Closed in his room, lost in exhausted sleep, he would not have heard the shots and screams. Dumarest studied him sipping the tisane. An idealist, and dangerous, as all such men were. Single-minded in his pursuit of what he considered to be right. And the technical knowledge he possessed gave him more power than others of his kind.
Hamshard said, "The men, sir?"
"Have them remain outside. If any of the Ayutha try to enter, warn them away. If they insist, then shoot them down."
"Like dogs," said Salek bitterly. "Is that what you think of them? Animals to be destroyed."
"No. How long have you lived among them?"
"Over ten years now. A long time. Long enough for me to appreciate what they have to offer, what they can teach. Mental peace, tolerance, understanding, an affinity one to each other. And they have a history, tales handed down from generation to generation, a legend of an old time, when things were not as they are now. Perhaps I should explain that I am interested in ancient myths."
"Yes," said Dumarest. "I know. Your father told me."
"My father!" Something, hate or contempt, twisted the emaciated features. "How could he ever begin to understand? His mind is closed to new concepts. To him only the house of the serpent is important. The welfare of the Aihult. He could never admit that Paiyar is only one small world among billions, and that there have been others against whom we are as children."
"Legends," said Dumarest.
"But each one holding a kernel of truth. I have spent my life trying to find those truths. Here, on Chard, I have found something, a clue. The Ayutha know more than is guessed, more perhaps than they realize. A race which came to this world eons ago. From where? And how did they travel?"
And why hadn't they progressed? Dumarest could guess the answer to that. Once, perhaps, their telepathic ability had been stronger than it was now, and that trait was no friend to a race struggling to survive. The price was too high. Violence had no place when all fear and terror was shared, when a beast which could provide food was allowed to run free, an enemy avoided instead of being destroyed.
The Ayutha were not a growing, viable culture but a decaying one. An off-shoot of the human race, something tried by nature and found unsuitable, to be discarded by a more efficient form. They had fled into the hills, avoiding contact with aggressive types, dreaming, perhaps, around their fires, of vanished glories. Tales to amuse children, props for a vanished pride.
He said, "You can't help them, Salek. You must know that. In order to survive, they must change. No culture can remain isolated when others are so close."
"Their traditions-"
"Are distorted memories. You gave them weapons and taught them how to kill. Can you realize the price they must pay? Their guilt could destroy them. They could go insane."
"No!"
"Remember your guards. Young men eager to kill. Trying to kill without logic or reason. You turned them into beasts, to die like animals. The best thing you and the others like you can do is to leave them alone."
"To be exploited," said Salek bitterly. "To be used as simple, mindless workers in the fields. An old, proud race reduced to the status of beggars."
"They wouldn't be the first," said Dumarest. "And they won't be the last. Among races, like men, only the strong have the right to survive. But it won't be like that here. The farmers need them, and now that the war is over, arrangements can be made. Land grants given them so they can retain possession of the hills. Their children can be given schooling, taught trades, ways to use their talents. They can work if they wish, or sit and dream if they prefer. But you will not be among them."
"Revenge?"
"A precaution. The Chardians have no reason to trust you, and they would never allow you to remain. In any case, you have other duties. Your father needs you."
Salek frowned. "You mentioned him before," he murmured. "But how do you know him? Did he send you to find me?"
"Yes."
"And you are taking me to him?"
Dumarest looked at his hands. The tremors had stopped, his head now free of the nagging ache. It was, he thought, now safe to move.
"I'm taking you back to the city. There are people you know there." Rising, he called, "Captain!"
"Sir?" Hamshard appeared at the doorway of the passage.
"I'm putting this man in your charge. Take him to my suite in the city and allow him to take with him anything he wants. Before you leave, have the men destroy everything in the cavern. The weapons, the tools, the chemicals, everything."
"Yes, sir. And you?"
Dumarest said flatly, "I am going to finish what has to be done."
Chapter Fifteen
The line had held seven thousand men, and he used them all, rafts going to each village, men dropping, busy with saws, with lasers, axes, anything that could cut and fell. Fire bloomed around each village, sparks flying from burning plants eating a wide clearing around the buildings. The men were mostly from the woodlands to the south, clerks from the city, workers who had no immediate interest in the lofios, sharing only the crumbs from the rich growers' table. Some of the officers were less eager.
"Marshal!" A major, red-faced, irate. "You can't do this! The Council-"
Dumarest snapped, "Lieutenant, place this man under close arrest. He is subversive to the state."
A captain, less polite, "Damnit, you want to ruin us all? You crazy fool, you can't-"
He joined the major, a dozen others, all fuming, helpless to resist. Dumarest had ended the war, and the men were grateful. More, they liked his style, his manner. And the loyalty of the men, as Dumarest knew, was the real basis of power for any commander.
Riding high, he watched the growing clearings, the thickening columns of smoke.
"Sir!" From the body of the raft Lieutenant Paran looked up from his communicator. His face was strained, torn with indecision. He felt that he should be doing something to halt the destruction, but didn't know what. "Colonel Stone, sir."
"Let him wait."
The next call was from Colonel Paran.
"What's going on, Earl?" His face was lined, eyes pouched with fatigue. "We've been getting reports about you burning the lofios. I can't hold the Council back much longer. They're assembling weapons and men to put you under arrest."
"They can try."
"They will try, Earl. You've hit them where it hurts. Raougat has found a bunch of men who will do anything for pay." His control broke a little. "Damnit, man! The last thing we want is a civil war!"
"You wont get it." Dumarest studied the terrain below. The firebreaks had been cut, and the lofios was well ablaze; nothing now could prevent what he had started. "All right, colonel, I'm coming in."
It was dark when he arrived, and they were waiting in the light of standards set before the Lambda warehouse, Stone, Oaken, the smiling face of Captain Raougat flanked by a score of armed men. Others stood behind Colonel Paran, more disciplined, equally well armed. At their head Lieutenant Thomile scowled at the other group. As Dumarest dropped from the raft, he snapped to attention, saluting.
Dumarest returned the salute, then turned to stare at Raougat. For a moment their eyes met, and then the captain lifted his arm.
"Marshal!"
"Your men are badly dressed," said Dumarest coldly. "Have them straighten their line. An honor guard should have respect. They are soldiers, not scum."
Raougat stared at the tall figure, the uniform stained with char and blood, the hard, cruel set of the mouth. When next he saluted, his movement was brisk.
"Yes, sir! As you order!"
Of the colonels, Paran was the first to speak. He stepped forward, hand extended. "Marshal, my congratulations on your success. As I was telling the Council, you must have a good explanation for what you've done."
"Yes, colonel."
"By God, it had better be a good one!" Oaken, face flushed with rage, stood with hands clenched, trembling. "Is this the arrangement you made with the Ayutha? That you would ruin us in return for their cooperation?"