Planet of Adventure Omnibus (54 page)

During the
afternoon, with no Dirdir in view, takers began to venture from the Boulder
Patch. Reith, Traz and Anacho climbed the slope, making for the ridge as
directly as caution permitted. They were alone now. Not a sound could be heard.

What with the
need for stealth, progress was slow; sunset found them toiling up a gulch just
below the ridge, and they came forth just in time to see the last corroded
sliver of Carina 4269 fade from sight. To the south the ground sloped in long
rolls and swales down to the Stage: rich ground for sequins, but highly dangerous
owing to the proximity of Khusz, about ten miles to the south.

With twilight
a curious mood, mixed of melancholy and horror, settled over the Carabas. In
all directions, winking fires appeared, each with its macabre implication.
Amazing, thought Reith, that men, for any inducement whatever, would enter such
a place. No more than a quarter-mile distant a fire sprang into existence, and
the three quickly crouched into the shadows. The pale shapes of the Dirdir were
clear to the naked eye.

Reith studied
them through the scanscope. They stalked back and forth, their effulgences
streaming like long phosphorescent antennae, and they seemed to be emitting
sounds too soft to be heard.

Anacho
whispered, “They use the ‘Old State’ of their brains; they are truly wild
beasts, just as on the Sibol plains a million years ago.”

“Why do they
walk back and forth?”

“It is their
custom; they ready themselves for their feeding frenzy.”

Reith
scrutinized the ground around the fire. In the shadows lay two heaving shapes. “They’re
alive!” whispered Reith in dismay.

Anacho
grunted. “The Dirdir don’t care to carry burdens. The prey must run alongside,
hopping and leaping like the Dirdir all day if need be. If the prey flags, they
sting him with nerve-fire and he runs with greater agility.”

Reith put
down the scanscope.

Anacho spoke
in a voice carefully toneless: “You see them now in the ‘Old State,’ as wild
beasts, which is their elemental nature. They are magnificent. In other cases
they show magnificence of a different sort. Men cannot judge them, but merely
stand back in awe.”

“What of the
elite Dirdirmen?”

“The
Immaculates? What of them?”

“Do they
imitate the Dirdir at hunting?”

Anacho looked
off over the dark Zone. In the east a pink flush heralded the rising of the
moon Az. “The Immaculates hunt. Naturally they cannot match Dirdir fervor and
they are not privileged to hunt the Zone.” He glanced toward the nearby fire. “In
the morning the wind will blow from us to them. Best that we move on through
the dark.”

Az, low in
the sky, cast a pink sheen over the landscape; Reith could think only of
watered blood. They moved east and south, picking a painful way across the
rocky bones of old Tschai. The Dirdir fire receded and passed from sight behind
a bluff. For a period the three descended toward the Stage. They halted to
sleep a fitful few hours, then once more continued down through the alls of
Recall. Az now hung low in the west, while Braz lifted into the east. The night
was clear; every object showed a double pink and blue shadow.

Traz went
into the lead, watching, listening, testing each step. Two hours before dawn he
stopped short and motioned his comrades to stillness. “Dead smoke,” he
whispered. “A camp ahead ... something is stirring.”

The three
listened. The landscape gave back only silence.

Moving with
utmost stealth, Traz angled away on a new route, up over a ridge, down through
a copse of feather-fronds. Once more halting to listen, Traz suddenly gestured
the other two back into deep shade. From concealment they saw on the brow of
the hill a pair of pale shapes, which stood silent and alert for ten minutes,
then abruptly vanished.

Reith
whispered, “Did they know we were near?”

“I don’t
think so,” Traz muttered. “Still, they might have picked up our scent.”

Half an hour
later they went cautiously forward, keeping to the shadows. Dawn colored the
east; Az was gone, followed by Braz. The three hurried through plum-colored
gloom, and finally took shelter in a dense clump of torquil. At sunrise, among
the litter of twigs and curled black leaves, Traz found a node the size of his
two fists. When cracked loose from its brittle stem and split, hundreds of
sequins spilled forth, each glowing with a point of scarlet fire.

“Beautiful!”
whispered Anacho. “Enough to excite avidity! A few more finds like this and we
could abandon Adam Reith’s insane plan.”

They searched
further through the copse, but found nothing more.

Daylight
revealed the South Stage savanna stretching east and west into the haze of
distance. Reith studied his map, comparing the mountain behind with the
depicted relief. “Here we are.” He touched down his finger. “The Dirdir
returning to Khusz pass yonder, west of the Boundary Woods, which is our
destination.”

“No doubt our
destiny as well,” remarked Anacho with a pessimistic sniff.

“I would as
soon die killing Dirdir as any other way,” said Traz.

“One does not
die killing Dirdir,” Anacho corrected him delicately. “They do not permit it.
Should someone make the attempt they prickle him with nerve-fire.”

“We’ll do our
best,” said Reith. Lifting the scanscope he searched the landscape and along
the ridge discovered three Dirdir hunting parties, scanning the slopes for
game. A wonder, thought Reith, that any men whatever survived to return to
Maust.

The day
passed slowly. Traz and Anacho searched under the scrub for nodes, without
success. During the middle afternoon a hunt crossed the slope not half a mile
distant. First came a man bounding like a deer, his legs extending mightily
forward and back. Fifty yards behind ran three Dirdir without exertion. The
fugitive, despairing, halted with his back to a rock and prepared to fight; he
was swarmed upon and overwhelmed. The Dirdir crouched over the prostrate form,
performed some sort of manipulation, then stood erect. The man lay twitching
and thrashing. “Nerve-fire,” said Anacho. “Somehow he annoyed them, perhaps by
carrying an energy weapon.” The Dirdir trooped away. The victim, by a series of
grotesque efforts, gained his feet, and started a lurching flight toward the
hills. The Dirdir paused, looked after him. The man halted and gave a great cry
of anguish. He turned and followed the Dirdir. They began to run, bounding in
feral exuberance. Behind, running with crazy abandon, came their captive. The
group disappeared to the north.

Anacho said
to Reith, “You intend to pursue your plans?”

Reith felt a
sudden yearning to be out of the Carabas, as far away as possible. “I
understand why the plan hasn’t been tried before.”

Afternoon
faded into a sad and gentle evening. As soon as fires appeared along the
hillsides, the three departed their covert and set off to the north.

At midnight
they reached the Boundary Wood. Traz, fearing the sinuous half-reptilian beast
known as the smur, was reluctant to enter. Reith made no argument and the three
kept to the fringe of the forest until dawn.

With the
coming of light they performed a cautious exploration, and found nothing more
noxious than fluke lizards. From the western edge of the woods Khusz was
clearly visible, only three miles south; entering and leaving the Zone the
Dirdir skirted the forest.

In the
afternoon, after careful assessment of all the potentialities of the woods, the
three set to work. Traz dug, Anacho and Reith worked to fabricate a great
rectangular net, using twigs, branches and the cord they had brought in their
packs.

On the
evening of the following day the apparatus was complete. Surveying the system
Reith alternated between hope and despair. Would the Dirdir react as he hoped
they might? Anacho seemed to think so, though he spoke much of nerve-fire and
exhibited intense pessimism.

Middle
morning and early afternoon, when the hunts returned to Khusz, were
theoretically the productive periods. Earlier and later the Dirdir tended to go
forth; the attention of these groups the three did not care to attract.

The night
passed and the sun rose on a day which one way or another must prove to be
fateful. For a time it seemed that rain would fall, but by midmorning the
clouds had drifted south; in the suddenly clear air the light of Carina 4269
was like an antique tincture.

Reith waited
at the edge of the woods, sweeping the landscape through his scanscope. To the
north appeared a party of four Dirdir loping easily along the trail of Khusz. “Here
they come,” said Reith. “This is it.”

The Dirdir
came bounding down the trail, giving occasional whistles of exuberance. Hunting
had been good; they had enjoyed themselves. But look! What was there? A
man-beast at the edge of the forest! What did the fool do here so close to
Khusz? The Dirdir sprang in happy pursuit.

The man-beast
ran for his life, as did all such creatures. It faltered early and stood at
bay, back to a tree. Venting their horrifying death-cry the Dirdir lunged
forward. Under the feet of the foremost the ground gave way; he dropped out of
sight. The remaining three halted in amazement. A sound: a crackle, a thrash;
on top of them fell a mat of twigs, under which they were trapped. And here
came men, unspeakably triumphant! A ruse, a ploy! With rage tearing their
viscera, they struggled vainly against the mat, desperately intent to win free,
to submerge the wicked men in hate and horror ...

The Dirdir
were killed, by stabbing, hewing and blows of the shovel.

The mat was
raised, the bodies stripped of sequins and dragged away, the deadfall repaired.

A second
group came down from the north: only three, but creatures resplendent in
casques, with effulgences like incandescent wires. Anacho spoke in awe: “These
are Hundred-Trophy Excellences!”

“So much the
better,” Reith signaled to Traz. “Bring them in; we’ll teach them excellence.”

Traz behaved
as before, showing himself, then fleeing as if in panic. The Excellences
pursued without vehemence; they had enjoyed a fruitful hunt. The way under the
dendrons had been trodden before, perhaps by other hunters. The quarry,
curiously enough, showed little of the frantic agility which added zest to the
hunt; in fact, he had turned to face them, his back to an enormous gnarled
torquil. Fantastic! He waved a blade. Did he challenge them, the Excellences?
Launch forward, leap on him, rend him to the ground, with the trophy to the
first to touch him! But! shock!-the ground collapsing, the forest falling; a
delirium of confusion! And look: submen coming forth with blades, to hack, to
stab! Mind-bursting rage, a frenzy of struggle, hissing and screaming-then the
blade.

There were
four slaughters that day, four on the next, five on the third day, by which
time the process had become an efficient routine. During mornings and evenings
the bodies were buried and the gear repaired. The business seemed as
passionless as fishing-until Reith recalled the hunts he had witnessed and so
restored his zeal.

The decision
to halt the operation derived not from the diminution of profit-each party of
hunters carried booty to a value of as much as twenty thousand sequins-or any
lessening of fervor on the part of the three. But even after sorting out the
clears, milks and sards the booty was an almost unmanageable bulk, and Anacho’s
pessimism had become apprehension. “Sooner or later the parties will be missed.
There will be a search; how could we escape?”

“One more
kill,” said Traz. “Here now comes a group, rich from their hunting.”

“But why? We
have all the sequins we can carry!”

“We can
discard our sards and some emeralds, and carry only reds and purples.”

Anacho looked
at Reith, who shrugged. “One more band.”

Traz went to
the edge of the forest and performed his now well-schooled simulation of panic.
The Dirdir failed to react. Had they seen him? They advanced with no acceleration
of pace. Traz hesitated a moment, then once again showed himself. The Dirdir
saw him; apparently they had also seen him on the first occasion, for instead
of leaping into immediate pursuit, they continued their easy jog. Watching from
the shadows, Reith tried to decide whether they were suspicious or merely sated
with hunting.

The Dirdir
halted to examine the track into the forest. They came into the wood slowly,
one in the lead, another behind, two holding up the rear. Reith faded back to
his post.

“Trouble,” he
told Anacho. “We may have to fight our way out.”

“ ‘Fight’?”
cried Anacho. “Four Dirdir, three men?”

Traz, a
hundred yards down the trail, decided to stimulate the Dirdir. Stepping into
the open, he aimed his catapult at the foremost and fired a bolt into the
creature’s chest. It gave a whistle of outrage and sprang forward, effulgences
stiff and furiously bright.

Traz dodged
back, went to stand in his usual spot, a grin of irrational pleasure on his
face. He brandished his blade. The wounded Dirdir charged, and crashed into the
pitfall. Its yells became a weird keening of shock and pain. The remaining
three stopped short, then came balefully forward, step by step. Reith pulled
the net release; it dropped, capturing two; one danced back.