Steppe

He would have to downplay that aspect of his part—and perhaps there would be advantage in concealing his Uigur-script literacy. Now he had to justify his approach to the map, for Uga was already looking at him quizzically.

'The Chinese to the south and east are less docile every year,' Alp said, guessing that this was the subject of the indecipherable map. 'The Kirghiz to the north are growing stronger. Meanwhile the Khagan lies about with his wives in Karabalgasun, not even bothering to inspect the frontiers.'

Uga was not impressed by this political analysis. 'Everybody knows that!'

So he had guessed correctly! Uga had been poring over a political chart. 'In just ten years the Kirghiz will renounce their vassalage, revolt, and invade Uigur territory. The empire will fall to the barbarian. There will be no help from the Chinese, who are overtired of Uigur dominance and secretly regard themselves as our superiors. Karabalgasun will be sacked, the Khagan slain, our people driven south before the savage.'

Uga considered. Prediction of the Khagan's death had perked him up. 'Empires have fallen before, in Steppe. No doubt they will again. But I doubt that the rabble Kirghiz could prevail so readily over true Uigur forces, and certainly not so soon. Why, most of them are mercenaries in our cavalry.'

'That's right,' Alp agreed. 'They have learned disciplined warfare from us—without comprehending our restraints.'

Now Uga nodded. 'You put a grave face on it. But assuming this is true, and they revolt in a decade—how is it that you know this?'

'That is my secret,' Alp said. 'I have given you the outline; I also know the details. These are at your service.'

'Such information would be invaluable,' Uga said musingly. 'I could use it to achieve high office myself!' He paused. 'Naturally your claim will be subject to specific proof.'

Alp showed his teeth. They had reached the bargaining stage.

'And your price will not be small,' Uga added.

'A horse, a ger,' Alp said. 'Supplies. A manslave, and a woman.' Alp did not feel up to remarrying so soon after his family tragedy: from respect to his lost wife he would stick to concubines for a decent interval. She, however she was, would appreciate the gesture; no new sons would pre-empt the place of the first.

'Of course,' Uga agreed. 'These await you now. What else?'

'Nothing else.'

Uga frowned. 'I do not deal with unknown terms. What is your whole price—assuming you perform as claimed?'

'If I perform as claimed, you will be graciously inclined, and you will be in a position to exercise that inclination. If I do not, you will have me assassinated. This is the Uigur way.'

'Perhaps. Unless you perform—and assassinate me the moment your foresight shows the move propitious.'

'I have never killed a Uigur,' Alp said shortly.

'Naturally not. You have just entered the Game as a Uigur. How many Huns did you kill—as a Hun?'

Better to let the chief assume he was an experienced player. He was—but not in this particular Game! 'I never killed my own kind. I never gave false loyalty. I never broke my oath.'

'A personal foible, then. You assume I practice assassination—but you do not.'

'You already have power over your tribe. You violate no oath when you eliminate the unfit. In your position, I might have to do the same.'

'In real life I could not afford to believe you,' Uga said. 'However, in the Game reincarnation is feasible, and I have sufficient assets to select new parts with discrimination. Do you understand me?'

Alp understood well enough that this was a threat, but he had to sort through unfamiliar Galactic concepts before he grasped its nature. It took many points to enter the Game each time, and Uga had wealth in his Galactic identity. So he could re-enter immediately after being ejected... and seek vengeance for any betrayal. In this way the Game differed from life.

'I am not governed by fear,' Alp said. 'Nothing but my oath binds me.'

'Every man feels fear at one time or another; it's an aspect of the instinct of survival.'

'Feels fear, yes; ruled by fear, no. If I killed you this time, I would kill you every time you returned. But it irritates me to debate nonsense.'

Uga snapped his fingers, and a girl appeared with a wineskin. She could as easily have been a warrior.

'Will you swear Uigur fealty to me?' Uga asked, lifting the skin and squirting a purple jet into his mouth. This was a historical, not a Galactic custom; obviously he had practiced.

'Yes. So long as you live.'

Uga handed him the skin, and Alp drank expertly. The wine was strange but good.

'A pro,' Uga murmured again, watching him. 'Just as if you'd spent your life drinking that way!' Then, after a pause: 'And yours will not be the hand that kills me?'

'Yes.'

'You lie.'

If the man thought Alp could not draw a weapon while drinking wine, he was mistaken. But Alp did not take offence. 'Why?'