“Nay, then.” The green dwarf was brusque. “Lakla will not return unless I carry to her these men as evidence of our good faith. Come⁠—we will speak to Yolara and she shall judge you⁠—” He started away⁠—but Serku caught his arm.

“No, Rador, no!” he whispered, again panic-stricken. “Go you⁠—as you will. But bring her back! Speed, Rador!” He sprang toward the entrance. “I lift the Shadow⁠—”

Into the green dwarf’s poise crept a curious, almost a listening, alertness. He leaped to Serku’s side.

“I go with you,” I heard. “Some little I can tell you⁠—” They were gone.

“Fine work!” muttered Larry. “Nominated for a citizen of Ireland when we get out of this, one Rador of⁠—”

The Shadow trembled⁠—shuddered into nothingness; the obelisked outposts that had held it framed a ribbon of roadway, high banked with verdure, vanishing in green distances.