He took his hand away. Very, very quietly, Ciaran raised his head a few inches and looked over.
Their niche was some fifteen feet above the floor of the pit. Below and to the right was the mouth of a square tunnel. The crowded, sweating confusion of the forges and workshops spread out before them, with people swarming like ants after a rain.
Standing at the tunnel mouth were two creatures in shining metal sheathes—the androids of Bas the Immortal.
Their clear, light voices rose up to where Ciaran and the hunter lay.
"Did you find out?"
"Failing—as we judged. Otherwise, no change."
"No change." One of the slim unhumans turned and looked with its depthless black eyes at the soaring metal giant. "If we can only finish it in time!"
The other said, "We can, Khafre. We must."
Khafre made a quick, impatient gesture. "We need more slaves! These human cattle are frail. You drive them, and they die."