"Drink!" she ordered sharply.
He found that he could do nothing else then but obey. The contents were thick but fluid, and the taste was tart, nearly fiery, so that he swallowed hurriedly to get it out of his mouth. Heat sped down his throat and suddenly he realized that the grim walls about had forced a chill not only on the room but into him so that he had been tense against it, whereas now he relaxed.
Selrena had reseated herself in the crystal chair and sat watching him with the expression of one striving to solve some problem. As he put aside the bowl she gestured again to the disc on the floor. He leaned forward a little, wondering if he were again to face his companions. The fatigue which had ridden him ever since he had come upward from the ways beneath had somehow vanished; neither did he feel as if he were under any compulsion. Perhaps this was more of Zoror's glamorie, but he had no desire to fight it.
"Who are these friends of yours?" She was direct and to the point.
Though she must have learned from her mind hold the major parts of his story Farree retold it again, partly by mind picture, partly in speech. Though he used the universal trade talk of the star lanes it would seem that she had no difficulty in understanding him any more than he found her words untranslatable.
When he talked of their adventures on Yiktor she stopped him several times, mainly to ask that he repeat something he had said concerning Maelen or those of the Thassa whom he had encountered.
"From whence did they come?" she again asked abruptly, "these who share thoughts not only with each other but also with the animals and other life of their present world?"
Farree shook his head. "I do not know—only that they are an old, old people who once lived in cities but who now travel over their world, having no true homes."
"Yet they have power." The hand resting on her knee clasped itself into a fist. "Now"—she switched to another subject—"tell me more of this Zacanthan—from whence did he come and why does he comb old legends? Does he hunt treasure as seems to be the goal of many races and species?"
"The Zacanthans hunt knowledge. In their own world they store all that they can learn—"
"For what reason?" she pushed him.
"I do not know, except that they find knowledge itself treasure. Sometimes they go off-world as Zoror has done– either to stay, as he does, on another world where many ships planet and where he can gather the news from many far places—or sometimes they explore ancient ruins to hunt there some clues as to who built them and when and why—"
"And it was this Zoror who told you of the People—who came with you seeking them—merely for the knowledge he could add to his gleanings? Or had he some other reason– perhaps to hunt for the Doomland? Only death comes to those seeking there for any treasure. There are many stories of what can be discovered, but those are rightly distrusted. Death guards its own.
"However, that the People are still remembered and that someone seeks them"—again she was looking over Farree's head toward the wall of the round chamber—"that is something to think on."
"He does not hunt treasure—" Farree began and she laughed, though there was nothing but chill in that sound.
"No, he comes to return you to your kin. Is that his boast then?"
"He does not boast. Yes, he wished to follow the need which brought me here. And the Lady Maelen and her lord—they were of a like mind."
"A pretty tale." She laughed again. "So here you now sit in the hold which was once Fragon's and give me puzzles to be solved. I am always one needing answers, wingling. However, there is"—she tilted her head a fraction and eyed him intently—"this is just– Yes!" She brought her hands together with a clap of sound. "How better can you all play our purposes, wingling? Since you are here, be sure I shall make good use of you. Come—" She had arisen from her chair and beckoned. He got to his feet.
She waited for him to draw level with her and then laid one hand firmly on his shoulder, compelling him to walk with her. They were facing the wall when she halted to set her other hand to the stone. What she did there he could not tell, but a large portion of the wall fell outwards, providing a ledge open on three sides to the night.
Swiftly Selrena lifted the hand on his shoulder to touch his forehead between his eyes.
Farree lunged outward onto the platform. There had come a question—one only he could answer and that he must—now! His wings expanded and he leaped out and up into the night.
Chapter Fourteen
This was the same call which had drawn him earlier from the ship, and he could not do anything else but answer it. Under him the earth was dark; an evil greenish glimmer from the dead forest provided all the light except the very distant stars. No birds arose to fly with him or harass him during his flight. Farree tried to reach ahead, to pinpoint the source of the call but he could only learn that it lay to the west. While to the east—He thought fleetingly of the ship and those waiting for him there, but there was no way he could escape the urge which kept him flying directly away from what might be safety and help.
The fatigue which had enfolded him in the castle was gone. Perhaps, he thought fleetingly, banished by the drink Selrena had pushed upon him. He was flying with some speed. Now the dead forest was overpassed and he was above another line of cliffs which towered to match the heights on which the castle was perched. There came an end to the glimmer of the fungi-like growths, and once more he was over bare stone.
Farree was well out across this, discovering that he had more night sight than he had ever been aware of before, when ahead he caught a beam of a far stronger light than the forest had produced. At the same time the cry which drew him swelled up into what was like a mighty moan before dying away completely.
After that was silence, and some of the urgency which drove him on was gone. He slackened speed, once more somewhat in control of his own movements. The beam of light head became just that, a column pointing skyward. Ship's light! That must be it!
A ship in this direction could not be the one he longed to home in upon. With the cry no longer ringing in his head, deafening and deadening his other senses, he could think clearly again. To rush straight for that beacon was to be a fool. He tried to break from the compulsion, to head east once more. But he had not been released to the point that he could do that.
The heights over which he had been flying curled away to the north and he discovered that he could vary his advance enough to follow their broken line.
"Limit! Limit!"
That might have been shouted in his ear. He swerved a little under the shock of that mind send, the strongest and most punishing he had yet felt. He headed left and there were four strong and frantic beats of wings before he could escape the punishment of that ringing in his head.
Torment or no he was not allowed to go free. He flew in and out, heading always northward against his will, striving again and again to cross some invisible barrier which set off, each time he tried, that burst of ringing in his head, even affecting his sight so that he could not see as clearly as before. He veered once more to the left and gave a leap in the air.
"Limit!"
Dazed by the pain in his head accompanied by a feeling of all beneath him whirling madly around, Farree winged on. He must have broken through, but he was only half conscious that he was still aloft, flying again towards the pillar of light in the distance. Slowly Farree recovered from the latest sharp encounter. He was again in the open, leaving the cliffs once more behind, as he headed, whether he willed it or not, towards that distant finger of brilliance.