The Link | Page 7

ourselves," she said softly. "We can't tell you in words
what we have to say, but music is a language even you can understand.
We can tell you what we want in music."
Frankle scowled. He knew about the magic of this music, he had heard
of the witchcraft these weak chicken-people could weave, of their
strange, magic power to steal strong men's minds from them and make
them like children before wolves. But he had never heard this music
with his own ears. He looked at them, his eyes strangely bright. "You
know I cannot listen to your music. It is forbidden, even you should
know that. How dare you propose--"
"But this is different music." Dana's eyes widened, and she threw an
excited glance at her husband. "Our music is beautiful, wonderful to
hear. If you could only hear it--"
"Never." The man hesitated. "Your music is forbidden, poisonous."
Her smile was like sweet wine, a smile that worked into the Hunter's
mind like a gentle, lazy drug. "But who is to permit or forbid? After all,
you are the leader here, and forbidden pleasures are all the sweeter."
Frankle's eyes were on hers, fascinated. Slowly, with a graceful
movement, she drew the gleaming thought-sensitive stone from her
clothing. It glowed in the room with a pearly luminescence, and she
saw the man's eyes turning to it, drawn as if by magic. Then he looked
away, and a cruel smile curled his lips. He motioned toward the stone.
"All right," he said mockingly. "Do your worst. Show me your precious
music."
Like a tinkle of glass breaking in a well, the stone flashed its fiery light

in the room. Little swirls of music seemed to swell from it, blossoming
in the silence. Frankle tensed, a chill running up his spine, his eyes
drawn back to the gleaming jewel. Suddenly, the music filled the room,
rising sweetly like an overpowering wave, filling his mind with strange
and wonderful images. The stone shimmered and changed, taking the
form of dancing clouds of light, swirling with the music as it rose.
Frankle felt his mind groping toward the music, trying desperately to
reach into the heart of it, to become part of it.
Ravdin and Dana stood there, trancelike, staring transfixed at the
gleaming center of light, forcing their joined minds to create the
crashing, majestic chords as the song lifted from the depths of oblivion
to the heights of glory in the old, old song of their people.
A song of majesty, and strength, and dignity. A song of love, of
aspiration, a song of achievement. A song of peoples driven by ancient
fears across the eons of space, seeking only peace, even peace with
those who drove them.
Frankle heard the music, and could not comprehend, for his mind could
not grasp the meaning, the true overtones of those glorious chords, but
he felt the strangeness in the pangs of fear which groped through his
mind, cringing from the wonderful strains, dazzled by the dancing light.
He stared wide-eyed and trembling at the couple across the room, and
for an instant it seemed that he was stripped naked. For a fleeting
moment the authority was gone from his face; gone too was the cruelty,
the avarice, the sardonic mockery. For the briefest moment his cold
gray eyes grew incredibly tender with a sudden ancient, long-forgotten
longing, crying at last to be heard.
And then, with a scream of rage he was stumbling into the midst of the
light, lashing out wildly at the heart of its shimmering brilliance. His
huge hand caught the hypnotic stone and swept it into crashing,
ear-splitting cacophony against the cold steel bulkhead. He stood rigid,
his whole body shaking, eyes blazing with fear and anger and hatred as
he turned on Ravdin and Dana. His voice was a raging storm of
bitterness drowning out the dying strains of the music.

"Spies! You thought you could steal my mind away, make me forget
my duty and listen to your rotten, poisonous noise! Well, you failed, do
you hear? I didn't hear it, I didn't listen, I didn't! I'll hunt you down as
my fathers hunted you down, I'll bring my people their vengeance and
glory, and your foul music will be dead!"
He turned to the guards, wildly, his hands still trembling. "Take them
out! Whip them, burn them, do anything! But find out where their
people have gone. Find out! Music! We'll take the music out of them,
once and for all."
* * * * *
The inquisition had been horrible. Their minds had had no concept of
such horror, such relentless, racking pain. The blazing lights, the
questions screaming in their ears, Frankle's vicious eyes burning in
frustration, and their own screams, rising with