"Yes, Earl."
"And most of them had been moved before the guards arrived?"
"So they say, but not all of them saw the inside of the ship. They collected the boxes from the ramp."
"And took them where?" He reached out and gripped her shoulders as she made no answer. "We made a bargain, Pellia. I was to tend the wounded in return-"
"For a name. Well, you have it. The handler was the one who gave them permission to unload."
"And who ordered them to go to the ship?"
"No one!"
"Are you telling me that a group of men just decided to meet at a certain time and go to the ship and unload it all without anyone having any idea as to what they were to remove or where to take it? Someone must have given the instructions, Pellia. Who?"
"You're cheating!" She strained against his grip. "That wasn't in the bargain! Let me go!"
"Was it Balain?" For a moment longer Dumarest held her then dropped his hands. "Balain," he said thoughtfully. "The one who set you to watch on the path. Is he your leader?"
"What is that to you? We made an agreement-your help for a name. Well, you have it. The handler ordered the unloading of the Sivas"
A dead end. He had bought a certain amount of cooperation but now his credit was exhausted. Turning, he moved down the path toward the city. It was narrow and twisted across the steep slope, a rarely used way and one mostly used by the Ohrm. Bushes flanked it and cast deep patches of darkness. From one of them, lying ahead, came a faint rustle.
Dumarest slowed, eyes searching the starlit area. The path wended, curved, passed below him at the foot of a steep incline dotted with shrubs and toothed with boulders. Ahead lay the bushes, three clumps merging to throw the path into darkness. From one of them came the rustle. A soft breeze could have caused it or the stirring of some nocturnal creature but there was no wind and the animal which had caused the sound had done so for no apparent reason.
Dumarest took two more steps, planting his boots firmly on the path, creating an impression of steady progress then, abruptly, turned and was racing down the slope. It was too steep to maintain balance and he doubled as he fell, turning himself into a ball as he rolled over the ground. A shrub lashed at him, a boulder scraped his shoulder, then he had reached the path, had risen and was running down it as from behind came the pound of feet.
Two men who ran silently after him and another who stayed high and sent the cry of a bird into the night,
A signal answered from lower down the slope.
Fools, had they remained silent he might have run into the trap; alerted, he was on his guard. Dumarest slowed, looked to one side and saw a clear expanse protected by a serrated wall. To jump over it would mean a long drop and the risk of a broken leg. To continue would be to run into the waiting men, to be caught between them and those closing the space at his rear. To remain still was to present a target and, already someone was shooting at him.
He heard the thrum of a released string and the spiteful hiss of an arrow. One which flashed through the air where he'd been standing to sink quivering into the ground. Short, thick, feathered with metallic glints; a bolt from a crossbow. A primitive weapon but as effective as a laser when used by skilled hands at close range. As effective but not as fast; such a weapon took time to reload.
Turning, Dumarest ran back up the path, weaving as he ran, body stooped low, his hand reaching for the knife in his boot. Three men, two close, one who could have a weapon and one more sophisticated than a crossbow. An unknown number now behind him but they would hesitate to move and be slow to fire for fear of hitting their companions. The ones now close would have to be the first targets. Hit them and the darkness would shield him as well as those lying in wait.
Dumarest dodged, sprang to one side, heard the hiss of the air as a club swung at his head then dived in, the blade extended in his hand, the point hitting, ripping, slicing across a muscular torso to open a long gash across the ribs. A thrust converted into a cut as his momentum carried him past the man, the knife dragging behind, turning, jerking forward, upward to hit the club-loaded arm, to cut across the inner flesh, to sever muscle and open the arteries and release a shower of blood.
"God! I'm cut! Wilkie!"
The second man who was too slow and died, eyes startled, throat opened so as to present a grinning mouth to the stars.
"Wilkie! Flavian!" The voice came from above, changed as the speaker saw the two sprawled bodies, the figure of Dumarest running back up the path. "You, down there! Get him!"
He stepped into the open, one hand lifted, a ruby beam guiding the fury of the laser. Dirt smoked to one side and a bush flared into burning life as Dumarest threw himself to one side beneath the shelter of a boulder. He heard the pound of running feet and turned to see two men running from where they had lurked. One carried a crossbow.
"Hurry!"
The man with the laser was impatient and so was careless. He came to join the others, the weapon lifted in his hand, overconfident of the advantage it gave him and forgetting that a gun is only as good as the man using it. Crouched against the dirt, Dumarest heard the pound of the man's footsteps as they neared his hiding place. A stone rested beneath his free hand and he lifted it, threw it far to one side, slipping to the other side of the boulder as it landed. The men fired as he rose, standing awkwardly, aiming too high and trying to correct his aim. He was still trying as Dumarest, coming from behind him, drove naked steel into his spleen.
A blow which killed as quickly as a bullet in the brain. The man slumped, soundless, the laser falling from his hand to hit the boulder and go tumbling down the slope. Dumarest followed it, hearing the spiteful hiss of an arrow and feeling something hard slam hard against his thigh as, catching up the laser, he rolled and turned to fire.
"Masak?" A voice from higher up the slope. "Is that you, Masak?"
Another voice, higher, younger. "Masak is dead."
"Dead?"
"Knifed." A pause and then, "Let's get out of here! Move!"
An old trick to persuade an enemy to reveal himself and Dumarest waited, immobile where he sat, only his eyes shifting as they searched the silvered gloom. Finally he moved, diving into patches of darkness, moving as silently as starlight, as fast as dancing flame. Stealth and speed which carried him down the slope to where a house sat like a gem in a cup of tended greenery. To a woman who had waited too long.
She was like a tigress, a barely contained creature of seething emotion, pride and dignity alike affronted by his apparent indifference.
"You are my guest, Earl. As such you have certain obligations. If they do not please you then be honest enough to say so. An arrangement can be made."
She was cold and it was hard to think of her as the passionate woman he had held in the turret, yet beneath the icy chill he could sense the masked fires she fought to control. Fires of anger and revenge rather than those of desire and all the more dangerous than those of simple need.
"I beg your pardon, my lady, I was detained."
"Do you mock me?" She had been striding across the floor, moving with a lithe grace, turning to move again. Now she halted and stared her accusation. "I am not your lady. I am your hostess."
"And I was detained."
"Tending the Ohrm. Nursing men who deserve to be eliminated. What did you hope to gain, Earl? Another woman to fall into your arms? Another victory?"
"Information." He was curt. "Doing the job you should have done and should be doing. You, the Choud, your guards. Guards!" He made no effort to mask his contempt. "Where are they when needed?"
"When needed they are summoned."
"By whom? The Choud?" Dumarest looked down at his soiled clothing, the place on his thigh where the arrow had ripped the plastic from the protective mesh. "A pity none of you were around earlier this evening. They could have saved some lives."
"You were attacked?" Abruptly she was concerned. "When? Where?" She tilted back her head when he'd told her then blinked. "Guards have been alerted and will comb the area. It is monstrous that the Ohrm should have the temerity to venture so close to the city when they have no duties here. And to have attacked you-Earl, doesn't that show you what manner of creatures they are?"
"I know what they are," he said coldly. "Human beings."
"Animals."
"Servants through no fault of their own."
"Slaves who want to be free."
"What?" She stared at him then shook her head. "Earl, for a man who has traveled you are strangely innocent. Isn't it obvious to you that some people are more gifted than others? That some are meant to rule, and others are destined to serve? It is the natural order of things and has been so on this world since the First Landing. The Choud make the decisions and the Ohrm, obey. Anything else is unthinkable."
"To you, perhaps, but others may have more active imaginations." Dumarest looked at the laser he had found then handed it to the woman. "Do you recognize this?"