simple means to determine his courage; primitive peoples had their own ways of arriving at a decision.
The body of Captain Corm lay a crusted mass of charred flesh. He had thrown away his rifle when the missile hit, and it lay to one side against a bush clear in the sunlight. A tempting object for an unarmed man surrounded by enemies, but Dumarest made no move toward it. To touch it would be to abort his mission, to invite the flame bombs that must be aimed at him to leave their launchers. And there was no one close to give him a merciful death should they strike.
He reached the top of the ridge, halted, hands lifted as he called down to where the Ayutha had been waiting.
'I come in peace. I am Earl Dumarest, marshal of Chard. I come to talk.'
Nothing. Not a leaf stirred, no shape appeared, and yet he sensed the presence of watching eyes.
'I come in peace,' he said again. 'I am alone, unarmed, as you can see. If you wish to kill me, do it now.'
On the ridge he had a slender chance of being able to duck, to turn and run back to the circle of stones, the waiting, armed men. A thin chance, but below the crest of the ridge he would have none at all. For a long moment he waited, and then, deliberately, strode on down the slope.
The Ayutha were waiting.
They appeared like silent ghosts, rising from the ground, bushes moving to become men, figures stepping from behind sheltering rocks. Dumarest halted, studying them. They were human, and yet each carried a subtle distortion of a familiar shape. Tall, their shoulders were a little too narrow, the heads elongated, the arms longer than he would have expected, the chests pronounced, as if the lungs within had a greater capacity than his own. The faces, too, carried an alien stamp. The lips were wide, down-curved, the noses beaked, the eyes buried under a ridge of prominent bone. Their hair was long, silver among the black, the tresses braided with colored fibers. They wore pants and an open tunic, sandals, wide belts hung with pouches. All carried weapons-slings, bows, clubs, spears, rifles, and a few lasers. He could see no signs of missile launchers or other more sophisticated devices, and was glad of it. They would be there, but only fools would display their full strength to an enemy they intended to leave alive.
Dumarest said loudly, 'I have come to talk and all can hear what I have to say. But is there one among you who can talk for the rest?'
A voice said, 'Why did you come among us?'
'I have told you.' Dumarest turned, looking at the speaker. He was old, his face seamed with tiny lines, hair bright with silver. An elder, possibly, or a wise man, a councilor perhaps-he knew too little about their social structure. 'I came to meet you. To talk.'
'Yet, when we waited for you, death came to two of our number.'
'Against my order.'
'Do your men not obey you?'
'Do yours?' Dumarest looked at the men pressing all around. 'If one of your people does what he should not do, what then? Is he made to leave your company? Is punishment taken? Does he face the penalty of your law?' Words, he thought, and perhaps words without meaning to those who listened. They could have a different code, mores other than what he knew, customs that did not recognize the duties more civilized men placed upon themselves. He said, 'The man killed against my order. Because of that, I killed him in turn.'
A voice in the background said, 'That is true. I saw it done.'
'The one responsible was dying.' Another voice, doubtful.
'Even so, he was slain.'
A babble arose, soft voices whispering, as if a wind had passed over the assembly, stilling as the elder raised his hand.
'Why did the man fire? What had we done to harm him?'
'His family died in an outbreak of violence. He blamed you. Among my people the desire for revenge is very strong.'
'And would killing us restore his family?'
'No.'
'Did he know that?'
'He knew it.'
'Then why did he seek to kill?'
'Because he was a man,' said Dumarest harshly. 'A man suffering pain and hurt from his loss and wanting to give to those he thought responsible the same pain and hurt he had known. You have worked among us, you know how we are. And you too have killed. What drove you to take innocent lives?'
'Innocent?' The elder made a gesture, one hand lifting, fingers extended, thumb pointed downward. 'They came against us with fire and steel and killed without warning. And you, you came to talk, you say. Do you need guns to make conversation?'
'For defense… and I have no gun.'
Again the babble rose, men speaking, not raising their voices, arriving at a conclusion by a means Dumarest could guess at but not really know. Telepathy, perhaps, vocalized thoughts resolving, meeting, transmitted to their spokesman. As it died the man said, 'According to the habits of your people, you display great courage. Why are you here?'
'To end the war.'
'That too is our wish. It is not good for our people to bear instruments designed to kill those of our own kind. It hurts them. But it is a thing I cannot alone decide. There are others-you must meet them, talk with them, let them judge you in our manner. You are willing?'
'Yes,' said Dumarest. 'Let's waste no more time.'
* * *
It was dawn when he returned, the stars paling, fading motes in the light of the rising sun. A sentry called out as he approached the circle of stones, his voice high, brittle with tension.
'Halt! Who-'
'Marshal Dumarest.'
'Earl?' Ven Taykor rose at the sentry's side, knocking down the aimed rifle. 'You're back! I was beginning to get worried. Half the men thought you'd been roasted and eaten, the rest that you'd sold us out. How did it go?'
'Fair enough.' Dumarest added, 'Ven, have you ever known any of the Ayutha to lie?'
'No.'
'Never? Not even in small things?'
'They've never lied to me, and not to anyone else as far as I know. They just don't bother. They simply tell the truth, and to hell with the consequences.'
Natural enough if they were telepathic, even if the talent were rudimentary. Lies would be too easily discovered and serve no useful purpose. The very concept of falsehood would be alien to a race that exposed its innermost thoughts.
As Dumarest entered the circle, Lieutenant Paran sprang to his feet. He had been sleeping, his face still drawn with the lines of fatigue.
'Any luck, sir?'
'Some. We can get out of here alive, at least. Send for a raft to pick us up. Just the vehicle and pilot, no troops. How are the injured?'
'Comfortable, but one man is pretty bad. I doubt if he'd make it if we had to carry him.' The officer busied himself with his communicator. 'Anything else, sir?'
'Get me headquarters.'
Captain Louk appeared on the tiny screen. He looked harassed. 'Marshal! Thank God you've made contact. We've had a hell of a night.'
'Report.'
'Two more villages were hit.' He gave the map references. 'A total wipe-out. The field detachments close by got there while it was happening. They were unaffected, but there was nothing they could do. Colonel Paran's out there now.' He added, 'It's bad, marshal. Damned bad. Those villages were close, and if the Ayutha is stepping up the attack-'
