Firehand

by Andre Norton

  we're no longer merely fighting to survive and that we'll be able to start

  thinking about putting our affairs to real rights again in the reasonable

  future."

  "Only Sapphirehold's freedom and the overthrow of that tyrant will ever

  accomplish that," she told him fiercely.

  Murdock looked at her in surprise. "I'm not arguing that. Neither is

  anyone else."

  She sighed. "I know, Ross. It's just been such a long haul."

  "Well, the end's coming, even if we do still have a damn hard fight

  ahead of us."

  He detailed for her what had passed between I Loran and himself on

  the subject and then, speaking more slowly, outlined his plans—as yet only

  ideas—for sharpening their campaign against the invaders, clarifying his

  thoughts even as he spoke.

  Eveleen questioned a few points, added to others, inserted ideas of her

  own which Ross, in turn, parried and tested. Time passed as their

  conversation became more and more intricately involved until both

  realized with a start that full night had fallen unnoticed while they had

  talked.

  They had instinctively stopped at the edge of the camp, which was now

  outlined in the flickering light of the fires.

  All the weariness of the past days seemed to settle over Murdock in that

  moment. He flexed his shoulders to ease the ache of which he had

  suddenly become aware. "I'll call the others to council tomorrow. For now,

  I think we'd both benefit from some sleep."

  She offered no protest to that, and they walked quickly in the direction

  of their quarters, silent now, each busy with thoughts of the work before

  them.

  After seeing his companion to her cabin, Murdock made no delay in

  seeking out the small building housing both his own sleeping chamber and

  his office.

  There was light inside, dim, cast by a candle left standing on the table

  that served him as his desk.

  This, he took up without glancing at any of the papers neatly piled

  there awaiting his attention and went directly to the inner room. He

  automatically touched the burning wick to that of the taper fastened to

  the wall by the door. The latter took fire, flickered, and then steadied.

  The increased light, little though it was, seemed harsh to tired eyes

  accustomed to the night and unwilling to adapt swiftly to this change in

  illumination, and he pinched out the candle in his hand.

  He set it down and gave a hurried glance around his quarters that yet

  missed no detail.

  Everything was in order, better order than he should have found. He

  started to frown. His fighting gear was in its place, clean and ready for his

  use. He had not left it so.

  Ross sat down on the narrow bed. That, too, had been made ready for

  him.

  A soft knock sounded at the door, and even as he glanced up Gordon

  Ashe came into the room.

  "You didn't have to do this," Murdock said dully.

  "No, but I figured you'd be tied up with Luroc for half the evening and

  be dead tired afterward. A partisan should be able to sleep for a few hours

  following one of our raids, not have to hop right into a council of war."

  He sighed. "Well, the favor's appreciated tonight. Thanks."

  The guerrilla commander looked up suddenly. "I Loran offered me my

  share of the gold."

  Ashe's brows raised, and his lips curved into an amused smile. "I

  suppose there'll eventually be some sort of ruling against it— conflict of

  interest or some such thing—but as of the moment, there's no law

  against…"

  "Can it, will you, Gordon! I don't think that's funny." He gripped

  himself. "Sorry. I'm about done, I guess."

  "You are." The other was deadly serious now. "You're also finding that

  you like Dominion of Virgin a great deal and that you could make it here,

  make it big."

  A knife seemed to drive into Ross, and he turned away swiftly, his head

  lowering.

  Ashe's fingers closed on his shoulder. "Karara stayed, Ross," he

  reminded him gently. "Only, think carefully, very, very carefully, before you

  choose this world and time to be your Hawaika."

  10

  "GET OUT!" Zanthor's eyes bore into the back of the retreating

  mercenary until the door of his office closed between them. His fist

  slammed onto the surface of the table that was his desk. "Firehand again!

  May every demon's curse blight his life!"

  "Demons' curses are readily summoned," Tarlroc I Zanthor replied

  calmly. "That was the last of their gold."

  "The last of it in our possession," his sire corrected.

  "You will go to them again so soon?"

  "I need that gold," he responded bluntly. "Our hirelings had taken

  possession of their payment and lost it themselves, but I still must send

  them some sop to ease their disappointment, or I might find myself

  lacking an army come spring. How long do you think it would be after that

  before we were all spitted on I Carlroc's swords or on those of Firehand's

  skulkers in the shadows?"

  "That could prove the lesser of our perils."

  The tightness in his tone caused the older man to look at him sharply.

  "You fear the big heads so greatly?" he asked contemptuously.

  "I fear them, and so should you." He hesitated. "You feel nothing when

  we are with them? They do nothing to you?"

  I Yoroc started to snap out a curt denial but changed his mind.

  "Nothing, or nothing since they guided me to them the first time." He

  described the strange pulling he had experienced then.

  "Maybe you are safe," Tarlroc said softly, more to himself than to his

  father. "That would explain…"

  "I do not see that they have done you much harm."

  "Not for lack of effort on their part," he responded bitterly. "They

  attempted to freeze me along with the rest of your escort, but I freed

  myself." He shivered in his heart. He was good with words, but he could

  not describe that horrible burning, the invisible fire that had threatened

  to sear away his mind, to char the core of his being. He could not explain

  how he had been able to block it. He simply did not know, save that it had

  cost an enormous effort of will to do so. "Even then, they did not leave me

  alone. They have never ceased trying to bend me to their will."

  "In what manner?" Zanthor demanded. "You have not chosen to

  mention this before."

  Tarlroc's eyes fell. "They press me to kill you."

  "The demons ordered that?"

  "Not directly, but thoughts rise in me when we are with them,

  memories of slights, insults, blows. Some of the incidents did happen, but

  the most of them have to be creations of the hairless ones. They do not

  come of me."

  "Obviously, you have resisted. Thus far."

  His son looked up. "I do not want to kill you," he said quietly. "You have

  used me well enough when another man might have looked at me and

  done otherwise. You have appreciated the abilities I do have and put them

  to good use, granting me even greater access to your councils than you do

  the Ton-heir…"

  Tarlroc saw Zanthor's impatient scowl, and his head raised. "I
am not

  growing maudlin or stupid, but we are treating with demons who can

  draw people to them, reduce soldiers to breathing corpses, insert thoughts

  and promptings into men's minds. We would do well to be clear about our

  own intentions and interests when we front them, or we could find

  ourselves serving theirs only."

  "You have a head balanced on that scrawny neck," the Ton of Condor

  Hall conceded gruffly. "So they try to lure you into slaying me? Why? Why

  not do it themselves, for that matter? Those fire rods they made sure we

  saw them use the last time could burn through flesh as readily as through

  steel."

  "Who knows what moves their kind? They may feel they have a better

  hope of controlling me for their own ends. Whatever their reasons, they do

  seem to want us, you, to do their butchering for them, though I would not

  trust them far once we do gain control of the island." His mouth twisted.

  "If we do."

  "We are not beaten yet," I Yoroc told him calmly. "As for trusting them,

  you may rest assured that I do not, in my sight or out of it. They are allies

  of need at this point, not of choice."

  Zanthor's eyes were hard, determined. "Order our deer saddled. The big

  heads will not be expecting another visit from us at this point. Perhaps we

  can surprise some concessions out of them."

  The Condor Hall leaders silently made their way along the familiar

  route. The Ton was deep in thought, as he had been almost from the time

  they had left the hall. His son welcomed the quiet as he strove to

  strengthen himself against the compulsion to which he knew he would be

  subjected.

  Suddenly, I Yoroc reined in his mount. "I would prefer to give the

  demons as little notice of our approach as possible. Let us go the rest of

  the way on foot."

  They fastened the springdeer to a tree near a good patch of browse. The

  route before them was in actuality a rough path worn by the strange

  beings in the camp, and they would be able to travel it quietly and quickly,

  with no snapping or swishing branches to announce their presence.

  The Dominionites soon reached the clearing. Those they sought were

  there, deeply engrossed in heavy, well-ordered labor.

  The two damaged pillars were lying on the ground, as they had been

  since the humans' second visit, and the five strangers were working on

  them. Already, they had straightened them. Splotches of somewhat

  differently colored metal revealed where patches had been added to

  strengthen the original structures and for other purposes

  incomprehensible to the two observers. A pair of the demons were using

  their fire rods to melt some of Zanthor's latest offering in preparation to

  melding it to the column on which they presently worked.

  The watchers were given only a brief moment in which to study the

  camp. In the next, the hairless ones straightened and faced the place

  where they were standing.

  I Yoroc called out his name and stepped forward, keeping his hands

  well away from his sword. Tarlroc followed a step behind him.

  "Put up your fire rods. As always, we come in peace."

  "This was poorly done, Ton. Why do you spy on us?"

  "Taking a moment's breathing space is not spying," he countered

  evenly. "Why do you order my son to kill me?"

  There was no immediate answer, and Zanthor's eyes narrowed. "Did

  you think he would not inform me of your efforts?"

  "It was merely to test his loyalty as your close associate."

  "Your caution is greatly appreciated," I Yoroc commented dryly, "but

  he has met the test. It need not be repeated."

  "This is why you have returned here so soon?"

  "I am here because I, in my turn, feel compelled to put your supposed

  goodwill to the test. I want the remainder of the gold now. I have a war to

  fight which I began at your instigation. Paltry doles will not win it for me

  or for you."

  "You have not brought us a third of the material we requested," the

  demons' spokesman told him.

  "I have brought you all I am going to bring until the Confederation is

  broken," the Ton of Condor Hall snapped. "I need steel for arms and

  armor. The rest is either difficult to procure or hard to produce when I

  require my craftsfolk for direct war work. When my enemies are dead, you

  shall receive our payment, not before."

  It was impossible to read the hairless ones' expressions, but Zanthor

  knew they were displeased and maybe furious. If he had erred in his

  reasoning concerning them…

  After several tense seconds, the demon nodded in the direction of the

  chest. "What is there, you may take. You will have no more from us, either

  gold or any active aid, until you have given us what you have pledged

  yourself to supply."

  The Dominionites led their heavily laden deer. Only when they neared

  the hall would they mount in order to avoid drawing undue attention to

  themselves.

  Tarlroc's face was white, and his fingers trembled as they clutched the

  reins. Such hatred. He shuddered to think what it would have done had it

  burned into him. Had they been trying that and failed or simply feeling

  their anger as he had felt his fear? He glanced enviously at his father.

  Zanthor had appeared to be oblivious to the invisible storm his refusal and

  arrogance had generated.

  The young man moistened his lips. The storm would be neither silent

  nor invisible if I Yoroc caught him still shaking a full hour after the

  confrontation had ended. "How are you going to ensure that the next

  shipment reaches our troops?" he ventured.

  Zanthor gave him a superior smile and slowed his pace so that they

  might walk companionably together. "By sending a little on one convoy, a

  little with another. The bulk of this will be reserved for other expenses and

  for our own troops. The mercenaries will have to make themselves content

  with that. I turned our contracted payment over to Commandant A

  Huron's representative at Condor Hall and have his receipt as proof. It was

  our hirelings' own property and was traveling in their own care when they

  lost it. I am not obligated to restore the full amount to them. The same is

  true of the supplies, but I shall, of course, replace those."

  "How?"

  "I'll send a few large shipments and a lot of small ones."

  "Firehand…"

  "He has hurt us badly and will continue to do so as we provide him with

  additional targets, but enough will get through. Our army will not fatten

  this winter, but it will not freeze or starve— though I want I Carlroc to

  believe otherwise."

  His son drew a deep breath. "Do—do you believe there is still a real

  chance?"

  Zanthor I Yoroc laughed. "With some luck and a lot of care, there will

  be victory. Let the war go on as it has until winter, with the Confederates

  believing we are nigh unto bled to death. Come spring, my mercenaries

  can renew the fight in full vigor."

  "Renew the stalemate. At best, the stalemate," Tarlroc responded

  bitterly.

  "Ah, yes, but I plan to assume direct command of the fighting myself

>   and to release our own Condor Hall troops as well."

  "Will that be sufficient to beat the Confederates back? They are

  strong…"

  "We shall not even try. It is the Confederation we will attack, not its

  army. Luroc I Loran taught the lesson. Now we will show how well we have

  learned it.

  "My troops will push right through the lines, slip through if we can,

  while our hirelings engage their army. Once behind them, we shall head

  south, putting to the sword every man, woman, and child that we find.

  Every animal we cannot drive off will be slaughtered. Everything we

  cannot carry will be burned. Let us see how long Gurnion I Carlroc's army

  holds together once the Tons learn their whelps' blood is soaking the ashes

  of their ruined halls and fields.

  "We can eliminate them individually as we originally intended and then

  return to hunt out Firehand at our leisure."

  "Then you will pay the demons?"

  Zanthor pursed his lips. "Those hairless ones appear very eager to get

  the materials they have demanded. I wonder seriously what they will do

  once they lay their hands on it."

  "They will do themselves what they have urged me to do," Tarlroc

  predicted darkly.

  The Ton chuckled. "You worry a great deal, Tarlroc I Zanthor. Demons

  they may be, but they have proven unable to command or damage either

  of us with their tricks of mind." He slapped the hilt of his sword. "Steel,

  they shall have, right enough, but that comes in many forms. They will not

  enjoy the manner in which I intend to deliver it."

  11

  WHATEVER HIS EXHAUSTION and the confused, now

  unremembered dreams that had troubled his sleep, Murdock awoke at his

  customary time the following morning.

  He lay still a few minutes, enjoying the luxury of the bed and the

  warmth of his cabin after the rugged living of the past several days.

  Ross brushed aside the blanket covering him and then paused to look at

  it. He had slipped off his boots and lain back without troubling to draw it

  over himself. Gordon must have done this, too, before he had finally left

  for his own quarters.

  He shook his head. Sleep must have hit him with the force of a poleax

  for him to have remained oblivious to that.

  Whatever about it, the night's rest had served him well. He was relaxed

  and refreshed and, he realized, enormously hungry.

  The floor in front of him was striped with bands of gold, sunlight