He rolled off the altar. He hit the sloping rock beneath it with a thud
that jarred his bones, but he kept on rolling. He went down the slope
to the red marker--
He went by the marker, and the Change caught his ropes and twisted
them into upright snakes that writhed in queer formations. It bent him
forward, knotted his insides into lumps.
But he was free.
He tried to run, and could not. He overcame the agony in him to crawl,
one arm and one leg after another, dragging himself along. The island
came nearer and nearer. He expected disintegrator pellets to thud into
him before he realized that Black Randolph wanted him to die slowly. He
imagined the pirate was laughing insanely, watching the Change almost
tear him apart.
Grim put a hand over the red mark and the relief from pain was so great
he almost fainted. His teeth dug into his lip and forced him forward.
Going over the marker, he crumpled into a ball.
"Grim! Grim Thorssen!"
Tlokine lay many feet from his safety zone, twisted and huddled, the
Change having its will of her. He knew she couldn't take that any
longer--and live.
He felt sweat break out all over him. He had to go out there and bring
her in. Grim closed his eyes and ran for her. The Change caught him,
shook him, tortured him. Grim fought with his body and his will; put a
hand on her and dragged. He brought her in as a wolf might bring in the
carcass of a deer; slowly, inch by inch.
Tlokine was almost dead when she crumpled inside the marker. Grim
worked over her frantically. The Change was subsiding.
She opened her slant brown eyes. Grim cried, "They'll be coming for us.
The storm is almost over. We have to run for it."