byReining in his pony on the ridge, Khal Kan pointed down across the other sands of the drylands that stretched in the glare of the crimson, sinking sun.
“There we are, my lads!” he announced heartily. “See yonder black blobs on the desert? They’re the tents of the drylanders.”
His tall young figure was straining in the saddle, and there was a keen anticipation on his hard, merry young face.
But Brusul, the squat warrior in blue leather beside him, and little Zoor, the wizened third member of the trio, looked uneasily.
“We’ve no business meddling with the drylanders!” accused brawny Brusul loudly. “Your father the king said we were to scout only as far west as the Dragal Mountains. We’ve done that f and haven’t found any sign of the cursed Bunts in them. Our business is to ride back to
