Haven of Darkness

Chapter Sixteen

Roland said, "I don't know how to thank you, Earl. There are no words. Lavinia-well, you understand."

More than he guessed, to Dumarest it was obvious the man was in love with the woman. An emotion he managed to hide or she was too blind to see. It would not be the first time that close association masked the truth.

Leaning back he looked around the room into which he had been led. They had arrived late in the afternoon, beating curfew by an hour, attendants ushering them to baths and food and rest. Now, toying with his wine, Dumarest waited for the other to speak what was on his mind.

"Gydapen. Are you sure he tried to kill you?"

"Yes."

"But the mercenary-"

"Was a paid tool." Dumarest added, acidly, "You find it hard to believe that a noble of this world could descend to murder?"

"On Zakyra it is unusual. A challenge, yes, followed by a duel if satisfaction cannot otherwise be obtained, but murder-" He broke off, shaking his head, a man no longer certain of his world. And yet he had traveled and must know that not all cultures followed the niceties of procedure as to the display of courage, the duelist's code-idiocies for which Dumarest had no patience. "And there is no doubt as to his arming men?"

"Ask Lavinia."

"Ask her what?" She entered the room and came towards them, helping herself to wine, sipping before looking from one to the other. Now, washed, her hair neatly dressed, her body clothes in fine material, she wore her composure like a cloak. "Earl, I must apologize, I was rude."

He said nothing, waiting.

"I was angry and sneered at your having killed that man the way you did. You were right. He deserved no warning, no chance to defend himself. He was filth!"

"He was dangerous," said Dumarest. "An armed man always is. And I was in no mood to play games." He looked at Roland. "Are you?"

"Games? Me?"

"The Council if you prefer. Those whose job it is to keep the peace on this planet. Those who have the authority and so should have the responsibility. Or have you no objection to war?"

"Earl!" Lavinia stared at him, her eyes wide. "What are you talking about? War? What war?" Then, thinking she understood, she nodded. "Of course. Once he breaks the Pact the Sungari will attack."

"The Sungari don't enter into it," said Dumarest. "At least not as far as Gydapen is concerned. He has no intention of breaking the Pact."

"But his new mine?"

"What mine? Do you dig holes with guns?" He stared at them, baffled by their innocence, the cultural drag which made it impossible for them to comprehend. "Don't you understand even yet what Gydapen intends? Lavinia, try!"

She stared at him. "Earl?"

"He told you. He admitted he was ambitious. He has traveled and knows what can be done by men of determination and drive. He has men and guns and who is to stand against him? Conquest, woman! Gydapen intends to become the sole ruler of this world!"

"No!" Roland shook his head. "He can't. The Council will never permit it."

"The Council will be dead."

"But he will be stopped-"

"By whom?"

"The Families. The retainers. We, that is, there must-" Roland broke off, helpless. "Lavinia?"

She said, "He wants me. If it will bring peace he can have me. I will make the surrender of the guns the price of my agreement to wed."

Dumarest said, coldly, "He tried to kill you, have you forgotten? Are you a child to value your body so highly? Marriage? He doesn't have to marry, he can take. As Gnais would have taken. Don't be a fool, woman, this isn't a game. Gydapen is gambling for the ownership of a world. What is a woman against that?"

Nothing as she was willing to admit. A momentary fire, a passion, the easing of lust, the use of a toy-unless love was present what use to talk of sacrifice?

"Earl, what can we do?"

"You have little choice. It's too late to send for arms and hire mercenaries to use them. Too late to train your retainers. The Sungari, perhaps, but gaining their cooperation will take time and you have no time."

"So?"

Dumarest said, "Once, on a far world, I heard a story. It could be true. There was a man who sat at the head of a great House. Those under him were ambitious and friends came to warn him of danger. He said nothing but stepped into his garden. In it were flowers, some taller than others. Still remaining silent he slashed the head off the tallest bloom with his cane. Those with him knew exactly what he meant and what to do."

"Kill," said Roland. "Gydapen?"

"Gydapen." Dumarest finished his wine. "Before he learns that we're still alive."

This time they approached from the south, riding low, skimming over the hills, hugging the valleys, invisible to men and machines which searched the upper sky. Three rafts, each with a driver, hand-picked young men who could shoot and were eager for adventure. More rode with them; five in Roland's vehicle, four with Lavinia, four with Dumarest. Numbers only, shapes to be seen against the skyline, weight which would provide a distraction.

Only half of them were armed with weapons culled from the trophy room of the castle; rifles used for sport, not war, crossbows which could fire a bolt as lethal as a bullet if aimed true, a clutter of knives and ornate spears.

Pathetic things to set against machine rifles, but those rifles could change hands.

And the plan was simple.

Roland to break shortly and gain height. To lift and ride high as he headed directly towards the camp. There he would land and make a noise, demanding to see Gydapen, asking questions, worried about Lavinia and her continued absence. The men with him, even though crudely armed, would be a problem and would need to be handled with caution unless Gydapen was ready to make his move.

Lavinia would come in from the direction of the firing range, dropping as close to a small party of armed men as she could, using her authority to demand a momentary obedience, a chance to overpower them, disarm them, to move in with the captured weapons.

Dumarest would work alone.

He touched the driver on the shoulder as they neared a ridge. Beyond lay a slope, a stretch of rugged ground and then the arid waste. To cross it on foot would take too long but the chances of the raft remaining unobserved were small.

"Steady," he warned. "Don't veer. Just keep drifting lower as if you were riding a descending wind and were too busy talking to notice it. You two get ready to jump with me."

They nodded, eyes anxious, fighting the temptation to look over the side.

Dumarest looked at the sky. The suns were close and edging closer. Soon now they would merge and delusia begin. With luck those on watch would be talking to the departed. They would discount distant figures, could even mistake the raft for a piece of the delusion. Small gains, but every one mattered as they couldn't attack at night.

And, this time, there would be no attempt to bluff.

"Ready!" Dumarest looked down, judging time and distance. Ahead and below ran a shallow crevice which reached almost to the edge of the waste ground. Boulders strewed the ground between its end and the area of the huts. "The crevice! Get into it!"

The driver was skilled. Expertly he dropped the raft until it moved slowly over the bottom of the crevice.

"Now!" Dumarest touched the others on their shoulders. "Drop!"

He was over the side before they had moved, not waiting to see if they would obey. He hit, rolling, coming to a halt beside a stunted shrub. The others fell more heavily, one crying out at the snap of bone.

"My leg!"

It was a clean break and Dumarest bound it, setting the limb and using the haft of a spear as a splint. The raft had gone, turning, rising, veering as it lifted to head well to one side. There it would drop again, to lift, to move on and repeat the maneuver. Apparently sowing a line of men in an arc about the camp, finally to come to rest with those remaining ready to do their share.

"Sir?" The injured man looked at Dumarest. "I'm sorry."

"You couldn't help it."

"My foot turned on a stone. I should have been more careful."

An obvious fact but one useless to emphasize. To the other Dumarest said, "Stay with him. Try and get up to the edge of the crevice and, when you hear firing, begin to shoot. Aim high. I want noise not casualties but if anyone attacks you then get them first."

"Yes, sir. I-"

The man broke off, his face turning blank. Then, as Dumarest watched, his lips began to move and he smiled and nodded to empty air. Delusia. To him someone would be standing there, talking and smiling in turn.

Cradling his rifle Dumarest ran down the crevice. Before him a shrub blurred and became a tall, regal figure with glinting, golden hair. It vanished as he shook his head, conscious of the dull ache at the base of his skull, the pressure. It grew into a sudden burst of pain which sent him, sweating, to his knees and then, abruptly, was gone.

The wall of the crevice was loose, dirt and stone falling beneath hands and feet as he scrabbled his way up to the edge. The area beyond was deserted, Roland's raft slanting in to land, the men aboard leaning over the rail, displaying their weapons.

Dumarest began to run.

If the camp was properly guarded he would be seen and, if Gydapen had given the correct orders, met by a hail of bullets. But as yet the retainers were strangers to war, unblooded and reluctant to kill. Gydapen himself lacked experience and was, perhaps, over-confident. Gnais, the one man who would have known what to do, was dead.

Dumarest ran on.

The raft was low now and he could hear the thin sound of distant voices. The huts loomed ahead, the latrine closer then the rest. He reached it as the cookhouse door began to swing wide, flinging himself down, rolling to hide behind a loose hanging set to give protection against the wind.

He heard the sound of footsteps, the splash of running water, a grunt as someone set down the container he had just emptied into the trench.

"A hell of a job," he muttered. "Feldaye, you're lucky to be out of it. I know you warned me but what could I do? The Lord Gydapen Prabang ordered and what he wants he gets. You know that Martha got married to young Engep? Well, you can argue about that when you see her."

The muttering faded, a man talking to another who existed only in his memory. Rising Dumarest edged forward towards the cookhouse, threw the rifle on its roof and, taking a flying jump, followed it.

He landed like a cat, snatched up the weapon and moved down towards the end used as a storeroom. Lying flat he looked over the ridge of the roof.

Roland was still arguing, his arms gesticulating, those with him scowling at the others standing around. Dumarest looked at the sky, the suns were moving apart, the discs well separated and delusia, now already weak, would soon be over.

He looked back at the gathering. Gydapen was nowhere to be seen.

From the crowd a man said, loudly, "She is not here. You must leave."

"Not without the Lady Lavinia Del Belamosk!"

"You will leave." The man lifted his machine rifle. Already he was aware of the power it gave, the obedience it commanded. Soon it would come to dominate his life-if he lived that long.

Dumarest fired as the weapon leveled on Roland's slight figure.

He fired again as the man fell, finding another target, a third. The rifle he held was a sporting gun, well-balanced, the magazine holding fifteen cartridges, the universal sight throwing a point of red against the impact-point of the bullet.

Three down-why hadn't Roland seized their guns?

The raft lifted as machine rifle fire sent bullets to chew at the side and rear. Within the vehicle a man screamed, rearing, blood jetting from torn arteries. For a moment he hung as if painted against the sky then, as the force of his spring yielded to the pull of gravity, he toppled, to fall over the side, to land with a wet thud on the stoney ground.

More guns blasted at the raft and a man hung over the rail, one hand dangling, the entire lower jaw shot away so that he seemed to be lost in a ghastly paroxysm of laughter.

As the craft veered Dumarest adjusted his aim, fired, sent another bullet after the first, a stream which cut into the pack, sought out those with guns poised ready to fire and sent them into a broken, bloody heap. A blast of fire delivered with a cold precision in order to save the lives of those in the raft. One which drew attention to himself.

He heard shouts, the yell of orders and the pound of feet. The dormitory huts blocked his view, but he saw the barrel of a gun, and slid back down the roof as the ridge disintegrated and wasp-like hummings cut the air.

"On the roof!" The yell was hoarse. "He's on the roof!"

"Get him!"

The man gaped as Dumarest dropped to land before him. Before he could move the butt of the rifle had slammed against his jaw, the muzzle stabbing into the stomach of his companion, doubling the man before the stock cracked his skull.

Dumarest turned, saw the glint of metal at the corner of the hut and threw himself down and aside as the gun snarled and dirt plumed into little fountains. The rifle leveled, fired, sending chips flying from the edge of the building, fired again, driving the bullet through two walls and into the brain of the man behind. Reaching him Dumarest snatched up his gun.

The rifle was too long for easy maneuverability, too limited in fire-power. A precision instrument which had served its purpose. Life now would depend on speed, the ability to send a stream of fire to force others to take cover, the willingness to kill.

A man saw his face, recognized what it contained, and ran. Dumarest let him go. The door of a dormitory hut slammed open beneath his boot and he lunged into the building, firing, fragments spouting from shattered lamps, cups, the surface of the table. Water gushed from the smashed container-the only liquid spilled. The hut was deserted.

"Roland!"

Dumarest shouted as he reached the other door. It gave a good view of the space before the huts, the large building to one side. The raft was grounded before it, the sides perforated, the vehicle useless. Around it men lay in the sprawled postures of death. Others crawled or, too badly hurt to move, cried out for water. Smoke hazed the air but the firing had stopped.

"Roland!" Dumarest narrowed his eyes. The man could be dead or too badly hurt to answer. "Can you hear me? Roland!"

He caught a glimpse of movement at a window of the large building and ducked as a gun snarled, feeling the bite of splinters in his cheek, the brush of something which added another scar to his tunic. He fired in return, traversing the gun, blasting the window with a hail of missiles, releasing the trigger at a shape, torn beyond recognition, spun and slumped through the shattered opening.

"Roland!"

"Here, Earl." A hand lifted to signal. "That man in there had us pinned down. What's the position?"

A good question but Dumarest hesitated before answering.

The immediate danger was over, those who'd had guns were dead or hurt. Others had run and he guessed that if the large building held more men they would not be eager to show themselves.

But there would be more men, more guns, and they no longer held the advantage of surprise.

The key was Gydapen. If they could find and kill him they would be safe.

Roland gasped as Dumarest dropped at his side. He was pale, his blouse stained, blood on his cheek, but the stains were dirt and the blood not his own.

"Four dead," he reported. "Two in the first burst. The driver got it shortly after. The rest are too badly hurt to move. I hope that Lavinia had better luck than we did."

Dumarest tilted his head. There should have been firing, the echo of shots both from the edge of camp and the firing range. A few scattered reports came from where he had left the others but Lavinia's area remained silent.

"What now?" Roland licked his lips. "We're trapped, helpless should they decide to attack. They could crush us in seconds. Earl-"

"We're armed," snapped Dumarest. "We can fight back. They aren't used to that. All they've done so far is to shoot at targets. Firing at armed men is different. It takes getting used to. When I give the word we'll run to the large building. Get inside as fast as you can-it would be best to dive through the window. I'll cover you then you cover me. Don't bother to aim, just keep firing, while you do that they'll keep down. Ready? Go!"

The building was empty. Dumarest moved from room to room, kicking open the doors, returning to the chamber in which Gydapen had given him wine. From where he stood by the window Roland said, bleakly, "We've failed. We haven't killed Gydapen and we can't get away. It's only a matter of time before they get us."

Dumarest made no answer. He stared beyond the man at the space outside. At the raft which came drifting slowly towards the building in which they stood. At Lavinia standing in it.

Gydapen was at her side.

He was smiling, seemingly very calm, very assured, but his eyes darted from side to side, touching the wreck, the litter of dead, the shattered window.

Roland, careless, had shown himself.

"My Lord Acrae, this is a pleasure. Not one but two members of the Council coming to partake of my hospitality. But how do you account for the violence of your arrival? To shoot and kill my retainers-such an act needs explanation and redress. But perhaps you were unduly influenced by another? One who could be watching from shadows?" His face lost the smile and became savage. "If you are here, Dumarest, show yourself! If you care for the woman come into sight with empty hands."

He stood beside Lavinia, very close, one hand weighed with a laser, the other hidden behind her back. The fingers were locked in her hair and, suddenly, her faced jerked towards the sky.

"Dumarest!"

He moved to the window as Gydapen shouted and stood for a moment in full view then, throwing aside the gun, stepped over the sill. Roland followed him, breathing quickly, afraid, wanting to run and hide but driven by his pride to act the man.

Gydapen ignored him.

"You joined others and moved against me," he said to Dumarest. "Why? What harm have I done you?"

"You forget the raft, my lord."

"The work of Gnais. But I am being foolish-a mercenary needs no excuse to take sides. The pay is reason enough. Gnais-" He shrugged. "A failure. Such a man is better dead. And you have done more for me than he had. The attack could not have served me better. A prelude which has stiffened my men. Now they know a little of the harsh reality of war."

"Against the Sungari?" Lavinia made no effort to mask her contempt. "Gydapen, you are a fool!"

"And you are stupid." He released her and watched as she stepped from him to halt at the side of the raft. "What interest have I in the Sungari? They were an excuse, dust to throw in your eyes. As was my talk of marriage. Marriage!"

He smiled with an ugly twist of the lips. "Once I own this world I will need a consort worthy of my position. Not a child consumed by lust."

"A child?" Deliberately she inflated her chest, accentuating her unmistakable femininity. "Are you man enough even for that?"

"Enough, you bitch!"

"Yes, enough!" Her anger matched his own. "You're mad, Gydapen. Mad!"

As were all who fell victim to insane ambition, but it was never wise to tell them so. Dumarest said, quickly, "My lord, I admire your military skill. How did you capture the woman?"

"Luck," she said before he could answer. "He was inspecting his men and must have become suspicious. He attacked before we could move. We had no chance. I alone was left alive."

"Luck?" Dumarest raised his eyebrows. "I think it was other than that. A warning, perhaps? An instinct? Even so you are clever, my lord. It becomes obvious to me now that I have made a mistake. A wise man does not back the losing side."

"Earl!"

Gydapen ignored the woman as did Dumarest. He had edged a little to one side and took another step as, in the raft, Gydapen leaned forward. A small motion but one which increased the space between himself and Lavinia.

"You would be interested in fresh employment?"

"For a strong cause, my lord, yes."

"Mine is strong enough. I have men and arms and-" Gydapen broke off as if conscious he was saying too much. For a long moment he remained silent then, with a shrug said, "Well, why not? A man must eat and you have proved your worth. And what loyalty does a mercenary have other than to his own welfare. Yet I must have some proof that you would be reliable."

Dumarest said, "You would have my word."

"Which, probably, has never been broken." Gydapen lifted one foot and rested it on the edge of the raft. On it he rested the hand holding the laser. Around the vehicle, where they had dropped when it landed, his guards stood armed and watchful. "Yet you will permit me a little doubt. A word, an oath, such things are fragile. Deeds are something else." Then, without change of tone he said, "Kill Roland and the woman."

"My lord?"

"Kill them both and join my retinue."

Dumarest looked at the watching men. They were tense, unaware exactly of what was happening, but conscious they were witnessing something strange. The one nearest to him had a face dewed with sweat, more sweat liquid on the stock of the gun he held, muzzle high.

Gydapen said, sharply, "You hesitate?"

"A moment for thought, my lord. A man does not kill for nothing. My reward-"

"High rank in my army. High pay and what pleasures you choose to take." Gydapen lifted the laser, his knuckle white on the trigger. "Now obey!"

"Without a gun?"

"You have a knife. Use it!"

Sunlight glinted from the blade as Dumarest lifted it from his boot. Deliberately he turned it, causing it to flash, splinters of light which caught the eye and held the attention. Roland sucked in his breath as Dumarest moved towards him.

"Earl! For God's sake! You can't!"

"Scream," said Dumarest, softly. "Scream, you fool, then fall and lie still!"

He moved in, the blade circling around the other's uplifted hand, making a mockery of the pathetic defense. His arm straightened, slashed as the man shrieked, blood dulling the edge of the knife as he lifted it high.

On the sand Roland crouched, hands at his throat, falling to reveal the crimson gash. A shallow wound which had barely cut the skin but one which bled, accentuating the damage, looking ghastly as the man fell to one side, to twitch, to lay still.

"One down, my lord." Dumarest stepped towards the raft. "Now for the other. A pity to waste such beauty but your orders must be obeyed."

"A dog eating the filth of its master," she sneered. "You disgust me. Gydapen, you have chosen well."

He turned, smiling, his hand with the laser swinging wide, then, too late, he realized the mistake he had made, the danger he was in.

"No!"

His hand lifted as he yelled, finger closing as razor-edged steel hurtled through the air to hit, to bury itself in the hollow of his throat, to send him toppling forward vomiting blood on the dirt.

As he fell Dumarest moved, snatching the gun from the man he had marked, blasting the air and ground with its snarl and hail as he clamped his finger on the trigger. Smoke rose from the side of his head, the burning hair now quenched by the blood which laved the area. The sear of the laser was an angry furrow of red and black high above one ear. He looked a savage, blood-crazed avenger determined to kill.

The guards broke, throwing aside the weapons as they raced for the shelter of the huts.

"Earl!" He dropped the gun as Lavinia came running towards him from the raft. "You were wonderful! I guessed all along what you intended but, Gydapen, the fool, didn't guess all you wanted was a chance to get your knife before he could fire. Well, he's dead now and it's over."

"Yes," said Dumarest. "He's dead."

"And it's over," she repeated emphatically. "We'll have peace now."

A peace he could share.

It was in the promise of her eyes, her lips, the warmth of her body as she pressed herself close against him. A gentle time with good living and soft luxuries. A time to rest and think and make leisurely plans. The days would blend one into another and, at night, there would be the protection of strong buildings and the comfort of her love. He could hide here, take what was offered, forget the search for Earth. Find refuge, even, from the Cyclan. A haven.

A haven of darkness. One free of the glittering torment of the stars.

"Earl?" Her lips were very close, very tempting. "You'll stay, Earl? For a while, at least, you'll stay?"

For a while-why not?

"Yes, Lavinia," he said. "I'll stay."