"I'll guide you home, David Planter," offered Mara, and Mantha gestured approval.
Mara and Planter left the Nest by a new jungle trail. Mara explained that these tunnels were made by great floundering beasts, and served as runways for smaller land life. The girl trod the green, fog-filled labyrinths with assurance. Within minutes they reached the pool where Disbro had landed the ship.
At the edge floated the limp, dead thing that Mara had killed to save Planter. Small flutterers, like gross-winged flies but as large as gulls, swarmed to dig out morsels. Mara called the creature a krau, the flying scavengers ghrols. "Skygor words, for ugly beasts," she commented. "Neither is good for food."
Planter picked his way from root to root toward the ship. "Disbro!" he called. "Max!"
There was no answer. He scrambled up and inside, then out again. "Something's happened," he said gravely.
Mara studied the massed logs that made a rough raft. "Skygor work. And eke the rope of wires about your ship."
"They've been captured by Skygors? For slaves?" Planter had climbed down again. His hand sought the Skygor pistol at his belt, his face was tense and pale. "I'll get them back. Where's this swamp-city you mention?"
She pointed. "Not far. But the way is perilous. The trails throng with Skygors, and there is the spell."
"That sounds like some old superstition," snorted Planter. "I'm not afraid of Skygors. I killed two today."
"Aye," she smiled. "They are not great fighters in these parts. But there are more than two at the city ... come along."