"To be disposed of as victors see fit?"
"Precisely,” he said.
"I see,” she said.
"What I fear you may not see, truly see, even now, given your newness to your condition, and your Earth upbringing,” he said, “is that that is actually, exactly, what you are, and all that you are."
"Surely I understand all that,” she said.
"Intellectually, perhaps,” he said.
"'Intellectually'?” she said.
"Yes,” he said, “but now you are going to better understand it, truly understand it."
"Master?"
"In your pretty little belly,” he said, “as any other slave."
She looked at him, suddenly, wildly.
"Master!” she protested.
He then knelt her and, by the leash, pulled her head down, and, crossing her ankles, took the leash back, between her legs, and used its free end to fasten her ankles together.
"Do you understand?” he asked.
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"May I speak, Master,” she asked, with difficulty.
"No,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she whispered.
He then began to gather together those arrows to the side, those not previously readied in his own blanket quiver. There were perhaps a hundred such missiles. He put them in four bundles, placed the bundles in a blanket, and fastened the whole across her back.
Later he freed her ankles and lifted her to her feet.
He then left the cave.
She followed him, staggering a little, on her tether.
Chapter, the Thirty-Seventh:
THE ENCOUNTERING OF SMALL CAMPS
"I am weary, Master,” said the slave.
"We will rest here, in this sheltering,” said Cabot.
It was little more than a bower.
For two days Cabot and his companion had followed the shore of Lake Fear, and had then made their way toward the area of major habitats.
They were now six days from the cave where they had left Lord Arcesilaus.
Occasionally, concealing themselves as they could, they passed small, dispirited camps of scattered Kurii, some maimed, some nursing wounds. These were survivors of the fleet's apparent disaster, and although some of these Kurii doubtless suspected, and at times even noted, the passage of Cabot and the slave, they did not challenge or attack them.
"I am sure, Master,” whispered Lita, “that twice our passage was understood."
"I think so,” said Cabot. One may sense such things, from the attitudes of many organisms, the liftings of heads, the alertness, the distending of nostrils, the turning of the ears.
It was difficult to avoid these small camps, which were numerous, and the senses of Kurii, as is well known, tend to be acute.
"Why were we not pursued?” she asked.
"I do not know,” said Cabot.
"What if we had been pursued?” she asked.
"Then,” said Cabot, “some would die, and then later, I suppose, us."
Cabot did not understand this at the time but these Kurii, as they had been defeated, and had yet dared to return to the world, had been refused admittance to the major habitats, and were awaiting their fates. Kurii tend not to be tolerant of failure. Too, they are reluctant to continue, so to speak, the bloodlines of defeat. Accordingly, defeated Kurii may be surgically altered, that their seed, perceived as defective, not be propagated. They are then banished to the precincts of the loathed nondominants. Alternatively they are accorded the option, elected by most, to do away with themselves in a manner appropriate to their remorse, and perceived dishonor. Indeed, in some of these camps, dangling bodies could be discerned, where some Kurii, perhaps anticipating the wrath of Lord Agamemnon, had hung themselves in shame.
"Do they not know of war in this world?” asked Lita.
"I do not know,” said Cabot.
It was true, though unknown at the time to Cabot and his slave, that many of these small, scattered groups were indeed unaware of the revolution, or civil war, raging at that time in their world.
"Some Kurii,” said Lita, “favor the revolution, and have planned it. How will Master know these from the minions and cohorts of Lord Agamemnon?"
"There must be ensigns of some sort,” said Cabot, “arm bands, flags, scarves, something, if only for the benefit of enlisted humans, to discriminate amongst the striving factions."
"All humans would be foes of Lord Agamemnon,” she said.
"Many, the cattle,” said Cabot, “might be neutral, others might favor the Theocrat of the World, and seek the emoluments he might offer for their allegiance."
"Who then is friend, and who foe?” she asked.
"In war it is not always clear,” said Cabot. “And a moment's hesitation may mean one's death. Indeed, the seeming friend, proclaiming camaraderie, may be the deadliest foe."
"What then is to be done?” she asked.
"There is a simple rule,” said Cabot.
"What is that?” she asked.
"When in doubt, kill,” he said.
She shuddered.
"Only he who is comfortable and safely removed from the place of danger and the moment of decision can afford to grant himself the luxury of an offended conscience,” said Cabot.
"Are you rested?” he asked.
"Yes,” she said.
"We will then continue on our way,” he said.
Chapter, the Thirty-Eighth:
THE PLACE OF WAR
"Master!” cried the slave.
Cabot had an arrow to the string.
The Kur was some twenty yards away, its ax grasped in both hands.
"Hold!” cried Cabot to the Kur, and this message, even at the low volume on which the translator was set, carried to it, as its ears lifted. “Do not approach!” said Cabot.
This was the first Kur they had met who stood in their way.
"Hail, Lord Arcesilaus!” called Cabot.
With a roar of rage the Kur lifted its ax and sped toward Cabot. Cabot let him approach until he had drawn back his ax for its stroke, and then killed him.
The Kur did not fully understand what had occurred, as it stopped, and, as though puzzled, looked down at its chest, and the odd, feathered thing that seemed nested there.
Then it looked at Cabot, and then fell forward, inert.
Cabot closed its eyes.
"It did not understand the bow,” he said.
"Surely they will soon understand it,” whispered the slave.
"The scarf, wound in the harness,” said Cabot.
"It is purple,” said the slave.
"That, I gather,” said Cabot, “is the identifying ensign of the forces of Agamemnon."
"Master!” said the slave, aghast.
Cabot came to where she stood. There, scattered about, were several humans. Some seemed of the game world, others, from their tunicking, were doubtless from the cages of the killer humans.
All had been cut apart.
No match had such been for Kurii.
"Master?” asked the slave.
"Our journey is ended,” said Cabot. “We have come to the place of war."
Chapter, the Thirty-Ninth:
WHAT OCCURRED IN THE AFTERNOON
One picks one's targets carefully.
There were perhaps a hundred Kurii about the building, with its walled enclosure. Some held a large log, to be used to break through the gate or wall. Others had thick poles which might be leant against a wall, up which the claw-footed Kurii might scramble with ease.
Cabot gathered that more than one assault had been beaten back. Certainly there were Kur bodies at the foot of the wall. He could see spear points above the wall, where he supposed that a parapet of sorts had been constructed. He gathered, as was the case, the revolution was failing, the revolutionists being heavily outnumbered, and then, in their scattered, defeated, retreating groups, being punished back into a number of isolated, improvised strongholds, which might then be dealt with, one by one, almost at their leisure, by the forces of Lord Agamemnon.