"Yes. Check with Jmombota about the drugs. Keep low-if you can see them then they can see you and a laser could burn you before you know it."
"There's no one here, Earl."
No one he could see, but Dumarest didn't bother to explain the difference, and the man was probably safe enough. Had units been placed on the attack he would have been shot at long before. Trigging the radio he said, "Kars?"
"Earl?"
"Rendevous as arranged."
The radios were part of the equipment captured from the mercenaries Tomir had hired and were probably being monitored. But Gartok knew what to do.
He stepped from the raft as it landed and strode to where Dumarest was waiting. The sunlight glinted from his helmet and body armor and gave him an appearance of ruthless, mechanical efficiency. Halting he scowled at the suns.
"Nearly ghost-time, Earl."
"We'll be on the way back before then." War on Zakym, had to be carefully timed. "We'll hit one point, do what we can, then run. Prisoners if we can take them."
"Bodies if we can't. A stop-over?"
"This one." Dumarest dropped to his knees and unfolded the map. "I'm making a lot of assumptions and they could all be wrong but if I've guessed right we could catch them here. See?" His finger traced lines. "The trajectories could have a common origin here. The team could have moved between shots but I doubt it, they came too close and were too carefully aimed."
"They all missed!"
"That's what I mean. I think the misses were deliberate. Roland found nothing in the foothills and neither did you in the east, That narrows it to about here. They could have gone to there but they'll guess we'll figure that. So they could be just here." He tapped at one of the black flecks.
"Or rafted right out of the area."
"They didn't ride high or we'd have spotted them. Later when we searched we saw nothing. No, they are still close." Dumarest folded the map and rose. "Let's see if we can get them."
He took the lead, riding low, lifting the raft barely enough to skim the massive boulders and summits of hills. Behind him the half-dozen men forming his unit crouched low and remained silent. Those in Gartok's raft did the same. A small defense but it helped, sound and the glint of sunlight from equipment could attract instant attention where the soft, ground-hugging approach of the rafts need not.
A crevass drifted past below, a rounded jumble of boulders like the marbles tossed by a child tired of its play, a patch of gnarled vegetation. A turn into a narrow pass, a lift, a long, slow passage over the contours of rolling hills and then, at full speed, a downward glide to where a long, dark building showed against the ocher dirt.
"Out!" Dumarest hit the ground and rolled to the cover of a rock as his men obeyed. "Cover!"
He loped forward, dropped, signaled with a sweep of his arm, waited as shapes scuttled past to drop in turn while he searched the area ahead with narrowed eyes, rifle poised to fire.
Nothing.
The building was silent, the area around void of any trace of life. Gartok, landing to one side, lifted his helmeted head.
"Nothing, Earl. The place is deserted."
"Be careful!"
Men could be waiting, traps set, even now fingers closing on triggers ready to loose a storm of fire. Yet if present those men remained invisible and instinct gave no warning. There was no movement aside from that caused by a sudden flurry of wind; little plumes of dust rising from the acrid soil.
"I'm going in." Gartok rose to his feet. "Cover me."
Dumarest moved so as to increase his field of view. He saw the mercenary step cautiously towards the building, dodge around a corner, vanish. A moment later he reappeared, waving.
"A bust," he said as Dumarest came close. "The place is empty. You guessed wrong."
Not wrong-they had arrived too late. Kneeling Dumarest looked over the floor seeing the marks of booted feet and trails of dragged equipment. The doors had been open and wind would have carried dust to hide the marks had they not been recent. And a pot of coffee resting on a stove was still hot.
"Warned!" Gartok slammed his hand against the pot and sent it flying to fall in a pool of steaming liquid. "Someone ordered them out, but why? If they had known we were coming they would have had us in a trap. If not why the move?"
Khaya Taiyuah brought the answer, landing an hour after their return to the castle, arriving as the suns were low and curfew was near. He was distraught, waving aside the wine Lavinia offered to him as he was ushered into the great hall. Waiting only for the servant to leave he said, abruptly, "You must yield. You must end the war."
"What?"
"I bear an ultimatum. I had no choice, to have refused was to have lost my worms." Bitterly he added, "For the shame I ask your forgiveness. You are not a coward. But the conflict must cease."
Dumarest said, "The terms?"
"Lavinia must yield and you must be handed over as a prisoner. You will not be harmed-that is a promise. All other prisoners will be exchanged. No compensation will be demanded other than the cost of the forces involved. If you refuse then Belamosk and other castles will be destroyed. My worms-" He gulped. "The work of a lifetime will be destroyed. Everything will be lost. Everything."
He sat, a man suddenly older than his years, this time not refusing the wine Lavinia set at his side. As he reached for it Roland said, "The castle! What can we do?"
"Fight!" Gartok snarled his impatience. "So we lose worms and collect bruises but that is war. An all-out offensive starting at first-light. Every raft and man to sweep the surrounding countryside and find those launchers."
An empty defiance. If Tomir had obtained the services of a cyber the outcome of the situation would already have been predicted and it was obvious what that would be. Pressure exerted on Lavinia to yield. More to have him handed over as a prisoner. The price of survival and who would resist? Taiyuah afraid for his precious worms? Navalok? Alcorus? Suchong? They would kill him to preserve their castles. Roland?
"You can't resist," he said. "The very thought of it is madness. They'll destroy the castle."
A bluff, but he didn't know that and could never be convinced. Dumarest knew better. The Cyclan wanted him alive for the secret he carried in his brain. The reason the stop-over had been deserted, why no shots had been fired at the rafts, why the missiles had fallen well clear of the walls.
The promise would be honored. For how long was another matter.
"Earl?" Lavinia stared at him, her eyes wide. "What can we do? What do you want us to do?"
"It doesn't depend on Earl," said Roland quickly. "It's up to you to decide. If you agree to yield the war will be over. There will be peace. And what choice have you?"
"Earl?"
"We can fight." He glanced at the woman. "We could even win if you're willing to take the gamble."
"How?"
He said, flatly, "We ask the Sungari to help us."
Dawn broke with a scud of cloud which blurred the suns and threw a dull light over the upper promenade. Despite the thick cloak she wore Lavinia shivered, knowing the cold was less the result of temperature than trepidation. Roland, at her side, rested his hand on her arm.
"It's cold, my dear, you had best go below."
"No."
"What do you hope to see? Earl has gone with Gartok and we shall know nothing until the mercenary returns. And the whole thing is madness. Surely you know that? The Pact must not be broken."
"Is courage madness?"
"No, but a madman can have courage. Or," he corrected, "a blind determination which has that appearance. Why does Earl insist on continuing the war? He was willing to sell the land a short while ago."