"Shajok," she snapped. "At least a part of it. Here are the plains, here the field, here the town. And here," her fingers mounded the gray substance into a range of peaks, "here are the mountains. And in the mountains-" Her hand slammed down, fingers clawing, digging, leaving deep indentations. "-valleys. Places where God alone knows what is to be found. Maybe people calling themselves by a fancy name. Maybe communes of one kind or another. I don't know. I'm no hunter and I've more sense than to stick my head into a noose. And, mister, if you'll take my advice, neither will you. See those flags? When they fall, get under cover and fast. Get into shelter and stay there until the wind blows again."

"Why?"

"Because, mister," she said grimly, "if you don't, you'll stop being human, that's why."

* * * * *

The interior of the tavern was dark, a place of brooding shadows in which men sat and talked quietly over their wine. Too quietly, but much about Shajok was less than normal. The flags, the town itself, the odd atmosphere of the field. A place besieged, thought Dumarest. Or, a place which had known siege. No wonder that Leon, after a taste of normal worlds, had sworn that he would never return.

Leon, whom the old woman had known in more ways than she had admitted. The boy must have turned thief to gain the price of his passage. But the money couldn't have come from her. Somewhere else then, that was certain, but from where? Home, perhaps. It would be logical for him to have stolen before running away, but in that case why work for the woman at all? And who were the men who had frightened him?

Questions which waited for answers, but at least one problem could be solved now.

Kinabalu grunted as Dumarest dropped on the bench at his side. "My arm!"

"Will be released as soon as I know why you have been following me."

"You noticed? Good. Is that why you came into this place?"

"It serves." Dumarest tightened his grip. "The answer. Why are you interested in me?"

"Please!" Sweat shone on the Hausi's face. "The bone-you will break it! All I wanted was to offer you employment."

"Your name?"

Kanabalu rubbed his wrist as he gave it. Beneath the fabric of his blouse he knew that welts would be forming bruises which would make his flesh tender.

"Earl Dumarest," he said. "The handler gave me your name. I took the liberty of following you. That woman-why do you wish to find this place you call Nerth?"

"If she told you that, she must have told you the rest."

"And why not?" Kinabalu shrugged, fully at ease. "She knows me and knows of my discretion. Also, I was able to buy a few things for later delivery. Money, as you must know, has many uses."

"And?"

"I offer you the chance to earn some money. More, the chance to find what you are seeking. A fortuitous meeting, my friend. We must celebrate it in wine."

He ordered, waited as a girl poured, followed the movements of her hips with his eyes. A sensualist-or so a less observant man would have believed. Dumarest knew better. Knew also that a Hausi did not lie. He might not tell all of the truth, but his word was to be trusted.

"You followed me from the ship," Dumarest said. "Were you waiting for me?"

"No, not you, not as an individual. I hoped that someone would land who would fill a need. I think you are such a man. Some wine?"

Dumarest accepted the goblet. He said, dryly, "What's so special about this need of yours?"

"The need? Nothing. A job which any of a hundred men could do. To act as a guard and protector, to take care of a camp, to be able to survive in a hostile environment and, above all, not to be afraid. But the man who offers the employment is another matter. A man almost impossible to satisfy. On the face of it the commission was simple, to equip a small expedition into the mountains. To provide a raft, supplies, a guide, and a man. All is ready and waiting, only the man needs to be found. It could be that I have found him. You are open to a proposition?"

"I could be."

"That depends."

"On the pay, certainly, that is understood. But Jalch Moore will be generous."

"Moore," said Dumarest. "From where?"

"Does it matter?" Kinabalu sipped at his wine. "His money is good even if his temper is short. But, if you are interested, he once mentioned Usterlan. I have never been to that world. Have you?"

"No."

"He is, I think, a little mad. The mountains are best left alone. You see, I am honest with you. I will add to my honesty-there is even a chance that you may be killed."

"By whom?"

"The wind, my friend, a fall in temperature, a vagary of heat. The mountains are dangerous for any raft. Thermals are unpredictable. A drop in the wind can create vortexes, a rise the same. And the local conditions are much of a mystery. Few venture deeply into the hills; some hunters, a scattering of prospectors, some seekers of gems. They leave, sometimes they return, sometimes they do not."

"And yet there must be caravans," said Dumarest flatly. "Traders who venture far to sell and buy."

"True."

"Are they proof against dangers?"

"No man is proof against death when it comes," said Kinabalu. "And it can ride on the wind."

"The wind," said Dumarest. "The pennons?"

"Signals, as the woman told you. While the wind blows all in the city are safe. If it should fall, there is nothing to worry about providing the calm does not stay too long. If it does-but why worry about such things? The wind never fails."

"But if it did?"

"Probably nothing." Kinabalu drank more wine. "A superstition, my friend, a sop to the credulous. A rumor circulated by tavern owners, for where can a man be sure of shelter and welcome if not in a tavern? But, seriously, the danger is exaggerated. Nothing could possibly come down from the mountains against the updraft from the foothills. But we digress. Are you interested in taking the position?"

A journey into the mountains, to look for-what? Nothing of interest, perhaps, but the expedition offered transportation and a chance to learn of what lay in the valleys the old woman had mentioned. They only way, perhaps. One he would have to take if ever he hoped to find Leon's home.

Dumarest said, slowly, "I'm interested, but I need to know more."

"The pay for example. The cost of a High passage, that I can promise. As for the rest-" Kinabalu finished his wine. "-that Jalch Moore will explain."

Chapter Eight

There was something odd about the man. He moved with the restless pacing of a hungry feline, his head jerking, hands twitching, eyes never at rest. His room at the hotel was littered with papers, maps, scrolls, moldering books, items of equipment. A dagger with an ornate hilt and engraved blade lay beside a small statuette of a weeping woman. In a crystal jar an amorphous something turned slowly, as if imbued with sluggish life. An illusion, the thing was dead, preserved, the motion the result of transmitted vibration.

"Dumarest," he said. "Earl Dumarest. From?"

"Vonstate."

"And before that?" The thin, angry tones sharpened a little. "The planet of origin, man. Where were you born?"

"Earth."

Dumarest waited for the expected reaction, the incredulity, the conviction of a lie. None came and he looked at Moore's hand, the small instrument it contained. A tonal lie detector, he guessed. The recorded vibrations of his voice tested by electronic magic to reveal the truth. An unusual tool for an explorer to carry.

He said, flatly, "And you? Usterlan?"

"Yes."

A lie. Dumarest knew the world despite what he had told the Hausi. The people of Usterlan were dark, their hair a kinked ebon, a protection against the fury of a sun radiating high in ultra-violet. His eyes slid to the woman sitting quietly beside the window. She wore masculine garb, her russet hair cropped short, her face devoid of cosmetics. A strong face, the bones prominent, the lips firm, the bottom pouting a little. Her eyes were uptilted, a pale gray, the lids thickly lashed. Her hands were broad, the fingers long, the nails neatly rounded.