Lieutenant Paran came crawling toward where they crouched. His face was taut, strained, his eyes a little wild.
"The rafts," he said. "Let me call them in."
Dumarest was cold. "To do what?"
"Burn the area. Send those devils running so they can land and take us aloft."
"Abort the mission, you mean? Lieutenant, we came here to do a job. We'll leave when it's done or when I decide that it is impossible to do. Report on the casualties."
The snap of his tone restored military obedience. The officer blinked, then said flatly, "Five dead, sir, including the captain. Four injured, two seriously."
It could have been a lot worse, and Dumarest wondered why it hadn't been. A disciplined force could have almost eliminated them at the first attack, but arrows had been used, not the rifles they must possess, flame bombs instead of the lasers they must have captured.
He said, "Thank you, lieutenant Tell the men to hold their fire. Have some take care of the wounded-all to remain alert and under cover."
"He's young," said Taykor as he inched away. "But he'll learn-maybe."
Dumarest ignored the implication. "Those Ayutha you saw waiting for us. Were they in plain sight?"
"A score of them at least!"
"Armed?"
"I didn't see any weapons, but I didn't have much time to look." Taykor raised his mask and spat. "That damned fool cut loose too soon. I guess he was thinking of his family, but he should have waited. They must have had men watching from under cover."
"Never mind that." Dumarest had no patience for listening to the obvious. "The Ayutha were in plain sight, you say. No weapons visible that you could see. That means they were ready to meet us." He frowned. Conn was dead, the damage done. The problem now was to lessen the danger of the situation.
He raised his head over the edge of the rock and looked around. The trail they had followed was deserted aside from the bodies they had left. The ridge ahead was naked against the sky, but the flame bombs must have been fired from launchers, and they could bathe the ring of stone with fire at any moment He wondered why it hadn't already been done.
"Lieutenant, you have a spare communicator. Let me have it."
As he handed it over, the officer said, "What do you intend to do, sir?"
"The only thing there is to do. The thing we came here for." Dumarest rose, standing clear against the sky. "I'm going to talk to the Ayutha."
Chapter Eleven
It was like walking through a nest of sleeping, venomous serpents, knowing that the slightest touch, the smallest noise, would waken them and cost him his life. Above, the sun beat down with eye-stinging brilliance, the vegetation seeming to rustle from the impact of invisible shapes. Dumarest moved steadily from the circle of stone, the communicator at his belt, both hands raised and empty, in the universal sign of peace.
An arrow splintered on the ground five feet to his left. He ignored it, moving steadily toward the ridge. Another shattered on the rocks to his right, a third stood quivering in the ground directly ahead. A warning not to proceed? A test to see if he would break and run for cover while behind him the men opened fire? Or perhaps it was a simple means to determine his courage; primitive peoples had their own ways of arriving at a decision.
The body of Captain Corm lay a crusted mass of charred flesh. He had thrown away his rifle when the missile hit, and it lay to one side against a bush clear in the sunlight. A tempting object for an unarmed man surrounded by enemies, but Dumarest made no move toward it. To touch it would be to abort his mission, to invite the flame bombs that must be aimed at him to leave their launchers. And there was no one close to give him a merciful death should they strike.
He reached the top of the ridge, halted, hands lifted as he called down to where the Ayutha had been waiting.
"I come in peace. I am Earl Dumarest, marshal of Chard. I come to talk."
Nothing. Not a leaf stirred, no shape appeared, and yet he sensed the presence of watching eyes.
"I come in peace," he said again. "I am alone, unarmed, as you can see. If you wish to kill me, do it now."
On the ridge he had a slender chance of being able to duck, to turn and run back to the circle of stones, the waiting, armed men. A thin chance, but below the crest of the ridge he would have none at all. For a long moment he waited, and then, deliberately, strode on down the slope.
The Ayutha were waiting.
They appeared like silent ghosts, rising from the ground, bushes moving to become men, figures stepping from behind sheltering rocks. Dumarest halted, studying them. They were human, and yet each carried a subtle distortion of a familiar shape. Tall, their shoulders were a little too narrow, the heads elongated, the arms longer than he would have expected, the chests pronounced, as if the lungs within had a greater capacity than his own. The faces, too, carried an alien stamp. The lips were wide, down-curved, the noses beaked, the eyes buried under a ridge of prominent bone. Their hair was long, silver among the black, the tresses braided with colored fibers. They wore pants and an open tunic, sandals, wide belts hung with pouches. All carried weapons-slings, bows, clubs, spears, rifles, and a few lasers. He could see no signs of missile launchers or other more sophisticated devices, and was glad of it. They would be there, but only fools would display their full strength to an enemy they intended to leave alive.
Dumarest said loudly, "I have come to talk and all can hear what I have to say. But is there one among you who can talk for the rest?"
A voice said, "Why did you come among us?"
"I have told you." Dumarest turned, looking at the speaker. He was old, his face seamed with tiny lines, hair bright with silver. An elder, possibly, or a wise man, a councilor perhaps-he knew too little about their social structure. "I came to meet you. To talk."
"Yet, when we waited for you, death came to two of our number."
"Against my order."
"Do your men not obey you?"
"Do yours?" Dumarest looked at the men pressing all around. "If one of your people does what he should not do, what then? Is he made to leave your company? Is punishment taken? Does he face the penalty of your law?" Words, he thought, and perhaps words without meaning to those who listened. They could have a different code, mores other than what he knew, customs that did not recognize the duties more civilized men placed upon themselves. He said, "The man killed against my order. Because of that, I killed him in turn."
A voice in the background said, "That is true. I saw it done."
"The one responsible was dying." Another voice, doubtful.
"Even so, he was slain."
A babble arose, soft voices whispering, as if a wind had passed over the assembly, stilling as the elder raised his hand.
"Why did the man fire? What had we done to harm him?"
"His family died in an outbreak of violence. He blamed you. Among my people the desire for revenge is very strong."
"And would killing us restore his family?"
"No."
"Did he know that?"
"He knew it."
"Then why did he seek to kill?"
"Because he was a man," said Dumarest harshly. "A man suffering pain and hurt from his loss and wanting to give to those he thought responsible the same pain and hurt he had known. You have worked among us, you know how we are. And you too have killed. What drove you to take innocent lives?"
"Innocent?" The elder made a gesture, one hand lifting, fingers extended, thumb pointed downward. "They came against us with fire and steel and killed without warning. And you, you came to talk, you say. Do you need guns to make conversation?"
"For defense… and I have no gun."
Again the babble rose, men speaking, not raising their voices, arriving at a conclusion by a means Dumarest could guess at but not really know. Telepathy, perhaps, vocalized thoughts resolving, meeting, transmitted to their spokesman. As it died the man said, "According to the habits of your people, you display great courage. Why are you here?"