"A woman, Earl?" Lavinia had caught the subtle shift of inflexion. "Were you with a woman?"
Looking at the mercenary Dumarest said, "Describe her."
"Tall, well-made, beautiful if your interests lie in the patrician mold. She had red hair and her nails were tipped with metal. Her name-"
"I know her name." The man was either well-schooled or telling the truth. "Why are you here?"
"I told you. To carry a warning." Gartok stared at Dumarest for a long moment, then sighed. "There is more, naturally. Sometimes in life a man recognizes an opportunity. If he is wise he takes it. And if others aid him in his ambition, well, what else can he do but follow the tide? On Ilyard I heard rumors of the situation here on Zakym. Of an heir eager to claim his inheritance-or a man claiming to be that heir. You see the difference?"
"Go on."
"There was a monk who died. An old man but tough as monks always are. Why should he have died? I was curious and went to his cremation. I saw there a man with his wife and both seemed unduly distressed. The woman was almost hysterical. Again I wondered why she should have been so upset at the death of an old man. So I investigated and found something, an old book which the monk had kept. A record of sorts. I borrowed it."
"And?"
"I will make it plain, my friend. Gydapen had a partner as surely you must have guessed. His name is Charl Erabris and he is one of the largest dealers on Ilyard. You want men, guns, heavy equipment in order to wage a war? He can supply them. Credit? He can supply that too. Offer him the loot of a world and the prospect will fill his universe." Gartok drained the last of his wine then added, quietly, "You can appreciate why such a man would be your enemy."
"He sent the assassin?"
"Yes."
"And the monk?" Lavinia leaned forward over the table. "What had he to do with it?"
"Nothing. He was a victim and that was all. Lady Othurine, Embris's wife, was distraught and sought comfort from the church. The old monk attended her. She would have told him things others wanted to remain secret. Her husband for one. Her son for another. Especially her son."
"The false heir?"
"You are shrewd, my lady. When Gydapen died an excuse had to be found to continue with the original plan. The original heir provided it. He is dead, of course, and his identity has been adopted by another. A vicious murder for the sake of greed, but what intelligent man would set another on a throne when he could take it for himself? The Lady Othurine loved her son and is afraid for him. She spoke of this to the old monk." Gartok stared into his empty glass. "For that he died."
Assassinated in order to close his mouth. Such things were easily arranged on a world devoted to the pursuit of war.
But the mercenary-where did his interests lie?
"You mentioned a book," said Dumarest. "Which you borrowed."
"And which the monks reclaimed. The Church abhors violence, Earl, but justice is another matter. We came to an arrangement. Armed with knowledge they had given me I visited Embris and came to an understanding. He thinks I am here on his behalf."
"Are you?"
Gartok lifted his glass and turned it in his thick fingers, a single drop of wine moving sluggishly over the crystal; blood won from a reluctant wound.
"I am a gambler, Earl, what else can a mercenary be? To work for Embris is to work for the man who hopes to make this world his own and for what? Small pay and high risk and, when the prize has been won, scant thanks and small reward. Now, if I were to work with you… ?" He let his voice trail into silence.
"I have nothing, you realize that?"
"You have yourself."
Lavinia said, sharply, "What do you hope to gain?"
"Money, my lady." Gartok was blunt. "A high place, lands, certainly rich compensation-all conditional on victory. If we lose I get nothing."
"If we lose Earl could be dead!"
A prospect which tormented her and one she mentioned when, later, they were alone. The room was one of the best the hotel could provide, the light soft amber from lanterns of tinted glass, the floor thick with woven rugs. Sitting on the edge of the wide, soft bed she looked at him, noting the way he moved, the calm, contained energy he radiated, the determination.
"Earl, what would I do without you?"
"You'd live."
"How can you say that? Before I met you life was just an existence. Now-?" She broke off, knowing she needed to be strong, wondering why she was not. To yield to a man, to rely on him was to become weak and yet it was nice to be comforted by his strength, to rest warm in the assurance that she was not alone. "Can we trust him?"
"Gartok?" He frowned. "I think so."
"We could make certain," she suggested. "There are tests-no?"
"No."
She didn't ask him to explain, to point out that a man of Gartok's stamp had his honor such as it was and that to demand tests was to offer insult. And, had the man been conditioned, available tests would prove nothing. Instead she said, with acid jealousy, "That woman he mentioned. The one you were with on Hoghan. You didn't let him mention her name."
"Dephine."
"Just that?" Her tone made it plain what she thought. "A harlot?"
"A woman who is dead now."
"Dead?" She smiled then grew serious. "Like the others, Earl? The ones you see at delusia? Kalin and Derai and the one you thought I was? Lallia? You remember? All the women who come to talk to you and smile and warn you against me, perhaps. Is that what they do, Earl? Laugh at me? Deride me for loving you!"
"Stop it!"
"Yes." She looked at her hands and made an effort to hold them still. Light caught her nails and was reflected in trembling shimmers. "I am the Lady Lavinia Del Belamosk. A member of the Council of Zakym. I should not be jealous."
"No," he said, flatly. "You shouldn't."
"But, Earl-" She rose and stepped toward him, hands extended for comfort, wanting him to tell her that no other woman had meant anything to him, that only now, with her, had he found love. "Earl, please!"
He said, quietly, "Did life only begin for you, Lavinia, when we met? Am I the only man you have ever known?"
For a moment she made no answer then, drawing in her breath, lowered her hands and managed to smile.
"I'm sorry, Earl. I was being foolish. Before you came to me you didn't exist and nothing you had done could matter. The women you knew-none of them are real to me. They live only in your memory. It was just that I was afraid, thinking of you getting hurt, of dying, even."
"Death is a risk of war."
"Do we have to fight?"
"No." The answer surprised her and he smiled at her expression. "We could yield to all demands made by Gydapen's heir."
"The false heir."
"True or false makes no difference. He is coming with the power to make his claim real. Once he is accepted who will argue as to whose son he really is? Tomir Embris will do as well as any. He will rule. Zakym will become his world. His father will supply the arms and men he needs. There will be a dozen others who would be eager to share in the operation and every unemployed mercenary on Ilyard will hurry to join the feast. If I yield the lands-"
"If?" Her voice carried her shock at the suggestion. "Earl, you can't! You mustn't!"
"Why not?"
"You haven't been paid! Our child must inherit!"