The Steel of Raithskar (25 page)

“I ask him how he plans to get away with that, and he gives me the news about this power he’s had all along. His eyes are shining and strange and I
know
he’s gone over the Wall.”

Hural stopped, cleared his throat, and spat on the floor—to the obvious disgust of the Lieutenant and Thymas.

“But—you know—we been together a long time. And he scares me with that power stuff—maybe he was using it on me, I don’t know. But anyway, I went along; I helped him steal the filthy thing.”

“How was this man involved?” Zaddorn asked, pointing at me.

“Him?” The little man grinned. “What was it you called him? ‘Rikardon’? Well, that’s not the name he gives me. He tells me he’s—”

My body went completely tense; I could feel a similar movement in Zaddorn beside me.

“—Lakad. Says he’s from
Chizan.
”

That’s why the alias I used in Omergol came so easily
, I thought.
I
—
Markasset—had used it before.

“He comes to me the night before we’re scheduled to leave and wants to hire on as a guard. Well, I already know there’s going to be a special, important cargo this trip, and he looks strong enough, so I says yes. But the next morning, when we’re packing and this guy shows up for duty—at the last minute, so late I’d given up on him—Gharlas has a regular fit! He don’t say anything to you, but to me he says plenty. Don’t I know Sharith agents are everywhere? Didn’t I have more sense than to hire on a stranger? And so on. And later, when the Riders came in without any warning, and you had been on guard duty, I figured Gharlas was right.”

“What happened to Gharlas?” I asked. “Where was he when the Sharith attacked?”

“Didn’t see him. Figured at the time that he was one of the lucky ones to escape,” he said wryly. “Now I guess he just left us during the night—some old friend, eh?”

The cough had been suppressed long enough, and now it shook him again. The thin shoulders jumped violently as he doubled over the table. When he sat up, still panting heavily, there were flecks of blood on the table and around his mouth. He looked at me with eyes that were glazed with pain.

“Cheated two kinds of fate,” he said, and allowed himself a thin, gasping laugh. “First the Riders don’t kill me like Gharlas wanted, then they don’t get to sell me, either.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, but I was all too sure what he meant.

“I’m dying,” he said. “Known it since this morning. Wanted it.” He looked up at the Lieutenant. “Lost fìnger same place I picked up this nuisance cough—copper mines of Eddarta. Cough goes away if I eat right. Stopped eating when I came here.
Never going back to those mines.
” He said it with such force that he began to gasp. He was too weak now even to cough. Thymas had an arm around his back, supporting him.

“Please, Hural,” I asked him, horrified by what was happening but desperate for some answers at last, “where is the Ra’ira? What happened to it?”

His eyes turned to me, focused with great effort.

“Gharlas … has … it,” he said.

It was the last thing he said.

Some hours later, I was standing outside the door of the Lieutenant’s richly appointed home. It was situated on a rise near the river, the only single-family dwelling on the barracks side. I had been there for several minutes, watching the candle-flames of the cookfires dwindle, one by one, and die down.

We had turned Hural’s body over to the Sharith guards, and had come here. A gracefully aging, smiling woman had greeted her huband and son with warm affection, and had served us faen as we sat around a tile-topped table. The conversation had remained neutral until Shola excused herself, which she had done as soon as she had realized we were all thinking about something else.

“Do you believe what he said?” I had asked Zaddorn as soon as she had left. “About the mind-power Gharlas claims to have?”

Thymas had spoken up before Zaddorn could answer. “Such power exists,” he said excitedly. “We have seen it used.”

“Indeed?” Zaddorn had inquired. “By Gharlas, you mean?”

“No, I don’t mean Gharlas,” Thymas had said impatiently. “I’m talking about Tarani.”

“An illusionist with a traveling show who stops by here now and then,” Dharak had explained. “The illusions are so perfect that no other conclusion is possible. And Tarani admits to holding the power, tells us in every show that it is being used, and challenges us to see through the illusions. We can’t.

“Yes, I must agree that the kind of power Hural described is possible. There is no evil in the illusions cast by Tarani for our entertainment. But the idea of Gharlas with such power and, if Hural again is to be believed, with such ambition—” He had shuddered. “The old words are true: ‘To crave power is to be ruled by madness.’ Surely Gharlas
must
be mind-ill.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t argue that point at all,” Zaddorn had agreed. “But what
Rikardon
wants to know is whether I believe that Gharlas has that power and used it to steal the Ra’ira.” He had looked at me thoughtfully for a long moment, fair repayment for the few seconds I had let him squirm before I spoke up for him to Dharak.

“Yes,” he had said at last, “I believe him. He was dying; he had no reason to lie. And it explains some puzzling things: how he learned about the security system, for instance, as well as how he got into a supposedly locked room—without the aid of the Supervisor on duty.

“I believe him,” he had repeated, “and that’s what I’ll tell the Council of Supervisors when we get back to Raithskar.”

I had let out a sigh of pure relief. Thanasset was safe.

The Lieutenant, too, had seemed to relax from the edge of tension. Thymas, however, had reared back indignantly.

“Back to Raithskar?” he had repeated incredulously. “Aren’t you going after Gharlas, to get the Ra’ira back?”

“My duty is in Raithskar,” Zaddorn had explained quietly, stifling a yawn. “I’ll send discreet messages to the security people in the other cities; I’ll be notified when Gharlas turns up. We’ll get it back, don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” Thymas had repeated again. “The Ra’ira
belongs
in Raithskar. You can’t just—”

“That will be enough, Thymas,” Dharak had cut him off abruptly. “For the second time today,” he had said to Zaddorn, “I must apologize for my son’s manners.” Zaddorn had nodded; the boy glared at his father but had said nothing. “It’s getting late,” Dharak had said then, “and we all need some rest. You’ll want to leave for Raithskar tomorrow, of course.”

And the group had separated. Zaddorn and I had excused ourselves and left father and son together to talk things over. Zaddorn had accepted an earlier offer of the use of Dharak’s private bath-house, and I had stepped outside to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes.

Thanasset was in the clear at last—that was the most important thing. I thought about the man I had killed and regretted it, sharply, again. Not because of the possible consequences now, but because I hadn’t wanted it to happen. And because I knew Thanasset well enough to know that a death in his service must have grieved him.

I let my thoughts wander through the time I had spent in Gandalara. Idly I counted the days and was astonished to realize that it had been less than two weeks. I felt a strong life-investment here. I had met people I respected, some of whom I also loved. I had begun to get a feel for Markasset, though I still didn’t know him. Hural’s information hadn’t explicitly cleared Markasset of any involvement—I still didn’t know how he wound up in the desert, or who the dead man …

I had been leaning against the wall of Dharak’s home. Now I stood up straight, startled.

Could that have been Gharlas?
I wondered.
I
searched him thoroughly and he didn’t have the stone. Can it be that the precious Ra’ira is wandering out in that desert right now, riding Gharlas’ masterless vlek?

I was so occupied with this new line of thought that I barely noticed a young boy run up to the front door to my left, knock, and go in.

Come on, Markasset
, I pleaded silently.
What did Gharlas look like? Was he that dead body? It will look queer for me to ask about a man it’s been proven I knew—but if I have to, I will.

I was distracted, then, by the appearance of Dharak through his front door. He looked first to his left, then turned to his right and saw me. He was holding a strip of cloth in his hand.

“Oh, there you are, Markasset. I have news.”

“News?” I asked. Then it hit me. “You—you called me—”

“I’ve known all along who you are,” he said calmly. “Come, step away from the house and I’ll explain.”

We walked down the hill toward the river, which made a constant rushing noise—not loud, but soothing. Away from the lighted windows of the house, it was pitch black. Only the sound of Dharak’s voice told me where he was.

“It’s quite true that we Sharith have ‘agents everywhere’, as it is whispered in every marketplace,” he said, laughing lightly. “They are people who owe us loyalty for one reason or another. And they do not, as most people seem to think, merely spy out the caravans which do not pay their proper portion to the Sharith.

“We are isolated here in this valley,” he continued. “By choice, it is true, a choice made long ago, a bond sworn and kept by generation after generation. But isolated, none the less. Our agents tell us what is going on in the world.

“Naturally, as soon as the Ra’ira was stolen, we heard about it.”

“But Thymas—your son seemed surprised,” I said.

“He was. All communications come directly to me. I was the only one who read that one, and I didn’t tell Thymas about it. For that matter, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why is the Ra’ira so important to him?”

Dharak sighed. “It is important to all of us. You, of all people, must know the story of Serkajon.”

“That he took the Ra’ira back to Raithskar, that the King’s guard followed him there for vengeance, but instead abandoned the King and settled here in Thagorn.”

“That’s essentially it. Serkajon convinced the first Lieutenant that the Ra’ira was a symbol of power, and that the Kings had outlived their right to power. That first Lieutenant had sworn loyalty to Serkajon and to his purpose: to keep the Ra’ira surrounded with honorable men so that no single man could ever use its beauty to call to himself power over other men.”

I was beginning to understand. I thought of the gemstones in Ricardo’s world which had carried “curses” of ill luck and evil fates. All of them that I could recall had been coveted for their beauty as well as for their value. The Ra’ira was a compellingly beautiful stone, the kind to attract legend. Originally a symbol of a city’s loyalty to its King, it had changed hands again during the social upheaval associated with the end of a monarchy. It may have been only coincidence; it may not. But certainly, if it had not already acquired its reputation when Kä fell apart, that event, following so closely the removal of the Ra’ira, had stamped a mystic aura of power on the beautiful gem.

“I am merely the Lieutenant. Because Thanasset no longer rides, you are, by right of heritage, the Captain. Originally, I kept silence out of a sense of duty to your family.

“Among the Sharith, rank must be earned. The messages said only that you had fled, but I refused to prejudge you as a coward. When you
walked
into Thagorn, you proved several things to me. First, it took a great fighter to win the respect of Bareff and Liden. Second, it took a great commitment of loyalty to deny yourself the companionship of your sha’um for any man’s sake. Third, Zaddorn didn’t race out here merely after the information Hural had; he was chasing you. Yet you have treated him with honor, and you will return with him to Raithskar to set straight whatever he holds against you.

“So, after I had the chance to know you, I kept silence still out of a sense of duty—to you. As far as I’m concerned, you
are
the new Captain, and in spite of Thymas’s impatience, I will await your orders about the Ra’ira.”

I began to breathe again as Dharak continued talking, a disembodied voice in the darkness saying incredible things.
Not me
, I was thinking frantically.
No Captain here, I’m just an NCO. Don’t call me “sir”!

“Of course, you must settle things in Raithskar first, and that brings me to the news,” he was saying. “Rumors about the theft have spread widely through Raithskar until there has been a general demand for answers. Tonight’s message tells me that the Chief Supervisor has had to yield to public pressure and suspend Thanasset from the Council.”

“What?”
I was jolted from my momentary panic. “Thanasset suspended? When?”

“Only today. But the message says things are getting ugly. The public has begun to believe that Thanasset did cooperate with the thieves. They are calling him a traitor and asking for the forfeit of his property.”

I felt a chill crawl up my spine. “A mob.”

“I’m afraid so. From what I’ve seen of Zaddorn, I’d say he could control them, but he’s not there now.” He hesitated. I could almost hear him deciding whether or not to tell me what I had already guessed. “You and Zaddorn need your rest tonight, Markasset—but tomorrow, I suggest haste. The people are asking for more than Thanasset’s rank—

“They are demanding his life.”

I was glad to find Zaddorn already asleep in the room we were to share. I lay down on the fluffy pallet on my side of the room, called Keeshah and arranged for a meeting place the next day, and tried to blank out my mind. I thought it would be impossible—but it seemed only a moment later that I woke to sunlight streaming in through the latticed window.

Zaddorn and I said our farewells at the gate of Thagorn. Thymas was still sour and resentful, but his words were courteous enough. Bareff and Liden grinned and waved at me from a distance; I called to them to say goodbye to their sha’um for me. The Lieutenant exchanged a few polite words with Zaddorn, then turned to me.

“I have no doubt you will return to Thagorn soon, Rikardon. It will be my pleasure then to greet you personally, and show you more of the life of the Sharith.”