The Luck of Brin's Five by Cherry; Wilder Page B

comfortable vantage point. There was soft grass growing in the hollows of the rock, young flax plants and berry vines, thick with buds and flowers, the promise of summer fruit. I settled in a warm hollow, closed on three sides with boulders, like a room in the top of a tower.
    Diver and Roy were walking through open country now; all that lay before them was a fallen tree with some kind of lean-to against it. The glider must be there. The morning was so still that I could hear the sound of their voices, as they came up to the lean-to and began stripping away hides and dead bushes. Off towards the riverbank a wind flattened a clump of tall reeds, snaked through a patch of scrub, made a clump of trees and their shadows waver. But there is no wind, a voice whispered inside my head. “Look child, there is no wind.”
    What then? I whispered in thought, scanning the clump of trees. There, yes, I see now. A watcher. Only one? I cannot be sure . . . there . . . now it is clear. The Great Sun, rising to meet Esder, sent long, golden fingers of light across the land to the east. My eyes were fixed on the spy, the stranger, crouched in bushes, only fifty paces from Diver and Roy as they cheerfully uncovered the glider and walked around it.
    I was afraid, uncertain of what to do. What I saw was like a dream and I was in the dream and out of it at the same time. If I shouted a warning, would the cry hang in air and never reach Diver and Roy? Would the watcher be alarmed, angry.
    The voice in my head asked: “What would you do on the mountain, child?” and I answered; I spoke the answer in a low voice.
    â€œI would high-call to Roy. . . .” And I knew the strangest thing of all: I was not alone on the rock . There was one who stood at my back, shedding a mild radiance, a feeling of warmth all round me. I was linked in thought, guided, as Beeth Ulgan had guided Mooneen, the poor twirler.
    I rose to my feet and high-called with all my skill to Harper Roy. The trick is to produce a smooth flow of notes, between singing and calling; I knew it was done right when the back of my throat tickled. The high-call flew out, straight to Roy’s ears, like the call of a morning bird. I called, “Danger . . . danger . . . danger,” and then, “Tree . . . tree . . . tree.”
    I saw Harper Roy spring back and lift his head, then give the returning call, “Heard . . . heard . . . heard.”
    A figure leaped up from the bushes, and Diver gave a shout. He ran forward a few paces, and I was afraid he might use the stun-gun. But the watcher was very quick, racing away now, bent double among the scrub.
    â€œHave no fear, child; the creature is not worth your Luck’s weapon.”
    I sank down again and, still deep in the dream, I turned my head. The fire of Esto was in my eyes. A tall figure in black and green, not ten paces away, on the uneven summit of the rock.
    â€œWho?” A bordered robe, long hands, but not the restless bird hands of a grandee. A glint of metal, dull gold, green gold, in one hand, and I knew. I thought the words: “Maker of Engines . . .”
    A low chuckling laugh. I put up my hand to screen out Esto’s light. The words were spoken this time: “Guard your Luck, Dorn Brinroyan!”
    There was a first light gust of wind, stirring the vines, and I was alone.
    I climbed down from the rock and ran without looking back through the trees and across the open spaces. I was out of breath when I came up to Roy and Diver.
    â€œNow what’s this?” said Roy sharply. “Why are you out after us, watching from the rock, high-calling?”
    â€œThe watcher . . .” I gasped, pointing towards the place.
    â€œYou did warn us, I suppose.”
    â€œBut what was it?” I begged. “What sort of a person?”
    Diver shook his head. “Tall, wild. A male. I have a feeling I’ve seen that creature before.”
    â€œSome outcast,” said the Harper,