She came with the night, the stars, her rafts making dark, moving splotches against the nacreous glow of the sky. Riding high and proud as they arrowed toward the Valley of Light.
'Three of them.' Massak lowered his binoculars. 'She'll drop one to each side to provide crossfire and come in with the other.' He sucked thoughtfully at his lower lip. 'If we take her out the others will open up in revenge. If we hit them she'll blast the house. Clever. The lady must have had experience.'
'That's good,' said Shior from where he stood at the mercenary's side. 'At least she'll know when she's been beaten.'
'If she's beaten.' Massak used his binoculars again. 'There's always doubt in these matters. Right, Earl?'
Dumarest made no comment, standing, watching the sky. The rafts were closer now, making no attempt to adopt evasive action, probably unaware they had been spotted. A reasonable assumption; Hilary's talents were unknown outside the house. Her warning had come in good time now that she, and others, were safely lodged in the cellars far below the surface.
Dumarest said, 'How many and how are they armed?'
'Four in each of the side-rafts together with a driver. Five in all. Ten when put together. They seem to have machine rifles.'
'Lights?'
'That too.'
Men to spread along the facing crests, lights to illuminate the clearing, weapons to cover it with a murderous crossfire. Dumarest said, 'We need to get behind them so as to attack from the rear. They'll be facing inward against the glow. Easy targets, but we'll have to be in position before they land.'
'Good thinking, Earl.' Massak smiled, teeth white against the ebon of his skin. 'This isn't the first time you've seen action.'
'No.'
'I thought not. You have a way of sizing up the situation. How about the other raft? Any ideas?'
'Once the flankers are knocked out they'll be in the center of fire. We can hit them from both sides.' Dumarest added, pointedly, 'If we get into position in time.'
'Us, Earl. Shior and me. This one you stay out of. Chenault's order.' Massak glanced at the other man. 'Let's go!'
As they vanished into the shadows Lopakhin called from the open postern.
'Earl! Here, man! Get inside-fast!'
Good advice and Dumarest followed it; if firing should start he would be a clear target. As the heavy door thudded shut behind him the artist gestured to a screen beside it.
'It's hooked to a scanner higher up,' he explained. 'A good view and a safe one. You never know what these crazy bastards will do next. Look at her!' He gestured at the screen, the raft it depicted, the woman standing within it. 'What the hell does she imagine she is?'
A warrior-queen riding to war as others of her House had done in ages past. Snatching the power left by slain men to lead their forces to victory and establish the Karroum as the thing it was today. A Family secure in its pride, jealous of its honor.
As the raft lowered, her amplified voice echoed from the sides of the valley.
'Chenault! This is Mirza Annette Karroum! I demand audience!'
Silence then, as the raft landed, her voice again.
'Chenault! I come to parley. Unless you appear I'll blow open your house!'
A threat backed with the potential of action. As lights blazed from the flanking rafts to illuminate the clearing Dumarest could see the snouted weapon in the woman's vehicle. A heavy-duty laser or a missile-launcher. The latter, he guessed, a laser would have been less efficient given the vehicle and its load.
'Chenault, damn you! I'll wait no longer!'
'Wait!' His voice boomed from a speaker. 'Give me time. Is this a way to come calling? What ails you that you make such threats? Has the Karroum gone mad?'
'This is a matter of honor. I shall not be denied.'
'Honor? What is this talk of honor? How have I offended you? Why come with arms to my house? What do you want of me?'
'Open your doors. Come out and face me.'
'Yes. Yes, but give me a moment. All can be settled with a little patience. Mirza Annette Karroum, you say?'
Talk to gain time as Dumarest knew and, on the crests, men would already have died if Massak and Shior knew their jobs. Gasping out their lives to the thrust of a blade or rearing, necks broken by the twist of a thong. Silent death dealt to the unsuspecting. A natural attribute of war.
Watching, Dumarest saw the woman look at her driver, speak to him, turn frowning to stare at the crests on either side. A loss of communication or some noise lacking explanation: something which troubled her.
He said, 'If Chenault means to show he'd better do it fast. She's suspicious.'
'He'll make it.'
'Open the postern. Pretend he has. Hurry!'
He appeared as Lopakhin swung wide the panel, standing in the opening, gesturing as if to someone beyond. Mimicry made truth as Chenault stepped toward him. Past him. Through the door and out into the clearing to stand, tall and grim in the artificial glow.
A man who scant hours ago had collapsed now apparently in the best of health. His voice matched his stance, harsh, arrogant.
'This is my home. You intrude. Go before I feel insulted.'
'Feel as you please. I stay until honor has been satisfied. Where is Dumarest?'
'Who?'
'Dumarest. Earl Dumarest. He is here and I want him. I want him dead. The honor of the Karroum demands it.' She leaned forward over the snouted weapon in the raft, her face made ugly by light and shadow, flesh and blood turned into a chiaroscuro of ice and iron forming the lineaments of a bestial mask. 'Him or you, Chenault. Make your choice. Your life, your home, all you possess- or you give me Dumarest. And you give him to me now!'
* * *
There was power in her and determination and an iron will which would brook no interference, no opposition. She would gain her way or do as she had threatened and, even as Chenault made no move, Dumarest knew that time was running out.
'Earl!' Lopakhin tried to catch his arm as Dumarest reached for the door. 'Don't, man. Don't! Let Chenault handle it!'
A man who stood as if turned to stone, his head uptilted a little, his arms held from his body, shoulders stooped and strangely at variance with the massive torso.
As Dumarest came level with him Chenault turned and said, tightly, 'Go back. Don't interfere. Just leave things to me.'
'I can't.'
'Why not?'
Because if the man was killed the hope of finding Earth would go with him. The knowledge stored in his brain, the facts he must have garnered, the coordinates Dumarest felt he must have. And if he defied the woman he would die. The weapon mounted on the raft would fire and spread a hail of destruction. Shrapnel and flame which would turn the clearing and all it contained into smoldering ash.
The woman would do it. Even if she died giving the order yet she would still give it.
Dumarest walked toward her to halt in the pool of illumination thrown by the light on her raft.
He said, 'You want me. Why?'
'You are Dumarest?'
'Yes.'
'I came to kill you. I want you to know that.'
