“Peace! Peace!” cried the others around him, and “Peace!” bellowed hundreds of voices.
I was a little perplexed. After the warlike talk of the Council, this was different, and disturbing. But Gederr, beside me was not at a loss.
“Peace you shall have, as Yandro’s gift!” he cried. “The Newcomers—ill be their fate—have been warned and promised of his coming, and now they shake in dread! He shall lead you to victory, complete victory, and the fruits of victory!”
It was powerfully said, and the cheering was greater than ever. Under cover of the din, Gederr took my elbow and escorted me from the platform.
“They have been despondent, Yandro. They grow unwilling to face death and wounds. But you have changed all that. Hark to their cries of your name! Now there shall be no more speaking, only happiness.”
Elonie had joined us again. Her hand dropped warmly over mine. “This way,” she bade. “This wine is for the Council only—the best on Dondromogon. Honor us by taking some.”
She gave me a goblet, of some transparent substance clasped in bright metal, and brimming with a red liquor. I took it with a bow, and she lifted her own goblet. As we drank together, I had another impression of Doriza’s studying, wondering eyes. Did the warrior-woman, appointed as my military aide, disapprove? But the wine was excellent, and my spirits rose.
“Come,” said Elonie. Her arm was through mine again, warm and gently urging. She led me toward a niche, set deep and shadowy into the wall. There was a divan with cushions, and a table with cups and flagons for drinking. The music had begun again, and some of the people were dancing together.
“Yandro is gracious to grant me these moments alone,” purred Elonie. “Yandro is overwhelming.”
“Can’t we drop the third person?” I asked. “I do not feel much taste for formalities.”
She clutched at that with a little cry of gladness and her eyes and smile were radiant. “You offer me intimacy!” she exclaimed. “It’s honor—it thrills—” She lifted her glass. “Drink again, I beg you! You and I shall drink to each other.”
“Why not?” I said, and touched her glass with mine. “To you, Elonie.”
“To you, Yandro, my dear lord!”
The wine was galvanizingly strong. I felt my ears ring a little, and—why not admit it?—Elonie’s nearness and adulation were wine in themselves. She leaned toward me on the divan, so that our bare shoulders touched. Her lips, full and trembling, were very close.
“Yandro,” she whispered. “Yandro … you could make me happy, and yourself happy, too. …”
Suddenly I shook my head a little, to clear it. For her eyes, a moment ago so fascinating, suddenly made me uneasy. It was as if claws had reached from their brightness and fastened upon me. She steadfastly fixed my gaze with hers.
“Yandro …” Her voice was soft, monotonous. “All is well with you … trust us, trust me, Elonie … I shall guide you to victory, you need have no qualms …”
Her arm stole across my chest, curved around my neck. She drew my head toward hers. Her brilliant eyes seemed to fill the whole field of my vision, impelling, hypnotic—
Hypnotic—that was it!
The strange half-lost thoughts from my unknown former life sized the idea and held it up to me. Danger, danger, they were crying at me. Most ungallantly I took her wrist and disengaged myself from her embrace.
“Since I am destined for war, is there time for this?” I asked, trying to laugh.
“Is there not?” she murmured.
I rose from where I sat, and sipped more wine. Where it had fuddled me before, it cleared me now. “Elonie, you are charming. I do not know whether I have standards by which to judge, but you do things to men. Perhaps I should have time to make up my own mind.”
“If I have offended—” she began to stammer.
“Oh, not in the least. But there is so much for me to be sure of.”
She, too, rose, and left me without a word. Had I made her angry? Yet her last words had been of apology. I sat down again, alone and mystified.
But I did not remain alone for more than two minutes. Outside the niche, Elonie was talking to Gederr. Gederr scowled, nodded, then with an air of inspiration beckoned to Doriza. Doriza joined them, listened respectfully to Gederr. Finally she nodded, as if in acceptance of orders, and walked toward me.
I rose to meet her. She looked me steadily in the eye, but when she spoke it was hesitantly, and with a shyness most womanly, too womanly for a military person.
“Great Yandro is not pleased with Elonie of the Council. Is it possible that he would prefer another woman—me?”
Just like that, she offered herself. And if ever I had made up my mind in a hurry, it had been to the effect that Doriza was nothing but reserve and prudence.
What answer I might be able to give was suddenly unnecessary.
Just outside the niche angry voices rose. An officer, all fair beard and flapping cloak, was accosting Gederr with something less than the respect due a member of the Council.
“I say, she was promised to me—to me! And to me she goes, for my part in bringing him to you!”
“Silence, Rohbar,” commanded Gederr in a voice as sharp as a dagger, but the officer pushed him roughly aside and strode into the niche.
It was the man who had interviewed me after my first capture. His pale eyes gave off sparks in the subdued light, and one hand sought the hilt of his pistol.
“Yandro, they call you!” he flung out. “Yandro, sent from out of space and time to Dondromogon! Well, be that true or no, Doriza is not for you—and deny me if you dare! I’ll send you back out of space and time, with whatever weapon you choose!”
IV
Rohbar glared, but I could have smiled. Smiled in welcome. He was extricating me from a most embarrassing position. I faced him and spoke steadily.
“My
