Quentin glanced down into the racing stream at his horse’s muzzle sunk deep in the swirling water. “I have no right to ask you to accompany me any further. Your people sent you as a guide out of friendship. Now that we have reached Dekra, and indeed, left it behind, your task is ended. You are free to return to your people.”

Quentin glanced up to see Toli’s bronzed features drawn into deep lines of sorrow. His mouth turned down sharply at the edges; his dark brown eyes had grown cold. “If that is what you wish, Kenta. I will return to my people.”

“What I want… that does not matter. But you must go back. This is my journey, not yours; you did not ask for it. I cannot ask you to risk your life-you have no place in this fight.”

“You must tell me what you wish me to do,” replied Toli, clasping Quentin’s hand tightly.

“I cannot,” pleaded Quentin. “Do you see?”

Toli did not see. He blinked back at Quentin gravely, as if to reproach him for cruelty unimaginable.

“You may be killed,” explained Quentin. His knowledge of the Jher speech was quickly becoming exhausted under the strain of trying to communicate this dilemma. “I cannot be responsible for your life if you follow me.”

“The Jher believe that every man is responsible for his own life. The Jher are free-I am free-we do not suffer any to be masters over us. But a Jher may take a master if he chooses.”

Toli’s voice rose and the lines of his face began to ease as he continued. “For a Jher to take a master, to serve him in all to the death-this is the highest honor. For to serve a worthy master accounts the servant worthy. Few of my people ever find an opportunity as I have found.” He spoke this last part as a boast, his eyes sparkling. “A great master makes his servant great.”

“But the danger…”

“He who serves shares his master’s portion-danger, death, or triumph. If the master receives honor, so his servant receives much greater honor.”

“But I did not ask you to be my servant.”

“No,” he said proudly. “I chose you.”

Quentin shook his head. “What about your people?”

“They will know and rejoice for me.” Toli’s face beamed with pleasure.

“I do not understand,” complained Quentin, though he did not much mind his lack of understanding.

“That is because your people are brought up to believe that serving another is a weakness. It is not out of weakness that one serves, but out of strength.”

“I would still feel better if I could ask you myself.”

“Ask then, but I have already given my answer.”

“Is there no getting rid of you then?” joked Quentin. The joke escaped Toli, whose face fell again momentarily.

“To be dismissed as a servant is a great humiliation and disgrace.”

“A worthy master would not dismiss lightly one who esteems him so highly,” Quentin said. “But maybe I should serve you!”

Toli laughed, as if Quentin had made the most ridiculous jest. “No,” he chuckled. “Some are born to be masters, but a servant must be taught quite young. It is better that I serve you.” Then he grew serious again. “You, my master, wear the look of glory. You will I serve. For only by your side will I find glory, too.”

“Very well,” said Quentin at last. “Since I would really rather not go alone, and you are determined not to allow me to in any case, we will go together.”

“As you wish,” said Toli pleasantly.

“My wishes seem to have nothing to do with it,” remarked Quentin. Toli ignored the remark and held Balder while Quentin mounted, then mounted his own black-and-white.

“To Tuck, then,” said Quentin. His heart was much lighter and his mind at ease. He had not wanted to give up Toli’s company and would have tried to persuade him to remain if that had been the case. This master and servant situation, however, would require some getting used to. He had not known the extent of Toli’s loyalty toward him and wondered if he were at all capable of being a good master. Already the responsibility weighed heavier than he would have supposed.

They rode along together through a wet afternoon and stopped to spend a soggy evening along the trail under the skimpy shelter afforded by a long-limbed evergreen whose branches brushed the ground.

Toli tethered the horses and allowed them to walk a short pace to graze on nearby clumps of grass and forest foliage. Quentin unrolled the packs under the evergreen boughs and made a dry, soft bed by piling up the aromatic needles. Toli gathered dry bark and stones and soon had a small fire going to warm them and dry out their sopping clothing.

Night fell quickly in the forest and the two lay in the dark listening to the drip of water from the high boughs and the small crackling of their little fire. Quentin stretched himself upon his bedroll and breathed the fragrant balsam deep into his lungs.

“What do you think of the new god?” Quentin asked absently, searching the darkness nearby for the glitter of Toli’s eyes.

In all the time they had spent at Dekra, he had not spoken to Toli about any of the Ariga religion. Now that oversight embarrassed him.

“He is not new. The Jher have always known him.”

“I did not know. What do you call him?”

“Whinoek.”

“Whinoek,” Quentin repeated to himself. “I like that very much. What does it mean?”

“You would say it means Father… Father of Life.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

“IT IS a slim chance, but it is a chance,” said Durwin, lifting off the first of the water barrel lids.

“I only wonder why we did not think of it sooner,” remarked Theido. “Keep your ear to the door and be ready to sing out,” he added, whispering across the hold to Trenn crouching at the top of the steps.

Durwin took a handful of yellowish-looking powder from a cloth which Alinea held in her hands. He sprinkled it into the water in the barrel and Theido stirred it with a broken oar and replaced the lid.

“Do you think they will come for water today?” asked Alinea. The three moved on to the next barrel and repeated the procedure.

“I hope so.” Theido rolled his eyes upward to the deck overhead. “They come every second day to replenish the stoups on deck with fresh water. With any luck at all they will come today, too. Though we must be close to land by now-they may wait.”

“We do what we can. Just to be sure, we will refrain from contaminating this last barrel; it will be for our use.” Durwin shook the last of the powder into the keg and dusted his hands over the top.

Just then Trenn rapped sharply on the stairs with his foot. “Someone comes!” he whispered harshly. “Look quick!”

Theido stirred vigorously and replaced the lid of the keg, driving it home with the end of his oar. The three then took up their usual places at the foot of the stairs as the door to the hold opened.

“… Bring up a goodly length,” a voice called out from the deck to the two descending figures.

“Get back!” snarled one of the sailors. The other went to a corner and proceeded to sort among piles of rope. When he found what he wanted he returned and started up the stairs with the rope. The captives watched in disappointment.

After the sailors had locked the door behind them Durwin said, “Take heart; the day is yet young. Perhaps they will come again.”

Trenn looked doubtful. “But we have no way of knowing how close we may be to land. We could drop anchor soon.”

“Indeed we could. If that is to be, so be it. The god holds us in his hand and moves however he will.”

But as he spoke there arose a commotion on the deck above and the sound of someone furiously throwing off the chains and lock that secured the hold. The door again swung open and Pyggin’s scream could be heard as he berated his poor seamen. “The day’s ration of water, you dolts! Fetch it! You’ve already fetched yourselves a flogging!”