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huddled bodies like the aftermath of
a battle at world's-end. A few of them were stumbling to their feet,
holding their skins around them, the only signs of life in that
immense waste of gritty sand. On one side a ridge of dunes cut off
sight of the sea, but he could hear the dull boom of waves on the
shore. White frost rimed the ground and the chill wind made his eyes
blink and water. On the top of the dunes a remembered figure suddenly
appeared, the armored man, doing something with what appeared to be
lengths of rope; there was metallic tinkling, suddenly cut off. Mikah
Samon groaned and stirred.
    "How do you feel," Jason asked. "Those are two of the finest
blood-shot eyeballs I have ever seen."
    "Where am I?"
    "Now that is a bright and original question—I didn't pick you for the
type who watched historical spaceopera on the TV. I have no idea where
we are—but I can give you a brief synopsis of how we arrived here, if
you are up to it."
    "I remember we swam ashore, then something evil came from the
darkness, like a demon from hell. We fought...."
    "And he bashed in your head, one quick blow and that was about all the
fight there was. I had a better look at your demon, though I was in no
better condition to fight him than you were. He's a man dressed in a
weird outfit out of an addict's nightmare and appears to be the boss
of this crew of rugged campers. Other than that I have little idea of
what is going on—except that he stole my boots and I'm going to get
then back if I have to kill him for them."
    "Do not lust after material things," Mikah intoned seriously. "And do
not talk of killing a man for material gain. You are evil, Jason,
and.... My boots are gone—and my clothes, too!"
    Mikah had thrown back his covering skins and made this startling
discovery. "Belial!" he roared. "Asmodeus, Abaddon, Apollyon and
Baal-zebub!"
    "Very nice," Jason said admiringly, "you really have been studying up
on your demonology. Were you just listing them—or calling on them for
aid?"
    "Silence, blasphemer! I have been robbed!" He rose to his feet and the
wind whistling around his almost-bare body quickly gave his skin a
light touch of blue. "I am going to find the evil creature that did
this and force him to return what is mine."
    Mikah turned to leave but Jason reached out and grabbed his ankle with
a wrestling grip, twisted it and brought the man thudding to the
ground. The fall dazed him and Jason pulled the skins back over the
raw-boned form.
    "We're even," Jason said. "You saved my life last night, just now I
saved yours. You're bare-handed and wounded—while the old man of the
mountain up there is a walking armory, and anyone with the personality
to wear that kind of an outfit will kill you as easily as he picks his
teeth. So take it easy and try to avoid trouble. There's a way out of
this mess—there's a way out of
every
mess if you look for it—and
I'm going to find it. In fact I'm going to take a walk right now and
start my research. Agreed?"
    A groan was his only answer since Mikah was unconscious again, fresh
blood seeping from his injured scalp. Jason stood and wrapped his
hides about his body as some protection from the wind, tying the loose
ends together. Then he kicked through the sand until he found a smooth
rock that would fit inside his fist with just the end protruding, and
thus armed made his way out through the stirring forms of the
sleepers.
*
    Mikah was conscious again when Jason returned, and the sun was well
above the horizon. The people were all awake now, a shuffling,
scratching herd of about thirty men, women and children. They were
identical in their filth and crude skin wrappings, milling about with
a random motion or sitting blankly on the ground. They showed no
interest at all in the two strangers. Jason handed a tarred leather
cup to Mikah and squatted next to him.
    "Drink that. It's water, the only thing that anyone here had to drink.
I didn't find any food." He still had the stone in his hand