Now she was really beginning to feel slightly guilty about being here under an a.s.sumed name, as a representative from the City of Kaldak, supposedly inspecting his weapons. This in spite of the fact that he was obviously playing a few little games of his own. The games they played in bed were getting through to her, though, making her feel more like a woman than she had in years.

But then, perhaps he was bedding her only because he hoped this would shut her mouth? Perhaps if he knew who she really was he wouldn't have touched her. Perhaps- Then he was in her, and she was getting all his strength and vigor. There was no "perhaps" about that, or any more thinking to be done. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, not worried about her strength if he wasn't, and he gasped with the effort he was making but smiled while he made it ....

There was sweat mixed with the beer on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and all down her body before the loving was ended. Then Bekror seemed to fall asleep beside her, one arm flung across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She could tell that he was pretending. So it might be tonight, that meeting with the Tribesmen he had planned? She decided to pretend to be asleep also, although she wanted to pull his arm more tightly across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was getting used to having someone in bed with her. She would not find it so easily, certainly not from such a good man, when she returned to Kaldak.

At last Bekror seemed satisfied that the woman beside him was too soundly asleep to notice anything. He slipped out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and picked up pack, helmet, and rifle from the closet. When he went out, Baliza heard someone talking to him in the hallway leading to the stairs. From the few words they exchanged, it sounded like a woman. Probably Sparra, Chyatho's widow and Voros's lover.

Baliza waited another minute, then sprang out of bed, pulled on her clothes, and ran to the window. The vine below the window wasn't quite equal to her weight and gave way when she was halfway down. Lovemaking hadn't affected her trained reflexes, though-she landed with no harm and with hardly any noise. It didn't take her long to be sure no one had detected her, or to find the trail of Bekror and Sparra. She checked her weapons-the compact ten-shot laser, the loop of wire, the knives-then set off after the Monitor and his companion. She just prayed Bekror was not engaging in any treachery. She had come to care for him so much that it would be difficult to kill him.

Blade wasn't entirely surprised at Monitor Bekror's coming to the rendezvous. He'd worded his message carefully, promising that Bekror would have a marvelous chance both to help Kaldak and yet to increase his independence from the City at a very small price. Blade was still happy and relieved to see the other man appear. Any other way of getting Kaldakan help for his plans would still take time they might not have.

Bekror stepped out of the darkness, with Sparra close beside him, her pistol drawn. Blade's keen night vision made out another man lurking in the bushes. After a moment, he recognized Sparra's friend, Terbo.

"Well, I'll be-!" Bekror roared. Then he remembered where he was. "It is Voros. And what in the name of the Lords is that on your shoulder."

"Alive and well," said Blade. "And he is Cheeky. h.e.l.lo, Sparra."

"h.e.l.lo, Voros. And-h.e.l.lo, Cheeky."

"Yeeeep!"

Blade opened his belt pouch and held out a package sealed in oiled leather. "Take this, Bekror. No matter what else happens, if it gets to Kaldak quickly there is hope for this-for everyone here." He'd nearly slipped and said "this Dimension." He wasn't quite as calm as he thought he was.

"What is it?"

"The formula for the serum against the fever the Seeker Detcharn plans to unleash on Kaldak and the Tribes."

"Voros, have you brought me out here to listen to drunken jokes? Or is this a-?"

Sparra laid a hand on his arm. "We do not have that much time we can safely spend out here. If you keep interrupting Voros, it will be the same as not letting him tell his story at all. Can we be sure it is not worth hearing?"

Bekror muttered something which Blade decided to take as an agreement. He told the whole story of what he'd done since he left the Monitor's estate. He concentrated on his adventures in Doimar, leaving out nothing except the discovery of his ident.i.ty by Moshra's telepathy.

At last he introduced Ikhnan. The chief stepped forward, both hands raised in the gesture of peace. Blade could tell he was uneasy, and hoped none of the Tribesmen covering him were trigger-happy.

"I swear by the Laws of the Cities and by the weapons of my own Tribe that Voros speaks with my voice in all these things. I will take the oath he has promised, if you will give us the arms we need to strike at those who are the enemies of all true men."

Ikhnan delivered the speech without a moment's hesitation or a missed word. Blade remembered that the chief was nearly young enough to be his own son. In another ten years, Ikhnan might be the man Kaldak had always feared, the chief who would unite the Tribes. Would Bekror see that possibility, too, and would it make him refuse to aid the man?

The silence dragged on. Blade thought he heard a twig snap in the distance, but the wind was rising so it was hard to tell.

Finally Bekror nodded. "I can manage the lasers and grenades. I think I'll also be able to come up with a lifter when you need it. Two, if I can. But the explosives-I don't have all you need on hand. Also, I'm not happy about letting them out of my hands even if I had them. Ikhnan, will you let me send a few of my fighters among your Tribe, to watch the explosives?"

"Do you doubt my word?"

"I do not. Nor do I doubt the word of all those fighters who follow you. But what of other Tribes? What if they decide to attack the Red Cats to seize this rich prize? You cannot have so many warriors left that you would not welcome help in defending the explosives?"

Blade and Ikhnan looked at each other. They hadn't told Bekror about the weakness of the Red Cats. Their look said as plainly as words: This man is too shrewd for our comfort. What choice is there, but to give him what he wants?

"It shall be as you wish," said Ikhnan. "But let the men be brave and wise enough to honor the customs of the Red Cats. Otherwise, I will swear no oath to treat them as friends, for they will not be such."

Bekror shrugged. "I will accept those terms. Sparra, would you like to be chief guard of the explosives? You can pick your own people. Anyone except-"

Blade held up a hand for silence. Over the rising wind, he'd unmistakably heard sounds which shouldn't have been there. Twigs snapping, a bush rustling, something like a human cough. He started to draw his pistol.

Before it cleared the holster, the night erupted in a confusion of shouts, screams, and laser beams blazing green.

Baliza had no trouble following Bekror and Sparra in the darkness. But then, she'd never found it hard to follow people who weren't expecting to be followed. Those who'd taught her the arts of tracking thought that was a game for not very bright children.

What she overheard made her realize just what Bekror was up to, and she was so relieved she almost shouted out for joy. Clearly, Bekror and the Tribesman had formed an alliance to defeat the scheming Doimari, and this news would be very welcome back in Kaldak.

After a while, she began to think of revealing herself to the people ahead. The danger was no longer being seen. If they detected her presence, they would go after her, and it might be hard to explain just what she was doing spying on them.

Baliza was starting to approach when she realized she wasn't the only one who had followed the Monitor. She let the others get closer, and they pa.s.sed without noticing her, making a good deal of noise. She knew they'd have had no chance of successfully trailing anyone who was on the alert. She also recognized enough voices to know who they were.

Chyatho's friends were on the prowl, for Sparra and perhaps for Bekror. They wanted the woman who'd betrayed their friend; perhaps they also wanted the Monitor who made life hard for New Law men whenever he could. Apart from her own preference for the Old Law, Baliza now knew that Bekror's death would be a disaster for this part of the frontier.

"People, you're dead," Baliza whispered to the night. She felt confidence and skill flowing from her mind into every muscle and each limb. Was this the way her father had felt, those times he seemed to become a killer as deadly as any Fighting Machine and far more intelligent?

The amount of noise they were making let Baliza get close to the men. She counted seven, which was long odds for her to face single-handed. However, if she spoiled their surprise, Bekror and Sparra would have time to fight back. Neither of them would be an easy victim.

At last the men ahead stopped and split into two groups. Four got ready to do the actual killing while three stood guard. A very sloppy guard, Baliza thought as she slipped off her boots.

Her bare feet made no sound on the soft earth and fallen needles as she came up behind the first guard. Her fingers wound themselves in his hair and her knife slashed his throat before he knew there was anyone near. She lowered him to the ground, waited to see if his mates were alerted, then quickly searched his body for usable weapons. She found a grenade and was picking it up, when a laser beam seared past her right shoulder.

Instantly she threw herself down and to the left, rolling the moment she hit the ground. Her hand dove into her jacket pocket and came out with her own laser. It was useless beyond fifty feet, but the other two sentries were more than close enough. She shot one in the head. The other dodged behind a bush. She got ready to throw the grenade, but the sentry's laser burned her wrist and she dropped it. Fortunately the pin was still in.

She rolled again, expecting the sentry's next shot to hit or one of the other four to notice her. But suddenly the other four were fighting their own battle. She heard a sudden uproar of human voices, the crackle of several lasers, a grenade explosion, and a scream of agony. Then the last sentry was coming at her. Whether he was attacking or trying to flee she didn't know. Her legs swung, knocking him down, then she threw her full weight on his back. Her knees drove into his spine and he went limp. Not waiting to see if he was dead or not, she jumped up and ran, swerving randomly from left to right and back again to make her trail hard to follow.

She had to get clear and think about what she'd seen and what it could mean. The fight around Bekror had given enough light to let her see everyone involved. Several of them were unmistakably Tribesmen, one of them a chief. Another was the man who'd called himself Voros.

When the fight started, Blade shouted to Sparra and Bekror, "Get down! They're probably after you!"

Instead Bekror shoved Sparra violently to the ground and opened up with his laser pistol. He didn't hit anyone, but he did set a bush on fire. The light confused the attackers, who'd been expecting a fight in the dark. Blade counted four enemies and immediately picked off one with a snap shot from the hip.

Then he himself had to flatten on the ground as the Tribesmen and Ikhnan opened a wild fire. Blade saw the three attackers go down, and also the flashes and moving shapes of something going on behind them. Their rear-guard was having its own fight.

One of the attackers threw a grenade as he went down. Blade saw it arch out into the open and land, fuse sputtering, six feet away. He knew that Bekror and Sparra would die if it exploded. He also knew the only way to keep this from happening.

Then a Tribesman hurled himself out of the darkness, landing on top of the grenade. A moment later it exploded harmlessly-except to the man on top of it.

Half-deafened, Blade rose to his feet-as the Tribesman started to scream. Then he shot the man in the back of the head. There was no point in trying to cure such a wound, or even turn him over. Blade had seen what happens to a man who smothered a grenade with his own body. A quick death was all he could give to the man who'd saved Bekror, Sparra and himself, because he'd been about to leap on the grenade when the Tribesman did it.

Then there was silence, except for the crackle of the blazing bush and the distant moan of a dying man. Sparra and Terbo went off to investigate, and came back a couple of minutes later, looking grim.

"One of their sentries, with his back broken," she said. "He admitted they were Chyatho's friends out to kill me and Bekror. Said, 'We'd have done it without that big b.i.t.c.h.'"

"Big b.i.t.c.h?" repeated Bekror. He looked startled, then hastily straightened his face.

"That's what he said. Then he died."

"No loss," said Bekror evenly.

"N-n-no," said Sparra. She was obviously fighting off the shakes, frightened over the night's events, even more frightened of appearing a coward in the eves of the Tribesmen.

"They were not men the G.o.ds could love," said Ikhnan. "The Laws of the Cities are not ours. But men who will kill because they are not allowed to defy a Law are evil anywhere." He looked down at the dead Tribesman. "I only wish he had died against a worthier foe."

"He died well, nonetheless," said Bekror. He picked up two of the dead man's guns and handed them to Ikhnan. "For his grave."

Ikhnan's eyes widened. "You know our custom, of putting the weapons of a slain warrior's enemies on his grave?"

"Of course," said Bekror. "I have long been the enemy of the Tribes. I may be the enemy of the Tribes again. I have never been, and never will be, ignorant of their ways." In the silence these words produced, he went on: "Indeed, I would propose that we bury him here and now, with both peoples doing him honor. However, we are too close to my lands. Someone without respect for the dead might pollute his grave."

"If we're that close to your lands, shall we finish our talking before we have more unwelcome visitors?" said Blade. "The best honor we can do for this warrior is not to let his death be wasted."

No one disagreed, and the negotiations were finished quickly. A lifter would deliver Sparra and her squad with the weapons and explosives to an agreed-on rendezvous in five days. When Bekror got more explosives, he would deliver them along with the lifters themselves, when the raiders were ready to move out.

Then Bekror's party vanished, leaving the Tribesmen and Blade to pick up their dead and retreat. "A wise and mighty chief," Ikhnan called Bekror. He called him other things, too, but Blade was too absorbed in his own thoughts to remember any of them.

What had happened in the fight with the would-be a.s.sa.s.sins' sentries? And who was the "big b.i.t.c.h"? Bekror knew, at least, or thought he knew. If he didn't, Blade was no judge of faces or voices!

Blade had a nasty feeling that there were going to be other players in this game he'd begun-players he hadn't asked to sit in, and who might reveal themselves only when it was too late to change the rules.

Chapter 21.

"You're absolutely sure it was Voros himself?" said Geyrna. "You only saw him once, in poor light, and in a hurry."

"I'm sure, Aunt," said Baliza. "Between what I saw and what I wormed out of Bekror, it couldn't be anybody else. Unless you think it's my father the Sky Master Blade come back again? She laughed and stretched catlike. It felt fine to be safe at home in Kaldak again, able to relax and soak up the sun and good food. It wasn't going to last very long, though.

"You almost said that as if it was a joke," said Geyrna. Baliza felt her face going hot, but her aunt didn't seem to notice as she went on. "Certainly Voros seems to be almost as good a fighter and leader as the Sky Master. He also seems to have the same gift for talking sense and making you realize it. I can't imagine he would have impressed that stubborn old cynic Bekror otherwise. By the way, how was he?"

Baliza couldn't quite suppress a pleasurable wriggle at the memories. Her aunt laughed. "Still good, eh? I had him a few years ago myself, and I couldn't complain either."

A servant came in with beer and snacks, interrupting the flow of bawdy chatter. When the two women were alone again, Geyrna got down to business.

"So now we know Bekror and the Tribesmen intend to launch a major strike at Detcharn's rockets. If it's true Voros is among them, we can be sure the training of the Tribesmen is in good hands.

"But that may not be enough. With what he'll have, Voros can only take thirty, maybe forty men, to near the base. They'll have to walk the rest of the way. Suppose he had two or three real Doimari lifters, such as the ones we've captured in past wars? Suppose he could take sixty or eighty men in those lifters all the way to the rocket base before anyone there knew anything was wrong? And suppose, also, men were sent from the City Regiment to help Voros?"

Baliza's eyes widened. "Of course. I should have thought of that myself. Aunt, you wouldn't be such a bad soldier yourself."

"Thank you. But I had good teachers, like Sidas. I listened to everyone who ever talked about war while I was around."

"You also heard some wise words from Bairam," said Kareena.

Geyrna frowned. "Not his wisdom, I think. More likely what he heard from the Sky Master and pa.s.sed on."

"You do him an injustice, I think."

"You would say that even if you didn't think it, just to annoy me."

"If more people had said it to you twenty years ago, Bairam might not have started drinking."

"He started drinking because I would not stay fifteen years old forever. That was what he loved, not the woman who knew she could do better at ruling Kaldak than he."

Baliza sighed. It was an old and bitter quarrel between them, and right now even more pointless than usual. "Forgive me, Aunt. But you know what I have thought on this for so many years. I keep hoping that one day you'll listen."

"Perhaps I will, one day. Certainly not before we've stamped Detcharn and his plans into the ground." She sipped her beer. "But let's be serious again. To get those Doimari lifters and additional men, we're going to have to go to Sidas."

"So?"

"Sidas is a hard-headed son of a munfan, as you should know. Sidas is also very shrewd, and he's going to notice you're full of thoughts you won't confess, about this mysterious Voros. He may ask questions. When he does, you'd better be ready to tell him the truth, or as much of it as you know yourself."

"I'll do my best."

"Your best had better be pretty d.a.m.ned good, Baliza!"

"You next, Shangbari," the woman Sparra said.

Shangbari lay down, his fire rifle pointing out in front of him. It was strange, obeying a woman so easily. But it no longer seemed un-Lawful. Voros followed the Laws of the Cities, which said that women might be warriors and hunters; Shangbari had sworn to follow Voros.

Some of the warriors of the Red Cats had still been stupid enough to think that Sparra was a woman for bedding, in spite of their oaths. Some of those would not be thinking of women for many days-or at least thinking would be all they could do. Sparra had done the work on them herself, too. She'd said that Voros taught her those ways of fighting.

Was there anything about war Voros did not know or could not teach? Shangbari doubted it. Certainly he did not wonder that the Red Cats were beginning to call the new leader "Voros the Wise."

"All right, Shangbari," Sparra said. "This is an Oltec rifle. Remember, it shoots burning hot light, not single bullets. You must take your finger off the trigger the moment you hit the target. Otherwise the rifle will lose its magic too quickly."

"I understand." He'd begun to understand more than he wanted to admit to this woman or even to Voros. Among the things he'd begun to understand was that there was no magic in Oltec. If you had the right tools and knew how to use them, it was no harder to make one of the "magic" rifles than it was to tan a hide or sharpen a spear.

Someday the Tribes would have those tools and know how to make their own rifles. Then they could avenge their dead on all the Cities. But-if there were people in the Cities like Voros and Sparra-yes, and Bekror-might there not be peace someday between Tribe and City?

That thought was so new and frightening that Shangbari had to grip his rifle more tightly than ever. He did not want Sparra to see his hands shaking, or miss his target.

He was ready to shoot again, when suddenly a City sky-machine pa.s.sed over the clearing. A moment later if floated down to a landing place on the other side of the little stream which divided the clearing. All the men practicing with the rifles jumped up and shouted. Sparra was shouting, too. She seemed angry that the men would not listen to her. Then she saw Voros himself walking toward the machine, and shrugged.

"All right. It's pretty late anyway."

By the time Shangbari reached the machine, the City men in it were unloading boxes. Voros counted them as they came out. Shangbari recognized the writing on some of the boxes. They held the "explosives" which they would use to destroy the Doimari machines.

Now a big man in City clothing stepped out of the sky-machine. "Hoy, Voros!" he shouted.

Voros turned. "What the-? Ezarn?"