the Great Light, blasphemy against the Great Light, and high treason against the governors appointed by the Great Light. As the Law of our Ancestors dictates, you and your men shall be stoned to death at firstlight tomorrow. We speak in the Name of the Great Light."

The blazing twin lights from above winked out suddenly. The trial was over.

Chapter XVI

Norvis peKrin Dmorno brought his deest pelting up the road toward the Great Temple, and reined the animal up and tethered it near the Temple wall in the Square of Holy Light. He dropped off, tired, and leaned against the panting animal's side for a moment, recovering his energy.

It had been a hard ride, down to Tammulcor and back—but it had been necessary, in order to save Kris peKym. Norvis had made the journey to the southern port in what must have been record time, despite the nuisance of having a deest die under him en route.

Outside the Temple, he encountered a boy passing by, and stopped him.

"Tell me, boy—how did the trial of the blasphemer go today? I've only just arrived from Tammulcor."

"Found guilty, Old One," the boy said. "Guilty and sentenced to die at firstlight tomorrow. The trial just ended a few minutes ago."

"Thanks," Norvis said, and walked on without bothering with the formalities. He entered the Square of Holy Light and looked around. The place was deserted, here in the dim light of late afternoon.

Firstlight tomorrow, eh? Quickly he computed the various spans of time. It had been a little more than a day and a half since Kris had been captured; a little less than a day and a half since Norvis had made his mad ride to Tammulcor to rouse Ganz peDel and the army.

Ganz and his men would be coming up the Tammul as fast as they could make their obstinate ships move; they would be in Gelusar in a few hours—certainly long before the scheduled time of the execution. In the meantime, Norvis knew he would have to move quickly.

The trial, Norvis thought, had ended not unexpectedly. Kris was a menace to the Council, and they were happy to be rid of him. Norvis paused on the first step of the Temple, planning what had to be done.

Kris was too important to lose, As a focal point for the rebellion, he was indispensable to the Party. And therefore, steps would have to be taken to save him. Norvis fingered the pistol concealed in his robe and slipped silently into the quiet Temple.

An acolyte stepped forward in the half-darkness.

"May the Great Light illumine your soul," the acolyte said, in ritual greeting.

"And yours," Norvis said crisply, averting his face. "I am here to pray." He indicated a small chapel to the left.

"Very well," the acolyte said.

Norvis entered the chapel. A small lens glittered above. He bowed his head, but no prayers would come. After a few minutes, he rose and looked around warily. No one was in sight.

No one had seen him, either, but the one acolyte—and in this darkness, he would not be recognized. Wrapping his tunic around him, he edged out of the chapel and toward the darkened staircase.

There was the sound of closely-harmonic chanting in the distance as Norvis tiptoed up the stairs toward the private office of Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd.

Norvis knocked once, lightly, and there was no reply. The old man doesn't bear too well any more, he thought, and knocked again.

"Come in, come in!"

Norvis pushed open the door and stepped through. The old man was sitting behind his desk, glaring steadily in the general direction of the door. It was evident that Kiv's sight was none too good either.

It was hardly surprising. Norvis himself was close to forty; Kiv was probably more than twice his age. The pistol under Norvis' arm suddenly began to burn coldly against his flesh.

"The Peace of your Ancestors be with you, Grandfather," Norvis said.

"May the Great Light illumine your soul, my son."

Norvis stepped closer and bowed. "My name is Norvis peKrin Dmorno, Grandfather. I know I'm not of your clan, but—"

"What is it you want?" Kiv asked impatiently. "How did you get here unannounced? You're one of those Merchant people, aren't you?" Irritably, Kiv began to rearrange papers on his cluttered desk.

"That's right, Grandfather. I'm here to ask for the release of our Leader, Kris peKym Yorgen."

"What! Here to plead for the life of a condemned blasphemer!" Kiv was fiery, animated now. "Out! Away from me!"

"Just a minute, Grandfather Kiv peGanz," Norvis said quietly. He felt almost numb, now, as he watched the silver-bodied Elder rage at him. "Don't be hasty, Grandfather. You know what the Scripture says about haste. 'He who—' "

"Out!" Kiv stormed. "Guard! Guard!"

The gun at Norvis' side was like a stone strapped to his body. He took three quick steps forward and laid his hand lightly on Kiv's wrist.

"Do you remember your daughter, Ancient One? Sindi iRahn Brajjyd?"

"Eh?"

"Your daughter ... your daughter had a son, Grandfather."

The inflection of that last word was unmistakable. Kiv turned, stared dimly at Norvis for a moment, pulled his arm from the other's grasp, and sat down, staring at his fingertips.

"Grandfather?"

"My name is Norvis peRahn Brajjyd," Norvis said. It was the first time he had uttered those words in almost fifteen years, and they sounded strange in his throat. "Do you remember me, Grandfather?"

Kiv seemed to grow even more shriveled as Norvis watched. His lips moved uncomprehendingly. Finally he said: "Norvis peRahn was stoned to death fourteen and more years ago."

"Norvis peRahn escaped. Norvis peRahn dove into the waters of Shining Lake and fled down to Tammulcor, where he climbed back into his convenient alias of Norvis peKrin Dmorno—under which colors he's been riding ever since."

Kiv let the words sink in. "But why?" he asked blankly. "Why have you hidden your name, your—" He shook his head. "Are you Norvis peRahn?"

Norvis folded his arms. "I entered the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law some twenty years ago, the fifth of my family so to do. The first was someone named Kiv peGanz Brajjyd—and his wife, Narla iKiv, My mother and father both were students there. I, too, hoped to graduate from the School, and continue my work in genetics. Unfortunately"—his lips curled bitterly—"I became, instead, the first student ever to be expelled from Bel-rogas. Does this sound like your defunct grandson, or doesn't it?"

"It does," Kiv admitted. "But—"

"But why? Because I'd be dead for real if I hadn't hidden my true identity. Who do you think was responsible for selling that growth hormone all over Nidor?"

"Norvis peKrin—Norvis peKrin and the other one, the sea captain. And all the time it was you!" Kiv's voice was still questioning.

"Exactly. We were duped by the Earthmen into distributing the stuff widely. Our movement has not been wholly successful all the time."

Kiv shook his head bewilderedly. "But ... why have you come here, Norvis?" He seemed still unable to comprehend the fact that his grandson could still be alive after all.

Norvis walked around behind the desk and put his arm around the withered old man. "I've come to warn you against your mistakes, Grandfather."

"Mistakes?"

"You've placed your trust in the Earthmen, Kiv peGanz. I did, too— for a while. Until Smith betrayed me, and I learned the Earthmen are devils come here to destroy Nidor."

"I've heard those words before," Kiv said softly.

"You've never thought about them," Norvis said. "Let me illumine your mind, as the timeworn expression goes, Let me scrape some of the scales from your eyes."

"Harsh words from a young man," Kiv said.

"We're past the point of formality now, Grandfather. Listen to me —listen, for the first time in your eighty years. Listen!"

"Very well," Kiv assented. There was little fight left in the old man now. "I'll listen."

"Do you remember my expulsion?" Norvis asked.

Kiv nodded. "I wish I could forget it."

"And I. It nearly killed my mother, and the stain of it is still on the Brajjyd name. Do you know why I was expelled?"

Kiv searched his memory. "Some scene you made at a public ceremony, wasn't it?"

Norvis nodded. "I had been studying genetics under Smith, the Earthman. After a year of hard work, I had developed a growth hormone. With the connivance of the Earthmen, the invention of the hormone was credited to a thoroughly worthless young man named Dran peNiblo Sesom—long since deceased."

"What happened to him?"

"He was lynched when the hormone he supposedly invented wrecked our economy. It was a fate I escaped, through the good offices of the Earthmen, who were kind enough to heave me out of the School and put the credit—or blame—on Dran peNiblo."

"You say you were expelled falsely?" Kiv repeated. "I believe you raised that charge at the time."

"And how often have you heard it since, from men thrown out of the School for no good cause? The Earthmen have been following some mysterious plan of their own, Kiv peGanz—one that necessitated my expulsion. They're secretly working to destroy Nidor!"

"You and your friends have said that many times," Kiv objected. "You used it as an excuse to steal cobalt, plant it on the Bel-rogas grounds, and destroy the School— a crime for which your hotheaded young friend will die tomorrow."

"Kris will not die," Norvis said.

"Is that the Light's Truth?" said Kiv sarcastically.

"It is. You will free Kris to continue the fight against the Earthmen."

"The Earthmen are gone," Kiv said.

"They are not gone. They are hiding in the Mountains of the Morning, biding their time. Once you've removed Kris from their path, they will reappear—-and destroy us all!"

"Hiding? What madness is this?"

Norvis grasped the old man's arm—dry, like an old stick—and peered into his deep-set eyes. "Remember, Grandfather, when my mother Sindi crossed the Mountains of the Morn, following my father, Rahn?"

"I remember," Kiv said.

"She returned—after a slight delay en route. In the Mountains of the Morning, there is a secret place where the Earthmen stay. Sindi saw strange and wonderful things there —the strangest of them being the Earthman Jones, supposedly gone to the Great Light some time before."

"Jones?" Kiv was openly incredulous. "How do you know all this, boy?"

"Sindi told me of it," said Norvis. "Of the Earthmen and their strange machines and weapons, out there in the Mountains. I have never forgotten it."

Kiv put his head in his hands. "I'm old, Norvis. I don't understand all these conflicting stories. What are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm trying to tell you," Norvis said, "that the Earthmen have been aiming for Nidor's destruction ever since they came here. That the students of the School have been carefully trained to sow havoc among us. You with your well-meant method for wiping out crop-eating pests, that caused a mild panic sixty years ago—and incidentally helped to put a large-sized crack in our social framework. Me, with my growth hormone. You can almost detail the step-by-step way in which the Earthmen have undermined us."

Kiv said nothing, but merely closed his eyes wearily.

"The Earthmen are still here," Norvis continued relentlessly. "Waiting to perform some new wickedness. And by taking Kris peKym from us, you'll be removing the last obstacle in their way."

Kiv opened his eyes suddenly. They glinted beadily at Norvis. "How do I know what you say is true?"

"Will you never believe anything?" Norvis demanded, exasperated. "I swear that all I've told you today is as true as that book you see there"—he indicated the Scripture and the Law. "I swear by the honor of my mother, Sindi iRahn, by my father, by the Scripture and the Law, by my true name of Brajjyd, by my Ancestors, and by the Great Light Himself that I have not lied to you. I—"

"Enough!" Kiv said hoarsely.

His face was pale, and Norvis saw that the old priest's breath was coming in heavy gasps. "For sixty years—ever since my days at the Bel-rogas School—I have co-operated with the Earthmen. Not since my days at Bel-rogas have I doubted the rightness of what I have done— and my doubt was only momentary."

Kiv seemed to sag. "And yet," he went on, "if what you say is true, then I have done more to aid the Earthmen than any other single man." His head slipped lower. "I have betrayed my people and my world—if what you say is true."

"Can you still doubt me?"

"I don't know," Kiv said. "Your oath ... but—"

"Free Kris peKym!" Norvis said inexorably. "Free him!"

"Norvis! How can I?"

"Free him?"

Kiv rose from his seat and wiped trembling hands over his brow. A tremendous inner struggle seemed to be going on in him.

"You couldn't have lied to me, Norvis. And yet—"

"Face the truth, Kiv peGanz!"

Kiv stood still for a moment. Suddenly, he uttered a little moan and slumped to his seat, his head falling forward over his desk. He moaned again—once—and was silent.

Norvis caught his breath. It had not been necessary to use the pistol, after all. It was just as well this way.

He glanced down at the body of the aged priest. For just a moment, a tear glistened at the corner of Norvis' eye. Angrily, he wiped it away, and started for the door.

There were footsteps in the hall, and then a tapping at the door. "Ancient Grandfather?" a voice said.

Norvis stopped, cursing himself for a fool. It was the first time in fifteen years that he had exposed himself to physical danger, and here he was, in a jam again.

"Ancient Grandfather?" Again the knock—louder this time.

Lightly, Norvis ran to the window and looked down. Below was the roof of the auditorium, and in its center was the great lens that focused the rays of the Great Light on the altar. Across from him was the gong tower. The wall was carved intricately; Dran peDran had been able to climb it easily.

But Dran peDran was a younger man; Norvis hadn't climbed the rigging of a ship for—by the Light! It was nearly twelve years! He realized suddenly that he had become middle-aged. His muscles were flabby from years of sitting behind a desk.

"Ancient Grandfather!" A pounding on the door.

There was nothing else he could do; if he were caught, everything— everything would be ruined! He swung himself over the window sill and began to work his way down the carved wall. He was less than ten feet down when he heard the door open in the Elder Grandfather's office.

Someone, an acolyte probably, came into the room. Below, Norvis hugged the wall.

"Grandfather? Grandfather! Grandfather!" A silence for a moment, then the fast patter of retreating sandals.

Moving as rapidly as he dared, taking advantage of the late afternoon dusk, Norvis went on down the wall. He dropped the last few feet, wincing as the shock of hitting the ground flashed through his legs, and ran across the roof toward the rear of the Temple. He felt a touch of panic, hard to suppress. There was still a chance he might be caught.

He swung himself over the edge of the roof, and, for a moment, his feet touched nothing. Then a sculptured gargoyle came within reach. He grasped its grinning head and eased downwards. His fingers slipped, and he dropped nine feet to the street below.

His legs took the second shock poorly; his ankles felt sore from the wrench they had been given. But he didn't dare limp. Gritting his teeth, he walked quietly down the deserted street to the corner, and then turned and walked to where his deest was tethered. His face a wooden mask that concealed searing pain, he hoisted himself aboard the animal.

He turned it toward the south, moving slowly so as not to attract attention. As the deest began to move, he heard a sudden shout behind him.

"He is dead! The Elder Grandfather is dead!"

Norvis glanced around. It was not an acolyte who shouted; it was one of the lesser priests, standing at the door of the Temple.

Then the great gong sounded— and sounded again. Norvis urged his mount forward, and the deest trotted quickly through the Square of Holy Light toward the south. And as he rode, through the night-darkened streets, Norvis peRahn Brajjyd heard the gong ring hollowly again and again over the Holy City, sounding the death knell of his grandfather.

Chapter XVII

Once out of the city, Norvis took the Tammul Road toward the river; the ships from Tammulcor should be. coming in any time now, commanded by Del peFenn's son, Ganz peDel. The ships would have to be stopped. Things had changed now— and, much as Norvis hated himself for thinking it, changed for the better.

He had gone up to the old man's office to do murder, if necessary— and found that he couldn't, and that it hadn't been necessary. He knew he could never have pressed the trigger on the old man. Fool old Kiv peGanz had been, but he had been an honest fool—and honesty, while it was not a trait Norvis could claim for himself, was one that he respected.

Norvis pulled up at the turn of the road at the great arch of the Bridge of Klid. There was only one way he could stop Ganz's fleet. The river was over a mile wide at this point.

He guided his mount toward the bridge. At the far end, there would have been Peacemen a few days ago, but now that the cobalt had been recovered, the bridge was free again.

Norvis went to the center of the bridge and waited, hoping that the ships would be visible in the glow of orange spread by the torches on the bridge.

A few deest-mounted men trotted by, paying no attention to the man who stood by his mount and stared downstream toward the south. Pedestrians plodded by, some silent, some talking in low tones. All Gelusar and the country surrounding seemed to be hushed.

One man, obviously more than a little drunk on peych-beer, stopped by the rail of the bridge near Norvis.

"Did you hear? The Elder Grandfather is dead. Not too long ago. The old man was wrong, I guess."

Norvis glanced at him and then looked again downstream. The nightly rain had begun by now, and he felt cold and chilled.

"He said this morning," the drunk continued, "that if he was wrong about Kris peKym, the Great Light would kill him. And now he's dead! Bet he was surprised!"

Norvis turned to him again. "Keep a civil tongue, you souse, or I'll take great pleasure in throwing you into the Tammul with an anchor to keep you company!"

The man blinked. "All right, all right. Sorry." He went on across the bridge.

It was another five minutes before Norvis saw the masts of the Vyothin sliding toward him in the darkness. The ship, he saw, would pass under the bridge fifty yards away. Norvis urged his deest along the bridge.

Without paying any attention to whether or not there was anyone watching, he climbed over the rail and hung by his hands from the bracing beams of the mile-long bridge. Just as the Vyothin's mast passed beneath him, he let go and dropped toward the arm of the main skysail. He grabbed it. The sail was moist from the night rain, and his hands slipped a few inches, but he held on, nearly wrenching his arms out of his shoulder sockets. Then, slowly and painfully, he began to climb down the rigging toward the deck.

The man in the crow's nest had seen him, of course. He sung out: "Who's there? Who was that just dropped?"

"Me," Norvis called weakly. "Norvis peKrin Dmorno. Tell Ganz peDel I'm here."

Several minutes later, he was in Ganz peDel's cabin.

"I'm getting old," Norvis said, smiling a little. "Ten years ago, I could have done that without taking a deep breath."

Young Ganz peDel shook his head. "I'm sure I wouldn't have done it. Kris peKym might have the nerve, though."

Norvis shrugged one shoulder. "No matter. That's not important anyway. The point is, we've got to get Kris out of the Temple—-and I think it's going to be easier than we thought."

"I don't understand how the Grandfather's death changes anything," Ganz peDel said. "All we have to do is get our men inside the Temple, as if we are praying. Then someone can sneak down and—"

"Hold it, son," Norvis said, raising a hand. "You're forgetting something. The Elder Grandfather specifically stated, in public, that if he had erred the Great Light would deal with him. Well, he has."

Ganz nodded. "I get it. The people now are going to realize that Kris must have been right all along. We won't have to sneak; we can attack the Temple openly!"

"Right. Absolutely right. But it also means we'll have to stir up popular support. That's why I had to stop you—if you'd just charged in there, you might have gotten Kris out, but it wouldn't have endeared us to the people. This way, we'll have the people on our side before we make a move."

"Good," said Ganz happily. He stopped pacing the floor of his cabin. "By the way, how is Marja?"

Norvis looked blank. "Why ... I suppose she's all right. She was at the hotel when I left yesterday, and I haven't been by there since." He looked up at Ganz. "Why? Are you worried about your sister?"

"Not really," Ganz said. "She can take care of herself."

"Right enough," said Norvis. He paused and sat up straight. "Wait! What's that?"

Ganz frowned a little. "I don't ... oh, yes—"

From somewhere just ahead of the ship came the sound of a peculiar, angry, buzzing murmur. Both men scrambled up the ladder to the deck.

Norvis reached the deck first and peered out, looking around. At Gelusar, the Tammul River widens into the Gelusar Basin before it narrows again to flow on to Tammulcor and the sea. At that point, the Tammul is nearly two miles across. On the western side of the river, where Gelusar lay, were the docks for the river packets and the other vessels that came up from the south.

The Vyothin, followed by the Paleth and the Garn, had sailed into the Gelusar Basin and moved toward the docks. The Vyothin was less than five hundred yards offshore as Norvis and Ganz came on deck. There were torches blazing on the dock, and a huge crowd was gathered there, screaming and shouting.

"What in the name of—what's going on?" Ganz asked.

"Looks like a gathering of some kind," Norvis said sarcastically. "Maybe a garden party."

"Or a riot?"

"Or a riot," agreed Norvis. "Better move in slowly; we don't want to get caught in anything nasty."

The Vyothin drifted westward toward the docks. Soon, the men on deck could make out what was happening. Norvis could see someone standing on one of the high pillars facing one of the docks, and the crowd was cheering.

"The Vyothin! Hoy! Hoy! And the Paleth! And the Garni Hoy! Hoy!"

And then the figure on the pillar waved its hands, and a familiar voice rang across the water.

"Yes! Here they come, just as I told you! The devil-influenced Elder is dead because the Great Light killed him for condemning Kris peKym to die! And now his friends —your friends—our friends—have come to rescue him from the dungeons!"

"Hoy! Hoy! HOY!"

Ganz turned his head to look at Norvis. "By the Rays of the Light," he said softly. "It's Marja!"

There was little need to stir up popular support for the rescue of Kris peKym Yorgen. The news had spread quickly over Gelusar that the Elder Grandfather was dead, and Marja geDel Vyless, with a woman's eternal faith, had taken advantage of it by telling everyone that it proved Kris' innocence, and that his friends would come to get him out of his dungeon. She had known that Norvis had gone after her brother, and had estimated the time of arrival pretty closely. When the ships pulled, in, she had already organized a full-fledged army, ready to march on the Temple to demand the release of Kris.

Norvis and Ganz were the first men off the ship. The crowd looked ugly, but Marja seemed to have them under control. Her face was positively radiant with fury, love, hatred, and joy—a bower of emotions which seemed to flicker across her face as though they were competing for domination. Norvis hadn't realized a woman could look like that.

She pointed a finger at them. "There they are! I told you they'd come! Are you ready to save the Blessed Kris from a martyr's death? Arc you ready to save him from the minions of the devil-influenced Elder whom the Great Light has struck dead for his unrighteousness?"

The cry rose from a thousand throats. "Yes! Save him! Save him!"

Norvis tried to push his way through the crowd and shut the girl up. The crowd gave way, but not rapidly enough.

"Once before," she went on, "the people of Gelusar rallied against evil and drove off the Earthmen! Tonight, we must rally and cleanse ourselves of the last vestige of evil!"

There was more cheering. Norvis jabbed viciously to the right and left with his elbows and finally got through to her. The thing might get out of hand. He wanted to rescue Kris, but not quite this way.

But before he could say anything, Ganz had taken his sister's hand.

"Marja," he said softly, "you're magnificent! You reminded me of Father up there!"

"It wasn't Father I was thinking of," she said. "It was Kris. I didn't know if you'd make it or not, and I wasn't going to let him die."

Norvis stepped back and let some of the tenseness seep out of him. It was too late. Events would have to move, of their own accord for a while, until they could be brought back under control.

Ganz turned and looked at him. "On to the Temple?"

"On to the Temple," Norvis said. "Where else?"

Ganz lifted his head and shouted through cupped hands to the men on the ship. "Hoy! Hoy, aboard ship! Get your weapons out! Down and off! The people of Gelusar are with us! Let's march!"

Chapter XVIII

The acolytes and priests at the Great Temple of Light were not unprepared for what was to come. They had heard the rumors that had flitted through the city in the last hour or two since the Elder Grandfather had been found dead, and they remembered all too well what had happened to the School of Divine Law.

The doors of the Temple were barred; there were men on the roofs and stationed in the towers, armed with rifles, and there were men on the lower floors armed with great knives, ready to defend the Temple against any onslaught.

Nor were the priests the only ones who were prepared to fight for the Holy Ground. Citizens from everywhere who had heard of the uprising gathered in the Square of Holy Light. They had not heard Grandfather Kiv's fulfilled curse on himself; they knew only that the Temple was under attack.

When the mob surged into the Square, they met armed resistance. Hands locked together, the townsfolk blocked the way. Peych-knives swung, rifles coughed from the roofs. Men dropped, bleeding and dying.

And still the invaders of the Square swarmed in through the three streets that led to it. Those who were in front were pressed ever onward by the relentless masses behind. Within fifteen minutes, the Square was slippery with blood, and the dead and dying were stumbling blocks for those who still fought— and as yet the Temple had not been touched.

Norvis, Ganz, and Marja were elsewhere. Norvis had finally persuaded the young hotheads that a frontal attack on the Temple, although it would be useful as a diversion, would not be the most direct way of releasing Kris. While the battle raged in the Square, the crews from the ships worked their way around to the rear of the Temple.

"Let's keep it quiet, men," Ganz said. "We'll come up from behind. They'll never know what hit them."

At the rear of the Temple was a narrow street, the same one down which Norvis had fled not too long before. It was watched by the priests; there was no chance of simply walking up that alleyway and taking the Temple easily. But Norvis had a plan.

A block to the rear of the Temple, he pointed to a two-story business building. It was dark, but in the gloom they could see a sign that read:

MEGIL & peMEGIL

FINE POTTERY

AND DISHWARE

"The back of this building faces on the rear of the Temple," Norvis said. "Ganz, you take a group to the roof and get the priests' minds off the alleyway below. You'll be one floor above them, so you'll have an advantage. They'll have to look up to shoot, so they won't be watching us.

"The rest of us will get through the window at the rear of the pottery shop and take the rear doors of the Temple. Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good. Let's go."

With the butt of a rifle, Norvis smashed in the door of the shop and the men surged in. Dishes and vases were scattered as the crewmen of the three ships plunged into the blackness of the pottery shop.

One of the men struck a torch and held it aloft. He pointed toward the back of the store. "There's the stair to the top!"

The torchlight glittered on broken fragments of blue and red and gold and green glazeware that lay in shards on the floor.

"Watch that torch!" Ganz said. "Put it out before we get to the top, or they'll spot us! Vyothin men, come with me! The rest of you follow Norvis peKrin!"

Ganz headed for the stairway, followed by the crew of the Vyothin.

"The rest of you come this way!" Norvis said. "And watch that pottery! Do you want to wake up the whole neighborhood?"

The men laughed, relaxing a little. The battle that still surged back and forth in the Square of Holy Light would drown out any noise that the crewmen could possibly make.

Norvis led them to the rear window. It was shuttered, and Norvis slid the bolt. "Now be quiet. I mean it this time. If the priests suspect we're down here, we're lost. They know by now that we're in this building, but since there's no door, they won't be looking down here unless we're too noisy. So shut up."

He eased the shutter open a crack and looked up.

"What's going on?" someone said.

Norvis jerked his head around. "Marja! What in the name of Darkness are you doing here? Get back! This is men's work!"

Marja said a single sharp, vulgar word. "If you think I'm going to stand around and do nothing, you're wrong. You can tell Ganz what to do, but you'll not keep me from Kris!"

Norvis wavered for a moment. He could order the men to take her back, but that would only create confusion. He cursed softly, then said: "All right. You stay. I'll treat you like a man—but you'd better obey like a man. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Old One," she said crisply.

By this time, Ganz and his men had reached the roof. There was a rattle of rifle fire, which was immediately returned from the roof of the Temple. Then, for a moment, there was silence.

Norvis gritted his teeth at the stupidity of Ganz's men and Ganz himself. The dumb sons of deests had all fired at the same time, a broadside into the priestly ranks. It had undoubtedly been effective— but now they had to stop and reload, giving the priests a breather that staggered fire would have averted.

Oh, well. Some men could reload faster than others. It would even itself out shortly.

The men behind him were growing impatient, but there was nothing Norvis could do but wait. Soon, the fire from the roof of the pottery shop began to form into a staggered pattern. And then Norvis heard an odd sound. It was a regular thump! thump! thump! that echoed around the streets that led to the front of the Temple.

It was drowned out for a moment by a loud, clarion ring from the Temple gong as a bullet struck it.

Then Norvis recognized the thumps. The mob at the front was battering at the door. He'd have to move fast.

He turned to Marja and whispered, "You and I will go first. We'll jump out of the window and run across the alley to the rear door of the Temple. If your brother keeps up the good work, no priest will dare lean over and try to shoot us. Don't try to get inside yet, though. Wait till I tell you." Then he flung open the shutter. "Let's go."

They leaped and ran. Not a shot was fired downward until long after Norvis and Marja were safe beneath the wall.

Meanwhile, the others were streaming from the window. It was less than thirty feet across the street, and the first few men made it safely. Then a priest saw them from above, and began firing at the window.

Three men dropped, one after another.

"There's enough of us here!" Norvis called. "The rest of you go upstairs and help Ganz!"

Then he turned to the men around him. "We're going in this door," he said. "There are probably men behind it, but if the main doors are being assaulted as heavily as it sounds, there won't be very many. All of you aim your weapons at the door. When I push it open, wait for my signal, and then fire."

He reached into his vest and pulled the heavy pistol from his belt. There was only a small bolt on the door; the Temple hadn't been built with the expectation of an armed assault.

Norvis stared at the door. Once, many years ago, he had been taken through the Temple by a friend of his mother's, Yorgen peBor Yorgen, whose father's father had been the Elder Yorgen. Norvis had only been ten at the time, but for some reason the fact stuck in his mind that the bolt had been at Yorgen peBor's shoulder height.

He lifted the pistol, pressed it against the door, and pulled the trigger. The resulting explosion almost tore his arm off.

"Hoy!"

He had never tried that trick before, and he had no idea of what pent-up gases from exploding gunpowder could do. His hand was numb, and the pistol was ruined, but the door swung open of its own accord.

There were two acolytes in the narrow hallway. Waving his useless pistol, Norvis ordered harshly, "Shoot them!"

The acolytes had just enough time to look startled before bullets ripped into them. The small group of sailors moved on into the darkened hallway, heading toward the dungeons. At the front of the Temple, the frantic assault continued noisily.

Chapter XIX

In the blackness of his unlighted cell, Kris peKym Yorgen stood just beneath the air chimney that led to the roof of the temple, his head cocked to one side to catch the sounds that drifted down from above.

What in the Name of the Light was going on up there, anyway? An occasional crack! of rifle fire was recognizable, but the murmuring and rumble in the background was hard to make out.

A mob again? It didn't seem likely. With all that damning evidence marshaled against him and his guilt proven beyond doubt, it wasn't likely that any of the people would still be on his side. The people all knew he had framed the Earthmen; why would they help him now?

The idea that Norvis might be storming the Temple to rescue him seemed just a little fantastic, but it was the only explanation he could think of. If it were Norvis, he thought, then there wasn't much chance of a rescue. A surprise move might have done it, a quick lightning swoop—but it sounded as though the populace had been aroused, and, if so, the few remaining loyal members of the Party would not last long against their fury.

He cursed bitterly. If only he could get out of this cell!

He heard noises reverberating faintly through the bronze door, and whirled quickly. If there were someone coming to rescue him, the priests might think it wisest to kill him now, instead of waiting until morning.

He walked quickly to the door of the cell and felt around. The cell was just narrow enough for what he wanted to do. A shorter man might not be able to manage it, but Kris thought he could.

Bracing his feet against one wall and his shoulders against the other, he began working his way up the rough stone wall. Once he was above the door, he turned and put his back against the wall over the door, keeping his feet and shoulders against the side walls. He was ready for anyone who came in. Die he might, but at least one priest would go down with a broken neck.

The noises in the hall were faint, but they kept up. And still no one opened his door. What's going on? Kris wondered again. His shoulder and leg muscles were tiring rapidly. By the time he finally heard the bar of his door being lifted, he was so cramped that he was ready to drop.

The door swung outward. Then was a discordant burst of sound, as though there were many men in the hall, and a blaze of torchlight glittered in the room. Kris poised himself to leap.

"Kris?" a voice said. "Kris, are you in there?"

Kris said: "Marja!" Between the cramping of his muscles and the surprise of hearing her voice, he lost his brace against the walls, toppled outward, and collapsed in a heap at the girl's feet.

He stood up gingerly, grinning.

"I guess nothing's broken," he said, rubbing his leg. He glanced around at the group who had filed into his cell. "What's happened?"

She told him quickly. "And when we got down here, we couldn't find which cell you were in. We've re leased all the other men."

"Good going." He glanced at Norvis, who stood behind Marja holding a torch. "Let's get the men together and get out of here."

The news had been good-astonishing, even. So the Elder Grandfather was dead? Didn't that prove that the Great Light was on the side of Kris peKym Yorgen? He smiled.

"Up the stairs!" he yelled. The men followed him out of the dungeon level and upward. Just as they emerged on the top of the stairs, a tremendous crash echoed through the building, followed by the savage roar of a raging mob. The doors of the Temple were down!

"Out the back way!" Kris snapped. It was a good feeling to be in command of his men again. "That mob's blind. It would just as likely kill us as anyone!" He charged down the hall with over a hundred men at his heels. There was a priest in the hall, but at sight of them, he dropped his peych-knife and fled wildly.

There was no one firing from the roof as the men poured out the back door. Ganz peDel was at the window of the pottery shop.

"We were about to come in after you," he called. "The priests who aren't dead have deserted the roof and gone below!"

"Stand aside!" Kris called. "Open those shutters wider! We're coming through."

It took time for a hundred-odd men to get through the window, and more of Megil & peMegil's pottery went the way of all dishware, but it was no more than a few minutes before the operation was completed. Kris pulled the shutters closed and bolted them. "Up to the roof," he said. "Maybe we can see what's happening."

From the roof of the pottery shop, there was little to see at first. There were unmoving blue-and-yellow-clad figures lying scattered over the roof of the Temple, but there was no sign of life. They could see the far edge of the Square, but it was difficult to tell whether there was anyone moving in the flickering torchlight.

But the roaring screams of the frenzied mob still filled the air.

Suddenly, one of Kris' men shouted. "Look! Look at the lens!"

The great lens on the roof of the Temple was glowing with orange-red light.

"Torches," someone said.

Kris shook his head. "Torches? No! Those silly fools are burning the Temple!"

It was true. The glow beneath the lens became brighter, and the howl of the mob changed in pitch and character as they ran out of the building, trampling their way back over the fallen front door. Soon the Square of Holy Light was filled with fleeing people.

Kris felt the way he had felt when the School had burned—helpless. But it was worse this time. He had not wanted to fire the Great Temple —no, not the Temple.

"The lens! The lens! Look at it!" Kris realized it was his own voice shouting.

A black fissure was moving across the huge lens, spreading rapidly, flawing its perfection. Then another and another appeared. The cooling rain dropping on it from above was competing with the hellish fire beneath.

Then, with a sudden roar, like a crack of thunder, the four-thousand-year-old lens, which had brought the beams of the Great Light into the Temple for hundreds of generations of Nidorians to worship, shattered into fragments and collapsed into the inferno of flame below.

Chapter XX

Leader Kris peKym Yorgen stopped at the gaping door of the Temple and looked in, as he had every morning for the week since the Temple's destruction. Norvis, at his side, waited patiently.

The interior of the auditorium was a blackened ruin. The costly drapes, the intricately carved pews, the fine paneling were nothing but ash which lay soggily on the floor, wet by the nightly rains that poured through the opening in the roof that once had held the lens. Now the hole gaped openly like a raw wound.

Somehow, Kris felt that he had lost a part of himself when the Temple burned. The Bel-rogas School had been nothing, actually.

A century ago, it had not even existed.

But the Temple had stood for four thousand years, rock-solid and seemingly eternal. And now it was a gutted shell.

Only the interior of the auditorium had burned; the thick stone walls of the building itself had only been blackened from holding the flames until they burned themselves out. The offices and the meeting rooms were untouched.

"You keep looking at that, Kris," Norvis said softly. "Are you thinking of cleaning it up, or rebuilding it, or—?"

Kris shook his head decisively. "No. Not yet. Not until the Council has been re-formed and we have returned to the Way or our Ancestors. Only then will we be in a position to rebuild the Temple. It was desecrated by the Earthmen, and the Great Light has cleansed it with fire. Not until we are worthy will we rededicate the Temple."

He turned and walked to the side door of the Temple which led into the offices and business rooms. The bronze doors that led into the auditorium had been discolored by the heat, but they had held back the fire. Only one of them was badly warped.

The guard at the stairway nodded as they approached. "Hoy, Ancient Leader. Hoy, Aged Secretary."

Kris nodded curtly and ascended the stair to his office. Norvis followed him up.

Grandfather Marn peFulda Brajjyd was already waiting for him. The priest was seated in the outer office, his fingers rubbing the small lens that hung on a silver chain around his neck. "Bless you, Leader Kris," he said, smiling.

"And you, Grandfather. What brings you here so early?"

"I've appointed a new Priest Mayor of Vashcor," Marn peFulda said. "An excellent young man. And as the oldest living priest of the Clan Brajjyd, I've come to take my place on the Council."

"Fine!" Kris said. "Let's go inside my office and figure this thing out."

"Your Announcement of Purification was a great stroke, my son," the Grandfather said as he followed Kris into the inner office. "It saved the life of a good many priests. Perhaps even I might not be alive today if you hadn't told the people that all those who were still under the influence of the Earthmen were dead."

They entered the office. Norvis said, "I'll go to my own room, Kris. I have a great deal of work to do."

Kris nodded. "Go ahead. There's plenty to be done." After Norvis was gone, Kris waved the priest to the chair facing his desk. "Sit down, Grandfather. We've got a little figuring to do. Nidor is still in an uproar. I've put the whole world under Peace Law—my men are acting as Peacemen, with the regular Peacemen under them. But that's not the Way of our Ancestors; we must return to the Way."

The priest nodded without speaking.

"There are nine of the original Council left alive after the fire," Kris said. "With you, that makes ten. We're six short."

Marn peFulda nodded. "And with the records destroyed, we have no way of actually knowing who the oldest priests of each Clan are. It may involve a little guesswork before we've filled the Council again, and"—he paused and smiled slyly—"I don't know how we'll ever decide who the Elder Leader will be."

"It doesn't matter," Kris said decisively. "We'll fill the Council somehow. And—you are hereby appointed Leader of the Council yourself, until the emergency's over. You'll take rank over all present and future members. They'll obey your orders."

"Excellent," the priest agreed. "It's a drastic measure, I'll admit— but these are times that require drastic measures."

"Right. There are a few other things to take care of, too. The old Council found me guilty of sacrilege, treason, and blasphemy. Ah—that decision must be set aside, since the Great Light has shown that I was right."

"Naturally," said the priest smoothly.

"There's only one other thing. Technically speaking, I hold no position in the Government at all. I think it might be wise to see to it that I have some sort of official standing."

The old man's eyes narrowed in thought. "There's no office I know of that ... wait a minute!" He stood up, walked to the bookcase in the back of the office, and took down the Scripture and the Law.

He flipped the sacred volume open, riffled through the pages, and selected the passage he wanted. "Here it is," he said. "Seventh Section. 'And it happened that in the days of Dmorno the Holy, the Great Light sent a blight over the land, for the people were unrighteous. The clouds that shielded the world from His angry radiance were dissipated and became thin, and the crops were withered and great storms raged. Being without food, the people suffered greatly.

" 'Now, at that time there lived a man of great wealth in Gelusar who had stored away vast quantities of peych-beans for his own subsistence, and the Council declared that he had much more than he needed, and that food from his warehouses should be dispensed to the poor and the needy. This he refused to do.

" 'Thereupon, the Council appointed an Executive Officer, a pious and strong man named Lordeth, who was given command of Peacemen and who went forth to the rich merchant and took from him his warehouses and distributed the food to the people.' "

The priest closed the book. "There you are. In emergencies it is perfectly proper to appoint an Executive Officer." Then a frown passed over his face. "I hope I can get the Council to agree."

"They'll agree," Kris said cheerfully. "If they don't, they'll wish they had. We must return to the Way of our Ancestors!"

The priest smiled. "You'll be the first man to hold that office in three thousand years, Kris peKym. You have a great responsibility, my son."

In a nearby office, Norvis fingered a writing pen in his hand as he spoke to little Dran peDran Gormek.

"Now, do you follow me, Dran peDran? Not a word of this to anyone."

Dran fidgeted. "Not even to the captain?"

Norvis pursed his lips. "Kris does not want it known that he even suspects there still are Earthmen on Nidor. It would weaken his position, you sec. If I'd selected anyone but you for the job, I'd have told them that Leader Kris doesn't even know about it. But I can trust you. Never even mention to him that you know anything about this— understand? That's the way he wants it."

Dran nodded. "I doesn't quite understand, but if the captain says so—he says so."

"Very well, then. Now look at the map." Norvis walked over to a map of Nidor hanging on the wall. "Here's Gelusar. Due East are the Mountains of the Morning. Here"—he made a tiny cross with his pen—"is the Earthmen's base. You'll go by deest to the foothills of the Mountains of the Morning, and then climb on foot the rest of the way. Now, mind you: all you're to do is look over the base. You're not to expose yourself in any way. Keep out of sight and you'll be safe."

"I'll do, sir."

"I want to know how many Earthmen there are, and whether it would be possible for us to get at them if we moved carefully. Perhaps they won't even be there; they may have deserted the base. But make sure, and don't go into the base itself, even if it looks deserted. Understand?"

"I understands," Dran said. "I goes immediately?"

"Immediately," Norvis said.

The small Bronze Islander left without further word. Norvis waited for him to close the door, then leaned forward and clasped his hands on his desk, looking abstractedly at the inlaid pattern in the wood.

The threads were beginning to come together now. Kris had proven to be three times the leader Del ever was—and the School lay in ruins, the Temple was a husk, Kiv was dead, and the power of the Council broken. Nidor's downward slide had been checked—maybe.

The whole thing hinged on whether the Earthmen were actually gone or not. Norvis' mother, Sindi iRahn peKiv Brajjyd, had told him about the base when he was young.

His father, Rahn peDorvis, had run away from the Bel-rogas School for some reason—Sindi had never said why—and Sindi had followed him. Rahn, taking a shortcut across the mountains on his way to Vashcor, had stumbled on the Earthmen's lair, and Sindi behind him. Rahn had been caught, and by some mysterious magic had had all memory of his visit removed. Sindi, unobserved, had seen all.

Norvis knew his mother had told the truth; the base was out there. It presented a potential threat to Nidor as long as it remained. How could they proceed with the job of rebuilding, if the Earthmen might be still on the planet?

Norvis needed information. Dran, a trained seaman, was observant. He should be able to bring back plenty of information. And it's information we need, Norvis thought grimly. We don't know nearly enough about the Earthmen—yet!

Chapter XXI

Kris peKym looked out his win-dew over Holy Gelusar and frowned. He had driven the Earthmen from Nidor; he had purified the Council. But the emergency was not yet over; he had much yet to do.

His attention was distracted by a motion at the corner of his eye. It was someone mounted on a magnificent blue-gray deest, trotting across the Square of Holy Light.

He smiled as he recognized Marja geDel. She deserved a magnificent deest; she was a magnificent woman. The rifle-armed guards around the Square nodded deferentially as she passed, giving honor to the betrothed of the Leader. Kris smiled. He had not asked her yet, but there was no question about it.

Or was there? Come to think of it, he'd better make sure. His position on Nidor would be just that much more secure if he were a family man.

The girl cantered her animal across the Square, dismounted before the Temple, and tethered her deest. She hadn't looked up. It would have been undignified for her to wave at him, or for him to call to her. She entered the door below, disappearing from Kris' sight.

He returned to his desk and sat down. Within less than a minute, there was a rap at the door.

"Come in, Marja."

She opened the door, smiling radiantly, and closed it again behind her. "Do you have any more work for me this morning?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Sit down a minute."

She frowned in puzzlement at his brusque manner. Kris ignored the expression, pulled a piece of paper toward him, and began writing.

"Kris—"

"Wait till I've finished, Marja."

He wrote deliberately, clamping his lips. When he was through, be lifted his eye and handed her the paper. "Take this list into the market center first. Have the stuff delivered if you can't carry it. That last item you'll have to look for—but don't take anything less than the best."

She read through the list. "All kinds of clothing—and furniture— and ... and a house!" She looked up. "Kris, what is this?"

He rested his chin in his palm and grinned at her. "If you're going to be Marja iKris, you'll have to have the best of everything, won't you?"

"Oh, Kris! When?"

"Three days is the proper time after announcement, isn't it? I'll announce it today."

"Fine," she said happily. "You'll have to ask Norvis peKrin first, though."

"Norvis? Why Norvis?"

"Didn't you know? Father signed guardianship of Ganz and me over to Norvis in case of his death—he did it several years ago."

"No, I didn't know that," Kris said. "But do you need a guardian? You're old enough to know what you're doing, you and your brother."

"Nevertheless, you'll ask Norvis. This has to be done properly."

"Anything you say. You'll have both him and Ganz as escorts, then?"

She smiled. "I think that would be the best. While you're talking to Norvis, I'll see to this list. But I'll need money."

"Don't worry about that," Kris said expansively. "Since the cobalt's back in the Bank, all that Dimay scrip I bought up at half price is worth face value again. Just tell the merchants to collect from Norvis, that's all."

She leaned over the desk and kissed him before she left.

It was more than the customary three days before the marriage could take place. On the scheduled wedding day, four more priests turned up with claims for the Elderhood, and each of them had to be considered in turn by the Council. Annoyed, Kris postponed the wedding two days and presided over a hearing, Marn peFulda at his side.

Two of the priests turned out to be of the Clan Shavill, and the younger of the two had to be sent back to his village with regrets. That left three vacancies in the Council: the clans Nitha, Sesom, and Gormek. Rumor had it that a Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek was going to sail soon from the Bronze Islands, but so far there was no sign of him.

Also, by a solid vote of acclamation, the thirteen Elders decided to appoint Merchants' Party Leader Kris peKym Yorgen as Executive Officer of Nidor, the investiture to take place on the day of the Feast of the Sixteen, Clans, which fell a day after his revised wedding date.

The wedding itself was a simple affair, held in the little Temple of Kivar on the southern side of the city. The Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda Brajjyd officiated.

The little temple held only a few people. The Council Elders attended, and a few personal friends, but the streets were blocked off by Peacemen to prevent the curious gawkers from interfering.

Norvis and Ganz stood on either side of Marja, who was dressed in the traditional purple cloak of maidenhood. Behind them was the altar, before them the open door of the temple. Kris stood in the doorway, resplendent in the black-and-red uniform of the Hundred Men.

Off to one side, Grandfather Marn gave a signal, and Kris strode toward the altar. Four paces before the trio, he stopped and said: "Norvis peKrin Dmorno, Ganz peDel Vyless, I greet you, I come to declare my love for the woman you have sworn to protect."

"Will you swear to protect her as we have?" Norvis asked.

Kris' answer was a long and involved oath, which he couldn't remember and had to read from the Book of Liturgy. When it was over, Norvis said, "If she will accept your oath, we will relinquish claim."

"I accept him," Marja said.

"Then we charge you, Kris peKym, to take her and feed her and clothe her and protect her. She is yours."

Marja stepped forward, and, as she did, Grandfather Marn raised his hand. "Hold! I ask both of you—have you asked the Great Light's blessing on this union?"

"We ask your blessing now, O Ancient Grandfather," Kris said. "And we ask that you pray for us."

Grandfather Marn gave his blessing and the ceremony was over.

It was over, and Norvis, for one, was glad of it. He watched Kris ride off on a deest with Marja in the saddle in front of him, while the Hundred Men led them on a triumphal parade to their new home.

Norvis felt a warm glow of accomplishment as he watched them round the corner and head northward. Kris had done his job and done it well; he deserved what he was getting—wealth beyond any ordinary person's dreams, and one of the most beautiful girls on the face of Nidor.

Quite a triumph, Norvis thought, for one who would have been a simple peasant's son had all gone well with Nidor.

Norvis shrugged and mounted his own deest. He had other work to do. He, too, trotted northward, but by a different route; he had no desire to take part in the parade. As he wended his way through the streets, no one seemed to pay any attention to him. He was a nonentity, a nobody, merely the Party Secretary. Which was just the way he liked it.

He was only a few blocks from the Temple when he saw a familiar figure turn onto the avenue from a side street just ahead.

"Dran!" he called. "Dran peDran Gormek!" He urged his mount to a faster pace.

Dran reined in and turned his head. "Hoy! Secretary!"

Norvis pulled up beside him. "How was the trip?"

"I is dirty and tired," Dran said.

There was a grin, on his owlish face. "Climbing mountains is hard work." As they trotted on down the street, side by side, he added, "I is got good news for you, though. I find—"

"Not yet," Norvis interrupted. "This is too public. You can tell me what you know about them at the office."

"But that's just it," Dran said, still grinning. "We isn't got anything to worry about! They isn't there!"

Norvis jerked his head around. "What? What's that?"

"They isn't there," Dran repeated. "I find the place you mention—a wide, flat area. But there isn't anything there. No buildings, no magic machines, no nothing."

"I see," Norvis said slowly. "Yes, I see."

"That means the captain really is driven them off Nidor! We is free— really free!"

Norvis nodded abstractedly. When they pulled up in front of the Temple, he said, "Since you found nothing, Dran, there's no need to tell anyone of my foolish suspicions, is there? We'll just forget it."

"Sure, Secretary," Dran agreed. "You is done the right thing. You has to know the truth. Now we knows."

"That's right, Dran. I'll see that you get a bonus for this—and you can do a little celebrating."

"Hoyhoy! Thanks to you, Secretary Norvis!"

An hour later, Norvis was saddling his deest and slinging two saddlebags of supplies over the animal. He had told Kris that he was going to Tammulcor on business, to check on the Bank of Dimay, which was still in the throes of reorganization.

But he had no intention of heading south; he was going east, to the Mountains of the Morning. Dran peDran had seen nothing—but that meant nothing. Norvis recalled his mother's telling him how the Earthmen had taken a part of his father's memory. Rahn peDorvis had never remembered anything about that trip to the mountains.

If the Earthmen could take a memory away, couldn't they replace it with a false one?

Maybe there was nothing up there; maybe there never had been. But Norvis realized he could never take another's word for that. Dangerous jobs could be delegated, sure —and, Norvis thought, it was best for all that dangerous jobs be done by someone else. But there were times when a job could only be done by one person—and in this case, that person was Norvis peRahn Brajjyd.

He pushed a pair of pistols into his belt and lifted himself into the saddle. Twenty minutes later, he was trotting across the Bridge of Gon, heading eastward across the Tammul into Thyvash towards the Mountains of the Morn.

Chapter XXII

The day of the Feast of the Sixteen Clans brought a brisk wind from the east, heavy-laden with dampness.

Kris looked out the window of his office, watching the lower wisps of the eternal cloud blanket scudding across the sky.

"I hope we're not in for a storm," he said. "This would be a poor time for the Great Light to send His Flashing Emissaries across the sky." He smiled grimly. "The noise they make might drown out my speech."

Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda chuckled. "The investiture takes place immediately after the midday services, and the sky ought to be quiet by then. Don't worry about it."

Kris turned from the window and settled himself in his chair. "You know, Grandfather, it's a peculiar feeling to realize that more than four thousand sacrifices have been made to the Great Light on the Feast of the Sixteen Clans at the Great Temple—and this year there will be none."

"I know," the priest agreed. "It is His will."

Kris stared at the surface of his desk for a long moment, and then pulled himself out of his introspective mood with some effort. "You'll be the celebrant at the services, of course?"

The Elder Grandfather nodded. "We'll start at the Temple of Kivar, just as we did with your wedding— but this will be an official ceremony, and, if I may say so, much more imposing. The actual investiture will take place on the balcony of the Great Temple, as you asked."

Kris nodded. "Good. You—" There was a rap at the door. "It's Ganz peDel, Leader," came the voice.

"Come in, Ganz," Kris called out. He was getting to like the hoy; except for the hatred for the priesthood that his father had instilled in him, young Ganz might eventually have made a good Party. Leader. Perhaps, even yet—

The boy walked in. There's a priest to see you, Leader." There was no distaste in his voice; he had learned to conceal it well. Or perhaps he was actually changing his mind about the priesthood.

"Who is it?" Kris asked.

"A Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek, of the Bronze Islands."

Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda stood up. "The Gormek Elder! Excellent! Send him in, my son."

Ganz stepped back, closing the door.

Grandfather Marn turned to Kris. "This makes fourteen! The Elder Council will soon be complete, my son. I hope he's as good a man as his predecessor, Elder Vesol peSkel Gormek; in spite of the fact that he was ... ah ... under the influence of Darkness, he was a wise old man."

Kris shrugged. "Darkness take Vesol peSkel; let's see what this Bronze Islander is like."

The door opened, and a blue-robed priest stepped in. His face was like a piece of wrinkled leather, covered with sparse silvery fuzz. He peered around the room with bright, clear eyes, seeming to take in everything at a glance.

He nodded his head at the Elder Grandfather. "Elder, I asks your blessing. I is Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek."

Marn peFulda gave his blessing. Then: "May I ask the date of your birth, Grandfather?"

The priest smiled. "On the ninth day after the Feast of the Great Lawyer, in the Year of Dmorno, of the 320th Cycle."

Kris sat up in his seat. The old Gormek was older than Marn peFulda—and theoretically deserved to be Leader!

But the old priest raised his hand. "You doesn't need to worry, Elder Grandfather; I is heard about Leader Kris peKym's order. You is the Elder Leader, and I does not wish to make any claims. I is an old man; I knows nothing about governing a world. I is been isolated on my Islands for more than seventy years. I has no political ambitions, but when I is called, I comes." He turned to Kris. "I gives you my blessing, Leader Kris. You is been needed on Nidor."

Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda relaxed visibly. "I welcome you, Elder Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek. Will you be ready to take part in the investiture of our Executive Officer after the midday services?"

"I is happy to," the Elder Gormek said.

Marn peFulda looked back at Kris and said, "The Council is about to meet. I'll be with you at the services."

Kris nodded. "Good. I'll see you then."

Kris peKym Yorgen, Executive Officer of Nidor, stood upon the balcony of the Great Temple and faced the throngs of people in the Square of Holy Light.

The investiture ceremony was over; a long triumphal procession through the streets had preceded it, with the people cheering on every side. And all the way up from the smaller temple, Kris' name had been shouted.

The procession itself had been colorful. Half of the Hundred men were in the lead, their red-and-black uniforms worn proudly; the other half brought up the rear. Between them, mounted on brightly caparisoned deests, had come the new Council of Elders, with their blue-and-gold robes and their bronze coronets gleaming in the filtered light. And then, surrounded by yellow-robed acolytes, had come Kris peKym Yorgen, the Great Exorciser and Executive Officer of Nidor.

The wind had added its own touch, whipping the robes around, making them flutter brightly beneath the effulgence of the Great Light.

All this was a bright memory in Kris' mind as he stood on the balcony of the gutted Great Temple and looked at the cheering throng below. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda Brajjyd stand and raise his crossed arms in a general blessing. The crowd became quiet.

The Grandfather looked at the sky. "O Holy Light, we have, this midday, offered our sacrifice in Your name, and now, we ask Your blessing on Your people and on Your Priesthood.

"Led by those who had fallen under the influence of the accursed Earthmen, we have erred in Your sight. But now we have been illumined by Your light, and we seek to repair the damage that has been done and atone for the injury we have done You. We pray for Your blessing upon us."

He lowered his arms and looked out over the Square of Holy Light. "We, the Elders of Nidor, in Council assembled, have come this day to invest in a great man the powers of a special Office. All of you know what has happened—"

The Grandfather continued his introduction for several minutes, but Kris' attention drifted away. He thought of what he was going to tell the people. What he said today would not only be spread all over Nidor, but would ring through history for all eternity. It had to be just right. It had to be perfect.

So intent was he on his own thoughts that he barely noticed when the Elder Leader put the bronze chain around his neck—the chain carrying a specially struck medal signifying his office. He scarcely noticed as the other Elders gave him their blessing. Only when the Elder Leader said, "... and now your Executive Officer will speak; I charge you to pay strict attention to what he has to say," did Kris return fully to his surroundings.

He stepped forward to the rail of the balcony and raised his hand to still the shouting and applause.

When the crowd finally grew quiet, he said, "Bless you for your righteousness, my friends. The Great Light has granted us His illumination, and the—"

He got no further. He saw what had happened only a fraction of a second before he felt it.

Across the Square, from a window of one of the buildings, had come a puff of smoke, which the wind had quickly whipped away. Then had come the sound of a loud cough.

And then had come a painless shock, as though someone had hit him hard in the chest with a pillow. Kris fell back, more with surprise than anything else, looking down at the tattered hole in his vest and the blood that seeped out of it.

There was confusion all around him, but still he didn't pay any attention. Someone grasped him by the shoulders and eased him to the floor of the balcony. Someone shouted for a surgeon and a physician. From somewhere came the crack of rifles. But to all these, Kris paid no attention.

He put his hand up to his chest, and someone pulled it away.

"Is he dead?" asked a voice behind him.

"No," said another. "He's badly hurt, but it didn't strike his heart."

"We must get a doctor—quickly!" said a third.

And then sight and sound and feeling dissolved into the darkening blur of unconsciousness.

Chapter XXIII

Norvis peRahn Brajjyd wanted to snarl and curse, but he hardly dared breathe. The wind-whipped night rain had made his body-hair cling soggily to his body, his clothes were dripping with water, and the rocks were so slippery that it seemed almost impossible to climb them— especially with the wind sweeping down the mountains, tugging at his clothing and splashing rain in his eyes.

Still he pushed on; he didn't want to be caught on the mountain when firstlight came. He had waited at the foot of the towering pile of bare rock until nightfall. His mother had climbed it successfully at night, and that was the way he was going to do it.

He knew he was in the right place; it was the only place that looked as though it might be a gap in the mountains through which one could reach Vashcor.

At last he reached the top, and was overjoyed to see the oddly-shaped rock his mother had described to him. Now he knew beyond doubt that he was in the right place.

He edged his way up to the rock and peeped over.

And a vast disappointment washed over him, hardly diluted at all by the faint sense of relief he felt.

There was nothing there at all. There was nothing but the broad, flat area that Dran peDran had described. The dim glow of the Lesser Light didn't show much detail, but it was obvious that there had been buildings of some kind here once —the flat plain itself was artificially leveled.

But it was empty. Nothing moved on it, nothing but the little rivulets of water that skittered across its surface ahead of the driving wind.

The Earthmen were really gone, then. Somehow, it didn't seem right. There seemed to be something left unexplained.

"Welcome, Norvis peRahn Brajjyd," said a soft baritone behind him. "I thought you'd never get here."

Norvis turned slowly. The only surprise he felt was in the fact that he was not surprised at all. He knew who it was, and it seemed right somehow.

"Hoy, Smith," he said. He drew his gun and aimed it at the Earthman's midsection. "Wet out, isn't it?"

Smith, standing tall and solid a few feet away, pretended not to notice the gun. "Wet? Yes; I've always hated Nidorian weather. But then, I doubt if you'd like Earth. Direct light from the sun wouldn't be too good for your skin."

Norvis looked at the man he had hated for so long, and felt an almost overwhelming desire to press the trigger. But he stayed his hand. He needed information first.

"What are you, Smith?" It was a short, hard question.

"You, tell me," the Earthmen replied.

"You're mortal, I'm sure of that. You may have long life, but if I shot you, you'd die like anyone else."

The Earthman smiled a little. "Right. And where do we come from? The Outer Darkness?"

"Something like it," said Norvis. "Without the mystical rot. My guess is this: according to Scripture, a cataclysm thousands of years ago all but wiped out life here. If you read between the mysticism, you'll see that what happened was that most of the great continents sank beneath the sea. Only sixteen families survived to come to Nidor, led by Bel-rogas Yorgen. But I think there are other continents out there in the sea, and I think you Earthmen come from one of them. None of our ships has ever sailed out far enough to find it; they couldn't carry enough food or water. But with the machines you have, you could come to Nidor. Originally, we must have come from the same stock—but men, like animals, can change over the years and diverge from each other. So, in a way, you are from the Outer Darkness."

Smith chuckled. "Very clever. Wrong, of course, but very well thought out. I tell you in all truth that we are both from the Outer Darkness and from the place where the Great Light is."

Norvis shrugged. "You're being ridiculously cryptic, but—no matter. What I wanted to ask was—why? Why did you have me thrown out of school? Why did you lie? Why did you wreck my life and the life of Nidor?"

"Why? To save your life, Norvis. Remember what happened to Dran peNiblo Sesom?"

Norvis nodded slowly. Dran peNiblo, the sniveling blockhead who had received the credit for discovering the growth hormone Norvis had worked so long and hard to find— Dran peNiblo had been mobbed and hanged because his discovery had caused the Great Depression.

"If you had taken credit for your work," the Earthman went on inexorably, "you would have died as surely as he did. Didn't you ever wonder why such a stupid, mean little creature was ever allowed to enroll at Bel-rogas?"

Norvis blinked. "You let him in just to use him as a scapegoat?"

"Why else? He was expendable— you weren't. And did we really ruin your life? You've been wealthier, happier, and more powerful this way than if you'd been hailed as the discoverer of the Growth Hormone."

"So poor Dran peNiblo was framed for death. You're a pack of ruthless scoundrels, Smith!" His finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn't quite press it—yet.

"So now it's 'poor Dran,' is it?" Smith asked sardonically. "And we're ruthless scoundrels? You're thinking isn't very clear tonight, Norvis peRahn. Are we more ruthless than you? Who was it who murdered the man who had befriended him and given him a good job when he was a youth without a weight to his name? Who was it who shot down Del peFenn Vyless in cold blood?"

Norvis' gun hand shook. How had the Earthman known that? How did they know so much? How—? He clamped down on his whirling thoughts.

"I did it for the good of Nidor," he said harshly. "Do you think I liked doing it? If Del had gone on with his tirades against the priests, the Merchants' Party would have collapsed in a year. He would never have stepped down peacefully and let Kris peKym take over. I had to do it—don't you see?" His voice became almost pleading at the end.

Smith answered softly, "We do see, Norvis. But we want you to see, too. Now do you know how we felt when they hanged an innocent boy? Now do you know how we felt when the students and priests of Bel-rogas were butchered by a howling mob? We could have stopped it. We knew the cobalt was buried there. Do you think Kris could have carried off such a stupid trick if we hadn't helped him?" Smith smiled. "We knew what would happen, and we didn't lift a finger to stop it—because it was for the good of Nidor."

For the first time, Norvis thought he saw a glimmer of light. "How?" he said. "Why?"

"Why? Now that you've lowered that pistol, I'll tell you."

Norvis looked at his gun hand. The pistol was pointed at the wet rock at his feet. He brought it up again—and stuck it in his belt.

"All right," he said. "Let's hear it."

Smith's bearded face broke into a grin. "Not here; you must be soaking wet."

"It's nothing. I—" And then, for the first time, he saw that Smith, standing there in the driving rain, was comfortably dry. The raindrops, now that he looked closer, seemed to be going around the Earthman somehow.

He suddenly felt very foolish. "The bullet would have done the same thing," he said aloud.

Smith nodded. "I'm afraid so. I didn't think you'd shoot, but I value my life very much." He reached inside the pearl-gray shirt and took out a small, flat box which had a belt attached to it. "Put this on," he said, handing it to Norvis. "It's a remote-control job, connected to my own; I'm afraid you couldn't handle the controls without practice."

Numbly, Norvis strapped on the little force-field generator. Smith did something with the box at his own waist, and Norvis felt himself suddenly surrounded by a warm thickening of the air around him.

"We're going up," said the Earthman. "Don't panic."

"I won't," Norvis said. Suddenly the ground dropped away from beneath him. He had no sense of motion; it was as though Nidor itself were falling away. He gasped. It was more frightening than anything he had ever felt.

"Relax," Smith said. "Don't look down. Look at me."

Norvis forced his head up. There was Smith, just standing there— with nothing below him. It was as though they were still on the ground.

"It's a little surprising the first time," Smith said. "But you get used to it."

"But—" There was something missing, and Norvis couldn't place it at first. Then it hit him. "Where's ... where's the blue glow?" he asked.

"This?" Smith touched his belt, and the familiar blue aura surrounded him for a few seconds. Then it blinked off.

"I see," Norvis said. "It isn't a necessary part of the machine's effect; it was just to impress us."

"Partly," agreed Smith, "but it was more to mislead you. If you Nidorians had thought we could float around in the air unseen, you'd have been constantly on the lookout for us at night. But as long as you expected a blue glow, we could do our snooping unsuspected and undetected."

A sudden fog enveloped them, and Norvis felt as though he were hanging suspended in nothingness. "Where are we going, Smith?" His voice sounded strangled and helpless.

"Hold on, Norvis. We're going through the cloud layer."

Suddenly, above him, Norvis saw a glow of light. It seemed to be moving toward him, brightening as it came.

"And what's that, Smith?"

"Just the open door of a spaceship," the Earthman said. "The men inside are guiding us toward it now."

They were floating just outside it, It was an open door in a wall of metal—hanging in the sky. Norvis' brain felt as though it were spinning dizzily with fear.

And then he and Smith were floating inside. The door closed behind them, and abruptly everything was all right again. He was standing in an ordinary room—well, all that metal and the queer things around the walls were strange, but it was a room—just a room. Not the terrifying nothingness he had just experienced. He stamped on the floor, enjoying the solid feel of the plastic-covered metal floor beneath his feet.

"Don't rock the boat, Norvis peRahn," said one of the Earthmen, laughing pleasantly.

Norvis looked at the two other Earthmen in the room. "Boat?" he said blankly. "Is this a boat?"

"Something like it," said Smith. "Norvis peRahn, I'd like you to meet my friends, Harrison and Davis."

Norvis nodded mutely. The Earthman Davis looked very much like Smith; Harrison's skin was darker, and he was beardless.

Then he noticed that the Earthmen were looking at him closely. "What's ... the ... matter?"

Davis and Harrison grinned. "Sorry," Davis said. "We've just never seen a Nidorian in the flesh before. You're a very handsome people."

"They're the crew of this small ship," Smith explained. "They've never seen the populated parts of Nidor, only the spacefield."

Norvis let out his breath. "Can I sit down?"

"Sure," Harrison said. He touched something on the wall, and a small, cunningly-concealed seat slid out. Norvis sat down gratefully. "You call this a ship," he said. "The idea of a ship that sails through the sky is fantastic!"

"Think so? How would you like to see the Great Light?"

In spite of himself, Norvis felt a tingle of shock.

"Before we do," Smith went on, "I'll explain what the Great Light is. It's simply a huge ball of incandescent gas."

"It?" Norvis had never heard the Great Light referred to with a neuter pronoun.

"It's a great ball of gas," Smith continued. "So big that your mind may have trouble grasping it, and so distant from Nidor that it's unbelievable. If there were a road leading from Nidor to the Great Light, and you had a fast deest that would never tire, and you rode at top speed, day and night—it would take you more than a thousand years to reach it!"

Norvis said nothing. He couldn't.

"Take her up, Davis," Smith said. "We'll show him what we're talking about."

A few moments passed, as Norvis sat dazedly. Then Smith said, "Norvis, come here." He walked over to where the three Earthmen were standing in front of a large pane of black glass. Behind the glass were thousands of tiny sparks of light.

"You see," Smith said, "but you don't understand. We said we came from the Outer Darkness, remember? That's it. And those little lights, Norvis, are thousands upon thousands of Great Lights, so far away that it's impossible for me to tell you how far—your language doesn't cover it!"

Norvis dizzily tried to grasp the immensity of the great black abyss he was staring into. Then, out of the corner of the window, there came a line of light, a great curve of glowing radiance. Below it was utter blackness.

"We're taking you out where you can see Nidor; that's your Great Light, shining through the clouds on the other side of your world. We're on the night side now, but we're heading for the day side. We'll have to put filters on the viewport; the Great Light is so bright it would blind you in a few seconds if you looked directly at it."

They showed him the Great Light, and they showed him the huge white ball that was the cloud-covered Nidor. They explained it all, carefully. He learned that his theory about the Cataclysm was correct; Nidor was a planet of shallow seas and low mountains, and after the tremendous earthquake of thousands of years before, only one little continent had remained—the continent Norvis' people had called Nidor, and which they had thought was the whole universe.

When it was all over, he was sitting again on the little seat, facing the three Earthmen. "It's, terrible," he said softly. "We have thought that the Great Light was something that helped us and protected us, but—"

"Just a minute," Davis said. "Don't get the idea we're trying to tell you that there isn't Someone who keeps an eye on us all. We, too, have a concept of a Great Being —but if He exists, that ball of gas put there is just part of His handiwork; if He exists He's a lot bigger and grander and more powerful than that star. And, if He exists, your prayers have reached Him, no matter what you call Him."

Norvis nodded, but he knew his faith in the priesthood of the Great Light, small though it had been before, was now completely shattered. He frowned. "What was your reason for doing all this, Smith?"

The Earthman knotted his fingers together. "Let's look at it this way," he said, after a long pause. "A man needs friends. He can't live alone. He must have someone to like and love, and someone or something he can pit himself against. Call it conflict, call it challenge, if you like. Not the bloody conflict of battle, but the friendly conflict of a game. Do you follow?"

Norvis nodded hesitantly.

"Well, we Earthmen need friends, too. It's the same thing with a race. Long ago, we were divided into different groups—not true races, for they could interbreed, but differing in skin color and other minor ways. These groups conflicted with one another — sometimes violently — and this conflict helped to make us wiser and stronger because, in watching others we learn more about ourselves.

"We fought and quarreled and argued. We were divided by religions and political beliefs and by skin color, and the battles surged over Earth for many thousands of years. And all the time, we were learning. We developed weapons so powerful we dared not use them; we conquered Space and the battles still went on. But eventually, the inevitable happened.

"The lines of demarcation between the groups began to blur. Political divisions became meaningless, religious differences were smoothed out, and the various races blended into one. We became a unit. A single, solidified group—-the Earthmen. We had conquered our planet and the stars. And ourselves.

"But we lacked something," Smith continued. "We lacked friends. And we lacked conflict. Within a few thousand years, we would stagnate and become static and—eventually— die out. And then we found Nidor. We had searched for another intelligent race for centuries before we found you. Once, we found an intelligent race — vicious, monstrous things whose thinking was so different from ours that we had no common meeting ground. We were forced to destroy them.

"But Nidor was perfect—an intelligent species, not too unlike us, with a way of thinking only slightly different. And there was no question of our ever losing our separate identities as races; Earthman and Nidorians are too unlike for that. But we had found what we needed. We needed you—and you needed us. You had formed a perfectly static society; it was incredible to us that a society could remain unchanging for so long. So we had to get you to move, to start a dynamic instead of a static civilization."

Smith moistened dry lips. "We have done that now," he said.

"I still don't understand," Norvis said weakly. "You've wrecked us— ruined us. Things will never be the same again. Why didn't you just come down and teach us about your race and your world, instead of all this mummery?"

"It wouldn't have worked. Unless your people developed on their own, they would have been so overwhelmed by us that we could never be equals. So we had to smash your culture—force you to learn to build anew."

"But—to smash us so completely!"

Smith smiled. "We were very gentle, believe me. We could have hit you so hard you'd never have recovered—at least not in time to be of any use to us. What would happen, Norvis, if we'd dumped a few hundred billion weights of cobalt all over Nidor? Or printed up perfect imitations of paper scrip? Or blighted the peych-beans for a century? What would have happened? And there are even worse ways. No. We had to be very careful and handle you gently."

"I ... it's incredible, Smith."

The Earthman smiled. "The first thing we needed was a better, cleverer kind of Nidorian—one who could think for himself. So we started the Bel-rogas School. We taught you, and well—but the main purpose was something else.

"Our admission requirements were high. Only very intelligent and very healthy students were admitted. And the School was surrounded by spacious parks filled with romantically secluded nooks. Do you follow me?"

Norvis' face broke into an awed smile. "Great Light! My mother and father met there—and my grandparents! You brought the best of Nidor there to ... to breed them!"

Smith smiled. "That's a rather crude term for it, but it is selective breeding. Nobody's free will was interfered with—no one was forced into anything. It was simply made very convenient. And we got the result we wanted, Norvis. You!"

"Me? I am—"

"You're the result of four generations of carefully-controlled genetic manipulation. There are others, of course, but your line was the best. And believe me, you far exceeded our expectations. Tell me—why aren't you the Executive Officer of Nidor, instead of Kris peKym?"

"I didn't want it," Norvis said. "I found out years ago that heroes don't live very long. I tried it and damned near got stoned to death for my pains. Since then, I've left the heroics up to hero-types—like Del and Kris."

"And Ganz peDel," Smith added.

Norvis nodded. "I'll probably need Ganz too before long; if Kris peKym keeps up the way he has been, someone's going to slit his throat one of these days. But what's this got to do with your program?"

"Simply that it succeeded better than we expected. Actually, we'd pictured you as the hero. We figured you'd get killed, of course, but not before you'd done your work. As it is, you'll live to a ripe old age, pulling the strings behind the scenes. And it won't be necessary for us to train your successor."

"I feel as though you're pulling my strings," Norvis said.

"In a way, perhaps—but no more than we were manipulating the rest of Nidor. You happened to be an important man, that's all.

"In your grandfather Kiv's time, he was important. He was studying the hugl, so we bred a new kind of hugl and started the Great Plague— which he stopped, and, in doing so, made the first big crack in your static culture. Your mother was a Brajjyd, and she married a Brajjyd —-another crack in a culture that had forbidden in-clan marriage.

"And you? You found the growth hormone—all by yourself. We knew what would happen, so we pulled you out of a nasty jam and at the same time gave you a good motive for hating us."

"And driving you off the planet," Norvis said.

"Which you did admirably. We haven't done a thing since you appeared—except toss our best students out on their ears and make them hate the School, just as we did you. You've got a lot of smart lads there, Norvis. Make use of them."

Norvis nodded, grinning. "I think I'll build another school—with lots of nice, romantic parks."

Smith laughed. "Good! But remember—we haven't controlled you for years—not since we tossed you out. We actually have never really controlled you. Even when you were in School, I let you go ahead on your own. Your discovery of the hormone was, as I said, completely your own.

"No—of all people on Nidor, you alone have been completely free to do and think and act as you liked— to do the things that you thought were right for Nidor. We watched, yes—but we have neither helped nor hindered. We simply kept silent and made our preparations to leave Nidor.

"Nidor today is your product, and its future is up to you. For we are leaving—completely."

Norvis chuckled softly. "Funny. I've dedicated fifteen years of my life to driving you Earthmen away, and now that I've done it, I don't want you to go." He looked up into the Earthman's eyes. "I see what you mean. A race needs friends. I like you, Smith. And my children's children will like yours."

"I hope so," Smith said. "Now. we must go—and you and I will never see each other again. It's all yours, the whole mess. You've got a broken culture to put together again. You've got at least two heretical religions springing up—the New Lawyer in Lebron, and the group in Sugon. You'll have political factions; you'll have a complete breakup of the Clan system soon. You'll have more riots, more battles, more bloodshed. But keep moving forward. In the end, you'll have something better than the dead Way of your Ancestors."

"Aren't you ever coming back?"

"Not in your lifetime—or mine. Oh, we'll peek in once in a while to check your progress, but we won't touch. This new civilization has to be a Nidorian one—not just a copy of our own. Eventually, you'll build ships like this, and we can meet on even terms—as friends."

"But Nidorians will hate Earthmen for a long time."

"Don't worry about that. We don't really call ourselves by the Nidorian word 'Earthmen'—our own term means the same, but it sounds completely different. And these beards were grown for a purpose. Nidorians will remember the beards long after they've forgotten everything else. And we don't normally wear beards. No, your people won't know us when they first meet us, and when we finally tell them we'll both have a big laugh on the joke we pulled on their ancestors. We—"

Harrison stood up and glanced at a little machine on his wrist. "Five minutes to rendezvous with the mother ship, Smith. You about through?"

"I think so. Any more questions, Norvis?"

"I don't think so," he said firmly. "I think I understand. I'm ready to go back."

"Good. The rest is up to you. I'm going to send you back down alone —think you can take it?"

Norvis nodded. "I've seen so much now that a little drop of a few miles won't hurt me."

"Fine," Smith said. A humorous twinkle came into his eyes. "By the way, don't think you're going to get away with the force-field generator. When you get down, take it off and throw it away. We're going to destroy it, and you don't want to be anywhere near it when we do."

Norvis grinned. "I won't be."

He wasn't. When his feet touched the ground only a few feet from where he had tethered his deest, he felt the force-field die. Quickly, he unstrapped the generator from his waist and hurled it away into the rocks.

Then he mounted the animal and rode westward, not even looking backward when a silent burst of light illuminated the landscape around him. The Earthmen were gone.

He rode slowly, his mind still dazed. He had gone to the Mountains of the Morning to find out the secret of the Earthmen—and he had found. The magnitude of the Earthmen's plan dazzled him. He rode on, revolving the concept in his mind.

Nidor was a mess, as Smith had said. But it could soon be straightened out; it—

And then, quite suddenly, as though the Great Light Himself had given full illumination to his mind, Norvis peRahn Brajjyd realized the enormity of the terrible thing he had done.

He had done.

He.

The Earthmen hadn't ruined Nidor—no, not at all. Everything they had done had healed itself. The hugl plague had done nothing really drastic to Nidor; in a hundred or two hundred years, it would have been forgotten. The discovery of the growth hormone had done nothing in the long run; it, too, would have vanished away in the mists of the monotonous history of Nidor.

Who had started the Merchants' Party, and thus conceived for the people of Nidor the idea that there could be more than one group contending for supremacy? Who?

Norvis peRahn Brajjyd.

Who had begun, secretly, the little splinter groups of religion that now threatened the whole Nidorian culture?

Who?

Norvis peRahn Brajjyd.

Who had engineered the rebellion against the Earthmen? Who had actually caused the burning of the School? Who had started the agitation of the crazed masses who had burned and destroyed the Great Temple? Who had instituted the idea that Nidorians should be led by a single popular strong man instead of a senile Council of Elders?

Who had ruined, beyond any hope of redemption, the culture, the mores, the ideals of Nidor?

Who?

Norvis peRahn Brajjyd!

There was bitterness in his mouth and in his mind as he realized the full truth of what the Earthman had told him.

The process was irreversible; Nidor could never go back to the Way of the Ancestors. That Way implied a certain innocence—an ignorance of other ways. But Norvis had introduced too many new ideas. A culture which had once been static had become dynamic simply because it had been overburdened with new ideas and concepts.

It wasn't catastrophes that had ruined Nidor—not even the Great Cataclysm had done that. It had been ideas—devastatingly new ideas—that had done the terrible, irreparable damage to a culture which had sustained itself intact for thousands and thousands of years.

For a decade and a half, Norvis had hated the Earthmen for what they had done. Then, when Smith had explained, he had thought that they were doing it—had done it— for the good of Nidor, and he had felt relief.

But now he knew that the Earthmen had done nothing directly. They had simply bred—yes, bred!—a Nidorian who would do thru work for them. And he had. As they had known he would.

He didn't know, at that point, whether he hated Smith or worshiped him—or, perhaps, feared him.

He decided it must be hatred, but it wouldn't do him any good to hate Earthmen, He was helpless, as they had known he would be. He had to rebuild Nidor— rebuild it along the lines they wanted. Why? Because he was built that way; he could do nothing else. He couldn't stand around and watch his home, his people, dissolve into barbarism.

He was irrevocably dedicated to the course ahead of him.

Damn them, he thought. Damn them! And then, after a moment: Bless their damned souls!

It was the night of the second day when he arrived in Holy Gelusar. The Great City looked oddly unimportant now, no longer the metropolis he had once thought it to be. He trotted across the Bridge of Gon and headed toward the Great Temple.

No sooner did he approach the charred building when a guard rushed up. "Secretary Norvis! Where have you been? We've looked all over Nidor for you!"

"What's happened?" Norvis asked. It was near morning, and he was tired.

"Leader Kris has been shot!"

"Take me to him!" Norvis said, he dismounted and the guard led him up the stairs to the room where Kris lay. His fingers quivered a little as he threw open the door.

Marja was standing at the foot of the bed, and Ganz by the Leader's side. Two other men that Norvis recognized as physicians stood by helplessly.

Norvis glanced at one of them. "How's his condition?"

"Serious," the physician said bleakly. He lowered his voice. "We don't have much hope."

Kris, Norvis thought sadly. You were almost a son to me—and here you are, dying of the bullet I should have gotten.

He took Kris' cool, limp hand. The Leader opened his eyes slowly and focused them on Norvis.

"I heard what that doctor said," he muttered indistinctly. "Not much hope. You don't have to hide it from me."

"Easy, Kris," Norvis said. "Don't talk."

"Doesn't matter. I'm going, maybe it's best this way—cut off at the top. Wealthy, good wife, everyone cheering. Earthmen gone. Nidor rebuilding. I might have lived to see worse." His head sank back. "You've been good to me, Norvis. Thanks."

Kris shuddered, and Norvis squeezed his hand and let it drop. "He's dead," Norvis said. There was little emotion apparent in his voice.

"He was a great man," Ganz peDel said. Behind him, Marja sobbed quietly.

Norvis took a deep breath and steeled himself for what had to be done. He rose from the bedside, walked toward Ganz peDel, put his arm around the boy's broad shoulders.

"Nidor needs a new Leader," he said quietly.

"But I'm ... you ... I—" Norvis smiled. "Kris thought you could do the job, Ganz peDel. Do you?"

"I ... I think so," Ganz said, after a pause.

"Good. We've got plenty of work ahead of us, then." Norvis walked to the window of the death-room and threw open the shutters. The Great Light had just risen, and the light of dawn came streaming in, breaking through the eternal clouds of Nidor.

The End