by Andre Norton
we're no longer merely fighting to survive and that we'll be able to start
thinking about putting our affairs to real rights again in the reasonable
future."
"Only Sapphirehold's freedom and the overthrow of that tyrant will ever
accomplish that," she told him fiercely.
Murdock looked at her in surprise. "I'm not arguing that. Neither is
anyone else."
She sighed. "I know, Ross. It's just been such a long haul."
"Well, the end's coming, even if we do still have a damn hard fight
ahead of us."
He detailed for her what had passed between I Loran and himself on
the subject and then, speaking more slowly, outlined his plans—as yet only
ideas—for sharpening their campaign against the invaders, clarifying his
thoughts even as he spoke.
Eveleen questioned a few points, added to others, inserted ideas of her
own which Ross, in turn, parried and tested. Time passed as their
conversation became more and more intricately involved until both
realized with a start that full night had fallen unnoticed while they had
talked.
They had instinctively stopped at the edge of the camp, which was now
outlined in the flickering light of the fires.
All the weariness of the past days seemed to settle over Murdock in that
moment. He flexed his shoulders to ease the ache of which he had
suddenly become aware. "I'll call the others to council tomorrow. For now,
I think we'd both benefit from some sleep."
She offered no protest to that, and they walked quickly in the direction
of their quarters, silent now, each busy with thoughts of the work before
them.
After seeing his companion to her cabin, Murdock made no delay in
seeking out the small building housing both his own sleeping chamber and
his office.
There was light inside, dim, cast by a candle left standing on the table
that served him as his desk.
This, he took up without glancing at any of the papers neatly piled
there awaiting his attention and went directly to the inner room. He
automatically touched the burning wick to that of the taper fastened to
the wall by the door. The latter took fire, flickered, and then steadied.
The increased light, little though it was, seemed harsh to tired eyes
accustomed to the night and unwilling to adapt swiftly to this change in
illumination, and he pinched out the candle in his hand.
He set it down and gave a hurried glance around his quarters that yet
missed no detail.
Everything was in order, better order than he should have found. He
started to frown. His fighting gear was in its place, clean and ready for his
use. He had not left it so.
Ross sat down on the narrow bed. That, too, had been made ready for
him.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and even as he glanced up Gordon
Ashe came into the room.
"You didn't have to do this," Murdock said dully.
"No, but I figured you'd be tied up with Luroc for half the evening and
be dead tired afterward. A partisan should be able to sleep for a few hours
following one of our raids, not have to hop right into a council of war."
He sighed. "Well, the favor's appreciated tonight. Thanks."
The guerrilla commander looked up suddenly. "I Loran offered me my
share of the gold."
Ashe's brows raised, and his lips curved into an amused smile. "I
suppose there'll eventually be some sort of ruling against it— conflict of
interest or some such thing—but as of the moment, there's no law
against…"
"Can it, will you, Gordon! I don't think that's funny." He gripped
himself. "Sorry. I'm about done, I guess."
"You are." The other was deadly serious now. "You're also finding that
you like Dominion of Virgin a great deal and that you could make it here,
make it big."
A knife seemed to drive into Ross, and he turned away swiftly, his head
lowering.
Ashe's fingers closed on his shoulder. "Karara stayed, Ross," he
reminded him gently. "Only, think carefully, very, very carefully, before you
choose this world and time to be your Hawaika."
10
"GET OUT!" Zanthor's eyes bore into the back of the retreating
mercenary until the door of his office closed between them. His fist
slammed onto the surface of the table that was his desk. "Firehand again!
May every demon's curse blight his life!"
"Demons' curses are readily summoned," Tarlroc I Zanthor replied
calmly. "That was the last of their gold."
"The last of it in our possession," his sire corrected.
"You will go to them again so soon?"
"I need that gold," he responded bluntly. "Our hirelings had taken
possession of their payment and lost it themselves, but I still must send
them some sop to ease their disappointment, or I might find myself
lacking an army come spring. How long do you think it would be after that
before we were all spitted on I Carlroc's swords or on those of Firehand's
skulkers in the shadows?"
"That could prove the lesser of our perils."
The tightness in his tone caused the older man to look at him sharply.
"You fear the big heads so greatly?" he asked contemptuously.
"I fear them, and so should you." He hesitated. "You feel nothing when
we are with them? They do nothing to you?"
I Yoroc started to snap out a curt denial but changed his mind.
"Nothing, or nothing since they guided me to them the first time." He
described the strange pulling he had experienced then.
"Maybe you are safe," Tarlroc said softly, more to himself than to his
father. "That would explain…"
"I do not see that they have done you much harm."
"Not for lack of effort on their part," he responded bitterly. "They
attempted to freeze me along with the rest of your escort, but I freed
myself." He shivered in his heart. He was good with words, but he could
not describe that horrible burning, the invisible fire that had threatened
to sear away his mind, to char the core of his being. He could not explain
how he had been able to block it. He simply did not know, save that it had
cost an enormous effort of will to do so. "Even then, they did not leave me
alone. They have never ceased trying to bend me to their will."
"In what manner?" Zanthor demanded. "You have not chosen to
mention this before."
Tarlroc's eyes fell. "They press me to kill you."
"The demons ordered that?"
"Not directly, but thoughts rise in me when we are with them,
memories of slights, insults, blows. Some of the incidents did happen, but
the most of them have to be creations of the hairless ones. They do not
come of me."
"Obviously, you have resisted. Thus far."
His son looked up. "I do not want to kill you," he said quietly. "You have
used me well enough when another man might have looked at me and
done otherwise. You have appreciated the abilities I do have and put them
to good use, granting me even greater access to your councils than you do
the Ton-heir…"
Tarlroc saw Zanthor's impatient scowl, and his head raised. "I
am not
growing maudlin or stupid, but we are treating with demons who can
draw people to them, reduce soldiers to breathing corpses, insert thoughts
and promptings into men's minds. We would do well to be clear about our
own intentions and interests when we front them, or we could find
ourselves serving theirs only."
"You have a head balanced on that scrawny neck," the Ton of Condor
Hall conceded gruffly. "So they try to lure you into slaying me? Why? Why
not do it themselves, for that matter? Those fire rods they made sure we
saw them use the last time could burn through flesh as readily as through
steel."
"Who knows what moves their kind? They may feel they have a better
hope of controlling me for their own ends. Whatever their reasons, they do
seem to want us, you, to do their butchering for them, though I would not
trust them far once we do gain control of the island." His mouth twisted.
"If we do."
"We are not beaten yet," I Yoroc told him calmly. "As for trusting them,
you may rest assured that I do not, in my sight or out of it. They are allies
of need at this point, not of choice."
Zanthor's eyes were hard, determined. "Order our deer saddled. The big
heads will not be expecting another visit from us at this point. Perhaps we
can surprise some concessions out of them."
The Condor Hall leaders silently made their way along the familiar
route. The Ton was deep in thought, as he had been almost from the time
they had left the hall. His son welcomed the quiet as he strove to
strengthen himself against the compulsion to which he knew he would be
subjected.
Suddenly, I Yoroc reined in his mount. "I would prefer to give the
demons as little notice of our approach as possible. Let us go the rest of
the way on foot."
They fastened the springdeer to a tree near a good patch of browse. The
route before them was in actuality a rough path worn by the strange
beings in the camp, and they would be able to travel it quietly and quickly,
with no snapping or swishing branches to announce their presence.
The Dominionites soon reached the clearing. Those they sought were
there, deeply engrossed in heavy, well-ordered labor.
The two damaged pillars were lying on the ground, as they had been
since the humans' second visit, and the five strangers were working on
them. Already, they had straightened them. Splotches of somewhat
differently colored metal revealed where patches had been added to
strengthen the original structures and for other purposes
incomprehensible to the two observers. A pair of the demons were using
their fire rods to melt some of Zanthor's latest offering in preparation to
melding it to the column on which they presently worked.
The watchers were given only a brief moment in which to study the
camp. In the next, the hairless ones straightened and faced the place
where they were standing.
I Yoroc called out his name and stepped forward, keeping his hands
well away from his sword. Tarlroc followed a step behind him.
"Put up your fire rods. As always, we come in peace."
"This was poorly done, Ton. Why do you spy on us?"
"Taking a moment's breathing space is not spying," he countered
evenly. "Why do you order my son to kill me?"
There was no immediate answer, and Zanthor's eyes narrowed. "Did
you think he would not inform me of your efforts?"
"It was merely to test his loyalty as your close associate."
"Your caution is greatly appreciated," I Yoroc commented dryly, "but
he has met the test. It need not be repeated."
"This is why you have returned here so soon?"
"I am here because I, in my turn, feel compelled to put your supposed
goodwill to the test. I want the remainder of the gold now. I have a war to
fight which I began at your instigation. Paltry doles will not win it for me
or for you."
"You have not brought us a third of the material we requested," the
demons' spokesman told him.
"I have brought you all I am going to bring until the Confederation is
broken," the Ton of Condor Hall snapped. "I need steel for arms and
armor. The rest is either difficult to procure or hard to produce when I
require my craftsfolk for direct war work. When my enemies are dead, you
shall receive our payment, not before."
It was impossible to read the hairless ones' expressions, but Zanthor
knew they were displeased and maybe furious. If he had erred in his
reasoning concerning them…
After several tense seconds, the demon nodded in the direction of the
chest. "What is there, you may take. You will have no more from us, either
gold or any active aid, until you have given us what you have pledged
yourself to supply."
The Dominionites led their heavily laden deer. Only when they neared
the hall would they mount in order to avoid drawing undue attention to
themselves.
Tarlroc's face was white, and his fingers trembled as they clutched the
reins. Such hatred. He shuddered to think what it would have done had it
burned into him. Had they been trying that and failed or simply feeling
their anger as he had felt his fear? He glanced enviously at his father.
Zanthor had appeared to be oblivious to the invisible storm his refusal and
arrogance had generated.
The young man moistened his lips. The storm would be neither silent
nor invisible if I Yoroc caught him still shaking a full hour after the
confrontation had ended. "How are you going to ensure that the next
shipment reaches our troops?" he ventured.
Zanthor gave him a superior smile and slowed his pace so that they
might walk companionably together. "By sending a little on one convoy, a
little with another. The bulk of this will be reserved for other expenses and
for our own troops. The mercenaries will have to make themselves content
with that. I turned our contracted payment over to Commandant A
Huron's representative at Condor Hall and have his receipt as proof. It was
our hirelings' own property and was traveling in their own care when they
lost it. I am not obligated to restore the full amount to them. The same is
true of the supplies, but I shall, of course, replace those."
"How?"
"I'll send a few large shipments and a lot of small ones."
"Firehand…"
"He has hurt us badly and will continue to do so as we provide him with
additional targets, but enough will get through. Our army will not fatten
this winter, but it will not freeze or starve— though I want I Carlroc to
believe otherwise."
His son drew a deep breath. "Do—do you believe there is still a real
chance?"
Zanthor I Yoroc laughed. "With some luck and a lot of care, there will
be victory. Let the war go on as it has until winter, with the Confederates
believing we are nigh unto bled to death. Come spring, my mercenaries
can renew the fight in full vigor."
"Renew the stalemate. At best, the stalemate," Tarlroc responded
bitterly.
"Ah, yes, but I plan to assume direct command of the fighting myself
> and to release our own Condor Hall troops as well."
"Will that be sufficient to beat the Confederates back? They are
strong…"
"We shall not even try. It is the Confederation we will attack, not its
army. Luroc I Loran taught the lesson. Now we will show how well we have
learned it.
"My troops will push right through the lines, slip through if we can,
while our hirelings engage their army. Once behind them, we shall head
south, putting to the sword every man, woman, and child that we find.
Every animal we cannot drive off will be slaughtered. Everything we
cannot carry will be burned. Let us see how long Gurnion I Carlroc's army
holds together once the Tons learn their whelps' blood is soaking the ashes
of their ruined halls and fields.
"We can eliminate them individually as we originally intended and then
return to hunt out Firehand at our leisure."
"Then you will pay the demons?"
Zanthor pursed his lips. "Those hairless ones appear very eager to get
the materials they have demanded. I wonder seriously what they will do
once they lay their hands on it."
"They will do themselves what they have urged me to do," Tarlroc
predicted darkly.
The Ton chuckled. "You worry a great deal, Tarlroc I Zanthor. Demons
they may be, but they have proven unable to command or damage either
of us with their tricks of mind." He slapped the hilt of his sword. "Steel,
they shall have, right enough, but that comes in many forms. They will not
enjoy the manner in which I intend to deliver it."
11
WHATEVER HIS EXHAUSTION and the confused, now
unremembered dreams that had troubled his sleep, Murdock awoke at his
customary time the following morning.
He lay still a few minutes, enjoying the luxury of the bed and the
warmth of his cabin after the rugged living of the past several days.
Ross brushed aside the blanket covering him and then paused to look at
it. He had slipped off his boots and lain back without troubling to draw it
over himself. Gordon must have done this, too, before he had finally left
for his own quarters.
He shook his head. Sleep must have hit him with the force of a poleax
for him to have remained oblivious to that.
Whatever about it, the night's rest had served him well. He was relaxed
and refreshed and, he realized, enormously hungry.
The floor in front of him was striped with bands of gold, sunlight