Jaxom got to his feet, determined not to show the panic he was beginning to feel; a cold pressure gripped his belly, his chest was hot and painful, while sweat was starting to creep down his forehead. The salty drops fell on his chest and he swore one of the wardguard’s favorites.

“Let’s walk fast,” he said and, holding onto the now useless glow basket, suited action to words.

By common consent they kept to the outer edge of the corridor, where the now dimly seen footsteps gave them courage.

“It’s not much further, is it?” Jaxom asked as the second glow flickered ominously.

“Ah—no. It better not be.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Ah—we’ve just run out of footprints.”

They hadn’t retraced their steps very far before they ran out of glow, too.

“Now what do we do, Jaxom?”

“Well, in Ruatha,” Jaxom said, taking a deep breath, a precaution against his voice breaking on him, “when they miss me, they send out search parties.”

“In that case, you’ll be missed as soon as Lytol wants to go home, won’t you? He never stays here long.”

“Not if Lytol gets asked to dinner and he will, if dinner is as close as you said it was.” Jaxom couldn’t suppress his bitterness at this whole ill-advised exploration. “Haven’t you any idea where we are?”

“No,” Felessan had to admit, sounding suddenly out of his depth. “I always followed the footprints, just like I did now. There were footprints. You saw them.”

Jaxom didn’t care to agree for that would mean he was in part to blame for their predicament.

“Those other corridors we passed on the way to the hole, where do they go?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know. There’s an awful lot of the Weyr that’s empty. I’ve—I’ve never gone any farther than the slit.”

“What about the others? How far in have they gone?”

“Gandidan’s always talking about how far he’s gone but—but—I don’t remember what he said.”

“For the Egg’s sake, don’t blubber.”

“I’m not blubbering. I’m just hungry!”

“Hungry? That’s it. Can you smell dinner? Seemed to me we could smell it an awful long ways down the corridor.”

They sniffed at the air in all directions. It was musty but not with stew. Sometimes, Jaxom remembered, you could smell fresher air and find your own way back. He put out a hand to touch the wall; the smooth, cold stone was somehow comforting. In between, you couldn’t feel anything, though this corridor was just as dark. His chest hurt and throbbed, in a steady accompaniment to his blood.

With a sigh, he backed up against the smooth wall and, sliding down it, settled to the ground with a bump.

“Jaxom?”

“I’m all right. I’m just tired.”