Well, no one was likely to miss him when she took him out, so she set off with him, leaving the Gather site, passing the encampment which by then was nearly as merry as the square, and joining the wide track by the river, which sparkled in the light of Timor Moon. Belior, the speedier moon, was just beginning to rise. Soon the way would be as bright as daylight and considerably kinder to the eye.
They had gone along the track for some minutes before senses sharpened by the adversity of the last months told Thella that they were being followed. They were well beyond even Igen’s own beastholds and the cots that ranged on either side of the main Hold. There were no travel lanterns in either direction anymore. She judged the follower to be on their left, taking advantage of the slope and the sparse groundcover.
“What a magnificent night!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms out and swiveling on one heel so that she got a good circling turn. Yes, there was someone to their left about four lengths behind them.
“Yes, yes,” the herder agreed. “And Belior just rising. We must hurry.”
“Why?” Thella demanded, deliberately acting contentious, as if she were slightly inebriated from all the wine he thought she had drunk. “We’ve made a good Gather, I’ve new boots”—she slurred her speech—”and if I hadn’t so far to go, I’d’ve stayed longer with such good company. Whoops!” She feigned a stumble on the stony track. As she rose, she came up with her belt knife shoved up one sleeve and a smooth stone in the other hand.
“Easy now,” the herder said, ranging himself on her right side, hands outstretched as if to support her. He spoke more loudly than he needed, and she knew it was not the wine that caused it.
Ahead of them a rocky spur jutted out, causing the track to veer back toward the river. So, someone thought they could drop her. Well, she would see about that.
They were in the shadow of the shelf when she heard the faint scrape of shoe in sand. Every sense alert, she waited a fraction of a moment longer, then grabbed the herder and yanked him over just as a body hurtled through the air, dagger flashing in the moonlight. She grinned as the herder cried out once, the assailant’s knife slicing his throat. Then she acted, her own knife on the nape of the attacker’s neck, pricking his skin as she shoved a knee in his back and pushed his head down, half smothering him in his victim’s cloak and travel bag.
“Don’t!” a muted voice cried. Slowly he held out his knife hand, letting the dripping blade fall to the ground.
“Easy now. Don’t make me nervous,” she said, roughening her voice. She grabbed his wrist and, when he made no resistance, flipped his arm back and up, twisting it tight against his shoulderblades. She could feel the thick muscles and wondered that she had mastered such a big man. But he was breathing shallowly, obviously unfit for such exertions. She gave his arm a painful twist, hearing him grunt where a lesser man might have cried out—she knew how to use such a hold to her advantage. “Was I marked out?”
“Aye, you were.”
“Any others? It’s early on a Gather evening.” When he had been silent long enough, she twisted again, and he grunted. “Any others?”
“Aye, he’d marked others. Finish you off and go back for another.”
“A fair Gather for you. What’d he promise?” Thella thought the big man simple to trust the herder and go back to the Gather. The herder could as easily turn his helper in to the guard.
“Half what we took. He said it’d be enough to buy into a hold.”
“Buy into a hold?” In her surprise, Thella forgot to deepen her voice.
“Yes, there’re holds where you can buy a place for a season. If you satisfy, you get taken on regular. I’m good with a flamer. I just don’t like it with Thread falling and me with no place to shelter.” The phrases came out in grunts, but he made no attempt to struggle against her hold. She was beginning to wonder how long she could continue to exert the pressure necessary to cow the man. He was big. He could easily be the one she had noticed in the morning, but she had not seen the herder in anyone’s company during the afternoon so the scheme must have been arranged earlier. Well, at least he was not whining about wrongful treatment and holder abuse.
“And how much loyalty could a holder expect of you—and your knife?” She felt his body twitch beneath her knee.
“Lady, give me a hold during this Pass, or shove your blade in.” His muscles seemed to relax, as if he was tired of striving against the odds of life. He was at her mercy, and she was tempted to see if she had the strength to kill him, as she had had the wit to subdue him.
“But it’s so easy to kill to live,” she said, her voice coaxingly smooth.
“Aye, easy enough to kill, but not easy to live holdless. Not easy at all.” He sounded very weary indeed.
“Your name?” she asked. “And previous Hold?” It was customary to circulate the names of brutal murderers, shunned from Holds, to all Lord Holders to protect them from taking on such offenders.
She could feel his muscles tense and wondered if he would lie to her. If she felt he was not telling the truth, she just might push home that knife. But she needed a strong holder more than she needed the gratification of a kill.
“I can, of course, tie you up and go back and get Laudey’s guards,” she said when he did not answer immediately. She wanted to make him sweat a little longer. Such power gave her a sense of ineffable superiority.
“Dushik, I was called. I was beholden to Tillek.” She recognized the name from a list sent around several Turns back and smiled, somewhat disappointed. Well, she must keep even the bargains she made herself. And he would be more useful to her alive.
“Ah, so you’re the one,” she said as if she remembered more than the name. “Mind that I can still turn you in, Dushik,” she said, releasing him. “And during a Pass, you can be chained out in Fall as execution, for it is my word against yours.”
“Aye, lady, I understand. But I acknowledge you with heart and mind as Lady Holder and will give loyal service.”
He actually sounded as if he meant it, so she released her hold on his arm and jumped backward, replacing her belt knife with her dagger in a fluid motion but ready to throw both at him if he made a suspicious move.
He waited a long moment, slowly working his arm down and around. He got first to his knees and then to his feet, his movements indicating deep weariness.
“Throw me his pouch, Dushik,” she said, holding out her left hand. He gave her a long measuring look before he complied and then stood waiting for her next order.
As she thrust the bulging sack into her shirt she realized that the scuffle had loosened her headcovering and her braided hair had fallen forward.
“Now, see what else he had that’s useful,” she ordered, gesturing curtly with her dagger.
By the time Belior had risen, Dushik had exchanged the corpse’s clothing for his own and, on Thella’s orders, had heaved the body into the river. She made him discard the bloodstained cloak.
“There seemed to be plenty of other holdless wights at the Gather,” she said disdainfully. “Would you say that any of them could be trusted to do a good day’s work for their keep?”
“For you, lady,” he said deferentially, going down on his knee to her, “I would see that they will.” Thella was well pleased.
3: Southern Continent, PP 11.04.06
“THERE HAS TO have been someone going through the sack,” Mardra, Weyrwoman of Southern Weyr, insisted. She stared accusingly at Toric, Southern’s holder.