middle-age, his short, stocky body clothed in sombre fabrics, his tunic alone bright with the encrustation of colorful badges. Symbols of achievement and rank, Dumarest knew. As important to the man as the bolstered weapon he carried at his waist, the firearm no adult would ever be seen without.
Dumarest said, flatly, 'How is Dephine? Has she been accepted?'
'By me, certainly, but I have traveled in my youth and know that tolerance is a part of civilized living. Others are less generous, but they will be won over given time and, if the worst should happen, well, she has her champion.'
A calm acceptance of his role as if it were the most natural thing in the world which, in this society, it was. Dumarest stepped back towards the window and stared in the direction of the city and the spacefield, fifty miles to the west. A distance which had been covered by a raft in as many minutes. The sun was low, the smokey red of the mottled disc dazzling.
As he turned, blinking, Hendaza said, 'Earl, how much did Dephine tell you? You are close to her, I know, the fact that you are her champion proves it. But how deeply did she confide in you?' And then, as if part of a ritual formula, he added, 'If my words offend you I apologize. If the apology is insufficient then I am at your disposal.'
To participate in a duel, a ritual combat in which right was assumed to triumph. A thing in keeping with the great house with its invisible cobwebs of ancient tradition which insisted on careful attention to minute detail.
'You don't offend me,' said Dumarest. 'She told me very little.'
Little of importance, at least, though much which had to do with promises and what he would expect to find on Emijar. A small trader had finally brought them to her home world, the third vessel they had taken since leaving Shallah, tiresome journeys with tedious breaks as they waited for connections. Days in which they had talked and nights devoted to passion.
'A strange and willful girl,' mused Hendaza. 'Even when but a child she had a wild streak in her which made her object to discipline. Yet how can civilization survive without a firm basis of rules and customs? Each must know his place and each must maintain both pride and position. Perhaps you have met similar cultures in your travels?'
'Similar,' said Dumarest. Static societies doomed to fall apart beneath the impact of new ways, but he said nothing of that. 'When will Dephine be fully accepted?'
'After dinner tonight those who wish to object will be given their chance, but it will be a formality I'm sure. What to do now? Some wine? A little exercise? A tour of the House? Come, Earl, let me show you around. There are others you should meet; Lekhard for one, Kanjuk and young Navalok should amuse you.' His laughter was a dry rustle of contempt. 'We shall find him in the chapel.'
* * * * *
It was a dim place filled with shadows, the gloom dispelled at points by the glow of vigil lights. They rested beneath a collection of broken weapons and, in the faint light from the floating wicks, the things seemed to move, to shift as if gripped by unseen hands.
As Dumarest paused in the doorway he saw a thicker clot of shadow, a form which rose from where it knelt, turning to reveal a white and drawn face, a pair of staring, luminous eyes.
'Navalok de Monterale Keturah,' said Hendaza with a sneer. 'One day, perhaps, he could rule the House-if he ever finds the guts to win his trophy.'
The rite to prove his manhood, the beast he would have to kill before he could claim adult status. A barbarism in keeping with all the rest.
Dumarest called, softly, 'Navalok? Come and talk to me. Come, boy, I won't hurt you.'
'Do you think I am afraid of that?' The boy stepped forward, limping a little, his lips tightly compressed. He was young, barely reaching to Dumarest's shoulder, and thin with a stringy leanness which could result from malnutrition or the long, flat muscles of a natural athlete. In the gloom his eyes were enormous, the starting eyes of a helpless beast which knows that it is trapped and can see no way of escape.
'A wise man is always wary of strangers,' said Dumarest. 'It is caution, not fear. A thing I learned years ago when I was just a boy. And you, Navalok? How old are you?'
From where he stood Hendaza said, spitefully, 'Long past the age when he should have become a man, Earl. He is of my blood but I have to say it. You talk to a coward.'
And listen to a fool. Dumarest said, mildly, 'Could you leave us, Hendaza? I'd like to look around a little. Navalok can guide me if he agrees.'
'He will agree.' Hendaza glowered at the boy. 'This is Earl Dumarest. An honored guest. You will remember that.'
'My lord?' Dumarest waited as Hendaza left them alone. 'Will you guide me?'
'Yes, of course, but there is no need of titles.'
'From either side,' said Dumarest. 'Now, what have you to show me?'
Together they walked slowly down the length of the building. The floor was flagged with stone and the sound of the youth's footsteps made a dull resonance from the vaulted roof.
'Tell me about these relics.' Dumarest gestured to the items illuminated by the soft glow of the vigil lights. 'They are relics, aren't they? Things kept from the past?'
The boy halted before a shattered sword.
'Arbane used this against an olcept ten times his own weight. It ripped his stomach and brought him down but he managed to kill it and return with the trophy before he died.'
'And this?'
A broken spear with much the same history. The weapon used by a man who had killed and later died from injuries received while killing. The list lengthened, the young voice rising a little as he warmed with his stories, the names and deeds of those he envied rolling from his tongue.
Brane who had walked on bloodied feet to hurl his trophy before the Shrine. Tromos who had hopped. Kolarz who had crawled. Arnup who had lost an arm and used his teeth and single hand to support his burden. Sirene who with both legs shattered and one eye gone had writhed like a snail leaving a slime of his own blood and intestines.
Tales of blood and suffering, of the will overcoming the limitations of the flesh, a saga of those who had struggled and won the coveted prize and who had died with fame and honor. Men who had wasted their lives to leave nothing but broken weapons and distorted memories, but Dumarest said nothing of that.
'You see, Earl,' said the youth, 'It isn't enough just to kill. The trophy must be carried back to the Shrine.'
'Is that essential for those who hope to rule?'
'Yes. A man must prove himself. Some go after a normal trophy and leave it at the Shrine and are content to rest on their proven courage. Others, especially those in direct descent from the Elder of the House, must gain a trophy accepted by all as one fit for the position they wish to hold. Nothing less than seven times the weight of a man.'
Dumarest said, 'Can you show me what an olcept looks like?'
The picture gave no indication of size and the colors were too garish to be true, but something of the ferocity of the creature had been captured and set on the pane of painted glass. A long body upheld by four, claw-tipped legs. A knobbed tail. A head consisting mostly of slavering jaw with grasping appendages to either side. Horns which curled like upraised daggers. Fur and scale and spines of bone. A composite of bird and reptile with something of the insect blended with the mammal.
'The dominant life-form of this world when the early settlers arrived,' said the boy. 'Much blood was spilled and many Families broken before they were beaten back into the mountains. Now they have learned to leave us alone but, at times, they swarm and destroy crops and fields, buildings and beasts in a wave of destruction. Nothing can stop them aside from the massed fire of heavy weapons. Usually all that can be done is to remain safe behind stone.'
Dumarest remembered the massive stone walls, the towers and crenelations. It had been no accident that the house had adopted the features of both farm and fortress. 'Why aren't they hunted?'
'They are. Their heads provide the trophies.' Small beasts relatively easy to kill yet each destroyed made the flock that much less of a hazard. A necessity incorporated into the social structure and used for a double purpose.
