From the spiral voice-horns above the city came amplified words: "Warriors, turn away! Make no molestation upon us. Luid Shug is now lost to your control."

Paying no heed, the commanders prepared to strike down the gates with blast-bolts. Five of the stone effigies moved in their niches and raised their arms. The air quivered; the war-wagons shriveled to small tumbles of char. The peevish veterans became like the husks of dead insects. The Joheim Valley was once again quiet.

Rhialto turned away, and strode thoughtfully from cloud to cloud into the south. Where the hills began to rise, some twenty or thirty miles west of Fader's Waft, he stepped down upon a hummock covered with dry grass and, seeking the shade of a solitary tree, sat leaning against the bole.

The time was close on noon. The fragrance of dry grass came pleasantly on puffs of warm wind. Far to the northeast a coil of smoke rose above the corpse of Vasques Tohor.

Chewing a straw, Rhialto sat reflecting upon his condition. Circumstances were not at the optimum, even though the Perciplex had been more or less precisely located. Osherl must be considered a weak reed, sullen and indifferent. Ildefonse? His interests comported more with those of Rhialto them those of the treacherous Hache-Moncour. Still, Ildefonse was known for his tendencies toward flexibility and expedience. As Preceptor, Ildefonse, even lacking the chug, might be able to compel Sarsem to correct conduct; in the main, however, and all taken with all, Sarsem must be reckoned even less dependable than Osherl.

Rhialto put the pleurmalion to his eye, and as before took note of the dark blue sky-spot over Luid Shug. Rhialto put aside the pleurmalion and caged Osherl out from his walnut shell.

Osherl showed himself as a wefkin four feet high with blue skin and green hair. He spoke in a voice meticulously polite. "My best regards, Rhialto! As I look about, I discover a fine warm day of the 16th Aeon! The air tingles at one's skin with characteristic zest. You are chewing grass like an idle farm-boy; I am happy to perceive your enjoyment of time and place."

Rhialto ignored the pleasantries. "I still lack the Perciplex, and for this failure, you and Sarsem share the blame."

The wefkin, laughing soundlessly, combed its green silk hair between blue fingers. "My dear fellow! This style of expression becomes you not at all!"

"No matter," said Rhialto. "Go now to yonder city, and bring me back the Perciplex."

The wefkin uttered a gay laugh. "Dear Rhialto, your witticisms are superb! The concept of poor Osherl trapped, dragged, pounded, stamped upon, dissected and maltreated by twenty vicious gods is a masterpiece of absurd imagery!"

"I intended no joke," said Rhialto. "Yonder lies the Perciplex; the Perciplex I must have."

Osherl himself plucked a blade of grass and waved it in the air to emphasize his remarks. "Perhaps you should recast your goals. In many ways the 16th Aeon is more kindly than the 21st. You chew grass like one born to it. This time is yours, Rhialto! So it has been ordained by stronger voices than either yours or mine!"