Part 15 (1/2)

Quade and Najar, with Dean held between them, then Hosteen and Logan-five off-world men facing a thousand or more Norbies. Had the natives come to rescue their Lord of Thunder from the impious? Logan, still propping up Hosteen, brought his other hand before him and moved fingers in the peace sign.

Not an eye blinked nor did a hand lose a fraction of the beat. Seconds became the longest minute Hosteen could remember, while that roll of sound deadened his thinking. Quade and Najar dropped their hold on Dean as if hypnotized. The tech took one stiff step forward, then another. With a set expression on his face, he was heading for Ukurti. Hosteen strove to make some move to stop the other and found that it was impossible.

But Dean had come to a halt once more. He spoke-but the sounds from his lips this time were not the trilling Norbie speech.

”Go-go-” One hand went to his throat, fingers rubbing skin, seeking the band he was not wearing now.

Ukurti's hand on an upswing remained in the air, though his fellows continued to drum. He signed slowly, and Logan, Quade, and Hosteen read his message aloud, though why they did so was beyond their comprehension.

”We-Who-Can-Drum-Thunder under the power have drummed so-and thunder will answer, as will the fire from the sky. Stop this with your own power if you can, Lord of False Lightning.”

There was no mistaking the challenge delivered, not as a matter of defiance but as a p.r.o.nouncement of a judge in court.

The purple-black of the clouds spread, eating up the sky, and now there were flashes of light along the circ.u.mference. Dean swayed back and forth, his fingers still rubbing frantically at his throat.

Magic-yes, this was magic of a sort, magic such as the Old Ones of Hosteen's own people had believed in and sought to use. He shook free of Logan, a racing excitement filling him. He forgot the pain of his hurt and could have shouted aloud in a feeling of triumph.

Save for the flashes of true lightning, it was night-dark. And always the drums continued to summon the storm with their power. A weird blue glow crept along rocky outcrops and made candles at the tips of tree and bush branches.

Then-just as Dean had lashed his machine-born lightning about the mountain, using it as a warning and a weapon-so did the real storm-based fire strike square behind them on the very crest of the peak. The answering shock was that of an earthquake, part of the violence young worlds knew before man arose to walk their lands.