Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

Chapter Fifteen

There were nooks in the House, small places set in secluded ways, some graced with delicate carvings, others the repository of lichens and vagrant beams of light which threw soft illumination over stone and bench and the worn flags of the floor. The roof too was a series of flat spaces, some edged with crenelations, others flanked with high walls so that for most of the day they were filled with shadow.

Places which were the favorite rendezvous of lovers and to which Dephine was no stranger.

"Look, Earl." She pulled at his arm and led him across worn stone to where a buttress made a private spot in the corner of a scented garden. Massed in pots a profusion of herbs made an enticing aroma, their fronds hanging down over the walls and trailing on the ground. "I used to come here often as a child. There was a bench and I used to sit and scratch at the wall. See?"

The bench had gone but the scratches remained; thin lines drawn with a childish hand; a crude picture of a bearded man, a stylized vessel of space, a verse which held within its stanzas an empty yearning.

"Even then I wanted to get away," she murmured. "To escape. The House was like a cage and I was a bird pining to be free. Well, I did get free-and found the entire galaxy was nothing but a larger cage. Can freedom really exist, Earl? Is there any world on which a person can stand and be subjected to no restraint devised by man? Is there no place devoid of the power of those who are consumed with the desire to rule?"

He said, quietly, "If there is I haven't found it."

"And you've traveled further than most and seen a greater variety of worlds." She pressed close to him, her hand resting on his arm. "And you know how to handle men. Navalok will be your friend for life."

"I did nothing."

"No?" She turned and smiled and let her fingers trace the scars on his tunic, the ripped plastic beneath which the protective mesh shone with a metallic gleam. "You gave a boy his ambition. You took a cripple and turned him into a man. Is that nothing? How many on Emijar would have done as much? To kill and give another your trophy."

"No." Dumarest was firm. "Navalok made the kill."

"Or so you made him believe. And he does believe it, Earl. As do others. They can't conceive of anyone relinquishing a trophy to another when he has yet to gain one for himself." Again her fingers traced the scars on his tunic. "But I know better. You are kind, Earl. Gentle and kind. A boy would do well to have you for his father."

And her for his wife. The implication was clear as was the invitation in her eyes. To marry, to settle down, to rear strong sons and lovely daughters, to grow old and leave his seed to continue his line on this world. To forget his dreams and accept the warm and solid comfort of present reality. To cease his search for Earth and to take what she offered. Her fingers tightened on his arm. "Earl?"

"Let's go down," he said. "Hendaza will be waiting for us." The man was happy, seemingly relaxed, his smile coming with quick naturalness as he lifted his hands to touch those of Dephine and her companion.

"Earl, the Family has much to thank you for. I add my own, special gratitude. Navalok is now, at last, a man."

The ceremony was over, the notation made in the records, the youth now proudly bearing a gun at his belt Dumarest remembered how eyes had followed him as he had struggled beneath the weight of the severed head to hurl it down at the opening of the Shrine. Hendaza had radiated an almost tangible relief and Dumarest guessed that his previous contempt and acidity had been intended as a spur. One now withdrawn and a genuine concern taking its place. Fatherless, the boy had found a mentor. Hendaza would take the place of the missing parent.

Lekhard had been edgy, sneering, turning away as he had met Dumarest's eyes. From him, later, there could be trouble but that was not Dumarest's concern. And Kanjuk, Lekhard's companion, had spoken to him and led the man from the assembly as if he had been a child.

Hendaza shrugged as Dumarest mentioned it.

"Lekhard is too ambitious and would have caused trouble had Navalok delayed obtaining his trophy for much longer. As you may have guessed I tried to spur him to courage in my own way. Now, as a potential Elder of the Family, he will crystalize various loyalties. Kanjuk knows that and will keep his friend in check."

"And if he doesn't?" Dumarest was blunt. "Navalok can't meet a challenge."

"He must if necessary." Hendaza was equally blunt. "That is the price he pays for being accepted as a man. But if Lekhard should challenge him without just cause he will face, not just one young man, but a line of others each of whom will challenge him in turn. Eventually he will fall. This he knows."

A mad dog taken care of in the traditional manner, Dumarest could appreciate how it would be done. Other Houses he had known would have called on the aide of assassins, here on Emijar they were more honest-or naive.

"And you, Earl?" Hendaza glanced towards Dephine. "When are we to celebrate your obtaining a trophy? Soon, I hope?"

"Perhaps."

"It will be soon, Hendaza," said Dephine firmly. "He would have had it by now but he had no wish to spoil Navalok's moment of triumph."

"A commendable attitude and one worthy of a man of proven courage. You should be proud, Dephine."

"I am." She smiled with possessive affection. "Very proud. Earl-" The smile changed to a frown as he moved away. "Earl!"

He said, without turning, "I'm going to see Navalok."

The boy was at practice. He stood at one end of a firing range, facing targets shaped in the image of a man, the gun in his hand lifting, to steady, to fire. A light set behind the targets showed where the bullets had struck.

"I'm getting better, Earl. I can hit a man each time I fire now."

"You can hit a target," corrected Dumarest. "A target can't shoot back."

"Neither can a man if he's dead." Navalok lowered the gun, reloaded it, slipped it into his belt. "Watch this, Earl!"

He was a boy, proud of his skill, a child eager to demonstrate his ability. The gun lifted from the holster, leveled, fired. On the target a light shone through a hole in the forehead.

"There!"

Dumarest said, dispassionately, "Navalok, you're a fool. Why aim for the head when the body offers a better target? And what if your opponent is wearing armor? If you want to play this stupid game then do it properly."

"Stupid?"

"If you want to kill a man then do it. Get in hard and fast and, above all, get in first. Don't give him a chance. To do that is to invite death. Don't waste time in talk. Just act and get it done with."

"But Earl, the code-"

"Is a game. Why else do you wear armor at times? To fight and not get hurt-so why fight at all. Now listen to me. Lekhard is no friend of yours and will challenge as soon as he can. How will he do it? Insult you?" Dumarest thinned his lips as the boy nodded. "Right, when he does make sure that witnesses overhear. Be polite and above all don't lose your temper. Look at him as you would vermin. Refuse to be pushed and he will try harder and then, when you've enough provocation, draw out that gun and kill him."

"In public?" Navalok looked startled. "But, Earl a challenge has to be met with due formality."

"Just kill him," snapped Dumarest. "And argue about it later. Let Alorcene check his records for precedents. He will find them. No society could have grown as yours has without men killing others at the slightest provocation. Restore some of the old traditions-and watch how the challenges suddenly lose their appeal."

"Face him in public," murmured the boy. "Warn him first and then-"

"You don't give any warnings," snapped Dumarest impatiently. "He isn't a friend. He isn't anything but an animal you have to kill before he kills you. So kill him." He added, more gently, "You'll only have to do it once, Navalok. Just let the others see that you don't intend to play their game according to their rules and you might have a chance. It's your life, remember. Don't throw it away."

"I won't, Earl. I'll do as you say-if I can."

He would try and either success or the dead-weight of accepted custom would lead to his death, but Dumarest had done his best and could do no more. Now it was the turn of the other to give.

"I need a raft, Navalok. Can you get me one?"

"No, Earl, you need-"

"An accepted member of the House." Dumarest was sharp. "You have the right, now, and I want to go to town. Will you take me?"

They left as dusk softened the outlines of the hills and early stars began to glimmer in the skies. The boy was silent, sitting hunched and thoughtful beside Dumarest as he sent the raft skimming low and straight towards the field. It was empty of vessels as he'd known and, setting down the raft, Dumarest dropped over the side.

"Thank you, Navalok."

"Shall I wait for you, Earl?"

"No."

"You're spending the night here?" The boy looked at the deserted streets, the sombre bulk of shadowed buildings. All were dark aside from the hotel from which came glimmers of light and the sound of thin, reedy music. "Earl?"

Dumarest said, "Take the raft back to the House. Goodbye, Navalok."

He walked to the hotel without looking back, thrusting open the door and stepping into a long, narrow room. It was almost empty, a scatter of men wearing various liveries sitting at small, round tables. At the far end a staircase rose to the upper rooms. On a low dais an old man blew into a bagged flute his gnarled fingers caressing a series of holes.

"Your pleasure, sir?" A squat man wearing a greasy tunic had stepped from behind a low counter. "My House is honored. Some wine?"

"You have rooms?"

"The choice of a score. Always it is the same until a ship arrives. But first, some wine?"

It was rough, holding the tang of smoke and metal, too acid for his taste and a fitting accompaniment to the music.

As he refilled the glass the squat man said, "A vessel should be calling here soon. The Ahdil is about due and, naturally, there could be others. A matter of days only, but waiting can be tedious if only for a single night, so if you'd rather not be alone?"

His glance as he posed the question was suggestive.

"No," said Dumarest. "All I want is a room."

It was small, cramped, the bed sagging, the floor of bare, unpolished wood, but it was cheap and would serve. During the night Dephine came to join him.

She entered like a ghost to stand by the door, looking at Dumarest who, roused by the creak of wood, had risen and was facing her, the naked blade of the knife in his hand glimmering in the starlight coming through the narrow window.

He said, quietly, "Why are you here?"

"Can't you guess, Earl?"

"Navalok-"

Told me. He had no choice. He is waiting below with the raft."

"You shouldn't have come. Your reputation-"

"To hell with that!" Long legs carried her over the space between them. "Do you suppose I care what others think? My life is with you, Earl. With you-not those worshipers of tradition. Couldn't you smell the dust in the House? Feel the cobwebs brush against your face in the passages and halls? The past dominates everything they do, but I live for the present. I long for the future. Our future, my darling. Ours!"

She moved a little and illusion transformed her, the robe she wore gleaming with the whiteness of a shroud, the mane of hair, bleached by the starlight, turning to silver, even the hollow contours of her cheeks taking on an elfin quality, a delicacy which collapsed time and space and made a fragment of the past suddenly real.

Derai!

But she was long gone, long dead, lost on a lonely world, dust now, all her beauty spent. As others were lost and with them their dreams of happiness. As Kalin was lost.

But, always, the search for Earth remained.

Dumarest looked at the knife in his hand. As he put it down Dephine said, flatly, "You came here to wait for a ship. You want to leave. But why, Earl? Why?"

"This isn't my world, Dephine."

"And not really mine, now. But we could be happy here. There is a place I know, one I used to visit as a child. There is a lake and a house and we could be alone. Alone and happy, Earl, that I promise you. I would be everything to you-give you all any man could ever need."

A lamp stood on a low table against the wall. Dumarest lit it and watched as the flame crawled up the wick to fill the room with a warm and yellow light. One which banished the illusions as if there had been ghosts running before the newly risen sun. Auburn hair, not silver; an embroidered robe, not a shroud; a strongly determined face; not the childish weakness of the one he had known. Not Derai and, aside from the slight resemblance of the hair, not Kalin.

"I saved your life, Earl," said Dephine softly. "Have you forgotten that?"

"No."

"And you owe me something. There are cultures in which once a man admits to this his life is no longer his. It belongs to the one who has saved it."

"And there are others which holds that if a man saves the life of another he is responsible for whatever that man later does." Dumarest shrugged. "Take your pick, Dephine, which do you choose?"

"Neither-and don't make me feel so ashamed, Earl. Do you think it easy for me to plead? I am a Keturah and we have our pride. But I need you. I can't let you go. You just can't walk away and leave me." Her voice grew a little ragged. "You spoke of reputation-well, consider it. Don't shame me before my Family. They think we plan to get married. At least go through the ceremony and give me the respect they hold so important. What would it matter to you? A few days, a couple of weeks at the most Earl, would it be so hard?"

She stepped close before he could answer, her arms circling his neck, the warmth of her body a fever beneath her clothing.

"Please, darling." Her voice was a seductive murmur, music to enhance the scent of her hair, the perfume of her flesh. "You are too kind to be so cruel as to leave me so soon. Give me a little time and then, if you want, we can leave together. There will be money and we can travel in luxury. You and I as one, darling, together for as long as you want. For as long as you need me. And you do need me, Earl. You need me as I need you. My love! Oh, my love!"