you refuse then Belamosk and other castles will be destroyed. My worms-' He gulped. 'The work of a lifetime will be destroyed. Everything will be lost. Everything.'
He sat, a man suddenly older than his years, this time not refusing the wine Lavinia set at his side. As he reached for it Roland said, 'The castle! What can we do?'
'Fight!' Gartok snarled his impatience. 'So we lose worms and collect bruises but that is war. An all-out offensive starting at first-light. Every raft and man to sweep the surrounding countryside and find those launchers.'
An empty defiance. If Tomir had obtained the services of a cyber the outcome of the situation would already have been predicted and it was obvious what that would be. Pressure exerted on Lavinia to yield. More to have him handed over as a prisoner. The price of survival and who would resist? Taiyuah afraid for his precious worms? Navalok? Alcorus? Suchong? They would kill him to preserve their castles. Roland?
'You can't resist,' he said. 'The very thought of it is madness. They'll destroy the castle.'
A bluff, but he didn't know that and could never be convinced. Dumarest knew better. The Cyclan wanted him alive for the secret he carried in his brain. The reason the stop-over had been deserted, why no shots had been fired at the rafts, why the missiles had fallen well clear of the walls.
The promise would be honored. For how long was another matter.
'Earl?' Lavinia stared at him, her eyes wide. 'What can we do? What do you want us to do?'
'It doesn't depend on Earl,' said Roland quickly. 'It's up to you to decide. If you agree to yield the war will be over. There will be peace. And what choice have you?'
'Earl?'
'We can fight.' He glanced at the woman. 'We could even win if you're willing to take the gamble.'
'How?'
He said, flatly, 'We ask the Sungari to help us.'
Dawn broke with a scud of cloud which blurred the suns and threw a dull light over the upper promenade. Despite the thick cloak she wore Lavinia shivered, knowing the cold was less the result of temperature than trepidation. Roland, at her side, rested his hand on her arm.
'It's cold, my dear, you had best go below.'
'No.'
'What do you hope to see? Earl has gone with Gartok and we shall know nothing until the mercenary returns. And the whole thing is madness. Surely you know that? The Pact must not be broken.'
'Is courage madness?'
'No, but a madman can have courage. Or,' he corrected, 'a blind determination which has that appearance. Why does Earl insist on continuing the war? He was willing to sell the land a short while ago.'
'But not willing to be a prisoner. Why, Roland?' Turning she met his eyes. 'Why should they want him handed over? And why should you?'
'I don't.' He was quick in his defense. 'I am only thinking of your welfare. Belamosk a ruin, the land ravaged, the herd slaughtered, and for what? Haven't enough men died as it is? If he loves you-'
'If?'
'-he will not want you to suffer. He will sacrifice himself for you as I would. And, after he has gone, things can be as they were.' His hand tightened a little on her arm. 'And I shall be with you, my dear. I shall never leave you.'
'Neither will Earl.'
'No?' He shrugged as if at the unthinking stubbornness of a child. 'How can you be so certain of that? He is a traveler, restless, impatient to move on. What is he doing now? A thing of madness. To try and meet the Sungari and enlist their aid. To break the Pact and hope not to be destroyed. Fortunately the chances of him doing what he hopes to achieve are small. He could even die trying and, if he did, what has he gained? How can you trust that such a man will remain at your side? It would be best to forget him.'
'That is impossible.'
'So you may think, my dear, but you are wrong. Time is a great healer and the passing days erase even the strongest of memories. Soon after he has gone, it will be as if you had never met. Then, like a dream--'
She said, impatiently, 'Roland, you are a fool. I am carrying his child.'
'What?' He fought for breath. 'No. You are mistaken.'
'Time will prove me right.' She missed the hurt in his eyes, the pain, too occupied with her own pleasure. 'Be glad for me, my friend. You can see how impossible it is for me ever to forget him? Each day, each hour a part of him is with me.'
'Does he know?'
'I hinted but I think he is convinced I was teasing. But soon he will have no doubt.'
She smiled, thinking, imagining, the swell of her belly which would announce the coming life, the kick of barely formed, the stir of impatient life eager to be born. Boy or girl? A son or a daughter? No matter which, either would be an anchor to hold him fast. And there would be others to keep the first company.
'Lavinia, I am glad.' She felt his hand resume its pressure on her arm and, looking at him, saw an emotion in his eyes she did not recognize. 'As you say Earl will always be with us. His child if nothing else. Together we could watch it grow and teach it the old traditions of the Family.'
'We, Roland?'
'If Earl does not return. If something should happen to him.' His eyes searched her face. 'Are we to pretend it couldn't?'
As she had pretended during the long night when, alone, she had thought of him sitting, brooding over his maps, forming a plan.
A chance, less than one in a thousand, but a chance all the same. The only one he had if he hoped to escape the Cyclan and the trap he was in.
The caverns of the Sungari were unknown. They were a legend from the past. A scrap of history distorted, possibly, into fable. The things which killed in the night had never been investigated. The entire story could have been invented to protect the early settlers from the nocturnal threat.
And yet how often had he been told that Earth did not exist-and of all men he knew as well as any that it did.
And there were clues; a crevass containing a dead beast and a dead man, smoke which had stung his eyes and which had held a moving shape, a foal which had trotted from the smoke to vanish.
To vanish where?
He had been ill, dying, toxins flooding his body, the smoke catching his lungs and blurring his vision. A movement which had taken on the shape of a foal. But foals did not run alone and no mare had been close.
'There!' Roland pointed. 'The raft, returning.'
But without Dumarest. Lavinia watched as it landed and Gartok, jumping out, came towards them. Pearls of moisture glinted on his helmet and armor.
'Kars?'
'He found an opening, my lady. A cavern of some kind or a natural fissure. Earl wouldn't let me enter it with him. Said to come back and take command of the men.' He glared at Roland. 'I take it there's no argument?'
'From me? None.'
Lavinia said, 'Is there anything we can do to help?'
'We can pray, my lady. I'm not much good at it myself, but I'm willing to learn.'
Chapter Thirteen
There were rasps and drips and small, rustling sounds, the somber beat of a drum and a liquid gurgle which could have been the pound of surf but which was, as Dumarest knew, the roar of blood in his ears.
As the drum was the beat of his heart, the rasps and rustles the scrape and movement of boots and clothing. The drips alone came from the outside world, the slow fall of moisture from the roof, its soft slide over time-worn stone.
A cavern which had opened from a tunnel which had led from a smaller cavern which he had reached by a winding fissure. Miles of endless turns and twists and descending floors. The weight of a world pressing in around
