Return To Kaldak

Chapter 20

The Sky Master's daughter Baliza closed the door behind her and looked across the tapestry-hung room to the great bed. Monitor Bekror was already in it, propped up on a stack of pillows. He had a book in his lap and a jug of beer with two cups on the carved wooden table beside the bed. He looked as if he might be dozing, but Baliza knew that appearances could deceive.

She locked the door, snuffed out all the lamps except the one by the bed, and started undressing. She took her time about it, since the night was warm, and there was no great hurry to get under the blankets and into Bekror's arms. Also, he said he liked to watch her slowly stripping herself down from a soldier into a love-goddess.

The first time she'd come to him, she'd thought he might have been flattering her, when all he really needed was the extra time to become aroused. After all, he would never see fifty again. Now she knew that when he said she was a work of art, he was simply telling the truth as he saw it.

When she was naked, she padded across to the bed. Bekror handed her a full cup of beer. As she drank she suddenly felt his hand between her thighs, where it tickled most. She jumped and spilled half the beer over her shoulders and breasts. Bekror sat up and started licking the beer off her skin. As his lips closed around her nipples, she put down the cup and wound her fingers in his hair to pull his head against her breasts. Meanwhile his hand was still busy between her thighs, doing more than tickling.

At last she had to pull free, sweep the blankets aside, and scramble into bed. As Bekror's arms went around her, she let desire fill her and let out a soft moan of anticipation. Perhaps Bekror was not everything he'd been as a young man. But in the time since he'd been a young man he must have bedded a great many women. The women had taught him much, and he remembered all of it.

He didn't even mind the fact that she was taller and probably stronger than he was. «More to get a good hold on,» was the way he put it.

She had been instructed by Geyrma to come to Sclathdan to get to the bottom of the rumors that Bekror was forming an alliance with the Tribesmen.

Now she was really beginning to feel slightly guilty about being here under an assumed name, as a representative from the City of Kaldak, supposedly inspecting his weapons. This in spite of the fact that he was obviously playing a few little games of his own. The games they played in bed were getting through to her, though, making her feel more like a woman than she had in years.

But then, perhaps he was bedding her only because he hoped this would shut her mouth? Perhaps if he knew who she really was he wouldn't have touched her. Perhaps-

Then he was in her, and she was getting all his strength and vigor. There was no «perhaps» about that, or any more thinking to be done. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, not worried about her strength if he wasn't, and he gasped with the effort he was making but smiled while he made it ….

There was sweat mixed with the beer on her breasts and all down her body before the loving was ended. Then Bekror seemed to fall asleep beside her, one arm flung across her breasts. She could tell that he was pretending. So it might be tonight, that meeting with the Tribesmen he had planned? She decided to pretend to be asleep also, although she wanted to pull his arm more tightly across her breasts. She was getting used to having someone in bed with her. She would not find it so easily, certainly not from such a good man, when she returned to Kaldak.

At last Bekror seemed satisfied that the woman beside him was too soundly asleep to notice anything. He slipped out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and picked up pack, helmet, and rifle from the closet. When he went out, Baliza heard someone talking to him in the hallway leading to the stairs. From the few words they exchanged, it sounded like a woman. Probably Sparra, Chyatho's widow and Voros's lover.

Baliza waited another minute, then sprang out of bed, pulled on her clothes, and ran to the window. The vine below the window wasn't quite equal to her weight and gave way when she was halfway down. Lovemaking hadn't affected her trained reflexes, though-she landed with no harm and with hardly any noise. It didn't take her long to be sure no one had detected her, or to find the trail of Bekror and Sparra. She checked her weapons-the compact ten-shot laser, the loop of wire, the knives-then set off after the Monitor and his companion. She just prayed Bekror was not engaging in any treachery. She had come to care for him so much that it would be difficult to kill him.

Blade wasn't entirely surprised at Monitor Bekror's coming to the rendezvous. He'd worded his message carefully, promising that Bekror would have a marvelous chance both to help Kaldak and yet to increase his independence from the City at a very small price. Blade was still happy and relieved to see the other man appear. Any other way of getting Kaldakan help for his plans would still take time they might not have.

Bekror stepped out of the darkness, with Sparra close beside him, her pistol drawn. Blade's keen night vision made out another man lurking in the bushes. After a moment, he recognized Sparra's friend, Terbo.

«Well, I'll be-!» Bekror roared. Then he remembered where he was. «It is Voros. And what in the name of the Lords is that on your shoulder.»

«Alive and well,» said Blade. «And he is Cheeky. Hello, Sparra.»

«Hello, Voros. And-hello, Cheeky.»

«Yeeeep!»

Blade opened his belt pouch and held out a package sealed in oiled leather. «Take this, Bekror. No matter what else happens, if it gets to Kaldak quickly there is hope for this-for everyone here.» He'd nearly slipped and said «this Dimension.» He wasn't quite as calm as he thought he was.

«What is it?»

«The formula for the serum against the fever the Seeker Detcharn plans to unleash on Kaldak and the Tribes.»

«Voros, have you brought me out here to listen to drunken jokes? Or is this a-?»

Sparra laid a hand on his arm. «We do not have that much time we can safely spend out here. If you keep interrupting Voros, it will be the same as not letting him tell his story at all. Can we be sure it is not worth hearing?»

Bekror muttered something which Blade decided to take as an agreement. He told the whole story of what he'd done since he left the Monitor's estate. He concentrated on his adventures in Doimar, leaving out nothing except the discovery of his identity by Moshra's telepathy.

At last he introduced Ikhnan. The chief stepped forward, both hands raised in the gesture of peace. Blade could tell he was uneasy, and hoped none of the Tribesmen covering him were trigger-happy.

«I swear by the Laws of the Cities and by the weapons of my own Tribe that Voros speaks with my voice in all these things. I will take the oath he has promised, if you will give us the arms we need to strike at those who are the enemies of all true men.»

Ikhnan delivered the speech without a moment's hesitation or a missed word. Blade remembered that the chief was nearly young enough to be his own son. In another ten years, Ikhnan might be the man Kaldak had always feared, the chief who would unite the Tribes. Would Bekror see that possibility, too, and would it make him refuse to aid the man?

The silence dragged on. Blade thought he heard a twig snap in the distance, but the wind was rising so it was hard to tell.

Finally Bekror nodded. «I can manage the lasers and grenades. I think I'll also be able to come up with a lifter when you need it. Two, if I can. But the explosives-I don't have all you need on hand. Also, I'm not happy about letting them out of my hands even if I had them. Ikhnan, will you let me send a few of my fighters among your Tribe, to watch the explosives?»

«Do you doubt my word?»

«I do not. Nor do I doubt the word of all those fighters who follow you. But what of other Tribes? What if they decide to attack the Red Cats to seize this rich prize? You cannot have so many warriors left that you would not welcome help in defending the explosives?»

Blade and Ikhnan looked at each other. They hadn't told Bekror about the weakness of the Red Cats. Their look said as plainly as words: This man is too shrewd for our comfort. What choice is there, but to give him what he wants?

«It shall be as you wish,» said Ikhnan. «But let the men be brave and wise enough to honor the customs of the Red Cats. Otherwise, I will swear no oath to treat them as friends, for they will not be such.»

Bekror shrugged. «I will accept those terms. Sparra, would you like to be chief guard of the explosives? You can pick your own people. Anyone except-«

Blade held up a hand for silence. Over the rising wind, he'd unmistakably heard sounds which shouldn't have been there. Twigs snapping, a bush rustling, something like a human cough. He started to draw his pistol.

Before it cleared the holster, the night erupted in a confusion of shouts, screams, and laser beams blazing green.

Baliza had no trouble following Bekror and Sparra in the darkness. But then, she'd never found it hard to follow people who weren't expecting to be followed. Those who'd taught her the arts of tracking thought that was a game for not very bright children.

What she overheard made her realize just what Bekror was up to, and she was so relieved she almost shouted out for joy. Clearly, Bekror and the Tribesman had formed an alliance to defeat the scheming Doimari, and this news would be very welcome back in Kaldak.

After a while, she began to think of revealing herself to the people ahead. The danger was no longer being seen. If they detected her presence, they would go after her, and it might be hard to explain just what she was doing spying on them.

Baliza was starting to approach when she realized she wasn't the only one who had followed the Monitor. She let the others get closer, and they passed without noticing her, making a good deal of noise. She knew they'd have had no chance of successfully trailing anyone who was on the alert. She also recognized enough voices to know who they were.

Chyatho's friends were on the prowl, for Sparra and perhaps for Bekror. They wanted the woman who'd betrayed their friend; perhaps they also wanted the Monitor who made life hard for New Law men whenever he could. Apart from her own preference for the Old Law, Baliza now knew that Bekror's death would be a disaster for this part of the frontier.

«People, you're dead,» Baliza whispered to the night. She felt confidence and skill flowing from her mind into every muscle and each limb. Was this the way her father had felt, those times he seemed to become a killer as deadly as any Fighting Machine and far more intelligent?

The amount of noise they were making let Baliza get close to the men. She counted seven, which was long odds for her to face single-handed. However, if she spoiled their surprise, Bekror and Sparra would have time to fight back. Neither of them would be an easy victim.

At last the men ahead stopped and split into two groups. Four got ready to do the actual killing while three stood guard. A very sloppy guard, Baliza thought as she slipped off her boots.

Her bare feet made no sound on the soft earth and fallen needles as she came up behind the first guard. Her fingers wound themselves in his hair and her knife slashed his throat before he knew there was anyone near. She lowered him to the ground, waited to see if his mates were alerted, then quickly searched his body for usable weapons. She found a grenade and was picking it up, when a laser beam seared past her right shoulder.

Instantly she threw herself down and to the left, rolling the moment she hit the ground. Her hand dove into her jacket pocket and came out with her own laser. It was useless beyond fifty feet, but the other two sentries were more than close enough. She shot one in the head. The other dodged behind a bush. She got ready to throw the grenade, but the sentry's laser burned her wrist and she dropped it. Fortunately the pin was still in.

She rolled again, expecting the sentry's next shot to hit or one of the other four to notice her. But suddenly the other four were fighting their own battle. She heard a sudden uproar of human voices, the crackle of several lasers, a grenade explosion, and a scream of agony. Then the last sentry was coming at her. Whether he was attacking or trying to flee she didn't know. Her legs swung, knocking him down, then she threw her full weight on his back. Her knees drove into his spine and he went limp. Not waiting to see if he was dead or not, she jumped up and ran, swerving randomly from left to right and back again to make her trail hard to follow.

She had to get clear and think about what she'd seen and what it could mean. The fight around Bekror had given enough light to let her see everyone involved. Several of them were unmistakably Tribesmen, one of them a chief. Another was the man who'd called himself Voros.

When the fight started, Blade shouted to Sparra and Bekror, «Get down! They're probably after you!»

Instead Bekror shoved Sparra violently to the ground and opened up with his laser pistol. He didn't hit anyone, but he did set a bush on fire. The light confused the attackers, who'd been expecting a fight in the dark. Blade counted four enemies and immediately picked off one with a snap shot from the hip.

Then he himself had to flatten on the ground as the Tribesmen and Ikhnan opened a wild fire. Blade saw the three attackers go down, and also the flashes and moving shapes of something going on behind them. Their rear-guard was having its own fight.

One of the attackers threw a grenade as he went down. Blade saw it arch out into the open and land, fuse sputtering, six feet away. He knew that Bekror and Sparra would die if it exploded. He also knew the only way to keep this from happening.

Then a Tribesman hurled himself out of the darkness, landing on top of the grenade. A moment later it exploded harmlessly-except to the man on top of it.

Half-deafened, Blade rose to his feet-as the Tribesman started to scream. Then he shot the man in the back of the head. There was no point in trying to cure such a wound, or even turn him over. Blade had seen what happens to a man who smothered a grenade with his own body. A quick death was all he could give to the man who'd saved Bekror, Sparra and himself, because he'd been about to leap on the grenade when the Tribesman did it.

Then there was silence, except for the crackle of the blazing bush and the distant moan of a dying man. Sparra and Terbo went off to investigate, and came back a couple of minutes later, looking grim.

«One of their sentries, with his back broken,» she said. «He admitted they were Chyatho's friends out to kill me and Bekror. Said, 'We'd have done it without that big bitch.'»

«Big bitch?» repeated Bekror. He looked startled, then hastily straightened his face.

«That's what he said. Then he died.»

«No loss,» said Bekror evenly.

«N-n-no,» said Sparra. She was obviously fighting off the shakes, frightened over the night's events, even more frightened of appearing a coward in the eves of the Tribesmen.

«They were not men the gods could love,» said Ikhnan. «The Laws of the Cities are not ours. But men who will kill because they are not allowed to defy a Law are evil anywhere.» He looked down at the dead Tribesman. «I only wish he had died against a worthier foe.»

«He died well, nonetheless,» said Bekror. He picked up two of the dead man's guns and handed them to Ikhnan. «For his grave.»

Ikhnan's eyes widened. «You know our custom, of putting the weapons of a slain warrior's enemies on his grave?»

«Of course,» said Bekror. «I have long been the enemy of the Tribes. I may be the enemy of the Tribes again. I have never been, and never will be, ignorant of their ways.» In the silence these words produced, he went on:

«Indeed, I would propose that we bury him here and now, with both peoples doing him honor. However, we are too close to my lands. Someone without respect for the dead might pollute his grave.»

«If we're that close to your lands, shall we finish our talking before we have more unwelcome visitors?» said Blade. «The best honor we can do for this warrior is not to let his death be wasted.»

No one disagreed, and the negotiations were finished quickly. A lifter would deliver Sparra and her squad with the weapons and explosives to an agreed-on rendezvous in five days. When Bekror got more explosives, he would deliver them along with the lifters themselves, when the raiders were ready to move out.

Then Bekror's party vanished, leaving the Tribesmen and Blade to pick up their dead and retreat. «A wise and mighty chief,» Ikhnan called Bekror. He called him other things, too, but Blade was too absorbed in his own thoughts to remember any of them.

What had happened in the fight with the would-be assassins' sentries? And who was the «big bitch»? Bekror knew, at least, or thought he knew. If he didn't, Blade was no judge of faces or voices!

Blade had a nasty feeling that there were going to be other players in this game he'd begun-players he hadn't asked to sit in, and who might reveal themselves only when it was too late to change the rules.