"O Urim," he said, "may I say a few words to you before we go?...
"My king, trust me and these warriors to find Alurna. They are young and fully trained. For hours they can press onward so rapidly that anyone less hardened would drop behind within an hour. To slacken their speed for one less trained might cost much precious time."
Urim, ready to override any protests, could not help but see the logic of the words. For several moments he stood with bowed head while impulse battled with good judgment.
"Take your men and go without me, my friend," he said at last, his voice unsteady. "I am an old man, and useless. I should only delay you."
He turned and strode back into the palace before the troubled Sepharian could frame a reply.
Ten minutes later the twenty and one entered the trail that led past the scene of Alurna's capture the day before.
Half an hour later another band of men filed through the western gates of Sephar and entered the mouth of the same path. There were eight in the group: Jotan, Javan and Tamar with five of the warriors who had come with them on the long journey from Ammad to Sephar. Their destination, now, was the house of Rydob, and with them was a man adept at following a spoor, however faint.
Tarlok, the leopard, crouching among the dense foliage of a thick branch above the trail, watched them pass. Soundlessly he bared glistening fangs, and his yellow eyes narrowed into twin slits of hate. Tarlok detested these two-legged creatures; but even greater was his fear of them, for his mate had fallen, a moon ago, beneath the sharp sticks of such man-things.