Hardly were they hidden, when Alurna and her five companions came into sight. They were moving slowly, the girl limping slightly from a bruised heel, her sandals scuffed and dusty.
The girl stopped and turned to the others. "Is it much farther, Adbor? I don't think I can take another step."
"Courage, my princess," smiled Adbor, a tall, slender man with a great shock of blond hair. "A short distance more and we shall be there."
Alurna sank down on a fallen log, removed her sandal and rubbed the bruised heel.
"I'm afraid you'll have to carry me from here on," she sighed. "My feet ache terribly."
Silently the foliage parted an arm's length from the girl's half-bent figure, and in the gap were framed the brutal faces of Urb and Mog, the sullen. Urb gave the female only a passing glance; his attention was riveted on the five unsuspecting men. The woman was not armed—the men were; and it was the males who must die before they could bring their weapons into use.
Meanwhile, the stunted mind of Mog, the sullen, was laboriously following an altogether different trend of thought from that of his leader. His unblinking pig-like eyes were intent on the sweetly curved back directly in front of him, and he was increasingly aware of what an altogether desirable bit of femininity this hairless she actually was. His tongue moistened suddenly dry lips and he shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.
Urb waited no longer. Slowly he brought up his left hand, caught a small branch between his fingers, then suddenly clenched his fist.
The wood snapped with a sharp clear sound, freezing the five Sepharian guards into instant immobility.