The Patrimony

15

Drawn by the screams, Djoy Skriffen, trailed by Iktis, had come out of her front door and descended the steps to street level just in time to watch Stoo Shif trot out of the alley with the kicking, struggling Neeka hugged tight to his chest.

Grinning like an opossum, he spoke when still several paces distant. “Lady Djoy, she ain’t changed one damn bit, I tell you. I searched her and me and Alik watched her ever step of the way, and somehow or ‘t’other she still had her a knife or got one. Give it to that humpbackted asshole three, four times, right under the loose ribs in the bastid’s back.”

“He the one what’s a-screamin’?” demanded the madam.

Almost choking on his laughter, the bravo just nodded, then gasped, “And the bugtit’ll be howling like a fucking wolf till he finely does die. It’s damn near as long and hard a death as a frigging stab below the belt. Atop of that, I think she kilt ole Alik, too. I warned him to stay clear of her, I did.”

“What happened to him?” Djoy Skriffen asked, conversationally. “Did Neeka attack him?”

The bravo shook his head. “Naw, Lady Djoy, we ‘uz two, three steps back of her and the gimpy humpback, and like I say she’d put paid to him ‘fore we hardly knowed whatall’d happund. Well, ole Alik just run up and grabbed her knife arm and then I cain’t really say just whatall she did, it all was so fast. Next thing I knowed, Alik was flying down the fucking alley and a-yowling and all and then he hit so hard I ache to think about it, I do. I think his neck is broke, Lady Djoy, mebbe his frigging back, too. But I warned him she ‘uz a killer.”

Djoy Skriffen smiled. “Don’t fret about it, Stoo. You know and I know that Alik must’ve been out for a piss when they passed out brains. I told you all Neeka was valuable to this business, well worth the price that ugly little cripple demanded. For all Iktis and Neel thought it was a mistake to bring her back here, I knowed I was right. Soon’s she cools down a mite, she’ll likely see things that way, too.”

Iktis had spoken not a word, aloud, nor had Neeka. Their communications had been silent. To her appeal for help, he had answered, “Even with poor Pehtros dead and Judge Gahbros still away, you’ll be free soon enough. There are more ways in and out of this house than Lady Sow ever imagined. Now stop struggling. Stoo Shif’s sex drives are warped, perverted—a resisting woman arouses his lusts.”

But it was too late. Iktis could see that it was even if Neeka could not. A pulse had commenced to throb visibly in Stoo’s temple, his eyelids were twitching and he repeatedly extended his tongue to wet his lips. Iktis knew the signs, and knew all too well what they portended.

When Stoo again spoke, his voice was thick with desire. “Lady Djoy … ? Please, ma’am, give her to me, to us, for a little while. Me and Iktis and Neel will cool her down quick enough, and I promise you we won’t mark her up none, or not bad, enyhow.”

“Well …” Djoy scratched her head “Well, Stoo, maybe a little gentling will put her in a better mood to talk to me. Maybe she’ll see, then, jest how much I’m offering her.”

Unnoticed by either Djoy or the preoccupied Stoo, Iktis sauntered a few steps forward. He mindspoke to Neeka. “Child, the bitch has just consigned you to several hours of torture and rape and humiliation. I’ll not allow it to happen, but you must do just what I say. When you see my left hand come to rest on the hilt of my hanger, duck your head as far down and forward as you can. I’m going to slit Stoo’s throat. The moment his arms relax, throw yourself to the ground; the old bitch has a throwing knife up each sleeve, and she’s deadly with them at short range, so this will be a chancy thing.”

Horrified by the pulse of the hard maleness she could feel against her leg through Stoo’s clothing and her own, Neeka, beamed her assent. Even so, she instinctively flinched when Iktis, leering, reached out to fondle her breasts. Chuckling evilly, Iktis stepped back and, with a natural, casual appearance, his left hand came to rest on the hilt of the weapon slung from the left side of his body.

Neeka ducked her head, felt her hair ruffled by the wind of the blade’s passage, then her head and neck and shoulders were suddenly drenched in a shower of hot liquid. Behind her, her captor was making horrible gurgling noises. Then he loosed his hold upon her and she threw herself forward and down onto the pavement. Lady Djoy shouted something, but her shout was cut off in the middle of a word by a meaty thunnk and her next sound was a gurgling gasp.

Up at the head of the alley, there were yells and the thump-thump-clankety-rattle of men, armored men, running. Pawl Froh’s ceaseless screams of agony finally had brought a patrol of guardsmen. Similar sounds caromed off the windowless walls of the street, as well, indicating that a patrol was proceeding from a second direction.

Iktis grasped Neeka’s arm and pulled her to her feet. She gasped and almost retched at what she saw. Stoo Shif had sunk to his knees, his arms hung limply by his sides; bright blood and bubbly pink froth gushed regularly from the deep wound just beneath his stubbled chin. His eyes followed Iktis with a pleading, questioning look and his lips shaped words, but his severed windpipe could provide no air to give those words life.

Djoy Skriffen sat on the pavement, leaning against the house wall, the thick plaster of cosmetics and the thin trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth standing out in garish contrast to the grayish pallor of her skin. The skirt of her red silk gown had ridden up to bare her fat, splayed legs almost to the crotch. Her big, square, beringed hands lay palm up beside her massive hips; near the right one lay a flat, hiltless iron knife, its point smeared thickly with a viscous venom. Her little piggy eyes, though glazing, were fixed upon the hat of the hanger standing up from a thick roll of fat, just below her well-padded ribs and centered between the mountainous breasts.

Iktis pulled Neeka by main force along with him. “Snap out of it, girl! It will be far better for us both not to be on the street when those armored barbarians get here. True, we could flee toward the docks, but we’d be seen by these, certainly, and possibly run into another patrol down there, as well. But just let me get into the cellars and they’ll never find us.”

Leaving Neeka on the stairs for a moment, he turned back to Djoy. Planting a foot to steady her, he drew the hanger out, draw-cutting downward, his face twisted with the disgust and rage which had so long seethed within him.

Inside the foyer, Iktis slammed the heavy, iron-banded oak door and dropped the three hinged bars in place, after shooting home the thick iron bolts. “Lucky for us,” he mindspoke, “that these ancient buildings are constructed like little fortresses. It’ll take those guards a considerable time to knock down this door, and there’re no windows on the front or the sides, so neither Neel nor Hohp Leebos will have any idea what happened out there. Come on, the quicker we get downstairs, the better.”

But it was not to be so easily accomplished. Neeka had but barely gotten out of sight under the front stairs when Hohp appeared at the head of them, her hair disheveled and her eyes heavy and swollen with sleep. But those eyes popped open wide when she saw Iktis, who had caught the fringes of the initial spray of Stoo’s blood, had had more rub off on him as he manhandled Neeka into the house and was gripping the gory hanger just pulled out of his former employer.

“Neel!” The tall redhead screamed in alarm. Then, “What happened, Iktis? Whatall’s going on out there?”

“Go to the head of the cellar stairs, child,” Iktis quickly mindspoke. “Shut the door behind you and stay there until I join you.”

Neel had come up behind Hohp, stark naked, but with a lead-filled leather cosh in one hand and a wide-bladed dirk in the other. “What’n shit’s goin’ awn, Iktis? Soun’s like they skinnin’ some bastid out there.” He referred to Pawl Froh’s screams, hoarser now, but still audible even through the stone walls and thick door.

“Guardthmen and tholdierth!” lisped Iktis, excitedly. “They theemed to think we all had thomething to do with the murder of Komeeth Pehtroth. They’ve already cut down Thtoo and Alik and that hunchback. Before Lady Djoy fell, the thaid to bar the front door and get everybody out through the thtable tunnel. If the can talk or buy her way out of it, the’ll join uth at her warehouth. Hohp, you get the girlth up and drethed and out Neel, you get the thtrongbokth out of Lady Djoy’th bedroom. I’m going down and thlit that new-bought girl’th gullet, then I’ll meet you there.”

There might have been questions, save that fists and sword pommels bad already begun to hammer at the barred and bolted door, and, rising above the tumult, an authoritative voice could be heard shouting for a timber suitable for use as a battering ram. Hohp whirled about and began to open doors and scream orders to the sleepy whores.

After hurriedly wiping his blood-dripping blade on the rich samite draping the entrance to the front parlor, Iktis sheathed it and raced down the hall to the cellar door. He and Neeka descended the broad steps, their way lit by another of those large, chain-hung brass lamps that Neeka remembered had lit the cellar room to which she had been confined during her brief stay here, years back. All the rank of doors facing them at the foot of the steps were identical—thick, iron-studded and ironbound, and each wide enough to allow, when opened, the passage of a rolling wine tun or a barrel of pickled turnips or cabbage.

Without hesitation, Iktis strode to the third door from the right and inserted an iron key into the big padlock, then waved Neeka through the opened door. Immediately, Neeka became aware that they were not alone down here, for she could hear the whimpering sobs of a woman somewhere ahead. The passage, for all its darkness, seemed vaguely familiar, and, when they emerged into the stone-paved room full of huge, age-darkened wine casks, kegs and shelves of jugs and bottles, she knew where she was. Iktis had lingered to secure the door behind them; now he strode past her to the high, open-topped cell built into the corner, jerked back the bar and flung wide the door.

At the first sound of the bolt, the occupant of the cell began to scream. Iktis stood for a moment, then turned and beckoned to Neeka. “I’d thought to take her out of here with us, but she’s hysterical, and with cause. Stoo and Neel and Alik were at her early this morning so I haven’t the heart to hit her.” He mindspoke. “She’s an Ahrmehnee girl, but she speaks both Ehleeneekos and Mehrikan, as well. See if you can calm her down while I open the passage.”

The naked girl who had flattened herself against the stone wall in the farthest corner of the cell was as tall as Neeka, though she seemed barely pubescent. Both her long-lashed eyes were blackened and her face was swollen and discolored, while her olive-skinned body was one mass of welts, bruises, abrasions and scratches from neck to knees. Neeka felt ill; this poor child could have been her, but for brave Iktis.

She tried in vain to establish mindspeak communication with the girl. If the Ahrmehnee was a mindspeaker, she was too upset to use the talent; nonetheless, Neeka continued to beam a meaningless but soothing reassurance which did have its effect. By the time Iktis beamed that the passage was clear, the girl, trembling like a foundering horse, sat beside Neeka on the narrow bed, enfolded in her arms and sobbing on her breast.

There was nothing whatsoever in the cell, save its furnishings and a pair of felt boots, so Neeka wrapped her own blood-sticky cloak around the girl’s abused body, gently laid her back on the bed, then tried the boots on her. They fitted perfectly. Supporting the stumbling girl, she led her out of the cell to where Iktis had removed the center of what had looked to be a solid brick hearth to disclose a trapdoor of rust-pitted iron.

The Ahrmehnee had come that far quietly enough, but when her eyes lit upon Iktis, she began to whimper again and weakly resist Neeka’s efforts to lead her forward. The closer Neeka’s efforts brought her to the impatiently waiting bravo, the louder became her wordless cries and the more violent her struggles. Finally, Iktis shook his head.

Silently, he beamed, “There’s no hope for it, child. Turn her around, I don’t want to hit her face.”

Neeka obeyed him, watching over her shoulder, but saw only a blur of movement of his hand and arm. She felt the shock of the blow through the girl’s body, heard Iktis’ low grunt, then was forced to release her hold lest the cloaked body pull her down too.

The pock-faced little man shook his head once more. “I’d like to leave her here, but those damned lustful guardsmen would likely take her for a whore and gang-rape her. Besides, she’s seen that trapdoor, and the fewer folk know of these ways, the better.”

Above their heads, the hanging lamps swayed and the flames danced to the regular, heavy thumps of a timber being hard-swung against the street door of the bordello. There were no other sounds; apparently the occupants had all made good their escape.

Each carrying a smoky torch, Iktis burdened as well with the unconscious girl, he and Neeka shivered in the chill of the dank, slippery passage. “Aye, it’s cold and damp enough at any season. Still I’d rather be here in fall or winter, for there’re no snakes now.”

“What is this tunnel?” queried Neeka silently to save breath. “A smugglers’ way?”

“Yes, smugglers and such often make use of some of them, child,” he answered, “but they didn’t build them. Parts of these ways, the round, dirt-floored parts, are so ancient that no one knows just who did build them. They were here when the first Ehleenee came and raised the city that stood before Esmithpolisport and were discovered by the men excavating foundations for the city walls and for houses. In those days, many tons of iron, brass, copper and lead were brought up from them, but there’s little of it left now. Only a few of those curious round iron trapdoors remain unscavenged.”

They splashed through puddles, waded through sucking mud, traversed firm, water-soaked sand and slipped on stones slick with the ooze of centuries. When Neeka remarked upon the dearth of rats or mice in such a natural habitat, Iktis mindspoke, “When my grandfather was a lad, these ways swarmed with vermin, but then the fen cats were brought up from the swamps around the Great Inland Sea far southwest of here in the Associated Duchies; these days, it’s hard to find a rat in Esmithpolisport, under or over the ground, save for the trickle that come off ships.”

They had walked for miles, it seemed to Neeka, though with the numerous turns it would have been difficult for her to estimate just how much real distance they had put between them and their point of entry into the maze. Both torches were now guttering, and, at a word from Iktis, Neeka used hers to light another pair from the half-dozen spares he had had her bring along.

“Iktis,” asked Neeka, “for all her size, that girl is barely out of childhood, so why were Stoo and those others allowed to so abuse her? Wasn’t ravishment enough?”

“She’s not been ravished, Neeka—tortured, degraded, humiliated, terrified, yes, but not ravished. The old bitch paid a whopping price for her because she is a virgin, and avaricious as Djoy Skriffen was, you may be damned certain that she’d not have allowed the girl to be deflowered by a mere bodyguard. She was bought for an aging degenerate whose lusts can only be stirred by immature females. But neither he nor Djoy had figured on the strength of the girl, who not only successfully resisted his attempted rape of her but kneed him in the balls to boot. She was back down in that cell to be played with until her spirit was broken.”

Twice they had to backtrack from runnels blocked by cave-ins. At the second such, Iktis cursed sulfurously, damning all smugglers, the late madam, the Heritage and persons of whom Neeka had never heard for failing to keep the tunnels in repair or at least apprising him of the locations and extents of disrepair. Then he sighed. “I’d hoped to lead you into the secret sub-cellar wherein the Heritage meets, but these were the last two tunnels to it; the others are long years flooded.”

“The ancient, round tunnel we crossed back there passed beneath the palace of the city governor, but with poor Pehtros dead, that’s not the place I’d wish to come up, thank you. All the ways that lead to the fortress have been deliberately flooded or otherwise blocked over the years. Since I slew both Djoy Skriffen and Stoo Shif—that screaming hunchback saw it all and you can bet he told of it to the guards—the patrols are certainly out for me, and you too, likely. Djoy was no great loss to Esmithpolisport, mind you, but she was the uncrowned queen of the city’s criminal element, and, if we are unlucky enough to be arrested, you may be sure that we’ll never live long enough to come to trial.”

“Then what can we do, Iktis? Where can we go?” asked Neeka.

“If only Lord Gahbros were in the city …” mused Iktis. “There is a way that comes under his mansion, but his wife, worse luck, is a barbarian, a Daiviz of Morguhn; she’s not a member of ee Klirohnohmeea, and there’s no telling which way she’d jump if a couple of fugitive murderers and a kidnapped girl suddenly came trooping out of her cellars.”

“There is one more possible hidey-hole, of which I can think,” the sharp-faced man went on. “I know that you and this girl would be safe there, but I … well, the Lady Rohza dislikes men in general almost as much as she hates the barbarians. It’s a long way, too, outside the city, which will mean taking to the lowest ways, under the walls … and praying that there’s been no collapse of them in the years since I’ve been that way.”

He resumed his burden of the limp girl, crossing himself awkwardly. “Pray, too, that this poor child remains in swoon a bit longer, for we must retrace our way directly under the bordello, and they are certain to have left guards there.”

If prayers are truly effective, theirs were answered, for it was not until they were well upon the downward-slanting way that led under the inland walls that the Ahrmehnee began to moan and weakly squirm on Iktis’ shoulder. Iktis stopped and set the girl upright against the stone wall of the tunnel and Neeka tore the hem from one of her undershifts, wet it in a nearby puddle and gently bathed the child’s battered face, both she and Iktis beaming silent soothing assurance, just as they would have to a hurt, frightened animal.

This time, the sight of Iktis brought no screams from the Ahrmehnee, though still she trembled and eyed him warily. She said something that Neeka could not understand, then began to speak in Mehrikan.

“Where have you taken me now? What are you going to do to me?” In the light of the torches, tears glittered on her long, sooty lashes and down her bruised cheeks.

“We have taken you away from that place, child,” said Neeka. “We will try to find a way to return you to your home.”

“She … that huge, terrible old woman said that … that the only way I ever would leave that … that house of horror was … was dead,” gulped the girl.

“Djoy Skriffen is, herself, now dead,” said Neeka. “This brave man, Iktis, killed her. I saw him do it, child. He also killed one of those men who abused you … and I killed another.” Neeka had felt remorse at the death of Loo Fahlkop and was a little shocked to discover that she could feel no such emotion upon the reflection that she had slain two men this day. Her uncle, who had been a warrior and duelist of note in his youth, had often said that the first kill was the most difficult, both at the time of killing and immediately after, but that all subsequent kills were increasingly easy. Neeka thought that now she could understand.

After a few more minutes, the Ahrmehnee girl, Shireen Mahsohnyuhn, was able to walk with minimal assistance from Neeka, so the three proceeded faster than before. The way went downward, downward, ever downward, then began to slant into a very gradual ascent. They were lighting the last brace of torches when Iktis announced that they were nearing their goal.

“The city of which these ancient, subterranean ways were a part must have been a monster among cities—larger than Kehnooryos Atheenahs, Harzburk and Pitzburk combined—for the ways extend more than a mile inland and, it is said, once ran almost as far seaward. We now are over a half-mile outside the walls and might be safe aboveground, but they might also have mounted patrols out—I would, were I Pahvlos—so I think we’ll go on underground.”

In places they were compelled to bend low, almost to crawl, due to the accumulations of tree roots growing down through the rough, porous stone of the tunnel’s arched ceiling. But at last they came upon an ancient, badly rusted ladder leading up to another of those curious round iron hatches. Handing his torch to Shireen, Iktis climbed up and attempted to dislodge the cover. The two young women could hear his gasps and grunts of exertion, the cracking of his straining sinews, and finally the iron disc shifted with a grating sound that echoed down the long, dark runnel.

They emerged into a stock cellar even larger than Djoy Skriffen’s. Against one wall were ranged massive stationary wine casks larger in diameter than the tunnel below, their staves and bandings darkened with age. Elsewhere were stacked hogsheads and barrels of pickled vegetables and pickled or salted meats, stone crocks of salt or honey, stone jugs of brandy and cordials, kegs of oil and, near the stairs leading to the upper cellar, several ironbound caskets secured with huge padlocks.

It was evident that an earnest attempt had been made to conceal the round iron disc leading to the ways below, and the great difficulty in lifting it was explained by the three inches of packed earth which it had been covered with. Iktis kicked as much dirt as he could back over it, then manhandled a great tun of pickled turnips onto it.

Weaving and bobbing to avoid the apples and pears hung from the ceiling on strings, Iktis, Neeka and Shireen mounted the stairs and entered a lamp-lit upper cellar. With all its compartments included, it was larger than the one below though not so high-ceilinged. On either side of the staircase huge bins of white and sweet potatoes, and elsewhere were bins of turnips, horseradish root, onions, squashes, pumpkins and the like. Garlands of dried fruits and great bunches of garlic hung from the ceiling. Barrels of flour and meal were stacked in the center of the floor.

From behind this stack of barrels came a short, stout man, tally slate and chalk in hand. At sight of the three interlopers—all three filthy with soil and soot, their clothing damp and disheveled, the two women carrying guttering torches and the man grasping a bared hanger, its pierced brass guard crusted over with dried blood—he squeaked, dropped his slate and sprang for the stairs to the ground level—but Iktis made it there before him.

Leaning his head to one side and regarding the pudgy man closely for a brief moment, Iktis sketched a sign in the air between them with his empty right hand. Neeka recognized the sign, and so too did the strange man. His relaxation was visible and a tentative smile creased his round face as he answered the sign with another. Stepping closer, he and Iktis exchanged a complicated hand grip, then he turned and walked back to pick up his slate and chalk while Iktis sheathed his hanger.

When Lady Rohza Ahnthroheheethees had heard out the stories of all three of her surprise “guests,” she frowned and rapped her short, square-cut nails on the table for a moment before she spoke. “Well, the hue and cry is up for you and Neeka, friend Iktis. Both the hunchbacked barbarian and the old whore keeper were still alive when the city guard reached them, and they named you two as their murderers and the killers of the other two men.”

“The killing of that hunchback is of little real importance since he was being sought anyway for suspected complicity in the assassination of Pehtros. But the deaths of the Skriffen bitch and her two pimps is another kettle of fish. She had recently bribed full citizenship for herself and them out of a crooked city clerk and an even crookeder undermagistrate, none of which would ever have happened had Gahbros not been off at the bidding of that asshole of a barbarian, Hari of Danyuhlz. So now you are wanted for the slaying of two citizens and Neeka for slaying one, which means that, if caught, you’ll be tried by the thoheeks himself, unless Gahbros comes back sooner than anyone expects. And considering the fact that our barbarian lord was a silent partner in the operation of that brothel, I’d not wager a pinch of turkey dung on your chances of staying alive.”

The pock-faced man shrugged. “Well, it is perhaps time that I moved on anyway, Rohza. Perhaps I’ll drift up to Goohm and try a hitch in the Ehleen dragoons.”

Lady Rohza pulled at her full lower lip for a moment, then nodded briskly. “Stay here for a few days. I’ll secure clothing and boots in your size and see about providing you with a trained warhorse. You’ll have enough gold to see you to Goohm and enough left over to outfit you as befits your inherent station—good-grade armor, hallmarked sword and so forth. I’m sure that ee Klirohnohmeea will reimburse me.”

Iktis nodded. “And if the Heritage doesn’t, you know I will. But what of Neeka and Shireen?”

The big noblewoman scratched her mannishly coiffured head. “The Ahrmehnee girl is no problem at all. Apparently no one living is aware she was even in the city. She can stay here until I have word of a westbound Ahrmehnee party—these Ahrmehnee are all thick as thieves and even if they are not of her tribe they’ll surely see her safely home.”

“But as regards Neeka, it is not certain that even Gahbros could offer her protection from the thoheeks, so I’ll write a letter to an old friend who is now an intimate of Prince Zenos. Sweet little Neeka will be safe with me until my letter is answered.”

Iktis rode out in the mist and drizzle of a cold, gray dawn seven days later, looking not a bit like the foppish bravo who had for so long befriended Neeka. The garishly billed hanger—chosen weapon of bravos and city ruffians—was gone from his side to be replaced by a heavy saber, old but well-kept. His trousers and overshirt were of plain, practical linen canvas, his thigh-high boots and leather cloak were oiled and wax-impregnated to shed water. The hanger, the stones prized out and the gilt silver wire of the hilt replaced with brass, hung sheathed on one side of his pommel, balanced on the other side by a light axe. Saddlebags and a bedroll encased in oilskin were lashed behind the high-cantled warkak, along with water bottle, food wallet and a plain, open-faced helm. On the road, mounted on his war-trained piebald mare, he would look like simply another independent Freefighter riding from one contract to the next.

Neeka could not repress a shiver of dread and apprehension as she saw the strong and efficient, but quiet and unassuming man put booted foot to stirrup, swing aboard the mettlesome mare and ride out of the courtyard of Lady Rohza’s hall.

However, by the time Shireen Mahsohnyuhn departed through that same gate with a party of westbound Ahrmehnee merchants of the Frainyuhn and Grohseegyuhn tribes, both dread and apprehension had been replaced with dull resignation tempered with self-loathing—even as she feigned passion in Lady Rohza’s bed and embrace, she loathed herself for placing more value upon her life than upon this utter degradation of her body and soul, loathed herself even more than she loathed the ugly, perverted, grunting creature who tried so desperately to deny her own femaleness.

And that was why she leaped so eagerly at the opportunity to go west when it was offered. She had been unaware until she actually reached Vawn Hall that the Lady Mehleena practiced the same hideous perversions as had the Lady Rohza. But over the long years, as Mehleena drifted further and further into religious fanaticism, poured more and more of herself into planning and preparing for a true, armed, violent—and predoomed to failure—rebellion, she had eschewed sex of any variety; moreover, as she became aware of Neeka’s undeniable talents and her ability to kill or cure without a subject’s knowledge, the fat woman began to respect her tame witch to the point of fear.

When Tim finally returned to the thoheeks’ suite, he carried with him a keg of brandy and a bundle of old pole-arms which had hung on the walls of the entry foyer for nearly thirty years. The suite, spacious as it was, looked crowded already, what with a half-dozen middle-aged Freefighters and as many Ahrmehnee grooms under Master Tahmahs; Brother Ahl and Mairee and her father, Sir Geros; a burly man with a thrusting sword and a Confederation-pattern dirk belted about his beginning of a paunch and beside him a younger man of similar build and identical armament. But what riveted Tim’s attention when once he had dumped his burdens and looked about were the physician, Master Fahreed … and the person who stood beside him.