Khaya Taiyuah was a tall, lean man with a hooked nose and sunken eyes which, normally like turgid pools, now blazed with the urgency of his errand.
"Lavinia, we have no choice. Unless Gydapen is stopped he will ruin us all. The Pact must not be broken. If it is then what will become of life as we know it?" Somberly he answered his own question. "War, death, destruction, the ruin of Zakym. The work of our ancestors wasted because of the greed of one man."
He was, she thought, exaggerating, but knew better than to voice the accusation. Taiyuah, like most of his type, was subjected to sudden rages. An introvert, usually uninterested in anything which did not have a bearing on his devotion to breeding a new strain of silk worm, he took little notice of the conduct of others. Now something, a rumor perhaps, had sent him into a state bordering on panic.
Quietly she said, "Gydapen isn't insane, Khaya. He must know what he is doing. Are you sure you have all the facts?"
"A messenger from Fhard Erason gave them to me. I sent him on to Howich Suchong and came here as soon as I could. Lavinia, you have influence with the man. Stop him before it is too late."
She had, she thought, seen him perhaps a dozen times during the entire course of her life and most of those occasions had been accidental meetings in town when they had both gone to collect delivered consignments. Only twice had he been at a Council meeting. But he had attended the death-rites of her parents-she owed him for that.
"Lavinia-"
"We have time, Khaya. You need rest, food and some wine. A bath too, perhaps. It will relax you. Enjoy it while I arrange matters with Roland."
"You will hurry?"
"I'll waste no time," she promised. "Now do as I say, old friend. And trust me."
Roland was on the upper battlements, standing on the platform, binoculars to his eyes as he swept the distant hills. The magenta sun was high, the violet still barely risen, the air holding a welcome absence of tension. As always, he sensed her presence and, lowering the binoculars, turned, smiling.
"Lavinia!" He sobered as she told him of the visitor and his fears. "And he wants you to do something about it?"
"Yes. Should I?"
"If the Pact is threatened you have no choice. I assume an extraordinary meeting of the Council will be called? If Fhard Erason is sending out word then that will be inevitable. But why didn't he notify you directly?"
A point which hadn't escaped her attention. Slowly she said, "If Erason did send out word. Khaya is old and gets easily confused. Delusia was strong last evening."
"And Khaya keeps much to himself." Roland looked toward the hills, his brows creased with thought. "I'll contact Erason personally and circulate the others. It's possible that Khaya has misjudged the situation. He may not have been meant to contact you. After all, as far as most are concerned, you and Gydapen are close. His interests could be your own. In any case it could be feared that you might warn him or, at least, side with him. It would be a natural assumption."
"But wrong!"
His pleasure was manifest. "It pleases me to hear you say it, my lady."
"I might have to marry the man," she said, ignoring the comment. "But I don't have to like him and I will never side with him if he threatens the Pact." She glanced towards the hills. "What were you studying?"
"The herd we set to browse. Two stallions are vying for supremacy. Here." He handed her the glasses, "To the left of the forked peak and just above the patch of grasses. They could still be there."
They were and she watched, entranced by their sheer, animal perfection as, snorting, they faced each other, hooves pawing the stoney dirt. They would turn and move and weave perhaps for days as their biological needs grew and filled their universe. The urge to procreate would work its magic and each would fight to be the one to impregnate the mares. One would have to yield, running before suffering too serious injuries, forced to wait and build on what he had learned, to prove his mastery and so the right to implant his seed.
Once, perhaps, men had acted in a similar fashion, gathering females under their protection, filling them with new life, multiplying their strength and cunning, their courage and ability to survive. Then only the strong had won the right to continue their line-the weak had perished.
What had happened to ruin that elementary custom?
Where now were the men who, like those distant stallions, would fight to gain and hold what they desired?
"Lavinia?"
She lowered the binoculars, conscious that she had concentrated for too long, become too deeply engrossed with mental imageries and was, perhaps, even now betraying her own, deep-rooted desires. The son of her body would be a man, but where was the man to father him?
Roland? He looked at her now as a dog would look at its master. Gydapen? He owned strength of a kind and it would serve if nothing else could be found. Erason? He was newly bereft of his wife and had sworn never to take another. Suchong, Alcorus, Navolok-all were old with sons too young.
Again she looked through the binoculars towards the hills. The stallions were gone now, racing with the joy of life down the further slopes, perhaps, or engaging in the initial combat maneuvers which would be a prelude to the real battles to come. She wished she could see them. She wished she were a mare and could watch the savage masculinity of those who fought to possess her. To have men fight and bleed and risk death itself for the sake of the prize she offered.
"Lavinia!"
She lowered the binoculars and turned towards where Roland stood, aware of the urgency of how he had spoken her name, the hunger in his tone. But he was looking towards the far end of the battlement, his head tilting as he looked at the sky.
"We should be making arrangements," he said, mildly. "And the calls had best be made without delay."
She glanced at the suns; they were still far apart but would merge before the afternoon. A bad time for business. And, if they were to reach town safely before night, it was best to waste no more time.
"See to it," she ordered, and handed him the binoculars. "I'll find out what I can from Khaya. As you say he might have imagined the whole thing. If not we can use his raft to transport extra goods to the warehouse."
They left in an hour, both rafts loaded with bales containing ornamented leather articles, carved bone, beads of lambent stones, wood whittled into engrossing shapes; the product of idle hours during winter and times of waiting, the fruit of skilled but primitive artists and those who held a trace of genius.
The agent, a Hausi, kept his features impassive as he studied samples. They would find a market on worlds jaded with machine-production, be used as tools of trade, give pleasure to tourists and children.
"Satisfied with the quality?" Lavinia was sharp, unfairly so. A Hausi did not lie and Jmombota had no need to cheapen the goods. It was proof of her agitation that she had fired the question.
"My lady, I was looking for variety, not doubting the workmanship."
"They are as usual."
"And will find markets, but if I may be so bold to suggest that a wider range would be more viable-" He broke off, spreading his hands. "The beads, for example, if cut instead of polished they would add to their charm. I could obtain the necessary equipment should you be interested."
"Later." The man meant well-her gain was his greater profit, but she was not to be rushed and had no real interest in the details of trade. The mounts bred by her Family for generations were her real interest. The goods now piled on the floor of the warehouse were a by-product of culled beasts. "Has my consignment arrived yet?"
"No, my lady."
"When?" She anticipated his answer. "You can't be sure. Zakym is a small world and ships have to be sure of making a profit before they call."
"That is so, my lady."
A fact she knew, had always known, and it was useless to rail against the system. It was only a matter of waiting and, in the meantime, there were other things to worry about. Gydapen's apparent madness for one.
He sat in the Council chamber, sprawled in a seat carved of ancient woods and adorned with a motif of beasts and reptiles. A man shorter than herself but with the shoulders of a bull and hands which held a crude beauty in their raw, functional strength. He rose as he saw her, bowing, his eyes bold as he straightened.
"Lavinia Del Belamosk," he said, gravely. "The most lovely object to be found on this world. My lady, I salute you."
"And I you, Gydapen Prabang. My lord, you have us concerned."
"Us?"
"Those of us who, with you, share the rule of this world. Taiyuah, Erason, Alcorus-" She broke off at his smile. "I amuse you?"
"You enchant me, but what have we to do with that list of names?"
"They matter, my lord."
"You matter!" He was blunt. "For you, my dear, anything. For them-" he made a gesture as of flicking dust from his sleeve. "But, as you can see, I observe the courtesies. I am here. You are here. The others?"
"Roland is below."
"The Lord Acrae." The corners of his mouth lifted in a quirk. "Of course. And the rest?" He didn't wait for an answer. "You know, Lavinia, I was sitting here thinking of all those who had sat here before and the wise deliberations they must have made and the decisions they arrived at to be handed down through the generations to bind those which followed. Us, my dear. You and I. Are you not weary of the weight of those fetters forged so long ago?"
"Traditions and customs had their purpose. And the Pact-"
"Must not be broken." His interruption was the flash of a naked blade. "Of course. Always it comes to that. The Pact!" His voice was a sneer and, in a moment, he had wiped away his previous gain in her estimation. Strength he might have, but it was the brute strength of an unthinking beast. Against it she would set her own cunning. It, together with the weapons of her sex, might yet prove to be the victor.
"A battle, my dear?" His voice was soft yet hiding venom and she realized that his eyes had been studying her, reading her expression as they had already read the shape of her body beneath her gown. "The prospect excites you?" He took a step towards her and she caught the odor of perfume. A strong, pungent sweetness which masked, but could not wholly disguise another odor, the scent of masculinity which enveloped him like a cloud.
A stallion. A beast in rut.
And she was a mare!
"Lavinia!" Another step and he was close enough to touch her, the weight of his fingers oddly cool against her shoulder. "Next to me you are the strongest person on this world. Think of what we could accomplish if we were together. What couldn't we achieve? You know my feelings. If I were to suggest a union what would you say?"
"I would suggest you waited for the right time and place."
"Do you mock me!"
She saw the sudden anger blaze in face and eyes, the snatched withdrawal of his hand, the backward step which carried him beyond reach. Saw too the vulnerability he had betrayed and, seeing it, sensed her power and potential victory.
"Gydapen you say that, next to you, I am the strongest person on this world. I disagree-you will permit me that?"
Then, as he remained silent, she added, harshly, "Or do you want nothing more than a slave to kiss your boots at your command? Is that what you look for in a wife?"
"A wife?" His eyes cleared. "I-no. No, of course not."
"Good." She glanced around the chamber, seeing the carved heads of long-dead Councilors who watched with blind, indifferent eyes. The living, assembling, would be downstairs. Waiting for all to arrive, perhaps, or for more devious reasons of their own. Well, let them wait. "My Lord Gydapen Prabang, I am hungry. Of your charity, may I be fed?"
The old form of appeal amused him as she had intended it should. It also dissolved the last vestige of his rage and gave him more assurance as to her feelings than he had reason to own.
"Feed you?" His laughter echoed from the beamed and vaulted roof. "My dear, I'll give you the best meal money can buy."
"And the others?"
"To hell with them! They can wait!"
Wait as viands were carefully selected and prepared, cooked to stringent standards, dressed and blended with expensive oils and spices, served with deference and with appropriate wines. A succession of dishes culled from a score of worlds. Specialties costing more than an ordinary worker could accumulate in half a year of toil.
Lavinia speared a morsel and tasted sweetness, bit into crispness, swallowed a savory pulp tantalizing in varying flavors. Another followed as different as the first, more, a host of morsels each blending with the other, triggering barely remembered incidents of past happinesses.
Warmth, born in her stomach, spread to her thighs, her breasts, her loins.
Her glass was empty and a servant poured at her host's command. Vapors rose from the sparkling fluid, drifting clouds of tantalizing sweetness which held something of the emerald fluid and hinted of mint and ice and chilled lavender.
"To us, my dear." Gydapen lifted his own goblet. "To our future!"
"To joy," she responded with ambiguity. "To fulfillment."
They drank and, if he anticipated more than was meant by the words, that was his loss and her victory. With him always it would be a battle. As they lowered their goblets the deep throb of the curfew gong sent little sympathetic tintinnabulations from the engraved crystal.
"Night." Gydapen's tone was sour. "And now the Sungari come into their own."
"Night." She touched the rim of her goblet as, again, the gong throbbed its warning. "I must thank you, my lord, for having fed me so well."
"Of my charity?"
"Of your charity." She smiled as if they shared a private joke. Then, growing serious, she said, "You know, the old forms have meaning. The implicit courtesy, for example, and the reminder that to be polite, even to the deprived, is to be civilized. I asked you to feed me and you did and for that I thanked you. We find it amusing, but what if I had been starving? Had I demanded you would have refused and then, in order to survive, I would have tried to take by force what you refused to give me. In which case I would have, most probably, died."
"Not you, Lavinia."
"Because you consider me to be attractive?"
"Because you are rare-a woman with intelligence and a man's ability to get your own way."
"And those things are rare?" She thought for a moment, "On Zakym, perhaps, but on other worlds? You have traveled, Gydapen. So has Roland. He tells me that, on some worlds, women are equal in all respects to men. Have you found it so?"
"It is against nature."
"It is?" She frowned, sensing more than an unthinking rebuttal and wondering why an otherwise intelligent man should have affirmed such nonsense. Had he been hurt on his travels? Meeting a woman who had beaten him at his own game? Who had mocked him and held him to scorn? If so she must be careful. Whatever Gydapen lacked it was not physical strength. In an actual fight he could break her bones and, from what she remembered of the rage which had distorted his face, he would, given cause. "Well, perhaps you are right. In any case what true woman would ever want a man as weak as herself?"
For answer he flicked the edge of his goblet with a nail and, as the thin, high chime began to fade, said, "I'll be blunt, Lavinia. I want you. I think you know it."
"You want me," she said, dryly. "As what and for how long?"
"As wife."
"I would accept nothing less."
"I would offer nothing less." His eyes met her own, hard, direct. "I have no time for games. Unite with me and, in time, our children could rule this world. Think about it."
She knew better than to jest. Returning his stare she said, with sincerity, "You have done me honor, my lord. For this I thank you."
And, if no word of love had been spoken, what of that? Did animals prate of romance when locked in the compulsion to procreate? Did babies need soft words and gentle hands in order to be conceived? She was a Lady of Zakym, not a servant girl with a too-large imagination and a too-limited awareness of reality. Gydapen had offered her power and prestige, security for her people and a father for her children. Could any man offer more?
Then why did she continue to hesitate? Why, when the aphrodisical qualities of the food and wine warmed her loins, did she continue to remain aloof?
Questions the carved figures on the stairs couldn't answer. Nor did the wooden heads in the Council chamber. Even the living remained silent, the silence a mute reproach for having being kept waiting.
Gydapen broke it. Plumping into his seat he said, "Well, you asked me to come and I am here."
Erason held the chair. Coldly he said, "The formalities must be observed. First an apology for the willful insult to the Council. Then-"
"To hell with that!" The slap of Gydapen's hand was a meaty thud rising from the table. "Get on with it or I leave."
Alcorus cleared his throat. Old, withered, he hated displays of violence. Hated, not feared, two dead men killed in a formal duel proved that.
"I'll make this short Lord Prabang. I've heard that you intend to break the Pact. Is that true?"
"And if it is?"
"I ask for the last time." The dry tones held contempt. "Is it true?"
"No." Gydapen looked around as relief made an audible rustle as clothing shifted on relaxing bodies. "I have no intention of actually breaking the Pact. But it can be altered. Adjustment can be made."
"You split hairs, my lord!"
"I'm giving you the truth, Alorcus." Gydapen returned the old man's glare. "There are valuable minerals on my lands. I intend to obtain them. That is all."
"And what of the Pact?" Navolok leaned forward in his chair. "Do you intend to defy the Sungari?"
"I've explained that."
"No." Suchong made a curt gesture. "You have done nothing of the kind. You, like all of us, have certain designated areas for mining. Now you say that you intend to extend your area of operations. This is a direct contravention of the Pact."
"It has already been contravened."
"By whom? The Sungari? How? When?"
"You want proof?"
"I demand it!" Alcorus returned to the attack. "It is essential. Without evidence I refused to accept your testimony."
"You dare to call me a liar!"
"Do you take us for fools?" With an effort Alcorus restrained his anger. "Do you ask us to destroy our heritage on your unsupported word? If the Pact has been broken then we must know how and where and in what manner. Accidents have happened before but the Pact has been maintained. It will still be maintained with good intent on both sides. But if you, or anyone, deliberately breaks if for reasons of selfish greed then the full weight of this Council will be turned against him. I call for a vote!"
Dutifully Lavinia raised her hand and, with surprise, noted that Gydapen also voted in favor. A cynical gesture or a genuine desire to keep the peace? A cunning move in order to gain time? It was possible and she wondered who had first spread the rumor. Gydapen himself, perhaps, it would fit his nature. To cry wolf again and again so that when he really did set to work who would believe it?
The Council dissolved in apparent concord, the members taking underground passages to their various places of accommodation. Lavinia made certain that Gydapen should not claim her, an act made simple by his own apparent lack of interest; another cunning move on his part, perhaps, or a demonstration of calculated patience. The average woman would have been piqued by such an apparent affront and eager to prove the worth of her attraction.
Roland pursed his lips when, later in her room, she mentioned it.
"Gydapen is cunning, Lavinia. Never make the mistake of underestimating him."
"I don't intend to."
"I watched him in the Council chamber. His rage-did you notice how artificial it was? And he seemed to want to goad certain members. The vote, of course, was a farce."
"But, even so, what could he do against us?"
The room was small; one in a relatively inexpensive hotel, the paneling uncarved, the wooden floor graced only with a thin rug. The window, now firmly shuttered, was of small panes of colored glass, reflections from the lamp filling it with a jigsaw of multicolored hues which touched Roland's hair and sharpened his features.
Quietly he said, "The wrong question, my dear. You should ask, what can we do against him should he choose to go his own way?"
"He wouldn't dare!"
"Why not?" He turned and now his face, sharper than before, held a sagging weariness. "Like me he's been to other worlds. He knows how limited Zakym can be. With money the galaxy is waiting. Worlds without number, races, civilizations, climates, how to even begin to tell of their variety? And he has no cause to love this planet. If it came to it he would ruin it and leave, smiling, reveling in his revenge."
She said, with quick understanding, "Me?"
"You could be the last straw. He wants you. I do not say he loves you; personally I think the man incapable of anything aside from self-love. You would be an acquisition. An excuse if you rejected him."
"No!" She refused to accept the burden. "No, Roland! You can't place the fate of this world on my shoulders! I won't have it!"
He made no answer, just stood watching her, waiting as the moments dragged past and the obvious came to stand before her and smile with its fleshless jaws.
What she wanted was no longer of importance-like it or not she had no choice.