Dumarest saw a golden pearl.
It rested in a niche smoothed and polished to a mirror finish, a round globule of effulgent material which reflected the light in glints and sparkles. A thing far too small for its container, rolling as Vardoon moved it, reaching the end to roll back again as if made of steel. Yet the surface looked soft, yielding, a substance resembling a jelly.
"I had three," whispered Vardoon. "One I sold. One I gave to a companion. The other lies before you. Wealth, Earl. Worth a hundred times its weight in precious metal. Worth more than the wealth of a world to a dying man."
"Ardeel," said Dumarest.
"Ardeel," agreed Vardoon. "The nectar of heaven. You know of it?"
"By repute. Talk among mercenaries. Some claimed to have seen it, a few even to own it."
"Fools-they invited assassination."
"So a couple of them discovered," said Dumarest. "As did a trader who claimed to have it for sale. A high price, naturally, but worth it. Some believed him and one proved him a liar."
"And?"
"The rest gave him a chance. They made sure he had a supply then burned off his legs. They watched as he lay screaming, waiting, urging him to take his anodyne. They waited two days before losing patience and finishing him off."
"Hard men," said Vardoon. "Hard justice. Your kind, Earl?"
"I don't like being cheated."
"I'd be a fool to try it." Vardoon reached for the jug and slopped water into a glass. With a straw he fashioned a crude pair of tweezers and held the golden pearl within its jaws. "A little," he said. "Only a little." With a steady hand he dunked the golden substance into the water, counted to three, lifted it and replaced it within the box. Snapping the lid shut he tucked it back beneath his tunic. "And now, Earl, for the proof."
Dumarest looked at the proffered glass, at the man who extended it. He had made his decision regarding Vardoon and had no reason to doubt him, yet old habits remained.
"You don't trust me," said Vardoon. "Well, you are not to be blamed for that. After me, then."
He drank and there was no doubt he was genuine. Taking the glass, Dumarest lifted it to his lips, sniffed, smelled nothing and drank.
Waiting, he stared at a clock set into a pillar of onyx; a gilt-figured thing with female shapes wreathing the edge in wild abandon. Its second hand was a luminous streak of scarlet, a color as bright and warm as the woman who had worn it in a cascade of silken tresses.
"Darling! Earl, my darling!"
She came toward him as he turned, smiling, arms outstretched, the rich, full curves of her body taut against the golden material of her garment, belted at the waist to hug the neatness of her figure. Green eyes sparkled as the full lips parted. Hair swirled as if formed of living flame.
Kalin!
A ghost which lingered and would always linger as long as he drew breath. The woman who had given him so much and left him with a burden he could have done without-which had made him a target for those claiming it as their own.
"My darling! My own wonderful darling!"
Her voice was as he remembered, her hands, the smile showing the teeth, the eyes. Eyes which once had become empty windows. Which had remained that way when the woman, the real woman, had deserted the magnificent shell she had chosen to wear. The shell he would always remember.
As he could never forget the gift she had bequeathed him; the secret which made him a hunted man.
"I'm so lucky to have found you, Earl," she whispered, and now he could smell her perfume, the seductive scents which accentuated her femininity. "And in such an interesting place. Shall we win a fortune? Go hunting? Have fun in the snow? Hurry, darling! Hurry!"
And they were up and out, the snow crisp beneath his boots, the sky a cold vista of scintillant glory. To run and slide over endless, undulating dunes of glinting crystal with a fresh breeze caressing his cheeks. To plunge into a steaming pool and there to sport with darting fish amid which her nudity gleamed with alabaster temptation. To rise and feel the demanding heat of her body, to see the eyes of lambent emerald widening in satiation, to be aware of his achievement, his dominance, his bursting health and vitality.
To soar above the ice-bound terrain like a god with his face turned toward the stars.
To the flame of scarlet which slashed like a sword across the universe.
One which became the second hand of an ornate clock.
Dumarest looked at his hand, at the glass it held, then again at the clock. The red pointer had moved barely ten seconds around the dial. He frowned, recalling the things he had done, the space he had covered-all in so short a time?
"A trick." Vardoon sighed, breathing deeply, rubbing his hands over his face. His eyes held a haunting regret. "It's just a trick."
An illusion born of association-if the hand had been silver would Derai have come to him? If black, would Lallia have risen from the dead? Lavinia come to laugh and sport at his side?
"Dreams," said Vardoon softly. "Hallucinations so strong they seem more than real. The body metabolism slowed as if you'd taken quick time while the mind spins fantasies. In seconds you live hours of subjective experience. Can you guess what it means to a dying man?"
He rubbed his face again as if dispelling ghosts.
"The old," he said. "The diseased and incurable. A friend to every mercenary caught up in a war. The thing you need when you've been hit and are lying burned, broken, your stomach ripped open and your guts spilled in the mud. Take it and die-but you'll die smiling."
Tasting paradise before the final darkness.
Dumarest said, "You had three?"
"As I told you."
"And sold one?"
"To a mercenary captain in return for certain favors. The other went to a woman and I sleep easier because of it. The last I keep."
His tone brooked no argument and Dumarest gave him none. The thing could be sold but Vardoon needed it more than money. It was his weapon against his heritage; the fear of pain and death.
"Come in with me," he urged. "A full share in return for the stake-all the money you could ever use."
If they lived to collect it-Dumarest had no illusions of easy wealth.
He said, "Where?"
"Sacaweena-the rest I'll tell you when we're on our way. We could leave on the Chendis and transship at Telge. I'll get the necessary equipment after we land and then-" Vardoon broke off, breathing deeply, sweat shining on his ravaged face. "Freedom," he said. "An end to slaving my guts out for keep. Of getting shot at for pay. Of living cheap and counting the cost and never knowing what the next world will bring. All life's a gamble but sometimes the odds are too great. Money will change that. With money a man can do what he wants."
"Sacaweena?"
"That's right, Earl, but without me you'd find nothing. Sacaweena-once they called it Erce."
Erce! An ancient name for Earth!
Chapter Four
Waking, Rham Kalova looked at the groined roof of the bedchamber, seeing the lights which ran across the stones, the central orb now brightly cerulean. The wind from the sea, the skies clear, the temperature rising, humidity low, the time three hours after dawn, details absorbed even as he turned to examine more signals, feeling the same warm satisfaction he had felt when he checked the weather. The twenty highest stockholders had altered their holdings little during the night, but Arment had plunged heavily in mining while Barracola had shed his offshore investments. Fools, the pair of them, and he felt the snug comfort of continued security. While they acted in such a wild manner his major holding was safe but, he knew, even as he warmed to the safety indicated by the signals, the wolves would be gathering. Sharper now, hungrier, eager for the kill-but again he would outwit them all. He and Cyber Zao.