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race will never truly perish, so long as human beings walk the earth. You
who are their victims, and the butt of their hatred, shall ensure that something
of them survives.”
    “You
do not mean that the gods are dying!” Chaluk cried, shocked.
    “Oh,
yes,” said Manalo softly. “They have died from slaying each other in rage, they
have died by their own hands when life became too dull—but the greatest number
of them died in their war. There are only a handful left now, perhaps fifty—of
whom many disdain the world of men, and some even disdain the other Ulin.”
    “And
Lomallin and Ulahane are the most powerful among them?” someone asked.
    Manalo
shrugged. “Perhaps only the most powerful of those who concern themselves with
the destinies of mortal folk. If Lomallin has greater power than most, it is
only by dint of his compassion for humankind, and his concern for their
welfare, which focuses all his energies—and if Ulahane has greater power than
most, it is sheerly by virtue of his will.” He shook his head slowly and sadly.
“Oh, make no mistake—the Ulin are a dying race, while mortals are still
growing, still becoming more and more numerous.”
    “And
they hate us for that?” a young man asked, and the girl next to him shuddered.
    “They
do,” said Manalo. “Many of those Ulin who are left regard the younger human
race with spite and jealousy. All of them are concerned only with their own
satisfactions—and for many of them their greatest satisfaction is venting their
revenge on humankind.”
    “For
no greater crime than that we exist?” a young woman asked, her voice quavering.
    “For
no more than that,” Manalo agreed.
    “But
what of Lomallin?” asked another. “Surely he is not concerned only with
his own pleasures!”
    “His
only fulfillment, rather,” said Manalo, “and yes, he is. It is fortunate for
humankind that his notion of reward, his reason for staying alive, is seeing us
thrive.”
    “Would
he kill Ulahane, then?” another young man asked, eyes wide.
    Manalo
shrugged. “Not willingly—but if he must kill or be killed, I do not think he
would hesitate.”
    “So
other Ulin are yet more important to him than us,” a mother said bitterly.
    “Of
course,” Manalo said. “What else would you expect?”
    “Does
he not think of us as his children, though?”
    “No,”
said Manalo, “for he did not make you—well, not very many of you, and those few
were Ulharls. No, he thinks of you as ones who need his protection, but not as
being of his kind.”
    “His
pets,” the woman said, even more bitterly.
    “Something
more than that,” Manalo answered. “Remember, though, that Ulin are not gods,
and Lomallin is certainly not the Creator. If he favors humankind, it is
because he wishes to, not because he must.”
    “But
how can you say they are not gods,” Ohaern asked, “when their powers are
so far-reaching, and they have so much to do with our destiny?”
    “You,
too, Ohaern?” Manalo looked up sadly, then thumped his staff against the floor
and pulled himself upright. He rubbed his back. “I should not sit so long with
my legs folded at my age. Come, my friends, let us go to bed. I must be up
before the sun tomorrow, and on the road as it rises.”
    A
chorus of protest answered him, but he stood firm against it, and it turned
into a tide of regretful good wishes for his journey. Finally, Ohaern ushered
the rest of the clan out and left Manalo to his bed by the fire in the great
lodge.

Chapter 3
    The
tribesman caught Lucoyo by either arm and slammed him back against the rock. “Bind
him fast,” the chief ordered, and his captors turned to their work with a will,
wrenching tight the rope of twisted hide—around one wrist, around the back of
the slab of rock, and around the other wrist.
    “So
much for your pranks, halfling,” Holkar grunted. “Laugh, why don’t you?”
    “Yes,
laugh,” snapped Gorin the chief. “Laugh while you can. If my daughter dies,