Perotto for one as Angado knew. Larsen for another and he saw their faces painted against the mist. Both of equal age, his cousin old enough to be his father. Older than his years, his face seamed with lines of determination, eyes hard beneath thick brows. Had he gone back on his word? Larsen might have dropped the hint with his cunning serpent's tongue, but surely Perotto would never have agreed. Had Larsen acted on his own? If…
"Angado, you'd better finish your sleep."
"What?" He blinked at Dumarest. "Sorry, but I was thinking," he said. "Family business."
Of which Dumarest could have no part and yet if it hadn't been for his companion he would be dead by now. Could still die-how long could they hope to survive in this wilderness?
Chapter Four
Halting, Dumarest threw back his head and sniffed at the air. Like a dog, thought Angado dispassionately. Like the animal he'd become as they made their way over the endless plain. Sniffing for scent, looking for sign, surviving where no ordinary man could have lasted. A trait he envied while knowing he could never hope to emulate it.
He stumbled, feeling the jar in knees and hips as he fought to regain his balance. The pack he carried was a monstrous hand pressing him down, a load full of trivia which Dumarest refused to discard. He turned to look behind, seeing their trail wending over the rolling plain toward a featureless horizon, one which faded, vanishing, as gusting wind flurried the long grass and resettled it in a new pattern.
The trail they left was as transient as that made by a boat on an ocean. Their progress apparently measured by inches.
He lunged forward, cursing the pull of the grass which hampered his stride and sapped at his energy. Strength too low for the task; the scant food failing to replace that used and, now the food was gone, hunger was turning into starvation.
"Steady!" Dumarest was at his side, a hand firm on his arm. "Take a rest."
"But-"
"Do it!" Dumarest softened his tone. "Rest now and we can keep going until twilight. Be stubborn and you'll collapse after a couple of miles." His knife flashed as he hacked free a bunch of grass. "Here, keep busy with this. Something to fill your stomach." He illustrated running a strand between his teeth to remove the husk and pulp. "See?"
"Can we live on it?"
"No, but it'll give you bulk and some moisture." And give him something to do as well as taking his mind off present difficulties. Dumarest added, "There's a run over there. The sun's low enough to shade it and with luck we'll get something to eat."
He moved off before Angado could comment, one hand delving beneath his tunic to reappear with a scrap of food concentrate wrapped in a cloth. Sweat had soaked into the fabric, adding his own body odor to that of the ripening wafer. Carefully he set it at the place he had noted; one where small tunnels through the grass joined to form a junction. Snares would have created a warning scent and an unusual sight image and Dumarest didn't want to wait longer than necessary. Taking up a position facing the sun, the wind in his face, he poised the knife in his hand and stood, waiting.
A living statue dark against the sky. Angado watched, running strands of grass between his teeth. The gain was small but his mouth welcomed the opportunity to chew and swallow and the moist pulp held a refreshing tartness. More gratifying was the opportunity to rest and he eased the ache in back and legs, bones and muscles.
The pack was a nuisance. The need of the sacs had been demonstrated; spread at night they collected condensed dew and twice the fruit of an intermittent rain. But most of the rest was useless; clothing they would never wear, empty containers, voided ampules… discarded rubbish… stuff which swirled in his mind and created a sudden complexity of dancing patterns.
Angado started, aware that he had dozed, fighting the sleep which clogged his mind. The sun was lower than he remembered but the dark silhouette against the sky was as before. Then, as he watched, Dumarest exploded in a sudden blur of motion. A flash as the knife left his hand, a darting forward, a stoop then he was upright again and coming toward him the creature he had caught impaled on the blade of the thrown knife.
A thing little larger than a rat, which he skinned, filled the pelt with the guts, head and feet, then split the remainder into two segments one of which he handed to Angado.
"Eat it."
"Aren't we cooking it first?"
"There's more energy in it raw." Dumarest bit, chewed, blood rimming his mouth. "We may get something else later on."
Another rodent, a twin of the first, which Angado turned on a crude spit over the smoking fire. It was stringy and, lacking salt, flavorless, but it was hot and something to chew and a filled stomach restored his optimism.
"'I could get to like this kind of life," he said, poking at the fire. "But not without a gun and a few comforts. A sleeping bag, some emergency rations, a radio to summon help if anything went wrong." The smoldering eye flared as it fed on a morsel of fat. As it died Angado said, in a different tone, "How much longer, Earl?"
"As long as it takes."
"How far, then? Damn it, you know what I mean. There has to be someone around. A settlement, a town, civilization of some kind. Even a farm. We just can't wander on forever."
The truth, but they could wander until they died, and, for Angado, that would mean the same thing.
Dumarest said, quietly, "A world's a big place. Any world. Even the residents never get to see all of it and it takes a long time for even them to spread. A planet can be settled, no riches found, the community dwindle to a string of farms. Natural increase will take care of things in time but that means a few thousand years at least. The planets which are heavily populated are old or rich or usually both."
"And, in the Burdinnion, such worlds don't exist." Angado looked at his hands. They were clenched into fists as if he wanted to fight and defeat the truth Dumarest had given him. "Krogstad," he said. "The bastard! He didn't intend for us ever to be found. He as good as killed us."
"We're alive," reminded Dumarest.
"Because of you, not him." Angado drew in his breath, fighting to master his anger. "I'll find him," he said. "If I ever get out of this I'll hunt the bastard down. And when I meet him-" He looked again at his hands. "We'll do it together, Earl. You've the right to be in at the kill."
"Maybe, but I've other things to do."
"You'll let him get away with it?" Angado thought he understood. "I'll do the paying. Perotto can't refuse me funds to gain revenge. He-" He broke off, looking at Dumarest's face, remembering. "You still think he tried to kill me?"
Dumarest said, "That's your problem, not mine. As for the rest if I ever run into Krogstad he'll regret it. But I'm not chasing him."
"You don't want revenge? On Lychen we'd-"
"Is Lychen a vendetta world?"
"Not exactly, but we have pride."
"The old families," corrected Dumarest. "The established clans. Only the rich can afford the type of revenge you're talking about. Only the stupid would pursue it. Families locked in strife, killing each other, using assassination, anything, just to level the score. After a while even the cause of the quarrel is forgotten but the killing goes on."
"And pride remains."
Dumarest said, dryly, "Which, no doubt, is a great comfort to those who bury the dead."
He leaned back, running strands of grass between his teeth, watching Angado's face, illuminated by the glow from the fire, harden from what it had been and not just through loss of underlying fat. The journey was forcing him to face reality; pressure accentuated by Dumarest's talk; deliberately provocative stands taken on subjects the younger man had taken for granted. A means of engaging his mind and testing his attitude. Inflexibility would have shown the man to be brittle and liable to break in an emergency. As it was the black-and-white presentations had helped to soften the monotony of the journey.