It was one of the young nobles, drawn by Simon’s patient questioning from his absorption with his still unconscious brother, who provided the first bit of fact for the outworld man to chew upon.

“That guard who beat down Gamit, for which may the Rats of Morc forever gnaw him night and day, told them not to bring Renston also. We were blood brothers by the bread from the days we first strapped on swords, and we went to take him food and weapons that he might try for the border. They tracked us down and took us, though we left three of them with holes in their hides and no breath in their bodies! When one of the scum the Duke’s men had with him would have bound Renston too, he told it was no use, for there was no price for those of the old blood and the men buyers would not take them.

“The fellow whined that Renston was as young and strong as we and that he ought to sell as well. But the Duke’s man said the old race broke but they would not bend; then he ran Renston through with his own sword.”

“Broke but would not bend,” Simon repeated slowly.

“The old race were once one with the witchfolk of Estcarp,” the noble added. “Perchance these devils of Gorm cannot eat them up as easily as they can those of another blood.”

“There is this,” the man beside Simon added in his half-whisper, “why did Yvian turn so quickly on the old race? They have left us alone, unless we sought them out. And those of us who companied with them found them far from evil, for all their old knowledge and strange ways. Is Yvian under orders to do as he did? And who gives such orders and why? Could it be, my brothers in misfortune, that the presence of those others among us was in some manner a barrier against Gorm and all its evil, so that they had to be routed out that Gorm may spread?”

Shrewd enough, and close to Simon’s own path of thought. He would have questioned still further but, through the soft moans and wordless complaints of those still only half conscious, he heard a steady hissing, a sound he strove hard to identify. The thick odors of the place would make a man gag, and they provided a good cover for a danger he recognized too late — the entrance of vapor into the chamber with a limited air supply.

Men choken and coughed, fought for air with strangling agony and then went inert. Only one thought kept Simon steady: the enemy would not have gone to the trouble of loading fourteen men in their ship merely to gas them to death. So Simon alone of that miserable company did not fight the gas, but breathed slowly, with dim memories of the dentist’s chair in his own world.