"Garin."
"Garin," she repeated. "How like--" A faint rose glowed beneath her
pearl flesh.
Dandtan's hand fell lightly upon his rescuer's shoulder. "Indeed he is
like him. From this day let him bear that other's name. Garan, Son of
Light."
"Why not?" she returned calmly. "After all--"
"The reward which might have been Garan's may be his? Tell him the story
of his namesake when we are again in the Caverns--"
Dandtan was interrupted by a frightened squeak from the Ana. Then came a
mocking voice.
"So the prey has entered the trap of its own will. How many hunters may
boast the same?"
Kepta leaned against the door, the light of vicious mischief dancing in
his eyes. Garin dropped his cloak to the floor, but Dandtan must have
read what was in the flyer's mind, for he caught him by the arm.
"On your life, touch him not!"
"So you have learned that much wisdom while you have dwelt among us,
Dandtan? Would that Thrala had done the same. But fair women find me
weak." He eyed her proud body in a way that would have sent Garin at his
throat had Dandtan not held him. "So shall Thrala have a second chance.
How would you like to see these men in the Room of Instruments, Lady?"
"I do not fear you," she returned. "Thran once made a prophecy, and he
never spoke idly. We shall win free--"
"That will be as fate would have it. Meanwhile, I leave you to each
other." He whipped around the door and slammed it behind him. They heard
the grating of the bar he slid into place. Then his footsteps died away.
"There goes evil," murmured Thrala softly. "Perhaps it would have been
better if Garin had killed him as he thought to do. We must get
away...."
Garin drew the rod from his belt. The green light-motes gathered and
clung about its polished length.
"Touch not the door," Thrala advised; "only its hinges."
Beneath the tip of the rod the stone became spongy and flaked away.
Dandtan and the flyer caught the door and eased it to the floor. With
one quick movement Thrala caught up Garin's cloak and swirled it about
her, hiding the glitter of her gem-encrusted robe.
There was a curious cold lifelessness about the air of the corridor, the
light-bearing motes vanishing as if blown out.
"Hurry!" the Daughter urged. "Kepta is withdrawing the living light, so
that we will have to wander in the dark."
When they reached the end of the hall the light was quite gone, and
Garin bruised his hands against the stone portcullis which had been
lowered. From somewhere on the other side of the barrier came rippling
laughter.
"Oh, outlander," called Kepta mockingly, "you will get through easily
enough when you remember your weapon. But the dark you can not conquer
so easily, nor that which runs the halls."
Garin was already busy with the rod. Within five minutes their way was
clear again. But Thrala stopped them when they would have gone through.
"Kepta has loosed the hunters."
"The hunters?"
"The morgels and--others," explained Dandtan. "The Black Ones have
withdrawn and only death comes this way. And the morgels see in the
dark...."
"So does the Ana."
"Well thought of," agreed the son of the Ancient Ones.
"It will lead us out."
As if in answer, there came a tug at Garin's belt. Reaching back, he
caught Thrala's hand and knew that she had taken Dandtan's. So linked
they crossed the guard room. Then the Ana paused for a long time, as if
listening. There was nothing to see but the darkness which hung about
them like the smothering folds of a curtain.
"Something follows us," whispered Dandtan.
"Nothing to fear," stated Thrala. "It dare not attack. It is, I think,
of Kepta's fashioning. And that which has not true life dreads death
above all things. It is going--"
There came sounds of something crawling slowly away.
"Kepta will not try that again," continued the Daughter, disdainfully.
"He knew that his monstrosities would not attack. Only in the light are
they to be dreaded--and then only because of the horror of their forms."
Again the Ana tugged at its master's belt. They shuffled into the narrow
passage beyond. But there remained the sense of things about them in the
dark, things which Thrala continued to insist were harmless and yet
which filled Garin with loathing.
Then they entered the far corridor into which led the three halls and
which ended in the morgel pit. Here, Garin believed, was the greatest
danger from the morgels.
The Ana stopped short, dropping back against Garin's thigh. In the
blackness appeared two yellow disks, sparks of saffron in their depths.
Garin thrust the rod into Thrala's hands.
"What do you?" she demanded.
"I'm going to clear the way. It's too dark to use the rod against moving
creatures...." He flung the words over his shoulder as he moved toward
the unwinking eyes.
_CHAPTER EIGHT_
_Escape from the Caves_
Keeping his eyes upon those soulless yellow disks, Garin snatched off
his hood, wadding it into a ball. Then he sprang. His fingers slipped on
smooth hide, sharp fangs ripped his forearm, blunt nails scraped his
ribs. A foul breath puffed into his face and warm slaver trickled down
his neck and chest. But his plan succeeded.
The cap was wedged into the morgel's throat and the beast was slowly
choking. Blood dripped from the flyer's torn flesh, but he held on
grimly until he saw the light fade from those yellow eyes. The dying
morgel made a last mad plunge for freedom, dragging his attacker along
the rock floor. Then Garin felt the heaving body rest limply against his
own. He staggered against the wall, panting.
"Garin!" cried Thrala. Her questing hand touched his shoulder and crept
to his face. "It is well with you?"
"Yes," he panted, "let us go on."
Thrala's fingers had lingered on his arm and now she walked beside him,
her cloak making whispering sounds as it brushed against the wall and
floor.
"Wait," she cautioned suddenly. "The morgel pit...."