Haven of Darkness

Chapter Thirteen

A spider had cast its web in one corner of the room, that or some ancient tremor had cracked the plaster into the resemblance of lace and, lying on the soft comfort of the wide bed, Dumarest studied it through half-closed eyes. In the flicker of lamplight it took on new and more fantastic configurations; the shape of an engine, a face, a pair of intermeshed hands. The blur of a spectrogram, the straggle of a dead man's hair, the pattern of a retina.

A mystic symbol seen by chance and which could hold all the secrets of time.

As the castle held mystery.

It was sealed tight, no means of egress left unbarred, the upper stairs blocked as was the shaft beyond the window. Life, on Zakym, ceased at sunset or, rather, grew introverted with each making his own entertainment, small groups congregating, guests caught by the approach of darkness willingly found accommodation as if the night held dreadful peril.

Another delusion as was the belief in the dead rising to live again?

If it was a delusion.

How could he ever be sure?

Yet there could be no denying Roland's panic at the mention of the guns or of the woman's fear of what they could portend. A fear which added her voice to the man's as, together, they had pleaded for him to stay. To help. To die, perhaps, in their cause.

Suddenly impatient, Dumarest rolled from the bed and rose to his feet. He had lain down fully dressed and now stepped quietly towards the door. Outside the passage was silent in the dull glow of shaded lamps. One end led to a stair which, as he knew, was barred. The other met a descending way. As he reached it, Lavinia appeared from her room.

"Earl? Is that you?"

"It is, my lady."

"This formality!" She made an impatient gesture. "It stifles me. I thought we had settled that. Why are you here? Can't you sleep?"

"No."

"Why not?" Her slippers rustled as she stepped closer towards him. She wore a robe of diaphanous material belted at the waist and her hair, like a gleaming waterfall striped with silver, rippled over the smooth rotundity of her shoulders. The hand she rested on his arm was a sculptor's delight. "Earl?"

"I need to plan but there is too much I don't know. The lie of the land, distances, numbers-have you maps of the area?"

They were in a room redolent of dust and mildew. Thin sheets crackled as they were unrolled, marked with carefully drawn lines, various areas marked in differing colors, small pennants set above miniature castles.

"Here!" The tip of a finger marked a point. "This is where we are. Over here lies the domain of Khaya Taiyuah. This is the estate of Fhard Erason. Here-"

"Gydapen's lands?"

"Suchong's. This is Gydapen's and here are the wastes where the hutments are to be found."

Dumarest studied them. "Water? Is there a stream close to hand?"

"No."

"A well, then? An artesian boring?" He pursed his lips as she shook her head. Men training beneath hot suns needed plenty of water. If it had to be carried then the local air would be busy.

"Did you see the smoke of fires? No. A line of men waiting to be served?"

"How would I know, Earl?"

"If you saw them you would know." He studied the old map again. "This is all high ground, right?"

He frowned as she nodded, tracing the shading, spotting the general lay of the area. It had been chosen with care. From various points lookouts could spot any approach and fast movement towards the place on foot would be difficult.

"When you examined the area did you notice anything different about any of the huts? No? Then have you seen or heard of a stranger being maintained by Gydapen either in his castle or in town?"

"A stranger? No, Earl. How would he have arrived without us knowing?"

"How did I arrive?" Dumarest shrugged at her expression. "I may be wrong but I'd gamble there is someone. A man trained in the art of fighting. A mercenary perhaps-you said that your people had a reluctance to fight?"

"That is so."

"Then a teacher would have had to be found. Those who handled the shipping of the guns could have provided him and others might follow."

"An army?"

"Men trained and willing to kill. Men used to the art of war. On some worlds they come cheap. Well, perhaps we can delay them. Tomorrow I'll pick some men. A night attack and-"

"No. We can't attack at night. The Pact forbids it."

"The Pact?"

"The Sungari. Earl, why do you think we are so afraid of what Gydapen may do? If he breaks the Pact it will affect us all. At all costs he must be stopped from doing that. Our very lives depend on it!"

And his own too, presumably, a fallacy in her reasoning but Dumarest didn't mention it. Instead he said, "The Sungari? Just what and who are they?"

She told him over wine, filling goblets with her own hands, handing him one and sitting to crouch at his feet, lamplight streaming over her shoulders, reflected with a nacreous glow from the half-revealed mounds of her breasts, the curves of her thighs.

"When the first settlers came to Zakym they found the world already occupied by a different form of life. One which was not native to the place and which was willing to share. At first there was trouble but sense prevailed and the Pact was formed."

She paused to sip wine and Dumarest leaned back, filling in gaps, building a whole from the story which she told.

A time of attrition, of fear and battle, of terror even, from the things which happened at night. Then the agreement. Men were to have the surface of the world and the Sungari the depths. Men were to rule by day and the Sungari by night. Certain areas of surface and depths were given for the sole use of the other. Herds and crops were to be left untouched. Native game was common to both. The night mist which came to wreath the ground belonged to the Sungari.

Death came to any human foolish enough to be out at night.

Dumarest said, dryly, "How long has it been since such a thing happened?"

"A long time ago, Earl." She turned her head to look up at him, the long line of her throat framed by the mantle of her hair. "But it happened."

"And has anyone ever seen a Sungari?"

"They exist, Earl!"

"Has anyone ever seen them?"

"How could they when they only come out at night?"

"And everyone is snug indoors by then?" Dumarest nodded, wondering why the story had been started. An easy way to impose authority? The warped design of a twisted mind? All to be safe indoors at night with whispered horrors as a spur to obey. A deliberate conditioning engineered by someone with a terror of the dark?

It was possible. In the universe all things were possible.

Many strange cultures had risen from seeds planted by the founders of small colonies governed by freakish convictions. Holphera where men walked backwards for fear of meeting death. Andhara where no woman looked directly at the face of her child but always used a mirror. Inthelle where the old were given all they could desire for a month and then killed and ceremoniously eaten. Chage where each birth had to be accompanied by a death. Xanthis where women ruled and men groveled at their feet.

"Earl?" Lavinia looked up with luminous eyes. "You are so quiet. Don't you believe me?"

To argue with her was useless. She, all of Zakym, believed in the living presence of the dead-against such conviction what chance had logic?

"Earl?"

"I was thinking." His hand fell to touch the silken strands of her hair. "Unless you are willing to attack at night there is only one other thing to do. Gydapen cannot be a fool. He will have anticipated the possibility of the Council moving against him and will have taken elementary precautions. If we assemble a large force it will be spotted. Therefore we must go in with the minimum number."

"How many?"

"Two." He heard the sharp intake of her breath. "Just you and I in the largest raft you have. We'll pay a visit to the barren wastes."

"And?"

"That depends on what we find." Some wine remained in the goblet and Dumarest drank it before rising to his feet. "You had better get some rest now. Tomorrow you need to look your best."

They left at dawn, rising high and heading towards the west before swinging in a wide circle which would bring them back over Gydapen's land. The raft was a plain, commercial affair, devoid of any decoration aside from a blazon on the prow. The body was open, edged with a solid rail, the controls shielded by a curved, transparent canopy. The engine which fed power to the anti-grav units was too small for the bulk of the vehicle and progress was slow.

From where she sat at his side, Lavinia said, "Earl, you are a man of many surprises. Where did you learn to handle a raft?"

"I forget."

"And to fight? Where did you learn that?"

On Earth as a boy, a time he would never forget. Life had been hard and devoid of comfort. There had been no toys, no easy times, regular food or loving care. He had hunted vermin with a sling, gutting his prey with a jagged stone, eating the meat raw because a fire would have betrayed his position to those who would have stolen his kill.

"Earl?"

With the insistence of a child she wanted an answer or, bored, merely wanted to talk.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me." Her hand reached out to touch his arm and she wondered if he guessed how little she had slept. "I'd like to know all about you. You are so strong, so self-sufficient. Don't you ever get tired of traveling? Have you never been tempted to settle down?"

Too often, yet always something had happened to smash the dream and, always, the yearning was present to find his home.

"At times, yes."

"But you never did? Of course not, it was a stupid question. If you had then you wouldn't be here now."

Her hand closed on his arm, the fingers digging into his flesh, then was snatched away as, abruptly, the raft tilted and fell. An air pocket of lesser density, a momentary hazard quickly overcome and again the raft rose and leveled. Below the terrain became a blur, the ground blotched with hills, rolling scrub, grassy plateaus, the silver thread of a river.

"Taiyuah's boundary," she said. "And there is an emergency stop-over."

It was a low, black building fitted with a single door and holding, as Dumarest had learned, bottles of wine, food, some medical supplies. A haven for those who should be lost or crash nearby.

"You have many of them?"

"Of course. We set them up for common use. People use them if they are caught by night."

"As protection against the Sungari?"

"Yes, Earl. As a defense."

A bolster to the illusion, he thought, as the building passed beneath them far below. Once create a situation and props fell automatically into place. The curfew, tunnels connecting close-set buildings such as were to be found in the town, and in the open ground places which could shut out the darkness.

The raft dropped again, rose, headed slowly on its way. The lift was strong as was to be expected in a transport but that was all. Dumarest glanced at the sky judging the position of the suns. They had passed the zenith and were edging towards the horizon. It had been a long, monotonous flight and the woman was hungry.

"Can we land and eat, Earl?"

"We haven't the time."

"But-"

"Eat as we go. You can handle a raft, of course? Good. We'll take turns at the controls. Keep us high. I want to arrive with the suns behind us."

Two hours later the hutments came into sight.

Dumarest was at the controls and he veered the raft, watching, studying the terrain. The buildings were set in a row, another cross ways at the rear, one, larger, placed well to one side. Before them the ground was level, set with swollen bags set on tripods.

"They weren't here before, Earl." Lavinia looked up from her binoculars. "What are they?"

"Water containers. The hut crossways to the others is probably a latrine. The large one could house the man I spoke of."

"The mercenary?"

"If there is one, yes. He'll be using it as living quarters and command office. The range?" Dumarest scanned the terrain as he kept one hand on the controls. In the field of his binoculars the view skittered as the craft hit uneven air. "Look for a firing range of some kind. A flat space ending in a mound. There could be targets."

A moment, then she said, "Nothing like that, Earl. Not that I can see. There are some cairns set well to one side. A row of them."

"Any men?"

"A few. They are facing the cairns. They seem to be holding something."

"Guns." Dumarest lowered the binoculars. "Those heaps of stone are targets. Get ready now. We're going in."

It was madness, a display of naked audacity and yet, as Dumarest had pointed out, Gydapen had no reason to be suspicious beyond the range of normal caution. The arrival of the guns, as far as he knew, was still a secret. Lavinia, aware of his interest in her, intrigued as any woman would be in a similar situation, would naturally pay a visit. And, as a member of the Council, she had every right to inspect the proposed mining installation.

Things he had painstakingly explained during the journey, impatient with her objections.

"A spy!" she'd blurted. "You want me to act the spy. Just like Taiyuah!"

"He was right."

"But-"

"If you know a better way let me hear it. No? Then do as I say."

And now they were slanting down in the glare of the suns to skim over the buildings and come to a landing close beside the larger construction.

The man who came to greet them was a worker from Gydapen's estate but one who had undergone a subtle change. It was manifest in the way he stood, the tilt of his head, the something-a touch of arrogance? — in his eyes.

Yet his voice was gentle and his words polite.

"My lady! How may I serve you?"

"You know who I am?"

"Of course. You are the Lady Lavinia Del Belamosk. A member of the Council-"

"And a close friend of your master. Is he here?" Then, before the man could answer, she snapped, "Never mind. I was to have been met. Well, perhaps he has been delayed. While I'm waiting you will show me around."

She carried herself well, speaking with a curt imperiousness, forcing the man's attention. For a moment he hesitated, then bowed, extending a hand to help her descend from the raft. Dumarest watched as they headed towards the open space then, dropping over the far side of the craft, walked without hesitation towards the nearest hut.

As he'd suspected it was fitted as a dormitory, the floor of tamped dirt, the cots flimsy metal frames bearing thin mattresses and a single cover. There were no windows. Each end was pierced by a door. Lamps stood with a clutter of small items of a personal nature on narrow shelves. A table stood in the center of the floor ringed with benches. It carried a heap of plates, a container of water and a dozen earthenware cups. The air held the unmistakable odor of too many men living too close.

Nowhere could he see any sign of weapons.

The rear door opened on a narrow space faced with the hut set crosswise to the others. He had been wrong, about its purpose. Half was a cooking area with fires burning beneath metal plates on which stood containers of stew. The other half was locked. The latrine he found by its odor; poles set over a trench dusted with a chemical compound, the whole shaded by a camouflaged curtain. It lay well to one side and, at a thought, Dumarest checked the hut he had first entered. At the side of the rear door was a couple of lidded buckets-for use in case of need during the night.

Two men looked at him as he left the hut and moved to the next. He met their eyes.

"You! Who is in charge of these huts?"

"Sir?" One of them blinked.

"Are you deaf? Didn't you near me? Who is in charge of these huts? You?"

"No, sir." The man looked at his companion. "Jarl. I'm his helper."

"Helping him to do what-loaf?" Dumarest made his tone acid. "The huts are a disgrace. Dirt everywhere. Cots untidy. The tables unwiped-" He turned, scowling. "Let me see this one. Take the lead. Move!"

Shaken they obeyed. Dumarest examined the hut; finding it much like the other, his eyes counting beds as he pretended to find patches of dirt, fluff, drifted sand where no sand should be. Again there was no sign of weapons.

Leaving the two men inside the hut Dumarest stepped outside towards the rear, signaled at a small group which had just left the cookhouse, glared at them as they came to a halt.

"Slovenly. Haven't you been taught elementary drill? Well, haven't you?"

"Sir!" One of the men drew himself to attention.

"Good." Dumarest nodded at the man. "The rest of you fall out. Wait in that hut until I call for you. You-your name? Hoji? Tell me, Hoji, where are the weapons kept?"

A gamble. If the man knew he might unthinkingly give the direction. If he didn't then the question could be covered and no harm would be done.

"The weapons, sir?"

"The guns." Dumarest grunted as the man's eyes flickered to the rear of the cookhouse. "Not moved yet? Why not? Well, never mind. Call those men and have them report to the weapons-store. Move!"

Time gained for him to move to the door and send his knife probing into the lock. It was heavy, but basically simple. A click and it was open. As the men returned Dumarest threw wide the door.

Inside rested a heap of crates, some open. On the top of one rested a half-dozen guns together with boxes of ammunition.

"Those!" Dumarest pointed at the crates. "Load them into the raft standing before the huts. Hurry!"

Men accustomed to obey rarely hesitated if orders were given in a tone of authority. A fact Dumarest knew and had relied on. They didn't know who or what he was, but his voice held the snap of command and, to them, it was unthinkable that he should order without having the right.

Dumarest stepped back as the first crate was shifted. A gun fell from the loose pile and he picked it up, looking at the piece. It was cheap, crude, now cleaned of grease and fitted with a full magazine. He cocked it, watched the cartridges spill from the ejector, removed the magazine and, after clearing the breech, pulled the trigger.

As the harsh click faded a voice said, "Well, friend, what do you think of it?"

He was tall, slouched, his mouth scarred so that the upper lip was set in a permanent smile. He wore stained clothing frayed at wrists and collar, the leather bearing shiny patches and marks where badges could have been. His hair was dark, his eyes wells of coldness. In his right hand he held a compact laser.

It hung loose in his fingers, not aimed but the muzzle swinging casually in Dumarest's direction.

Dumarest shrugged. "It's cheap. It'll jam. It isn't accurate and it'll pull to the right. But it will do if nothing else is around."

"Such as?"

"That laser you're carrying." Dumarest threw down the weapon he held. "Didn't the boss tell you we were coming?"

"Should he have done?"

"Why ask me? I only work here." Dumarest stepped aside as the men returned for another load, a step which took him closer to the mercenary. "How are things here? Good pay? Lots of fun?"

"Out here? You must be joking."

"Well, at least you can't spend anything. When did you land? Ship before last? The one before that?"

"When did you?" The man scowled as Dumarest gave no answer. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

"Shifting the guns."

"Why? To where?"

Dumarest shrugged, deliberately casual. To browbeat the mercenary would be a mistake. To explain too fully another.

"Don't ask me. I came here with his woman and she gave the orders. I guess she got them from him. Have you ever seen her?"

"No."

"She's outside looking around. It might pay you to remember her. Look between the huts and you could spot her." Dumarest took a step forward, hand lifting as he pointed, another and now he was close to the mercenary, the weapon he held. "There she is! See!"

The jerk of his hand demanded attention. As the man lifted his head, eyes narrowing against the glare it turned, the palm stiffening, slashing down like a blunted axe in a savage chop which would have snapped the wrist like a twig. Instead, at the last moment, Dumarest altered the direction so it glanced over the fingers and sent the laser hurtling to the ground.

"What the hell!" The mercenary swore, rubbing his fingers. "You damned near broke my hand!"

Dumarest said nothing, stepping forward to pick up the weapon, looking down the space between the huts at the woman who strode towards him, the man at her side, the armed guards at his rear.

"Earl," said Lavinia steadily. "This is Lord Gydapen Prabang. Gydapen, meet Earl Dumarest."

She had the sense not to say more.