"You know too little and too much," she said. "I think the Elder will talk with you."
Kimball Trent shrugged, relaxed, while the girl sent the canoe through the water. Events were transpiring a little too fast for him, and his mind could not assimilate the facts as fast as they were produced.
People still lived, that was obvious, even though the world had been conquered. But they were not the kind of people he had known. If this girl were representative of her people, then they knew nothing of weapons, that is, the type he had; and in all probability her reference to the magician and the reader meant that they had reverted almost to a primitive form of social life.
He saw no particular reason to trust the slim girl, even though his senses were stirred by her wild litheness. For seconds, he had almost blurted out the knowledge that was his, intending to tell her of the underground cavern. Then caution and common sense came to his mind, and he said nothing, watching her through slitted eyes.
She was conscious of his gaze, of that he was aware. But now suspicion lay in her eyes, and her hand was close to the slim knife at her side, as she guided the slim canoe through the blue water toward the nearing bank.
"Do not move, Barb," the girl said coldly, "else you shall feel my knife in your ribs."
Kimball Trent smiled to himself. "I shall not move," he said evenly. "I know my limitations."
The canoe grated against sand, and the girl threw the cover back. Trent blinked in the sunlight, then came to his feet, watched amusedly as the girl gestured with her knife for him to lead the way. Catching up his rifle, he slung it over his shoulder, then stepped from the canoe, watched as she camouflaged it again as a log.
"Through there," she ordered, pointed ahead.