Yet somehow, he could not bring himself to reveal her lineage ... tell how she came to be here, put her forward in the role of hostage.
Bukal was frowning when Craig finished. "There's too much here I don't understand," he grunted. "Ourobos are not of Lysor, but of our sister-planet, Xumar—a loathsome, crawling horror beyond man's controlling. Innoculations with a rare oil will repel them, but no one has ever found a way to kill them. If Zenaor were mad enough to bring them here, to Lysor...." He shuddered and left his sentence hanging.
"And the crystal—?" Craig displayed it.
Again, the other shook his head. "For all I know, it might as well be nothing but a lamp-lens." He straightened, thin-lipped. "But at least we'll make our masters pay for Tumek! This very night!"
Pivoting as he spoke, he strode back towards the waiting discmen. "These two"—he gestured to Craig and Narla—"they are accepted. Take them to the village."
Only then did it dawn on Craig that the Baemae had asked not a question about the girl.
But there was little time for pondering on that. The men spun their discs; helped Earthman and girl to board them. The ground, the stockade, fell away.
Then the hills, too, lay behind, and they were gliding down beyond the palisade, into the village.
A withered crone led Craig and Narla to a hut. "Rest here, warrior—you and your woman. Tomorrow will be time enough to think of work and duty."