Iduna (dumarest of terra)

by E. C. Tubb

  Looking outside, his face took on the pitiless ferocity of the beast he had hunted and killed.

  The lights were close, portable beams held by individuals, a floodlight throwing brilliance from a low-drifting raft holding supervising figures. As he watched, a door was burned open and shapes moved to search inside the house. A moment and they reappeared bearing limp figures which they heaved into the raft. Items of choice selected by those who knew their trade.

  Slavers at work.

  They had come under cover of darkness, traveling low so as to avoid detection against the sky. Once they had reached the village, gas had done its work; invisible, insidious vapor which had covered the area to stun and eliminate all resistance. A compound quick to act and quick to disperse- only those in the cellar could have escaped its affect.

  Only the handful of near-drunken men could offer any form of resistance.

  It wasn't enough.

  Dumarest thought about it as he watched from the darkened room, assessing chances even as he recognized limitations. They needed guns but aside from those used in the hunt and now safely locked away none were to be found in the village. A peace-loving community had no use for tools designed to kill. But there were other things; pitchforks, flails, scythes-yet even the crudest weapon needed a determined man behind it if it was to be any use. Arthen would fight for Michelle but to fight was not enough. He had to win. And would Marl fight? Hainan? Could they if they wanted? Did they know how?

  And, even if they did, how effective would they be in their present condition?

  Time! If he could only gain time!

  Those gassed would recover and when they did the odds would be against the slavers. Delay them long enough and the operation would have to be abandoned. Kill enough of the slavers and the rest would withdraw-there was no profit in getting killed. But one man against so many?

  "Lena?" The voice was a petulant whisper. "Where are you, woman? Why is the house so dark?" Lenz rising like a ghost from the cellar, confused, unaware of the passage of time. He swore as he stumbled and fell. "Lena?"

  He reared as Dumarest grabbed him, fighting against the hand clamped over his mouth, relaxing as he recognized the voice at his ear.

  "Listen," said Dumarest softly. "Don't move, just listen."

  He explained the situation, felt the man he was holding convulse with incredulous shock, and eased his grip only when certain there would be no noisy arguments or protestations.

  Lenz, abruptly cold sober, said, "What can we do, Earl?"

  "That's up to you. You've a choice but I'm not going to make it for you. You can hide, yield or fight."

  "Give up? Never!"

  "Then stay in the cellar and pray you aren't found or get out and do what damage you can." Dumarest glanced at the window as the sound of breaking wood came from lower down the street. "They're moving closer. You'd better make up your mind."

  "If we hit their rafts would that do it?"

  "It could."

  "The guards?"

  "Hit them too if you can."

  "And you, Earl?" Then, as Dumarest remained silent, Lenz added, "I've no right to ask that you help us and I know it, but I wish you would. We could use someone who knows what to do. Advice, even-can't you give us that?"

  "You don't need advice," said Dumarest. "You need guts. Just think of what is going to happen to Michelle if those slavers make off with her. Your daughter and the others like her. Your young men and wives if they're strong and healthy enough. You know what it's like in a mine? In an undersea installation? Set to till fields in the middle of nowhere with a pint of water a day as the only ration in a temperature hot enough to cook eggs? Slaves are cheap. Living machines to be used and thrown aside when old or ill. On some worlds they go to feed animals when their time is done. Think of it, Lenz. You work like a dog all your life then get thrown to a beast as a reward."

  "I'd die first!"

  "Maybe."

  "I mean it, Earl!"

  "So you mean it. So mean it now. Die if you have to but take a few of those bastards with you. Get close and use a knife if there's no other way. Aim for the guts and rip upward. What the hell can you lose?"

  A crash sounded close before the man could answer. Dumarest stepped to the window, looked at the lights, the shapes outside, returned to join Lenz.

  "They're close," he whispered. "Decide what you're going to do and get on with it. If you choose to hide, fasten the cellar door in some way. If to run, get moving right away. Get those men up and out of here. Leave by the rear, keep apart, keep silent. Even if they see you they may not bother to run you down but they won't spot you if you're careful. As far as they're concerned everyone is unconscious and waiting collection."

  "Run," said Lenz. "Who said anything about running? I mean to fight."

  "Maybe."

  "To fight, Earl." Lenz looked at Dumarest, his eyes gleaming with reflected light as a beam hit the window to be diffused and sent glowing about the room. "Even if I fight alone. It's my daughter, remember."

  "I haven't forgotten. Make sure Arthen doesn't. Hurry now-move!"

  Dumarest watched as scrambles came from the cellar, mutters, a stifled curse and once the meaty impact of a fist. Lenz was learning. Peace was a good thing when applied to animals but suicidal when used to tame men who had the heritage of monsters. Force recognized only one effective argument-greater force.

  And all Dumarest had was his knife.

  He eased in where it rode in his boot, nine inches of honed and polished steel, needle-pointed and razor-edged, the hilt worn to his hand. With it he could cut and slash and stab, but used in that way the weapon was only effective to the reach of his arm. Thrown, it was lost and, even if it hit was a one-time thing only.

  His knife and his brain and the speed of his body. Things which had served him before and now must do so again. Basics which, together with luck, were the instruments he must use in order to survive.

  But luck was a wanton jade and a fickle mistress-how could he be sure it still rode with him?

  "Earl!" Lenz whispered from where he stood with the others at the rear of the house. "There's a slaver out here. Armed and watching. What shall we do?"

  Run, make the break, accept your dead and fight on. The simple mercenary creed which valued life for what it was, a saleable and disposable commodity. But Lenz was not and had never been a mercenary and neither had the others. Life, to them, was too precious and too weakening. Love of life made them cowards.

  "Watch," said Dumarest. "When the guard moves, make your break. And fight, damn you! Fight!"

  He reached for the door as the lights shifted and the raft veered. The moment he had waited for and the one giving the best chance. He was outside and running before they spotted him; then the standing figure on the raft called out with imperious command, "That man! Get him!"

  A woman, the pitch and tone were unmistakable, and even as Dumarest threw himself down to roll as dirt plumed from the street he could see her grotesquely painted face.

  "Don't kill him, you fools! Get him!"

  Splinters of light shone from gilded nails and teeth, the lips were set with ridged gems, the lids of the eyes held tattooed patterns, the lobes of the ears supported massed crystal. The armor matched the bizarre ensemble; ridges and points and curves set in eye-wrenching array all tinted and glowing with enamelled fire.

  And as she so her followers; women all, dressed in the fabric of nightmare, enjoying their trade, spicing it with bursts of wanton cruelty as the ruby smears on their whips and hands testified.

  Sadists.

  Maniacs.

  Creatures living in a world created by drugs and the tortuous sinuosities of diseased brains. The night had shielded them and slanted his judgment. A normal slaver would accept ransom; from these degenerates he could hope for nothing.

  Rising, he looked around. Behind him figures waited armed, ready and eager to blast his legs into masses of pulped flesh and shattered bone. To either side stood others
and before him, beyond the raft, yet more. The woman riding the vehicle was accompanied by two others each now holding a laser.

  "As you can see, it is useless to resist," she said. "Now tell me how it is that you are conscious when you should be comatose. How did you avoid the effects of the gas?"

  "I have an antidote, my lady."

  "And you used it?"

  "Of course."

  "Which means that you knew we were coming. That, alone, shows you for the liar you are. None could have known of our plans. The truth now, quickly!"

  "I have been a slaver myself and always carry the antidote. I couldn't sleep and saw you arrive. I recognized the taint of the gas and, well, the rest should be obvious. For ransom I offer-"

  "I am not interested in your ransom."

  "-the information as to where you can find a settlement of two thousand men and women all in prime condition," he continued blandly. "Or if you would prefer cash I have credit with a Hausi. His name is Mtombo-you may already have found him."

  "His skin will make good leather for my gloves." The whip flicked in her hand. "Come closer, man. Halt! That is close enough. You interest me. Few men bother to lie so convincingly when faced with danger. It means that you have a cool brain of a trusting faith in what gods you choose to worship. Valladia?"

  "Kill him," said the woman to her right. "Let me do it. I will fry his genitals and watch as he screams."

  "Hylda?"

  "Alive he is worth money."

  "True, and you, my sweet, love money like others love life. As much as Valladia loves the spectacle of pain. Well, maybe you can both be satisfied. Now we have work to do. Ristine! Take care of our prize!"

  She came from behind, a pad in one hand, the scent of anesthetics rising from the fabric. A clumsy means to render him unconscious, a hypogun would have fired its charge through skin and fat and into the bloodstream at the pressure of a finger. A mistake, one to add to those already made, the flanking guards facing each other, mutual targets should they open fire. Those at the rear who would cut down those behind the raft. The risk always taken by any who tried to surround a quarry and who failed to realize that the mere display of force could contain the seeds of its own destruction.

  "Ristine," said Dumarest. "A nice name. One I have heard before."

  "Shut your mouth!"

  "Was it in a palace?" he mused as she came closer. "In the theater? No, I remember now. It was in a brothel. She earned a living by polishing the floor."

  A weak insult and a stupid one in normal times but it served to inflame her anger and make her that little more careless. She reached him, left arm sliding over his left shoulder to hold him close, the pad sweeping around in her right hand to press over his face.

  And, for that moment, she was shielding his rear from those behind.

  Dumarest lifted his right hand, caught her wrist, twisted, released the broken limb as his left hand trapped her other arm. Three steps forward and he felt her jerk as a laser burned a hole into her kidneys; then he had stooped, using the power of back and shoulders to hurl her over his head and toward the facing guards, a target at which they instinctively fired as he dived to hit the ground, to roll, to slash out with his blade and feel the edge bite and drag through flesh and sinew as it hamstrung a guard and fetched her down, screaming, as above them both fire and flame sent death to whine and burn through the fire.

  A moment in which he turned, arm lifting, steel flashing as it hurtled through the air to find the throat of the woman who had wanted to smile as he screamed in pain. As Valladia fell, coughing a thick, red stream, he snatched up the fallen guard's rifle and fired. Again. Again.

  And cursed as the weapon jammed.

  "Cease firing!" Hylda shouted the command from where she stood, now alone, on the raft. "You fools! Cease firing! Barbra! Anna! Take him!"

  One went down as Dumarest swung the useless rifle, the stock splintering in a ruin to match her skull, crushed beneath the ornate helmet. The other shrieked as he darted in, weaving, stabbing with the splintered remains and bringing blood spurting from jagged punctures. A third, appearing from shadows, fell back doubled and vomiting from a kick in the stomach. Then again came the sound of firing, the vicious snarl of bullets and a blow which slammed against the side of his head to send him down to the dirt. Dazed, he twisted, rolling to rise on hands and knees, to stare at the widening pool of blood which reflected the stars, blurring outlines of his own, tormented face.

  Chapter Two

  The day had started badly and promised to get worse. At dawn a man had been impaled before the palace and his screams and moans would last for days as, slowly, he died. A barbaric form of execution and one she would like to abolish; but old customs died hard and none had mercy on those guilty of rape. Three cases of hnaudifida had been reported from the northeastern sector, and unless the restrictions she had imposed were effective the disease could spread with consequent loss of valuable slaves. And now it looked like rain.

  From the window of her room she could see the clouds gathering over the distant mountains. Masses of seething gray, harsh and ugly against the pale emerald of the sky, the sun itself now shielded behind strands of waterlogged vapor. If the wind held there could be trouble. With the rain would come thunder and lightning, hail, floods of water which would flatten crops now almost ready for harvesting. She must see if rafts could be sent to seed the clouds and vent their contents safely in the foothills. Or perhaps Tamiras, with his electronic barriers, could be of help. His demonstration had been impressive, but a working installation couldn't be guaranteed to work and the cost was enormous.

  And yet possibly worth it. On Esslin storms could bring ruin in more ways than one.

  "My lady?" Shamarre, as silent as always, had approached as she stood engrossed at the window. Now she stood, as stolid as granite, thickly muscled arms disguised by her blouse, the trunks of thighs and the corded sinews of stomach and torso taut against the covering fabric. An Amazon dedicated to her service. "Is something bothering you?"

  The question was a liberty taken with the confidence of long familiarity. Who else would have dared to speak to the ruler of Esslin in such a manner? For a moment Kathryn mused over the problem then, impatiently, dismissed it. What did it matter?

  "My lady, you-"

  "I know." Kathryn turned from the window. The guard-attendant would mention her appointments, urge haste, give unwanted advice and in general make herself a nuisance but, when the woman again spoke, she realized she had been mistaken.

  "You have time to relax a little," said Shamarre doggedly. "A bath, even. Certainly something to take the stink of execution from your nostrils."

  "You disapprove?"

  "The man had to die. You didn't have to attend."

  A mistake and one she knew all too well. Even though she was Matriarch yet still she was the prisoner of custom and Shamarre must know it. To have absented herself would have been to give tacit disapproval of the execution, and the injured woman would have felt herself affronted. She had friends and they would have taken her side. A schism would have been created, one which could have come to nothing or which could have resulted in a vicious outbreak of destructive hostility.

  It had happened before. Too often it had happened before.

  There was no time to indulge in the long, lingering luxury of a bath and to take a dip would be to ruin her cosmetics and waste more time than would be saved. But Tamiras had recently installed one of his electro-baths and it was good to relax on the padded cushions and feel the impulse of invisible energies as they massaged skin and muscle with random, stimulating contractions and expansions of balanced fields.

  Lying in a cat-like dose, not asleep and yet not fully awake, she thought of the inventor and his claims. A pity he was a man; she could appreciate the difficulties beneath which he labored trying to convince those who had money and influence that he was not a misguided dreamer. This bath was proof that he was far from that and an extension of the idea could re
place the need for water in arid areas. Electro-currents could remove dirt and scale and dead epidermis and leave the body clean without a drop of water being needed. Properly handled and promoted, the invention could earn a fortune.

  Would he leave Esslin if it did?

  She hoped not. There was something likeable about the man despite his wizened appearance and abruptly aggressive mannerisms. True, he was sly in his slanted insults and innuendoes, but much could be forgiven a man of demonstrated talent. She must talk to him, take advice on the matter, ask Gustav for his opinion. That, at least, should please him-not often did she consult with her consort.

  Closing her eyes, she looked at the face of her husband painted from memory against the inner surface of the lids.

  Young-they had both been young. Strong enough in his fashion and handsome as any with hair piled high in a crested mane and eyes which, in their subtle slant, seemed to hold an inner wisdom. Eyes which contained a secret laughter which had made light of her early worries. The mirth which he had used as armor against the slights and hurts time and the pressure of office had brought. He was a man chosen to impregnate her womb and there had been too many to remind him of that. Too many to drive home his basic insignificance. A stallion selected for his lineage to father the future rulers of Esslin. To sire the daughters which-

  No!

  No-it was better she did not think of that.

  Of the first miscarriage following the news of the rebellion when Clarice Duvhal had turned the entire southern region into flame with the aid of hired mercenaries. Of the second when she had been almost assassinated by a rival-the unborn child giving its life to save her own. Of the successful birth when, finally, she had lifted her daughter in her arms and felt the glow of true happiness.