While all the rest of the surviving Metamorphs had been rounded up and confined in the reservation set aside for them in the jungles of Zimroel — so the tale went — these free Piurivars had continued to dwell in isolation and independence, following the ancient nomadic ways of their people in the snowy and mountainous country beyond the nine great peaks of the Khyntor Marches. Like the Othinor, they had lived as a people apart, unknown to the other inhabitants of Majipoor and perhaps, after all this time, equally unaware of them. There had never been any communication between them and other Metamorphs, not even during Valentine’s reign, when the great Piurivar uprising against human rule had taken place. Their very existence had become a matter of conjecture and speculation.

Now and again a sighting was reported by one of the Shapeshifters who, like Korinaam, lived in Ni-moya or some other city bordering on the Marches and made their livings providing guide service to hunters or explorers that wished to venture into the north country. But none of those sightings had ever led to anything. It was impossible for the Metamorph guides even to be sure that what they were seeing — always at a great distance, for just a fleeting moment — were people of their own kind.

Until now.

"I have no doubt of it," Korinaam said. "My eyesight is very keen, prince. The day we saw them, I watched them undergo their change."

"And so you decided to take off without authorization to visit them. Why?"

"They are of my blood, prince. For nearly nine thousand years now they have lived in these mountains without ever once coming face-to-face with others of their kind. I wanted to speak with them."

"And tell them what?"

"That the persecution is over, that we Piurivars are free to come and go as we please on Majipoor, that they can emerge at last from their hiding place amidst the snow and ice. Is that so difficult for you to understand, prince?"

"You could have told me what you intended to do, at least. You could have asked my permission."

"You would never have given it."

Harpirias was caught off guard by that. His face reddened. "Why do you say so?"

"Because," said Korinaam evenly, "I am a Piurivar, and this is a Piurivar affair, and why would any of that matter in the slightest to you, prince? You would have said that it was inconvenient for me to leave the village, because I was needed here as your interpreter. You would have told me that I could return to these mountains at another time, on my own, and look for my kinsmen then. Is that not so, prince?"

Suddenly Harpirias had difficulty meeting the Shape-shifter’s implacable gaze. He could make no immediate reply. "Possibly it is," he said finally. "But even so: you still shouldn’t have gone off without leaving some sort of message about where you were going. What would we have done if you had died up there?"

"I had no intention of dying up there." "It’s a difficult climb in dangerous territory. There was a snowstorm during the time you were gone. A light one, but suppose it had been one like the one we rode through in the pass of the Twin Sisters? You aren’t immortal, Korinaam."

"I know how to take care of myself in these mountains. As you see, I have returned, and only slightly the worse for wear." "Yes. So you have."

Korinaam offered no response. He continued to stare at Harpirias with undisguised animosity.

This was all becoming very uncomfortable. Somehow Korinaam had gained the upper hand in the discussion, though Harpirias was not quite sure when that had happened. It embarrassed him deeply now that he had felt compelled to resort to arm-twisting in order to make the Shapeshifter speak.

He said, after an awkward pause, "Well? And did you succeed in having a talk with these long-lost relatives of yours, then?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"I talked to them," said Korinaam. "Not with them."

"Ah. To them but not with them. Meaning that you couldn’t speak to them in a language they understood?"

Korinaam said, in a tense and ragged tone, "That is essentially what happened. — Do we really need to discuss this any further, prince?"

"Yes. We do. I want to know precisely what took place between you and those people."

"I’ve told you. For two days I searched for them, and then I found them, camped on a hillside across a ravine opposite the place where I was. It was impossible for me to get really close, but I tried to speak with them from where I stood; they didn’t seem to comprehend anything I was saying; after a little while I gave up and headed back down the mountain."

"That’s all?

"All, yes."

"Your shape is flickering around the edges, Korinaam. You can’t hold yourself still, do you know that? What that says to me is that you’re lying."

Hoarsely the Metamorph replied, "I found them and I was unable to communicate with them in any useful way, and then I left and came back here. That’s the whole story."

"I don’t think it is," said Harpirias. "What else happened up there?"

"Nothing. Nothing." A ripple of change passed swiftly across Korinaam’s features, betraying inner turmoil. He was hiding something, something that had shaken him deeply during his meeting with his wild kinsmen of the high country. Harpirias had no doubt of that.

"Do you want me to get the Skandar back in here for a little more arm-twisting?"

Korinaam glared malevolently. "All right. There was something else."

"Go on."

"They threw rocks at me," he said in a bitter, husky tone.

"I can’t say I’m surprised."

"I explained to them who I was. When I saw that they didn’t understand my words I showed them that I was one of them by doing changes for them, prince. And they threw — rocks at me."

That moment of hesitation in Korinaam’s voice aroused Harpirias’s interest.

"That’s all they did? Throw rocks?"

More flickerings, more ripplings.

"Tell me, Korinaam. I need to know what sort of creatures we’re dealing with."

The Shapeshifter trembled. Words burst from him in an angry rush. "They spat at me also. And then they threw their — their dung at me. They picked it up in their hands and hurled it across the ravine. And while they did it they danced about and screamed at me like crazy people. Like devils." There was a terrible expression on his face. "They are loathsome things. They are worse than savages! They are animals." "I see."

"And now you have heard it all. Will you let me alone now, prince?"

"In a moment," said Harpinas. "First tell me this: will you make another attempt to communicate with them?"

"You can be certain that I have no intention of that."

"And why is that?"

"Are you a fool, prince? Can’t you understand simple words? What I saw up there was utterly disgusting. It was hideous to be near them — to watch them capering like beasts — to listen to their revolting screeches — to think that they were actually — of Piurivar blood — that they and I — •"

Softly Harpirias said, "I understand all that, Korinaam. But even so: if I were to ask you to make another journey to see them, would you do it?"

Korinaam was silent for a time.

"If you ordered me to, yes."

"Only if I made it an order?"

"I have no desire to see those creatures again, none at all. But I am aware that I am in the service of the Coronal, whose representative you are, and it is not possible for me to defy your direct order, prince. You may rest assured of that." The Shapeshifter bowed deeply, giving Harpirias a harshly exaggerated salute of deference. "I am not eager to have my arm twisted a second time."

"I regret that it was necessary to do that, Korinaam."

"I’m sure that you do. It must have been extremely disagreeable for you. And quite distasteful for the Skandar too, I would think."