Togger! It was the first time since he had first known the smux that he had actually forgotten him entirely. Now, finding him gone was like losing part of a wing—or a hand. The discovery shattered the spell of compulsion that had kept him seeking westward. He viewed the haze squarely. It appeared to be drifting in his direction. There was a curl of it reaching out to where he perched. Without knowing why he put out his hand and—felt actual pressure against his palm!

Instantly he jerked away. The Wall of the Carrion Wind! There was a faint odor of corruption which flowed from his hand, where it had rested against the unseen, up into him. Farree closed his eyes, and saw darkness shot through with hard brilliant beams of light—light which was as straight as a laser ray. Between those beams there were shadows, some leaping forward as if to drag down a hunted creature for the kill, others falling away because some flash of light touched them and slew. In the midst of the whirl of light and dark someone stood. At first he thought it might be Maelen or even Zoror.

Then he knew that it was neither but one who ruled the Carrion Wind and set it as a barrier against which the living might beat in vain. Only he could not see the one who labored so.

The brand about his wrist awoke to pain, almost as great as that which had first struck him when it had been set upon his body. Farree opened his eyes. He might even have whimpered aloud as the torment grew. He looked down at the hand which he had raised against the force of the haze. There was a blaze of color above the brand mark, hiding that with a brilliance of gem radiance.

He raised his other hand to nurse his hurt, wavering to his feet, feeling as if he burned in a fire from which there was no escape. Farree cried out.

"Utsor vit—S'Lang." His voice seemed to slant outward—almost as if he could see the words take shape and strike at the haze.

There was a curdling of the mist; it might have been stirred by some great ladle. The barrier began to thin before him, first forming a window of sorts through which he might look upon what had been hidden. Then that slit lengthened into an open portal. Farree blinked, shut his eyes. The vision of the darting lights was gone—

Carrion Wind: once more his lips shaped the naming. The stench from the drifting filaments was strong enough to overcome the last trace of the salenge which had revived him.

He did not take to wing again. Instead, with his pinion-cape furled about him, he went forward on foot, picking a way with care because of the deep ruts and holes in the surface of the strange road. The inner call which had summoned him was alive again but very faint and faltering, as if the one who formed it was near to the edge of strength.

Farree stumbled and kept his balance with difficulty. That which tripped him was only half buried in the broken earth. He stooped and dragged it free and stood staring at his find almost stupidly. He knew it—it was out of the past which he well remembered—the hell hole of the Limits. A pulse whip! His finger slid along the indentations in the butt. No weaving of force answered him. Burnt out. Only to find this favorite weapon of slavers here! He made to cast the evil thing from him and then reconsidered. Zoror—the Zacanthan knew such disciplines; it might even be that he could pull out of the torture weapon some idea of who had wielded it last, advance an idea of what enemy they might be about to face.

The haze was near dissipated. Farree had wondered what lay beyond the portal his shouted words had opened. But there was only the churned-up earth, which vanished when it reached a curve of height beyond.

That which had called him faded again and died. He still felt the renewed pain in his wrist but he was no longer imbued with the drive to fly ahead. Instead, with the whip thrust safely in his belt, Farree took wing again, heading back towards the ship.

He half expected to see the haze rise again, to the east, shutting him away from his shipmates. But there was no more clouding of the sky. The sun was farther away—and the chill winds buffeted him. He looked to the north, half expecting to be able to sight the spire of Caer Vu-li-Wan; only it was as if that had been erased from the sky. There were similar heights to be sighted—the one most important was gone.

Farree scowled. Now he could no longer trust his eyes– That calling, was it responsible for this blindness? There were too many questions and no answers he could pick up for himself. What words had he shouted? Now he could not remember. Maelen, Vorlund—to them things like this were known. The Zacanthans closed no doors upon the hope of knowledge, even though it was yet only a hope. What had he? Fragments of a tormenting memory, but so little more.

He shook off his sudden self pity to look around, seeking some landmark. There were the cliff tops ahead, not so alive with flashing colors now that the sun was nearing setting. To him now all looked alike and he had not even the sighting of Caer Vu-li-Wan to set him aright. He was startled by a harsh call—one he heard with his ears and not his mind.

He was not alone in the sky. Above and beyond him a second pair of wings beat, wings as large and wide-spread as his own. But they were not mounted on anything which could in the least be thought his kin.

It was black, that elongated body, which twisted as easily through the air as a snake would cover ground. The head was turned in his direction and he saw a half open mouth, not unlike the ones he had seen on the smaller thing which had flown ahead of him earlier.

It screamed again. Farree needed no other warning, and he flew with all the speed he could summon. That thing also had great clawed feet. Those talons now flexed as if ready to close on prey and as it was fast overtaking him, a third cry sounded almost in his ears.

He was over the cliff top now, streaking at the highest speed he could muster to elude that flying thing. Its body twisted and turned as lithely as that of a snake, matching speed with him, but keeping a little above on a parallel course, while from its open jaws flashed what could have been a tongue of flame. Still, though it hovered above him, giving every indication that if it wished it could attack, it remained two lengths of its own long body behind. Why it hesitated to pull him down was a growing puzzle.

Farree's head jerked up and a lock of his hair flopped across his forehead in answer to what did reach him.

He was meeting a stream of thought which wriggled back and forth as did the body from which it sprung, its message now clear, now snapped just short of fading out with the speed of a breath.

"Darthor, Darthor!" The words burst from him. The stab of memory did not come so sharply this time.

He no longer strove to flee and at the same time somehow keep eye on what had been a menace. Had been—? Of a surety it was so.

"Darthor, varge!" Surging in beat, his own wings carried him higher, brought him around in a glide to face the monster.

The creature cut speed. It veered to the north, though it still kept its large orange eyes fastened upon Farree.

"Darthor, varge!" He shouted as one who has mastered a captive horror from some unknown world and impressed his will upon it.

It squawked, lashing the tail which was a good third of its body length. A shaft of what certainly looked like real fire shot again from between its jaws. It did not spiral away from him, only altered its line of flight so that it flew tandem with him, matching its speed to his.

Farree switched from voice to mind send. "Darthor, servant one, hunting lies not in my shadow." The words came to him in curious formal fashion as he thought them slowly and with the emphasis of one who would be obeyed. A dim picture hung behind that voiceless speech, Darthor a-wing after something which fled in frenzy, while behind him was one who was also winged, who carried a glittering rod in one hand. Himself! No, that could not be– Not him, but one who was his like, before whom Darthor flew as a hunter. Yet Farree's first fear was not quite appeased. He was no master of this creature. Still why did he know it and fear its coming?