Sindi thought of Rahn, quiet, serious-minded, a little shy, always polite and respectful, and then she thought of Yorgen peBor. Yorgen, who didn't love her, and Lia gePrannt, whom Yorgen did love.
And suddenly, with perfect clarity, the thought came to her that there was just one logical thing to do: go to Rahn, wherever he might be.
But where was he? Some cautious probing around the School made it evident that none of his few close friends knew where he might have gone to. Had he gone home? No; Sindi rejected the idea. Rahn's father, Dorvis peDel, was a proud and fierce man—even more so since his heavy fall. Rahn would never dare return home as a failure, to announce that he had left the Bel-rogas School for some trifling reason. Sindi tried to picture the scene that would result when Dorvis peDel discovered that it had been because of Kiv peGanz Brajjyd's daughter that his son had left.
No; it seemed impossible that Rahn had gone home.
The next strongest possibility was that he had gone down to Gelusar. If that were so, it wouldn't be an easy matter for Sindi to find him. Gelusar was Nidor's biggest city, and it would be simple for a lovesick boy to lose himself quite efficiently in it.
But the drawback there was that Gelusar was only five miles from the School, and there was fairly steady traffic between Bel-rogas and the Holy City. Gelusar was always full of people from the School; there was a fairly good chance that, in time, Rahn would be seen and recognized by someone.
Sindi rose and petulantly flipped on a burner, and stared at the flickering flame until her eyes began to smart. Everything in the lab bore Rahn's imprint: the retort filled with some mysterious golden-green liquid standing just above their row of notebooks, the dent in the burner where Rahn had once dropped it, the untidy mementoes of his presence all over the lab.
There was one logical place where he would have gone, and as the answer occurred to Sindi it also struck her that she would have to get moving in a hurry in order to catch him in time. He would be heading for the seaport of Vashcor, Nidor's second largest city, three days' journey away on the other side of the forbidding Mountains of the Morning.
He had often talked of going to Vashcor. He had wanted to travel, to have adventure, and Vashcor was the gateway. Of course, Sindi thought—he had gone to Vashcor!
She drew a deep breath, tidied together some of the notebooks just to keep her tense hands busy, and took a few tentative paces around the lab while she decided exactly what she was going to do. Then she dashed out of the lab at top speed.
Her deest was waiting patiently at the hitching post, but the animal looked tired and not at all anxious to undergo a long journey. Glancing down at the other stalls, she selected the biggest and sturdiest animal there. It was Smith's.
Apologizing silently to the Earthman for the theft of his deest, Sindi unslipped the hitching rope and led the animal out of the stable. She leaped lightly into the saddle, which Smith had thoughtfully left in place, stowed her lunchpack in the saddlebag, and guided the deest down the winding turf road that led away from Bel-rogas.
Vashcor lay due east. The road was a good one, running up to the low-lying foothills of the Mountains of the Morning and then detouring around the great bleak mountains. No one ever went near the Mountains of the Morning. They were cold, nasty-looking peaks, bare of vegetation. The nightly rain of Nidor washed them clean of soil and left them standing, naked teeth jabbing up out of the plains.
Aside from their uninviting appearance, the Mountains were surrounded by an aura of taboo. They were dead and empty; for the Nidorians, anything dead was sacred, and hence somewhat to be feared.
But I'm going to go over those mountains, Sindi thought. They won't scare me.
It was a matter of necessity. Rahn had had several hours' head start on her, and unless she caught up with him he might easily reach Vashcor and ship out for points unknown before she could find him. If she de-toured across the mountains, she might be able to make up the head start Rahn had, since he would go the long way, around them.
That is, she might be able to make up the difference. There was no guarantee the mountains were passable.
As she left the outskirts of the School and headed down the open road to Vashcor, she muttered a brief but heartfelt prayer. The Great Light seemed particularly bright that afternoon. She took it as a good omen.
The road traveled through perfectly flat countryside for mile upon mile. Far in the distance, half-hidden by 4he cloudy haze, she could see the Mountains of the Morning. Behind them was Vashcor.
The first part of the lonely journey took Sindi through fairly populous farm territory. The roads were hardly crowded, but occasionally farmers going to market passed her, recognized her School costume, and saluted respectfully. Occasionally, yokels called things after her as she sped by.
Then as the Great Light started to dim for the evening, the character of the countryside changed, and the farms became fewer and more widely spaced. Sindi became uneasy, and had some grave doubts about the wisdom of her wild venture, especially when it grew dark and the ever-present night-time drizzle of Nidor began.
Cold, hungry, a little frightened, and, before long, soaking wet through her light garments, she nevertheless urged the deest onward. Hour after hour passed; darkness closed in about her, only the faint glimmer of the Lesser Light breaking through the shroud of clouds. Her body became numb from the constant swaying and pounding of the deest. From time to time the animal needed rest, and it was then, when motion ceased, that Sindi realized fully how tired she was.
And then morning came, and she realized she had no idea where the night had gone. There was the sudden realization that the Great Light had returned gradually to the sky, and the rain had ended, and warmth was in the air, and that was all there was to tell her that there had been passage of time.
The Mountains of the Morning—the name seemed appropriate, now—were closer than ever before. They loomed up high on the horizon, huge purplish piles of stone. Certainly, Sindi thought, they were a grim and foreboding barrier for anyone contemplating a crossing.
The road was completely deserted now. Sindi kept staring ahead, hoping wildly to get some glimpse of Rahn, but there was no one in sight.
She continued relentlessly on through that morning, pausing once to give her deest an extended rest. The unfortunate animal was near the point of collapse. Sindi let the deest stretch out in the road for about ten minutes, and then, impatient to get on, prodded the animal up.
"Let's go," she said.
The animal broke into a weary canter, its doubly-cleft hooves clattering along the road.
After perhaps two hours of solitary riding, Sindi spotted a figure coming toward her in the road. For a moment she thought it might be Rahn—returning, maybe? but as the other drew near she realized it was an ancient man, riding a bedraggled-looking old deest.
She pulled up, anxious merely for the company of another person.
"Hoy, Father!"
"Hoy," the old man replied. He was dressed in rustic costume; probably he was a venerable farmer returning from a visit to Vashcor. "Where to, youngster?"
"Vashcor, Father."
"A long journey for one so young," the old man commented.
Sindi smiled. "I'll manage, Father. Tell me, old one: have you seen anyone else riding for Vashcor this morning?''
The old man thought for a moment. "Well, no. That is—by the Light, yes, I did see one. Young fellow, heading down the road as fast as could be."
Sindi said tensely, "What did he look like?"