Room? Had he gone mad?
“Come on. It’s just down here. He removed the sleeve knife and handed it to her. “You will need this, and you will use it!”
“Yes.” She felt his focused anger and knew better than to question it. “Room for what?”
“Me, him and Derissa.”
“Derissa?”
“Come on. I don’t want her camping inside my skull forever. It’s that next doorway. Stay behind me, try not to get in the way, and try not to get killed. Here we go.”
Gilhame had pulled the pouch off the back of his uniform. He yanked out several small, flat disks. He gave the portal control a hard stare, then pressed several buttons. There was a hissing, and it opened.
There were six men in tan recreation uniforms crouched over something on the floor. Two rose as Gilhame entered. The little disks spun through the air, catching one man in the throat and the other in the chest. They collapsed, looking surprised.
Someone shouted. “It’s too late, ur Fagon. She’s beyond the Healer’s art.” There was a short bark of laughter.
Within his mind, Gilhame heard a whisper and “felt” a giggle. “All is illusion,” said the whisper. His hands, meanwhile, had spent the rest of his killing disks and had gone to the boot knives. He glanced at the three men still standing, and took the stance of a skilled knife-fighter.
One of his opponents leapt into the air, kicking. Gilhame crouched and sprang straight up under the arc of the other’s body. He felt the man’s knife slash his left shoulder as he buried his own in the kidneys of his attacker, then yanked it out.
Gilhame whirled to face the two men remaining, but one was moving rapidly toward the open portal and the other was backing away from Alvellaina. Blood spouted from his throat, and he sank to the floor. As he sent one of his knives flying into the back of the man near the door, Gilhame realized that Alvellaina must have stabbed him from behind, slashing at the man’s neck with her little weapon. The man staggered to the portal and fell.
The laughter, the terrible, loud, ugly, raucous laughter which he had heard faintly throughout the brief fight, took his attention. He looked around and saw Marpessa Devero bending over Derissa’s body, making tidy slashings with her knife.
He crossed to her in three long strides, caught Mar-pessa’s hair in one hand and knocked the knife out of her hand with his foot. He snapped her head back sharply. Alvellaina stood silently staring at Derissa.
“It’s too late. I’ve severed all her leg joints, and she’ll be a vegetable,” snarled Marpessa. Then she saw Alvellaina. “What?”
Alvellaina knelt down next to Derissa. “Wrong victim, Marp,” Gilhame said. Derissa stirred within him. “You never could do anything right. M’alba, call a team of Healers.”
Alvellaina scrambled to her feet and looked for a comm-link. Finding none, she turned toward the door, the bloody knife still in her hand. “Don’t kill her before I get back,” she said as she stepped over the fallen man and disappeared into the alley.
Gilhame grinned his terrible grin and said, “I won’t,” to the emptiness.
Marpessa looked from the still form on the floor to the door where Alvellaina had left, her face puzzled. Gilhame understood her confusion, for Derissa had worn her hair unnetted, with a spray of jewels in it. Her likeness to her sister was intensified by the hairstyle, and he supposed that the men Marpessa had chosen for the abduction had been given a description, but they could not have been chosen for brains. Gilhame had confused the two girls a few times himself.
7can go back now,’ the words whispered in his mind.
‘To that?’ He gazed at the ruined woman on the floor. ‘It is not as bad as it looks. I must disengage the eye-scatter before the medics come. Poor Alvee. She’s very angry.' ‘Wait. Why the hell did you pick my head to hide inT ‘It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. ’
‘ Where is Buschard?’
‘He was called back to the ship for some reason. I came down to meet my aunt, and those goons got me.’
‘Cosmos! In the lobby?’ As this silent conversation continued, the gaping wounds on Derissa’s body vanished one by one. Gilhame saw that she was indeed hurt, but that none of the cuts was very deep except the one on her wrist.
‘No. On the street outside. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay “here” until the Healers get to work. I think I probably hurt like blazes. ’
He chuckled out loud. Marpessa jumped at the sound. ‘As you will, halba. Just don’t go nosing around up there, will you?’
‘I am very good at keeping secrets, dear old Dragon. ’ The phrase was like a caress. ‘What is going to happen to this miserable female?’
‘I have no idea yet. Perhaps your sister can offer some suggestions. ’
“Let me go, Gil,” Marpessa said.
“Later, perhaps, my pretty. Tell me, was this entirely your own notion, or did Gyre put you up to it? No answer. Ah, but your face tells me it was a joint effort. Do you know, I think an Admiralty court and some truth is an excellent prescription for what ails you. Such a simple thing, truth, but so exquisitely painful.”
“You wouldn’t!”
He continued in a silky voice. “You seem to have forgotten a thing I told you years ago. The cosmos is divided into my people and other people. I always look after my own.” “You didn’t look after me, you bastard.”
“No, I didn’t. But your intriguing proved you to be ‘other.’ I simply don’t have time for ‘other’ people. Ah, I believe I hear the medics. Yes, here they are.”
Marpessa tried to twist her head away from the painful
angle at which he still held it. She clawed her hands towards Derissa’s body, seeking her knife. Not finding it, she balled her left fist, slammed it into ur Fagon’s testicles and jerked away from his hand to grab the knife he had kicked away. He gasped a little at the pain, doubled forward, then rolled backwards as she got the knife near his chest, kicking her full in the jaw as he somersaulted backwards. Marpessa’s knife missed his chest and just tore the edge of the dragon motif. He came back to his feet only inches from where he had begun and back-handed her with his good arm as he came up. Marpessa sprawled in an ungainly mass on the floor.
The small room suddenly seemed very crowded. Alvellaina came in, leading four medics, a Chief Healer and a security team of six. She went straight to Derissa, looked down and then turned to Gilhame questioningly. The Healer pushed her aside and got to work.
“I believe the term is ‘eye-scatter,’ m’alba. Never seen it myself. You there, Major, put Captain Devero in custody. Wake her up, put her in restraints, and you needn’t be gentle. I want all the men in this room dead-brained.”
“Sir?” It was a rather pale-looking corporal.
“Yes.”
“This one’s still alive. It looks like he fell backward, trying to get out of the way of your kuumi, and knocked himself out.”
“Typical of Gyre’s men. Falling over their own feet. What do you want?” he snapped at a medic.
“Sir, if I may get to work on that shoulder. You’ve got a knick on your chest too.”
Alvellaina was standing next to him, watching the Healers put Derissa to sleep. “Yes, yes. Get on with your laying-on-of-hands mumbo jumbo. Get on* of the man’s way, m’alba.”
“Sorry.” She stepped back. “I was trying to sort things out. I. . . just never knew Derissa could ... do that.” “We’ll discuss it later. She will be alright.”
He smiled at her as the young and rather nervous Healer began his work. The point where Marpessa’s knife had penetrated the cloth of his uniform hurt as much as the cut on his shoulder. That puzzled him. He had a faint distrust of the Healer’s art, for it demanded that he submit to the control of another, a thing difficult for both the man he was and the man he had been. He could feel his “other self” squirming at the Healer’s touch.
Gilhame studied Alvellaina instead of resisting the medic. Her electro-net had slipped during the short fight and one s
ide of her hair was its curly self, while the other was long and straight. It gave her a very odd appearance. There was dirt and blood on her hands and dress, and an ugly scratch on her face. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in all creation.
She caught his look, the tenderness in his eyes, and colored.
‘So, that is how it is,' came Derissa’s thought.
‘Try to remember you are a guest and behave yourself.' He made his retort without the awareness that he was speaking telepathically and was confused for a moment when no one in the room “heard” her delightful laughter. It made him realize how exhausted he was.
The medic was staring at the wound on Gilhame’s shoulder, sending waves of healing into it, but the pain persisted. Gilhame glanced at the Healer, his brows narrowed in concentration, and wondered what the problem was.
“Are you finding the same thing I am?” the medic asked the two now tending Derissa.
“Never seen anything like it before. What do you think? Organic or not?”
“I don’t know. You’d better call the Chief.”
“Right.” The kneeling medic took out a short-range communicator and spoke into it.
Gilhame could feel a slight dizziness now. The medic looked up into his face. He tried to smile but found that the side of his face was stiff.
“Paralyzed,” he said to the other medics. “Admiral, permission to put you to sleep.”
Wo!’ Derissa’s thought startled him.
“Denied, medic.”
“Begging the Admiral’s pardon, I can do my work more effectively if you are out.”
‘Is this the kind of pain I will find in my body?’
‘Apparently. ’
‘Cosmos! Oh, well, it must be endured, I suppose. I will go back then. Thanks for the ride, Admiral. ’
‘Next time, try to find another vehicle, will you?’
‘Where else would I find so much room?’
‘So I have a swelled head, do I?’
Her giggle. ‘You said it. I didn’t. Thank you, brother.’ Again, the caressing quality of her words flowed over him. He wondered for a moment if, somehow, he had chosen the wrong sister. Then she was gone as suddenly as she had arrived in the middle of the Antrian Pattern.
Gilhame looked around him. The security team had restrained Marpessa Devero and were removing the corpses. Alvellaina was staring at him wide-eyed. He was curious how much of his interchange with Derissa she had picked up.
“I think, m’alba, you will have to stop wearing white when we are together. I fear your dress is beyond repair-like the other which you seem to treasure. Yes, Healer, you may put me to sleep. But only until you have the pain under control.”
The short medic stood on tiptoe to reach Gilhame’s wide brow. He placed his fingertips on the forehead very lightly and looked into Gilhame’s eyes.
“Please, sir, you are resisting me.”
“Am I? How very tiresome of me, to be sure.” He heard Marpessa’s insane laugh. Then he slept.
Chapter XIII
The Barren Plain. How long had he wandered here? A moment? Forever? Sometimes he almost left it, and then there were voices, voices he almost knew. But one, one interior voice, always called him back onto this empty place—a woman’s voice, a siren song of death.
‘ You are the Darkness. You are the very spirit of war. You are Chaos masquerading as Law. Die, die, die. ’
Was this the lesson he had not learned, had misunderstood? If he left now, before the war, whatever war it would be, left her, denied that still-to-be-conceived child, died now, would that be the end? No more Glass Castle? No more turns upon the wheel? No further love and betrayal? Was this, then, the Path? The Dragon passes and returns not?
“Why isn’t he better?” The voice, the one which urged him to death, was near, but not here. The Barren Plain receded.
“Halba Krispin, I don’t know. He isn’t fighting the poison. He is fighting me, fighting my most skilled medics. Perhaps he is fighting himself. In any case, he is dying.” Vraser. The name came across the Plain to him, but it meant nothing.
“I don’t understand. Derissa was much worse, and she’s mending. Why isn’t he?” There was a kind of panic in the well-remembered voice.
“Child, I do not know. He does not care to heal. It is as if he doubts himself. All I hear are distant questions. He is so far across the Plain ...”
“I see. Let me sit with him awhile. You are dead on your feet, Vraser. He will be fine with me here.”
“There is nothing more I can do,” the voice sounded sad and a little desperate. “Perhaps, a Circle . . .”
“No, don’t. He would hate it. A Circle is such ... an invasion. Perhaps he will come back.”
“Have you called him, halba?” the voice was stern now. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Go away and leave us alone.” Shuffling noises. The rub of cloth on cloth. Then she said, “Interfering old busybody!”
Hands, very cold hands, and silence. A wind moved across the Barren Plain, and he smelled something. It was a distant, tantalizing scent, strange and familiar at the same time. There was a name for it, if he could only remember. It was important to remember.
The cold hands moved over his own. The voice began, sharply.
“Don’t you dare die, you black-blooded bastard! You can’t have the last word. 1 won’t permit it! You come back here, right now, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I am not finished with you yet, damn it! You can’t leave me. Wake up and fight with me. Open your eyes. I know you are in there. Look, the pard is here. She’s waiting for you. Open your damned eyes. Don’t go back to the Castle. Come back to me!”
He felt a hard slap. Where? On his face. His face. What was that? Then he remembered the name of the smell. Roses. There was another slap. What did the word mean, roses? The very smell of love. The Plain shrank.
“Halba Krispin! What are you doing? Stop that! It was an unknown voice, male and angry.
Gilhame forced his eyes open to find Alvellaina snatching her hands away from a medic. The medic leapt forward to catch her hands again and was rewarded with a sharp kick in the shins for his efforts. He watched them tussle for a moment. The pard, nestled at his right side, gave a dreadful yowl, arched its back, stood and bottled its tail.
“Roses,” he murmured. Alvellaina was still struggling with the medic. “Here! Stop that!” Gilhame croaked. He tried to sit up, but his shoulder burned like fire.
Alvellaina and the medic jumped at the sound of his voice. The pard sprang off the bed and marched away, spitting and hissing.
“You’re awake!” Alvellaina sat down on the edge of the bed and he winced at the pain in his shoulder.
“So it would seem.” His voice sounded rusty to him. “May one inquire into the meaning of this brawl?” He decided he didn’t care what his voice sounded like. As long as he talked, he wouldn’t go back there.
“I found the halba striking you, Admiral,” said the medic stiffly.
“Yes, I know. My face will be sore for a while. Stop bouncing on the bed, will you? Can’t I turn my back on you for a minute without you finding some mischief to get into, woman?” He had to say anything.
She gave him part of a smile. “No. I need an experienced hand to guide me.”
“Get me something to drink. My throat is dry.” They both jumped to answer his demand, and water got spilled on the floor before it got to his mouth. Alvellaina held the cup to his lips and watched him intently. “I shall have to have the Combat Master give you some instruction in hand-to-hand, m’alba. You were glaringly wide, but you have potential.”
The Healer, who was as tall as Alvellaina and somewhat heavier, touched his face gingerly. One side was red, and there seemed to be a good promise of a black eye in the future. “Please, sir, she is quite formidable as she is.” “True, but shockingly untrained. Why am I being starved? I could eat almost anything. How long have I been asleep?”
“Days and days,” she an
swered.
“A week and a day, sir,” replied the medic. “I’d better call Chief Vraser and tell him you are awake, so he can get to work.”
“What the Bless has he been doing for eight days?” Gilhame asked, but the medic was gone.
“Lie still, please,” Alvellaina said. “You see, the Healers couldn’t do a thing while you were asleep, and you wouldn’t wake up.”
“What? Why couldn’t they?”
“The knives those bastards used were covered with something—they haven’t decided whether to call it a poison or an infection yet—anyhow, it is an organic radiation. Now you know as much as I do. I can’t even pretend to understand it, though Derissa seems to. But it can’t be treated while you are unconscious, at least not with the standard healing techniques. They . . . they almost lost Derissa before they found out, but at least she was willing to wake up. You weren’t.”
He remembered the Plain and the siren voice. “I must have had something on my mind. Organic radiation? Where did it come from?”
“I think you’d better rest until some food arrives, Admiral.” Her voice was cool now.
She had withdrawn again. Gilhame settled back on his pillows and smiled at her. “You cannot beat me about the head and shoulders and call me dreadful names and then go back to calling me ‘Admiral,’ child. Let me see. There was ‘black-blooded bastard.’ I rather like that one—poetic and alliterative. Now, try it. Say ‘Gilhame.’ The word won’t choke you, I promise.”
She glared at him. “No, but I might choke you.” “What? After all the trouble you went to to get me back? Such ambivalence.”
“You are needed. I only did my duty.”
“I am sure the Emperor will be pleased at your devotion. Strange, how the mind plays trick on one. I could have sworn you cared about the matter personally. Now then,” he said as she blushed, “when do I get some good food? It quite saddens me that the consumption of flesh is such a social solecism in these civilized times. See if you can get me some fish, at least, will you? I feel as if I could eat a horse ... or even a camel.”
“Don’t be disgusting!” Her eyes were bright with anger, for it was impolite to even discuss the eating of flesh.
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