Brion forced away the memory of last night. Killing was just what he had done. Some expectancy in the man’s manner, some sensed feeling of hope prompted Brion to speak the truth.

“I’m here to stop your people from being killed. I believe in the end of the war.”

“Prove it.”

“Take me to the Cultural Relationships Foundations in the city and I’ll prove it. I can do nothing here in the desert. Except die.”

For the first time there was emotion on the Disan’s face. He frowned and muttered something to himself. There was a fine beading of sweat above his eyebrows now as he fought an internal battle. Coming to a decision, he rose, and Brion stood too.

“Come with me. I’ll take you to Hovedstad. But first you will tell me—are you from Nyjord?”

“No.”

The nameless Disan merely grunted and turned away. Brion shouldered Lea’s unconscious body and followed him. They walked for two hours, the Disan setting a cruel pace, before they reached a wasteland of jumbled rock. The native pointed to the highest tower of sand-eroded stone. “Wait near this,” he said. “Someone will come for you.” He watched while Brion placed the girl’s still body in the shade, and passed over the vaede for the last time. Just before leaving he turned back, hesitating.

“My name is … Ulv,” he said. Then he was gone.

Brion did what he could to make Lea comfortable, but it was very little. If she didn’t get medical attention soon she would be dead. Dehydration and shock were uniting to destroy her.

Just before sunset he heard clanking, and the throbbing whine of a sand car’s engine coming from the west.

VIII

VIII

With each second the noise grew louder, coming their way. The tracks squeaked as the car turned around the rock spire, obviously seeking them out. A large carrier, big as a truck, it stopped before them in a cloud of its own dust and the driver kicked the door open.

“Get in here—and fast!” the man shouted. “You’re letting in all the heat.” He gunned the engine, ready to kick in the gears, and looked at them irritatedly.

Ignoring the driver’s nervous instructions, Brion carefully placed Lea on the rear seat before he pulled the door shut. The car surged forward instantly, a blast of icy air pouring from the air-cooling vents. It wasn’t cold in the vehicle—but the temperature was at least forty degrees lower than the outer air. Brion covered Lea with all their extra clothing to prevent any further shock to her system. The driver, hunched over the wheel and driving with an intense speed, hadn’t said a word to them since they had entered.

Brion looked up as another man stepped from the engine compartment in the rear of the car. He was thin, harried-looking. And he was pointing a gun.