He bent and examined the car. "The front axle's broken," he said, after a moment's scrutiny. "There's nothing much we can do about it out here."

"Nothing?"

"Not unless you want to lash it together with some twigs," Elliot said acidly.

"We can't turn back now," Blayne said. "Start loading your pack. We'll walk the rest of the way. The Dragonbird's lair can't be too far off."

The bright glow of lust was shining in the fat man's eyes. Elliot stared at him for a moment, then began packing.

A day later, they arrived at the banks of the Khathyl River, a swirling, slow-moving, wide stream that wound lazily through most of the continent.

Elliot and Blayne kept out of sight in the brush.

"Look out there," Elliot said. He pointed at an island a hundred yards off shore.

"What's out that way?" Blayne asked.

"That's the temple. See the big white building? The natives never come to this side of the river, by the way—the hunting's better over there."

"Give me the glasses," Blayne whispered.

Elliot handed the binoculars over and the fat man stared hungrily at the island.

"See anything?"

"Just natives," Blayne said. He handed back the glasses and Elliot looked at the little knots of mauve-skinned natives here and there on the island.

"Don't they have any guards?"

Elliot shook his head. "No. They stick to their belief that the Dragonbird will protect them from any invaders."

"Good," Blayne said. "So much the simpler for us. When do we get moving?"

Elliot glanced at the man at his side, saw the desire on Blayne's face, the greed of the hunter. "Don't be impatient," he said. "It's almost noon now. Keep your glasses trained on the temple. Unless they've changed the program, the Dragonbird will make an appearance at noon."

The minutes ticked past slowly. Blayne kept glancing at his watch and looking eagerly out 

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