"No."
"But, Earl, you sent word for her to come and join you!" Roland looked baffled. "I don't understand this. The messenger was explicit. He said that you'd been found and was hurt and wanted to see her. She insisted on leaving immediately. I wanted to accompany her but she refused to allow it. We'd had a small argument, nothing serious, but you know how determined she can be at times. I didn't want to upset her further so didn't press the point. But if you didn't send for her then who did?"
Dumarest said, "What did the man look like? Describe him."
"A big man, broad with a broken nose and scars around his eyes. He had a patch on the back of his left hand as if it had been burned at one time. I thought he might have been a herdsman."
"Flying a raft? Was he alone?"
"Yes. Of course, I should have noticed about the raft. It was stupid of me. One other thing, he had lost the little finger of his left hand."
"Louchon!" Gartok scowled as he rubbed the edge of his jaw. "He was with Tomir but I thought he was dead. The scars are the result of a cheap regraft and his hand once bore a tattoo. Someone didn't like the design and burned it away with acid. A year later that same man was found hanging head down over a fire. No one could prove who had cooked his brains but Louchon got the credit A hard man, Earl."
One the Sungari had missed and he had served Tomir as had the cyber. If one was alive then so could be the other and it was obvious why the woman had been taken.
"Did the man say where I was supposed to be?"
"He mentioned a stop-over on the edge of Suchong's estate. The one near Eibrens Rise. I know it and could guide you." Roland was anxious. "Earl, what is wrong? Why should anyone have tricked Lavinia?"
"They wanted a hostage."
"But why? What value could she be? The war is over."
One war, but another continued and was just as fierce in its way. As yet he had been the victor but how much longer could his luck hold out?
As Dumarest turned to enter the castle Roland said, "Earl, aren't you going after her?"
"Later perhaps."
"Later? And you aren't sure? But man, she is carrying your child!"
"What?"
Roland gasped as Dumarest turned, catching him by the shoulder, the fingers digging deep.
"It's the truth, Earl, I swear it! That was why we quarreled. I said you'd leave her and she was certain you wouldn't. Please! My shoulder!" He fell back, face drawn in pain, a hand rubbing his bruises. "You must go after her! You must!"
For a moment Dumarest stared at the man then, without a word, turned and entered the castle. Gartok caught Roland by the arm as he made to follow.
"Leave him."
"But he doesn't understand! Neither of you understand! Lavinia is being held at the stop-over. Tortured, perhaps, beaten, mistreated, put to shame. Doesn't he care?"
"He cares," said Gartok then added, impatiently, "Are you blind? Can't you see he's in no fit condition to look for the woman? He needs time to recover."
Time to swallow some wine and eat a plate of cold viands served by a smiling, bold-eyed girl. Time to strip and sink into a steaming bath, to lean back and try to relax, to ease the ache of muscle and bone. To remember the strange world of the Sungari.
To think over what Roland had said.
Lavinia with child? Her womb filled with his growing seed? Had it been a lie told to tease the man or the naked truth revealed in a moment of stress?
If so it was added bait for the trap he was certain had been set.
"My lord?" The girl returned with towels and vials of lotion. "Do you want me to attend you?"
"No." He softened the sharp refusal. "Did you see your mistress leave?"
"No, my lord. Are you sure I cannot attend you? A good strong rub with this will make you feel fresh and tingling all over."
"What is it?"
"A friction-mat, my lord." She held it up for his inspection. "We make them of woven strips of leather and special fibers from the south. Odd isn't it? It always reminds me of a handful of worms."
Worms!
Silkworms!
Yet Roland had mentioned Eibrens Rise.
Later, when dressed and rested, he sent for the man. Roland was adamant.
"I heard the name, Earl. I swear it. Eibrens Rise."
"I see." Dumarest looked past him to where Gartok was waiting. "Ready, Kars?"
"We can leave when you give the word."
"Then we leave now." Dumarest looked at Roland. "Will you come with us?"
"Of course. You need me to guide you to Eibrens Rise."
"No," said Dumarest. "To Taiyuah."
The place was full of creaks and smells, small sounds echoing in an oppressive atmosphere, the scent of vegetation mingling with the reek of something else which stirred and rustled and which lifted the fine hairs on the back of her neck with primitive distaste.
The worms, of course, she had never liked worms. Not since when, as a child, she had visited Khaya and had wandered off on a personal exploration and had got lost and found herself in a strange place fitted with tables and instruments and cages filled with moths and other things. Reaching for one she had knocked it over and showered her hair with wriggling creatures. Later someone had told her they had been silkworms but it made no difference. The name alone had been enough.
A long time ago and she had changed but Taiyuah seemed timeless. He had stood before her wringing his hands his voice carrying his shame.
"I'm sorry, Lavinia, but I had no choice. You must understand that."
She had been cynical.
"No choice, Khaya? Again?"
"My worms! They threaten my worms-how can you understand?"
A weakness which made him vulnerable. As her love for Dumarest made her vulnerable. As his love for her- but no, he was a different breed. He wouldn't come running to her even if still alive.
The doubt annoyed her. He lived! He had to live! To believe him dead was to help him into his grave.
And he had to be alive else she would have seen him in delusia. Nothing would have kept him away.
Stirring in her chair, dazed by the drugs she had been given, barely awake she murmured, "Earl, my darling. Earl, come to me, my love. Come to me."
And he would, Ardoch was as certain of it as he could be about anything.
Standing tall in his scarlet robe he looked at the woman, wondering at the madness of emotion, the insanity which defied all logic and flew in the face of all reason. A word and she had come running to fall into his hands. A prize which would gain another, more valuable, yet still reacting with the blindness of glandular impetuosity.
It was only a matter of time and he could wait. As the woman, recovering from the sedative, waited, saying nothing, listening to the drip of water, the rustle of things crawling on leaves. The cellar was chill and dank, a fit place to end the war she thought had been finished. Here would be fought the final battle. The hue of the cyber's robe was symbolic of blood.
Then she heard it, the slam of the door, a man's voice raised in alarm, the pad of booted foot. Quietly Ardoch moved close to her, his hand lifting to rest against her throat.
"Earl!" She cried out as he entered the chamber, "Earl!"
He saw her, turning, his hand dropping to the knife in his boot, freezing as he spotted the cyber, the position of his hand.
"Kars! Roland! Do nothing!"
Tension filled the room, giving birth to little sparkles which danced in the air, tiny motes of transient brilliance which glinted in a pattern of elaborate complexity. Flickers in the eyes registering the shift of electrons in the brain, the random motion of ions in the atmosphere. A hypersensitivity he had known before.