Zenya

He looked again at the skull. It was old, the bone yellowed, fretted, patches of lichen clinging to the underside of the jaw like scales of dried blood.

A warning. It could be nothing else. Stop! Come no farther! Go back-or else!

To Ven Taykor he said, "How much longer before we reach the settlement?"

"A few hours." The guide was uneasy. "That's if they let us get anywhere near it. If they want to stop us, it would be easy. The ground ahead is full of crevasses-a perfect spot for an ambush."

"Can we bypass it?"

"I'm not sure." Taykor scratched at his mask. "One man could do it easy, but not if he's a target. A file of men would be conspicuous every step of the way. If you want my advice, Earl, you'll call it a day. Radio up a raft and get out of here."

"I won't do that."

"No," said Taykor. "I didn't think you would. But if the Ayutha are gunning for us, you'll wish you had." He glanced up at the sky, where tiny motes drifted, almost lost in the distance. Watching rafts containing enough power to wash the area with destruction. "Maybe you should bring them in close-just in case."

"No. Is there any sign of peace the Ayutha recognize? If a stranger comes up to others, what does he do?" He said sharply, as Taykor hesitated, "What did you do when meeting them? Hold out your hands? What?"

"I didn't do anything special. Just walked in slow and quiet and normal. They didn't bother me, and I didn't bother them. They didn't used to be warlike then, remember. Things have changed." Taykor shook his head, baffled. "I just don't know, Earl. From here on, anything can happen."

A quiet, primitive people suddenly turning to violence, old customs revived, perhaps, memories of other days when life had been hard and only the strong could hope to survive. How would such a people react to the presence of armed men? He could guess, but the chance had to be taken.

"Take the lead," he said to the guide. "Walk with your hands empty and in full view. If you see anyone watching, do nothing. Captain!" Dumarest turned to Conn. "Single file, rifles slung, hands exposed. You understand?"

The captain was a tough farmer who had lost his family during the first attack. Scowling, he said, "I don't like it, marshal. You're turning us into sitting targets. If the Ayutha attack, well all be wiped out."

"You heard my orders, captain!"

For a moment the man hesitated, on the brink of disobedience; then he shrugged. "Yes, sir, but God help you if you've made a mistake."

"A threat, captain?" Dumarest didn't pursue the matter. "Never mind. Have the men maintain constant observation. One to look ahead, the two behind him to left and right alternately. Anything seen to be reported immediately. Right, Taykor? On your way!"

The gully narrowed, widened into a shallow valley, the walls lifting, to close again as they climbed upward. The vegetation grew thicker, thorns tearing at clothing, rubble underfoot making progress difficult. Aside from the rasp of boots and the sound of harsh breathing, there was no sound. The column seemed to be moving into an infinity of emptiness, nothing but the hot sun above, the encroaching scrub, the rocks beneath. An hour later they found a second skull, human this time, and the men skirted it, eyes wary, hands gripping their slung rifles. A crest rose, gave way to a narrow declivity, the ground rising beyond to a steeper gradient.

They found a hut, deserted, a small garden unkempt, plants choked with weeds. Another that had been burned, gray ash thick on the stone. Two more, roofs sagging, doors open, to reveal naked interiors. The embers of a fire over which stood a tripod of thin metal struts. Dumarest touched them, felt the dead ashes and found them warm. Word of their coming had preceded them; whoever had lived here had taken their possessions and run.

A man said sharply, "Over there! See?"

His rifle lifted, aiming. Dumarest reached him and slammed down the weapon. "No firing! You heard my order!"

"I was just-"

"You don't need a gun to point What did you see?"

"Something over on that ridge. It's watching us. There!"

Dumarest followed the pointing hand and saw nothing but a tree, stunted, branches like arms, a patch of lighter coloring that, to a nervous man, could have looked like a face.

"There's nothing there. Don't be so quick with that gun the next time. Lieutenant!"

"Sir?"

"Any further reports on movement within this area?"

There were three. Heat-radiating masses, which could have been men, moving invisibly in the vegetation, coming from the north and east.

"We could have rafts track them, sir," suggested the officer. "So that if they start anything they wouldn't have the chance to get away."

"If you were of the Ayutha and saw rafts heading in, what would you think? That we were bait to set a trap, maybe?" Dumarest shrugged. "We're here to contact them, not kill them." To the guide he said, "All right, Ven, lead on."

An hour later they were attacked.

It happened as the guide topped a rise, standing for a moment silhouetted against the sky, passing on into the valley beyond. Captain Conn followed him, his rifle, despite orders, clenched in his hands. Dumarest saw him pause, the gun lifting, aiming, firing as he shouted.

"Captain! No!"

The flat report of the shot rolled from the flanking hills, repeated as the captain fired again. Ven Taykor appeared, running back over the rise, hands lifted, face contorted behind his mask.

"Earl! We're surrounded! That crazy fool-"?

Captain Conn dissolved into a pillar of flame.

It happened almost too fast to see. One moment he was standing firing; the next, something had touched him and turned him into a living torch, Dumarest snatched at his rifle, lifted it, fired, sending a bullet into the shrieking mass. As the captain fell in merciful death, he yelled, "Scatter! Down! Stay under cover! No firing!"

He caught the guide as he passed and threw him down as something cut the air with a vicious hiss. Together they rolled to the side of the boulder, crouching as more arrows splintered against the stone. To one side a man rose, firing, turning, to fall with a shaft of wood penetrating his chest. Shots blasted, hysterical fingers jammed against triggers, firing at the air, the trees, the rocks all around. More flame burst around diem, ugly patches edged with smoke, filling the air with tiny motes of swirling soot.

"Flame bombs," gasped Taykor. "They'll burn us alive!"

Ten yards behind, broken stone formed a rough circle, slabs and fissures giving protection. Dumarest sprang to his feet and raced toward it, shouting orders over the din.

"Retreat! Form defensive positions. Stop firing. Stop firing, damn you!"

A man snarled as he tumbled over the rocks. "You killed the captain. One of your own men. Whose damn side are you on?"

"Would you have left him to roast?" Taykor tried to spit, remembered his mask, tore it free with a savage gesture. "The fool started all this. If he hadn't fired, we could have made contact. They were waiting for us."

"He still killed the captain."

There had been nothing else to do. Conn had been seared, blinded, already dying; it had been an act of mercy to save him further agony. Dumarest glanced around the crude fort. The stone gave protection only while they hugged the rocks; once they left it, they would be exposed to hidden snipers. Behind them, three men lay where they had fallen. As he watched, another gulped, threw up his hands, and fell backward, a hole between his eyes, blood gushing from the back of his shattered skull.

"They've got us," said Taykor grimly. "All they have to do is wait. Once we start to move, well be helpless." He lifted his head, squinting. "They must have been following us all along. They're out there now, hidden, waiting until we show ourselves."

Lieutenant Paran came crawling toward where they crouched. His face was taut, strained, his eyes a little wild.

"The rafts," he said. "Let me call them in."

Dumarest was cold. "To do what?"

"Burn the area. Send those devils running so they can land and take us aloft."

"Abort the mission, you mean? Lieutenant, we came here to do a job. We'll leave when it's done or when I decide that it is impossible to do. Report on the casualties."

The snap of his tone restored military obedience. The officer blinked, then said flatly, "Five dead, sir, including the captain. Four injured, two seriously."

It could have been a lot worse, and Dumarest wondered why it hadn't been. A disciplined force could have almost eliminated them at the first attack, but arrows had been used, not the rifles they must possess, flame bombs instead of the lasers they must have captured.

He said, "Thank you, lieutenant Tell the men to hold their fire. Have some take care of the wounded-all to remain alert and under cover."

"He's young," said Taykor as he inched away. "But he'll learn-maybe."

Dumarest ignored the implication. "Those Ayutha you saw waiting for us. Were they in plain sight?"

"A score of them at least!"

"Armed?"

"I didn't see any weapons, but I didn't have much time to look." Taykor raised his mask and spat. "That damned fool cut loose too soon. I guess he was thinking of his family, but he should have waited. They must have had men watching from under cover."

"Never mind that." Dumarest had no patience for listening to the obvious. "The Ayutha were in plain sight, you say. No weapons visible that you could see. That means they were ready to meet us." He frowned. Conn was dead, the damage done. The problem now was to lessen the danger of the situation.

He raised his head over the edge of the rock and looked around. The trail they had followed was deserted aside from the bodies they had left. The ridge ahead was naked against the sky, but the flame bombs must have been fired from launchers, and they could bathe the ring of stone with fire at any moment He wondered why it hadn't already been done.

"Lieutenant, you have a spare communicator. Let me have it."

As he handed it over, the officer said, "What do you intend to do, sir?"

"The only thing there is to do. The thing we came here for." Dumarest rose, standing clear against the sky. "I'm going to talk to the Ayutha."

Chapter Eleven

It was like walking through a nest of sleeping, venomous serpents, knowing that the slightest touch, the smallest noise, would waken them and cost him his life. Above, the sun beat down with eye-stinging brilliance, the vegetation seeming to rustle from the impact of invisible shapes. Dumarest moved steadily from the circle of stone, the communicator at his belt, both hands raised and empty, in the universal sign of peace.

An arrow splintered on the ground five feet to his left. He ignored it, moving steadily toward the ridge. Another shattered on the rocks to his right, a third stood quivering in the ground directly ahead. A warning not to proceed? A test to see if he would break and run for cover while behind him the men opened fire? Or perhaps it was a simple means to determine his courage; primitive peoples had their own ways of arriving at a decision.

The body of Captain Corm lay a crusted mass of charred flesh. He had thrown away his rifle when the missile hit, and it lay to one side against a bush clear in the sunlight. A tempting object for an unarmed man surrounded by enemies, but Dumarest made no move toward it. To touch it would be to abort his mission, to invite the flame bombs that must be aimed at him to leave their launchers. And there was no one close to give him a merciful death should they strike.

He reached the top of the ridge, halted, hands lifted as he called down to where the Ayutha had been waiting.

"I come in peace. I am Earl Dumarest, marshal of Chard. I come to talk."

Nothing. Not a leaf stirred, no shape appeared, and yet he sensed the presence of watching eyes.

"I come in peace," he said again. "I am alone, unarmed, as you can see. If you wish to kill me, do it now."

On the ridge he had a slender chance of being able to duck, to turn and run back to the circle of stones, the waiting, armed men. A thin chance, but below the crest of the ridge he would have none at all. For a long moment he waited, and then, deliberately, strode on down the slope.

The Ayutha were waiting.

They appeared like silent ghosts, rising from the ground, bushes moving to become men, figures stepping from behind sheltering rocks. Dumarest halted, studying them. They were human, and yet each carried a subtle distortion of a familiar shape. Tall, their shoulders were a little too narrow, the heads elongated, the arms longer than he would have expected, the chests pronounced, as if the lungs within had a greater capacity than his own. The faces, too, carried an alien stamp. The lips were wide, down-curved, the noses beaked, the eyes buried under a ridge of prominent bone. Their hair was long, silver among the black, the tresses braided with colored fibers. They wore pants and an open tunic, sandals, wide belts hung with pouches. All carried weapons-slings, bows, clubs, spears, rifles, and a few lasers. He could see no signs of missile launchers or other more sophisticated devices, and was glad of it. They would be there, but only fools would display their full strength to an enemy they intended to leave alive.

Dumarest said loudly, "I have come to talk and all can hear what I have to say. But is there one among you who can talk for the rest?"

A voice said, "Why did you come among us?"

"I have told you." Dumarest turned, looking at the speaker. He was old, his face seamed with tiny lines, hair bright with silver. An elder, possibly, or a wise man, a councilor perhaps-he knew too little about their social structure. "I came to meet you. To talk."

"Yet, when we waited for you, death came to two of our number."

"Against my order."

"Do your men not obey you?"

"Do yours?" Dumarest looked at the men pressing all around. "If one of your people does what he should not do, what then? Is he made to leave your company? Is punishment taken? Does he face the penalty of your law?" Words, he thought, and perhaps words without meaning to those who listened. They could have a different code, mores other than what he knew, customs that did not recognize the duties more civilized men placed upon themselves. He said, "The man killed against my order. Because of that, I killed him in turn."

A voice in the background said, "That is true. I saw it done."

"The one responsible was dying." Another voice, doubtful.

"Even so, he was slain."

A babble arose, soft voices whispering, as if a wind had passed over the assembly, stilling as the elder raised his hand.

"Why did the man fire? What had we done to harm him?"

"His family died in an outbreak of violence. He blamed you. Among my people the desire for revenge is very strong."

"And would killing us restore his family?"

"No."

"Did he know that?"

"He knew it."

"Then why did he seek to kill?"

"Because he was a man," said Dumarest harshly. "A man suffering pain and hurt from his loss and wanting to give to those he thought responsible the same pain and hurt he had known. You have worked among us, you know how we are. And you too have killed. What drove you to take innocent lives?"

"Innocent?" The elder made a gesture, one hand lifting, fingers extended, thumb pointed downward. "They came against us with fire and steel and killed without warning. And you, you came to talk, you say. Do you need guns to make conversation?"

"For defense… and I have no gun."

Again the babble rose, men speaking, not raising their voices, arriving at a conclusion by a means Dumarest could guess at but not really know. Telepathy, perhaps, vocalized thoughts resolving, meeting, transmitted to their spokesman. As it died the man said, "According to the habits of your people, you display great courage. Why are you here?"

"To end the war."

"That too is our wish. It is not good for our people to bear instruments designed to kill those of our own kind. It hurts them. But it is a thing I cannot alone decide. There are others-you must meet them, talk with them, let them judge you in our manner. You are willing?"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "Let's waste no more time."

* * *

It was dawn when he returned, the stars paling, fading motes in the light of the rising sun. A sentry called out as he approached the circle of stones, his voice high, brittle with tension.

"Halt! Who-"

"Marshal Dumarest."

"Earl?" Ven Taykor rose at the sentry's side, knocking down the aimed rifle. "You're back! I was beginning to get worried. Half the men thought you'd been roasted and eaten, the rest that you'd sold us out. How did it go?"

"Fair enough." Dumarest added, "Ven, have you ever known any of the Ayutha to lie?"

"No."

"Never? Not even in small things?"

"They've never lied to me, and not to anyone else as far as I know. They just don't bother. They simply tell the truth, and to hell with the consequences."

Natural enough if they were telepathic, even if the talent were rudimentary. Lies would be too easily discovered and serve no useful purpose. The very concept of falsehood would be alien to a race that exposed its innermost thoughts.

As Dumarest entered the circle, Lieutenant Paran sprang to his feet. He had been sleeping, his face still drawn with the lines of fatigue.

"Any luck, sir?"

"Some. We can get out of here alive, at least. Send for a raft to pick us up. Just the vehicle and pilot, no troops. How are the injured?"

"Comfortable, but one man is pretty bad. I doubt if he'd make it if we had to carry him." The officer busied himself with his communicator. "Anything else, sir?"

"Get me headquarters."

Captain Louk appeared on the tiny screen. He looked harassed. "Marshal! Thank God you've made contact. We've had a hell of a night."

"Report."

"Two more villages were hit." He gave the map references. "A total wipe-out. The field detachments close by got there while it was happening. They were unaffected, but there was nothing they could do. Colonel Paran's out there now." He added, "It's bad, marshal. Damned bad. Those villages were close, and if the Ayutha is stepping up the attack-"

"Were any signs of the Ayutha found?"

"No, but that doesn't mean anything. If they're using gas, and they must be, we wouldn't-"

"Have men search every inch of the area for at least a mile around each village," interrupted Dumarest sharply. "Concentrate on the ground. If a living enemy attacked, there must be traces."

"Sir?"

"Find trackers, men accustomed to hunting game. Damnit, captain, use your head. I want a full report when I return. In the meantime, no offensive action is to be taken against the Ayutha of any kind. Do you understand me? I have arranged a truce."

The captain hesitated, then said, "There was a Council meeting last night, sir. The decision was to launch punitive expeditions at noon."

"Cancel those instructions."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, captain. Use the men to form a thick line around the base of the hills. If you have body-capacitance detectors, use them; if not, cut a clear path through the lofios. Halt and hold for questioning any Ayutha you may find. You understand? I don't want them shot, simply held. That's an order, captain. The success of the truce depends on your cooperation."

"Yes, sir. The Council?"

"I will report on my return."

As Dumarest broke the connection, the young officer said dubiously, "Will they keep it, sir? The truce, I mean. Those two villages-"

"Were affected last night. The truce runs from this dawn. You'd better notify all units as to the success of this mission."

"Yes, sir, but your plan? It will need a lot of men."

"They can be found." From the streets, the restaurants, those sporting uniforms and those still waiting to join the forces. Arms wouldn't be necessary; all he wanted was for men to watch. A living line of witnesses, so as to prove a point. "Check the men, lieutenant. Have them put by their arms. We won't be attacked, but I want to take no chances."

At his side Ven Taykor said, "I wish I'd gone with you, Earl."

"One was enough."

"I guess so." The guide sucked in his cheeks. "Did you reach one of their councils?"

"I saw a lot of old men. If that is a council, then I saw it. Is their word good?"

"You mean can they speak for the rest?" Taykor nodded. "I would say they could, but how can I be sure now? That attack, that was something I've never seen before, and that flame they used. How did they get weapons like that? They're primitive; to make such things you need a knowledge of chemicals, a factory of sorts." He shook his head, thinking; then, after a moment he said quietly, "What was it like, Earl? Tough?"

Dumarest leaned back against the stone, not answering, remembering the journey he had made, the twists and turns, the cavern into which he had been ushered. There had been fires and torches and things of painstaking fabrication; mats woven from fine materials, seeds linked into patterns, bones carved into delicate shapes, wooden artifacts, and items of fretted stone.

It had been full of the Ayutha, all male; he had not seen a single woman or child.

They had sat around him, asking questions, talking softly among themselves, conferring, remaining silent for long periods of time. And all the time he had concentrated on the single-minded desire that the conflict should end, that there should be peace.

"You were lucky," said Taykor. "No, not lucky, you had guts. Maybe someone else should have tried it. If they had, those villages might be normal now instead of filled with dead. Well, it can't be helped, but the way I see it, things will never be the same again. I used to feel safe in the hills-they were just like home. Now, I guess, if ever I rove them again, I'll keep looking behind me."

"You'll forget," said Dumarest. "This whole thing could be a mistake."

"Maybe." Taykor didn't sound too sure. "If so, it's one hell of a mistake to have made." He squinted up into the sky, grunting with satisfaction. "Here comes the raft."

It was empty, as ordered, the pilot scared. He licked his lips as they loaded the dead, the crusted remains of Captain Conn. As they lifted he said, "I've got a message for you, marshal. A member of your family has arrived on Chard. She's waiting for you at home."

"She?"

"Yes, sir. The Lady Lisa Conenda."

* * *

She was all in black and silver, shimmering mesh hugging the contours of her body, ebony belting her waist, more on the tips of her fingers, the toes of her feet naked in delicate sandals. She came toward him as he closed the door, smiling, teeth gleaming between her parted lips. Cosmetics accentuated the elfin planes of her face, the enigmatic look of her eyes.

"Surprised, Earl?"

"Where is Zenya?"

Shrugging, she said, "Does it matter? Shopping, making love to one of those young men in uniform, telling more than she should to those who would be your enemy-who can tell what the young fool is doing?"

"Try again."

"Sensitive, Earl? I dont know where she is, but we both know what she is like. Did you expect her to remain faithful? If so, you were a fool." Turning, she glanced around the suite. "So comfortable," she murmured. "So snug. Have you enjoyed the honeymoon? She bringing you the arts learned in countless engagements, and you… What did you bring to her? The domination she needs? The mastery she had never known?"

He said flatly, "Stop talking like a jealous woman. Why are you here?"

"Where else should I be… partner? Or have you forgotten what you promised?"

"We are no longer on Paiyar."

"True, and perhaps you didn't mean what you said there, but in one thing I was right. You are clever and hard and meant to command." Nearing him, she lifted her hands, touched his uniform, the insignia of his rank. "A marshal of Chard-everyone is talking about you. What would they say, I wonder, if they knew the truth? That you aren't a lord of Samalle, but a common traveler sent to perform a task. An opportunist wearing false colors. Tell me, Earl, what would they say?"

"Tell them," he said curtly, "and find out."

He was hot and grimed, and fatigue gritted his eyes. Ignoring the woman, he went into the bathroom, stripped, and showered.

Over the rush of water he heard the signal of the phone, the woman answering, her voice indistinguishable. When, dressed, he returned to where she stood, she said, "Zenya called. She seemed startled to hear me. We had quite a nice chat."

Like dogs snarling over a bone or cats stalking, ready to claw and tear.

"How did you get here, Lisa?"

"By ship, how else?" She crossed to where wine stood on a table and poured two glasses. "A fast vessel chartered by Aihult Chan Parect. I think he was a little concerned at my grief when you had departed." Handing him one of the glasses and lifting her own, she said, "To your health, Earl. And to our future."

Without touching the wine, he said, "The truth, Lisa. I'm in no mood for games."

"Have you found the man you were sent to find?"

"No."

"But you will?"

"If he is still alive, perhaps." He added, "Is that why you were sent after me? To make certain that I did not forget?"

"You will not forget, Earl," she said. "You dare not."

Was she carrying the trigger, the means to activate the device that he had been told had been planted in his body to radiate his whereabouts to the Cyclan? It was more than possible, a second string to Parect's bow, a path his devious mind would have taken, trusting no one, setting one against the other, using the very jealousy of the women to ensure success.

And yet, no device had been found. How did they intend to bend him to their will?

Brooding, he stared into his glass. Parect must have known that he would have himself checked and that nothing would be found. Either the man had command of a science unusual for the society in which he lived, or there was something he hadn't revealed. It could even be a naked bluff; if necessary, he would take the chance.

"Earl, how close are you to finding him?"

"Salek?" He shrugged. "All I know is that he is among the people with whom the residents of this planet are at war. The chances are that he is dead."

"Or will die?"

He caught the subtle undertones, the barely concealed hint, and remembered how she had once stood against him, the ambition she possessed.

"You could forget him, Earl," she whispered. "Chan Parect is old and will soon be dead. Suppose you didn't find the man, or found him too late? Who would question what you said? And then, later, when the old man is dead, have you forgotten what I promised?"

"Forget it, Lisa."

"Forget?" Anger suffused her face, turning it ugly. "Has that young fool wound you around her finger? Are you so besotted that you can see no further than a pillow supporting your head? Are you in love with her? Tell me, Earl! Are you in love with her?"

She was shaken, her composure ruined, and any woman in the height of passion would forget her caution. A little more pressure and he would learn what he had to know.

"Yes," he said. "I love her."

She screamed a word.

It was formless, a combination of sounds complex and unknown, long, echoing. Dumarest felt as if something had exploded within his skull. Turning, he reached for the phone, picking it up, saying to the face on the screen, "This is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan."

"Sir?" The face frowned, wondering.

"This is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan." Dumarest heard the words, saw the face, the indecision turning to acquiescence. Again he said, this is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan." He could say nothing else.

A hand entered his vision, the nails shining with their coat of glistening black varnish, the needle points reflecting tiny splinters of light. A voice whispered a word in his ear, and suddenly he was free again.

"Forget that," he snapped. "Cancel the order."

"As you wish, sir." The face on the screen relaxed. 'It was an unusual request, but-"

"Forget it." Dumarest found he was sweating. "A mistake."

"Of course, marshal."

The screen died, and he turned to face the woman, her triumphant smile. "There is no cyber here on Chard, Earl. At least, not yet. But should you insist, the Cyclan will be contacted. And should you run, no matter where you go, that compulsion to call them will always be present. You see, my darling, just how helpless you are?"

Chapter Twelve

A saw whined, the note falling as the edge hit the bole, rising as the powered teeth ripped through the mass of fiber. A lofios fell, pollen rising in a cloud, to cover the heads and faces of masked men. They gripped it, dragged it to the center of the narrow clearing, fired it with the concentrated beams of lasers. Thick smoke rose unwavering into the windless air.

Smoke that ran in an unbroken line in a wide arc around the foot of the hills.

Turning from the screen, Colonel Oaken said bitterly, "Destruction. Savage, wanton destruction. Why did you order this, marshal? Are you trying to ruin us?"

"No, to protect you."

"By slashing down the lofios? Captain Louk had obeyed your order to form a line."

"It was unsatisfactory." Dumarest strode across the operations room to where the big contour map stood marked with colored points and lines. One, amber, ran in a short curve before another, blue, which told of the progress they were now making. "Look. If you were an enemy trying to get past, you could do it without trouble. The captain concentrated his forces facing the valleys, but no enemy would take the obvious route. My way is the best, a complete line twenty yards wide, giving clear vision to men and an open field for instruments."

"Rafts would have sufficed."

"No. They would have had to ride too high and maybe miss what we are looking for. Even so, rafts will also be used for general scan." Dumarest turned, impatient. "I know my trade, colonel. This line must be maintained; the truce depends on it."

"The truce." From where he sat at the table, Colonel Stone shook his head. "I'm not belittling what you did, marshal, but how can you be sure they will keep their word? Even while you were in the hills, two villages were destroyed, some of your own men killed. I hate to admit it, but I think that Colonel Oaken has a point. The Ayutha have changed. They have become savage. You should not have canceled our order for the punitive expeditions. A strong reprisal is the best deterrent."

"It is also the best method of creating antagonism."

"Marshal?"

"I warned you about this at the beginning," said Dumarest. "All wars tend to escalate. You hit them, and they will want to hit you. Then you hit them again, harder this time, and get the same in return. If that is the kind of war you want to fight, I want none of it. I find no pleasure in seeing a world tear itself apart."

Colonel Paran said quietly, "We gave the marshal full responsibility while in the field, gentlemen. In any case, the attacks were made before the truce. Also, the destruction is not as bad as it seems; the lofios can be regrown. I suggest we hear his motives before we condemn him."

"Am I on trial?"

"No, marshal, the word was badly chosen."

Perhaps, but it carried the tone of the Council, the criticisms they were eager to make. To Captain Louk Dumarest said, "Disperse the men, as I ordered. Individuals set at twenty-yard intervals, regular watches of two hours on, two off. Set monitoring posts behind the line with scanners aimed toward the hills. No firing; that is essential. In fact, you had better disarm the men on watch."

"Disarm them?" Lome sounded dubious. "Is that wise, sir? They wont like it, and if the Ayutha should attack at night-"

"Guns won't save them," interrupted Dumarest curtly. "But some trigger-happy fool could break the truce. The rafts can be armed in case of emergency, but if anyone opens fire without waiting for orders, he will be court-martialed and shot. I mean that, captain."

Louk swallowed, thinking of Corm, the way he had died. Rumor had exaggerated the incident, forgetting the mercy of the shot, concentrating instead on the captain's disobedience. "Yes, sir."

"And see that my orders are obeyed as given." Dumarest's voice matched the anger on his face. "I want no further compromises. That line should be finished by now, would have been if you hadn't dallied." To a junior officer he said, "What is the weather report?"

"Some cloud, with a high possibility of rain, sir."

"Wind?"

"None, and the air should remain steady."

"You expect the rain when?"

"At nightfall, sir. It should be widespread over the entire lofios area."

"Good." To the waiting colonels Dumarest said, "Now, gentlemen, I am at your service."

They sat at a table in a room paneled with softly grained wood, wine standing beside maps, glasses of water, jugs of ice. Comforts for a heated day. But the comfort was illusory, the meeting more of an inquisition than Dumarest would have liked.

"About Captain Corm," said Stone. "I know his father. He is disturbed by the reports. Did you actually kill him?"

"I shot him to save him pain."

"Couldn't he have been saved?"

"He was burning. We were under attack. Men would have died to bring him to shelter, and we would have saved nothing but a corpse." Dumarest shrugged. "That is a detail. The truce is more important. As I told you, the agreement is that they will not harm any of our people. In return, I gave a similar promise. I believe they will keep their word. I intend to make certain that we do."

"The line," said Paran. "A barrier?"

"A test." Dumarest riffled the papers before him, found the one he wanted. "I ordered Captain Louk to send men to search the ground around those villages that were destroyed. The latest ones. This is their finding. Nowhere could they find any sign that the ground had been disturbed other than by our own people." He looked at their blank faces. "Don't you realize what this means?"

"The Ayutha are savages," said Oaken. "They wouldn't leave tracks."

"We are assuming they are using gas. If so, it must be transported in containers of some kind. Unless they approached actually within the villages, those containers must have been launched by some apparatus. We had men alert, on guard-did they report seeing any of the Ayutha?"

"No," said Paran. "I made a point of questioning each man. They were masked, of course; that is why they survived, but…" He broke off, frowning.

"The Ayutha are close enough to humans-in fact, are human-be to affected by the same gases that we are. They don't have the technology to make respirators. If they released gas, they must have done it from a distance, or some of them would have been affected." Dumarest looked around the table. "No one has ever reported seeing any of the Ayutha at any place which has been attacked," he said deliberately. "No signs were found of any launching apparatus when I searched for them. As far as I can determine, there is only one logical answer. The Ayutha aren't responsible for this trouble at all."

He leaned back, waiting for the explosion, the burst of unthinking protestation, inevitable from men who had firmly made up their minds.

Oaken said, "Are you out of your mind, marshal? Are you telling us that none of this has happened?"

"I'm saying that as far as I know, the Ayutha aren't responsible."

"That's ridiculous!" Oaken scowled. "Just what kind of a deal did you make up in the hills? Did they brainwash you or something?"

Paran said, "Careful, colonel."

"What for? In case he treats me like he did the captain? You heard what he said. All those people, men, women, children, and he says that those savages aren't behind it. They have to be!"

Stone, less explosive, more shrewd, said, "What are you saying, marshal?"

"You heard what I said, colonel." Dumarest glanced at Oaken. "Some of you may not want to hear it-it could be interesting to find out why. In most wars, some people usually manage to make a profit. A war needs an enemy; the Ayutha are convenient Maybe they have to stay the enemy until certain deals are completed."

"I know what you mean, Earl," said Paran grimly. "But, take it from me, nothing like that is going on here."

"As far as you know, colonel," reminded Dumarest. He didn't press the matter; it had served to shock them, to gain their attention. "Look at the evidence. Not one of the original messages says anything about the Ayutha; all they rave about is monsters. Well, we know why: the gas had affected their minds. Add to that the fact that no traces of launching apparatus have been found, that no Ayutha dead were discovered, that when I spoke to them they denied they had ever attacked a village, that monitoring rafts discovered no trace of any moving body of men in the area under attack, and I think we have a very good reason for assuming their innocence."

"Assuming?"

"We can't be positive without more proof," admitted Dumarest. "That is why I ordered the construction of the line. No one can pass it without being seen. I've had men and rafts search the lofios area, and no trace of the Ayutha has been discovered. Now, if another village is destroyed, what must we assume?"

"I see your point," said Stone. "If they weren't in the area, then they couldn't have done it."

"They could." Oaken was definite. "They are cunning; they could leave the hills to the north and swing in a circle past the ends of the line. Damnit, marshal, you don't need me to tell you that."

"Outside the lofios the ground is pretty open," said Dumarest patiently. "Rafts will spot any movement." He reached for another paper. "This is the computer findings on the attacks. When you look at the map, they seem absolutely random, but that doesn't make sense if directed by a force operating from the hills. Men can travel on foot only so far in a day. Equipment would be heavy, and the danger of discovery enhanced the farther they penetrated. Yet villages close to the hills were missed and others, much more distant, attacked."

Oaken scowled. "So?"

"You're convinced the Ayutha are the enemy. I'm trying to show you that they needn't be. For example, if I wanted to ruin the economy of Chard, I could work from the city, delivering stores, maybe, cases containing gas and timed charges. Any chemist could make such things. If that was the case, then the random pattern makes sense."

Another shock, but now they were not so quick to protest. He had shaken their iron confidence, shown them that what seemed to be obvious was not always the correct answer. As they sat, brooding, he filled a glass with water, added ice, sat with the frosted container in his hand.

Oaken said, "You put up a good argument, marshal, but it isn't good enough. You say the Ayutha can't be responsible; I say they are. No civilized man would spread nerve gas among harmless people. They told you they hadn't done it, and you believed them. Why? How can the ones you spoke to know everything that's going on?"

"That's right," said Stone. "And they've changed. You saw that for yourself. The flame bombs they used-how would primitives have made them without help? And if they had help to make those things, they could have had more." He added pointedly, "You must have thought of that."

"Yes," said Dumarest.

"And guessed who could be responsible?"

"Yes," he said again.

"Those damned social workers!" Oaken slammed his fist on the table. "Of course! We assumed they had been killed, but suppose they hadn't? Some of them were clever and skilled with their hands. They could have been taken prisoner, forced to teach the Ayutha to make gas, other things. There's your answer, marshal. I say to hell with the truce. Let's go in now and end this thing once and for all."

Dumarest said, "You can't. You daren't."

The phone rang before anyone could answer. It was Zenya. She said quickly, "Earl, I'm sorry, but I have to talk to you. It's Lisa, she-"

"I am in conference."

"I know." The face was stubborn, the tone to match. "The operator told me, but this can't wait. She said that you wanted me to-"

He sensed the coming indiscretion and snapped, "I told you that I was in conference. Naturally your aunt will stay in our suite for the duration of her visit. Entertain her. Urgent business will prevent my seeing either of you for a while."

"Please, Earl. I need you."

He said harshly, "And so does the war. My place is in the field. I suggest, my lady, that you remember yours."

And remember too the listening ears, the watchful eyes, the indiscretions and the jealousy which could ruin his pretense. Lisa had been goading her-that was obvious; and like a child, she had sought his help and reassurance. Well, let them fight if they wished; he would stay away from both until one problem, at least, had been solved.

Oaken said, "What did you mean, marshal? We can't go in. We daren't."

"Think about it." Dumarest looked at his glass. The ice had dissolved; the water was cold, refreshing. "As you pointed out and as I know to my cost, they have flame-bomb launchers. Small, perhaps, but they can be made larger, the bombs also. Go into the hills, and they will scatter. You will need thousands of men to comb every nook and cranny, and at least a quarter of those men will die. You doubt it?" He looked from Stone to Oaken, seeing their faces, merchants who believed that a large enough number of men would ensure certain victory. "If I worked for the Ayutha and not for you, I could maintain this conflict until you were bled white. Every soldier you sent would bring me arms and ammunition. Rafts could be shot down from the sky. Unless you used radioactives, I would turn those hills into a citadel. I would lose, eventually, but only because of the limited number of my men. But I assure you, it would take years."

Dumarest refilled his glass, conscious of thirst, the tension caused by fatigue and mounting strain.

He continued, "The Ayutha are telepathic A rudimentary talent, perhaps, but enough to give them a close-knit network of communications equal to if not better than our own. And you forget how vulnerable you are. Destroy the lofios, and you have lost the war. With more powerful launchers and larger bombs, they could do just that. Fire is the best friend of the guerrilla. One man can destroy a city by its means. The Ayutha have thousands." He ended, "I suggest you do it my way, gentlemen. It might not be as spectacular, but believe me, in the long run it will be far cheaper."

Colonel Paran said, "Earl, do you trust the Ayutha?"

"I think they have a genuine desire to end this conflict, yes."

"Why?"

"Because they are afraid," said Dumarest bluntly. "Because they are basically gentle. Because they are human."

And because they were telepathic and knew the danger inherent in the carrying of weapons. The arrogance, aggressiveness, insensitivity, and contempt the power to kill gave a man unless consciously controlled. He had seen the results of military castes on a dozen worlds, and all had followed a path that led to the inevitable destruction of all that was kind and gentle. When respect became equated with force, only brutality could hope to survive.

Chapter Thirteen

Someone had lit a fire, a small thing of burning twigs, spluttering a little as it rested in a shallow dip at the edge of the line. It glowed, a patch of brightness in the night, a thing built more for comfort than anything else. Smoke rose from it, a thin plume breaking as it reached the height of the lofios, to ripple in a delicate fan.

From beside it a corporal rose, saluting. "Sir!"

"Anything to report?"

"No, sir."-the soldier leaned forward, squinting-"marshal. Not a thing. Everything as silent as a grave."

The association disturbed him. He added, "That is, sir, a-"

" 'Boy creeping up on a girl hoping to kiss her unawares,' " said Dumarest. "I understand, corporal." He glanced at the fire; the ashes were too red, too bright. "Better bank that."

"Kill it, sir!"

"No." There would be other fires, and orders could be enforced only so far. "Just cover the embers so you won't lose your night vision. I want sharp eyes when you go on watch. Worried, soldier?"

"I'd be happier with a rifle, sir."

"You're covered, so don't worry. Just remember that there's a promotion for the man who spots any of the Ayutha and keeps his head. I hope you win it, corporal. You'd make a fine officer."

Bribery, but everything helped. As Dumarest passed on down the line, Captain Hamshard, at his side, said, "Do you think anything will happen, sir?"

"Such as?"

"Well… another attack."

" 'Incident' would be a better word, captain, but I know what you mean. The answer is no. I don't think the Ayutha will attack."

"The truce seems to be working, sir." Hamshard returned the salute of a man barely visible as he stood at the edge of the line. "No trouble last night, none at all yesterday, everything quiet so far. Let's hope that it will last."

Last night had come the promised rain; the day had been windless, but now the weather was changing. Dumarest remembered the thin column of smoke, breaking as it reached higher levels. He looked up at the sky, saw cloud and hoped for more rain.

He said, "Continue down the line, captain. Make sure that every man remains alert. If you need me, I'll be in the command post."

It was a tent set well back from the line, men busy at communicators as they received reports from the monitoring posts. Portable lamps threw a dull glow, softly crimson, light designed to retain the visual purple. As Dumarest entered, Lieutenant Paran rose from a field desk.

"Movement spotted in the foothills, sector nine, sir." He rested a finger on a map. "A small party, by the look of it, approaching the line."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir, just the one party."

"Maintain observation," said Dumarest. "What is the weather situation to the south?"

"Dry. Wind rising."

"Send a general alert. All guards in the area to remain fully masked. Villagers to be confined to their homes, masked if possible, separated if not."

The lieutenant frowned. "You expect trouble, sir?"

"I am trying to anticipate all possibilities. If anything should happen, we need to be prepared. Contact the monitoring raft and find out how close that party is now."

They were within a mile of the line, heading directly toward it. Dumarest said, "Have the raft drop a flare. Use loud-hailers to establish contact. Tell them to use the communicator I gave them to speak to me direct." Waiting, he paced the floor, studying maps, frowning as he read the report of rising winds. The party had chosen a bad time to make their approach.

"Sir!" The lieutenant turned from his desk. "I think we have something."

The face on the screen was that of an elder; Dumarest couldn't remember having seen him before. He was squinting as if trying to send thoughts as well as words over the instrument. A dull glow illuminated the oddly distorted face, giving it the appearance of a brooding idol.

He said, "We have conferred and would talk with you. There are those among us who are uneasy at what is happening. Are we animals to be caged in the hills?"

"The line is for your own protection," said Dumarest. "It will be maintained until we are truly at peace."

"We have never been other than that. It was your people who attacked our village. When they came again, we defended ourselves. All this was told to you-we thought you understood."

"I did. I do."

"Now you have forces facing us, armed men in the skies. One among us has said that you prepare to exterminate us. That you will attack and burn and kill and destroy while we respect the truce. Is this so?"

"No."

"Then you will dissolve the line. You will take your men from the skies. You will trust us as we trust you. If not, we too will ready our forces. The one who lives among us has told us what we must do."

Dumarest said harshly, "Who is this man?"

"A teacher. A friend."

"Who will destroy you if you listen to him." Behind him Dumarest heard the lieutenant's soft whisper. "More movement reported, sir. Two strong parties at sectors three and fifteen."

Both places consisted of broken ground, easy to defend, hard to attack, even from the air. They could be equipped with launchers, large flame bombs. If used, fire would bathe unarmed men and lofios alike.

To the face on the screen Dumarest said, "Retreat. Go back and find this man who has advised you. Bring him to the line. You will not be hurt; you have my word for that, but I must see him and talk to him." He added, "And warn your people. If anyone should strike against us, the truce will be over. From then on it will be a war of extermination."

He turned as the screen died and met the lieutenant's eyes, saw the grim expression. "A traitor," said the young man. "Someone who advises them, who has taught them to make arms, gas even. He won't want peace, sir. He wants to ruin us."

"Maybe."

"Can you still be in doubt?" Lieutenant Paran clenched his hands, gripping an imaginary rifle, shooting, killing, destroying the threat to his world. "You heard what he said."

"Yes," said Dumarest. "Recall the rafts from over the hills."

"Sir?"

"Have them withdraw to beyond the line. Put every man available on watch. I want to make certain that none of the Ayutha get past."

Paran frowned. "You expect trouble, sir?"

"A soldier always expects trouble, lieutenant By doing that, he manages to stay alive. But the best way to avoid it is to make sure that it doesn't happen."

"Sir?"

Dumarest made no answer, stepping out of the tent and staring up at the sky. Cloud swirled over the stars, driven by a mounting wind, blowing strongly from the south. There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

At a village far to the south, on the edge of the lofios area, a man rose and stretched and yawned with a gaping of his mouth which revealed the strong white teeth set in his jaws. Bran Leekquan had had a hard day. Everything lately was hard, and now with the two boys off somewhere playing at soldiers, the Ayutha nowhere to be seen, the work was piling up.

From a rocker his wife said, "Tired, Bran?"

"Beat," he admitted. "I guess I'm not as young as I was, Lorna."

"Neither of us is."

That was the truth, and he stood staring at her for a minute, remembering the young girl she had once been, the strength which had enabled him to work all through the day and kept him busy half through the night. Well, times changed, and a wise man accepted it. And there was comfort in maturity, or at least there had been until the trouble; with ambition dulled a little and the farm ticking over, there had been time to relax and to enjoy the long summer evenings with others who had grown old at his side.

As he yawned again, a heavy hand pounded at his door. Beyond stood a masked, uniformed figure.

"Red alert," he said without preamble. "Wear masks if you have them. Stay apart if you haven't. Orders from the marshal."

Bran frowned. "Stay apart? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Separate rooms, locked doors, no contact."

"Is an attack expected?" Lorna, worried, joined her man at the door. "I thought we had a truce."

"We have," the uniformed man admitted.

"Then what's this all about?" Bran was irritable. "The army has the Ayutha cooped up in the hills. You boys have made sure there are none of them around. So what have we got to be afraid of?"

The man was a stranger. Casually he shrugged. "Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger around here. You've heard the order." He moved off, to pound at another door.

"Crazy." Bran stared after him, scowling. "No sense to it at all. That's the trouble with these military types, they just like to see people jump when they give their commands. Well, to hell with him, the marshal too. It's my life, and I'm living it as I damned well please. Come on, Lorna, let's get to bed."

She hesitated, "Well, Bran, maybe-"

"Well take the gun," he said. "Put it by the door. If any of those savages attack, well be ready for them." He yawned again. "Come on, honey, you know I can't sleep alone."

He woke, restless, irritable, to rear upright in the bed, conscious of something wrong. Habit had left the window open, the curtains torn by the rising wind. Outside, he heard the sound of a shout, the sudden blast of a gun. Rising, he crossed to the window and looked outside. It was dark, cloud scudding over the stars, shadows appearing to vanish again in the fitful light. As he thrust out his head, he caught the scent of something sweet, sickly.

"Bran?"

He breathed again, wind brushing past his face, the scent stronger now. Turning, he cried out, a voice rising as he saw what crouched on the bed. A thing, dripping slime, a mass of vileness fringed with tentacles, beaked, glowing-eyed, horrible. It stirred as he darted toward the door, keening, appendages reaching toward the bedside table. Ceramics splintered around him as he snatched at the laser he had set against the wall, sharp fragments slashing his face, his hands. The keening rose to a shriek as he spun, the weapon leveling, the wordless cry rising to a scream as his finger pressed the release.

Smoke rose from the impact of the beam, thick, heavy with the stench of char. He fired again, a third time, spearing the horror on shafts of searing destruction, gloating as liquids gushed from gaping holes. Beneath it the bed sent up fingers of brightness, the covers catching, adding their heat to that of the laser. Twitching, the creature fell, sprawled in a growing nest of fire.

Tearing open the door, he raced downstairs and into the street, firing at moving shadows, a hopping, toadlike monstrosity, a thing like a flapping blanket. Something shrieked and rushed at him with extended claws.

He burned it down, heard the blast of a rifle, and felt the smash of the bullet which sent him to the ground. He rolled, firing at a looming shape, seeing it fall as the rifle fired again. The slug broke his arm, passed through into his chest, tearing at his lungs so that he lay drowning in his own blood.

Dimly he saw the figure come closer, reach toward him as, one-handed, he fired the laser for the last time.

"Lorna," he whispered as the thing fell. "Lorna!"

* * *

On tight beam, scrambled, Colonel Paran relayed the news. "It's happened, Earl. Another attack. The truce is broken."

"No."

"How can you say that?" Paran looked baffled. "I tell you I've seen it. Fifteen men and women dead. Five soldiers-"

"How did they die? The soldiers, I mean?"

"Shot down by the civilians." Paran was bitter. "They had to fire back in turn in order to defend themselves. If the fools had only obeyed orders…" He shrugged. "Well, Earl, there it is. We have no choice now but to go in and finish it."

"You aren't thinking, colonel," snapped Dumarest. "The Ayutha aren't responsible; they couldn't have been. We've got them sealed in the hills. Not one of them has passed the line since the truce. That village was way to the south. Even one man on foot would have taken a couple of days to get there; more would have taken longer. And the local patrols had scouted the entire area. Damnit," he added, as the colonel looked dubious, "why do you think I ordered this line to be established in the first place? I wanted to prove something. Well, I've done it. None of the Ayutha had a hand in what's happened."

"I'd like to believe that, Earl."

"You can."

"But what's the alternative? Is someone working with them, using them?"

"Maybe. I intend to find out. Certainly someone is advising them. My guess is that it's one of the social workers, but I could be wrong." Dumarest glanced around the command tent, seeing the hard, tense faces, sensing the grim determination, the desire for revenge. Natural enough, but misplaced and dangerous. He added, "Play this down, colonel. No hysterical publicity. The last thing we want now is to break the truce."

"If it hasn't already been broken."

"It hasn't, not by the Ayutha, but it might be to someone's interest to insist they are responsible. Make sure that doesn't happen. In fact, the best thing you can do is to maintain a silence about the whole incident. As soon as you persuade the Council, I'll detach men from the line to fell the lofios, as I suggested."

"Clear them away for a space of a mile around each village." Paran shrugged. "I remember, Earl, but they'd never agree."

"If it had been done, those people would be alive now," snapped Dumarest. "If you won't do that, then evacuate the villages." As the screen died, he said to the lieutenant, "Have three rafts move forward to check on whether that party is returning. Have they made contact?"

"No, sir."

"Get those rafts off, and keep trying. Find Captain Hamshard and have him report to me personally. I'll be at monitor post sixteen."

It was a short tower fitted with a platform and staffed by three young officers and five rankers. The officers each took turns at using the light-amplifying scanner and the radar detector; the rankers stood on guard by the compact bulk of a missile launcher aimed at the hills.

Dumarest busied himself with the instruments, checking positions on the map in the light of a dully glowing lamp. A low mound rose a few hundred yards toward the hills beyond the edge of the line. Men behind it would be invisible, but easily placed for a quick attack. To either side ran a narrow gully, merging somewhere up and back, flattening to shallow declivities at the foot of the mound. It was a good place for a meeting, one he had chosen from earlier studies.

As Captain Hamshard appeared, saluting, he said, "I want you to take charge here, captain. This entire sector. This launcher is to be zeroed in on the crest and rear of that mound. Use liquid flame. If necessary, I want you to throw up a barrier nothing living can pass."

"You expect action, sir?"

"Not the kind most of the men are hoping for, captain. Just call it insurance. Contact the posts to either side and have them zero their launchers to the gullies at either side of the mound. Similar loads and instructions."

Hamshard nodded, understanding. "I get it, sir. You want to throw down a three-sided box to contain anything on that mound."

"That's right," said Dumarest. "But remember, captain, to contain, not to destroy. You'd better send out a party of men to light a fire on the mound. I don't want those who are coming to lose their way."

"The Ayutha, sir?"

"Yes, bringing with them, I hope, their friend."

"Do you think they will come?"

"Yes," said Dumarest grimly. "They will come."

Chapter Fourteen

The hours dragged. The fire died, was replenished, died again to a smoldering bank of embers that threw little light and less heat. Standing beside it, Dumarest threw fresh fuel on the glow, tiny flames springing up to illuminate his face, the brightness of his insignia. From the communicator at his belt came the soft voice of Lieutenant Paran.

"Party spotted, sir. Heading in from the northeast, and close."

"How close?"

"Less than a mile, sir."

Too close; they should have been spotted earlier. Either the men were careless or the Ayutha more cunning than he had guessed. Men, traveling alone, could have used the terrain to baffle the electronic devices.

Captain Hamshard was hooked into the circuit. He said, "About a dozen, sir. I've launchers from posts thirteen and twenty following them."

"Unnecessary, captain. They've come to talk, not fight."

Summoned by repeated commands to explain the violation of the truce, threatened with reprisals if they did not attend with their mysterious teacher. Unfair, perhaps, but when had war ever been fair? War and other things, conflicts between men and women, between an arrogant, insane ruler and the pawn he hoped to command.

Dumarest kicked at the fire.

There had been time to think while waiting. The post-hypnotic command which Lisa had triggered had, in a sense, negated itself. Dead, she could not give the key word. Apart, he wouldn't hear it. As a threat, it was limited, something to be used, perhaps, if all else failed, but her uncontrollable jealousy had caused her to reveal too much. And if she repeated the word, and he could record it, any expert psychologist would be able to wipe the command from his subconscious.

He wondered if Zenya, also, had been entrusted with the key sound. Or if she had been given another. And yet Chan Parect would have trusted neither too much. There must be something else; the man was too devious to have been so obvious.

Dumarest kicked again at the fire.

"How close now, lieutenant?"

"Two hundred yards, sir. Approaching now directly from the north. I can't be too sure about their number, there seem to be more now than before."

"Anything else?"

"Two large groups to either side of the mound and about a quarter of a mile back."

"Thank you, lieutenant. Captain, have launchers zeroed on both groups. Designation alpha and beta. No firing unless I give the order."

"Yes, sir. Should I have rafts standing by?"

From his tone Dumarest guessed that Hamshard had already given the order. "One raft, captain, eight men, armed. Pick steady types." He looked toward the crest of the mound. "Here they come."

They arrived like shadows, feet silent on the ground, tall shapes limned by the firelight, bright points winking from flaked stone, metal, brittle glass. Arrows and spears, crude, but effective at short range. And he guessed there would be other things aimed at him from the shielding darkness.

An old man, the communicator in his hand, lifted it and said, "We heard. We came."

"Your friend?"

"He waits."

Dumarest said harshly, "That isn't good enough. I asked for him to be brought here. Where is he, and where are the others like him? Those of my people who worked and lived among you?"

"They are safe." The old man paused, and then, as Dumarest made no comment, added, "We have kept them so. If you again attack us, they will die."

Hostages. Dumarest had expected it; the Ayutha were learning fast.

"Many have died," he said. "If you dont want to follow them, you will do exactly as I say. That man-where is he?"

"We made no attack."

"Can you prove that? Words aren't enough. If you are sincere in your desire for peace, you will give me the one you call a friend." His voice hardened. "Understand me. Obey or die. I want that man."

"You threaten? You? Alone? One man against many?"

Dumarest said sharply, "Captain! Alpha, aim over, one shot, fire!"

Something rustled through the air, to fall far back in the hills. Flame rose, the roar of the explosion following, echoing, rolling like thunder. The face of the elder convulsed.

"You attack us! You kill us!"

"Not yet-that was a warning."

From where he stood beside the elder a man lifted a spear, drew back his arm, froze as he met Dumarest's eyes.

"You've got sense," said Dumarest. "You might be able to kill me, but if you attack, every man here will die. Those waiting in the hills will die. Every last one of your people will be eliminated. Is one man worth the entire race of the Ayutha?"

"You mean it!" The elders face was bleak. "Your mind is full of hate."

"Not hate-not for you."

"But our friend?"

"Is not of the Ayutha. If I kill him, I will not be breaking the truce. But unless you take me to him now, the truce will be over." Dumarest met the other's eyes. "You have ten seconds to decide."

* * *

Dawn was breaking when they arrived, the raft dropping, to hover over torn ground, a sheer slope marked by a narrow trail leading to the dark mouth of a cave. Captain Hamshard had accompanied the raft. Leaning over the edge, he said, "There could be men posted, sir. I'd best deploy our forces."

The elder who had ridden with them said, "They will not harm you."

Perhaps, but in war men could change loyalties and primitives followed their own inclinations. The man could have dedicated followers, willing to kill for him, to die while doing it. Dumarest waited as the raft lowered, lifted, moved on, to lower again, men jumping out and taking up positions. Their guns could cover the entire area outside the cave. Within, it was another matter.

As they neared the dark opening, the captain said, "Sir, let me go in first. Against the light you'd be a clear target."

"And you wouldn't be?" Dumarest smiled. "Well go in together, captain. Fast, and moving one to either side. I don't have to tell you that we want whoever is in there alive."

Dumarest halted as they reached the opening, looking up at the low ridge of stone above, eyes searching for traps and snares. He saw nothing, and with a quick movement dived inside, resting his back against the wall, eyes narrowed as he stared into the gloom. Facing him, the captain began to edge forward, pistol in hand.

From a niche twenty feet down stepped one of the Ayutha.

He was young, tall, dressed in a shapeless garment of dull gray, a squat tube held in his hands, the butt against his shoulder. Dumarest yelled, fired, moving as he pressed the trigger. The bullet hit one of the arms, spinning the figure, which turned to face him. From the mouth of the tube shot something that smoked.

Dumarest dived, hitting the floor as flame burst behind him, firing as he fell, the roar of his shots blending with those fired by the captain. Rising, he ran forward, past the crumpled figure, shadows reaching ahead from the light of the flame blazing against the wall.

"One!" gasped Hamshard. "There could be more!"

He fired at a shadow, fired again, a scream echoing the shot. Something hummed an inch from his head, to rasp against the stone, not fire this time, but a sliver of steel, a bolt fired from a crossbow. It was followed by the ruby beam of a captured laser. It struck high, lowered, seared the rock where the captain had stood as Dumarest slammed into him and threw him to the floor. Rolling free, he triggered his pistol, sending bullets to whine in savage ricochets. A man screamed, another died as he ran toward him, a third spun, dropping a rifle, blood gushing from an open mouth.

Dumarest dropped the empty pistol, lunged forward, and snatched up the rifle, firing as he rose, sending bullets whining down the cavern to where it turned at the far end.

In the following silence he looked around at the captain, climbing stiffly to his feet, a thread of blood running down one cheek, the dying light of the thrown bomb, the dead sprawled on the floor.

Young, too eager, too quick to shoot, and too impatient to aim. The fault of all green troops if they were not frozen with fear.

He said, "Captain, how badly are you hurt?"

"Just a scratch, sir." Hamshard lifted a hand, dabbed at his temple, wiped away the blood on his cheek. "Do you think there are more of them?"

"I doubt it. One, perhaps, but no more guards." Dumarest hefted the rifle. "Let's go and get him."

The turn of the cavern was filled with light, a cold, bluish glow illuminating a wide expanse beyond. Wooden tables bore a litter of apparatus; a crude lathe stood to one side, retorts, containers of glass and plastic, tubes of metal, drums of chemicals, scales. Dumarest looked at a crude laboratory and manufacturing plant.

"This is where they made the flame bombs," said Hamshard. His voice was taut, ugly. "And maybe other things. But they couldn't have done it alone. Someone had to teach them-the damned swine!"

"He wasn't responsible for the villages, captain."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"I'm sure." Dumarest moved cautiously down the area, eyes searching the shadows beneath the tables, behind the heaps of sacks and bales. Cylinders held the familiar shape of missiles, squat tubes similar to the one the guard had used as their launchers. He paused, examining a larger object, seeing the vents at the rear.

"Self-propelled," snapped Hamshard. "That thing could reach for miles."

"He didn't start this war," said Dumarest sharply. "So don't get carried away when you see him. Remember, I want him alive."

Alive and unhurt and able to travel. Dumarest had no doubt as to who it must be.

A door stood at the end of the area. He opened it, saw a narrow passage running beyond, and led the way down a gentle slope illuminated with softly glowing crimson bulbs. A second door stood at the end. It was thick, heavily padded, reluctant to move. He tugged it open, to reveal the chamber beyond. A small place, snug, the walls covered with plaited mats of local manufacture, a shelf of books, a projector, wafers of condensed information, a revolving globe which threw swaths of kaleidoscopic light, reds, blues, greens, yellows, merging, rippling like rainbows.

On a narrow cot a man lay supine.

He wore a robe knotted with a cord around the waist, the cowl raised to shield an emaciated face, both hands lying on his stomach, the fingers wasted, skin tight over prominent bone. In the ruby light streaming through the open door he looked corpselike, horribly familiar.

Dumarest stared at him, the face, the rifle lifting in his hands, aiming, his finger closing on the trigger.

Captain Hamshard smashed the barrel upward as he fired.

"Sir! For God's sake!"

Dumarest spun, dropping the rifle, hand lifted, palm stiffened to strike. He saw the startled face, the thread of dried blood on the cheek, and turned, staring at the figure on the bed. It had risen, legs drawn back, face ghastly beneath the cowl. The revolving globe threw a swath of emerald over the bed, turning the robe from crimson into a dull brown. A supporting strut stood beneath a shelf. Dumarest gripped it with both hands.

Harshly he said, "Get him away from me. Keep him clear."

"Sir?"

"Do it!"

Beneath his hands Dumarest felt the wood yield and tear.

* * *

The tisane was hot, pungent, dried herbs yielding their oils and flavors to form a tart, refreshing brew. Unarmed, seated at the far side of the table with his back against a wall, Dumarest watched as the captain set a cup before him.

He was dubious. "I don't know if you should drink this, sir."

"It isn't poisoned."

"Maybe not." The captain wasn't convinced. "I don't think I should have stopped you, sir. But you did say that you wanted him alive."

"You did right." Dumarest leaned back, feeling the quiver of his muscles, the aftermath of strain. The urge to kill had gone now, but the tension remained, joining the ache in his temples. It had faded a little as the tisane had been made, but the liquid shook as he lifted the cup to his lips.

To the cowled figure he said, "You are known as Amil Kulov." It wasn't a question. "Before that your name was Salek Parect. The son of Aihult Chan Parect."

"Yes."

"Why did you help the Ayutha?"

"Someone had to." Salek put down his cup and rested his arms across his chest. He sat on the edge of the cot at the full distance of the room. Within the cowl his face was drawn, bone prominent on his cheeks beneath the upward-slanting eyes. "Could you ever begin to understand? They are unspoiled, innocent. When first attacked they didn't know what to do. They were numbed, incapable of resistance, children faced with something they couldn't understand. That attack was brutal, savage, a vicious, wanton, unthinking crime. So I helped them as best I could."

"With weapons," said Dumarest. "Advice. Flame bombs and launchers. What other things did you have in mind?"

"Does it matter now? The truce-"

"You are not a part of it. In any case, your guards broke it."

"They were young," said Salek quietly. "And foolish. I told them not to resist, but they obviously refused to listen. I would have stopped them had I known, but I was tired, working beyond my strength. And I didn't think that you would come so soon."

Closed in his room, lost in exhausted sleep, he would not have heard the shots and screams. Dumarest studied him sipping the tisane. An idealist, and dangerous, as all such men were. Single-minded in his pursuit of what he considered to be right. And the technical knowledge he possessed gave him more power than others of his kind.

Hamshard said, "The men, sir?"

"Have them remain outside. If any of the Ayutha try to enter, warn them away. If they insist, then shoot them down."

"Like dogs," said Salek bitterly. "Is that what you think of them? Animals to be destroyed."

"No. How long have you lived among them?"

"Over ten years now. A long time. Long enough for me to appreciate what they have to offer, what they can teach. Mental peace, tolerance, understanding, an affinity one to each other. And they have a history, tales handed down from generation to generation, a legend of an old time, when things were not as they are now. Perhaps I should explain that I am interested in ancient myths."

"Yes," said Dumarest. "I know. Your father told me."

"My father!" Something, hate or contempt, twisted the emaciated features. "How could he ever begin to understand? His mind is closed to new concepts. To him only the house of the serpent is important. The welfare of the Aihult. He could never admit that Paiyar is only one small world among billions, and that there have been others against whom we are as children."

"Legends," said Dumarest.

"But each one holding a kernel of truth. I have spent my life trying to find those truths. Here, on Chard, I have found something, a clue. The Ayutha know more than is guessed, more perhaps than they realize. A race which came to this world eons ago. From where? And how did they travel?"

And why hadn't they progressed? Dumarest could guess the answer to that. Once, perhaps, their telepathic ability had been stronger than it was now, and that trait was no friend to a race struggling to survive. The price was too high. Violence had no place when all fear and terror was shared, when a beast which could provide food was allowed to run free, an enemy avoided instead of being destroyed.

The Ayutha were not a growing, viable culture but a decaying one. An off-shoot of the human race, something tried by nature and found unsuitable, to be discarded by a more efficient form. They had fled into the hills, avoiding contact with aggressive types, dreaming, perhaps, around their fires, of vanished glories. Tales to amuse children, props for a vanished pride.

He said, "You can't help them, Salek. You must know that. In order to survive, they must change. No culture can remain isolated when others are so close."

"Their traditions-"

"Are distorted memories. You gave them weapons and taught them how to kill. Can you realize the price they must pay? Their guilt could destroy them. They could go insane."

"No!"

"Remember your guards. Young men eager to kill. Trying to kill without logic or reason. You turned them into beasts, to die like animals. The best thing you and the others like you can do is to leave them alone."

"To be exploited," said Salek bitterly. "To be used as simple, mindless workers in the fields. An old, proud race reduced to the status of beggars."

"They wouldn't be the first," said Dumarest. "And they won't be the last. Among races, like men, only the strong have the right to survive. But it won't be like that here. The farmers need them, and now that the war is over, arrangements can be made. Land grants given them so they can retain possession of the hills. Their children can be given schooling, taught trades, ways to use their talents. They can work if they wish, or sit and dream if they prefer. But you will not be among them."

"Revenge?"

"A precaution. The Chardians have no reason to trust you, and they would never allow you to remain. In any case, you have other duties. Your father needs you."

Salek frowned. "You mentioned him before," he murmured. "But how do you know him? Did he send you to find me?"

"Yes."

"And you are taking me to him?"

Dumarest looked at his hands. The tremors had stopped, his head now free of the nagging ache. It was, he thought, now safe to move.

"I'm taking you back to the city. There are people you know there." Rising, he called, "Captain!"

"Sir?" Hamshard appeared at the doorway of the passage.

"I'm putting this man in your charge. Take him to my suite in the city and allow him to take with him anything he wants. Before you leave, have the men destroy everything in the cavern. The weapons, the tools, the chemicals, everything."

"Yes, sir. And you?"

Dumarest said flatly, "I am going to finish what has to be done."

Chapter Fifteen

The line had held seven thousand men, and he used them all, rafts going to each village, men dropping, busy with saws, with lasers, axes, anything that could cut and fell. Fire bloomed around each village, sparks flying from burning plants eating a wide clearing around the buildings. The men were mostly from the woodlands to the south, clerks from the city, workers who had no immediate interest in the lofios, sharing only the crumbs from the rich growers' table. Some of the officers were less eager.

"Marshal!" A major, red-faced, irate. "You can't do this! The Council-"

Dumarest snapped, "Lieutenant, place this man under close arrest. He is subversive to the state."

A captain, less polite, "Damnit, you want to ruin us all? You crazy fool, you can't-"

He joined the major, a dozen others, all fuming, helpless to resist. Dumarest had ended the war, and the men were grateful. More, they liked his style, his manner. And the loyalty of the men, as Dumarest knew, was the real basis of power for any commander.

Riding high, he watched the growing clearings, the thickening columns of smoke.

"Sir!" From the body of the raft Lieutenant Paran looked up from his communicator. His face was strained, torn with indecision. He felt that he should be doing something to halt the destruction, but didn't know what. "Colonel Stone, sir."

"Let him wait."

The next call was from Colonel Paran.

"What's going on, Earl?" His face was lined, eyes pouched with fatigue. "We've been getting reports about you burning the lofios. I can't hold the Council back much longer. They're assembling weapons and men to put you under arrest."

"They can try."

"They will try, Earl. You've hit them where it hurts. Raougat has found a bunch of men who will do anything for pay." His control broke a little. "Damnit, man! The last thing we want is a civil war!"

"You wont get it." Dumarest studied the terrain below. The firebreaks had been cut, and the lofios was well ablaze; nothing now could prevent what he had started. "All right, colonel, I'm coming in."

It was dark when he arrived, and they were waiting in the light of standards set before the Lambda warehouse, Stone, Oaken, the smiling face of Captain Raougat flanked by a score of armed men. Others stood behind Colonel Paran, more disciplined, equally well armed. At their head Lieutenant Thomile scowled at the other group. As Dumarest dropped from the raft, he snapped to attention, saluting.

Dumarest returned the salute, then turned to stare at Raougat. For a moment their eyes met, and then the captain lifted his arm.

"Marshal!"

"Your men are badly dressed," said Dumarest coldly. "Have them straighten their line. An honor guard should have respect. They are soldiers, not scum."

Raougat stared at the tall figure, the uniform stained with char and blood, the hard, cruel set of the mouth. When next he saluted, his movement was brisk.

"Yes, sir! As you order!"

Of the colonels, Paran was the first to speak. He stepped forward, hand extended. "Marshal, my congratulations on your success. As I was telling the Council, you must have a good explanation for what you've done."

"Yes, colonel."

"By God, it had better be a good one!" Oaken, face flushed with rage, stood with hands clenched, trembling. "Is this the arrangement you made with the Ayutha? That you would ruin us in return for their cooperation?"

"Treason," said Stone. He sounded dazed. "Three hundred square miles of lofios destroyed, not counting the plants you felled to make the line. Why, marshal? Why?"

"To end the war."

"But you'd done that. The Ayutha-"

"Had nothing to do with what happened to the villages," snapped Dumarest impatiently. "I thought that would have been obvious by now. The line proved it. Nothing living could pass without my knowing it, and yet there still was trouble."

Stone said slowly, "Then someone else? Sabotage?"

"No, the lofios itself." Dumarest turned toward the raft. "Lieutenant!"

Fran Paran dropped the rifle he had been holding and lifted a sack. Jumping from the raft, he moved forward, to stand at Dumarest's side.

"The clue was there all along," said Dumarest. "But you couldn't see it. You were too close. When the trouble started, you naturally thought of the Ayutha, and from then on blamed everything on them. But the real cause was much closer to hand, in the plants you grow and harvest for profit."

Oaken sucked in his breath. "You're lying," he said. "Trying to justify what you've done. You have no proof!"

"How many more dead do you need before facing reality? Two more villages? Three? The city itself?" Dumarest reached for the sack. "The lofios is a mutated hybrid. You have lived with it so long that you can't even begin to imagine that it could be anything else but harmless. But plants change. They mutate. In this case, the mutation has resulted in a subtle alteration of the pollen. A freak-it couldn't happen again perhaps for a million years-but once was enough. Now, some of the pollen isn't harmless. It contains a hallucinogenic of a particularly horrible nature. It affects the brain, turns people insane, makes them kill, and then causes them to die in turn. You have seen the effects."

Paran said shrewdly, "Some of the pollen, Earl?"

"Perhaps one plant out of ten. I don't know; your scientists can determine that. But some, certainly, there can be no doubt. All the evidence points to it; the villages destroyed without trace of an external enemy, that raft that landed and the men who fought each other-they must have broken open dangerous pods. I caught a scent of it myself, sweet, sickly, and I felt its effects." Dumarest glanced at Lieutenant Paran standing at his side. "I felt it and saw what it could do. We were lucky, breathing only a trace, but even that was enough to have killed us both. Now you know why I ordered clearings to be made around every village. The protection isn't enough, but with masks, working without them only when there is no wind, it should serve." He added bitterly, "I asked you to do that before. You refused. How many men, women, and children have died because of that refusal?"

Too many, but they were not wholly to blame. Old habits die hard, and when bolstered by greed, rarely die at all. The clearings had been made and the warning given; he could do no more.

Oaken said, "I don't believe it. It's a trick of some kind. Maybe he got paid to ruin our economy and invented this story to cover himself."

Stone added, "But proof? We still have no proof."

Ignoring the insult, Dumarest said, "I checked all the weather reports. There had been wind each time a village was affected. And if you want more proof still…"

From the sack he took a lofios pod. It was ripe, the membrane taut. He said, "I've twenty others in the sack. They could all be harmless, but the odds are against it. If not, they will prove what I say beyond any possibility of argument."

He, Fran Paran, and the men Thomile commanded were all equipped with masks. Dumarest raised his own, waited until the others had followed suit. The wind was blowing from behind them, toward where Raougat stood with Oaken and Stone before his men. Raising the pod, Dumarest threw it hard to the ground.

It burst, releasing a fine cloud of misty particles, immediately caught by the wind, to swirl in a fine dust about their faces.

"Marshal! For God's sake!" Oaken sneezed, flapping his hands, dabbing at his eyes. "What the devil are you doing?"

Dumarest lifted another pod.

"No!" Raougat sprang to one side, hand snatching at his pun. "Don't do it! You'll kill us all!"

Lieutenant Thomile rapped, "Drop that gun, captain! Drop it!"

His own pistol was lifted, the rifles of his men a steady line. As Raougat's pistol hit the ground he said, "Carry on, marshal."

Dumarest looked at Oaken, at Stone. "You seem afraid, gentlemen. And yet why should you be? If you are so certain that I am wrong, then the pods must be harmless."

"No," said Stone. "No more. Please."

"Colonel Oaken?"

"Put the damned thing away!"

"You are convinced, then?" Dumarest dropped the pod into the bag. "You had better be," he said grimly. "The mutation is spreading. I don't know how you're going to handle it, but you'd better do it soon. Before a strong wind rises from the hills and blows over the lofios toward the city." Jerking tight the neck of the sack, he handed it to Colonel Paran. "Here," he said. "Your enemy."

* * *

The water was hot, scented, refreshing to his skin. Dumarest felt the beat of it wash away the grime and ease his muscles. Dried, he looked at the rumpled uniform, then turned to his own clothes. Tall, in neutral gray, he left the bathroom and met Zenya's incredulous stare.

"Earl! Why have you changed?"

"The war is over."

"But surely they won't…" She broke off, regretting his altered status, the loss of his reflected glory. As the lady of the marshal of Chard she had been feted, spoiled wherever she went. With swift recovery she said, "Well, darling, it doesn't matter. At least back home you won't be in danger every minute. We are going back home, Earl?"

"Yes, Zenya, I'll be leaving Chard."

Too engrossed with her own concerns, she didn't recognize the ambiguity. "You've done wonders, Earl. Not only have you stopped this stupid war, but you found Salek. Grandfather will be pleased, and you know what he promised. Us, together, on our own estate. Earl, we'll be so happy!"

For a while, he thought, until the novelty wore off and her own restless compulsion drove her to seek fresh titivation. And then, in order to retain his pride, he would have to fight and kill-that or beat her into submissive obedience. Two things which, for him, held no attraction.

A wanton, he thought, looking at her. Amoral, warped by the society in which she lived, the inbreeding which had accentuated weakness. A bitch in every sense of the word, yet beautiful, as all such women were.

Wine stood on a table, and she poured him a glass, resplendent as she turned, shimmering all in gold. Smiling, she handed it to him, waited as he sipped.

"We should go out, darling. For the last time, in your uniform, so that everyone can see the man who saved them."

"Perhaps."

"And you can tell me exactly what happened in the cavern. When you and Captain Hamshard shot down those savages. He told me about it when he arrived with Salek."

"Salek." Dumarest set down the glass. "Where is he?"

"In the other room. With Lisa… Earl!" she cried out as he sprang to his feet and ran toward the door. "Earl, what…"

They were together, sitting very close on a couch, the man still wearing his coarse robe, the cowl thrown back to reveal the gaunt structure of his skull. Beside him the woman looked a thing of legendary evil, shimmering black accentuating the whiteness of her face, her neck, ebony-tipped nails reaching like claws, to hover an inch from the sunken cheek of her prey.

"Lisa!" Dumarest dropped his hand, lifted it with the knife, light splintering from the edge, the needle point. "Drop your hand! Drop it!"

"Or what, Earl?" She turned to face him, the hand not moving, the sharpened tips of her nails like tiny spears. "Will you throw that knife? Kill me, perhaps? Do you honestly believe you could move fast enough?"

"Do you think I couldn't?"

A gamble with her life as the stake, but one she couldn't win. It would take time to reach, to press, to break the skin, and already Salek, warned by some instinct, was moving from her side.

"What is wrong?" he said. "What is happening?"

"She intends to kill you."

"Lisa? But why? How?"

"Look at her hands," snapped Dumarest. "Those nails carry poison. And she intended to kill you, because your father wants you dead."

From behind him Zenya said, "Earl, that's ridiculous!"

"You heard the child?" Lisa leaned back on the couch, smiling, confident of her power. "You were employed to find him. To return him to Paiyar. Has the war turned your mind so that you have forgotten why you were sent to Chard?"

"I was not employed, I was forced, and I do not like to be driven."

"Have you any choice?" Lisa's voice was a feral purr as she spoke directly at him, ignoring the others. "Do you want me to say that word again? Have you forgotten that also? Driven?" Her laughter was thin, brittle. "Yes, you have been driven, and will continue to be so. Like a beast on a rein. My beast."

Zenya whispered, "Kill her, Earl. Kill her!"

He fought the temptation, lowering the knife, so that it hung loose at his side. She was a woman, they were on a civilized world, the death that closed her mouth would bring a kindred penalty.

To Salek he said, "Have you never wondered why I tried to kill you when first we met?"

The slanted eyes narrowed, thoughtful. "I thought that perhaps… I was wearing this robe, the light was red, for a moment you could have mistaken me for a cyber. Lisa…"

"Told you how much I love them?"

"Yes. She said that you feared and hated them. It would be natural for you to have wanted to kill one."

A facile tale that would have satisfied a mind dulled by years of close proximity to innocence. Dumarest said, "And all the time she was telling you this, she was moving closer, a warmly intimate relation talking over old times and, perhaps, making plans. Don't you realize that you are the greatest obstacle to her ambition? Did she ask you to marry her?"

Salek flushed. "I will never marry. I told her that."

"And so she decided to eliminate you. To obey her master's orders. Why, Lisa? Does he know you so well, that you have no mind of your own? Was it necessary to kill?"

"Be careful, Earl!"

Beside him Zenya whispered again, "Kill her, Earl. Kill her!"

Mad, he thought, the entire family insane. Chan Parect didn't want his son returned alive. That would have presented a threat to his authority-the one thing he could never tolerate. And yet the man had been living, and might one day return. How simple to find a tool to dispose of the inconvenience. A complex plan, but when has simplicity ever appealed to a deranged mind? And, almost, it had worked. If it hadn't been for Hamshard, his own savage struggle against the ingrained command, Salek would be dead by now.

Lisa said urgently, "Earl, nothing has been lost. Salek can vanish, Zenya also. Together we can return to Paiyar. The old man cannot last long, and when he dies, we shall rule."

"No."

She cried out, the same sound as she had made before, and again he felt what seemed to be a dull explosion within his skull. But minor now, and he made no move toward the phone. The trigger hadn't worked; a one-shot command, perhaps, an overlay of the deeper compulsion, an ironic jest of Chan Parect, or perhaps it had been negated by the hallucinogen he had inhaled, his own struggle in the cavern.

He said quietly, "It doesn't work, Lisa. You can't rule me now."

Zenya laughed.

It was as if she had lashed the woman across the face. The elfin features grew haggard, ugly, the eyes blazing with maniacal rage. Like a spring, she rose from the couch and lunged forward, hands extended, nails catching the light, reaching for his eyes.

His left arm swept upward, slamming beneath the wrists, lifting the poisoned fingers. As they rose, he felt the knife snatched from his hand, heard the blow, saw Lisa's sudden look of shocked disbelief, the unmistakable filming of her eyes.

"Earl," she whispered. "Earl…"

He caught her as she fell, blood running from her mouth as he rested her on the floor.

Zenya laughed again, high, shrill. She stood with the knife in her hand, ugly stains on her arm, the front of her dress. Her eyes blazed, alight, insane. "I did it! I killed the bitch! Now we can be together!"

* * *

The cell was like others he had known, a barred window showing the lights of the field, the glow of the sky. More bars ran from roof to floor, enclosing a cot, toilet facilities, a square of faded carpet. From where he sat with his back against a wall, Dumarest could see a portion of the corridor and the foot of a barred door at its end. From beyond it came little sounds, the scrape of a chair, the coughing of the jailer, the thud of heavy boots.

More footsteps joined the others, softer, pausing as the door opened, halting again at the cell. As the door clanked open, Colonel Paran stepped inside.

"I know you didn't do it," he said, dropping to the edge of the cot. "Salek told me, the girl too."

"What will happen to her?"

"Nothing. She will be put on the first ship leaving for Paiyar. That is the least we can do for the lady of the marshal of Chard."

"Paiyar? You know?"

"From almost the first, Earl. Before I donned this,"- Paran touched his uniform- "I was chief of police. I held that position for fifteen years. Long enough to have established certain habits, among them one of checking every important detail. And, to be honest, your lady was a little indiscreet."

A danger impossible to avoid, but why had the pretense been allowed to continue?

Paran shrugged at the question. "You seemed to know what you were doing, Earl. And you helped my boy. After that, I didn't give a damn who or what you were, just as long as you could resolve the mess." He looked bleakly at the cell. "I'm sorry about this, but the formalities had to be observed. You understand?"

"And now?"

"That's what I want to talk about, Earl. For me, yon could stay as marshal for as long as you like. The men are with you, the officers too. The pods have been tested, and what you said is true. A hell of a mess, but it has to be faced. I doubt if Chard will ever be the same again."

"That needn't be a bad idea," said Dumarest. "You had a tight economic society here, and they are always vulnerable. Fire, storm, disease-anything can happen. What are your own plans now?"

"I'm not sure. The army-"

"Should be kept. You need a counterbalance to the influence of the growers."

A counterbalance and a force to oppose the vested interests, which discounted human life in the search for gain. Dumarest said, "The Ayutha need to be protected and their rights safeguarded. Salek could advise you on that if you decide to let him stay."

"I'll think about it, Earl, but that can come later. You're more important. Oaken and Stone don't like you. Raougat has sworn to kill you. You can handle him, I know, but he isn't alone. You made him look small, and he can't forget that. That business with the pods…" Paran shook his head. "You took a hell of a chance."

"Not really," said Dumarest. "They all came from the oldest plants I could find."

"A bluff? Well, if so, it worked. No one thinks of blaming the Ayutha now. In fact, everyone wants to help them." He paused, then added, "As I want to help you, Earl. Chard owes you a hell of a lot. As I said, you can stay, but there's something you had better know. The Council has called on the Cyclan to help them in the emergency."

And the first thing they would do would be to demand him as a part of their price. Dumarest said, "It doesn't matter. They would have known I was here anyway. The Cyclan aren't fools. They would have known I landed on Paiyar and predicted where I would arrive. You know how they operate."

"I know." Paran drew a deep breath. "I think we're going to need that army. Something to face up to the growers and the red swine they've employed. I've lived through something like this before, on Elchan… Well, that doesn't matter now. You're leaving, then?"

"Yes."

"I thought you would. I've had the money owing you put into oils and loaded on the Topheir. I've had it held until you made a decision. It'll leave when you're ready." Paran rose. "There's not much else to say, Earl, aside from thanking you for what you've done." He held out his hand in an old-fashioned gesture. His grip was hard. "There's someone else outside who wants to see you."

It was Salek. He came from a circle of light, to stand thin and a little forlorn in his robe. "You've heard about Zenya?"

Dumarest nodded.

"She loves you, Earl. She killed just to save you. She will wait for you on Paiyar-she asked me to tell you that."

"She'll wait a long time," said Dumarest. "I'm not going back to that world, and if you've any sense, neither will you, until your father is dead."

"Earl!" Salek hesitated. "There's something else. When Lisa was talking, she mentioned your interest in ancient things. That world you are looking for? Earth?"

Dumarest remembered what Chan Parect had said- that if he found Salek, he would find the answer to his search. A lie, he had thought, another bribe to add to the rest, yet there was always the thin chance that, for once, the old man had told the truth.

"You know where it is?"

"No, not exactly, that is…" Salek broke off, making a helpless gesture. "I can't be sure," he complained. "But there are names. Sirius, Polaris, Alpha Centaurus, Procyon. Polaris was reputed to be the one star that didn't move. I'm not helping you much, but there's something more. A suspicion, but I think-in fact, I'm almost certain-that the Cyclan knows just where the planet is to be found."

The one group he couldn't question.

"Does it help, Earl?"

"Yes," said Dumarest. "It helps."

Then he turned and walked across the field to where the Topheir was waiting, Branchard standing at the foot of the ramp, grinning a welcome.

"Glad you could make it, Earl. Now, let's get on our way."

Up and out on a series of random journeys impossible to predict, to move on to where the stars hung thin against the sky and ancient names were remembered. To the one world he was searching for and, one day, would find.