Spence was overwhelmed by the enduring devotion of the society. He had never heard of such a thing, and could scarcely comprehend such selfless pity. The quiet, fierce discipline of the Friends of Intercession left him almost speechless. "What do they pray for?" he asked, embarrassed at once by the crudeness of his question.

"They pray for whatever the Spirit lays upon their hearts. But always for love, wisdom, and the strength to do God's will, and also for his presence to be manifest in the world. We pray that the Lord will come in glory, and for the Father to deliver all men from the evil one. As the name suggests, we intercede for all mankind before the Throne of Light."

They talked a little longer and then Devi left them to their rest. Spence crawled into his berth in a nearby pew, one thought uppermost in his mind: it must have been Ari's mother. That sick child whose illness had galvanized the seminary into organizing the society that continued its vigil of prayer even to this day. Indeed, who else could it have been? Had she paid some price with her broken life? Had her suffering purchased some measure of grace that he now could draw on in his time of need? Even as he held the thought he remembered One whose sacrifice had paid an ultimate price for all of them.

Strange, the economy of heaven, thought Spence. He had the undeniable feeling that somehow, beyond mortal reckoning, an order, a fine symmetry reigned that counted him and the mad Caroline Zanderson in its balance, and linked them in its accounting together with the all-but-forgotten seminary with its humble students kneeling obediently in endless prayer. Against what? The Dream Thief? Perhaps unknowingly, but also against the greater darkness of evil that gathered over the face of the Earth, the vast unreason that threatened always to extinguish the light, but could not.

And why not? Because a tiny society, together with all the other small and seemingly insignificant ones the world over, held fast to the flame, keeping it safe within the strong fortress of its devotion-even in the midst of the enemy's own camp.

Strange, the economy of heaven. …

THEY LEFT EARLY THE next morning before anyone else was astir. No one, not even the three kneeling over the inlaid cross at the front of the sanctuary, saw them go. Kyr appeared to have fully recovered from the aftereffects of the sonic blast that had stunned him. He walked across the seminary courtyard in the silver light of dawn easily and swiftly with Gita, a short pudgy shadow, by his side.

Spence lifted the wooden latch, pushed open the gate, and stepped out to face the world once more. He felt rested and calm, as if he had been given some deep assurance that his restless groping in the darkness was not in vain. He sensed within him the tiny pricking sensation that quickened the heart and keened the senses, that told of a new awareness of purpose. The night spent in the seminary had been a healing interlude, a blessed convalescence that he badly needed.

Without speaking they retraced their hurried steps of the night before, working back to the place where they had camped. By the time the sun had risen in the treetops they were standing once more at the site of their campfire, now cold ashes in a blackened ring. There was silence all around as they stared across the nearby forest clearing. Kyr's spacecraft was gone.

25

…

HOCKING SWEPT NOISELESSLY INTO the murky chamber. Clouds of incense rolled before him and scuttled away as he passed. Ortu sat immobile on his platform of cushions, head upon his chest, long arms resting on his knees. It was the same energy-preserving position Hocking had always seen him in as long as he could remember. The ancient Martian rarely moved.

But the old head rose as Hocking drew nearer. "What is it?" demanded Ortu. "What do you want? I have not summoned _you."

"I saw the naga return. What news did they bring?"

There was an edge to his underling's voice that Ortu had not heard before. He glared back at Hocking and said, "I will tell you when I choose."

"You will tell me now," said Hocking evenly.

The great yellow eyes flared open and focused intently on the object before them. "You dare to question me?"

"I am tired of playing the obedient servant, Ortu. From now on we will act as equals-"

"Equals! Never!"

"As equals, Ortu. I have suffered your caprices long enough. For years I have waited in your shadow, but no more."

"Get out of here, you fool. Remove yourself from my sight. You are drunk on your own dreams of power. I alone say what will be and when." The kastak flared and subsided into a steady purple glow.

"Not any more, Ortu. I have dreams of power, yes, and ambitions of my own that you know nothing about. Some of then I have already begun to put into action, while you sit by and do nothing."

"Oh? What are these puny plans, wise one?"

"Tell me what happened-what did the naga find?" "They escaped."

"How? What happened?"

"What difference does it make? They escaped…" "And the Guardian?"

It "And the Guardian with them. They are on the way here now." "Then we must be ready for them when they arrive."

Ortu sank back into himself. "Do what you will, we are no match for a Guardian… I am too old."

"Ortu!" cried Hocking. "Listen to me! I need you! If we are to crush them I need your power!"

The Martian withdrew further into his normal trancelike state. "You cannot defeat them… it is too late. We have failed…"

"No!" screamed Hocking. The pneumochair swung closer to the rigid figure before him. Ortu did not move. Hocking glanced at the lowered head of his master and saw the circlet, the kastak, now throbbing irregularly. His own thin hand, shaking slightly, reached out toward it. In an instant the source of Ortu's power was in his grasp.

Ortu's eyes snapped open. "What?" he gasped. A startled expression appeared on his face.

"Give it to me!"

"No!" Ortu drew back his head, but Hocking's skeletal fingers held tight. He felt Ortu tugging away and was amazed at how weak his master was. With a quick snap he jerked the circlet and the kastak was his. "With this I am in control!" He held the kastak before Ortu's stricken face. "The power is mine!"

"Give it back" cried Ortu. "You can't know what it means."

"I know enough to save us, if you won't."

"No-1-1 need it.,."

"It is mine now, Ortu."

The alien made a lunge toward Hocking to snatch the band out of his hands. A finger twitched on Hocking's tray and Ortu was flung back against his cushions in a heap.

"I am in control now, Ortu. I say what will be."

Ortu did not move from where he lay; his eyes watched Hocking dully. "Give it back to me," he pleaded. "I will die without it."

"Then (lie!" Hocking backed away from the squirming alien. "You are no longer any use to me, Ortu. I have endured you long enough."

"Ahhh!" Ortu raised a hand and rolled weakly forward as if to prevent Hocking's retreat. But he lacked the strength to rise, and so lay quivering as if chills assailed his frail body.

Hocking left the room and did not look back. Already he was Naming a plan in his mind. He would let them come to him and then destroy them all-except Reston. Reston too would be crushed, but first that stubborn will of his must be broken completely. Before he was finished with him, Reston would beg for death and would die with Hocking's name on his lips.

Hocking's features contorted in a leer of pleasure at the image of Spencer Reston groveling before him, pleading for release. And he would give it, oh, yes, he would give it. …

ON FOOT THE TRAVELERS pushed through sparsely forested hills upward, higher and higher toward Kalitiri. The way was well known and well marked. They could see the mountain itself, serene and majestic, trailing white wisps of clouds from its slopes, standing before them remote and aloof from the world of men.