The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

wall behind the dais, tried vainly to trace what could only be felt. He would be willing to give a knife oath that the stranger was within seeing, listening distance at this minute!
    While he was so engrossed in his own problem, the guard had moved. The hooped bar which locked his wrists was loosened, and his arms, each tight in the grip of one of the warriors were brought out before him. The officer on the dais tossed a metal ring to one of the guards.
    Roughly the warrior holding Dalgard’s left arm forced the band over his hand and jerked it up his forearm as far as it would go. As it winked in the light the scout was reminded of a similar bracelet he had seen—where? On the front leg of the snake-devil he had shot!
    The officer produced a second ring, slipping it smoothly over his own arm, adjusting it to touch bare skin and not the wrappings which served him as a sleeve. Dalgard thought he understood. A device to facilitate communication. And straightway he was wary. When his ancestors had first met the merpeople, they had established a means of speech through touch, the palm of one resting against the palm of the other. In later generations, when they had developed their new senses, physical contact had not been necessary. However, here—Dalgard’s eyes narrowed, the line along his jaw was hard.
    He had always accepted the merpeople’s estimate of Those Others, that their ancient enemies were all-seeing and all-knowing, with mental powers far beyond their own definition or description. Now he half expected to be ruthlessly mind-invaded, stripped of everything the enemy desired to know.
    So he was astonished when the words which formed in his thoughts were simple, almost childish. And while he prepared to answer them, another part of him watched and listened, waiting for the attack he was sure would come.
    “You—are—who—what?”
    He forced a look of astonishment. Nor did he make the mistake of answering that mentally. If Those Others did not know he could use the mind speech, why betray his power?
    “I am of the stars,” he answered slowly, aloud, using the speech of Homeport. He had so little occasion to talk lately that his voice sounded curiously rusty and harsh in his own ears. Nor had he the least idea of the impression those few archaically accented words would have on one who heard them.
    To Dalgard’s inner surprise the answer did not astonish his interrogator. The alien officer might well have been expecting to hear just that. But he pulled off his own arm band before he turned to his fellows with a spurt of the twittering speech they used among themselves. While the two civilians were still trilling, the officer edged forward an inch or so and stared at Dalgard intently as he replaced the band.
    “You not look—same—as others—”
    “I do not know what you mean. Here are not others like me.”
    One of the civilians twitched at the officer’s sleeve, apparently demanding a translation, but the other shook him off impatiently.
    “You come from sky—now?”
    Dalgard shook his head, then realized that gesture might not mean anything to his audience. “Long ago before I was, my people came.”
    The alien digested that, then again took off his band before he relayed it to his companions. The excited twitter of their speech scaled up.
    “You travel with the beasts—” the alien’s accusation came crisply while the others gabbled. “That which hunts could not have tracked you had not the stink of the beast things been on you.”
    “I know no beasts,” Dalgard faced up to that squarely. “The sea people are my friends!”
    It was hard to read any emotion on these lacquered and bedaubed faces, but before the officer once more broke bracelet contact, Dalgard did sense the other’s almost hysterical aversion. The scout might just have admitted to the most revolting practices as far as the alien was concerned. After he had translated, all three of those on the dais were silent. Even the guards edged away from the captive as if in some manner they might be defiled by proximity. One of the civilians made an emphatic statement, got creakily to his feet, and walked always as if he would have nothing more to do with this matter. After a second or two of hesitation his fellow followed his example.
    The officer turned the bracelet around in his fingers, his dark eyes with their slitted pupils never leaving Dalgard’s face. Then he came to a decision. He pushed the ring up his arm, and