Dying of the Light

already, although we were not yet teyn-and-teyn.

'The next time that Jaan and I went exploring together-we were far beyond our holdfast, in a cavern he knew well-I surprised him and beat him until every part of his flesh was bruised and swollen. He did not visit my age-barracks for the entire winter, yet at last he returned. We had no bitterness between us. We began to roam and hunt together once more, and he told me more stories, tales of myth and history. For my part, I would assault him randomly, always catching him unready and overwhelming him. In time he began to fight back, and well. In time it became impossible for me to surprise him with my fists. One day I smuggled a knife out from Ironjade beneath my shirt, and bared it on Jaan and cut him. Then we both began to carry knives. When he reached his adolescence, the age where he would pick his chosen-names and become subject to the code duello, Jaantony was no longer a subject of easy taunt.

'He was always unpopular. You must understand that he was ever a questioning sort, given to uncomfortable inquiries and unorthodox opinions, a lover of history but openly contemptuous of religion, with much too much unhealthy interest in the offworlders who moved among us. As such, he was challenged again and again that first year he attained dueling age. He always won. When I reached adolescence a few years later, and we became teyn-and-teyn, I had scarcely anyone to fight. Jaantony had put fear in all of them, so they would not challenge us. I was very disappointed.

'Since that time we have dueled together often. We are bonded for life, and we have been through much, and I do not care to hear you spout comparisons with this meaningless 'love' you offworlders are so enchanted by, this mockman bond that comes and goes with the whim of a moment. Jaantony himself was badly corrupted by the concept during his years on Avalon, and that was in some measure my responsibility because I let him go alone. It was true that on Avalon I would have had no function and no place, yet I should have been there. I failed Jaan in that. I will never fail him again. I am his teyn and always his teyn, and I will permit no one to kill him or wound him, or twist his mind, or steal his name. These things are my bond and my duty.

'Too often these days Jaan lets his very name be threatened by such as you and Ruark. Jaan is in many ways a perverse and dangerous man, and the quirks of his mind often bring us into peril. Even his heroes– I remembered, one day, some of the stories he had told me in childhood, and was struck by the fact that all of Jaan's favorite heroes were solitary men who suffered ultimate defeat. Aryn high-Glowstone, as an instance, who dominated an entire epoch of history. He ruled by force of personality the most powerful holdfast High Kavalaan ever knew, the Glowstone Mountain; and when his enemies leagued against him in highwar, all hands raised against his, he put swords and shields on the arms of his eyn-kethi and took them to battle to swell the size of his army. His foes were broken and humiliated, and so Jaan would tell me the story. Yet later I learned that Aryn high-Glowstone won no victory at all. So many of his holdfast's eyn-kethi were slain that day that few remained to birth new warriors. Glowstone Mountain declined steadily in power and in population, and forty years after Aryn's bold stroke the Glowstones fell and highbonds from Taal and Ironjade and Bronzefist took their women and children, leaving the halls abandoned. The truth of Aryn high- Glowstone is that he was a failure and a fool, one of history's pariahs, and such are all Jaan's mad heroes.'

'Aryn sounds heroic enough to me,' Dirk said

sharply. 'On Avalon we'd probably credit him with freeing the slaves, even if he didn't win.'

Janacek glowered at him, his eyes like blue sparks set in his narrow skull. He tugged at his red beard in annoyance. 'T'Larien, that comment is precisely what I warned you of. Eyn-kethi are not slaves, they are eyn-kethi. You judge wrongly and your translations are false.'

'According to you,' Dirk said. 'According to Ruark-'

'Ruark.' Janacek's tone was contemptuous. 'Is the Kimdissi the source of all your information about High Kavalaan? I see that I have wasted time and words on you, t'Larien. You are already poisoned and you have no interest in understanding. You are a tool of the manipulators of Kimdiss. I will lecture you no more.'

'Fine,' Dirk said. 'Just tell me where Gwen is.'

'I told you.'

'When will she be back, then?'

'Late, and then she will be tired. I am certain that she will not wish to see you.'

'You are keeping her from me!'

Janacek was silent for a moment. 'Yes,' he said finally, his mouth grim. 'It is the best course, t'Larien, for you as well as her, although I do not expect you to believe that.'

'You have no right.'

'In your culture. I have every right in mine. You will not be alone with her again.'

'Gwen is not part of your damned sick Kavalar culture,' Dirk said.

'She was not born into it, yet she took the jade-and-silver, and the name betheyn. Now she is Kavalar.'

Dirk was trembling, his control gone, 'What does she say to that?' he demanded, stepping closer to Janacek. 'What did she say last night? Did she threaten to leave?' He jabbed the Kavalar with his finger. 'Did she say she was coming with me, was that it? And you hit her and carried her off?'

Janacek frowned and brushed Dirk's hand away forcefully. 'So you spy on us too. You do it poorly, t'Larien, but it is offensive nonetheless. A second mistake. The first was Jaan's, in telling you the things he did, in trusting you and lending you his protection.'

'I don't need anyone's protection!'

'So you say. An idiot's misplaced pride. Only those who are strong should reject the protections given the weak; those who are truly weak need them.' He turned away. 'I will waste no more time with you,' he said, walking toward the dining chamber. There was a thin black carrying case lying on the table. Janacek opened it, clicking back both locks simultaneously and flipping up the lid. Inside Dirk saw five rows of the black iron banshee pins on red felt. Janacek held one up. 'Are you quite certain that you do not want one of these? Korariel?' He grinned.

Dirk crossed his arms and did not dignify the question with an answer.

Janacek waited a moment for a reply. When none came, he slipped the banshee pin back into its place and closed the case. 'The jelly children are not so choosy as you are,' he said. 'Now I must bring these to Jaan. Get out of here.'

It was early afternoon. The Hub burned dimly in the center of the sky, with the scattered small lights of the four visible Trojan Suns arrayed unevenly around it. A strong wind was blowing from the east, building into a gale, it seemed. Dust swirled through the gray and scarlet alleys.

Dirk sat on one corner of the roof, his legs hanging out over the street, mulling his possibilities.

He had followed Garse Janacek up to the airlot and had seen him depart, carrying the case of banshees and flying his massive squared-off military relic in its olive-green armor. The other two aircars, the gray manta-wing and the bright yellow teardrop, were gone as well. He was stranded here in Larteyn, with no idea of where Gwen was or what they were doing to her. He wished briefly that Ruark was somewhere around.

He wished he had an aircar of his own. No doubt he could have rented one in Challenge, if he had thought of it, or even at the spacefield the night he had come in. Instead he was alone and helpless; even the sky-scoots were missing. The world was red and gray and pointless. He wondered what to do.

Abruptly it came to him as he sat and thought about arrears. The Festival cities he had seen were all very different, but they had one thing in common: none of them had nearly enough landing space to accommodate an aircar population equal to their human population. Which meant the cities had to be linked 'by some other kind of transportation network. Which meant that maybe he had some freedom of action after all.

He got up and went to the tubes and then down to Ruark's quarters in the base of the tower. Between two black-barked ceiling-high plants in earthenware pots, a wallscreen waited, just as he remembered seeing it, dark and unlit, as it had been since Dirk arrived; there were very few people left on Worlorn to call or be called. But no doubt there was an information circuit. He studied the double row of buttons beneath the screen, selected one, and punched. The darkness gave way to a soft blue light, and Dirk breathed a little easier; the communications grid, at least, was still operational.

One of the buttons was marked with a question mark. He tried it and was rewarded. The blue light cleared and suddenly the screen was full of small script, a hundred numbers for a hundred basic services, everything from medical aid and religious information to offplanet news.