Part 64 (1/2)

Aronn said: Upsy-pupsy little man.

As if he were on an elevator, the Arab technician levitated from the mush-filled creva.s.s that had threatened to swallow him.

The psychokinesis of both Aronn and Bleyn held him in midair, then tilted him carefully to spill water from various parts of his clothing.

Bleyn said: It storms too hard to do a proper job drying you n.a.z.ir. I can banish discomfort until we reach the dump.

Satisfactory?

n.a.z.ir said: Carry on.

The sleet storm moderated somewhat with the coming of dawn. Monte Rosa's snowfields slowly took on a sanguine tinge and the sky turned to purplish crimson, strewn with fast-moving little back clouds.

”I know it's 'red sky at morning, sailors take warning,' ”

Magnus quoted. ”Does that hold true for mountain weather as well?”

”Probably,” said Betsy, with cheerful pessimism. ”Look there! The wind's blowing open the mist ahead. I see the icefall-and the tents.”

The humans all cheered. The shelters of silver decamole were virtually invisible against the ice, but they bore banners of streaming orange silk, and seemed not more than 150 metres away.

”We will rest well, dry out, and prepare a substantial meal,”

Thongsa declared. ”It's obvious that the Firvulag were more prudent than we, doubtless spending the night in some cosy, stormproof shelter. Come! Let us make haste!”

He strode forward with his axe held at a jaunty piolet-canne and his gla.s.s crampons clinking against the water ice. The photon beam that killed him instantly was undoubtedly a mistake. Some impetuous Firvulag stalwart had bungled and fired too soon from the tumble of broken white blocks to the left of the tents. The ragged fusillade that followed was delivered from extreme Matsu range, and was hopelessly fouled by a sudden blatter of sleet that swept across the glacier.

”Get down!” Bleyn shouted. ”Behind that ice ridge!”

They broke away from the flagged trail just in time. The storm was giving its last gasp, and as the air cleared, the laser beams zapped with increasing efficiency, chipping great hunks from the ridge.

They unroped and wormed away eastward. The ridge, though not very high, was adequate cover, leading them to an outcropping of verglas-sheathed granite, where they regrouped and considered the situation.

It was now full light. They were more than 300 metres from the tent site and somewhat farther from the hiding place of the Firvulag. The Foe had concealed themselves in a pile of housesized seracs on the righthand margin of the icefall and now commanded the only route up the mountain.

”Somebody using his noggin among that lot,” Ookpik observed. ”Still, things could be worse.”

”And would be,” Betsy muttered, ”if one spook hadn't got itchy trigger finger.”

”Is it the entire gang?” n.a.z.ir asked. ”The seventy-odd sods Ochal the Harper estimated?”

”I am counting,” Bleyn said grimly. ”At such close range, I can pick them out, even if they are screened.”

”Pity you didn't earlier,” murmured Betsy.

”I was unforgivably careless,” the Champion admitted. ”Such scrutiny requires intense concentration, and my attention was divided. Even a High Table member may nod-Tana curse the luck!”

”Things could be worse,” Ookpik said again. He seemed unaccountably excited as he extracted a monocular from his pack with some difficulty and peered through it.

”What ho?” Bengt asked.