Android at Arms

by Andre Norton

  “But how would they know—we have only just discussed it?”

  “Did not you show me those eye and ear holes in that palace of yours? If there are not such in the walls hereabouts, then this one had his spies. He must have been worried indeed to risk killing you before witnesses and so betraying himself. Either he planned to kill us also, or else he has served his master—or mistress—as much as he can and was due to be discarded. How better quit the service than in a blaze of glory, removing the chief threat with you?”

  Andas knelt beside the priest, turning the body over. He did not expect to find Kelamake dead. Surely Yolyos had not struck that hard. But he was, and Andas searched the man. He did not know what he sought, save that there might be some link between this traitor and the enemy. And he found it at last in the interior of the miter, lying directly behind the key symbol. It was a tiny device, which, when he tried to rip it free, proved to have a whole network of very fine wires buried in the sides of the headgear where they might touch the skull of the wearer.

  That skull was shaved as was customary among priests. Yolyos squatted down on the other side, looking first at the cap and then at the skull. Suddenly he put forth a hand, extending the claws on two fingers to their greatest extent, and made a savage pass across the skin, tearing it open. No blood flowed, and they could all see the glint of metal that ripping had uncovered. The priest wore a metal plate as part of his skull.

  “More of your Nessi dealings,” Yolyos commented. “They appear to temper their magic with science, if one can call it that.”

  Andas stood up. “The sooner we visit the Valley of Bones, the better,” he said between set teeth.

  17

  Andas paced back and forth. The rooms in this small fort, never meant to serve as more than an outpost, were not intended for pacing. He could cover the space in about four medium strides. But he could not sit still with the thoughts that clawed at his mind, even as the Salariki had clawed free the Arch Priest’s secret. How many more of those gathered at this heart of the command were more—or less—than they seemed to be? He had only Yolyos’s talent to “smell” out the enemy.

  Dark old tales came unbidden to his mind. Once his people had worshiped gods who turned their faces from the light, who were to be appeased only with blood sacrifices. Only the Old Woman existed still from that time. Then kings had kept about their persons “witch doctors,” men and women supposedly with the gift of literally sniffing out prospective enemies. The result had depended upon the whim of those doctors. And the innocent must have suffered with the the guilty many times over. Yet Andas could not believe that those of human breed had ever been gifted with Yolyos’s talent. And he should be thanking Akmedu that not only had the Salariki followed him into this waking nightmare, but that he was also comrade in arms.

  The alien sat now, cross-legged, in a deep window seat, watching Andas. He had refused the clothing of the Imperial forces, save for breeches, boots, and a cape. Apparently to cover his furred upper body caused him discomfort. And he held to his nose a wilted green ball he had clung to ever since they had left the woodland, though the aroma of those herbs and leaves had faded considerably since they had been gathered.

  Shara sat in the single chair. Her torn and grimed garments had been changed for male clothing. Only the intricate braiding of her hair betrayed her sex, for otherwise she might have been a boy. She sat quietly enough, her heavy-lidded eyes not turned on Andas at all, but fixed as if she looked inward and not outward.

  “How many—” Andas flung around to face both of them. “How many such can there be among us?”

  “None, among those I have seen—save that devil-priest,” Yolyos replied calmly. “Be sure I would know. He was a puppet jerking to the will of another, like the shadow people of our entertainers. None else I have met are so.”

  “But where one has entered—”

  “In the very ancient days of our people”—Shara spoke from the same memories as Andas had—“such searchers were known. The king would summon all his people to a meeting and send out his witch-finders to run about among them. Those they touched with their wands were killed. But—”

  “That was savagery,” Andas said. “Disclosure of the king’s enemies depended upon the whim of men who had private hates and quarrels to avenge. If there are any here, Yolyos can sniff them out. I think we may be safe for the present. But we must move against the Valley of Bones before it looses worst against us!”

  There was a polite scratching at the doorframe outside the curtain. At Andas’s call, Ishan entered. He was smiling broadly.

  “Lord, your wisdom read aright these sulkers in the Drak Mount. They have agreed to a meeting. The skimmer has been sent to bring them as far as the Tooth Craig, even as you ordered.”

  Andas felt a small leap of hope. At least this far he had judged the situation aright. In spite of the priest whose body had been dragged out hours earlier, he had made the first move of his complicated game, and it was successful.

  “Let us go then.” He was already heading for the door. Yolyos swung from his seat, the girl close behind. There were elklands waiting, the smaller, surer-footed breed of the mountains. Their best pace was a raking trot, and they continually bobbed their heavily horned heads up and down. Now and then one voiced a bellow, to be echoed by the rest.

  Andas, Shara, Yolyos, Ishan, and a squad of the latter’s own shield men made up their swift-riding band. The Tooth Craig was at least two hours’ steady riding away. They must travel ever alert as this was wild and broken land. And, after the unmasking of Kelemake, Andas trusted nothing.

  They made a rough camp at the craig, Andas and his leaders a little apart. Down before them stretched the raw land of the waste, a northernmost arm of that in which they had landed the drone ship in that other Inyanga. Andas wondered fleetingly if Elys had told her story and what the false emperor had made of it.

  “They are coming.” Shara touched his arm.

  A skimmer showed against the sky like an insect. Ishan spoke, and half of his men vanished on the rocky hillside about their appointed meeting place. Andas was startled at their skill at taking cover. But these had been part of a hard-beleaguered guerrilla force for years. Those who had not learned were long since dead. They had been given orders not to move unless treachery was offered.

  There was barely enough level ground for the skimmer to alight on. It moved sluggishly, carrying an overload of passengers. Four men in mercenary uniforms disembarked. They wore their side arms, as by custom they could, but carried no larger weapons. Their heads were concealed with helmets on which the protecto visors were down. But as they exited from the craft, each deliberately snapped that visor up and removed his helmet to stand bareheaded.

  Two were young, aides or squad captains. But those they escorted were older, men plainly well established in their business of war. The one in the lead held up his hand in a peace salute to which Andas responded.

  “Commander-in-Arms Modan Sullock,” he introduced himself brusquely. Then he indicated his followers. “Captains Masquid, Herihor, Samson.”

  “The Imperial son of Balkis-Candace”—Ishan spoke formally—“his Chosen, the Lady Shara, his comrade in arms, Lord Yolyos.”

  Sullock’s attention for Andas and Shara was fleeting compared to the measuring stare he gave to the Salariki!

  “Salariki!” His surprise was unconcealed. But he recovered his aplomb quickly. Once more his hand raised, this time in a fall salute to Andas.

  Under the circumstances it was a waste of time to stand on ceremony. Andas came directly to the point.

  “You have our terms, Commander-in-Arms, and you must have considered them seriously or you would not be here. They are simple—your contract was broken when she who employed you fled, leaving you to the plague death. We offer you parole with honor. And though we cannot give you off-world withdrawal, since ships no longer fin down here, we offer you the best we can. This has never been any quarrel of yours, save that you u
sed your fighting ability to aid a usurper. You have your choice—stay pent in the Drak Mount and let the plague and time end you. Or surrender the fortress to us on honorable terms. We do not seek you, who are but tools, but her who brought this ruin upon us.”

  Sullock studied Andas for a long moment before he answered. “Since you know so much about us, then you must also know that it is beyond our power to surrender the mount entirely. Many of its heavy defenses are on auto, and that has been tampered with so it cannot be shut off again. There is no way to reach the mount safely overlands.”

  Andas shrugged. “Let it stand, so, a monument to the evil that used it. We have a skimmer. Do you have any?”

  “Two, recalled from scout duty. No cruisers—your Lady Kidaya took the last in commission.”

  “Let those ferry your men out to a place we shall appoint. They will bring with them rations and only the side arms that by law are theirs. There is but one thing you must give me and that as soon as your exodus begins.”

  “That being?”

  “A radiation suit that will fit me. And the best you have at the mount. Those are our terms. Do you wish to confer with your men at Drak before you give us one word or another?”

  “You will accept truce oath and parole us then after interplanetary custom?”

  “We will,” answered Andas promptly. Whether they would believe him after all these years of bitter struggled, he did not know. It must seem that he was utterly confident now.

  “I am empowered by custom also,” returned Sullock that, “to agree to terms. And we shall accept. Our contract is broken.” From his tunic he brought forth a sealed tape, tossed it to the ground, and set his heel upon it, grinding it, case and tape together, into a mass that could never be read again. “When shall we come forth?”

  “You can begin as soon as you return to the mount. But I want that suit at once, so I shall go with you. Your men can stay here.”

  Andas saw Ishan start forward as if to protest, but he waved him back, giving him no chance to speak.

  “Each shuttle taking your men out will bring a selected party of ours in,” he continued. “We shall clear out supplies and arms—”

  “The plague!” Shara spoke in warning.

  Sullock looked to her. “Lady, the plague died four tens of days ago. There have been no new cases since. It went when those we served left.”

  “But why?” she demanded. “Why should Kidaya seek to kill those who served her?”

  “Your suspicion is quick, lady.” Sullock grimaced. “Now it took us a little longer to spell out the truth. Well do you say, lord”—he turned to Andas—“that our contract was broken. There came a messenger to that one who hired us. She was in a fury of excitement thereafter, and she left, taking her own with her, and an evil lot they were. As for why she would be rid of us—well, the defenses were on auto in the mount and the food was limited. We cannot lift off-world now, and we had become an embarrassment to her. She relies now on other methods of warfare. And she would have left us to death-haunt that hold, in truth, had not our first medic found the herbs in the water system and removed them. She is a woman in form, but within—she is not human!”

  “No plague but poison!” Shara exclaimed. “But she could use plague, the threat of it, to isolate us, keep out any from the stars. In truth, what is she, Andas, who plans so?”

  “She serves that other. And, it would seem, well. The more reason to strike to the heart of that dark, and soon.”

  So they took truce oath with the mercenaries, and the ferrying of those within the Drak Mount began, moving them to a long valley to the north of the Place of Red Water. There they set up camp with what rations they brought out of the mount. Andas did not mistrust the men who had surrendered. Their custom of standing by their parole was known galaxy-wide.

  Since there were no ships now lifting from Inyanga, he wondered whether he might later follow with them an old method of his people, offering them soldier land for settlement. They could so provide the core of a new army, since soldier land could only be inherited in each new generation by service in the forces. But that would come later—a decision for the future. What faced him now was not months away, but in the immediate hours—or days ahead.

  It was Sullock who ordered the radiation suits brought out of storage for Andas’s inspection. Though they had not been used, perhaps in years, the prince knew them for models he had seen in his own time as adequate for heavy duty. He had no tech among his own force to test them, so he had to depend upon the aid of such among the mercenaries. That expert reported that four were in working condition.

  Andas chose the one closest to a good fit, though it was a little large. By the advice of the first medic among Sullock’s men, his body, before he dressed in the suit, was given an additional shielding of those plasta bandages used in radiation treatment. The binding made him more clumsy, but it was further insurance against painful death.

  To the last, Shara demanded to share his desperate eventure. Andas was adamant in his refusal. Only one man could do this, and by the choice of fate, that one was he. He persuaded her at last that the safeguards in the temple were such that, even if she went with him, she could not accompany him all the way and would only be a burden for him.

  The only addition he insisted upon being made was a com unit that would allow his voice to be projected beyond the suit. The lock that he would have to deal with was partly controlled by certain sound waves.

  Whether the temple, being in the midst of the ruins, was intact enough so he could enter it, he did not know, since no one had penetrated to it since the blow-up. He wondered whether the destruction had been done deliberately for that reason, not just to wipe out the palace and its defenses. If the Old Woman was as powerful as she seemed, then those who served her might well know of the existence of that which he sought.

  It took them a full night of labor to install the com in the suit. Andas willed himself to sleep in the commander’s quarters of the Drak Mount, taking what rest he could.”

  “If I do not return,” he said to Shara and Yloyos the next morning, “then to you, Shara, the rule. My lord”—he looked then to the Salariki—“this is not your world, and it may be that you cannot leave it again, nor is it your war. But if you would serve this lady with your talent, as you have aided me, then I shall be content, for no man ever had a better comrade in arms in any undertaking. I know not what form friendship takes among your people, but among mine this feeling is such I name you ‘brother.’”

  Somewhere in the mount the Salariki had found a small bag of spices, which he kept at hand, sniffing it often. But now he let that drop so it dangled from the cord that bound it to his wrist, and he put out both his hands, claws sheathed, so Andas laid his own in them.

  Delicately the claw on each forefinger extended and dug into Andas’s brown flesh until a drop of blood showed.

  “Lady,” said the Salariki then, “since this, my brother, has no nature-given claws to mark me, do you take the knife at your belt and do to my hands as I have done to his.”

  Shara did so without question, using the point of her belt knife as delicately as Yolyos had his claws.

  When drops of blood showed on his hands also, still holding Andas’s hands, he raised them to his lips and touched tongue tip to the blood. Then Andas followed his example in a twin gesture that brought Yolyos’s blood to his own mouth.

  “Blood to blood,” said the alien. “We are clan kin now, brother. Go content that I shall stand where protection is needed for your first lady.”

  So it was that with the salt-sweet taste of Yolyos’s blood still on his tongue, Andas pulled on the heavy helmet of the suit and allowed the tech to fasten it. And then he clumped in the thick boots to the skimmer, taking his place in the rear by the harness that would lower him as close to his goal as the craft could get.

  As they neared the site of the ruins, Andas was appalled by the task of identification here. All those towers and buildings that should ha
ve served as landmarks had been leveled, toppled, or had disappeared in craters. The skimmer circled as the pilot waited for Andas’s choice of landing site. In this awkward suit he could not climb far among the debris below. He would have to be put down only a short distance away from his goal. But where was the temple?

  Then he was able to trace what he thought was the Gate of Nine Victories. He waved the pilot eastward. There he saw the broken pillars of what could only be the colonnade of the temple terrace. Andas signaled, hooking the descent line to the belt already buckled about him. The hatch in the belly of the skimmer opened as the machine went on hover, and Andas clambered through.

  The lowering cord played out slowly and evenly, and it continued to reel on as, twisting and turning, he descended to what had once been the entrance to the temple. As he went, Andas studied what lay below, trying to locate the points of reference he needed. The closer he approached, the more the temple showed its hurts. Walls had collapsed, but there seemed to be open spaces enough to enter.

  His boots touched pavement, and he moved his gloved fingers to free the belt hooks. Then the line snaked speedily aloft, to descend again, this time weighted with the one other thing he had taken from the mount, a blaster. With that he hoped to open any blocked way.

  From ground level the mounded mass of the temple was almost threatening. If it had been congealed with the fire of the blast, he could never have made the attempt to enter. But now he started toward a promising opening.

  Luckily he did not have to penetrate the main part, but rather work north to the other end of the terrace. There was the Emperor’s Gate through which even he would have passed on only two occasions in his life, when he went for his crowning and when the urn of his ashes on a cart, which would run of its own volition, would pass after his death ceremony.

  The barrier of carved metal was a crumble of broken bits. Andas used the blaster with care, cutting a passage until he stood on the block he sought, where the Emperor’s death carriage would halt for a long moment coming and going. There was no chance in this welter of ruin to hunt for the spring that would release what lay beneath. He applied the blaster on half voltage, cutting around the block. Then putting aside the tool, he used a bar of twisted metal to lever out the freed stone.