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Scanned by Highroller. Proofed by the best Elf proofer. Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet. People of the Talisman by Leight Brackett I THROUGH ALL the long cold hours of the Norland night the Martian had not moved nor spoken. At dusk of the day before Eric John Stark had brought him into the ruined tower and laid him down, wrapped in blankets, on the snow. He had built a fire of dry lichens, and since then the two men had waited, alone in the vast wasteland that girdles the polar cap of Mars. Now, just before dawn, Camar the Martian spoke. "Stark." "Yes?" "I am dying." "Yes." "I will not reach Kushat." "No." Camar nodded. He was silent again. The wind howled down from the northern ice, and the broken walls rose up against the wind, brooding, gigantic, roofless now but so huge and sprawling that they seemed less like walls than cliffs of ebon stone. Stark would not have gone near them but for Camar. They were wrong, somehow, with a taint of forgotten evil still about them. The big Earthman glanced at Camar, and his face was sad. "A man likes to die in his own place," he said abruptly. "I am sorry." "The Lord of Silence is a great personage," Camar answered. "He does not mind the meeting place. No. It was not for that I came back into the Norlands." He was shaken by an agony that was not of the body. "But I will not reach Kushat." Stark spoke quietly, using the courtly High Martian almost as fluently as Camar. "I have |
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