“Gorm,” she said softly, stroking the furry, black head. “Will you be my friend, Gorm?”
“He’ll be your friend, don’t worry,” Hiero said. “And he’s also a very effective guide and scout. But now please be quiet for a few moments. I want to ask him how he got here. We parted when I went clumping out in the open to pick you up.” He leaned forward and concentrated on Gorm’s mind.
The bear, it seemed, had drawn back behind the rocky point as soon as he had seen where Klootz was heading. He had tried to make mental contact with the departing priest, but realized that it would be hopeless in all the confusion. He had, however, picked up other telepathic minds, not Hiero’s, although he could not make out what message they were sending.
I think that was our enemies (who were) trying to get people to hunt/stop/attack us from in front, Hiero sent. How did you/Gorm smell/find (us)?
Easy/cub/trick, came the answer. Went (back from) big water, walked along—came down to big water—smelled—went back-swam small water above men’s houses—came down (again), followed and smelled your trail.
By that time, Gorm had come to the hut village of the white savages, most of whom were back from their bird arena and were milling around and all making a fearful racket in the night. He had watched for a while and then, seeing that the villagers had a large pack of yelping dogs, he had quietly swum the little river and gone on east, returning to the beach to pick up Klootz’s tracks and then simply following them until he found their present camp.
The priest decided that pursuit that night sounded very unlikely and that they could relax and trust Klootz and the bear to warn them. Settling himself once again, he recommenced questioning Luchare where he had left off.
“The Elevener? Why, he looked like anyone else, an ordinary man of my people, perhaps fifty or so years old, except for those drab, brown clothes. Why?”
“That’s very interesting,” Hiero said. “In your country, it’s obvious, the people are all as dark-skinned as you and have that curly hair and those dark, dark eyes, right?”
“Of course. Why? Until I ran away, I never saw anyone of another color, except once or twice a white-skinned slave from the North, from around here, I guess. But the few Eleveners I’ve seen have all been of my own people.”
“Well,” the man said thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the tiny fire, “up my way, they all look like my
