by Andre Norton
Actually, I'd probably have done much worse. My mind and temperament
don't mesh as closely with his as yours do."
"What now?" Murdock pushed his feelings of guilt to the back of his
mind. Their assignment was still not quite completed. Until it was, its
conclusion could not be considered secure, but they dared not stay to
finish it if by so doing, they would be putting Terra in peril. Should they
publicly betray themselves, should the story that off-world humans had
intervened here reached the Baldies, their own homeworld could well be
seared into another lifeless cinder, a mote for the dead Dominion whose
fate they were fighting to avert.
"Precisely what Luroc told you. Carry on as usual. That Ton's an old fox.
He's not going to risk the war's outcome or jeopardize Sapphirehold's
future position. He's given us our warning, and you very smartly shot one
back at him. We'll all have to leave it at that."
"You trust him?"
"Don't you?"
Ross nodded. "Yes, I do, but…"
"But nothing. That adoption business was apparently real. That's our
answer as to I Loran's intentions."
Murdock touched the jeweled belt. Suddenly, his expression darkened.
"I'll be able to keep this, won't I, because I'm not bringing it back just so
some brass hat can hang it in a museum or on his wall."
Gordon smiled, recognizing the old Ross Murdock in that. "As I've said
before, there's no rule against souvenirs. Just slip it under your clothes
when you make the transfer and don't say anything about it… Of course,
your wife might want to make a necklace out of those stones."
"She's not getting them, either," he said, smiling as well. "Thanks,
Gordon."
Ashe stood up. "On your feet, Firehand. I believe your instructions are
to show yourself wearing that belt, and I imagine our comrades are going
to want to celebrate your promotion. You'll have to go along, but for
heaven's sake, don't let them get you drunk. Three stiff shots of some of
these local concoctions would be enough to put any uninitiated Terran
under the table."
"Trust me on that one, pal. After today's interview, I'm not likely to put
myself in the position of accidentally saying anything to anybody not of
our select little team."
20
WHEN THE PARTISANS reached the mountains once more, they
found their outposts' excitement no less keen when they were informed of
their commander's new status than had been that of Luroc's escort,
although it was expressed more quietly out of deference to their position
and responsibility.
The Ton was eager for his own quarters after the long journey, but he
had not been slow in noting his people's response to their war leader's
good fortune, nor had he missed the slight lifting of Murdock's head when
he had received their congratulations, and he drew rein just outside the
Sapphirehold camp. "Take the lead, Rossin. This triumph is all yours."
"That wouldn't be right, Ton Luroc…" he began in protest.
"Custom be damned, Firehand. Our warriors see your success as their
own. Let them have the joy of it."
I Loran had not misread his soldiers' reaction, and it was some time
before the cheering stopped in the usually still encampment. If Ross
Murdock had entertained any doubts as to the regard with which he was
held here, this day's events would most assuredly have set them to rest.
Eveleen watched the enthusiastic reception without taking great part in
it. She waited until the party had dismounted and each of the leaders had
gone to his quarters before seeking Ross out.
She knocked at the door of what was now her cabin as well and then
went inside. Her husband was sitting at his desk, already beginning to
attack the neatly piled paperwork waiting there, but he rose quickly to
receive her.
She slipped into his arms, kissing him joyfully.
The weapons expert stepped back at last and studied him carefully. Her
fingers touched the jeweled belt. "I'm so happy for you, Ross," she told him
quietly.
"Everything didn't go quite as smoothly as this would seem to indicate,"
Murdock told her grimly. He recounted what had passed between him and
Ton Luroc plus Ashe's feelings on the subject.
The Terran woman's face was drawn by the time he had finished. "We
won't have to take to our heels, not until we're really done here?" she asked
sharply.
"As of now, no, according to Gordon. We all want to see the war to its
end. As long as Zanthor I Yoroc's still fighting, he remains a threat, and
he's nowhere out of it yet." His eyes were bleak. "We'll just have to play it
as it comes and hope we'll be able to stick around long enough to finish
what we came to do." , "And longer. Sapphirehold can use our help, or
yours, in the postwar negotiations… Blast! I suppose we all must've slipped
up in a thousand ways since we moved in here."
Murdock shrugged. Crying over past mistakes was useless. For however
long they would be left to stay a part of it, they had a war to fight. "It'll
take me a couple of days to go through all this. Did anything major
happen that I should know about immediately?"
Eveleen shook her head. "There was almost no enemy activity. One of
our patrols met and whipped a small Condor Hall patrol, but that was the
extent of it. The prisoners taken then should've reached Gurnion's camp
shortly after you left it. Otherwise, we had a nice, quiet time of it."
The partisans' delight in the honor done their commander would not be
satisfied by a few words of congratulation, however sincerely or warmly
spoken. They gave the newly returned riders that night in which to rest
but declared that they would celebrate on the next, barring only a call to
battle.
None came, and the following evening found music in the camp and an
air of general gaiety upon its inhabitants. All were relaxed, and many,
particularly among the women, had put on garments they had saved from
the time before Zanthor's shadow had fallen over their lives. Apart from
the sentries, only Korvin's division refrained entirely from doing so, as
they refrained from tasting any of the wine which was otherwise flowing
with uncommon freedom, since they had to remain on battle alert.
Ross watched the festivities from the foot of one of the first trees
fringing the encampment. His eyes were somewhat somber, for he felt a
little depressed by the very lightness his comrades evinced.
This was the way it should be, he thought. These people had a right to
be merry, to be able to take and use what was theirs and enjoy the fruits of
their labor, whatever they chose to do, not to forever be forced to conceal
themselves like brigands on mountain slopes.
Most of them would be very glad to return to the former quiet, ordered
course of their lives, to the fields and loom and anvil. The few who would
not, who could form the kernel of a superb mercenary company, he could
already name. With them behind him…
A sudden tightness constricted his throat. The Terran drained his
goblet, then filled it again lest someone read his discontent in its
emptiness. He was not being left to sit alone for long.
To distract himself, he began to scan the others gathered on the
outskirts of the merriment. His eyes came to rest on Allran A Aldar, and
he frowned thoughtfully. The Lieutenant had been there a good while now,
nearly from the start of the festivities. That was odd, for he was popular
with the men and the women of the domain, and he had the reputation of
being a fine dancer. He should have been at the center of the celebration,
leading a large part of the activities, but instead, he remained thoughtful
and withdrawn, seemingly scarcely aware of what was happening around
him.
Ross raised his cup again, this time only tasting its contents. Leaving
the Sapphireholder to his thoughts, he sought out Eveleen. He spotted her
in a moment, sitting beside Gordon and Luroc.
Almost as if she read his thoughts, she glanced in his direction. Finding
his gaze on her, she said something to her companions and rose to her feet
in a single, lithe movement wonderful to watch.
Carefully skirting the rapidly whirling dancers, she made her way to the
place where he was sitting and lightly lowered herself to the ground beside
him before he could rise to give her formal greeting.
Her eyes went back to the dancers. "They're so good," she said wistfully.
"I used to love to dance. I was good at it, too."
"You're good at everything you do. —Why not join them? It doesn't look
all that hard."
Eveleen shook her head. "It's harder than it appears to be. Both the
steps and the patterns're intricate, and it's breathlessly fast."
She watched for a few minutes longer and sighed, tempted, but her
resolve held. They had no idea how universal these Dominionite dances
were, and the team had enough problems as it was without committing
readily avoidable blunders.
Ross recognized the considerations that moved her, and his eyes
lowered. He felt badly for her and a trifle guilty, as if he were somehow
responsible.
He started to raise his cup again but checked himself when he realized
that her hands were empty. "I'm a lousy husband. I'll fetch a goblet for
you."
The weapons expert held up her hand to stay him. "I've had enough."
She eyed the liquid in his own goblet. "Ton Gurnion sent a supply of his
stock back with Luroc. He's been good enough to broach it for the
occasion. Would you like some? This home brew's pretty bad."
Murdock shook his head. "No, thanks. Any more, and I'll be getting
tight. If our Condor Hall friends start trouble…"
"Korvin can handle it. If you're near tight, you'd best leave battle to
him," she told him calmly. "Besides, this celebration is in your honor, and
we really wouldn't care to have you ride away from it."
She did not press him further when he again shook his head and merely
settled herself more comfortably beside him.
They fell into a companionable silence.
The war captain studied Eveleen from beneath half-closed lids.
Her hair was intricately styled, piled high with a braid of pale yellow
ribbon woven through it. Her softly fashioned blouse was the same yellow
shade and was delicately embroidered with its own thread. Its neck was
just low enough to skirt the first rising of her small, firm breasts.
The faint, clean sweetness of the herbs with which she had scented
herself rose to greet him as he moved a little closer to her.
Ross had never been so conscious of Eveleen Riordan's beauty, and a
sense of wonder filled him that he had been able to win her. He and
Gordon might be the only men on Dominion of Virgin capable of
appreciating her loveliness, but that had patently not been the case on
Terra. He had certainly made no move to secure her favor there; he had
been too much of a blockhead to realize he wanted it. It amazed him that
his luck had held so long.
"You sounded so sure when you accepted me," he said suddenly. "It
took poor old Comet's fall to wake me up, but when…"
The woman smiled. "Shortly after we met, as soon as I started to get to
know the man behind that burned hand story."
Murdock stared at her. "You never said anything or made any move."
Eveleen laughed. "I have some pride, Ross Murdock! I wasn't about to
offer what wouldn't be accepted. You liked me, but you were only looking
at an able instructor and at a comrade who was also a pleasant
companion. If you'd suspected where my interests lay, you'd have run
straight to the first shipload of Baldies you could find and signed on for a
long voyage to anywhere."
"You read minds, too?" he growled.
Her smile, her eyes, softened. "I loved you, Firehand. I was aware of the
nuances in your response to me."
She glanced in the direction of the Ton and Gordon. "Shouldn't we join
them?" she suggested. "If you sit out here too much longer, they'll begin to
think something's wrong."
There was a slight question in that last, but Ross shook his head. "I just
wanted to have some quiet for a while and to watch everything."
He came to his feet and gave his hand to her. "Let's go keep our host
company, Lieutenant."
21
ROSS REMAINED IN camp the following day but returned to the war
on the next.
Eleven of the partisans rode with him, his two chief Lieutenants,
Gordon Ashe, and eight others. Each carried rations for three weeks, for
they could conceivably be gone that long, although the norm for these
scouting missions was a little less than half that time.
It would require nearly two full days' heavy riding merely to reach the
place where their explorations were to begin, the Time Agent thought
somewhat glumly, and once there, they were likely to be kept busy.
His party's goal was the Funnel, the region forming the approach to the
Corridor. It was an extremely rough area, close by one of the most
impenetrable stretches of the great barrier highlands and scarcely more
passable itself in places, comprised as it was of tall, cliff-studded hills so
named only by comparison with the giants rising up on either side of
them. In any other setting, they, too, would have been termed mountains.
They were only lightly wooded, but most sported a thick growth of brush
and were otherwise so rugged that they provided an acceptable field for
guerrilla work, which the more open Corridor itself did not, a fortunate
circumstance for the Sapphireholders in the face of the uncommon
amount of activity characteristic of the area.
All south-bound traffic began to converge here. The partisans knew
that and came frequently in the good hope of taking a prize.
In order to counter them, or at least to discourage even further
depredations, the invaders constantly patrolled the region. The Funnel was
too large an area and offered too good cover for it to be guarded the way
the Corridor was; its distance from the army would have prevented that
even without the difficulties of the terrain. Enemy concentration was
abnormally h
igh, though, and the two forces often clashed there, usually
under conditions entirely of the Sapphirehold warriors' choosing.
It was his to ensure that the latter remained true if they met on this
mission. The consequences of any failure in that respect could be
disastrous to his small unit.
As on every other occasion when he had thought about the Corridor
and its immediate environs without having some immediate need to lash
him, the Terran wished fervently that the Confederacy had been able to
move quickly enough to have blocked Zanthor's winning control of it. Had
they been able to claim even the passage alone or, better still, some of the
area leading into it, life would have been a lot easier for his own small
command, if, indeed, the war would not already be ended.
Ross sighed then and turned his mind to more productive work. They
could learn a great deal from the signs of the most recent traffic, which
they were certain to discover once they reached the Funnel and began
examining it, even if they were fortunate enough to see nothing at all of
their enemies themselves. He would do well to concentrate on the job
ahead of them rather than squander this time regretting a failure long
since sealed in history.
The partisans left the highlands early in the day, and although the land
through which they traveled still offered them fairly good cover and was
not yet noted for the heavy enemy activity they would encounter later,
prudence moved them to keep an increasingly sharp guard as they moved
deeper into it. Ross halted early that night so they would not have to take
their rest in the Funnel itself, but they rose with the dawn and quickly,
silently, slipped into the troubled region where their work was to begin.
Signs of enemy activity were not scarce for those skilled enough to find
them, and the hearts of all sank a little despite their foreknowledge that
this must be so. With Zanthor I Yoroc pushing so hard to get his army
ready for the winter and the spring to follow, the partisans realized that
warriors and goods were getting though to his lines, but still, all were
amazed and discouraged by the amount of material that the tracks
indicated was escaping them.
Their leader was no more immune to that dulling of heart than were his
companions. It was now obvious that the invaders were likely to be
considerably better able to face the challenges of the next combat season