"Yes. It was just that he had this determination to find the Kheld."

"Did he?"

"No."

"Have you any proof, any kind of proof whatsoever, that such creatures exist?"

Again she hesitated, not knowing just what to say, wondering what the assembly was all about. To lie and perhaps damn herself and Dumarest, or to tell the truth and perhaps do the same.

"Shall I repeat the question?"

"No, that will not be necessary." The truth, Dumarest had said. For want of a better guide she obeyed. "No, I have not."

"You have never seen them? The Kheld, I mean."

"No."

From where he sat Croft said, harshly, "A lie. I knew it. Another to add to the rest."

A logical summation, but Usdon wasn't satisfied. A stubborn hope, perhaps. A confidence in the boy which had never been shaken. Sham could not have failed. There had to be an explanation.

Dumarest gave it.

"Iduna did not share my experience," he said. "She was asleep at the time. I told you that, but you insisted on questioning her."

"With reason," said Aryan. "Your story is preposterous. An invisible something which you heard, but did not see. The stuff of legends, stories to terrify children. If they exist, why haven't we seen them?"

"Or heard them?" said Croft, triumphantly. "Answer that if you can."

He was trapped, thought Vestaler bleakly. Dumarest had bargained well. His life and that of the woman, to be spared for the sake of his information, the proof. The information he had given, the lack of proof would snap shut the jaws of a trap of his own making.

"You haven't seen them," said Dumarest, quietly, "because if you had, you would have become a ghost. As for hearing them, perhaps you have. Think," he urged, "remember. You have all undertaken the ordeal. Did none of you hear a thin sound in the air then? A chittering? Feel an impression of menace?"

He waited for an answer, but it was too long ago. Even if they remembered, none would admit it. Perhaps with cause. To be the first to back his claim would be to share his implied guilt.

"The Kheld are old," he said. "Perhaps now very few in number. They must be an aerial form of life, and so would never enter the valleys. The updraft would be too strong. The pinnacles are high, ideally placed for the creatures to reach. On them you set boys, easy targets for such predators. They come, take what they need, leave without trace."

"If what you say is true, then why are not all the boys affected?"

A shrewd question, Barog was no fool.

"I said they were few," reminded Dumarest. "Perhaps they maintain a territorial area, perhaps each boy provides food for more than one. Frankly, I don't know. But I can guess what happens. The boys are lone, afraid, each a prey to his own fears and imagination. And then the Kheld draw near. I have heard the sound. It numbs, clogs the brain-and I am a grown man. A boy would be terrified. Perhaps the very emotion induced by the Kheld is what they feed on. That, or some form of nervous energy-again I am not sure. But there is a way to find out."

"And that is?"

"You are all grown men. Prove it."

Usdon sucked in his breath, quick to understand.

"Prove it," snapped Dumarest. "Do what you demand children do. Undertake the ordeal." His finger rose to point at Aryan. "You!" At Croft. "You!" At the others, one after the other. "Prove that you are men-if you dare!"

* * * * *

Eidhal was a boy again, a child who clung to the summit of his pinnacle and tried to forget all the rumors and inflated tales, the fears, the memories of those who had undertaken the ordeal and had not returned. A young lad, alone and frightened, as he watched the wheeling of the stars, heard the soft sough of the wind as it rose from the valley.

An illusion, he was not a child and he was not alone. Aryan sat on the finger of stone to his right, Croft beyond, Dumarest to his left. Two other volunteers from the guards further down, Usdon beyond them.

A bad place but he had insisted, insisted too that there be seven of them, the smallest number to undertake the initiation. The others of the Council were admitted to be too old. Barog would never have managed the climb, Vestaler had been overruled.

A scrabble and Eidhal kicked, a multi-legged body falling to the ground. Trust the ilden to scent prey. A nuisance more than anything else, but a sting could burn, cause a hand to slip, a body to fall. Below, the codors would be waiting.

He relaxed, forcing himself to ease an inner tension. There was nothing to worry about. He had done this before and remained unscathed. True, four others of his batch had failed and another had turned into a ghost, but that had been years ago. Yet, they had been as strong as he. Had he survived only because of the luck of the draw, as Dumarest had suggested? One of those who had not been attacked by the mysterious Kheld? Would he have survived if he had?

Odo, he had been strong too, a virile lad with a zest for life, quick at games, the delight of his mother, the pride of Chart. He had died a year later, slow to lift his spear, wanting to find a clean end, perhaps. Lyd also had not lasted long. She had mourned her husband and then had gone to walk among the predators which had taken him. Eidhal had followed her, too late. She had died in his arms, his only sister-why was life so unfair?

He stiffened as he heard a faint sound. The wind? It was possible. The soft breeze could play tricks with a straining ear. He listened again, concentrating, hearing a thin, high cluttering which died as soon as it registered. A familiar sound, one he had forgotten, his skin prickling as he recalled the past. Even then he had not been sure, dismissing it as a figment of imagination, remembering the advice he had been given.

"Remain calm, keep your head, be resolute." Advice he had passed on.

A puff of wind and again the weird, eerie sound, this time accompanied by another. The soft impact of climbing boots, the rasp of a human breath.

"Varg-can you hear it?"

Dumarest, clinging to the stone, looking upwards, his face dim in the starlight.

"I'm not sure. I-"

"Come down. Quietly. You can handle the predators?"

"Yes." Glad of action Eidhal climbed down the high pinnacle, stood at Dumarest's side. "What is it?"

"Over there. Where Croft is. Don't make a noise."

He moved to the right, soundless, Eidhal like a shadow at his side. He had expected the ground to be thick with codors, but none were in evidence. A chittinous body crushed beneath his foot, proof of their stealth. The things were normally wary.

"Listen!"

Dumarest had halted, looking upwards to where Croft sat perched on his finger of stone. The man was visible only as a blur against the stars. A blur which moved as the air filled with a faint stridulation, a chittering which grew stronger, lowered, seemed to hover over the dim shape, to engulf it.

Croft moaned. It was a sound barely louder than a sigh. A release of breath from constricted lungs, a prolonged exhalation. The chittering increased in volume and then, abruptly, stilled.

"God!" Eidhal felt his stomach contract, his skin crawl as he looked upwards. "What the hell's happening?"

On the pinnacle, something was feeding. It was diaphanous, a thing of gauzy membranes which caught the starlight and reflected it in wispy shimmers. A web of near-invisible filaments which could ride the wind, falling as it condensed, rising as it extended. A web which was formed of a diffused kind of life, alien to human experience.

"Croft! We must-"

"No!" Dumarest held the man fast. There was nothing they could do-and a point had to be proven. "He's gone," he said. "It's already too late. If he doesn't fall and kill himself, he'll be a ghost."