Chapter 7: Kepta's Trap

Thrala arose to face them. Forgetting the disguise he wore, Garin drew back, chilled by her icy demeanor. But Dandtan sprang forward and caught her in his arms. She struggled madly until she saw the face beneath her captor’s hood, and then she gave a cry of delight and her arms were about his neck.

“Dandtan!”

He smiled. “Even so. But it is the outlander’s doing.”

She came to the American, studying his face. “Outlander? So cold a name is not for you, when you have served us so.” She offered him her hands and he raised them to his lips.

“And how are you named?”

Dandtan laughed. “Thus the eternal curiosity of women!”

“Garin.”

“Garin,” she repeated. “How like--” A faint rose glowed beneath her pearl flesh.

Dandtan’s hand fell lightly upon his rescuer’s shoulder. “Indeed he is like him. From this day let him bear that other’s name. Garan, Son of Light.”

“Why not?” she returned calmly. “After all--”

“The reward which might have been Garan’s may be his? Tell him the story of his namesake when we are again in the Caverns--”

Dandtan was interrupted by a frightened squeak from the Ana. Then came a mocking voice.

“So the prey has entered the trap of its own will. How many hunters may boast the same?”

Kepta leaned against the door, the light of vicious mischief dancing in his eyes. Garin dropped his cloak to the floor, but Dandtan must have read what was in the flyer’s mind, for he caught him by the arm.

“On your life, touch him not!”

“So you have learned that much wisdom while you have dwelt among us, Dandtan? Would that Thrala had done the same. But fair women find me weak.” He eyed her proud body in a way that would have sent Garin at his throat had Dandtan not held him. “So shall Thrala have a second chance. How would you like to see these men in the Room of Instruments, Lady?”

“I do not fear you,” she returned. “Thran once made a prophecy, and he never spoke idly. We shall win free--”

“That will be as fate would have it. Meanwhile, I leave you to each other.” He whipped around the door and slammed it behind him. They heard the grating of the bar he slid into place. Then his footsteps died away.

“There goes evil,” murmured Thrala softly. “Perhaps it would have been better if Garin had killed him as he thought to do. We must get away...”

Garin drew the rod from his belt. The green light-motes gathered and clung about its polished length.

“Touch not the door,” Thrala advised; “only its hinges.”

Beneath the tip of the rod the stone became spongy and flaked away. Dandtan and the flyer caught the door and eased it to the floor. With one quick movement Thrala caught up Garin’s cloak and swirled it about her, hiding the glitter of her gem-encrusted robe.