THIRTEEN
Trehearne’s mind cleared with an almost physical wrench. The fumes of the wine left it, and the thick obscurity put there by the blow. The pain stayed, but he could think. He could remember. The world of the cumulid star. The man in the dun-colored robe saying, Murder.
Murder. Yann.
Don’t thank me, it was Yann that saved you. He had your air-line recoupled….
Don’t thank me, it was Yann that saved you. He had your air-line recoupled….Crazy. It couldn’t be Yann.
It was. He had followed him meekly into a trap and sat there meekly drinking while Yann and Kurat talked jovially over his head, arranging the details.
The cry of the pack was nearer.
They would not want his body in the hut or in the town. They would not want it to seem like murder. They would carry him into the fores
