Later that afternoon, when Rondoval had been secured, one of the vessels departed, leaving behind a dozen men, one on permanent duty in each of the remaining ships, the other ten set to patrol the castle.

The departing battle-wagon spiraled outward, moving more rapidly than on its inward journey, ship's telescope sweeping the rocky heights and, finally, the forested depths of the vicinity. Still, it was nearly an hour before a small group of centaurs was detected in a distant glade.

The sky boat dropped immediately to a point near treetop-level, out of line of sight of the creatures. It descended into the first clear area it reached, where its engines died and its hatch opened. The five infantrymen emerged, moving away into the trees, the pilot remaining behind with the vessel.

They passed slowly and silently through the forest, having spent basically predatory existences before their present level of culture had been thrust upon them. Now they fanned, like a well-organized hunting team, moving to surround their prey. As they neared the glade, they communicated entirely by a kind of sign language, messages passing from man to man about the circle they formed. Taking up their positions, they studied the disposition of the eight centaurs in the area and commenced a rapid and elaborate sign discussion as to target assignments. Then they raised their weapons.

The signal was then passed, and each of the five fired one round. Five centaurs jerked and bled. Two fell immediately. None of the riflemen paused to reload his single-shot weapon. Instead, they rushed forward to use the butts as clubs, only two finally drawing the blades they wore at their sides. There were only a few cries from the centaurs, but the smells of sweat and urine were suddenly strong upon the air.

One of the wounded ones rose unexpectedly, crushing an attacker's skull with her forehoofs. She was beaten down along with the three unwounded. The lightest of the uninjured had his legs bound together and hands tied behind him. Three of the remaining attackers slung their weapons and moved to transport him, the fourth reloading and covering them.

They bore their burden back through the woods, encountering no resistance. They entered and secured the vessel. Shortly thereafter, the rotors became shimmering blurs and the ship rose slowly, took its course and drifted southward, acquiring altitude, its speed slowly mounting as it passed above the deepening forest.

Moonbird flew above the dark, convoluted patterning--a large, flat design within the field of rock--at the other end of the long island from the city and its ports. Shadows cast by the morning's sun broke the scheme in numerous places, and the entire prospect caused a swimming effect whenever one stared for too long. Pol gestured as if to interrupt his vision, for countless dark strands now drifted from it, further blurring, confusing the image.

Some power lies there, beneath the ground, Moonbird remarked. This is the place?

Yes.

Pol scanned the skies carefully, then looked down once again. There was one break, at the pattern's northern edge, where the strands billowed like an inkpot dropped into an aquarium.

Take us down at that far end, where the stand of trees comes in like a spear point, nearest to the thing.

Moonbird slowed and began His descent. Pol strained forward, studying the terrain. Soon, he saw that the marked area was an elaborate, monolithic construction, the dark lines representing a continuous overhead opening presumably running the entire length of many interconnected interior corridors for purposes of some small illumination. The structure itself stood perhaps twice his height above ground level. As they slowed to land, Pol saw the single pale jade strand he sought among the masses of sable and ochre lines. A faint bellowing noise reached his ears from some undeterminable point.

As he touched the ground, Moonbird asked:

Play me one more song.

Do you fear that you will never hear one again?

Humor an old sauroid servitor. Dragons have their reasons.

Very well.

Pol uncased his guitar, not even bothering to dismount.

"What are you doing?" Nora inquired.

"Request performance," he answered, and he began a long, slow, nostalgic ballad.

Thank you, Moonbird replied, when it was finally concluded. That was soothing, and you reminded me of a story that a griffin once told me--

I'm afraid that I do not have the time to hear it now. More of those metal birds with bombs could--

Did you notice anything special as you sang?

No. What do you mean?

The bellowing sounds. They stopped.

Pol climbed down and assisted Nora in alighting. He patted Moonbird's neck.

Thanks.

"How do you intend to approach this one?" Nora asked. "The same way as..."

She had barely noticed the twirling motion of Pol's left hand, two fingers extended, slightly bent. As they moved near to her face, it felt as if a black bandage were sliding across her eyes....

Pol caught her as she slumped, bearing her to a spot beneath the branches of the nearby trees, largely sheltered from overhead view.

Guard her while I'm inside, he told Moonbird. If more of those things show up, it would be better if you stay hidden here for so long as you are undetected.

I can break them.

But then Nora will be unprotected. No. Only fight if you are discovered.

Moonbird snorted and drops of spittle fell upon the ground and began to smolder.

Very well. I can at least listen to the music.

Pol turned away and approached the high, wide entrance. A snuffling, growling sound commenced somewhere within--distant or near, he could not be certain. It shifted about him, moving, growing, diminishing.

The corridor he had entered ended abruptly several paces before him. There was a lower, narrower opening to his right and the strand led directly into it.

He halted and hung the guitar by its strap. He began to play, a slow, lullaby-like tune, into which he poured a wrist-throbbing desire to calm, to charm any listener. Several strands drifted near and he caught them on the neck of the instrument and saw them grow taut and begin to pulse in time with the music.

Slowly, he turned, still playing, and entered the opening.

He found himself in a dim passageway, a narrow band of sky visible high above him, running like a blue brook to separate into several tributaries at a place where a number of corridors met. He stood still for a time, strumming and humming, letting his eyes adjust to the lesser light. He realized then that the snorts and snufflings had ceased, though there was now a sound of heavy breathing all about him.

He moved forward, following the pale green strand. He turned right when it did, and left and immediately left again. Two more paces bore him into a circular chamber, ten equidistant doorways in its walls, including the one from which he had just emerged.

His strand led through the one to the immediate right, though another section of it crossed the chamber, stretched between two other doors. He ignored this and followed it to the right.

There came a series of left-right, left-right, then left-left, right-right turns which left him dizzy. He paused to regain control of his music. The sounds of breathing still came heavily about him, filling all the passageways, accompanied now by a strong barnyard odor. A tiny bit of cloud drifted across the blue band above him. Switching to another tune--still languid, dreamlike--he continued on.

After a time, he entered a circular chamber with ten doors, following the strand across it. He felt that it was the same one through which he had passed earlier, because of a familiar pattern of cracks in the wall, but there was no trace of the green strand passing between the adjacent doors across the way.