“But are you sure? Maybe it’s his means of communicating with the ship he has in orbit around Ophmarl”
“No. For that, he’d use the commo set in the skiff which brought him down there—it’s moored in the cavern-mouth for his use. But I double-checked to see if all my boards were green: I used an electronic scrambler and picked the lock on the Kahani’s yacht, and took a look at her mass-detector panel. Sure as seeing—there’s enough ion-steel floating up there at about fifty million miles further back up the Rift to make seventeen ships of the class he owns. Oh, it’s straight fact, Linton. He’s all ready to knock over the Kahani’s headquarters here, if need be. But he’d rather get it all peacefully, by having her sign the articles of her own free will!
“Now what you can do is this: storm in and get him slapped in a dungeon-cell good and tight. Then we’ll lift the Kahani’s little fleet up and take ’em against his force. There’s a better-than-even chance we can pull it off? What do you say?”
Linton wasted no time with idle words. He was on fire with an exultant, unholy joy—the fight was joined! He seized up the great crimson ceremonial cloak and was off in a swirl of color, Asloth sliding from her scabbard.
“Gundorm! Let’s go—”
With a beaming Gundorm Varl on his heels and the naked sword in his hands, Linton was off striding down the hallway, the cloak belling out behind him. His head was high and his heart sang happily: action—at last!
Before the portal to the council chamber, he confronted a startled guard who stared at the naked sword and then at Linton’s blazing eyes.
“Announce the Shakar Linton—and let me pass!”
Something in the ringing crack of command in his voice caused the guard to snap to full salute. With a thunderous crash the portals were flung wide, causing the council to turn startled faces towards them as they stood in the doorway. “Way for the Shakar Lin-ton!” the guard cried.
It was begun!
NINE
AS HE STOOD THERE in the great doorway, his eye flashed over the turning faces to meet her startled stare. No words passed between them; no signal was exchanged. But none was needed. One look at Linton’s blazing, imperious eyes— one glance at the lean, erect fighting stance of him—and she knew beyond need of slow words.
He had come to life! Doubt, confusion, frustration and indecision were ended. Gone was his dull, knotted brow, and stumbling, awkward speech—the slouched, tense posture of one struggling within himself. The time for thought had passed—the moment for action was at hand.
She saw—she knew—and her sudden, breathless smile of delight was like dawn’s silent, swift explosion over a drab, dreary wilderness.
“My lords,” she said, rising from the tall, throned dais before which was spread the half-circle of lords and chieftains, squatting on cushions with small black taborets before them on the rich carpeting, “may I present unto you the lord Lin-ton Shakar, of whom you have heard so much.”
Her rising forced them to rise, all of them, even the Arthon. Linton bowed, briefly.
“The Shakar has agreed to lead my host, and thus has a place in this council … to which he comes regrettably late—ah—due to pressing duties among my troops. My lord, come and sit you here with us—and your servant, as well.”
With Gundorm Varl at his heel, Linton entered the ring and sat down near the dais while the Barnassian squatted behind him. The chieftains reseated themselves. Across the half-circle, Sharl caught Linton’s eye and elevated his eyebrows eloquently. Linton half-nodded, and permitted himself a slight wink. The tall Rilké smiled warmly in reply—and welcome.
“The Shakar has led great fleets in the Imperial wars against the Mica stars ere now,” the Kahani concluded, “and he has valiantly joined us in our mutual cause, pledging his sword for the love of justice and right.”
The Arthon cleared his throat impatiently.
She shot a cool glance at him.
“And now that the lord Shakar has joined the council, of gentility, kazara, shall we not return to our discussion?”
A mutter of agreement ran about the ring.
“Then: the lord Arthon of Pelaire was stating the terms and conditions to which we must agree, if he is to join his fleet to our troops. My Lord?”
The tyrant of Pelaire bowed slightly, and began in a smooth yet irritating voice:
“To reiterate, my lady, ten thousand fighting men armed and ready, and forty ships—these all are mine to command and I offer them to your service, if so you choose. Fifteen of these vessels are of the kind the accursed vokarthu name ‘containers-of-men,’ ” he said, and Linton presumed he meant a literal translation of personnel-carriers.
“And in these ships thou shalt find room enough for all thy force. But here ariseth the first problem: Valadon hath little armament to halt us, save for a battery of lasers, mounted at the Naval fortress. The batteries of this garrison must be seized and silenced ere I can command my fleets to draw within range! This, Kahani, we shall leave to those warriors loyal to you upon the planet. Word must be carried to these faithful, by some means, with instructions to rise up and storm the garrison. This must be timed precisely with foreknowledge of the time of our fleet’s arrival, to be fully effective.”
“All of this can doubtless be arranged,” the Kahani said gravely. “I am in touch, through spies, with many Rilké of Valadon still loyal to my cause.”
“First, then, the seizing of Valadon,” he continued, ticking the points off, his scented and curled beard tossing up and down with each arrogant toss of his head.
Behind Raul, Gundorm Varl whispered hoarsely: “Wouldn’t y’ give a year’s wages, sir, to grab that oily Outworlder’s beard and give it a good pull, now? Gods of Space, how the fella does talk!”
“Quiet, Gunder!” Raul snapped—and yet could not refrain from smiling at the idea.
Catching the smile, and perhaps overhearing a bit of this interchange, the Arthon paused deliberately, one finger raised, for all the world like one who tests the direction of the wind.
He coughed, a little bark of annoyance, and the expression of his face—glaring eyes and deeply disapproving pursed lips—caused Gundorm Varl to emit a chuckle, hastily choked back as eyes turned his way.
Linton struggled to control his face, and regain the rigid composure suitable to one of his new, exalted rank, but his exuberant spirits were too powerful.
The Arthon glared poisonously.
“Pray pardon me,” he grated, nastily, with a peremptory glance at the Kahani, “but have I spoken a jest, or perhaps said something to amuse you, my lord Shakar, for I see you smile when men talk plans of war… .”
“No. Please continue,” Linton said, bluntly. A faint flush stained the Arthon’s sallow cheeks. He glanced away from Linton and continued ticking off points.
“Second, the looting of the garrison’s armory for weapons and equipment. If any of the Border Patrol ships are captured intact on Valadon, they shall be added to our forces. Naturally, a levy shall be made on the local treasury—”
The Kahani’s head went up at that. “No looting!” she said. The Arthon smiled, insinuatingly, yet arrogantly—a combination Linton had never seen before, and one at which he marveled.
“Of course my lady does not think I can call upon my men to fight and risk their lives to retake Valadon, without monetary recompense? I shall not, assuredly, touch one nizan of Valadon’s wealth, but shall levy a suitable sum from the accursed vokarthu government’s treasury—”