He was a commander who had failed to win a minor battle against servants armed with primitive weapons when armed with modern equipment and served by trained soldiers. The cyber was right; unless he won and soon his hoped for career as a leader was ended.
Thinking he set up the pieces on the board. How to win? How to force a surrender? There had to be a way and playing the game with its symbolic figures would help him to find it.
"It's your move, Cyber."
"No, my lord, yours."
And, unless he moved correctly, his life would be over.
Chapter Twelve
"My lord, my lady!" The entrepreneur bowed. He was a small, smoothly rounded man with cool eyes and an ingratiating smile. A man of many interests who now dealt in the things of war. "Flame bombs of a new pattern which can be thrown or fired from a light-weight projector. Variable time-set fuses or impact detonation. The radius of effective destruction is thirty feet. The granules are adhesive and will burn through medium body-armor within five seconds. Secondary characteristics are metabolic breakdown of tissue together with the introduction of a nerve-poison. Truly a most effective weapon."
"No!" Lavinia shook her head. "To use such a thing against men!"
"A screaming mob can be a terrifying thing, my lady. And an opposing force, when faced with such devices, quickly lose their taste for combat. Am I not correct, my lord?" He waited a moment then, as Dumarest made no answer, delved again into the case his assistant had lifted on the table. "Miniature mines which can be dropped from a raft or sown from any moving transport. Each is the color of the terrain and will adjust by the action of photosensitive elements to acquire the exact shade on the place in which it lands. You see?"
He held out his hand and, as they watched, the egg-sized object he held took on the color of his palm.
"They can be adjusted for proximity detonation or impact; time-lapse or sonic sensitivity. They can remove the feet and legs up to the knees for an effective range of twenty feet. I can supply ten thousand of them packed in crates of two score dozen for a most reasonable price."
"Delivery?"
"Within a month, my lord." The man beamed at the prospect of a sale. With luck he would be back in town well before dark. "Payment in advance, of course."
Dumarest looked at the case. "Have you anything else?"
A new model laser, a sleeve gun, some mortar shells, a gas, liquids which were light sensitive and would burst into flame when exposed to the suns. Kars Oartok grunted as the man lifted an eyepiece together with its attendant wires and pack.
"Don't waste time showing us that. No one has any use for light intensifiers on Zakym."
"No?" The man shrugged and Dumarest watched the flicker of his eyes.
"A moment." He held out his hand. "I'd like to see that."
"A recent innovation, my lord." The man was quick with his praise. "Not a light intensifier in the sense that it amplifies existing light-sources but something more. It scans the infrared areas of the spectrum and converts the pattern of received energies into a visible form. That alone would be an achievement though, as I will admit, not a novel one, but there is more." He paused to gain dramatic impact. "The scanners also resolve residual energy content on and within the object examined. To be short, my lord, with this device you can see in absolute darkness."
"Impossible!"
"Not so, my lady. What is light? A source of energy, yes? Therefore, as long as energy exists in one form or another it can be converted to light. Others have found the device most attractive."
"For night attacks, yes," grunted Gartok. "But we don't have those on Zakym."
"As you say." The man replaced the apparatus in the case.
Dumarest followed it with his eyes, remembering the flicker he had seen, the hidden amusement. Gartok had brought the man to Belamosk with him on his return from town and, from his expression, was beginning to regret it.
"I'm sorry, Earl," he said. "I thought the man would have something we could use. Everything he's shown us so far is too costly, too elaborate or based on a late delivery."
"Not so, my lord!" The man had heard. "I have other items resting in the warehouse."
"Drugs? Medicines?"
"Yes, together with antibiotics, hormone salves, regrowth mediums, skin renewers-all the things the wounded need to regain mental and physical health. An order for Khasanne where they are locked in a vicious struggle-"
"But which you are willing to sett if the price is right," interrupted Dumarest, dryly. "Immediate delivery?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Good!" Lavinia smiled her relief. "We have credit with the Nausi and there will be more when the herd is sold. If-" She broke off, recognizing the man's expression. "No?"
"My lady, I am a man of business. Expenses are high and profits small. To wait is to breed debt. If it were left to myself I would not hesitate but there are others, partners, you understand, who are not as confident in your victory as I am. And the load is spoken for and money is waiting. How can I explain my trust in your cause to those who are already using the money for a new enterprise?"
A lie, but the meaning was plain-no cash, no trade.
But she had jewels.
Dumarest led Gartok to one side as the man examined them. "Aside from him what else did you discover in town?"
"Little aside from rumor. Tomir expects more men and a few free-lances are looking for work. I gave them a half-promise. One of them told me that Tomir's equipment included long-range missiles for his launchers. And there was talk of a cyber."
"A cyber? When?"
"A while ago. He arrived after Tomir-something about a delayed vessel. I asked around but he seems to have vanished." Gartok shrugged. "Probably a mistake-a man saw someone wearing red and let his imagination run wild. I-" He broke off as sound filled the air, the rolling thunder of released energies which tore at the ears and filled the chamber with dancing motes of dust.
"Earl!" Lavinia turned toward Dumarest, her face startled, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "For God's sake! What's happening?"
Another explosion gave the answer, a third made it certain.
Castle Belamosk was under direct attack.
In his ear the voice from the combat radio said, "Nothing, Earl. I can't see a thing."
Roland, riding a raft following the foothills of the Iron Mountains, searching every inch of ground with high-powered binoculars.
Another voice, Gartok's, this time from close at hand, "Bare to the east. Not a man to be seen, not a trace." He sounded irritable. "I don't understand it. The bastards must be somewhere. And why the hell didn't they continue firing?"
A feint? But if Tomir had wanted to draw out the forces protecting Belamosk where would he attack next? And if he had wanted to reduce the castle then why cease firing before any real damage had been done?
Squatting in the raft Dumarest studied his maps, tracing the lines of suspected flight from the impact-points of the missiles. One had struck far beyond the western wall, another had landed close to the eastern side, more had dug craters in a wide-flung pattern to the south. The last had hit Ellman's Rest and blasted the old tree to splinters.
Each, he knew, could have been sent directly against the walls to blast a hole and bring down ancient stone.
"Earl?" Roland's voice again. "There's nothing here. Shall I return to the castle and supervise the work you ordered done?"
Cellars cleared, strengthened, stocked with food and water. The injured protected with bags filled with sand set along the infirmary and between their beds.