THE PIPES OF VICTORY 105

“It is an enemy stealing upon the village,” he whis-
pered, trying to see through the thick blanket of fog
that hung over the cove. “They mean to go through
the forest in the fog and attack our people, who are
still asleep! We must go back and warn them. No,
that will not do! I could not run fast enough with this
twisted leg of mine to reach the village ahead of them.
You must run back through the forest alone, Dagal,
and I will stay here and delay them if I can. Run as
you have never run before, my sister, else all in the
village will be killed or taken captive. Run!”

He watched as Dagal turned obediently and raced
toward the village; watched until she had disappeared
in the fog, then turned once more and glanced down
into the cove below. Through the mist he could see
dark forms moving about; he could hear pebble grat-
ing against pebble as the invaders stole cautiously
forward toward the fog-shrouded trail.

“There are many of them!” Kagan thought, sud-
denly panic-stricken. “I did not dream there would be
so many. What can I do to hold them back until Dagal
reaches the village?”

“Play,” whispered a small voice. “Play upon your
reeds.”

“T will,” Kagan decided bravely. “I must make
magic music or they will kill me. They will not even
keep me for a slave because I am a cripple. If I can
delay them just a little while, the village will be
saved.”