Sharp teeth scored his flesh. He had just time to deflect the knife blow delivered by his own hand so that that blade was not buried in the small body now squirming half across his middle. Yan! But why—?
“What are you doing?” Taynad was at him now, and her long nails cut skin below his eye.
“What is this one doing?” Jofre spat in return. He was reaching his knees now and had warded off a second attack from Taynad with force enough to send her back against the astounded Zacathan.
Jofre loosed his hold on Yan with a lightning-fast move, transferring it from the Jat’s wrist to the nape of its neck so that he was able to hold it away from him. But what caught his attention first was the paw he had just released, for the whole of it was now aglow—so lit that one could see bones within the skin and flesh. And that paw was fast gripped about—
The stone! The Jat had somehow attempted to steal his secret! Why? There was one answer—Jofre glanced for only a second toward Taynad. There was more light now—he had slept past the twin moon rise and even the lava appeared to reflect some of that downward glow.
Jofre’s lips flattened across his set teeth. The Jat—so in tune with this issha-trained—she must have set Yan on him.
“Give.” His hand closed over that of Yan.
The Jat whimpered, shivered as if whipped around by a bitter wind, but it obeyed, releasing the stone into Jofre’s grip. Some of the radiance died during that exchange, but enough was left to make it certain that what the guard now held was nothing ordinary.
“So you would have the creature thieve?” Jofre said slowly, trying to make his contempt edge each word. “What else have the Shagga ordered to be done? Am I now fair game for any Shadow?”
She brushed her hand across her mouth. Above that her eyes seemed very large and empty as if she had raised a strong barrier. He might well know that he would have no truth out of her—unless such was pertinent to the game she had been set to play. He had thought from the first that what he had found at the ancient Lair was indeed powerful, but he had not suspected that he would be hunted off-world for it.
“What is it?” The hissing of the Zacathan’s voice was pronounced. He had put out an arm and steadied the girl against his body. Now he added, in a lower tone, “There are other eyes and ears here.”
Jofre swallowed, called on control for the stifling of rage and, yes, the odd sense of betrayal. In all his life he had trusted very few, and the last to have his full allegiance was the dead Master. Yan whimpered again and tried to pull away and Jofre freed him but did not yet hide the stone. Why should he? They had seen it. Taynad must know very well what he carried and had been given her orders. But why had she waited so long? On Wayright she must have had countless chances for the Jat to despoil him and then she could have disappeared out of their lives, or else passed her loot on so that she would not be suspected.
“Power—warm—” The thought kindled a picture of flames in his mind; it must have done the same to Taynad. But it was to the Jat that he aimed and steadied his answering thought.
“Why—take—” He wanted to scream that demand; he had to school himself to shape it in mind, to throttle himself into set control so that the Jat’s fear would lessen enough to allow him contact. He certainly had no desire to send the small one back into the locking nonlife which had gripped it on Tssek.
“Power—” It seemed that the creature found it impossible to advance beyond that thought. Zurzal took a hand now.
“What do you have?”
Jofre tensed but the Zacathan had every right to ask that. With the issha oath-bound to him there could be no concealment. But what did he have? He could not honestly say. Now he tried to sort out his thoughts in some form. There might well be the chance that Taynad knew more about this than he did—what would happen if it fell into her hands and she did know how to put it to use? It heightened issha powers—it had kept him alive during his early captivity on the Tssekian ship. He felt warm, good, confident when he held it. But what was it?
“I do not know,” he responded with the exact truth. “It is a finding, brought to me by chance, as I once told you. I only know that it sharpens issha powers—it is perhaps a protection of sorts.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Out of Qaw-en-itter—a dead Lair—just as I said.” Again Jofre gave him the truth. “I nighted there through a mountain storm—and found it by chance—”
He had heard the sharp inhale of breath from Taynad. The names of all the dead Lairs were commonly known and he had doubly damned himself by admitting he had sheltered within such disaster-darkened walls.
Now the Zacathan looked toward the girl. “What is it?”
Jofre awaited her answer eagerly. He believed he could separate false from true if she tried to evade a flat answer.
“It—it seems a Lair stone—or a part of one,” she answered in a strange voice, as if she inwardly did doubt the truth of her own words. “It—is Assha—”
Jofre’s hand jerked, almost the glowing stone slipped between his fingers. If she spoke the truth, and surely she did as she saw it, then—then what was he? All knew that Assha power was a fortune-gift and that it came after long searching. When a Lair Master died and the stone of that still lived it was the stone itself that selected the next Master—the one it warmed to would be its voice. But that was also a dangerous trial—would-be Assha had been known to be blasted, fire-seared, when they assayed that chance.
This could only be a fraction of the Lair stone that had been. Perhaps its power was lessened by the lack of size, the fact it was not properly set in place. Yet he could not truthfully deny to himself now that what he felt when he held it was a welcoming, not condemnation of some reckless and overambitious action.
“May I?” Zurzal held out his one hand.
For a moment Jofre hesitated. It was as if the thing clung to him. But he allowed it to slip from his hold into the Zacathan’s. The glow which it had shown faded as might fire sinking into ash. Zurzal held it closer to his eyes. His frill lifted and his dark tongue flickered out almost as if he wished to taste what he held.
“Radiation, yes.” He turned it around slowly. “Of what kind—who can tell? Part of a Lair stone—”
“Part of a Lair stone,” Jofre repeated firmly and glanced again at Taynad. “Did they lay oath on you—against me—to bring that back? The Shagga are jealous of the stones—they cannot use them—only the Masters can—and no Shagga can be assha—they walk another road. I do not claim to be a Master—nor Assha. But, see you!” He plucked the stone away from Zurzal and it glowed again. “Would you?”
Now he deliberately held it out to Taynad. She shook her head. “It is a thing of ill fortune out of a place accursed. I do not know why it should answer to any true issha—”
“Ah, but if you have listened to the Shagga, to the story I myself told you, Shadow Sister, you would know that I am not deemed true issha—my rights have been stripped from me—”
He had spread his palm, the stone resting flat upon it. It was as if the heart of its dull red there held a sturdy core of fire—not blazing as it had when the Jat laid paw on it, but alive as it had not been in the Zacathan’s hold.
“What task have they laid on you?” Jofre swept swiftly back to his original demand. “My death—the taking of this? And this little one—Yan is your tool?”
“No!” She shook her head and that tightly braided hair loosened somewhat. “I did not set Yan on you this night! It tried to tell me that you have some power; I think it wished to prove it to me. Yes, the Shagga would hunt you down. They have out their nets.” She raised one hand and pulled at the fore of her braid loop, freeing the twigs. “They have given orders—”
Jofre stepped back a pace. He crooked his finger and Yan obeyed. Into the Jat’s forepaws he dropped the stone.
“I take no advantage,” he said. “What would you? Knives by choice?”
It had come so suddenly—though, yes, he had had his suspicion
s of her. But somehow he had never guessed that it would end in blade against blade. They were probably evenly matched enough—since they must keep to the single weapon agreed upon—and she was issha-trained. Also the knife was the first weapon for the Sisters, even as the sword or spear might be for the Brothers.
“Stop!” Zurzal was between them. “You are oathed to me,” he added sharply to Jofre. “While that oath holds you are not allowed to seek a private quarrel. Is that not part of the oathing?”
“For issha—yes,” Jofre returned slowly. “But now it is said I am not issha—otherwise the Sister would not take mission against me.”
“I refuse to accept such a quibble,” Zurzal hissed. His frill, flushing darkly, was a fan behind his head. “You are my oathed. And you,” he looked now to Taynad, “I did not oath you but you accepted a bargain—were you already then playing another game? Had you taken oath to bring down this man?”
Slowly the girl shook her head. “No, Learned One, when I said I would come with you they had not sent any message to me. It was only afterward—”
“I have heard much of issha honor on Asborgan,” Zurzal continued. “No, I did not formally oath you to my service, Taynad. But you accepted my offer freely. Does one need a ritual to keep full faith?”
Jofre saw her tongue tip show between her set lips. The heavy lids nearly veiled her eyes and for a moment she was silent as one who weighs one matter against another.
“Learned One, what I accepted I shall keep to for as long as this venture lasts—”
Jofre’s hand moved away from the hilt of his knife. So until another day this would go unsettled. But he also knew well that issha word was unbending; she would hold only to a truce and that for the time the Zacathan would set.
“We had better settle down,” Zurzal said, “before some of our companions grow interested and come to see what we are doing. I think none of us would want them to know about that.” And he pointed to what blazed brightly in the Jat’s hold. Swiftly Jofre recovered his treasure and tucked it away into hiding.
“I take the watch,” he said, knowing that he could not sleep now, not until he had thought, weighed, and decided all he could about the days ahead.
CHAPTER 29
HOWEVER, morning light found him with no true decision. What he could foresee was only what concerned his own actions; he could not know what Taynad might think or do. Realizing this, Jofre forced the whole matter to the back of his mind. What lay before them now was another kind of action. He had mistrusted this ragged land from the start and to work their way across it might well be beyond what any living thing—without wings—could do.
The Skrem broke their own camp and herded their beasts down to be packed by the off-worlders, the Deves still holding themselves apart, though keeping a close eye, Jofre noted, on both parties. There was a suggestion in this that they were not altogether ready to play trail comrades with the Skrem.
Though Zurzal’s guide pointed out into those knife-edged ridges, he did not lead in that direction, rather paced a little south, pausing often to check on the com he held. Perhaps with other knowledge he had not shared with them he had some idea there was a way into this stark country which could be taken on foot. Though Jofre remembered that the party whose directions they now depended upon had come by flitter and so had not had to face that impossible terrain.
The ranges of massed lava about them took on color as the sun arose. Those patches of small growth on them were in vivid contrast, but the small flowers which had greeted the night seemed now to be tightly closed. It was indeed a weird country, for the rock in places seemed to have been worked into faces which grinned, or grimaced, or gaped widely at passersby.
Out of their whole company the Jat seemed the most at ease for some reason. Its usual timidity had vanished and from where it rode perched before Taynad it made eager gestures and murmurs which sometimes sounded like small muted cries. Jofre began to wonder about the world from which Yan had been stolen—had it borne some resemblance to this riven countryside so that the Jat felt it had come home?
Suddenly the Zacathan brought his mount to a halt with a jerk on its horns, swung it around to face into the lava stretch. The com was giving forth a sharp series of notes, so close together they almost formed a kind of scream.
“Here—we strike cross-country here.”
He said that as if he were suggesting no more than they cross one of the thoroughfares of Wayright. But there was certainly no road ahead—only a round wall which rose well above their heads. Zurzal swung off the beast, which snorted as if registering a strong protest to what it now faced.
“A foot march—over there? We cannot push the beasts into it!” Jofre moved up beside him.
“No other way. Let’s take a look.” He slipped the cord attached to one end of the com over his head and started to climb. Jofre was prompt to follow. Taynad had moved in at their backs, and, for now, he believed he could depend upon her to see that none of the natives would interfere without warning.
The porous material over which they scrambled had hand and footholds enough, but they had to be very wary of the cutting edges of broken-off pieces. Luckily it was not a long ordeal and when Jofre pulled up beside the already standing Zacathan he stared out on something he had not expected.
Through some ancient level of the land here the flow of the lava had narrowed into a river. Beyond that was another kind of rock, darker in color, not showing the threat of the broken edges. The distance between them and that island was not too wide to be spanned, though they would have to take great care in their going, perhaps somehow fashioning extra covers for hands and feet, or provide an advance guard to chop out the worst of the edges. It could be done, and for the first time Jofre saw that Zurzal was not totally brain-twisted by his desire to reach that goal.
On returning to the edge of the flow below they reported to Skrem and Deves what they had discovered.
“This you search for—it lies there?” I’On demanded.
In answer Zurzal had simply held forward the com, so that they could all catch its chatter, which was now steady.
“The ochs cannot go.” The Skrem indicated their mounts.
“That is so. We must go on foot, carrying with us what is needful. But what we would find is not in the fields of broken rock, it is on firm and older land.” The Zacathan spoke with the authority of one who might well have seen exactly what he was describing.
“We think—” I’On made a gesture and withdrew, the rest of the Skrem close with him. They squatted in a circle some distance away, and Jofre could hear no sound from them. However, he did not doubt they were in debate over Zurzal’s plan for the venture on foot.
It was one of the robed Deves who came up to the Zacathan now.
“Only the mad walk the Shattered Land.” His shrill voice formed words via the translator. “Why do you urge death on us—take it upon yourself?”
Zurzal waved his hand toward the wall of the flow. “Climb and see. There are islands in the flow—it is not all as you see it before you here.”
For a moment it looked as if the Deve would do just that—climb to see for himself. But then he wheeled quickly and swung up on the mount his fellow, already on his own beast, had herded toward him.
Without any other answer the two started away. The knot of Skrem broke apart and scrambled toward their own beasts, as if fearing the creatures might follow the two which the Deves bestrode. Their chittering reached the height of screams as they swung up to follow the runaways.
“That,” commented Zurzal after a moment, “seems to be that. At least we still have the supplies.”
Jofre wondered what good the small amount they had brought with them would do if they were left without transportation. On the other hand it might well be that I’On and his fellows would catch the Deves and return. There was no way they, the three of them, could aid or hinder that chase at present. And he fell to checking over the woven containers which held all the equipment they
had been able to assemble.
They made up three packs of the main essentials. Zurzal had used a knife and cut from his suit the half-empty sleeve covering his regrowing left arm. It was in length now a little past the elbow of his right one and the fingers of the hand on that side, when he flexed them, seemed to be as ready for work as those of his right. It was that miniature left hand which steadied the scanner in its web carrier.
Jofre had taken as much of the foodstuff and concentrates as he could crowd in his pack and knew he could shoulder. And Taynad worked with him putting together a burden of her own. His last addition was a roll of sleep coverings which he knotted into a rope, the other end of which he could tie to his weapons belt and carry up with him.
The Jat jumped to the side of the Zacathan as they began their climb—there had been no sign nor sound of the return of their fellow travelers. And it was Yan who had a ready paw to steady the scanner and aid the heavily laden Zurzal to make the top.
Once there Jofre jerked up the bundle of coverings and they all three set to work slitting them into strips and binding them thickly, not only around their own feet but around those of the Jat also, for with their other burdens they could not hope to carry Yan across that strip of lava flow ready and waiting to saw to pieces any flesh unaware enough to trust foot to it.
It was taking them a long time; the sun was well along towards setting. Jofre wanted to make that rock point which offered all the safety they could hope for before darkness closed in. Moonlight—under the two moons of Lochan, which whirled in orbit around each other as they passed—would not be enough to lighten all the pitfalls.
They selected what they believed was the narrowest of that anciently frozen flow and started their wavering path, for they could not keep to a straight line across it. As it was, the extra covering shredded from their feet, and they had to keep their pace to a crawl.
But there comes an end to every trial, Jofre thought thankfully, when at last he could put out a hand and touch the rock of the spur the flow had not engulfed. Again they must climb, first squatting to loose the tattered coverings from their feet and making sure that their packs were roped well together to be lifted once they had reached the top.