by Andre Norton
He approached the landed craft with all the expertise of a scout exploring enemy territory, fully expecting at any moment to have some surprise confront him. The door of the cabin had been left slid well open when the squad had disembarked. He could hear no sound from within. Nor, when he reached out with that other carefully honed sense, could he pick up any suggestion that there was someone in concealment there.
Blaster in hand he made a final short dash from an angle which exposed as little of his body as he could hope and then was within, his back against the cabin wall, quick to survey all which lay about.
The accommodations were of more generous size than one would gauge from the exterior of the craft. There were six seats and behind those a space left free—perhaps meant to transport gear, though there was nothing there now.
Aimed through a small port on the right side of the first pair of seats was a piece of armament which might be either a larger form of blaster or a stunner—he half guessed the latter—and it was this which must have brought him down when the flitter came in for a landing. He had seen enough of such weapons of a smaller size that he knew the procedure for disarming the thing, and with two swift movements he did just that, rolling between his fingers the cylinder which made it workable.
There was a chatter of noise which sent him again into a fighting half-crouch, blaster ready. The sound came from a box mounted before the same seat that the gunner must have occupied. The com—if he could only give the answer! But that was beyond him and he knew that he could not trust the medic. This was like Tssek, like much of Wayright—the machines were highly evolved—this one might even be able to report back on its own that there were difficulties. He would take no risks, no matter how slight.
Jofre brought the butt of the blaster down on the box which returned a screeching cry, as if it had indeed a life of its own, and then puffed out choking smoke which drove him to the door of the flitter.
His problem was no closer to solution. He stood now in a form of transportation which could save them all—but he could not put it to use. And to retrace by foot the way they had come, Zurzal suffering from that maiming, three prisoners—the Jat—The issha were taught to act as individuals; their whole way of life made them first and foremost dependent upon themselves and wary of losing any of that independence. He shook his head as if to scatter out thoughts he could not arrange in the proper pattern.
At least he could see one thing—set against the wall of the flitter was a rack holding water flasks. Sighting those his thirst awoke. He worked free the nearest and forced himself to take only three sips, not enough to wash the gravelly dryness from his tongue and mouth. But with that and two others swinging on their slings from his shoulder he returned to the party by the rocks.
“The Skrem are dead,” Taynad greeted him. “Yan says so—” The Jat was still snuggled against her but now it squeaked with some vigor.
“Well enough.” But at the moment that was far down the list of Jofre’s immediate concerns. He handed one of the water flasks to the girl and took another to where the Zacathan half sat, half lay.
Somehow Zurzal had managed to wriggle around to get a hold on the time scanner with his small hand. He was fumbling now at that part of the mechanism which held the power coil and, as Jofre came up, that yielded to his struggle. A wisp of smoke answered.
“Gone—burnt out—”
The Assha stone, Jofre thought. Power—it had given the power to hold that vivid return of life. But it was shattered into—he ran his finger into the small chamber of the coil—heat and dust—only dust—
“It needed only greater power!” The Zacathan was leaning away from his rock support. “Now we know!”
“And, Learned One, what good will that do us?” Jofre was going to make no pretense of covering the gloom of his own speculations concerning their future. “I am no pilot, you cannot handle the flitter. If I loose any one of these,” he nodded towards the captives, “we cannot trust them to deliver us anywhere save the place they wish. And overland—” He gazed out over the plateau toward the breakage of the lava river, “we have no chance.”
“You have no chance anyway, Slip-shadow,” the leader of the squad rasped. “They will come when we do not report in. If you think to make a deal with me—with that lamebrain,” he glanced toward the man Taynad had disarmed, “or Yager here—forget it. The Guild doesn’t deal—they’ll simply fly over and stass us all and then pick up what they want and leave the—”
“Jofre!” Taynad was on her feet, looking north, “They come—in the air—”
He caught it, too, the hum of another flitter. He could try—it was so small a chance but the only one he had—Jofre called upon his full energy and made for the cone hill. Fear as well as rage fed him now. He pulled and threw himself from hold to hold. Somehow he reached the crest and crouched, panting heavily behind one of those smaller mounds. But he was not too exhausted to steady the barrel of the blaster on the top of that mound, ready himself for the single small chance he might have for a beam at the flitter as it bore in to stass them as the squad leader had promised. He was not even sure that if the beam hit it would cause enough damage to bring the craft down; he could only hope.
The craft did not swoop in, but made a circle well above where he waited. Then it slipped sidewise and his fingers tightened until he willed them fiercely to relax. He had a single second to see that emblazoned sign on the side of the flitter, to depress the barrel of his weapon. The flare of fire shot across the cone crest, it did not touch that machine.
There was no return—either of stass beam or weapon fire. The flitter dipped where the others were, and then lifted for a space to set down near the other flitter. Jofre drew a ragged breath as he watched the uniformed passengers emerge, take evasive action.
The first of those silvered helms reached the Guild flitter. Then they were all past it. One halted briefly beside the body, but only for a moment. Jofre turned and started down the hill, his body still shaking from the stress of that charge to reach the heights. He found it far more difficult going. No one appeared to notice him until he made the final drop to the level where the Patrol troopers had the three from the Guild in tangle cords and their officer was fronting Zurzal.
“—a good catch,” the officer was saying.
The Zacathan’s frill darkened, his eyes were coldly reptilian. “Bait, Captain? Then we were bait all the time? Well, that explains some incidents I wondered at.”
“Bait?” returned the officer coolly. “You greatly desired this expedition, Learned One. You wished to prove something, I believe. We merely allowed you to fulfill what you desired. You did get the results you wanted, did you not? We have some video-casts which are certainly amazing. And I do not think that you need fear any more attentions from the Guild. They have lost a great deal—including an in-port that they were very eager to establish in secret. On the whole, a most successful operation, do you not agree?”
Zurzal lifted his maimed arm. “One well paid for,” he returned.
The Patrol officer lost a little of his confident calm. “We have regenerative facilities, Learned One. Our command ship carries a medic with the techniques. You shall be given every attention. We are most indebted to you—”
Jofre felt drained. There was no longer any need for an oathed man. He had completed his service and in a very checkered fashion. It seemed to him now, and painfully, that he certainly had not shown well as an isshi—in many ways.
Issha—Taynad. At that moment he remembered what the Guild leader had said. Taynad had been sent to take him captive and deliver him to the Shagga. Well, enough of the issha was left in him that he would not be so easily disposed of.
“Friend—friend—”
Something tugged at his sleeve and he looked down to see that Yan had him fast. But the Jat was still in Taynad’s arms, she had moved that close to him. He tensed.
“Friend—” It was imperative—it was a demand for understanding.
J
ofre looked to the girl. “But you are oathed—”
She stooped and allowed Yan to slide out of her hold. Her hands went to her braids and she pulled out the notched twigs, showing them clearly to him.
“They sent me these on Wayright. I was ordered—but I gave no oath before the High Altar.”
“They will hold you to it anyway. I know the Shagga.”
She looked at him proudly. “The Shagga may order; they do not oath.”
“They will oath against you then, unless—” He started away from the rock against which he had been leaning, a new energy building in him. “Your sleeve knife, Sister—give it!” He held out his hand.
She stared at him, not understanding. Yan pulled at her other hand and looked up into her face, uttering one of those small coaxing mews.
Slowly Taynad drew that most precious, most intimate weapon and held it a little away from her. Jofre put out his hand and closed it about the bared blade.
“Pull!” he ordered and almost instinctively she answered. He felt that smart as its keen edge met his flesh and cut. Then she was holding a bloodstained knife, looking from it to him in wonder, as he brought his own hand up to lick the blood welling in that cut.
“You have done as ordered,” he said. “My blood dims your blade. So can you swear and no one, Lair Master or Shagga, can hold you wrong!”
The mask which she ever wore cracked. For the first time he saw more of the one who wore it than he ever thought he might.
“It is so—Shadow Brother,” she said in a half whisper.
“It is so!” he told her firmly. “Shadow Sister.”
“Jofre, Taynad!”
They awoke to the present and answered Zurzal’s call.
“My coworkers. Captain,” the Zacathan said. “It is thanks to them that the Guild did not put an end to these games you all have been playing before your somewhat late arrival Now, I think, we should be shown some of this gratitude which you mentioned is owed to us.”
They were off Lochan, aboard the Patrol cruiser and in the sickbed where the Zacathan lay with his maimed arm under a roofing bubble which kept in the fine spray bathing the charred wrist, before they were together again in private.
“You were oathed to me for this venture now ended,” Zurzal spoke first to Jofre. “I declare you have fulfilled your oath. Unless—”
“Unless?” Jofre asked.
“Unless you wish to make it a life burden?”
“Never a burden!” Since he had knelt to say farewell to the Lair Master in Ho-Le-Far he had not felt exactly like this. There was no question in him but what the Zacathan offered him now was all he could wish.
“Taynad Jewelbright,” Zurzal seemed to need no more words from Jofre but looked past him to her.
“Not Jewelbright.” She shook her head. “I think there are other roads.”
“There is one we may take together,” Zurzal said. “What we did on Lochan is only the beginning—there are treasures out of time beyond all reckoning—it is up to us to find our share of them!”
Jofre’s bandaged hand arose—his fingers shaped “Greeting to Shadow Comrade,” which seldom, if ever, in his lifetime, an oathed issha could pattern.
Taynad’s hand reached into his full sight—“So let it be.” Her fingers gave assent.
“We deal then no more with the shadows of others,” he spoke aloud, “only those which shall be our own.”
And into his wounded hand slipped a paw—a paw for Taynad also. The last link closed tight.
Table of Contents
ICE CROWN
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
BROTHER TO SHADOWS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
