Toglo said, “Radnal vez, if we see each other again, I will use whatever influence I have for you.”

“Thanks,” was all Radnal could say. Under other circumstances, getting patronage from the Hereditary Tyrant’s relative would have moved him to do great things. Even now, it was kindly meant, but of small weight when he first had to survive to gain it.

A sliver of red-gold crawled over the eastern horizon. The tourists and the Eyes and Ears trudged north. A koprit bird on the rooftop announced the day with a cry of hig, hig, hig!

Peggol ordered one of the remaining Eyes and Ears to stay at the lodge and send westward any helos that came. Then he said formally, “Freeman vez Krobir, I place myself and freeman vez Potos, my colleague here, under your authority. Command us.”

“If that’s how you want it,” Radnal answered, shrugging. “You know what we’ll do: march west until we catch the Krepalgans or drown, whichever comes first. Nothing fancy. Let’s go.”

Radnal, the two Eyes and Ears, the lodge attendants, and the surviving militiamen started from the stables. The morning light showed the tracks of three donkeys heading west. The tour guide took out his monocular, scanned the western horizon. No luck — dips and rises hid Evillia and Lofosa.

Fer vez Canthal said, “There’s a high spot maybe three thousand cubits west of here. You ought to look from there.”

“Maybe,” Radnal said. “If we have a good trail, though, I’m likelier to rely on that. I begrudge wasting even a heartbeat’s time, and spotting someone isn’t easy even if he wants to be found. Remember that poor fellow who wandered off from his group four years ago? They used helos, dogs, everything, but they didn’t find his corpse until a year later, and then by accident.”

“Thank you for pumping up my hopes,” Peggol said.

“Nothing wrong with hope,” Radnal answered, “but you knew the odds were bad when you decided to stay.”

The seven walkers formed a loose skirmish line, about five cubits apart from one another. Radnal, the best tracker, took the center; at his right was Horken vez Sofana, at his left Peggol. He figured they had the best chance of picking up the trail if he lost it.

That likelihood grew with every step. Evillia and Lofosa hadn’t gone straight west. He quickly found that out. Instead, they’d jink northwest for a few hundred cubits, then southwest a few hundred more, in a deliberate effort to throw off pursuit. They also chose the hardest ground they could find, which made the donkeys’ tracks tougher to follow.

Radnal’s heart sank every time he had to cast about before they found the hoofprints again. His group lost ground with every step; the Krepalgans rode faster than they could walk.

“I have a question,” Horken vez Sofana: “Suppose the starbomb goes off and the mountains fall. How are these two women supposed to get away?”

Radnal shrugged; he had no idea. “Did you hear that, Peggol vez?” he asked.

“Yes,” Peggol said. “Two possibilities spring to mind-”

“I might have guessed,” Radnal said.

“Hush. As I was saying before you crassly interrupted, one is that the starbomb was supposed to have a delayed detonation, letting the perpetrators escape. The other is that these agents knew the mission was suicidal. Morgaf has used such personnel; so have we, once or twice. Krepalga might find such servants, however regrettable that prospect seems to us.”

Horken gave a slow, deliberate nod. “What you say sounds convincing. They might have first planned a delay to let them escape, then shifted to sacrificing themselves when they found we were partway on to them.”

“True,” Peggol said. “And they may yet be planning to escape. If they somehow secreted away helium cylinders, for instance, they might inflate several prophylactics and float out of the Bottomlands.”

Radnal wondered for a heartbeat if he was serious. Then the tour guide snorted. “I wish I could stay so cheerful at death’s door.”

“Death will find me whether I am cheerful or not,” Peggol answered. “I will go forward as boldly and as long as I can.”

Conversation flagged. The higher the sun rose, the hotter the desert became, the more anything but putting one foot in front of the other seemed more trouble than it was worth. Radnal wiped sweat from his eyes as he slogged along.

The water bladder on his back started out as heavy as any pack he’d ever toted. He wondered how long he could go on with such a big burden. But the bladder got lighter every time he refilled his canteen. He made himself keep drinking — not getting water in as fast as he sweated would be suicidal. Unlike the fanatic Morgaffos Peggol had mentioned, he wanted to live if he could.

He’d given everyone about two days’ worth of water. If he didn’t catch up to Lofosa and Evillia by the end of the second day… He shook his head. One way or another, it wouldn’t matter after that.

As noon neared, he ordered the walkers into the shade of a limestone outcrop. “We’ll rest a while,” he said.

“When we start again, it ought to be cooler.”

“Not enough to help,” Peggol said. But he sat down in the shade with a grateful sigh. He took off his stylish cap, sadly felt of it. “It’ll make a dishrag after this — nothing better.”

Radnal squatted beside him, too hot to talk. His heart pounded. It seemed so loud, he wondered if it would give out on him. Then he realized most of that beating rhythm came from outside. Fatigue fell away. He jumped up, doffed his own cap and waved it in the air. “A helo!”

The rest of the group also got up and waved and yelled. “It’s seen us!” Zosel vez Glesir said. Nimbly as a dragonfly, the helo shifted direction in midair and dashed straight toward them. It set down about fifty cubits from the ledge. Its rotors kept spinning; it was ready to take off again at any moment.

The pilot leaned out the window, bawled something in Radnal’s direction. Through the racket, he had no idea what the fellow said. The pilot beckoned him over.

The din and dust were worse under the whirling rotor blades. Radnal had to lean on tiptoe against the helo’s hot metal skin before he made out the pilot’s words: “How far ahead are the cursed Krepalgans?”

“They had better than a daytenth’s start, and they’re on donkeyback. Say, up to thirty thousand cubits west of here.” Radnal repeated himself several times before the pilot nodded and ducked back into his machine.

“Wait!” Radnal screamed. The pilot stuck his head out again. Radnal asked, “Did you come across my group heading toward the trail up the old continental shelf?”

“Yes. Somebody ought to be picking them up right about now.”

“Good,” Radnal bellowed. The pilot tossed him a portable radiophone. He seized it; now he was no longer cut off from the rest of the search.

They sped. The helo shot into the air, sped away westward. The tour guide knew relief: even if he drowned, the people he’d led would be safe.

“Now that this helo’s here, do we need to go on?” asked Impac vez Potos, the Eye and Ear with Peggol.

“You’d best believe it, freeman.” Radnal recounted the story of the lost tourist who’d stayed lost. “No matter how many helos search, they’ll be covering a big area and trying to find people who don’t want to be found. We stay in the hunt till it’s over. By the way the Krepalgans fooled us all, they won’t make things easy.”

“Shall we keep resting, or head out now?” Peggol asked.

Radnal chewed on that for a few heartbeats. If the helo was here, that meant the people at Tarteshem knew from its radiophone how bad things were. And that meant helos would swarm here as fast as they could take off, which meant his group would probably be able to get supplies. But he didn’t want to lose people to heatstroke, either, a risk that came with exertion in the desert.

“We’ll give it another tenth of a daytenth,” he said at last.