by Andre Norton
“It is wrong—” the captain exploded.
“As you see it. But let us leave such judgments to the higher authorities. What happened on Tssek was a forced use of what might be a very important thing. Now,” he spoke once more to the Zacathan, “you will leave with the courier and I promise you as quick a trip as possible. I cannot assure you there will be no questions raised when you reach Wayright—but that will be your concern.”
“We shall be most pleased—” Zurzal said. His neck frill, which had shown some traces of color and a tendency to flutter at the edges, now lay peacefully at rest.
When they had time to themselves the Zacathan spoke to Taynad. “Since they have deprived you of your wardrobe and other necessities of travel, allow me to make up that loss at least in part.”
“You are very generous, Learned One.” Her answer came in a colorless voice. The Jat had hunted her out and now cuddled against her. “I cannot promise any repayment. In the eyes of those I return to I may be considered one who has failed.”
“Death cancels an oath!” Jofre broke in. “Sopt s’Qu is dead. And the Holder will soon be, judging by the attitude of these Tssekians we have just seen. Also—were you oathed directly to him or to his subordinate?”
“To the Horde Commander.”
“Who is, I repeat, dead. You cannot serve a dead man.”
She could, of course. That, too, was part of issha training, but there was no reason for her to use her knife on herself in this situation—the oath was not a full service one he was sure.
“At any rate,” she returned, “we have to wait on the fate shadowing us. Much is changed by time.”
Their voyage back to Wayright was both swift and smooth. For Jofre it was a far more comfortable one, even though their quarters were crowded. He had hoped to establish some closer communication with the Jewelbright. But she spoke only of service things, mainly of the Jat. And it was that creature which drew the two of them together.
Jofre was startled to learn that he could exchange vague thought-speech with Taynad if the Jat was with them both. This was something new in his experience and in the Sister’s also he believed, though she did not admit to it. Zurzal was greatly interested and set up some tests, but when he himself strove to try the same form of transference of ideas it was a failure. Apparently only the shared bonding allowed this.
At ship’s night measure before they planeted the Zacathan made a serious suggestion to Taynad.
“Gentlefem, I know of your way of life, and also that you are issha-trained. Perhaps what I have to offer is too far removed from that which you know and desire. But I would like to ask you to join with us—not oathed but as a partner in what is to be done on Lochan. That is a planet about which we know little—and where we would venture is wilderness. It is, I have been informed, a harsh world and not one to tempt a visit. There is danger to be found there. However, danger is not new to the issha-trained and your success with this small one who is alien to all of us, might be a factor for success or failure of what I would accomplish.
“For if you can bond with a Jat, then binding with other alien wildlife can certainly be hoped for. And where I would go the wildlife is said to be one of the greatest perils.”
She was smoothing her long fingers down the Jat’s furry back, sending the creature squirming and uttering small mews of pleasure. Away from her fantastic robes, dressed in the severeness of the spacer garb she had obtained at the port, she looked like another person.
Taynad studied the Zacathan. What she had seen of the man suggested trust. She was not sure that Jofre had been right, that death had broken her oath-binding. After all, by his own admission, the guard was no longer a true Shadow Brother. If she returned to Asborgan—if she would be able to return there—she had no funds and those possessions which she might have been able to pawn to secure such had been taken by the Tssekians—she might find herself in a difficult position. Doubtless on other worlds there existed the equivalent of Jewelbrights with their own manner of life—but to her that was a mask, a disguise only, and to think of it as ALL of one’s life was distasteful. The Zacathan’s suggestion promised hardship, but she had come from perilous and sometimes near-vicious schooling; she had no fears that she could not do as well as Jofre if it became a matter of survival. There was much in this offer which did interest her.
The binding with the Jat was something which still made her feel warm and good inside. Suppose she could indeed develop such a talent with other forms of life? It was truly something to consider seriously.
“Learned One, I cannot make answer until I know what awaits me in Asborgan. It may be that I shall be tied by another’s will. But—let it be as you wish for now!”
“Fair enough,” Zurzal returned. “We may have a period of waiting at Wayright port, for ships to Lochan are few.”
Taynad continued to gentle the Jat. Good, time she could use, not only to settle her own possible future but to discover what there was about this disowned Brother—she shot a glance at him as he stood checking some list the Zacathan had handed him—which gave her always the sense of hidden power.
His off-worlder blood showed in his greater height, even though beside Zurzal he was made to look small, slim, boyish—He had ice-grey eyes also, instead of the brown ones she was used to seeing, able to warm with fire, when the issha displayed skills in the arms court. Yet he moved with the unmistakable ease of any Shadow she had seen.
What had Zarn said concerning him when the disguised Shagga had attempted to get her to forego her mission and go after him? That he was a renegade, one who was the first in generations to break the Code of Vart, that he had stolen something of power—Still Zarn had been very wary in that part of his explanation of why Sister should turn against Brother.
She knew well that what Jofre had told her about his outlawing from Ho-Le-Far was the truth. Deep-trained could not so deceive deep-trained. He believed that it was Shagga hatred which had denied him his proper life and certainly it was Shagga hatred which had set Zarn scheming to bring him down.
They had linked to free the Jat and linkage would have speedily revealed to her any darkness in him. But—there was something—that power—a strength which she was well aware he possessed. Oddly enough she was also sure that he did not realize what he had—it was as if a man carried a bit of stone, perhaps as a luck piece, not realizing that what he grasped in truth was a gem of great price.
What made one Asshi? Oh, there were ceremonies and trials, all manner of testing. She had never been at such a raising herself but she had heard talk of such. Could it be that this off-worlder who was not of the true blood possessed that necessary extra core of power? Then—yes, it would explain the Shagga hatred—all the rest. They would never allow among them a Master who was not born of their own breed.
Nor would they—her thoughts carried logically forward—would they wish one with issha training and perhaps such dormant power, to really escape them. Better the death the Shagga had planned in the mountains, they would think. And perhaps most of the Brothers and Sisters would agree. Assha were jealous of their standing; it was the base of their inner powers, something which must not be questioned.
Taynad summoned now her own inner reactions to this outlaw. There was no hatred—why should there be? Hatred could be seeded, grown, used judiciously when it was needed to enhance inner power, but one did not nourish it without cause. He had been ready to stand for her before the port authorities; she had sensed that as completely as if he had spoken aloud.
He had linked, securely and well. And he had bonded—with the Jat—and perhaps also—at this new thought her head jerked a fraction—bonded with her? But that was impossible! There had been no oathing. Nor had this Zurzal offered that either when he had spoken of Lochan. He would take her free of any loyalty tie and this Brother would accept her so—she was sure of that.
The Jat had fallen asleep and she laid the small body on one of the cushions of the bunk. She gave a sudden shake t
o her head and loosed the curtain of her hair as it must be before she sought the Center. The other two in the cabin were very intent upon the tapes the Zacathan had borrowed from the captain of this ship, data of distant worlds. If they noticed her, Jofre would realize what she did and would not disturb her.
Deep, slow breaths, control of mind, closing out of all which was about her. In—in to the Center. Her hands moved in the long familiar patterns although she was no longer aware of them. In and in and in—She knew the calm, the waiting force, and encushioned herself in it. As she would do before any trial of strength, Taynad fitted herself with that armor, those weapons, no living being had ever seen.
It was like being free to swim in some pool of pure and fragrant water, turn lazily and circle, feeling the flow of that force about her. Yet there was the prick of warning which came now. Not too long—one dared not linger here too long. Reluctantly she roused once more her will, out, away—it was sluggish that response, then it grew stronger, swept her out into the world once again. She was once more Taynad, save that for a while she would be a little more than she had been. No Shagga, no Master, no Mother-sister, had ever learned how to hold to that force for long, how could a lesser issha hope to do so?
It remained that she must wait for a period—learn if those who controlled her would reach for her again. When she entered into this bargain there had been no time limit set on her off-world stay. She had not been dispatched to deal death but rather to subtly bend a man to another’s will, and that she and those who had selected her were sure she could do. But there had been no promise that this would have been a short mission or that when it was finished she would not return to her Lair.
They planeted on Wayright in the late afternoon, using that part of the giant port which was reserved for couriers and Patrol ships. There was none of the heavy traffic here which engulfed one at the passenger port some distance away.
Jofre had expected that they would be met by a guard, marched off to another debriefing by the Patrol. He had his suspicions that the officer on Tssek had no intention to forget them and the danger he believed them to be. However, they were picked up by an antigrav ground transport and, with their scanty luggage, transferred to the city, back to the pyramided inn from which they had been snatched—was it weeks—or even months ago? Space-time and planet time differed in a way Jofre found amazing.
As the outer door closed behind them they were received with the suave diffidence shown them before under this same roof, speedily escorted to a suite of rooms on the second rise of the building. Jofre made for the windows at once and examined the latching, even though he hardly believed that the same trick would be played on them twice. Surely there was not a second dictator ready to have his past scanned.
CHAPTER 21
“WELCOME, Veep Tetempra, welcome indeed!”
She noted the exact depth of his bow as well as the carefully cultivated joy he was so quick to express at her appearance in the conference chamber where he had had his temporary rule. This Salanten was harboring some thoughts he believed unguessed. She would have to take steps sooner or later. Just now there were more important decisions to be made.
“Glad hour to you also, Salanten. There arose no difficulties during my absence then?”
She fitted her gleaming body, bending her stick-thin limbs easily, into the waiting seat at the head of the conference board. Her turban flashed two new jewels, her personal selection from that hoard the Shagga Voice had reluctantly bestowed.
“Nothing of great import, Veep. Routine merely.” He was of the old Terran stock, and the pride of such sometimes got out of hand. Though he had come up through the ranks and knew exactly how he stood and how firm that standing might be considered at present. Now he began to rattle off his report and Tetempra listened, twice condescending to tap out a note on her own recorder.
There was a new market for Kamp opening up in the northwest sector. And the illegal trade in Varg furs was showing a generous profit. So good a one it might even be well to see that the Jack outfit in charge of that poaching be replaced by one of the Guild’s own fleet. Have Fengal evaluate that. The rest was petty, planet-bound stuff. He was deliberately smothering her in such details, hoping to bore her so that she would be adverse to more than very random checkings on such activities as he had managed to corner under his own control. There were a number of those—yes, this servant must be bound to the orders of those over him and not free to meddle on his own.
But she allowed him to come to the end of his dull reporting and did not interrupt. Although twice she made mental note of matters her own special eyes and ears were going to check on.
“And you bring us new business, Veep—?”
She narrowed the slight slit of her inner eyelids. He certainly must be watched. Business for “us” indeed! Did he rank himself as one who could speak at any time for the Guild?
“There will be a conference at the hour of the second moon rise,” she made no direct answer to such effrontery and was even more irritated that he did not seem to be aware of the snub. “Summon all department heads—”
“Lan Te is on the eastern continent.”
“Send out the summons.” She made no other comment but raised her long hand in a gesture he could not overlook as meaning dismissal.
For several minutes she sat playing with her personal recorder, slipping it back and forth in her fingers as she thought, trying to fit one bit of information to another in order to form the whole upon which a decision must be based.
Then she spoke to the voice box at her right hand.
“Send in the one who waits—”
The woman who appeared in answer to that abrupt summons wore a shabby spacer uniform, its badges proclaiming her a communication expert, but those were tarnished. In all she gave the appearance of one perhaps bumped from a berth and unable to make a new connection.
Her face was bloated, the cheeks distended and shivers ran over her body. The Veep studied her.
“Very, very good, Ho-Sing. An excellent disguise. And what do you have for me?”
“The Zacathan and his guard were kidnapped and have left planet on a Tssekian Force fighter. It seems that one of the Horde Commanders, Sopt s’Qu, took him from his quarters at the Auroa Inn. They did it by flitter and loaded the prisoners on board at once—they had been stassed—the guard looked near death. The ship lifted them as soon as possible.”
When the woman stopped speaking Tetempra clicked her long nails on the tabletop.
“We knew that the Tssekians might try this,” she said, “they moved fast.”
“They had another passenger also, Veep.”
The nails were now motionless.
“Who?”
“A woman of Asborgan—one of those trained to give pleasure—and of the highest rank—those called Jewelbright.”
“Ah—” What Zarn had parted with in the way of knowledge, besides the jewels, was now to be added to the picture. That was the one he had spoken of at their second meeting, the one to whom the Guild, in the manner of speaking, owed the increase on their fee.
“What do they say was the purpose of this Jewelbright’s visit to Tssek?”
The woman shrugged. “What could her purpose be? She was a gift to the Holder. Doubtless she was to whisper into his ear at the proper moments any word her sponsor would wish passed on.”
“Tssek—” Tetempra’s nails began to tap again. “Four shipments of arms to the far west there—and a different touchdown, not a true port for any of them. The rebels made an excellent deal and they must be very close to the fruition of their plans. It may go hard with the Zacathan—and his guard, if he survives the trip—should Arn’s’Dunn win this squabble. What is the latest news?”
“None as yet, Veep. We have the eyes out, the ears ready. Wayright is covered.”
“When there is news, bring it at once.”
With no parting salute the woman turned and was gone. That one was to be depended upon, Tetempra cons
idered with satisfaction. She had handpicked her herself and the reward which had been dangled was very great. Nor would it be skimped—this one was well worth her hire.
There was nothing to do now but wait. But she could find plenty otherwise to deal with. There was the matter of the ship they would need, if and when they could get the Zacathan away from Tssek and once more on the move along the path THEY chose—though the fool thought it was all his doing. It showed that even such as a Zacathan could be subtly managed into obeying the desires of another. All had been going so well until these mire-eaters of Tssek interfered. Though if Guild calculations were right about Arn’s’Dunn, the Illustrious Holder and any henchman of his would speedily have very little to say about anything.
She would present at the conference the bargain with Zarn and she had no expectation of anything but success.
It was a ten-ten of days later that Tetempra’s chamber safe alarm brought her awake. This Farcar Inn was Guild owned, through a proxy, of course, and had a number of additions for the comfort and convenience of its occupants. The Veep pressed a button set in the frame of her bed, pulled around her a length of thick blue-green cloth and stalked over to the wall farthest from the window.
At her touch the concealed door opened, and, slipping into the very dim light of the room, was the woman she had interviewed before.
“What has happened?”
“Opher has reported in—not from the port, Veep. No, there was the landing of a service courier and on board were all three of those you wish knowledge of—the Zacathan, his guard, and the play woman.”
“A service courier! They were under some form of arrest?”
“The signs were not of that. An antigrav was summoned and they all went to the same inn where the Zacathan was staying when the Tssekians took them. Also—Opher reports that they have a Jat.”
