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to this foolhardy action?"
"Partly," he grunted, fastening his belt over his hips.
"Then you and I could resolve between us all differences, peacefully," I
blurted, excited with the simplicity of the idea.
"How?" He disbelieved, fists resting on his black-clothed hips. A
surreptitious finger set his belt whirling. It hummed softly, content to be in
service to its master.
"I will leave with you my chald. One could buy a yra of such ships with its
worth." I grinned at him, expecting approbation.
He came and ran his hands over it, nestled against the white and silver silk
at my waist. "I didn't think it was real," he muttered. Then he clicked,
raising his eyes to mine. "A man could, with that much gol, buy an A-systems
computer, even." His fingers twisted in the strands, relaxed. But his body was
stiff, his breath moving shallowly in his chest. I knew he considered it. "I
can't do that," he said, pushing me away. "Lives were spent. Even that much
wealth can't replace them."
"And spending more lives will? A moon full of lives, perhaps? If I were you, I
would warn those who dwell upon that sphere that they may flee the dharen's
wrath." I turned my back to him, tense, waiting for a blow that did not fall.
"I've done that," he said, still subdued, as I made my way to the slab upon
limbs that shook despite my best efforts. There I crawled to the corner, faced
him from its comforting security. He only watched me, a bemused expression
upon him. I knew that he would click his tongue a second before I heard the
sharp tone.
"What do you want, then, from Khys?" I asked, the distance between us
emboldening me.
"I want," he said in a flat, cold voice, "the man
WIND FROM THE ABYSS
169
who killed Mossenen. I want recomprense in serum for every man lost along with
those ships; I want their weight in drugs. The only replacement fitting for
their lives is the gift of life." I hardly heard the last. Sereth's life, he
would demand. Khys would never cede it. And if it came to a trade, I would
give mine gladly rather than see such an occurrence.
"Khys will never agree," I hissed, and the vehemence of my tone drove his dark
brows down over his eyes. With measured steps he approached me.
-''"He will. Or you'll bear the whole weight of our displeasure. Mossenen was
the most-loved adjuster ever to rule M'ksakka. We can't have your killers
picking us off at their leisure. It's principle. We let him get away with
this, we might as well hand him the Bipedal Federate Group."
"If you " Chiming interrupted me. I bit my lip, swallowing what I would have
said. It occurred to me, as he slapped the partition to life, that he might
not know whom he sought, who had killed the M'ksakkan official. And I had
almost enlightened him.
Revealed upon the screen was Maref, an infinitesimal muscle jumping in his
miniature jaw. "Dellin's on his way down there. There was no stopping him."
His tone was apologetic, his palms raised to the screen.
"That's nice," said M'tras dryly. "What are you doing up there, playing with
each other? Get three men down here. I want them waiting outside the door!" He
slapped the screen away, growling deep in his throat. As he crossed to his
strange instrument and sank with it in his lap into the green chair, I could
not help but remember a thing Khys had said, when first we stood before him,
Chayin, Sereth, and I, and he derided us. Of Sereth he had spoken his
disquiet, that such a seemingly talentless
170
Janet E. Morris one had come to stand before him, and in the company of such
"blood" as was possessed by the cahndor of Nemar and me. Later, Khys had said
that when a man comes forcibly into your circle by means of outstanding
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accomplishment, one cannot gainsay his right to be there, however much his
very presence might alter some cherished preconception. Thus, I reasoned, it
must be with this alien, M'tras. His music rolled and thundered, the anger in
it prodding my adrenals. Cold it was, a summoning from the abyss. Bass clef
only, of that score that holds the worlds aligned, did M'tras call forth from
his stringed machine. His head was down. His lips upon occasion moved,
mouthing the sounds his fingers made. His work-set face giittered like Khys's
seal upon by breast.
He palmed his strings to jarring quiet as the door panel blinked. The
partition upheld the palm-lock, chiming. I found myself pressed back into the
corner, thinking of what the three of us had done to Dellin that time we
sought Celendra. I pulled the velvet up around me, dragging it loose from the
slab foot.
M'tras was looking at me. The door chimed again. He turned away and touched
his waist. The door slid aside. Dellin, leaning there in northern leathers and
cloak, short-sworded, chalded, straightened up slowly. His eyes were bleak. He
had still, I noted as he crossed the keep, ignoring M'tras, the limp I had
seen upon him in Khys's audience chamber. He had, I thought, cringing back,
velvet cover crushed in my fists, lost the weight he had carried excessive in
'695. M'tras merely turned his chair upon its pedestal, that he might observe.
He ran a thumb over his lower lip. Then I could not see him; Dellin's bulk
obscured all else. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]