Hassan stood back.

The Kur turned away from us. Very slowly it lifted it’s head, as though literally feeling the water flowing through the vessels of his body. It was frightening in a way to see it. It was as though it was coming alive, and it was a Kur.

“You are insane,” whispered Hassan. The desert would have killed it for you.”

“It did not kill us when it could have,” I said. “It did not take the water.”

“So it was mad from the desert, the storm,” said Hassan. “It will now be thinking clearly.”

I watched the Kur. It fell to all fours; then it rose to a half-crouched, shambling position, knuckles to the dirt, as a Kur most naturally moves. It suddenly rolled in the sand. Then it stood up. It reached out with one paw, The paw encircled the heavy, twisted interlacings of stems of a thick clump of narrow-leafed scrub brush. Like most desert plants it is deeply rooted. With one motion the Kur tore the brush from the ground and lifted it over his head, and threw it from him. It leaped in the sand, and struck the sand with its right fist. Then, exposing the claws on its prehensile appendage, that heavy, six digited hand, it tore down into the dirt, and threw dirt behind it. Then it straightened its body and howled, and, dropping to all fours, turned toward us, observing us. Then, slowly, half-crouched, shambling, knuckles to the dirt, it approached us.

The corneas of its eyes were vivid yellow now. Its snout wore a sheen of sweat.

Its tongue moved about its lips, which were wet.

It stopped a few feet from us. I had little doubt that it could kill two unarmed men in the desert.

But it did not attack. Instead, it looked at me. And it pointed back, toward the dune country.

It straightened up, perhaps to appear more like a man. I saw then that it had been wounded. In places its fur had been slashed away. Several cuts half-healed, marked its body. It must, at one time, lost much blood.

“I know this Kur, “ I said. I regarded it. “Can you understand me?” I asked.

It gave no sign that it could understand me.

“I had it freed from a dungeon in Port Kar, “ I told Hassan. “In Tor, in a courtyard, several men waited to slay me. Havoc and slaughter was wrought among them, such that only a Kur might accomplish. In prison in Nine Wells, though strangely I could not see it, a Kur came to my cell. It could have killed me, I helplessly chained. It did not. I think it might have tried to free me. It was surprised by Ibn Saran and his men. It was nearly killed, trapped in the cell.

It was much wounded. Ibn Saran told me the beast had been killed. It had not been. This is he. This is that Kur. I know him, Hassan. He is, if only for this moment, my ally. I think, Hassan, strange though it may seem, that we hold a cause in common.”

“A man and a Kur!” protested Hassan. “It is impossible!”

The Kur pointed to the dune country.

I turned to Hassan. “I wish you well, Hassan,” I said.

“It is madness to enter the dune country again,” he said. “The water is almost gone.”

“Try to reach Four Palms,” I said. “Your first business lies with your tribe.

There is soon to be war in the Tahari. When the Kavars ride, you must ride with them.”

“It is a hard choice you impose upon me,” said Hassan, “to choose between my brother and my tribe.” Then he said, “I am of the Tahari. I must choose my brother.”

“The water decides it,” I said. “Your tribe awaits.”

Hassan looked at the Kur. Then he looked at me. “I wish you well, my brother,” he said. He smiled. “May your water bags be never empty. May you always have water.”

“May your water bags be never empty,” I said. “May you have always water.”

Hassan turned away. I wished him well. It was my hope that he would reach Four Palms.

Already, loping, then turning back, then moving ahead again, the Kur moved before me, back toward the long, ragged edge of dunes which lay on our left.

I followed him.

21 What Occurred in the Dune Country

The Kur was an incredible animal. Without it I would not have survived.

The next day the water was gone.

To my surprise, though the Kur had pointed to the dune country, he led me in a path parallel to the dunes, through more normal Tahari terrain. I realized then that he had been pointing to his destination, whatever it might be, which lay within the dune country, as though I might know what it was, but that the route which he wisely selected would parallel the dune country, until he reached a given point, at which point he would strike out overland, into the forbidding dunes, to reach whatever objective it was within them which might concern him, or us.

“The water is gone,” I told him. I held the bag in such a way as to show him that no fluid remained within it. After his first drink, near the shelter trench, he had not had water.

The Kur watched the flight of birds. He followed them, for a day. He found their water. It was foul. We gratefully drank. I submerged the water bag I carried. We killed four birds and ate them raw. The Kur caught small rock tharlarion, and on this plenty, too, we feasted. Then we continued our journey. I drank much for the Kur seemed hurried. Surely he knew that one should move only at night, and yet the beast seemed tireless, and would press me on, as though I needed neither food nor sleep. Did he not know I was not a Kur? He, shielded by the fur, was less exposed to the sun. He would move day and night, but I could not.

Impatiently, he would crouch near me, when I fell to the sand, to sleep. He would, in an Ahn, awaken me, and point to the sun. Yet I did not think he wished to tell me the hour of the day, but call my attention to the passage of time. He seemed hurried. Surely even for his mighty body the heat, the sun, the scarcity of water, the scarcity of food, must have taken dreadful toll. At times his wounds must have tormented him. Twice I saw him lick bloody crusts from their eruptions. Yet, slowly, as though by force of will, he moved on. I was sure he would kill us both. One does not tease the desert. It is implacable, like a stone or furnace.

“I need water,” I told him. It had been gone, for more than a day.

The Kur held up eight fingers, and pointed to the sun.

I did not understand his meaning.

We continued our journey. An Ahn later, nostrils distended, head to the ground, he became excited. He pointed to the ground. He looked at me, as though I must understand. I did not, of course, understand. He looked at the sun, and at me, as though weighing the values of alternative courses of action. Then he swiftly departed from his original direction. I realized, several Ahn later, that he was following an animal trail, the odors of which my senses were not keen enough to detect. We fell on our bellies before the foul water, stinking with excrement, and drank, and again I filled the bag. There was a half-eaten tabuk by the water hole. The Kur warned me from certain pieces of the meat, smelling it. Other pieces, farther from the eaten areas, more exposed to the sun, he gave me. He himself broke free a haunch and, with swift motions, with his teeth, holding it, ripped the dry meat from the bone.

The Kur motioned me to my feet. We must again proceed. Fed, watered, I followed him, though each step because of my exhaustion, was torture.

He returned to his original trail, from which he made his detour, and continued his march.

The next morning he pointed to the sun, and held up seven fingers before me. But be let me sleep, in the shelter of a rock, while he watched. That night we again began the trek. The rest did me much good. The next morning he pointed to the sun, and held up six fingers before me. His rendezvous, I gathered, whatever it might be, must be accomplished within six days. It was for that reason that he had been driving us both.