flickered again, yelled to the driver.
'Down! Down and to the right a little. Hurry, damn you! That's Earl!'
He was sitting on a boulder, his head resting in his hands, a thin coating of some kind of slime dried on his clothing so that he seemed to have been dusted with a frost-like powder. As Gartok approached he looked up.
'God!' The mercenary came to a halt. 'Earl, your face!'
It was tense, drawn, the eyes sunken, the hair also coated with the lace-like patina. More rested on his cheeks, paling his lips, webbed on his eyebrows. It gave him the appearance of having aged a century; an illusion broken only when he spoke.
'Kars.'
'Here!' Gartok had come prepared. He lifted a bottle and jerked out the cork. 'Drink some of this.' He restrained his impatience as Dumarest obeyed. 'You found them, didn't you?'
'The Sungari? Yes.'
'It had to be you. I told those weak bastards who came demanding that you should be handed over that. Told them and ordered them from Belamosk. By God, I'd have killed them had they lingered. Then I came looking for you.' He added, simply, 'I've been looking for a long time.'
With others, scouring the skies with rafts, searching, always searching. But he, at least, had found.
'Earl?'
'It's over, isn't it? The war?'
'Over. Every last mercenary is dead. Tomir too, they found him in a cellar.'
'I know.'
'You know?' Gartok frowned, then changed the subject. 'What are they like, Earl? Did they feed you? Give you water? How did you manage to persuade them?'
Questions followed by more and all stemming from a natural curiosity. Some impossible to answer while others could only be guessed at. The extent of the underground domain. The means by which access was gained to the surface. The method of breeding the selective strains which formed the extensions of the main intelligence-or had there only been one.
Was Zakym the home of a tremendous, alien brain?
One thing was certain, the Sungari owned this world despite what men may have thought. They, it, were the masters. Men were tolerated as a harmless insect would have been tolerated by a magnanimous gardener. But should that insect bite it would be crushed as men would be exterminated should they grow too fast and become too greedy.
Plague could do it. The destruction of all surface life, the crops and herds, would force them to withdraw. And there could be other ways based on the mind. Terrors which he could only imagine. Horrors without a name.
Dumarest rose and drank more of the brandy and felt the warmth of it spread from his stomach and restore some of his humanity. He had wandered too long in the dark, relied on the alien life-form too greatly, had suffered its probing too long. He needed to face those of his own kind, to hear voices, to take a long, hot bath and feel clean and wholesome again.
He needed to hold Lavinia in his arms and feel the soft comfort of her, the assurance of her need. But when they returned to Belamosk she was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Roland came running to meet them as the raft landed in the courtyard. 'Earl, how good to see you! And Kars! But where is Lavinia?' He looked from one to the other. 'Haven't you seen her?'
'No.'
'But, Earl, you sent word for her to come and join you!' Roland looked baffled. 'I don't understand this. The messenger was explicit. He said that you'd been found and was hurt and wanted to see her. She insisted on leaving immediately. I wanted to accompany her but she refused to allow it. We'd had a small argument, nothing serious, but you know how determined she can be at times. I didn't want to upset her further so didn't press the point. But if you didn't send for her then who did?'
Dumarest said, 'What did the man look like? Describe him.'
'A big man, broad with a broken nose and scars around his eyes. He had a patch on the back of his left hand as if it had been burned at one time. I thought he might have been a herdsman.'
'Flying a raft? Was he alone?'
'Yes. Of course, I should have noticed about the raft. It was stupid of me. One other thing, he had lost the little finger of his left hand.'
'Louchon!' Gartok scowled as he rubbed the edge of his jaw. 'He was with Tomir but I thought he was dead. The scars are the result of a cheap regraft and his hand once bore a tattoo. Someone didn't like the design and burned it away with acid. A year later that same man was found hanging head down over a fire. No one could prove who had cooked his brains but Louchon got the credit A hard man, Earl.'
One the Sungari had missed and he had served Tomir as had the cyber. If one was alive then so could be the other and it was obvious why the woman had been taken.
'Did the man say where I was supposed to be?'
'He mentioned a stop-over on the edge of Suchong's estate. The one near Eibrens Rise. I know it and could guide you.' Roland was anxious. 'Earl, what is wrong? Why should anyone have tricked Lavinia?'
'They wanted a hostage.'
'But why? What value could she be? The war is over.'
One war, but another continued and was just as fierce in its way. As yet he had been the victor but how much longer could his luck hold out?
As Dumarest turned to enter the castle Roland said, 'Earl, aren't you going after her?'
'Later perhaps.'
'Later? And you aren't sure? But man, she is carrying your child!'
'What?'
Roland gasped as Dumarest turned, catching him by the shoulder, the fingers digging deep.
'It's the truth, Earl, I swear it! That was why we quarreled. I said you'd leave her and she was certain you wouldn't. Please! My shoulder!' He fell back, face drawn in pain, a hand rubbing his bruises. 'You must go after her! You must!'
For a moment Dumarest stared at the man then, without a word, turned and entered the castle. Gartok caught Roland by the arm as he made to follow.
'Leave him.'
'But he doesn't understand! Neither of you understand! Lavinia is being held at the stop-over. Tortured, perhaps, beaten, mistreated, put to shame. Doesn't he care?'
'He cares,' said Gartok then added, impatiently, 'Are you blind? Can't you see he's in no fit condition to look for the woman? He needs time to recover.'
Time to swallow some wine and eat a plate of cold viands served by a smiling, bold-eyed girl. Time to strip and sink into a steaming bath, to lean back and try to relax, to ease the ache of muscle and bone. To remember the strange world of the Sungari.
To think over what Roland had said.
Lavinia with child? Her womb filled with his growing seed? Had it been a lie told to tease the man or the naked truth revealed in a moment of stress?
If so it was added bait for the trap he was certain had been set.
'My lord?' The girl returned with towels and vials of lotion. 'Do you want me to attend you?'
'No.' He softened the sharp refusal. 'Did you see your mistress leave?'
'No, my lord. Are you sure I cannot attend you? A good strong rub with this will make you feel fresh and tingling all over.'
'What is it?'
'A friction-mat, my lord.' She held it up for his inspection. 'We make them of woven strips of leather and special fibers from the south. Odd isn't it? It always reminds me of a handful of worms.'
