say how old he was between, say twenty and a hundred-and-twenty — as is the Kregan way.
His name was Tom Dorand ti Ordsmot, and he took an instant shine to Tulema. This Dorand did a considerable business with Aymlo, and all the time, between congratulating the old Lamnia on his remarkable escape and bargaining over new deals, his bold eyes kept straying toward Tulema. She knew, at once. She did all the things that, I suppose, most women have done since the very first Delia of Kregen captivated the very first Drak of Kregen, many thousands of years ago, as the old legends have it, when Kregen itself first emerged from the sea-cloud to receive the light of Zim and Genodras and be blessed by the dance of the seven moons.
She was talking to me, most animatedly, and she kept tossing her hair back and laughing, and arching her back the better to reach for a glass of wine, or a miscil, or stretch for the platter of palines on the sturm-wood table. We had all been through the baths of nine, and were sweet and clean, and, truly, Tulema looked very desirable, with the lamplight shining on her hair and sparkling in her eyes. I often think that the light from a samphron-oil lamp is particularly kind to a woman. I felt a great relief, and took myself off, and let Dame Nature, who operates as successfully on Kregen as she does on this Earth, get to work.
Come to that, I took the trouble — which was no real trouble and was, in any case, a duty of friendship
— to find out what I could of this Tom Dorand. He was a solid upstanding citizen of Ordsmot, respected in all the eight precincts. He carried on a lighter business, ferrying goods up and down the orange river from Ordsmot, the entrepot hereabouts. Between them, he and Aymlo had a good thing going with regular contracts.
With all the halflings rescued from the manhunters taken care of, with Tulema almost certainly off my hands, there remained only Nath.
“I care not where I go, Dray Prescot. Do not worry your head about me, although I give you thanks for my life.”
“As to that,” I said, “so be it.”
Later Tulema spoke to me. She was very serious. Her dark eyes regarded me solemnly.
“You may think it strange, Dray. But I have not been a dancing girl in a dopa pen for nothing. I know men. I know your heart is somewhere I can never reach.”
It may have been flowery — Kregans love a fine phrase — but it was true.
“I hope you will be happy, Tulema. Tom is a fine man.”
She flushed at that. “Oh, so you noticed!”
I didn’t chuckle, but my lips ricked up a trifle.
“I did not wish to hurt you,” she went on. “But I am hard enough in this world to know a chance when one comes my way. You do not love me — and-” here she flared up, and spoke with a great show of bravura contempt- “and I do not love you! I shall marry Tom. I think, though, I shall choose a lesser contract, just to be safe. I shall be happy. He owns many lighters, and will soon go into the voller business. And Dorval Aymlo is rich and is our friend.”
“May Opaz bless you, Tulema.”
It seemed to me, then, that I had fulfilled the wishes of the Star Lords. I tried to imagine how a lighter owner, and a man who might go into the voller business, might have some effect on Kregen that had drawn him to the attention of the Star Lords. I knew they did nothing without good cause. They had wanted Tulema rescued — and she now was engaged to marry Tom Dorand ti Ordsmot and no doubt they would have children, possibly twins, and it would be these children in whose interest the Star Lords operated. I guessed the Star Lords worked with an eye cocked very far into the future. My task appeared, as I say, to be finished. Truly, I was a simple onker in those far-off days!
Prevailed on to remain as a guest with Dorval Aymlo, and then specifically invited to the coming nuptials, I agreed to wait twelve days, two Kregen weeks. Then — Vallia!
Halfway through the first week, dressed up in a fine dark red tunic, with white trousers, and a turban of white silk upon my head — very fashionable gear in Ordsmot, then, the turban — I wandered about the town. One could walk quite freely in any of the eight precincts, only taking a little care not to be too far from the area of one’s own race by nightfall — and then only if none of the greater moons were in the sky — for skirmishes and clashes between the races were relatively rare. There was no Chulik sector, and I saw none of those fierce yellow-skinned tusked halflings in Ordsmot at that time. Coming in one evening I was halted by Aymlo, who was in a high old state of excitement. He was dressed up in the most profuse and lavish clothes, with jewels smothering his turban, and a golden belt, and curled slippers of foofray satin. The house blazed with many lights and the expenditure of samphron oil must have been prodigious.
“Dray!” he said, clutching me by the arm, his yellow fur glowing. “Dray — the Vad of Tungar visits me!”
I congratulated him.
Tungar, I knew, was a large and prosperous province of the country whose boundaries ran ward and ward with those of Ordsmot. Ordsmot, of course, was a free city, with her own elected council and Kodifex, chosen by rote, a term at a time, from each of the eight precincts.
“He has large ideas, Dray! He owns much land, dwabur after dwabur, and wishes to develop. If my old business head will aid me now, he and I will strike a pretty bargain or two!”
“May Opaz shine on you, Dorval, my friend.”
“And but for you, Dray Prescot, I should be bait for the Manhounds of Antares!”
“Don’t think of such things, Dorval. They are of the past.”
A commotion began outside, with the sound of zorca hooves, the tinkle of bells, and the soft silver sound of trumpets. These were not the famous silver trumpets of Loh, but they made a brave welcoming sound. Aymlo darted outside to greet his guest by the light of flaring torches. I strolled after.
The conviction grew on me that I should not push myself forward here. This was business — and, Zair knew, I had done enough of business during my time as Strom of Valka, and later as Prince Majister of Vallia, when I had worked hard with the Companies of Friends — and my instincts were that Aymlo would want to prosecute his plans to his own fashioning. So I wandered out to stand in the shadows of the entranceway as the Vad of Tungar alighted from his zorca.
He made an impressive sight.
Clad all in crimson silk, with a lavish display of gold and jewels about his person, the straight sword of Havilfar they call a thraxter swinging at his side on a silken baldric heavily embellished with jewels and gold thread, he ran up the steps, hand outstretched, calling: “Lahal, Dorval! Lahal! Your happy return brings joy to my heart.”
It was Aymlo’s business, but this man was a Vad, a rank below that of a Kov, though a high rank, nonetheless. I felt an itch of apprehension, and then every other thought was banished from my head as I saw Tulema move forward into the torchlight. Tom Dorand moved, a vague shadow, at her back. Tulema looked radiant. She wore a sheer gown all of white silk, with crimson embroidery at throat and hem, cunningly slit so that her long legs showed in a gleam of warm flesh. The baths of nine and much scented oils and costly perfumes had transformed Tulema, the one-time dancing girl from a dopa den. Now she was the great lady.
I saw her face. She stared at the Vad of Tungar as risslaca stare at a loloo’s egg. And — he halted in his impetuous greeting of Aymlo, and stared up at Tulema there in the torchlight, and his business was done for him.
So they stared at each other, and I looked at them, and a hateful croaking voice sounded in my ears, coming from no earthbound denizen of Kregen.
“Truly, Dray Prescot, you are a prince of onkers!”
And the blue radiance took me, and swirled me up, and twisted me, and so departed. . I felt stinking rock beneath my naked body and the stench of slaves in my nostrils and I knew I had been thrust brutally back once again into the barred slave pens of the Manhunters of Faol.
Chapter Thirteen
I didn’t believe it.
