"It's spreading. Something is drawing them up
from all over the planet."
Later, half a square mile of the shell cracked off. The roc squawked
harshly, but it had learned and had been watching above. By a frantic
effort of the great wings, it missed the hurtling chunk. They dropped a
few thousand feet in the winds that followed the piece of sky, but their
altitude was still safe.
Then they passed over a town, flying low. The sights below were out of a
ghoul's bacchanalia. As the roc swept over, the people stopped their
frenzied pursuit of sensation and ran for weapons. A cloud of arrows
hissed upwards, all fortunately too late.
"They blame all their troubles on the magicians," Bork explained.
"They've been shooting at everything that flies. Not a happy time to
associate with the Satheri, is it?"
Nema drew further back from him. "We're not all cowards like you! Only
rats desert a sinking ship."
"Nobody thought it was sinking when I deserted," Bork reminded her.
"Anyhow, if you'd been using your eyes and seen the way we are
traveling, you'd know I've rejoined the crew. I've made up with the
Sather Karf--and at a time like this, our great grandfather was glad to
have me back!"
Nema rushed toward him in delight, but Hanson wasn't convinced. "Why?"
he asked.
Bork sobered. "One of the corpses that fell back from the risings added
a word to what the others had said.
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