The Steel of Raithskar Read online

  Besides, if he had been in on it, that meant that his job with the caravan had been part of the plan, and that the stone was going to Eddarta. That was more than robbery; that was treason. And I didn’t believe that treason was in Markasset’s character.

  Or, no—wait a. minute! Suppose Markasset had helped steal the thing for ransom and then the crooks double-crossed him? If they had threatened him, that would explain his flight with the caravan.

  No. There hadn’t been a ransom request. And anyway, I didn’t want to believe that Markasset would run away from a fight.

  But it seems certain that he was running away from a debt. What’s the difference?

  I couldn’t tell. I was infuriatingly close to Markasset, but I still didn’t know him. But something—maybe, I had to admit, my own hopes—told me that no matter how it looked, Markasset hadn’t really been running away.

  Could he have been chasing the stolen gem? I wondered suddenly, then instantly rejected the idea. No, the only way he could have known it was gone was to be involved in the theft himself.

  And what about Worfit? Could he have demanded the Ra’ira as payment for Markasset’s debt? Or is he somebody else altogether, unconnected with this whole mess?

  After chasing everything I knew through my brain at least ten times, I gave up. My sole knowledge of detective work came from extensive reading of detective stories, which is something like trying to learn the Latin language by reading Quo Vadis?, Spartacus, and Ben Hur. That won’t get you to amo-amas-amat.

  I considered myself a rational, reasoning person with greater than average intelligence, and better than half a century of training in using my brain. It had been a long time since my undergraduate courses in logic, but some of it stuck with me. All A is B; no ? is C; ergo no A is C. Perfectly true, but no help if you don’t know what A, B, and C are. It’s impossible to construct a chain of syllogisms when you don’t know the subjects or the operators.

  It all boiled down to the same thing which had been plaguing me since I came to in Gandalara. Lack of information. Except this particular information was absolutely necessary for my survival and Thanasset’s. Damn!

  Thanasset couldn’t run from Raithskar the way Markasset could. The boy had been fairly footloose. But Thanasset’s business, his career, his friends, his life were all here in Raithskar.

  And I couldn’t leave him.

  I knew, then, that I had already made a commitment. Just when it had happened, I wasn’t sure about. Probably when I first met Thanasset. But I knew now that, however I had arrived in Gandalara, I was here. Raithskar was my home now, and I had a life to live. I would sure as hell live it as honorably as I had lived my life before. That meant sticking it out with Thanasset, come hell or damnation.

  I sat up in the tub, scrubbed myself down, and rinsed off. Then I climbed out, and while the tub was draining I reached for one of the towels. They were fuzzy and stiff, and they scratched away the water, rather than absorbing it. They left my skin tingling. I put on the bathrobe and returned to my room.

  While I was dressing, I heard voices from below. One of them was Thanasset’s, I was sure, but the others were higher-pitched. I couldn’t make out the words. One of the higher voices said very little, then stopped altogether while the other went on talking to Thanasset.

  Then there was a rap on my door, and the voice which had stopped downstairs said, “Are you dressed, young man? I’m coming in.” I was startled—the voice might have belonged to my own father’s mother, Gra’mama Maria Constanza!

  “Dressed,” I said, unnecessarily. She was already coming through the door.

  For a moment, I froze. The thing that had come into my room was a creature out of nightmare.

  The apish head was bald except for a black fringe around the edges, and the grayish skin was incredibly wrinkled. The deep-set eyes seemed to glitter evilly. The tusks in the half-open mouth gleamed whitely in the diffused sunlight from the window. An amalgamation of the Mummy and Dracula had somehow stepped down from the screen and into my presence.

  The wizened horror spoke. “What ails you, boy? You sick?”

  And the spell was broken. Ricardo’s mind had been receiving that startling first impression. As Markasset’s memories came flooding in, it was as though I turned from an image in a distorted mirror back to the original. And the person who faced me was a softly aging lady with a sweet, puzzled smile on her face. Lavender and lace, I thought, and smiled at her in real welcome.

  “Milda, darling!” I heard myself say. “You startled me!” And I held out my arms.

  She came forward in three quick steps and hugged me with a fierce strength. She was half a head shorter than I; she pressed her cheek to my shoulder as she very nearly squeezed the breath out of me.

  “Oh, Markasset!” she said. “It’s so good to see you again! I thought you’d be gone for moons—maybe years!”

  “But I’m back now, as you can see!” I laughed, hugging her around her shoulders.

  She pushed me away and tried to look stern. But the gentle old mouth still trembled on the edge of a smile. “Your father says to come down to the table as soon as possible. And behave yourself,” she added. “We have company.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “I should hope to ride a sha’um! That girl Illia is here, and—for all her dizziness—she seems to be properly worried about you. Your father asked her to stay for lunch.” She stopped, hesitated, and finally asked, “Nephew, you know I don’t pry—” That’s true; she doesn’t, bless her, I drew out of Markasset’s memory—“but … does that scatter-brained girl have any real reason to worry?”

  I told her the truth. “I’m not sure—no, I’m not trying to put you off, darling,” I added, as her face took on a look of hurt, “I really don’t know. Maybe, after we’ve talked at lunch, I’ll be more certain.” I smiled at her again. “I’ll let you know when to start worrying.”

  “Oh, you!” She said, and gave me another quick hug, then went to the door. “Hurry down now,” she said. The door closed behind her, then reopened and she stuck her head back in. “I’m truly glad you’re home again, Markasset.” Then she was gone.

  She was, I knew, my mother’s father’s sister. My great-aunt Milda. Or, rather, Markasset’s great-aunt. Will I ever get used to these double references? I thought. I’ll have to work at keeping my two sets of relatives straight!

  But I knew that in Milda’s case it didn’t matter. She was such a dear old lady that Ricardo loved her already as much as Markasset did. In that moment, Milda became my Milda.

  I went down the front stairs and into the room that opened from the midhall across from the parlor where Thanasset, Ferrathyn, and I had been sitting. This room was very light; the tall, narrow windows filled the wall that was the side of the house. There was a large square table in the center of the room that was set with china dishes finer, if possible, than the cups and pitcher I had seen at Yafnaar. They were worked in an intertwining blue and green pattern, with touches of yellow that seemed to suit the brightness of the room.

  Thanasset and Illia were already seated at the table.

  “Of course, I don’t know if he really thinks that,” Illia was saying earnestly, “or if he’s only jealous of Markasset.”

  “What cause might Zaddorn have to envy Markasset?”

  “Why—” she stammered, astonishment clear in her voice, “why, me, of course. I have told him that Markasset and I will marry soon, and he might—well, do anything to stop us!”

  “Oh. I see,” said Thanasset.

  I wish I did, I thought. Then I said out loud, to announce my arrival in the room, “I see you’ve been filling in my father about Zaddorn’s suspicions.”

  “Yes,” Thanasset said drily. “And about your wedding plans.”

  I looked at the girl uncertainly. I hadn’t heard anything about wedding plans, but I couldn’t be sure what Markasset had said to her or agreed to. And I was a little annoyed that she had mentioned Zaddorn to Thanass
et. She had seemed to regard his suspicions as a secret; I saw no need to worry the old man with them. Or maybe, I conceded, I’m afraid they’re right and wanted to spare him the truth.

  Illia was talking again, in a rush. She seemed to sense my displeasure. “I’m sorry, darl—Markasset. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything, but I thought your father should know.”

  “About Zaddorn?” I asked her. “Or about our ‘wedding plans’.”

  She looked very uncomfortable, and Thanasset was looking from her to me. He’s wondering the same thing I am, I realized. Am I really going to marry this girl?

  “Zaddorn, of course, silly,” she said. “The other—well, he had to know sometime. Is it my fault you hadn’t told him yourself before this?”

  Now there she had me. If Thanasset were really as surprised—and not altogether pleased, I thought—as he seemed to be, why hadn’t Markasset told him?

  I sat down at the table and expressed my most fervent wish. “Father … Illia … I’ve had a long ride back, and I’m so hungry I could eat this table. Would you mind if we didn’t talk about Zaddorn, or weddings, or anything while we have lunch?”

  Illia opened her mouth to say something, but Thanasset interrupted smoothly and enthusiastically. “A fine idea.” He beamed at me. “Milda!”

  She came through a hinged door from the back of the house, carrying an enormous tray piled with food. She set it down in the center of the table, and we served ourselves. There was a large bowl of stew very much like the porridge I’d been served at the Refreshment House. We had each been given a utensil like the one I had seen at Yafnaar; we dipped our servings out of the large bowl into the small bowls before us, and filled our plates from an assortment of fruits. There was a fine-textured bread and a sharp butter-like spread. Milda filled three tall glasses with cool water, put the stoppered pitcher on the table, surreptitiously squeezed my shoulder, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  I didn’t worry about manners. I really was hungry, and it was a great relief not to think for a while. The food was delicious, and I put away an enormous amount of it. At last I became aware that Thanasset and Illia had both finished eating and were watching me. Illia looked concerned; Thanasset seemed amused.

  “It seems like ages since I’ve tasted Milda’s cooking,” I said, by way of explanation.

  Thanasset laughed. “Milda will be pleased to hear that you noticed, Markasset. She did prepare the rafel herself in honor of your return. For my part, I’m glad to see that this business with Zaddorn hasn’t dulled your appetite!”

  There it was again, as though I hadn’t put it off while we were eating. I can’t handle this, I thought. Not Illia and Thanasset together, with so many unknowns to deal with.

  “I feel like stretching my legs a little,” I said. “Illia, will you walk in the garden with me? You will excuse us, won’t you, Father?”

  Thanasset caught on. He smiled. “Of course, son. Enjoy your walk.”

  We walked in silence. The garden was really a small park, with a stone-laid path leading from the house to the end of the row of outbuildings that formed the back boundary of the estate, along in front of the buildings and then back up to the house along the side wall. The area enclosed by the functional pathway was beautifully landscaped with slender, twisting trees, and flowering bushes which added fragrance to the cool, slightly misty air. Smaller stone pathways were part of the landscaping. It was a place to walk and be at peace.

  We followed one of the narrow paths until it curved around a clump of trees and we were screened from the house. Then Illia stopped. Without a word, she put her arms around my neck and kissed me.

  I was a full head taller than Illia; I could have resisted that kiss easily. But it was the most natural thing in the world for me to bend down to her and put my arms around her. Her mouth parted lightly under mine. I ran my tongue over her smooth, rounded tusks, expecting them to feel strange. But they seemed delicate in her mouth, perfect and erotic.

  “Thank goodness!” she said, when she finally pushed me away. “The way you acted in front of your father, I was afraid … Markasset, I am sorry if I made trouble for you by telling Thanasset about … our plans.”

  “Plans?” I said stupidly, trying not to show her how shaken I was. She couldn’t know how many years it had been since I had been kissed in just that way—but I hadn’t forgotten what a lover’s kiss felt like.

  Along with the new awareness of the relationship between Illia and Markasset, I had to deal with Markasset’s physical response to the girl. Or mine. It was very confused. Under … less uncertain circumstances, I would have been delighted. But as it was, I tried to clear my head and think straight.

  “Yes, plans!” she said. We walked over to a stone bench and sat down. “You haven’t forgotten what you said to me—” she lowered her gaze to the ground “—that night, have you?”

  That’s just the point, I thought desperately. I have forgotten. What did I say to you?

  I couldn’t ask her. I was convinced that she loved Markasset, and that he might have returned her love. Looking at her here in the garden, with shade dappling the smooth golden fur on her head and her dark eyes shining in the fine-boned, alien face, I felt a physical echo of what must have happened on “that night.” When I had accepted being Markasset, I had also accepted responsibility for anything he had done before I somehow acquired his body. That meant, I decided, accepting his promise to this girl. But not right away.

  “Illia,” I began—then found I didn’t have the words.

  She reached out and took my hand. “I know you’re in trouble, darling, and this really isn’t the time. But … I know Thanasset doesn’t like me very much.”

  I started to object politely, but stopped myself. I thought she was right. Thanasset didn’t like—or at least didn’t approve of—Illia.

  “All I want is—some assurance from you, Markasset,” she said with dignity. “I know very well we can’t marry before this nonsense with Worfit and Zaddorn is straightened out.”

  “Will it ever be?” I asked. “Oh, I’ll pay Worfit what I owe him, that’s no real problem. But Zaddorn is a powerful man, and rumor lasts a lot longer than the truth.” What is the truth, damn it! “Are you sure you want to be married to the man who might have stolen the Ra’ira?”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” She laughed and looked relieved. “Darling, you know very well that one day you’ll be a Supervisor like your father. Nothing in your past can outweigh that honor.” She moved closer and put her head on my shoulder. “And I’ll be the wife of a Supervisor.” Suddenly she sat up and looked at me squarely. “Won’t I?”

  Markasset had let her think so. Maybe it had been only a good line, and it had obviously worked. But a promise—even an implied one—was a promise.

  “Yes,” I answered her.

  After a while we walked back into the midhall of the house. Thanasset was standing in front of the sha’um portrait in wood parquetry, staring thoughtfully up at the sword mounted on the wall. He turned when we entered, and smiled.

  “Well, there you are, children. Isn’t the garden pleasant today?”

  “It’s lovely, sir,” Illia replied. “It must be the most beautiful garden in Raithskar.”

  He turned and walked with us to the huge street door. “I’d like to think so, yes,” he said. He opened the door for her. “Thank you for your visit, Illia.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality, sir.” She turned to me and smiled radiantly. “Goodbye for now, Markasset.” She started to leave, but turned back to face Thanasset. “Take care of him, sir. He’s—” she looked my way with a slight smile “—not quite himself. I’m afraid that Zaddorn’s suspicions have upset him more than we know.”

  “Rest assured I will see to his good health, my dear,” Thanasset said. He closed the door behind her with a sigh. Then he linked his arm through mine and drew me back to where he had been standing.

  Again he looked up at the sword and he s
aid, almost offhandedly, “A nice girl, I suppose—but not terribly perceptive, is she?”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean, Father,” I said. But I was afraid that I did know.

  He moved to face me, and looked at me keenly from under his ridged brow.

  “You’re not my son,” he said. “Just who are you?”

  10

  Surprisingly enough, I did not panic.

  For one thing, there was no hostility in his manner or his voice. Wariness, yes. Curiosity. And something else—was it respect?

  And I felt linked to Thanasset, committed to him. I was in his world, and in this world he had become my father. Somewhere along the line since I met him, I had realized I would have to confide in him eventually. But this soon? I wasn’t ready.

  Don’t kid yourself. You’ll never be ready, I told myself honestly.

  Thanasset was watching me, reading the hesitation that must have shown on my face. “If you don’t wish to tell me, I won’t ask it of you,” he said, with that oddly disturbing note of respect clearer now in his voice. “Any Visitor from the All-Mind is welcome. But …” He let his voice trail off.

  “I do wish to tell you,” I said, and knew it was true. It would be a tremendous relief to share even a little of this confusion with someone I could trust. And I did trust Thanasset. “I simply don’t know where to start. Uh,” I stalled, “could we sit down?”

  “Certainly.” He led the way back into the light, comfortable room where I had met Ferrathyn—was it only earlier that same day?

  When we were comfortably seated with glasses of faen, “Who,” I asked carefully, “do you think I am?”

  “An Ancestor,” he said, without hesitation. “A Visitor from the All-Mind who has chosen to grace the body of my son, Markasset.”

  I thought about that. Hell, for all I knew, I might be just that. Whatever it was.

  Balgokh had said something similar—what had it been? He said I had been touched with wisdom by an Ancestor. I remembered. And even he, who had seen Markasset for only a few minutes, had noticed the change.