Jarl moved still closer. He shouted—a guttural, clacking diatribe that went on for half a minute.
Two officers came to the nearest point of the defense perimeter. Uncertainly, they peered out into the echoing sea of darkness.
Again Jarl shouted; kept up the stream of clacking sound still longer.
One of the officers stepped back; gestured. A Forspark light swung round and focussed on the area where Jarl lay hidden.
Jarl scraped his palms against his legs. Drum-like, his heart pounded. His belly writhed as he weighed the odds against this madman's gamble.
But there was no other way.
Once more he shouted; kept the clatter running.
And as he did so—slowly; open hands upthrust and empty—he rose to full height. Still shouting, he moved step by step into the beam of searching light.
He was close to the perimeter, now—close enough to hear the guards' excited babble.
Still no shot came; no ray-beam lanced out to burn him down.