The tents had been burned, but there was a new building where the main
tent had been. This was obviously a hasty construction job, thrown
together of rocks and tree trunks, without the use of magic. It was more
of an enormous lean-to than a true building, but it was the best
protection now available. Hanson could see Sather Karf and Sersa Garm
waiting outside, together with less than a hundred other warlocks.
The mandrakes prodded Hanson down from the roc and toward the new
building, then left at a wave of the Sather Karf's hand. The old man
stared at Hanson intently, but his expression was unreadable. He seemed
to have aged a thousand years. Finally he lifted his hand in faint
greeting, sighed and dropped slowly to a seat. His face seemed to
collapse, with the iron running out of it. He looked like a beaten, sick
old man. His voice was toneless. "Fix the sky, Dave Hanson!"
There were angry murmurs from other warlocks in the background, but
Sather Karf shook his head slowly, still facing Hanson. "No--what good
to threaten dire punishments or to torture you when another day or week
will see the end of everything? What good to demand your reasons for
desertion when time is so short? Fix the sky and claim what reward you
will afterwards. We have few powers now that the basis of astrology is
ruined. But repair our sky and we can reward you beyond your dreams.
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