Firehand

by Andre Norton

  than a testing, preparation for what you're going to face when you join at

  last with them, however greater your numbers might then be."

  "Are they your friends that you praise them so highly?" one of the lesser

  Tons asked testily.

  Ross eyed the man coldly. "They're my bitter and hated foes," he

  answered evenly, "but I'd degrade myself and my comrades and I'd be

  allowing you to hold a false security for which you'd pay heavily later on if

  I spoke otherwise of them. Whatever we think of their leader and cause,

  Condor Hall's own troops are brave men and brilliant fighters, and they'll

  yield to nothing but death or unconsciousness."

  "The condition of those you send us is proof enough of that," Ton I

  Carlroc said bitterly. "What a waste, what a criminal waste, of good

  fighting men!"

  "In a way, their tenacity shouldn't amaze us overly much," the agent

  told him. "They've got kin whom they love, and Zanthor has been careful

  to school them in the belief that we'll return slaughter for the butchering

  that accompanied his first, seemingly undammable advances. They have

  no reason to doubt him considering their own ways, and he keeps them

  well segregated from his mercenaries, who would soon deprive them of

  any such delusions."

  That should have been the end of it, but to Ross's disgust and growing

  impatience, the discussion dragged on, seemingly interminably on. Every

  one of the Confederate Tons believed their foes were at the end of their

  strength and resources and that spring would bring them an early victory.

  Murdock's warning that it could still prove to be a costly one failed to

  check that enthusiasm or their ever-sharpening interest in the spoil they

  hoped to secure at the close of the war. Most of them resisted the idea of

  spending any more of their resources than they now felt to be essential to

  keep what they held to be an already broken enemy in check until the final

  kill.

  Jeran A Murdoc caught his eye at last and shrugged, but the

  Commandant, too, had enough talk about treasure that was patently not

  yet won. "Condor Hall still has mercenary columns and its own garrison,"

  he said abruptly, seizing the opportunity to speak that was presented by a

  momentary lull in the debate. "No victory is guaranteed until it has been

  gained, most assuredly not this one. I suggest that we bend ourselves to

  harrying our foes as far as we can into the winter as Firehand suggests

  and leave the division of Zanthor I Yoroc's lands and goods until we have

  actually taken them from him. Slacken off now, and it is all too

  conceivable that he might yet make himself ruler over yours."

  19

  ALL THROUGH THAT morning and the afternoon following it well into

  the early evening, the meeting continued. At last everything that could be

  planned and arranged, everything that could be countered, so far in

  advance, had been considered and resolved, and the weary leaders arose,

  spent in mind and spirit as a warrior is spent in body after long hours of

  combat.

  Ton Gurnion would not hear of the Sapphirehold unit's departing from

  his camp so late in the day and insisted upon pressing on Luroc the use of

  his own tent and arranging for others to be set up near it for the rest of

  the party. For all his pride, the exhausted I Loran was glad enough to

  accept the offer.

  Ross accompanied the Sapphirehold ruler to I Carlroc's big tent. They

  discussed how their partisans might most effectively increase the pressure

  on Condor Hall's supply lines in the crucial weeks ahead, then the Terran

  asked permission to join Ashe in the quarters assigned to them. He, too,

  felt as if he had passed the day in battle.

  To his surprise, I Loran shook his head. "Stay a while," he said. He

  looked pointedly at the camp table near the tent's entrance. "Gurnion was

  good enough to leave us some of his wine."

  Murdock carried the light table over to the Ton, then filled two of the

  goblets arranged around the decanter. One he handed to Luroc and took

  the other himself after drawing a chair close to the ruler's.

  He rolled the pale liquid on his tongue. It was a fine vintage, light and

  very dry.

  A smile flitted about his lips. It was not so long ago that he would not

  have recognized how good this was. The appreciation of wine was another

  of the benefits he had reaped from his association with Gordon Ashe, over

  and above the opportunity to range time and space.

  Luroc sipped his portion, his eyes closing in pleasure. "It seems like a

  weary age since I last tasted anything the equal of this."

  "Soon now you'll be in a position to import quality goods again," his

  companion promised, "or reasonably soon."

  "I know. I must just court patience. We cannot expect Zanthor I Yoroc

  to supply us with prize stock, and I cannot in conscience consider

  squandering our resources on luxuries at this point."

  He took another sip and settled back in the chair, letting it take his

  weight. "You did well in there," he told Murdock.

  "So did you." Anger flashed momentarily in Ross's eyes. "I'd have

  flattened you if you'd actually tried to get up and give me your place."

  The Ton chuckled. He enjoyed the younger man's directness of speech.

  "There was never a fear of it," he assured him. "Gurnion I Carlroc would

  not have allowed such an insult to take place."

  The Ton's dark eyes studied Ross somberly. "I did fail on another point.

  I knew Commandant A Murdoc would be present, and I still let you walk

  in there dressed like a herdsman."

  Ross only shrugged. "I can survive our kind of war dressed like a

  herdsman. I mightn't fare so well in something fancier."

  The eyes still held him. "True enough, but half a high officer's or a

  ruler's time is spent in political maneuvering, and for that, the trappings

  are important. You will have to learn that lesson, Rossin A Murdoc, if you

  are ever to command a column successfully, as I believe you shall gain the

  right to do within a few more years. Your work with us has gone far

  toward preparing you for the responsibilities of major rank, and if you will

  it, you are likely to attain it soon."

  The agent looked away. "As you said, we need our resources for

  necessities right now, not luxuries. To my way of thinking, uniforms fall

  into the luxury category. Those mercenaries should be able to see that."

  "For the war itself, yes. A council like this is another matter." Luroc

  sighed. "No one blames you, Rossin, but Jeran A Murdoc now thinks less

  of Sapphirehold, less of me, for providing so poorly for you. I saw the look

  he put on me. You have done too much for my domain for any form of

  neglect on my part to be tolerable."

  "The Commandant can take his opinion and…" Ross began hotly.

  "Again, my young Friend, this is politics. It is also a rebuke for a fault I

  myself have owned for a long time. I do owe you, Rossin, for more than I

  shall ever be in a position to repay… Be silent for once and let me finish!

  You would try Life's Queen Herself at times."

  "Go on," Ross replied, uncomfortable
but knowing enough to keep his

  mouth shut.

  "Your contract will be fulfilled and your loan repaid, and there will be

  more besides beyond your spoil share, but it cannot be what I of my own

  heart and honor would give. My first responsibility has to be to my

  domain. Sapphirehold will need the bulk of its resources and the bulk of

  my personal fortune to regain its prosperity even with whatever

  recompense comes to us with the victory. War's blight does not simply

  vanish from the battleground with the cessation of hostilities."

  The Ton straightened. "Bring me that saddle pack over there. The black

  one."

  Murdock complied. Luroc opened it and took a leather-wrapped

  package from it. This, he handed to Ross. "Your belt is too plain for

  anyone but a raw recruit, and it is worn besides. Let Firehand hang his

  sword from this instead, at least while he is in the company of strangers."

  The Terran's breath came in a hiss when he folded back the wrappings.

  What he held was a belt, all right, one set, every part of it, with matched

  emeralds, each of remarkable size and perfection.

  "This—this is too much," he managed at last.

  Luroc's voice was oddly soft. "No, that it is not."

  The Ton's usual manner reasserted itself. "Had I a second son, this

  would have been his portion. There is no cadet in my house, and my heir

  cannot claim what would have been his right. I would have you take it now

  and stand for me in the place of that other son." His tone gentled once

  more. "I am pleading as well as giving, Rossin. Can you refuse me?"

  The younger man's head lowered. "No. You read me right. I can't."

  Murdock fastened the belt about his narrow waist, first stripping his

  scabbard from the discarded belt and transferring it to the new one. The

  plain, worn sheath did not detract from it. This was a tool, not a toy, and

  in time of active war, it was expected to be utilitarian. None of the others

  in that council had borne anything more ornate, whatever their richness

  of dress in other respects.

  "Much better," Luroc I Loran declared. "See that you show yourself

  wearing it tonight, for a while at least, even if you are tired, and wear it

  until we get back to our own camp."

  "I will with pleasure, Ton," he agreed, smiling.

  Luroc continued watching him. There was a difference in his scrutiny

  now, and Murdoc looked at him, puzzled. "Ton?"

  "Sit down, Firehand."

  He obeyed, concerned now by what he heard in the domain ruler's

  voice. "What's wrong?"

  "I was fortunate I had that belt," I Loran said, as if he had not heard

  the question. "Otherwise, I should have been hard pressed to come up

  with a suitable gift that you would be able to bring with you when you

  return to your own."

  The Time Agent's heart gave an ugly jerk, but he made himself frown.

  "I'm an independent. You know I'm not attached to any of the columns."

  "Not any of those on the Mainland or the islands near it," he agreed.

  "You were never born in the regions my people know, or if you were, your

  race most certainly was not. When I said just now that you would soon be

  ready for a major command, I did not imagine it would be over soldiers of

  any realm familiar to me."

  "Just what do you mean?" Murdock was scared, but he forced himself

  to direct that emotion into the show of anger appropriate to the situation

  had he been innocent.

  The older man chuckled. "I traveled extensively in my youth, Rossin A

  Murdoc, or whatever the name you actually bear should be. I never came

  across a people the like of you and your two associates. That rock ferret's

  face of yours did not come from any northern or middle portion of the

  Mainland, and your pale skin eliminates the far south as your place of

  origin. Since there are three of you, all apparently unrelated, you can't

  excuse your differences by claiming some strange mixing of blood. You are

  strangers, all of you, as alien as if you rose from the depths of the sea or

  out of the ground beneath us."

  "If you believe that, why have you…"

  "Do not credit me with too sharp a wit. It was a good while before I

  realized I could not place you, and it took longer still to convince myself

  that my seemingly wild surmises were correct."

  "What do you expect me to say, condemn myself or call you either a liar

  or a madman?"

  "Say nothing. I know you will not betray those who sent you or their

  reasons for doing so, and I do not want to see you foresworn before me."

  Murdock started to unclasp the belt, but the Ton stopped him. "The gift

  is genuine. You and your comrades have more than proven yourselves our

  friends. I spoke now to warn you. I was a blank shield before I fulfilled the

  dream and married into Sapphirehold. The belt was my groom's price…

  That early experience with war rendered me more able than my colleagues

  to believe in the danger Healer O Ashean proclaimed, but the breadth of

  knowledge I had gained about my world helped open my eyes to your

  strangeness. You will be dealing with other mercenaries now as well as

  with the Confederate Tons, and you will have to treat with them ever more

  frequently and closely as this conflict draws to a close. Take care how you

  conduct yourself with them and warn Gordon O Ashean to be on his guard

  as well if you do not want to be forced to declare who and what you are

  before us all."

  "What about you?" Ross asked, neither confirming nor denying his

  companion's allegations but giving his curiosity full play. It was

  inconceivable that the on-worlder could have divined the actual truth, but

  he had to know how close to it he had come. "Who do you think we are?"

  I Loran shrugged. "Life's Queen alone knows. I myself do not believe

  that the Mainland is the only large landmass on this world, and there are

  the old tales of strange travelers. It does not matter. You have stood well

  for Sapphirehold, and I have seen enough of all of you to know that your

  care for us is genuine, though at the start, it may be that your purpose was

  merely to oppose Zanthor I Yoroc."

  He sighed, as if mourning a loss he knew must come. "You and your

  comrades have nothing to fear from me, Firehand, now or in the future,

  whether you go or stay in the domain you have fought so hard to preserve.

  As I said, I spoke only to warn you."

  "We thank you for that," Murdock responded slowly. "False or true,

  such a tale would breed distrust and fear. The Confederacy can't afford

  either in its ranks at this point."

  Luroc smiled. That had been a good thrust. "Answer me one question,

  Rossin, and then I shall have mercy and allow you to escape. Did you

  accept the belt out of policy or for love of me?"

  The Terran's eyes fell. He was, in fact, hurt. "For love, Ton."

  "In that spirit, too, was it given."

  Ross's gray eyes met Luroc's. "Was it also a test?"

  "One with the background you claim would have known the stones, but,

  no, it was not. I was sure enough of my deductions not to have to degrade

  my offering. You three are very good in your roles, but we are t
hrown

  closely together in this life. There have been many little points significant

  to someone already suspicious enough to watch for and read them."

  Ross Murdock left the ruler's tent. He felt as battered as if he had taken

  a physical beating. He paused a moment to orient himself.

  The partisan standing sentry duty started to raise his hand in salute,

  but it stopped in midair as his eyes fixed on the jeweled belt. They

  widened, and his mouth dropped open.

  In the next instant, he gave a great crow of delight that quickly

  summoned the remainder of their company.

  The reaction could not have been more excited or more jubilant, and

  Ross cringed at the magnitude of his failure to recognize these gems.

  He realized something else as well, and a glow of warmth filled him. A

  mercenary served for gold. He could expect no more than gold as his

  reward, and he could expect to have no significance in his employers' eyes

  beyond whatever respect his battle skills and tactical abilities might earn

  for him, that and, hopefully, human concern for his physical welfare. This

  greeting, this joy with and for him in his advancement, was dramatic

  proof of how much more he had found in the hard-fighting domain whose

  cause he carried.

  Ashe managed to rescue Ross from their enthusiastic troops after a few

  minutes and just about dragged him into the tent assigned to them.

  "What in all the levels of time has happened?" he demanded once they

  were alone.

  "I seem to have gotten myself adopted as Luroc's cadet son." He licked

  his lips. "He knows us for aliens, Gordon, or at least for strangers."

  The archeologist said nothing for several minutes after Murdock had

  finished his account of all that had happened in the ruler's tent. "It was

  only to be expected, I suppose," he said wearily at the end of that time. "As

  I Loran himself pointed out, we've had to live too closely for too long

  among these people. It was all but inevitable that we'd give ourselves away

  eventually."

  "Maybe," the other agent responded bitterly, "but we could probably

  have pushed it back a good while yet if you'd kept command of the

  mission… Damn! I was with him so often…"

  "What else could you have done?" his partner asked mildly. "You're his

  war commander. You had to confer with him and associate with him.