At his side Ven Taykor said, "I wish I'd gone with you, Earl."
"One was enough."
"I guess so." The guide sucked in his cheeks. "Did you reach one of their councils?"
"I saw a lot of old men. If that is a council, then I saw it. Is their word good?"
"You mean can they speak for the rest?" Taykor nodded. "I would say they could, but how can I be sure now? That attack, that was something I've never seen before, and that flame they used. How did they get weapons like that? They're primitive; to make such things you need a knowledge of chemicals, a factory of sorts." He shook his head, thinking; then, after a moment he said quietly, "What was it like, Earl? Tough?"
Dumarest leaned back against the stone, not answering, remembering the journey he had made, the twists and turns, the cavern into which he had been ushered. There had been fires and torches and things of painstaking fabrication; mats woven from fine materials, seeds linked into patterns, bones carved into delicate shapes, wooden artifacts, and items of fretted stone.
It had been full of the Ayutha, all male; he had not seen a single woman or child.
They had sat around him, asking questions, talking softly among themselves, conferring, remaining silent for long periods of time. And all the time he had concentrated on the single-minded desire that the conflict should end, that there should be peace.
"You were lucky," said Taykor. "No, not lucky, you had guts. Maybe someone else should have tried it. If they had, those villages might be normal now instead of filled with dead. Well, it can't be helped, but the way I see it, things will never be the same again. I used to feel safe in the hills-they were just like home. Now, I guess, if ever I rove them again, I'll keep looking behind me."
"You'll forget," said Dumarest. "This whole thing could be a mistake."
"Maybe." Taykor didn't sound too sure. "If so, it's one hell of a mistake to have made." He squinted up into the sky, grunting with satisfaction. "Here comes the raft."
It was empty, as ordered, the pilot scared. He licked his lips as they loaded the dead, the crusted remains of Captain Conn. As they lifted he said, "I've got a message for you, marshal. A member of your family has arrived on Chard. She's waiting for you at home."
"She?"
"Yes, sir. The Lady Lisa Conenda."
* * *
She was all in black and silver, shimmering mesh hugging the contours of her body, ebony belting her waist, more on the tips of her fingers, the toes of her feet naked in delicate sandals. She came toward him as he closed the door, smiling, teeth gleaming between her parted lips. Cosmetics accentuated the elfin planes of her face, the enigmatic look of her eyes.
"Surprised, Earl?"
"Where is Zenya?"
Shrugging, she said, "Does it matter? Shopping, making love to one of those young men in uniform, telling more than she should to those who would be your enemy-who can tell what the young fool is doing?"
"Try again."
"Sensitive, Earl? I dont know where she is, but we both know what she is like. Did you expect her to remain faithful? If so, you were a fool." Turning, she glanced around the suite. "So comfortable," she murmured. "So snug. Have you enjoyed the honeymoon? She bringing you the arts learned in countless engagements, and you… What did you bring to her? The domination she needs? The mastery she had never known?"
He said flatly, "Stop talking like a jealous woman. Why are you here?"
"Where else should I be… partner? Or have you forgotten what you promised?"
"We are no longer on Paiyar."
"True, and perhaps you didn't mean what you said there, but in one thing I was right. You are clever and hard and meant to command." Nearing him, she lifted her hands, touched his uniform, the insignia of his rank. "A marshal of Chard-everyone is talking about you. What would they say, I wonder, if they knew the truth? That you aren't a lord of Samalle, but a common traveler sent to perform a task. An opportunist wearing false colors. Tell me, Earl, what would they say?"
"Tell them," he said curtly, "and find out."
He was hot and grimed, and fatigue gritted his eyes. Ignoring the woman, he went into the bathroom, stripped, and showered.
Over the rush of water he heard the signal of the phone, the woman answering, her voice indistinguishable. When, dressed, he returned to where she stood, she said, "Zenya called. She seemed startled to hear me. We had quite a nice chat."
Like dogs snarling over a bone or cats stalking, ready to claw and tear.
"How did you get here, Lisa?"
"By ship, how else?" She crossed to where wine stood on a table and poured two glasses. "A fast vessel chartered by Aihult Chan Parect. I think he was a little concerned at my grief when you had departed." Handing him one of the glasses and lifting her own, she said, "To your health, Earl. And to our future."
Without touching the wine, he said, "The truth, Lisa. I'm in no mood for games."
"Have you found the man you were sent to find?"
"No."
"But you will?"
"If he is still alive, perhaps." He added, "Is that why you were sent after me? To make certain that I did not forget?"
"You will not forget, Earl," she said. "You dare not."
Was she carrying the trigger, the means to activate the device that he had been told had been planted in his body to radiate his whereabouts to the Cyclan? It was more than possible, a second string to Parect's bow, a path his devious mind would have taken, trusting no one, setting one against the other, using the very jealousy of the women to ensure success.
And yet, no device had been found. How did they intend to bend him to their will?
Brooding, he stared into his glass. Parect must have known that he would have himself checked and that nothing would be found. Either the man had command of a science unusual for the society in which he lived, or there was something he hadn't revealed. It could even be a naked bluff; if necessary, he would take the chance.
"Earl, how close are you to finding him?"
"Salek?" He shrugged. "All I know is that he is among the people with whom the residents of this planet are at war. The chances are that he is dead."
"Or will die?"
He caught the subtle undertones, the barely concealed hint, and remembered how she had once stood against him, the ambition she possessed.
"You could forget him, Earl," she whispered. "Chan Parect is old and will soon be dead. Suppose you didn't find the man, or found him too late? Who would question what you said? And then, later, when the old man is dead, have you forgotten what I promised?"
"Forget it, Lisa."
"Forget?" Anger suffused her face, turning it ugly. "Has that young fool wound you around her finger? Are you so besotted that you can see no further than a pillow supporting your head? Are you in love with her? Tell me, Earl! Are you in love with her?"
She was shaken, her composure ruined, and any woman in the height of passion would forget her caution. A little more pressure and he would learn what he had to know.
"Yes," he said. "I love her."
She screamed a word.
It was formless, a combination of sounds complex and unknown, long, echoing. Dumarest felt as if something had exploded within his skull. Turning, he reached for the phone, picking it up, saying to the face on the screen, "This is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan."
"Sir?" The face frowned, wondering.
"This is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan." Dumarest heard the words, saw the face, the indecision turning to acquiescence. Again he said, this is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan." He could say nothing else.