the red gleam
of flames. Mad, wild, the Mongols were drunk with victory and freedom.
Beyond them, the silver globe of the ship showed the black holes of its
death, which was also the death of the past--for all of them.

"What now?" Menlik, the dangling of amulets and charms tinkling as he
moved, came up to Travis. There was none of the wild fervor in the
shaman's face; instead, it was as if he had taken several strides out of
the life of the Horde, was emerging into another person, and the
question he asked was one they all shared.

Travis felt drained, flattened. They had achieved their purpose. The
handful of Red overlords were dead, their machines burned out. There
were no controls here any more; men were free in mind and body. What
were they to do with that freedom?

"First," the Apache spoke his own thoughts--"we must return these."

The three alien weapons were lashed into a square of Mongol fabric,
hidden from sight, although they could not be so easily shut out of
mind. Only a few of the others, Apache or Mongol, had seen them; and
they must be returned before their power was generally known.

"I wonder if in days to come," Buck mused, "they will not say that we
pulled lightning out of the sky, as did the Thunder Slayer, to aid us.
But this is right. We must return them and make that valley and what it
holds taboo."

"And what if another ship comes--one of _yours_?" Menlik asked shrewdly.

Travis stared beyond the Tatar shaman to the men about the fire. His
nightmare dragged into the open.... What if a ship did come in, one with
Ashe, Murdock, men he knew and liked, friends on board? What then of his
guardianship of the towers and their knowledge? Could he be as sure of
what to do then? He rubbed his hand across his forehead and said slowly:

"We shall take steps when--or if--that happens--"

But could they, would they? He began to hope fiercely that it would not
happen, at least in his lifetime, and then felt the cold bleakness of
the exile they must will themselves into.

"Whether we like it or not," (was he talking to the others or trying to
argue down his own rebellion?) "we cannot let what lies under the towers
be known ... found ... used ... unless by men who are wiser and more
controlled than we are in our time."

Menlik drew his shaman's wand, twiddled it between his fingers, and
beneath his drooping lids watched the three Apaches with a new kind of
measurement.

"Then I say to you this: S