Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

by E. C. Tubb

  "No." His companion, a tall man with a smooth face and enigmatic eyes, rested a gemmed hand on the other's sleeve. Like Hendaza he was of middle-age. "This is no cause for a quarrel, Lekhard. You were rude to interrupt and Hendaza was right to remind you of your lack of manners. We do not want our guest to think we are barbarians."

  "Does it matter what a stranger thinks?" Lekhard's eyes roved over Dumarest's plain tunic, halted at his weaponless belt, dropped to stare at the hilt of the knife thrust into his boot.

  "Yes, my friend, Dumarest is armed." Kanjuk smiled as if at a private jest. "You were slow to notice that. Now that you can accept him as an equal we can act like civilized men. You have visited many worlds, Earl?"

  "I have."

  "And seen many cultures, no doubt. Have you met other societies like our own?"

  "As yet I have seen little of it."

  "And so have no evidence on which to judge. Well, time will cure that. I would like-" He broke off as trumpets sounded from the doors which now swung open. "It is time we went in to dinner. Later I would appreciate the chance of resuming this conversation. Lekhard! To me!"

  Kanjuk raised a hand as he moved off into the throng now streaming through the opened doors. At his side Hendaza said, "Head for the upper tables, Earl. You sit next to Dephine. As her champion it is your right."

  She smiled as he took his place, reaching across the space between them to touch his arm, gemmed fire winking from her fingers. She was resplendent in a gown of embroidered fabric, the sash draped over her shoulder bright with badges, the pistol at her belt resting in a holster of gilded leather.

  "You are happy, Earl?"

  "I am here. Just what I am supposed to be doing is something else."

  "You are my champion." Her fingers gently scratched the back of his hand. "With all that implies. But don't let appearances deceive you. On Emijar men can smile as they murder and murder as they smile."

  Dumarest shrugged away his hand from beneath her nails, not bothering to probe her meaning. Instead he studied the great hall and the assembly it contained. All the Family, it seemed, had come to welcome Dephine. They sat at long, narrow tables set on the stone floor, each loaded with a variety of foods and wines. At the lower end of the hall, separated a little from the others, were the tables occupied by those who had yet to win their trophy. Social inferiors not as yet regarded as having the right to an opinion.

  Navalok was among them, his face sombre as he picked at his food.

  Dumarest reached for a fruit with a golden rind and lifted it from where it rested on a mat of leaves. The skin broke beneath his fingers to release a flood of sickly sweet juice. The flesh was tart, slightly acid, dissolving to a chewable mass of fiber.

  At his side a man said, "So far no challenges, but there is time yet before the final bell."

  "You expect one?"

  "I? No, but who can tell what is in other minds?" The man sipped a little wine. "If any should come Alorcene will do his best to negate them. Dephine was always his favorite."

  "Alorcene?"

  "Keeper of the Scrolls." The man gestured towards the highest table. "Ah, there he is. I thought he wouldn't leave it much longer."

  The sharp note of a bell sounded above the hum of conversation and, as silence fell, an old man lifted his hand.

  "According to ancient tradition and with the will of those who guide the destiny of this noble House let all listen and pay heed. To this place has returned the Lady Dephine de Monterale Keturah. Of those present do any deny her right to remain? To rejoin the Family? To resume her rightful place among us? If so speak that all may hear."

  Dumarest reached for another fruit. The episode was a ritual at one with the rest and a part of the ceremony he had been warned to expect. The public announcement, the avowal of intent, the opportunity for those who held old grievances to have them aired. Nothing would come of it, or so Dephine had sworn. His very presence would take care of that.

  Again the ring of the bell, the solemn intonation.

  From a table lower down the hall a woman rose and said, clearly, "I deny her right. She left under a cloud. There was a suspicion of theft."

  "Full reparation has been made. Thrice the sum involved has been returned to the injured party. Forgiveness has been granted and no animosity is now borne. Do you wish to challenge?"

  "If reparation has been made-no."

  The bell sounded again as the woman sat, the third and last time for any present to object.

  Dumarest narrowed his eyes at a flurry from the far end of the hall. From the doors a man strode with an arrogant impatience towards the upper table. A tall man, his scarred face edged with a ruff of beard. One who wore a tunic heavy with badges. One who had timed his entrance well.

  Halting he shouted, "I am Galbrene de Allivarre Keturah. I accuse this woman of theft, of lies, of harlotry. Of breaking her word and of ignoring her promise. I say she is a disgrace to the Family. A vileness which should be erased. I challenge her!"

  Chapter Ten

  The room was flanked with alcoves each containing a sculptured form; the cold eyes of depicted men and women staring blindly at the group around the table. In its center rested a lamp of glowing crystal, streamers of red and yellow, blue and emerald, azure and dusky violet painting shifting hues on the stone, the faces and clothes of those gathered.

  "Galbrene," said Dephine bitterly. "The fool. Who would have thought he'd nursed a grudge for so long?"

  "His pride-"

  "To hell with his pride!" She glared at Hendaza, cutting him short, careless of any affront. "Why wasn't he stopped? I had your word there would be no trouble and now this. A public challenge and one that can't be settled privately. Or can it? Lekhard?"

  "Even if he would agree it would be difficult," he said, flatly. "And it is unthinkable that he will agree. A public challenge must be met and be seen to be met. If not his own honor will carry the taint and suspicion of cowardice."

  "Kanjuk?"

  "My dear, what can we do?" The man spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Galbrene will not be denied. And it isn't a matter of a personal insult which could be settled with due regard to form yet without real danger to life. He has claimed you insulted the House and, I must tell you, there are many who agree with him. An unfortunate occurrence, but one which cannot be either ignored or dismissed."

  Dumarest said, "Why not?"

  It was the first time he had spoken since the dinner had ended and those present had gathered in the room. Beyond the doors men and women milled in anticipation, the air filled with the hum of speculation. A hum which held a feral sound, a savagery he had heard before.

  One underlying the rasp of naked steel, the harsh panting, the thud of feet in the ring where men faced each other with bared knives and fought to the death. Blood and pain to titillate a watching crowd. Wounds and death to provide a spectacle for the jaded and bored. Dumarest remembered the burn of edged steel, the warmth of spilled blood, the shock of pain, the stench of fear. Remembered too the sudden expression in the eyes of an opponent as his own blade had driven home. The stunned, incredible realization that, for him, life had ended.

  "What?" Lekhard turned with a lithe, animal-like movement, a wash of blood-red light painting his features, a mask from which his eyes glittered like jewels. "What are you saying?"

  "I asked a question," said Dumarest evenly. "In my experience most things can be settled in more than one way."

  "You don't understand," said Kanjuk. "On Emijar there is only one way to settle such an insult and all know it. The challenge must be met."

  "Without armor," added Lekhard. His tongue caressed his lower lip. "Surely you have knowledge of our customs?"

  A society which lived on the edge of violence-the guns carried were not toys. Yet to avoid the escalation of feuds certain rules had been evolved. Duels were fought with the contestants wearing armor which limited the vulnerable area. Limbs could be broken and painful wounds received, but the possibi
lity of actual death was slight. The victor gained a badge from the vanquished, a token scalp, and the more obtained the greater the admiration.

  But a public challenge such as had been made to Dephine would be to the death.

  She said, forceably, "It must be stopped. Earl, you cannot fight the man."

  "He must!" Hendaza looked from one to the other. His eyes were determined. "As your champion, Dephine, he can't refuse."

  "He can and must!"

  "No!" Lekhard was as determined as the other. "For one thing to refuse would be to gain the derision of the House. That you could, perhaps, bear. But there would be more. The gauntlet, for one. And for your champion-" he made the word a sneer. "-well, we do not treat cowards lightly on Einijar. Such men are taken and left unarmed in the haunts of the olcept. None have ever returned."

  Dumarest said, "Dephine, just what does Galbrene have against you?"

  In the following silence he looked from one to the other, seeing each trying to avoid his eyes, each masking his face in his own way; Lekhard with a sneer, Kanjuk with a bland expression, Hendaza with a frown. Only the woman was outright.

  "Once, Earl, years ago now, I promised to marry him."

  "And now he wants to kill you?"

  "Yes."

  "An odd way of showing his love."

  "Love has nothing to do with it, Earl. Even the word itself doesn't mean to him what it does to you. It is a matter of pride. He chose me and I rejected him. I broke my given word. I made him a mockery in the eyes of his companions. If he could that man would tear me apart with his bare hands." Pausing she added, "I'm sorry Earl. I didn't know this would happen. If-" She broke off as Alorcene entered the room.

  He crossed to the table, sat, his face expressionless. His hands, in the colored streams of light, looked like scraps of paper or thinly scraped bone as they rested before him. Hands which matched the thin dryness of his voice, quiet now in startling contrast to what it had been in the hall.

  "I have questioned Galbrene de Allivarre Keturah and his claim is just. He has the right to challenge. You, Dephine de Monterale Keturah, have only the right to defend either in person or by use of a champion."

  Dumarest said, "Her life at stake for a broken promise?"

  "It is our way," said the old man quietly. "But it is not her life at stake but her reputation. Should you fall she will be ostracized, scorned, disavowed. She will be expelled from the House, the Family, from this world. But you, Earl Dumarest-you will be dead."

  * * * * *

  Through the uncurtained window he could see the stars, a glitter of distant suns each with its own worlds, their pattern broken by the sprawling blotch of an interstellar dust cloud, its edges haloed with a faint luminescence. From the balcony could be seen the night-shrouded land, the distant hills a wavering, ghostly line in the cold glow of the heavens. Beneath the parapet lay sheer stone, more in an unbroken expanse for twenty feet above, the wall ending in the overhang of a peaked roof. Things he had spotted in the fading daylight, barriers now augmented by the sealed portal, the watchful guards on walls and roofs.

  A precaution against external enemies but one which kept men in as well as out.

  Lying supine on the wide bed Dumarest stretched, easing muscle and sinew, his thoughts busy with odd scraps of assembled information.

  The Shrine-would the items it contained hold any information as to the whereabouts of Earth? If the First Families had landed here long enough ago it was barely possible that an old navigational table would give the coordinates he had searched for for so long. Would Navalok permit him to search? A good start had been made to win his friendship, but more could be needed. The boy was a dreamer, one cursed by having been born to the wrong society at the wrong time. Earlier he would have been quietly disposed of so as not to contaminate the gene pool with his undesirable characteristics. Later he could make a place for himself as a thinker, a poet or an artist, a planner or a teacher. Now he was caught between two fires, tearing himself apart with the desire to prove himself according to the customs of his Family yet lacking the physical attributes which would make it possible.

  But he would try and, trying, he would die.

  Dumarest turned, thinking of his own problems.

  An hour after the great bell sounded at dawn he would have to fight and, from what he had seen of Galbrene, the man was no stranger to combat. The badges he wore proved that, each a trophy of victory as the gun he carried showed his courage against the olcept. And, as Lekhard had pointed out, the man had not been satisfied with a minor kill. He had gone after bigger game and Dumarest knew what it took to face a ravening beast with nothing but a scrap of edged and pointed steel.

  He heard the knock and had risen and was at the door before it could come again. The passage outside was lit with a smokey yellow light which gleamed from the gems set in the mane of auburn hair.

  "Earl?" Dephine glanced at the naked blade in his hand. "Did you expect an assassin?"

  "Get inside." He closed the door after her, thrusting home the thick, wooden latch. "What do you want?"

  "To talk. I couldn't sleep and I missed you." Her eyes met his as she tilted back her head. "A light?"

  The curtains rasped from their rings as he drew the thick material across the panes. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, but it was late and curiosity could be aroused. For a second he fumbled in the gloom then, as light blazed from the lamp, Dephine came towards him, arms extended.

  "Earl!"

  He ignored the invitation.

  "Galbrene was a surprise," he said, dryly. "One I could have done without. Could there be others?"

  "I didn't know, Earl," she said, quickly. "I told you that. It shouldn't have happened and, on any other world, it wouldn't have mattered. He could have been taken care of without all this ridiculous formality."

  "On any other world it wouldn't have been necessary." Dumarest watched as she poured wine. "Theft, lies and harlotry," he murmured. "How long ago was it, Dephine? Eight years? Ten? Twelve?"

  "Why?"

  "Galbrene has either a long memory or you made a hell of an impression."

  "Both." She met his eyes without smiling and deliberately drank some wine. "Do you want me to pretend that I'm a pure little innocent who didn't know what she was doing? All right, so I'm guilty of everything he accuses me of, but so what? Are you any better? A killer? A man who lives by violence? Have you any right to judge?"

  "Have I judged?"

  "No," she admitted. "You haven't. Not from the very first. You took me for what I was, but treated me as if I were all the things a man hopes to find in a woman. Not as a cheap whore or a thief or a liar or someone who should have known better. Not like these fools who look at me and then at you and decide it would pay them to keep a shut mouth. You, Earl-you're a man!"

  "Tell me about Galbrene."

  "What is there to tell? He wanted me and, yes, we were betrothed. It was an arrangement and one of the reasons I wanted to get away. And I stole also, that I admit, but I needed money for passage and other things. And I didn't know that I'd ever want to come back. I didn't know that until after I'd met you and then, in the ship, with death all around and you lying so ill, dying I thought-Earl, if I'd known how to pray I'd have done it then! Prayed for you to live and to love me as I love you. To want to be with me so that we could find happiness together. To build a home, Earl. A home!"

  The dream of every wanderer of space; to find a woman who would look at him with love in her eyes, to have a place to call his own, to rear children, to put an end to loneliness.

  Yet his home was not here. It had to be on Earth-if he could find it.

  He watched as she turned away from him and drank the rest of her wine. His own he left untouched and she looked at it then to where he stood. "Earl?"

  "I asked about Galbrene."

  "To hell with him! I've told you-"

  "Nothing of importance," he said coldly. "I want to know how he thinks, how he feels, the way he gets himse
lf ready for action. Has he a weakness which could be exploited? What is his strength?"

  "I don't know, Earl," she admitted. "It's been too long and, anyway, his tactics might have changed. He's older now. Anyway, what does it matter? You can beat him. You can take him in any way you want. Just keep him moving and-"

  "He'll fall in my lap?" Dumarest shook his head. "If you think that then you're a fool. No fight is ever certain. Always there is the unknown factor. No man is invincible no matter what he thinks. Or," he added grimly, "what others might like to think. He could win, Dephine, remember that."

  For a moment she stared at him, wide-eyed, then turned to pour wine, the neck of the decanter rattling against the rim of her glass.

  "Earl, you mustn't die! You musn't."

  He smiled at her intensity.

  "I mean it, damn you!" She threw the glass of wine to one side, coming to stand before him, hands resting on his shoulders. "No matter how you do it, Earl, you must live. Life has so much to offer when this is over. I'll be fully accepted and we could many and settle on land to the south or close to the field if you'd prefer it. Well have money enough to live comfortably. Enough to support children, Earl. Children!"

  Her voice, her body, held temptation. There was strength in her and fire and a beauty which belonged more to the wild than to the conglomerations of civilization. A temptation which she enhanced as her arms lifted to wreath his neck, the full warmth of her body pressing against him with familiar urgency.

  "Earl!" she whispered. "Earl, my love! My love!"

  A fighter who dallied with women before a bout was a fool. Gently Dumarest pushed her away.

  "Goodnight, Dephine."

  "Earl? You-"

  "Goodnight."

  * * * * *

  Dawn broke with a flood of color, streamers of red and orange, russet and gold, amber and strands of purple which hung like gaudy banners in the sky. Banners matched by the pennants surrounding the combat-area, the bright badges worn by the spectators on tunics and sashes.