Under their boots,
man-made and yet dominating the wildness of jungle and mountain, was a
platform of rock slabs, fused to support a palace of towering
yellow-white walls and curved cups of domes, a palace which was also
half fortress, half frontier post.
Dane set his hands on the parapet of the river drop, blinked as a
lightning bolt crackled in a sky-splitting glare of violet fire. This
was about as far from the steaming islands of Xecho as a man could
imagine.
"The demon graz prepare for battle." Asaki nodded toward the distant
crackling.
Captain Jellico laughed. "Supposed to be whetting their tusks, eh? I
wouldn't care to meet a graz that could produce such a display by mere
tusk whetting."
"No? But think of the reward for the tracker who discovers where such go
to die. To find the graveyard of the graz herds would make any man
wealthy beyond dreams."
"How much truth is there in that legend?" Tau asked.
The Chief Ranger shrugged. "Who can say? This much _is_ true: I have
served my life in the forests since I could walk. I have listened to the
talk of Trackers, Hunters, Rangers in my father's courtyards and field
camps since I could understand their words.
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