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it that way.
    Rider reached it in a time that would have shamed most athletes. He paused before stepping outside, every sense probing for signs of an ambush.
    He detected only the fading disturbance of the powerful cycle of magicks that propelled airships.
    "Feeble and high-pitched," he murmured. "A small ship driven by someone self-taught." He stepped into the glare of day, caught a glimpse of an airship hurrying down the Golden Crescent, flying low.
    He thought about taking one of his father's small ships in pursuit. But none were ready. It would take an hour to charge one with gas. The murderer of his father's murderer was safely away.
    He went back and searched Vlazos. There was nothing of interest on the man except a key of the sort which fit the safe chests at the imperial treasury. He pocketed it.
    He found no satisfaction in the fact that his father's killer had himself been slain. Vlazos set the wheel rolling, but now it was Odehnal's toy.
    Where had the dwarf learned the spells to move an airship? How? That complex was a closely guarded secret, taught only to men whom Jehrke trusted absolutely.
    Rider strolled toward the Citadel. The sun was into its westward plunge. About time he sought an audience with the King. The man needed to know, to prepare for the storm. And Rider hoped for his blessing in his assumption of the Protector's role.
    He decided he'd better get himself a chariot. All this walking and running—even he was subject to cumulative fatigue.
    But first, before anything—even before seeing the King-be had to restore the web. When an enemy could bring a pirate airship within a few hundred yards undetected, the situation was desperate.
    Just how tired he had become, and thus unalert, was demonstrated when he reached his father's laboratory. He failed to notice the pop-seeds scattered in the hall. His feet stirred a rapid-fire racket.
    The door swung inward. "Rider!" Chaz said. "We've got company."
    He saw the golden-skinned woman in the doorway to the library. She saw him for the first time.
    Her eyes widened.
    "You catch him?" Greystone asked.
    "Yes. It was Vlazos."
    "And?"
    "He died before he could say much."
    "Oh."
    Rider heard the hollow sound in Greystone's voice. "No. Not me. His confederates. With a strangulation spell. They fled in an airship."
    Greystone looked properly astounded.
    "Yes. First order of business now is to restore the web. Where are the others?"
    Chaz explained about Emerald.
    "I told them to stay here. Well. I suppose they have to learn the hard way."

IX
    Emerald shambled along with his hands in his pockets, grinning and whistling. He had made clowns of those guys again. Too bad he had not had men enough to ambush them. Ten or fifteen guys with crossbows waiting behind the illusory wall. They wouldn't have known what hit them. But he had no men now, because the Master and that Vlazos fool insisted Rider's gang be taken alive. That damned Vlazos better find some local talent.
    Someone stepped into his path. Emerald halted, lifted his gaze ... and squawked.
    Preacher grinned.
    Emerald looked around wildly.
    The other three closed in. Spud was next nearest, about twenty feet away, popping a fist into a palm meaningfully.
    The gnarly man was quick! Preacher just had time for a startled squeak. Then he was in the air, flailing toward Spud. Emerald put on speed. More than a touch of panic drove him. He did not know what to do. There was no provision in the plan for his not being able to shake his pursuers.
    The wall of illusion should have worked.
    It was a failed plan anyway. Not all Rider's men had left the Citadel.
    The Master would know what to do. But he could not run to the Master. That would lead these men to him.
    He grimaced. Then grinned. He would lead them away from the Master. Wear them down, till the Master became disturbed by his failure to report and investigated.
    Soup gasped, "Are we going to keep this up all day? Or are we going to catch him?" He stopped at a