Lain was unprepared for the question. “King Prad appears to have the instincts of a philosopher, Prince.”

“You mean he’s like you?”

“I didn’t intend to elevate myself to.…”

“Never mind all that. Was that supposed to be your answer? He wants to know things because he wants to know things?”

“That’s what ‘philosopher’ means, Prince.”

“But.…” Leddravohr broke off as there was a clattering of equipment in the cave entrance and the sergeant of Lain’s personal guard appeared. He saluted Leddravohr and, although agitated, waited for permission to speak.

“Go on, man,” Leddravohr said.

“The wind is rising in the west, Prince. We are warned of ptertha.”

Leddravohr waved the sergeant away. “All right — we will leave soon.”

“The wind is rising quickly, Prince,” the sergeant said, obviously deeply unhappy at lingering beyond his dismissal.

“And a crafty old soldier like you sees no point in taking unnecessary risks.” Leddravohr placed a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder and shook him playfully, an intimacy he would not have granted the loftiest aristocrat. “Take your men and leave now, sergeant.”

The sergeant’s eyes emitted a single flash of gratitude and adoration as he hurried away. Leddravohr watched him depart, then turned to Lain.

“You were explaining this passion for useless knowledge,” he said. “Continue!”

“I.…” Lain tried to organise his thoughts. “In my profession all knowledge is regarded as useful.”

“Why?”

“It’s part of a whole… a unified structure… and when that structure is complete Man will be complete and will have total control of his destiny.”

“Fine words!” Leddravohr’s discontented gaze steadied on the section of wall closest to where Lain was standing. “Do you really believe the future of our race hinges on that picture of a brat playing ball?”

“That isn’t what I said, Prince.”

“That isn’t what I said, Prince,” Leddravohr mocked. “You have told me nothing, philosopher.”

“I am sorry that you heard nothing,” Lain said quietly.

Leddravohr’s smile appeared on the instant. “That was meant to be an insult, wasn’t it? Love of knowledge must be an ardent passion indeed if it begins to stiffen your backbone, Maraquine. We will continue this discussion on the ride back. Come!”

Leddravohr went to the entrance, turned sideways and negotiated the narrow passage. Lain blew out the four lanterns and, leaving them where they were, followed Leddravohr to the outside. A noticeable breeze was streaming over the uneven contours of the hill from the west. Leddravohr, already astride his bluehorn, watched in amusement as Lain gathered the skirts of his robe and inexpertly dragged himself up into his own saddle. After a searching look at the sky, Leddravohr led the way down the hill, controlling his mount with the straight-backed nonchalance of the born rider.

Lain, yielding to an impulse, urged his bluehorn forward on a roughly parallel track, determined to keep abreast of the prince. They were almost halfway down the hill when he discovered he was guiding his animal at speed into a patch of loose shale. He tried to pull the bluehorn to the right, but only succeeded in throwing it off balance. It gave a bark of alarm as it lost its footing on the treacherous surface and fell sideways. Lain heard its leg snap as he threw himself clear, aiming for a clump of yellow grass which had mercifully appeared in his view. He hit the ground, rolled over and jumped to his feet immediately, unharmed but appalled by the agonised howling of the bluehorn as it threshed on the clattering flakes of rock.

Leddravohr dismounted in a single swift movement and strode to the fallen animal, black sword in hand. He moved in quickly and drove the blade into the bluehorn’s belly, angling the thrust forward to penetrate the chest cavity. The bluehorn gave a convulsive heave and emitted a slobbering, snoring sound as it died. Lain clapped a hand over his mouth as he fought to control the racking upsurges of his stomach.

“Here’s another morsel of useful knowledge for you,” Leddravohr said calmly. “When you’re killing a bluehorn, never go straight into the heart or you’ll get blood all over you. This way the heart discharges into the body cavities, and there is very little mess. See?” Leddravohr withdrew his sword, wiped it on the dead animal’s mane and spread his arms, inviting inspection of his unmarked clothing. “Don’t you agree that it’s all very…philosophical?”

“I made it fall,” Lain mumbled.

“It was only a bluehorn.” Leddravohr sheathed his sword, returned to his mount and swung himself into the saddle. “Come on, Maraquine — what are you waiting for?”

Lain looked at the prince, who had one hand outstretched in readiness to assist him on to the bluehorn, and felt a powerful aversion to making the physical contact. “Thank you, Prince — but it would be improper for one of my station to ride with you.”

Leddravohr burst out laughing. “What are you talking about, you fool? We’re out in the real world now — the soldier’s world — and the ptertha are on the move.”

The reference to the ptertha went through Lain like a dagger of ice. He took a hesitant step forward.

“Don’t be so bashful,” Leddravohr said, his eyes amused and derisive. “After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you and I had shared a mount.”

Lain came to a standstill, his brow dewing over with cool perspiration, and he heard himself say, “On consideration, I prefer to make my own way back to the Quarter on foot.”

“I’m losing patience with you, Maraquine.” Leddravohr shaded his eyes and scanned the western sky. “I’m not going to plead with you to preserve your own life.”

“My life is my responsibility, Prince.”

“It must be something in the Maraquine blood,” Leddravohr said, shrugging as he addressed a notional third party.

He turned his bluehorn’s head to the east and urged the beast into a canter. Within a few seconds he had passed out of sight behind a shoulder of rock, and Lain was alone in a harsh landscape which suddenly seemed as alien and unforgiving as a distant planet. He gave a shaky, incredulous laugh as he took stock of the predicament he had placed himself in with a single failure of reason.

Why now? he demanded of himself. Why did I wait until now?

There was a faint scraping sound from nearby. Lain wheeled in fright and saw that pallid multipedes were already writhing upwards out of their burrows, disturbing small pebbles in their eagerness to converge on the dead bluehorn. He lunged away from the spectacle. For a moment he considered returning to the cave, then realised it would offer only minimal protection during daylight — and after nightfall the entire hill was likely to be swarming with globes, patiently nuzzling and probing. The best plan was to head eastwards to Skyship Quarter with all possible speed and try to get there before the ptertha came riding down the wind.

The decision made, Lain began to run through the murmurous heat. Near the base of the hill he emerged on an open slope which gave him an unrestricted view to the east. A far-off plume of dust marked Leddravohr’s course and a long way ahead of him, almost at the drab boundaries of the Quarter, a larger cloud showed how far the four soldiers had gone. He had not appreciated the difference in speed between a man on fpot and one mounted on a galloping bluehorn. He would be able to make better progress when he reached the flat grassland, but even so it would probably be an hour before he reached safety.

An hour!

Is there any hope at all of my surviving for that length of time?

As a distraction from his growing physical distress, he tried to bring his professional skills to bear on the question. The statistics, when looked at dispassionately, were more encouraging than he might have expected.