Too many, but they were not wholly to blame. Old habits die hard, and when bolstered by greed, rarely die at all. The clearings had been made and the warning given; he could do no more.
Oaken said, "I don't believe it. It's a trick of some kind. Maybe he got paid to ruin our economy and invented this story to cover himself."
Stone added, "But proof? We still have no proof."
Ignoring the insult, Dumarest said, "I checked all the weather reports. There had been wind each time a village was affected. And if you want more proof still…"
From the sack he took a lofios pod. It was ripe, the membrane taut. He said, "I've twenty others in the sack. They could all be harmless, but the odds are against it. If not, they will prove what I say beyond any possibility of argument."
He, Fran Paran, and the men Thomile commanded were all equipped with masks. Dumarest raised his own, waited until the others had followed suit. The wind was blowing from behind them, toward where Raougat stood with Oaken and Stone before his men. Raising the pod, Dumarest threw it hard to the ground.
It burst, releasing a fine cloud of misty particles, immediately caught by the wind, to swirl in a fine dust about their faces.
"Marshal! For God's sake!" Oaken sneezed, flapping his hands, dabbing at his eyes. "What the devil are you doing?"
Dumarest lifted another pod.
"No!" Raougat sprang to one side, hand snatching at his pun. "Don't do it! You'll kill us all!"
Lieutenant Thomile rapped, "Drop that gun, captain! Drop it!"
His own pistol was lifted, the rifles of his men a steady line. As Raougat's pistol hit the ground he said, "Carry on, marshal."
Dumarest looked at Oaken, at Stone. "You seem afraid, gentlemen. And yet why should you be? If you are so certain that I am wrong, then the pods must be harmless."
"No," said Stone. "No more. Please."
"Colonel Oaken?"
"Put the damned thing away!"
"You are convinced, then?" Dumarest dropped the pod into the bag. "You had better be," he said grimly. "The mutation is spreading. I don't know how you're going to handle it, but you'd better do it soon. Before a strong wind rises from the hills and blows over the lofios toward the city." Jerking tight the neck of the sack, he handed it to Colonel Paran. "Here," he said. "Your enemy."
* * *
The water was hot, scented, refreshing to his skin. Dumarest felt the beat of it wash away the grime and ease his muscles. Dried, he looked at the rumpled uniform, then turned to his own clothes. Tall, in neutral gray, he left the bathroom and met Zenya's incredulous stare.
"Earl! Why have you changed?"
"The war is over."
"But surely they won't…" She broke off, regretting his altered status, the loss of his reflected glory. As the lady of the marshal of Chard she had been feted, spoiled wherever she went. With swift recovery she said, "Well, darling, it doesn't matter. At least back home you won't be in danger every minute. We are going back home, Earl?"
"Yes, Zenya, I'll be leaving Chard."
Too engrossed with her own concerns, she didn't recognize the ambiguity. "You've done wonders, Earl. Not only have you stopped this stupid war, but you found Salek. Grandfather will be pleased, and you know what he promised. Us, together, on our own estate. Earl, we'll be so happy!"
For a while, he thought, until the novelty wore off and her own restless compulsion drove her to seek fresh titivation. And then, in order to retain his pride, he would have to fight and kill-that or beat her into submissive obedience. Two things which, for him, held no attraction.
A wanton, he thought, looking at her. Amoral, warped by the society in which she lived, the inbreeding which had accentuated weakness. A bitch in every sense of the word, yet beautiful, as all such women were.
Wine stood on a table, and she poured him a glass, resplendent as she turned, shimmering all in gold. Smiling, she handed it to him, waited as he sipped.
"We should go out, darling. For the last time, in your uniform, so that everyone can see the man who saved them."
"Perhaps."
"And you can tell me exactly what happened in the cavern. When you and Captain Hamshard shot down those savages. He told me about it when he arrived with Salek."
"Salek." Dumarest set down the glass. "Where is he?"
"In the other room. With Lisa… Earl!" she cried out as he sprang to his feet and ran toward the door. "Earl, what…"
They were together, sitting very close on a couch, the man still wearing his coarse robe, the cowl thrown back to reveal the gaunt structure of his skull. Beside him the woman looked a thing of legendary evil, shimmering black accentuating the whiteness of her face, her neck, ebony-tipped nails reaching like claws, to hover an inch from the sunken cheek of her prey.
"Lisa!" Dumarest dropped his hand, lifted it with the knife, light splintering from the edge, the needle point. "Drop your hand! Drop it!"
"Or what, Earl?" She turned to face him, the hand not moving, the sharpened tips of her nails like tiny spears. "Will you throw that knife? Kill me, perhaps? Do you honestly believe you could move fast enough?"
"Do you think I couldn't?"
A gamble with her life as the stake, but one she couldn't win. It would take time to reach, to press, to break the skin, and already Salek, warned by some instinct, was moving from her side.
"What is wrong?" he said. "What is happening?"
"She intends to kill you."
"Lisa? But why? How?"
"Look at her hands," snapped Dumarest. "Those nails carry poison. And she intended to kill you, because your father wants you dead."
From behind him Zenya said, "Earl, that's ridiculous!"
"You heard the child?" Lisa leaned back on the couch, smiling, confident of her power. "You were employed to find him. To return him to Paiyar. Has the war turned your mind so that you have forgotten why you were sent to Chard?"
"I was not employed, I was forced, and I do not like to be driven."
"Have you any choice?" Lisa's voice was a feral purr as she spoke directly at him, ignoring the others. "Do you want me to say that word again? Have you forgotten that also? Driven?" Her laughter was thin, brittle. "Yes, you have been driven, and will continue to be so. Like a beast on a rein. My beast."
Zenya whispered, "Kill her, Earl. Kill her!"
He fought the temptation, lowering the knife, so that it hung loose at his side. She was a woman, they were on a civilized world, the death that closed her mouth would bring a kindred penalty.
To Salek he said, "Have you never wondered why I tried to kill you when first we met?"
The slanted eyes narrowed, thoughtful. "I thought that perhaps… I was wearing this robe, the light was red, for a moment you could have mistaken me for a cyber. Lisa…"
"Told you how much I love them?"
"Yes. She said that you feared and hated them. It would be natural for you to have wanted to kill one."
A facile tale that would have satisfied a mind dulled by years of close proximity to innocence. Dumarest said, "And all the time she was telling you this, she was moving closer, a warmly intimate relation talking over old times and, perhaps, making plans. Don't you realize that you are the greatest obstacle to her ambition? Did she ask you to marry her?"
Salek flushed. "I will never marry. I told her that."
"And so she decided to eliminate you. To obey her master's orders. Why, Lisa? Does he know you so well, that you have no mind of your own? Was it necessary to kill?"
"Be careful, Earl!"
Beside him Zenya whispered again, "Kill her, Earl. Kill her!"
Mad, he thought, the entire family insane. Chan Parect didn't want his son returned alive. That would have presented a threat to his authority-the one thing he could never tolerate. And yet the man had been living, and might one day return. How simple to find a tool to dispose of the inconvenience. A complex plan, but when has simplicity ever appealed to a deranged mind? And, almost, it had worked. If it hadn't been for Hamshard, his own savage struggle against the ingrained command, Salek would be dead by now.