'To travel far. To live well. To die bravely.'
A sentiment which appealed and a roar of approbation echoed from the rafters. Odumi, satisfied, moved away to join a knot of cronies. The woman, her chant ended, stepped forward into brighter light to reveal herself as a crone painted and adorned to resemble a warrior queen. As she scrabbled for the coins flung as a reward other women, far younger, moved purposefully among the men.
Zehava snorted her contempt as someone began another chant.
'Look at the fools. Strutting, drinking, dreaming of past glories when they taste nothing but failure. Do you know how much Toibin made from that raid? Can you guess?'
'Not enough.'
'Nowhere near enough.' She scowled into her empty goblet, watched as a girl, responding to Dumarest's signal, refilled it. 'Tonight will see the back of most of the gain. I had a double share but even that barely paid expenses. Glowering, she added, 'I heard he blamed me. Said my selection was poor.'
'As you expected.'
'As you warned me he would but I still don't like it.' The wine lowered as she drank. 'What do you think of our administrator?'
'Nadine?'
'That's the one. Nadine Cavallo. Sorenson's niece. Her mother married his brother.' Patiently she explained, 'Women retain their own names on Kaldar. If I had a daughter she would be named after me. Sons take their father's name.'
'Tell me about her.'
He leaned back, remembering the face which was a mask for the unhappiness within. A lonely child who had grown into a lonely woman. One alien to her place and time, unable to accept the mores of the society into which she had been born and yearning to escape to a more gentle culture.
'She's weak.' Zehava dismissed the woman with a shrug. 'Her mother should have taken her into the dark. Brak should have made her go roving to harden her spirit. Instead he let her skulk in an office. I tried to befriend her once. Fetched her a necklace from a raid but she wouldn't touch it. The fool. There wasn't even blood on it.' She laughed at the memory. 'That raid was something! We hit a vacation resort and stripped it clean. Neat work and good profit. Urstyn was clever.'
'Why don't you still ride with him?'
'He's dead. Took a nasty wound in the gut on Asque. The pain was too much so he ended it.' She lifted her goblet. 'A good man. I drink to his memory.'
As others were now drinking to old comrades and departed friends. In a far corner a drum throbbed and a pipe wailed a mournful tune. Money rattled on the tables as serving girls scurried with fresh jugs of wine for the toasting. A custom it would be unwise to ignore. Dumarest bought wine, refilled their goblets, pretended to drink to every shouted name.
To Zehava he said, 'Who was the man who died on Arpagus?'
'Did anyone die?'
'A loader. Toibin left him behind. Find out who it was. Quickly!' He watched as she slipped away to mingle with others. Shouting rose as she returned and men milled about the door. The beat of the drum quickened as if the celebrations were reaching a climax. 'Well?'
'Dren Ford. He wasn't missed until after they'd left.' Slowly she added, 'If you know he's dead you must have killed him.'
'So?'
'For God's sake don't admit it. He has kin. There are at least five here who would avenge him.'
'They'd fight?'
'They'd butcher. You wouldn't stand a chance. They'd cut you down like a beast and none would object. You're an outsider. They don't owe you anything. You aren't of the Kaldari.'
But she was. Dumarest said, quietly, 'He should be remembered.'
'Yes.' She looked at the crowd, a sudden anger thinning her lips. 'The bastard! Toibin might have some excuse for having abandoned me but not the loader. His people should know what happened.' Abruptly she rose to her feet, her voice clear against the wail of the pipe, the pulse of the drum. 'A toast! To one who was forgotten. I drink to Dren Ford!'
As the music died a man called, 'We drink to the dead,
Zehava.'
'I know that.'
'Are you saying my nephew is dead?' A woman thrust herself through the crowd, a hand resting on the dagger at her waist. Ruby light shone from polished steel as she twitched at the blade. 'Abandoned?'
'Is he here? Have you his body? Did any see him die?'
'But-'
'I was there. On Arpagus after the raid. Abandoned by a man I thought I could trust. I know how they felt about us and what they wanted to do. If Dren died quickly he was lucky.' Zehava lifted her goblet. 'I drink to a comrade. He was forgotten by his captain – let us not forget him now. To Dren Ford!'
Glass shattered as she flung the empty goblet to the floor. Destruction compounded as others followed her example. As the crystalline tinkling died a man walked from the crowd gathered at the door.
As he halted before the table Zehava said, 'So you've shown yourself at last. Earl – meet Captain Leese Toibin.'
He was tall, lithe, a man at the end of his fourth decade. The black leather which clothed his body bore plates and jewels of price. His belt was wide, set with gems, hung with a knife in a gleaming scabbard. More jewels glowed from his rings, bracelets, the thick chain about his neck. His face was a contradiction to the barbaric garb, long, smooth, the eyes enigmatic pools of darkness beneath arching brows. The visage of an artist who delighted in creating images of pain. An actor who had timed his entry for maximum impact.
'Earl Dumarest,' he said. 'I have heard much about you.'
The voice, like the face, held an unexpected gentility. The tones of an aristocrat who could afford to be bland, but Dumarest sensed the force within him, the arrogance of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
'Zehava.' He turned to the woman. 'How nice to see you again. You were talking, my dear. What were you saying?'
'You heard me.'
'Some of it, yes, but had another told me of your tirade I would have doubted his sanity. Do you honestly believe that I deliberately abandoned you?'
'I was left.' Anger flared in her voice and eyes. 'Damn you! Can you guess what would have happened to me had I been taken?'
'A risk you willingly accepted for double a captain's share. You failed to make the rendezvous. Blame yourself, not me.'
'You were the captain. I risked my life on that raid and deserved better consideration. And what about Ford?'
The woman who had claimed to be his aunt called out from where she stood. 'Tell us about Dren, captain. What happened to him?'
'It was time to leave. I sounded the recall. Later we found he had missed the ship.'
'How? Why?'
'I questioned the others of his team. They said he was more interested in delving into bales than getting on with the job. He could have lingered after private loot.'
'Dren wouldn't have done that!'
'He missed the ship.' The softness held the touch of an impatient snarl. 'He knew what he had to do and failed to do it. Was I to sit and wait for him? Risk everything because he was tardy?'
Zehava said, 'You could have waited. There was no risk.'
'No?' Toibin gave her his attention. 'How can you be sure of that?'
'I was there. You know that.'
'In the warehouse? At the ship? Near to it?' The softness of his tone was the warning of a serpent about to strike. 'Tell us,' he urged, a hand lifting to the crowd pressing close. 'Tell us what really happened to you. To you
