The Steel of Raithskar Page 13

  “Now,” Milda said, when Illia was under control, “I saw you running up the street as though Keeshah were after you. If you’ve got something to say, say it!” This was not the sweet old lady I had met earlier and loved almost instantly—this was a woman made of iron! And I still loved her.

  Illia looked over at me. “They’re coming after Markasset.”

  “What?” asked Thanasset. “Who is coming after him?”

  “Zaddorn,” she wailed, and I noticed that though she had all the human reactions of weeping, there were no tears. They would have been a waste of water.

  “What happened, girl?” Thanasset demanded.

  Illia calmed down, and twisted gently out of Milda’s grip to walk across the floor of the large room toward us.

  “Zaddorn sent a guard command group out after Gharlas’s caravan.”

  “It couldn’t have gotten back already!” I said. My computation of their travel time wasn’t completely accurate, of course, but given the caravan’s head start …

  “How did you know about them?” Illia asked, looking at me sharply.

  “The Chief Supervisor told me earlier today,” I answered. “Anyway, does it matter?”

  “It matters,” she said. “A maufa just arrived with a message for Zaddorn. The guard group didn’t catch up with the caravan—they met it on its way back to Raithskar. Or, rather, they met what was left of it. Two men and a vlek. The Sharith got the rest.”

  Maufa? I was asking myself, then a memory surfaced. A trainable bird, like a pigeon, that carries messages! That must be what I heard in those cages when the posse passed me. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner, Markasset?

  Thanasset grabbed Illia and turned her toward him. “What are you implying about my son?”

  “I‘m not implying anything, sir. But the men from the caravan said that when the Sharith attacked, Markasset—not by that name, of course, but Zaddorn figured out who it was—was nowhere to be seen. They’re saying that your son was a Sharith agent, but now Zaddorn has some complicated theory about Markasset and the Ra’ira.” She turned to me, her eyes pleading. “I know you didn’t steal anything, Markasset. But your position as guard—why weren’t you there when the Sharith attacked?”

  She was hoping for a reasonable explanation. So was I. I was thankful when Thanasset interrupted again.

  “What is Zaddorn going to do?”

  “He’s on his way here right now,” Illia said. “He has legal grounds for putting Markasset into confinement on a charge of failing to perform a contracted service. But I know he’s convinced that Markasset stole the Ra’ira.”

  O boy. And if I’m in the hoosegow …

  “Father, I have to go.”

  Thanasset nodded. “I know, son. But not like that,” he added, indicating my pantless blue tunic. “Take the time to dress properly.”

  “Where are you going?” Illia asked.

  “To Thagorn. If the Ra’ira was on the caravan, it’s in the hands of the Sharith now. Whether or not they were involved in the theft—” I glanced at Thanasset, who shrugged. It had occurred to both of us, I was sure, that the Sharith could have the same motives we had early attributed to Eddarta. “I couldn’t say. But the trail leads there, and I can’t follow it if Zaddorn is sitting on me.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said softly.

  I put my arms around her and drew her close. She wasn’t soft and yielding as she had been in the garden that afternoon. Her body was stiff, and she kept her arms between us.

  “I promise you, Illia, when I get back to Raithskar, everything will be clear. But now I must go. Thank you for coming to warn me.”

  I lowered my head and kissed her cheek lightly, then released her and ran upstairs. I dressed quickly in the same sort of outfit I had been wearing when I woke up in this world. Then I ran downstairs to find the three of them still standing in the middle of the room. But Milda was holding a pair of leather bags tied together with three lengths of strong rope, and Thanasset was putting something into one side of the—they could only be saddlebags.

  When they saw me, Thanasset said, “Be careful on your way to Thagorn,” in an almost natural tone of voice. For an instant I was puzzled, then I knew what was happening. Thanasset was trying to tell me, without revealing to Illia that I didn’t know a damn thing about Gandalara, where to find the Sharith. He must have been putting a map into the pack.

  You’re a smart old dodger, Thanasset! I thought to myself. Aloud I said, “Thank you, Father. I’ll be as careful and as quick as I can.” Without thinking, I stuck out my right hand. There was barely a moment’s hesitation before Thanasset reached out and gripped my hand in both his own.

  “Goodbye, son.”

  I turned to Illia, who was staring at the floor. I lifted her face with my hand and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Don’t worry, Illia. Soon I’ll be back and you’ll know the whole truth.”

  “Why won’t you tell me now?” she asked. “What are you hiding from me, Markasset?”

  I couldn’t say “nothing” because it wasn’t true. I shook my head. “I am sorry, Illia. I just can’t tell you now. But please believe me, it’s not because I don’t trust you. I—I simply can’t tell you, that’s all.”

  With a sob she fell toward me, and for a moment I held her.

  “Hurry back, Markasset,” she whispered. “Come back to me safe.”

  I released her and turned to Milda, who handed me the rope-linked packs, then tied a belt around my waist which had several small waterskins attached. They were already filled.

  “There’s enough food to last you for several days,” she said. “And the water should go further, if you’re careful with it. Markasset,” she asked suddenly, looking up at my face and touching my cheek with one age-soft hand, “is it time to start worrying?”

  Just then there was a knock at the door. A distinctive, emphatic knock. I had only heard it twice, but I recognized it now—Zaddorn!

  “Never mind, nephew,” Aunt Milda said. “There’s my answer.”

  “Go now, son,” Thanasset said. “I’ll delay him as long as I can.”

  I ran to the back door and shifted the heavy packs to one arm. I grabbed my sword and baldric off the peg by the door and awkwardly drew it over my head. Then, with a last look into the room where Thanasset was standing beside the front door now—as I watched, the knock sounded again—I flung open the rear door, took two steps out, and stopped.

  There were three men waiting for me with their swords already drawn. And from the worn look of their brown leather baldrics, I could guess that they knew how to use those swords. I could read that in their faces, too, in the scar along one man’s right cheek, and in the looks they gave me. They were measuring, appraising me as only a fighting man looks at an opponent.

  I was surprised. Not because Zaddorn had thought to place a rear guard, but that he had risked it with Keeshah in the yard. I glanced down the length of the yard. Even over the low mounds of the garden, I could see Keeshah’s house. The heavy wooden doors which had stood open when we arrived were now closed and bolted shut with a length of bronze slipped through rungs on the outside of both doors.

  Now that sounds like Zaddorn’s planning, I decided.

  “That’s him,” the man in the middle was saying. “That’s Markasset. Grab him. The Chief says he has it on him.”

  I dropped the bags and drew my sword. They advanced slowly, and I tried to cover all of them at once.

  I sent out an anxious thought. *Keeshah!*

  *I am here.*

  *Can you break out?*

  *No need. I heard them coming. I am up on the roof. I wait.*

  *These men want to take me prisoner.*

  So far they hadn’t really tried. They were circling, watching me, gauging me.

  *I kill,* came Keeshah’s thought, calm, with no anger.

  *No!* I ordered. These were Zaddorn’s men. *No, Keeshah, don’t kill them. But—frighten them.*

  *Th
ey will shit.*

  In their place, I know that I would have. For Keeshah let out a roar that seemed to shake the ground beneath our feet. The three men whipped around to look at the cat house, where they thought the sha’um safely locked away, and saw the tall, lithe cat standing on the roof, his head lifted in that gut-wrenching roar.

  Then he turned directly toward us, and fixed his gaze on the three men. He crouched down to the edge of the roof, and behind him we could see the tip of his tail, slowly lashing. He moved slightly, gathering himself, but even at a distance of some twenty meters, we could see that the pale golden eyes never blinked.

  For a long moment—even I was holding my breath—Keeshah was absolutely still. Then he came down off that roof in a graceful leap that brought him five yards closer to us, and he was already running.

  He stopped just short of the armed trio, snarling. He made feints at the men, leaping in and then back, staying just out of range of their swordpoints. Two of them were almost hysterical with fear, but they were holding their own. The middle one, whom I thought of as their leader, had more nerve than the other two—he turned his back on Keeshah.

  “You guys take care of that fleabitten sha’um!” he ordered in his growling voice. “I’ll take care of this filth.”

  He came at me with a high overhand cut.

  Fencing with a broadsword is very different from fencing with a foil, a smallsword, or even a rapier. There is a lot more edgework and less pointwork. Besides, bronze is both heavier and softer than steel, so the blade can’t be as long on a bronze sword.

  Briefly, I wished I had grabbed the steel sword from the wall. But only briefly. Thanasset had said its name was Rika, but I had the feeling it was really Excalibur. I had enough troubles.

  Right in front of me, trying to cleave me in two, was my biggest immediate trouble. I had learned broadsword work in Berkeley under Master Paul Edwin Zimmer, and I—that is, Ricardo—had never been anywhere near as good as my teacher. But it was not Ricardo who handled that sword now.

  Markasset took over. Not his mind—I was still Ricardo Carillo—but his body. Markasset had been a far better swordsman than Ricardo could ever have hoped to be. He had been trained thoroughly. And his body remembered. In an emergency, reflexes take over. I was grateful to have Markasset’s reflexes.

  I parried the leader at forte, and as his blade slid off my quillon to my right, I swung around for a cut at his midsection.

  My opponent leaped back to avoid my cut and started to lunge in with his point as my blade went by him. He barely parried me in time.

  I was doing the fighting; I was in control. But it was a control the like of which I had never experienced before. My blade was placed with precision in space; my timing was accurate to the millisecond; my footwork was as beautiful and as automatic as that of a trained dancer.

  I fought steadily, warily, waiting for an opening. I never took my eyes off my opponent, but I could sense Keeshah behind him, still keeping the other two busy, even enjoying the game.

  At last my opponent let his blade drop just a fraction of an inch too low. I aimed a slash at his chest, knowing he would have to parry me by knocking my blade upward and to his right. He tried, but too weakly and too late. As his blade Struck mine, I stopped the cut and lunged. If he had responded as I had expected, that lunge would have allowed the point of my sword to graze his right shoulder, and disable him enough for me to make my escape.

  He had lifted my blade, but not deflected it. To my horror its point went deep into his throat. Blood spurted over bronze.

  I withdrew and stepped back as he collapsed.

  The other two were too busy with Keeshah to notice. Their backs were toward me. With two quick swings, I slapped each of them alongside the head with the flat of my blade. I didn’t want to kill them.

  Hell, I hadn’t wanted to kill the first man.

  I gathered up the pack I had dropped, and leaped onto Keeshah’s back. I slung the rope between the bags across Keeshah’s back, then crouched into position, lifting the heavy rope until it rested on my cloth-protected thighs rather than Keeshah’s skin.

  *Over the wall, Keeshah.*

  But he had anticipated me, and was already running toward the nearest wall, which joined Thanasset’s yard to his neighbor’s. An eight-foot wall is nothing to a six-foot cat, even with a man on his back. I felt his muscles bunch and release like steel springs, and we were on the roofs of the neighbor’s outbuildings.

  There were people out in the yard—they must have heard the racket Keeshah and the swords had been making. When they saw Keeshah jump down from their bath-house, they ran off in every direction. Keeshah ran through the yard, carefully avoiding trampling the infant who had been forgotten, and jumped the far fence. The next fence brought us to the corner, and now we were out in the street.

  *To the city gates,* I urged him. *Don’t stop for anything.*

  We made quite a sight, the huge cat and his clinging rider, streaking through streets that had never before been ridden. It was almost dusk, and there were people out for strolls, walking through the warm early evening. We startled some of them, frightened others. Some laughed and pointed at us. Some watched us pass in silence, their eyes shining, and I knew they wanted to be where I was.

  The gates of the city stood open as they had when we had entered that morning. It was incredible to me that only a day had passed since then!

  The men at the gates had not been expecting us. Four of them, wearing gray baldrics like Zaddorn’s, were standing close together, talking. Their attention seemed to be directed out the gate toward a group of farmers bringing in vleks laden with vegetables for the early morning market.

  On the street, Keeshah’s padded paws made hardly any sound, and while some people stared and others jumped back, nobody screamed. I was past the guards and out the gate before any one of them could get a sword out.

  Keeshah went off the road to get around the small group of laden vleks. They became skittish, but their masters managed to keep them under control, for which I was thankful. No need in making matters any worse by dumping innocent folk’s food all over the highway. We kept on going.

  Soon there was no one on the road to be seen, and Raithskar was behind us, flowing slowly away as night descended around us.

  I laughed aloud and hugged Keeshah’s neck. I got a warm answering flow from his mind. We were safe for the moment, and together. I wanted to put plenty of distance between us and the city, and I knew Keeshah could do it.

  After a mile or so, however, the flush of our success in escaping began to seep out of me, and a feeling of desolation began to creep in. I had just begun to realize that I could not return to Raithskar now unless I were willing to sacrifice my freedom, even my life, in order to prove Thanasset’s innocence.

  Was I willing? Yes. I knew that I would have to return. That commitment had been made a long time ago. Whatever it cost, I would prove the old man’s honor.

  If I had the time.

  That’s what bothered me—I was a fugitive now, in unfamiliar territory. If I didn’t make all the right moves, I stood a good chance of being captured and prevented from finding the proof I needed. Keeshah was fast, but there could be delays.

  And I had no doubt at all that I would be followed. As soon and as fast as possible. These people were not homo sapiens, strickly speaking, but they were utterly human. And throughout the human history of my world, no police force had ever given up on a cop-killer.

  14

  We stopped to rest a couple of hours before sunrise. I didn’t wonder, this time, how I knew the night was almost over. Thanasset had explained that Gandalarans had a highly efficient internal warning system. It seemed logical that Markasset’s internal awareness extended to his body’s diurnal rhythms, so that I simply knew what time it was within fifteen minutes or so. They must use sandglasses or waterclocks in the cities for accurate timing, but they wouldn’t be worth a damn on sha’um-back. So every Gandalaran in the desert conv
eniently carried a reasonably accurate clock inside himself.

  I slept a little, stretched beside Keeshah on the salty desert floor. But I woke just before dawn, and I was facing east when the sun came up.

  I have witnessed sunrises in most of the deserts of the southwestern U.S. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

  I never saw the sun. The soft, mist-like cloud layer overhead began to glow with rich color. The same dramatic colors of any sunrise in Ricardo’s world, but not as sharply defined. Red, orange, bright yellows in a random, shifting pattern, with no distinct break between them. The sky was filled with a gorgeous color show. The clouds seemed to absorb the colors from the east and diffuse them across all of Gandalara. The floor of the desert echoed the changing pattern of the sky, and I laughed to see Keeshah’s face ripple from red to yellow to violet.

  It was like watching a rainbow before it had been called to attention.

  All too soon the sun tired of its coloring game and got on with its business of creating day out of night. As the desert grew swiftly lighter, I pulled out the map Thanasset had given me. I spread it out on the sand very carefully.

  And saw absolute gibberish.

  The big piece of glith-skin parchment was covered with a maze of red lines and black lines. Some were big scrawls of curves and wiggles, others were peculiar little angular squiggles that looked like a cartoonist’s lightning bolts tied in a sailor’s knots.

  If that is a map, I thought, I am Chesty Pullers maiden aunt.

  I turned the sheet of parchment slowly around, trying to figure out which way was up. The one obvious line on the thing was a firm black border line which ran along one side and off two sides of the square parchment. Obviously this was a map of only a portion of Gandalara, which could be matched up to others in the set for an overall map.

  I looked around me and tried to orient the map. That huge wall behind Raithskar should logically be this bold border line. I turned to face Raithskar. And there are mountains on my right. Yes, these markings might represent mountains …