"Come with me and speak to Yolara," he pleaded. "There came no message—tell her—"
"Wait, Serku!" There was a thrill as of inspiration in Rador's voice. "This corial is of the swiftest—Lakla's are of the slowest. With Lakla scarce a va ahead we can reach her before she enters the Portal. Lift you the Shadow—we will bring her back, and this will I do for you, Serku."
Doubt tempered Serku's panic.
"Why not go alone, Rador, leaving the strangers here with me?" he asked—and I thought not unreasonably.
"Nay, then." The green dwarf was brusk. "Lakla will not return unless I carry to her these men as evidence of our good faith. Come—we will speak to Yolara and she shall judge you—" He started away—but Serku caught his arm.
"No, Rador, no!" he whispered, again panic-stricken. "Go you—as you will. But bring her back! Speed, Rador!" He sprang toward the entrance. "I lift the Shadow—"
Into the green dwarf's poise crept a curious, almost a listening, alertness. He leaped to Serku's side.
"I go with you," I heard. "Some little I can tell you—" They were gone.
"Fine work!" muttered Larry. "Nominated for a citizen of Ireland when we get out of this, one Rador of—"
The Shadow trembled—shuddered into nothingness; the obelisked outposts that had held it framed a ribbon of roadway, high banked with verdure, vanishing in green distances.