“It’s huge.” Cranmer’s voice was but a whisper.
“The largest I’ve seen,” said the Thane, pride in his voice. He left unspoken the obvious value of the skeleton. Ippicators were an extinct Neweden animal, and the only asymmetrical mammal yet discovered. Why they had developed the uneven arrangement of limbs was a question of great interest to paleontologists, but what mattered to Neweden was that the skeletons were rare and their bones could be polished to a vivid sheen—ippicator jewelry commanded a great price on the trade markets. This particular skeleton was, due to its size and condition, a thing of great potential wealth. The Thane, for his part, was determined that it would lie undisturbed.
Cranmer’s stance and awed demeanor showed the impression the ippicator had made on him. The Thane smiled with pleasure. “I had it dated once: took a chip of bone and sent it to the Alliance labs in the Center. It’s at least thirty thousand standards old. That makes it among the oldest ippicators found. And it’s well-preserved. Those bones would hold a polish unlike any other.”
The Thane settled himself on a rock and cupped his chin on his hands, staring at the skeleton. Cranmer fumbled in his cloak for his recorder, then hesitated. “You mind?” he asked.
The Thane shrugged. “As you like.” He paused. “I like to imagine that beast, the most powerful of its kind—perhaps an object of awe among its fellows—realizing that his time has come and that he’s no longer capable of ruling the ippicator world. So the beast dragged himself in here, through that passage”—the Thane pointed to a darkness on the far side of the room—“and lay down. It was better than simply growing older and weaker until some stronger challenger fought him and won. A good way to end things, still in control.”
“Too melodramatic. More likely it wandered in here and the stupid beast couldn’t find its way back out.” Cranmer pursed his lips. “Not that I could make my way back to the Hoorka caverns alone. So this is your meditation spot, yah?”
“I suppose that’s as good a description as possible.”
“It bothers you that the Hoorka-thane can have doubts, like the rest of common humanity? My friend, you’re one of a small group of violent people on a violent world, interesting only in that you’ve set up an organization with a moralistic rationale that passes for philosophy, and a religious understructure that is, at best, loosely bound. It’s hardly a thing to make the Alliance rise or fall. You worry overmuch.”
“And Sondall-Cadhurst Cranmer speaks strongly for a scholar here by the grace of the one he insults, and he has the arrogance of most Alliance people I’ve met.” The Thane used the impersonal mode of insult, the one most likely to cause offense on Neweden, and the one least likely to affect Cranmer. He smiled, with a tint of self-effacing sadness. “I’m not angry, Cranmer. I understand what you’re saying, but this small world is the one on which I’ve built Hoorka, and Hoorka—what it does and where it goes—is of primary importance to me. Like the rest of the kin, I’ve given it my primary allegiance. This is my family, and I owe it my loyalty. Hoorka owns me, not the Alliance.”
“Are you having doubts as to your ability to deal with the problems of Hoorka?”
“I didn’t say that.” The Thane’s voice was sharp in the quiet of the cavern.
“I apologize, then. I thought you might be hinting . . . ah, never mind.” Cranmer pitched a small stone into the darkness. Together they listened to it rattle and stop. The echoes eddied, growing steadily weaker until they died. There was a long silence, then, as both men stared at the skeleton.
“I don’t know my own mind anymore,” the Thane said, finally. He rubbed a muscular thigh with his hand, then stretched his legs out in front of him. “I’m not growing any younger, certainly, and the Hoorka problems are becoming more complicated as we grow. I hope the code can hold us together, that Dame Fate lets us survive. I know we’ll survive, if Hoorka-kin will let themselves be governed by the code.”
“Then you’re not thinking of finding some back cavern and crawling in to die?” Cranmer made a show of switching off his recorder and putting it back in his pocket. “I’m disappointed.”
The Thane smiled, adding to Cranmer’s laugh. “Disappointed that I don’t react as my ippicator? No, the analogy’s a poor one, anyway. Didn’t you tell me that from all indications, the ippicator was most likely a herbivore? That doesn’t sound like Hoorka-kin.”
Cranmer snorted in derision. “Thane, I’m an archaeo-sociologist, not a digger into dead bones. But yes, I seem to recall that in one of my university classes back on Niffleheim, I was told that the ippicator was a lowly grass-eater. I think so, at least.”
The Thane waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
Velvet silence settled in on them again, pressing down like a tangible substance. The Thane could hear Cranmer breathing and the whisper of cloth against flesh as he moved. When Cranmer spoke, the sound startled him with its loudness.
“Thane, what happened back there with Aldhelm and Sartas? I’ve never seen you succumb to your anger before. The Hoorka must fail to kill their victims at times—it’s part of your code; Dame Fate has to have Her chance. Yes, it was the Li-Gallant’s contract, but surely he’ll understand what happened—and since the contract was unsuccessful, you won’t be revealing who signed the contract. He’s safe from retribution. Why were you so upset?”
“So I have to explain again?” The Thane swept to his feet. The hoverlamps followed him, and light flickered madly about the cavern. The bones of the ippicator danced in the moving light. “It’s Vingi’s contract,” the Thane said, his voice oddly quiet, “not some guild-feud jealousy or a personal feud. The Li-Gallant’s contract. I don’t want his paranoia affecting Hoorka. The Alliance has been watching us closely, even to the extent of giving us a contract in their sector of Sterka Port—and the Alliance is more important than Neweden, if I ever want Hoorka to go offworld. But Neweden—and Vingi—can foul that dream. That’s the importance.”
“Because you’re afraid that this organization you’ve built has a faulty structure and can’t survive a few questionings? Your protestations are surface, Thane. Something else had to drive you to lash out at your own kin when you knew they were blameless.” Cranmer’s voice was soft and he looked not at the Thane, but at the ippicator.
“Damn you, Cranmer!” The Thane’s voice was suddenly hoarse with venom. Cranmer turned at the shout and saw the Thane’s hand on the hilt of his vibro.
And as suddenly as it had flared, the anger drained away and his hand moved to his side, away from his weapon, though his eyes were still held in sharp lines of flesh. He’s right, old man. He’s right, and that’s why you’re angry. Because he’s pricked the core of your uncertainty. Because you always considered your emotions too well-hidden to be fathomed. Fool. “You’ve had time to study Hoorka, scholar.” He stressed the last word slightly too much. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know. But I never get angry at my ignorance.”
“Some things are too large to be angry with.” The Thane watched Cranmer slowly relax as the smaller man realized that the irritation was gone from the Thane’s voice. “I’m surprised you maintain your interest in us.”
“I’ve been interested enough to have taken two extensions of my leave from Niffleheim Center.”
The Thane shrugged. He watched Cranmer draw his cloak tighter around him, noting for the first time the man’s growing discomfort from the cold of the room.
The Thane glanced a last time at the ippicator skeleton, shrugged again, and took a step toward the passage leading back to the Hoorka sector. “I’m tired of talk, and I’ve much to do back in Hoorka-home. If you’ve seen enough of our five-legged friend . . .”
“Thane, I’m willing to listen more, if that’s what you need. The recorder’s off, and I keep secrets.”
“I wouldn’t have shown you the ippicator if I hadn’t been sure of your discretion.” He shook his head and allowed his features to relax, his shoulders to sag. “No, I’ve t
ormented you with enough of my idiocy. But I thank you for the offer.” A pause. “Friend.”
Cranmer got to his feet. The Thane leading, they followed the sounds of their footsteps back to familiar ground.
Chapter 3
VINGI’S KEEP HUDDLED against the Port barrier, as if drawing comfort from its proximity to that demarcation line between Neweden and land that was officially Alliance territory. The keep was a massive building of local white stone. Turrets flowered unexpectedly from one side, while a row of thin caryatids masked the front facing the city. Like most Neweden estates, it had its gardens, though these were larger than most, with plants coaxed into geometric patterns around which the footpaths meandered. A brook threw foam as it made its way around the rocks lining its bed; ground birds preened in their iridescent plumage. As a symbol of Vingi’s wealth and power, it was more than effective: a pretty but useless display. Vingi would starve were he reduced to eating the produce of his gardens. Still, it flaunted his success in the face of the poor world in which it stood.
The Thane, quite irrevocably, hated it.
The Hoorka felt the habitual disgust the keep grounds always engendered in him. Standing before the gates (real metal, not a shield: more ostentation and non-utility) he could see the great contrast between the keep and the rest of Sterka—and Sterka was the richest of Neweden’s cities, thanks to the trade of the Port. The Thane, who had seen most of the other urban centers, knew that the Keep was far and away the most lavish display of wealth on Neweden, shadowing even the famous Temple of Khala built by the Guild of Artisans.
And like any Neweden native, he knew that the wealth of Vingi derived not from Vingi but from his kin-father, a brilliant but cruel ruler who had leeched money from kin and kinless without a thought and built a base of power none had assailed. Vingi—now Li-Gallant, as his kin-father had been before him—had inherited that man’s cruelty but not his intelligence. It wasn’t a pleasant combination.
But, the Thane mused as he showed his pass to the gate ward, Neweden seemed none the worse for it. Guilds still fought with guilds, and kinship of guilds mattered more than biological ancestry, and lassari were still poor and despised. Nothing had changed.
It took much time to breach the layers of officialdom that shielded Vingi from the common public. The Thane was handed from attendant to attendant; from the gate ward to a garden-steward to a bland receptionist who ushered him into a waiting room and left him to stare at undecorated walls for several minutes. Finally, a secretary opened the door and beckoned to the Thane to follow—by the badge on the woman’s uniform, she’d been accepted into Vingi’s ruling guild and was now due the full respect of a person with kin. He bowed to her politely and entered the Li-Gallant’s office. The secretary bowed herself out.
The Li-Gallant was standing at a window, his back to the Thane. He said nothing in the way of salutation, but began speaking as if in the middle of a conversation.
“I failed to see a body at the gates this morning, Thane.” Vingi continued looking at the garden. His ornate robes of office moved with his breathing.
The Thane, knowing it would irritate the Li-Gallant, seated himself in a floater near the desk that dominated the room. The Li-Gallant, hearing no answer to his statement, opaqued the window and turned to see the Thane already seated. He grimaced. Rings flared from his gold-banded and pudgy fingers. “I asked a question, Hoorka. I have kin, and I’ll brook no insult from anyone. Speak, man.”
The Thane didn’t move, nor did his eyes flinch. He spoke with distillate calm. “There was no body to give you, Li-Gallant. Gunnar survived. He lived until our dawn. I can’t put it any more simply for you, nor do I think I owe you any further explanation.” A moment. “With all respect due kin, Li-Gallant.”
Vingi backed away from the assassin, his face screaming undisguised anger, though his body sought to put the comforting bulwark of his desk between himself and the Hoorka. The Thane’s lassitude increased Vingi’s nervousness, made his bladder ache to be emptied.
“You followed my orders?” The Li-Gallant seated himself.
“We followed the code. You’ve read the contract, Li-Gallant. The victim is given his chance. We’re not murderers, not acting for our own kin in bloodfeud. We tilt the scales of life and death, but we don’t presume to be gods, able to take life at whim. That is Her prerogative.” The Thane bowed his head at the mention of She of the Five and watched Vingi expel an irritated breath. Good, he thought, Vingi’s upset, and our failure is justified ethically. Let him try to bring us before the Assembly. For the first time, he had hopes of leaving the keep with Hoorka safe.
“I’ve no interest in the gods of your kin,” the Li-Gallant said, “simply in results.”
“Results are often in a god’s control.”
Vingi scowled. “What weapons did your people use?”
“Daggers from Khaelia. The Alliance brought them to us as payment for a contract a few months ago. Very effective.”
“Obviously.” Vingi waited for a reaction to his sarcasm and received none. He hurried to fill the silence. “Why didn’t you use firearms? Lasers?”
“Li-Gallant, Gunnar had no bodyshield. The odds would have been over-balanced, and Dame Fate would have been angered. It isn’t our intention to tamper with destinies. If a person dies by the Hoorka, then he wasn’t meant for survival. If he lives, he was meant to live. The weak: they fall. The strong—perhaps they live. If that’s cruel, it’s no crueler than Dame Fate Herself.” The Thane folded his hands on the gray-black cloth of his lap as his eyes glittered darkly, daring objection. He sounded bored, as if reciting a lesson to a child.
“I should have sent my own people.” Vingi’s right hand made a bejeweled fist that hovered indecisively over the marbled desk top. The fist was an impotent weapon, speaking of too much disuse to be a symbol of anything but wealth. The Thane’s lips curled in a vestige of a smile that flickered for an instant and was gone.
“You sent your forces,” he said. “They interfered with the two assassins and were in part to blame for Gunnar’s escape. I wouldn’t bring that up before the Assembly, Li-Gallant, but let’s not try to deceive ourselves here. You sent four killers of your own—and without declaring bloodfeud, which the Neweden Assembly might find interesting—and they failed. Accuse Hoorka, Li-Gallant, and Hoorka will speak the truth. Again, with no disrespect.”
Vingi didn’t deny the veracity of the Thane’s words. The raised fist struck the desk with soft anger. Papers scattered there didn’t move.
“Almost,” he said.
“They killed Ricia Cuscratti, Gunnar’s mistress, I believe.” The Hoorka’s voice seemed devoid of any emotion, but behind the words was contempt. “I understand that, as kin-lord of a competing guild, you’ve sent a tithing to defray the expense of the death rites. A gift. I hope it eased your conscience.”
“M’Dame Cuscratti’s death was unfortunate but almost unavoidable. She was harboring Gunnar.” Vingi smiled. “And if those people responsible are ever found, my government will punish them. They’ll pay the fine for accidental death.”
“Ahh.” So he won’t admit it, even privately.
“I fail to see, in any event, what bearing that has on the failure of Hoorka.”
“It caused the two Hoorka trailing Gunnar to lose several hours. Had, ahh, the person who sent the intruders more trust in the Hoorka, you might have had your death.”
“I’m not interested in excuses.”
“We’ve no need for excuses. The Hoorka had to deal with interference. It doesn’t matter who caused it. But I intend to post notice of feud with the Assembly, should we find those responsible. So I wish your investigation success, neh?” The Thane waved a disparaging hand. “The Hoorka can also play the game of pretended ignorance.”
Vingi shrugged. The cloth of his robes glistened with interwoven metallic strands. The Thane allowed himself another brief moment of amusement. Vingi compounded distrust on distrust. That fabric would turn back the st
ing of any hand weapon, and the Thane was certain that when he’d arrived he’d been surreptitiously searched: beamed and probed. He also knew that if he intended to kill the obese man before him, he wouldn’t need any weapon other than his hands. The Li-Gallant didn’t trust him—that was obvious, and it was disturbing. The Hoorka-guild was based on the precept that no Hoorka would kill unless threatened or contracted to do so. Never without warning, unlike the other guilds, who declared bloodfeud at the slightest provocation. Vingi’s uncertainty in the face of that code was a bad omen.
The Thane decided to waste no more time. “You have our payment, I suppose?”
Vingi’s face became a rictus, a snarl. “You demand a large price for small results.”
“You know the code, and you declined to pay in advance.” There was no apology in the Thane’s voice. It lashed at the Li-Gallant with feigned nonchalance. Yet the Thane knew that this was a dangerous moment. He felt uncertainty in his tactics. Do I doubt myself so much? Where is the vaunted confidence?
“I’ve registered a complaint with the Neweden Assembly.” There was a triumphant sneer on Vingi’s face, a vestige of bravado. “The Alliance Regent, m’Dame d’Embry, has expressed her interest in this situation, and I felt it might aid her, as she has said that she would like answers to the questions I’ve raised.”
“You play dangerously, Li-Gallant, if I may speak frankly. I wouldn’t care to have a bloodfeud between your kin and mine, were I you. We are trained for fighting.”
“You’ll be notified when to appear, Thane. You must admit that circumstances—despite any protestations of interference from, ahh, outside sources—are suspicious. If the Hoorka are aligned with Gunnar’s party, they’re a danger to the stability of Neweden government. Surely you see that. No disrespect intended for Hoorka. I merely wish to have an account of that night.”
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