III
Nathan darted out of the room of the Stone Pig, guided by his intimate knowledge of the cavern. He waited a moment by the entrance, listening in the darkness. Then he heard the soft scrape of a sandal against a rock somewhere. And a voice.
"Nathan Ormondy!"
It called his name softly, echoing in the cavern, and it was like no other voice he had ever heard. The music of its overtones was brilliant and glowing like the inner light of the Jewels of Chamar themselves.
"I have come for you, Firebird," said Nathan. "Ready your flame lance."
He darted away, expecting a flame to be hurled at the sound of his voice. None came. He waited, hoping Firebird would answer and give him a target.
That first sound of her voice haunted him. It was the loveliness of a spring day on Earth, the blue of the sky and the song of the birds—but it was the song of the Firebird, a song of death.
Then she answered. "I came to make peace, Nathan. Put up your lance and make a light."
He aimed in the darkness—and could not fire at that voice.