by Andre Norton
than a testing, preparation for what you're going to face when you join at
last with them, however greater your numbers might then be."
"Are they your friends that you praise them so highly?" one of the lesser
Tons asked testily.
Ross eyed the man coldly. "They're my bitter and hated foes," he
answered evenly, "but I'd degrade myself and my comrades and I'd be
allowing you to hold a false security for which you'd pay heavily later on if
I spoke otherwise of them. Whatever we think of their leader and cause,
Condor Hall's own troops are brave men and brilliant fighters, and they'll
yield to nothing but death or unconsciousness."
"The condition of those you send us is proof enough of that," Ton I
Carlroc said bitterly. "What a waste, what a criminal waste, of good
fighting men!"
"In a way, their tenacity shouldn't amaze us overly much," the agent
told him. "They've got kin whom they love, and Zanthor has been careful
to school them in the belief that we'll return slaughter for the butchering
that accompanied his first, seemingly undammable advances. They have
no reason to doubt him considering their own ways, and he keeps them
well segregated from his mercenaries, who would soon deprive them of
any such delusions."
That should have been the end of it, but to Ross's disgust and growing
impatience, the discussion dragged on, seemingly interminably on. Every
one of the Confederate Tons believed their foes were at the end of their
strength and resources and that spring would bring them an early victory.
Murdock's warning that it could still prove to be a costly one failed to
check that enthusiasm or their ever-sharpening interest in the spoil they
hoped to secure at the close of the war. Most of them resisted the idea of
spending any more of their resources than they now felt to be essential to
keep what they held to be an already broken enemy in check until the final
kill.
Jeran A Murdoc caught his eye at last and shrugged, but the
Commandant, too, had enough talk about treasure that was patently not
yet won. "Condor Hall still has mercenary columns and its own garrison,"
he said abruptly, seizing the opportunity to speak that was presented by a
momentary lull in the debate. "No victory is guaranteed until it has been
gained, most assuredly not this one. I suggest that we bend ourselves to
harrying our foes as far as we can into the winter as Firehand suggests
and leave the division of Zanthor I Yoroc's lands and goods until we have
actually taken them from him. Slacken off now, and it is all too
conceivable that he might yet make himself ruler over yours."
19
ALL THROUGH THAT morning and the afternoon following it well into
the early evening, the meeting continued. At last everything that could be
planned and arranged, everything that could be countered, so far in
advance, had been considered and resolved, and the weary leaders arose,
spent in mind and spirit as a warrior is spent in body after long hours of
combat.
Ton Gurnion would not hear of the Sapphirehold unit's departing from
his camp so late in the day and insisted upon pressing on Luroc the use of
his own tent and arranging for others to be set up near it for the rest of
the party. For all his pride, the exhausted I Loran was glad enough to
accept the offer.
Ross accompanied the Sapphirehold ruler to I Carlroc's big tent. They
discussed how their partisans might most effectively increase the pressure
on Condor Hall's supply lines in the crucial weeks ahead, then the Terran
asked permission to join Ashe in the quarters assigned to them. He, too,
felt as if he had passed the day in battle.
To his surprise, I Loran shook his head. "Stay a while," he said. He
looked pointedly at the camp table near the tent's entrance. "Gurnion was
good enough to leave us some of his wine."
Murdock carried the light table over to the Ton, then filled two of the
goblets arranged around the decanter. One he handed to Luroc and took
the other himself after drawing a chair close to the ruler's.
He rolled the pale liquid on his tongue. It was a fine vintage, light and
very dry.
A smile flitted about his lips. It was not so long ago that he would not
have recognized how good this was. The appreciation of wine was another
of the benefits he had reaped from his association with Gordon Ashe, over
and above the opportunity to range time and space.
Luroc sipped his portion, his eyes closing in pleasure. "It seems like a
weary age since I last tasted anything the equal of this."
"Soon now you'll be in a position to import quality goods again," his
companion promised, "or reasonably soon."
"I know. I must just court patience. We cannot expect Zanthor I Yoroc
to supply us with prize stock, and I cannot in conscience consider
squandering our resources on luxuries at this point."
He took another sip and settled back in the chair, letting it take his
weight. "You did well in there," he told Murdock.
"So did you." Anger flashed momentarily in Ross's eyes. "I'd have
flattened you if you'd actually tried to get up and give me your place."
The Ton chuckled. He enjoyed the younger man's directness of speech.
"There was never a fear of it," he assured him. "Gurnion I Carlroc would
not have allowed such an insult to take place."
The Ton's dark eyes studied Ross somberly. "I did fail on another point.
I knew Commandant A Murdoc would be present, and I still let you walk
in there dressed like a herdsman."
Ross only shrugged. "I can survive our kind of war dressed like a
herdsman. I mightn't fare so well in something fancier."
The eyes still held him. "True enough, but half a high officer's or a
ruler's time is spent in political maneuvering, and for that, the trappings
are important. You will have to learn that lesson, Rossin A Murdoc, if you
are ever to command a column successfully, as I believe you shall gain the
right to do within a few more years. Your work with us has gone far
toward preparing you for the responsibilities of major rank, and if you will
it, you are likely to attain it soon."
The agent looked away. "As you said, we need our resources for
necessities right now, not luxuries. To my way of thinking, uniforms fall
into the luxury category. Those mercenaries should be able to see that."
"For the war itself, yes. A council like this is another matter." Luroc
sighed. "No one blames you, Rossin, but Jeran A Murdoc now thinks less
of Sapphirehold, less of me, for providing so poorly for you. I saw the look
he put on me. You have done too much for my domain for any form of
neglect on my part to be tolerable."
"The Commandant can take his opinion and…" Ross began hotly.
"Again, my young Friend, this is politics. It is also a rebuke for a fault I
myself have owned for a long time. I do owe you, Rossin, for more than I
shall ever be in a position to repay… Be silent for once and let me finish!
You would try Life's Queen Herself at times."
"Go on," Ross replied, uncomfortable
but knowing enough to keep his
mouth shut.
"Your contract will be fulfilled and your loan repaid, and there will be
more besides beyond your spoil share, but it cannot be what I of my own
heart and honor would give. My first responsibility has to be to my
domain. Sapphirehold will need the bulk of its resources and the bulk of
my personal fortune to regain its prosperity even with whatever
recompense comes to us with the victory. War's blight does not simply
vanish from the battleground with the cessation of hostilities."
The Ton straightened. "Bring me that saddle pack over there. The black
one."
Murdock complied. Luroc opened it and took a leather-wrapped
package from it. This, he handed to Ross. "Your belt is too plain for
anyone but a raw recruit, and it is worn besides. Let Firehand hang his
sword from this instead, at least while he is in the company of strangers."
The Terran's breath came in a hiss when he folded back the wrappings.
What he held was a belt, all right, one set, every part of it, with matched
emeralds, each of remarkable size and perfection.
"This—this is too much," he managed at last.
Luroc's voice was oddly soft. "No, that it is not."
The Ton's usual manner reasserted itself. "Had I a second son, this
would have been his portion. There is no cadet in my house, and my heir
cannot claim what would have been his right. I would have you take it now
and stand for me in the place of that other son." His tone gentled once
more. "I am pleading as well as giving, Rossin. Can you refuse me?"
The younger man's head lowered. "No. You read me right. I can't."
Murdock fastened the belt about his narrow waist, first stripping his
scabbard from the discarded belt and transferring it to the new one. The
plain, worn sheath did not detract from it. This was a tool, not a toy, and
in time of active war, it was expected to be utilitarian. None of the others
in that council had borne anything more ornate, whatever their richness
of dress in other respects.
"Much better," Luroc I Loran declared. "See that you show yourself
wearing it tonight, for a while at least, even if you are tired, and wear it
until we get back to our own camp."
"I will with pleasure, Ton," he agreed, smiling.
Luroc continued watching him. There was a difference in his scrutiny
now, and Murdoc looked at him, puzzled. "Ton?"
"Sit down, Firehand."
He obeyed, concerned now by what he heard in the domain ruler's
voice. "What's wrong?"
"I was fortunate I had that belt," I Loran said, as if he had not heard
the question. "Otherwise, I should have been hard pressed to come up
with a suitable gift that you would be able to bring with you when you
return to your own."
The Time Agent's heart gave an ugly jerk, but he made himself frown.
"I'm an independent. You know I'm not attached to any of the columns."
"Not any of those on the Mainland or the islands near it," he agreed.
"You were never born in the regions my people know, or if you were, your
race most certainly was not. When I said just now that you would soon be
ready for a major command, I did not imagine it would be over soldiers of
any realm familiar to me."
"Just what do you mean?" Murdock was scared, but he forced himself
to direct that emotion into the show of anger appropriate to the situation
had he been innocent.
The older man chuckled. "I traveled extensively in my youth, Rossin A
Murdoc, or whatever the name you actually bear should be. I never came
across a people the like of you and your two associates. That rock ferret's
face of yours did not come from any northern or middle portion of the
Mainland, and your pale skin eliminates the far south as your place of
origin. Since there are three of you, all apparently unrelated, you can't
excuse your differences by claiming some strange mixing of blood. You are
strangers, all of you, as alien as if you rose from the depths of the sea or
out of the ground beneath us."
"If you believe that, why have you…"
"Do not credit me with too sharp a wit. It was a good while before I
realized I could not place you, and it took longer still to convince myself
that my seemingly wild surmises were correct."
"What do you expect me to say, condemn myself or call you either a liar
or a madman?"
"Say nothing. I know you will not betray those who sent you or their
reasons for doing so, and I do not want to see you foresworn before me."
Murdock started to unclasp the belt, but the Ton stopped him. "The gift
is genuine. You and your comrades have more than proven yourselves our
friends. I spoke now to warn you. I was a blank shield before I fulfilled the
dream and married into Sapphirehold. The belt was my groom's price…
That early experience with war rendered me more able than my colleagues
to believe in the danger Healer O Ashean proclaimed, but the breadth of
knowledge I had gained about my world helped open my eyes to your
strangeness. You will be dealing with other mercenaries now as well as
with the Confederate Tons, and you will have to treat with them ever more
frequently and closely as this conflict draws to a close. Take care how you
conduct yourself with them and warn Gordon O Ashean to be on his guard
as well if you do not want to be forced to declare who and what you are
before us all."
"What about you?" Ross asked, neither confirming nor denying his
companion's allegations but giving his curiosity full play. It was
inconceivable that the on-worlder could have divined the actual truth, but
he had to know how close to it he had come. "Who do you think we are?"
I Loran shrugged. "Life's Queen alone knows. I myself do not believe
that the Mainland is the only large landmass on this world, and there are
the old tales of strange travelers. It does not matter. You have stood well
for Sapphirehold, and I have seen enough of all of you to know that your
care for us is genuine, though at the start, it may be that your purpose was
merely to oppose Zanthor I Yoroc."
He sighed, as if mourning a loss he knew must come. "You and your
comrades have nothing to fear from me, Firehand, now or in the future,
whether you go or stay in the domain you have fought so hard to preserve.
As I said, I spoke only to warn you."
"We thank you for that," Murdock responded slowly. "False or true,
such a tale would breed distrust and fear. The Confederacy can't afford
either in its ranks at this point."
Luroc smiled. That had been a good thrust. "Answer me one question,
Rossin, and then I shall have mercy and allow you to escape. Did you
accept the belt out of policy or for love of me?"
The Terran's eyes fell. He was, in fact, hurt. "For love, Ton."
"In that spirit, too, was it given."
Ross's gray eyes met Luroc's. "Was it also a test?"
"One with the background you claim would have known the stones, but,
no, it was not. I was sure enough of my deductions not to have to degrade
my offering. You three are very good in your roles, but we are t
hrown
closely together in this life. There have been many little points significant
to someone already suspicious enough to watch for and read them."
Ross Murdock left the ruler's tent. He felt as battered as if he had taken
a physical beating. He paused a moment to orient himself.
The partisan standing sentry duty started to raise his hand in salute,
but it stopped in midair as his eyes fixed on the jeweled belt. They
widened, and his mouth dropped open.
In the next instant, he gave a great crow of delight that quickly
summoned the remainder of their company.
The reaction could not have been more excited or more jubilant, and
Ross cringed at the magnitude of his failure to recognize these gems.
He realized something else as well, and a glow of warmth filled him. A
mercenary served for gold. He could expect no more than gold as his
reward, and he could expect to have no significance in his employers' eyes
beyond whatever respect his battle skills and tactical abilities might earn
for him, that and, hopefully, human concern for his physical welfare. This
greeting, this joy with and for him in his advancement, was dramatic
proof of how much more he had found in the hard-fighting domain whose
cause he carried.
Ashe managed to rescue Ross from their enthusiastic troops after a few
minutes and just about dragged him into the tent assigned to them.
"What in all the levels of time has happened?" he demanded once they
were alone.
"I seem to have gotten myself adopted as Luroc's cadet son." He licked
his lips. "He knows us for aliens, Gordon, or at least for strangers."
The archeologist said nothing for several minutes after Murdock had
finished his account of all that had happened in the ruler's tent. "It was
only to be expected, I suppose," he said wearily at the end of that time. "As
I Loran himself pointed out, we've had to live too closely for too long
among these people. It was all but inevitable that we'd give ourselves away
eventually."
"Maybe," the other agent responded bitterly, "but we could probably
have pushed it back a good while yet if you'd kept command of the
mission… Damn! I was with him so often…"
"What else could you have done?" his partner asked mildly. "You're his
war commander. You had to confer with him and associate with him.
