He said, flatly, "And you? Usterlan?"
"Yes."
A lie. Dumarest knew the world despite what he had told the Hausi. The people of Usterlan were dark, their hair a kinked ebon, a protection against the fury of a sun radiating high in ultra-violet. His eyes slid to the woman sitting quietly beside the window. She wore masculine garb, her russet hair cropped short, her face devoid of cosmetics. A strong face, the bones prominent, the lips firm, the bottom pouting a little. Her eyes were uptilted, a pale gray, the lids thickly lashed. Her hands were broad, the fingers long, the nails neatly rounded.
Iduna, Jalch Moore's younger sister.
"My lord," Bhol Kinabalu bowed a little, his hands extended, palms upward. "This is the man for whom you have been waiting. He will suit your requirements-if not, I must cancel the commission and answer to my guild."
An ultimatum, despite the appeal of the hands, the deferential bow. Moore grunted, dropping the instrument he carried, his hand moving towards the dagger, to snatch it up, to hurl it with a sudden gesture. A bad throw. Left to itself it would hit the wall close to where Dumarest stood, denting the plaster with its hilt.
He caught it, spun it to grip the point, threw it all in one fast motion. Metal tore as the blade ripped into the lie-detector, inner components ruined, its discharged energy flaring in momentary sparkles.
"Fast." The woman's voice was deep, musical. "A test, Jalch? If so, the man has passed. At least his reactions leave nothing to be desired."
"The instrument-"
"Is ruined, but he could have buried the steel in your throat had he wished." She rose, tall, a little imperious, the curves of her body betraying her femininity. "Have you been told what it is we want you to do?"
"No."
"No?" She frowned, glancing at the Hausi. Again Kinabalu spread his hands.
"I have explained the basic duties, my lady, but the details must come from you. To guard, to protect, these things are vague. Only a rogue would promise to deliver what he cannot supply." Pausing he added, "The guide?"
"Has been accepted."
"And this man?"
"We shall see. You may go." As the door closed behind the Hausi she said to Dumarest, "Have you been engaged in such employment before?"
"Yes."
"And yet you are not satisfied with what has been told you?"
"No." Dumarest met her eyes. "If I am to be efficient I need to know what dangers to anticipate. This enterprise you propose, what is it's purpose? To hunt? To map a region? To trade? To search for minerals?" The pale gray orbs did not flicker. "What?"
"Does it make a difference?"
"It could." Dumarest looked at the scattered maps, the scrolls, the moldering books. "How many will be on this expedition?"
"We two, the guide and yourself if you agree to join us."
"A small party."
"But large enough," snapped Jalch harshly. "Sister, let me explain." His hand touched a scroll, moved to a book, lingered on the statuette. "We are chasing a legend," he said abruptly. "Shajok is an old world and must have been settled many times. In the mountains are valleys which could hold the remnants of previous cultures. One of them could be the life that was native to this planet in ages past. From what I have been able to discover they were unique. You have seen the pennons?"
Dumarest nodded.
"You know their purpose?"
"A warning."
"The product of imagination-or so most insist. And yet, should they signal the ceasing of the wind there would be panic." Jalch moved restlessly about the room. "Why should that be if there is no danger? Superstition? I think not. The product, perhaps, of myths enlarged by active fears. Yet, each myth holds within itself the core of truth. Once there was a real danger. Once men were strangers here and had to fight in order to survive. The original people could still exist. If they do I hope to find them."
"The Original People?"
"The natives of this world." Pages rustled as Jalch opened a book. "Look at this, a report made by Captain Bramh centuries ago. He made an emergency landing close to the mountains and lost two-thirds of his crew to something he failed to describe. A local phenomenon he called it, which caused them to desert. And here, an item culled from the secret archives of Langousta. A ship which was forced to land on Shajok. A distress signal was picked up and a rescue operation mounted. They discovered the wreck, but found no trace of the crew and passengers it had carried. A mystery. Even the log was incomplete, food on the tables, everything as it should be, but of the people-nothing."
A book fell, a scroll rolled to the floor, a paper traced with lines of faded color was unrolled.
"And here, more proof if more were needed. A priest of the Hyarch sect was summoned to the bedside of a dying man. Under the seal of secrecy he was told of Shajok and the thing the man had found there. A form of life which-tell me, have you ever heard of the Kheld?"
Dumarest shook his head.
"A supposed creature of legend, the ancient writings mention them often. Things of strange powers and peculiar abilities. They have many names and have been recorded many times. Intangible life-forms which can grant powers beyond imagination to their owners. A name, and names change, but the basics remain. Here, on Shajok, we could find the Kheld."
Jalch moved towards the window, stood looking out at the bright pennons straining at their poles, his face traversed with bars of shadow.
"The Kheld," he whispered. "The Kheld!"
Iduna said quietly, "Earl, do you understand?"
A madman or a man obsessed, certainly not a man wholly sane. Jalch Moore had taken the stuff of rumor and built it into an imagined fact. Fragments of legend whispered in taverns and enhanced with the telling. Like the myths of vast accumulations of wealth to be found in hidden places, the deposited treasures of dying races, of imaginary pirates, of votive offerings.
Dumarest had heard them by the score-but this was something new. The mysterious beings which would grant to a man they acknowledged as their master the absolute fulfillment of his dreams and ambitions. And Jalch hoped to find them on Shajok.
A paranoid-that much was obvious from his use of the lie-detector. A mystic in his fashion, a primitive in his application of the crude ritual of the thrown dagger. Yet, he had money and equipment, and the urge to explore the hidden places of the mountains. The valleys, in one of which could be those whom Dumarest sought. The place from which Leon had come.
Nerth. A commune, perhaps, of the Original People. A chance he couldn't afford to miss.
* * * * *
They left two hours before dusk, lifting high and riding the wind, the note of the engine a soft purr as it fed power to the anti-gravity units incorporated in the body of the raft. It was a small, general purpose vehicle, the controls protected by a transparent canopy, the body open to the sky. A thing used to transport vats of ulumen oil, the structure redolent of the exotic perfume.
Jalch Moore handled the controls, the guide at his side, pointing at times to the mountains looming ahead. Dumarest sat in the open body, cramped by the bales of supplies and equipment, the woman at his side.
Without looking at her he asked, "What are you, his nurse?"
"His sister."
"I didn't ask your relationship. How long has he been insane?"
"Is he?" She moved to sit before him. The setting sun threw long streamers of light across the sky, their reflections catching her eyes and accentuating their color. "He has a dream, a conviction, and who are you to say that he is wrong? A man who claims to come from a mythical world. Earth!" She made the word an expression of contempt.