He just sat there looking at her. Nodded his head finally toward the dark. Toward what others did. He wanted her hand, holding his out.
He’s crazy, she thought. What is this? Me?
Still the outheld hand. She put her papers down, thinking she was mistaken and might embarrass herself. He took her hand–friendship, she reckoned; he just wanted to talk to her, and she was wrong.
But he pulled her to her feet and kept drawing her along, going off to the dark.
She was afraid, then, putting this together with the attack on the Base, with Elai’s questions. She thought of betrayal, of factions, of Elai off with Taem.
But outside the firelight he pulled her down with him, this best of Elai’s riders, this Dain Flanahan–“Why?” she asked late, “why me?”–preparing herself for wounds.
He laughed as if that question surprised him, and they stayed that way till dawn, wrapped up in each other, the way she had had the Weird in the dark, in the depths, the same terms.
For friendship, then; she reckoned how she had been by the fire night after night; and no one had asked, and finally Dain took it on himself. He was kind, this young man. She had always known that.
li
205 CR, day 113
Cloud River
There was no coherency about it; the Cloudside patterns were confused–sudden advance and then this dawdling along the banks–“They’re crazy,” Blue said, with shaking of his head. “They’re farmers,” said Parm.
“Cloudsiders,” Jin muttered, still anxious, scowling, because he saw his men making light of it, because he saw his own camp less ordered than he liked. His men grew quiet, reading his mood. They were wise, the men nearest him, at least to duck their heads. But he suspected–in the least, niggling way suspected, that he was too cautious in their eyes, that there would be whispers if they dared. “This Elai,” he said, not for the first time, “this Elai’s nothing. But this isn’t one tower. There’s numbers. You keep thinking on that. Hear?”
They faced him across the fire, men he had won, tower by tower, themselves. He had his starman by him. Genley. Genley sat at his left hand, to do what he wanted, to tell him what he asked. The Cloud Towers…that had waited settling too long; there was MaGee; and that woman; and women worth the having; workers for the fields; these caliban‑riders to deal with at his leisure, to teach the others what defying him was worth, any of them they got alive…far from the sight of the Wire. These women that played at war. There would be scores settled. Indeed, scores settled.
“Tomorrow,” he said, having thought it out, “we go by them.”
“Past?” echoed Blue.
“We go out from the shore.” He signed it as he spoke, frowning to himself, to no one in particular, satisfied, well‑satisfied now he had mapped it out. “We come at them from the south. Let these Cloudsiders have the water at their backs. We drive them off the shore. Caliban matter then. All caliban.”
There were grins, figuring how it would be, darts for what riders remained astride, Calibans coming up from below, seizing legs, embattled calibans lashing the water to froth–it was not a way to get caught, in that kind of action. This woman, gullible, continued on the shore, going where calibans wanted to go–of course wanted to go, where the ground was soft, where they could throw up mounds to ring their camps, where there was fish abundant to satisfy caliban appetites.
Fish. On so small a thing, to lose a war.
There were voices, too loud, at the edge of the camp.
“What’s that?” he asked, vexed. He stood up. Genley started off from him. “What is that?”
“I’ll see,” Genley said.
Mannin. The starmen were in that direction; another matter with the starmen. Genley was running, crossing the ground. He went more slowly, overtook Genley where Genley came up against Vil and his lot: it was the starmen. Voices were raised. Genley shoved; Vil shoved back, and Vil’s band had weapons.
“Where?” Jin asked directly, thrusting an arm between Vil and Genley, levering them apart. Blue moved in, got Vil’s attention with a spearshaft. “ Where?”
“Don’t know where,” someone said.
Genley ran, riverward. The spear was quick, coming from the side.
Jin stood there a moment, seeing this, seeing Genley down, writhing on the spear. The hunter pulled it out. Jin drew a breath, just held out his hand.
Blue gave him what he asked for. The smooth wood filled his hand. He walked forward and swung the spear up; the hunter blocked it, instinct, but this was a dead man. He whirled the spear and thrust it up, under the jaw, whipped round with it ready for Vil, for the rest of them. One looked apt to try, but did nothing.
“Gen‑ley,” he said, not looking at him, watching kinsmen’s eyes. There was no answer. He had expected none, not the way that spear had hit. He stood there the space of several breaths. “I want Mannin,” he said very quietly, “I want Kim– Blue,”he said, “where’s Parm?” They were Parm’s men, these.
Parm came. Stood quietly. Jin saw him unfocused, to the side; his eyes were all for Vil, who had not yet said a word. All about the camp, everywhere, men were on their feet, weapons ready. He found himself shaking, voiceless in the vastness of his suspicions: Parm Tower, Parm, which had harbored a grudge of which the starmen were the center. Parm, defying him.
Parm, who was allied with Green Tower, had a Green Tower woman; Green had Parm’s.
The silence went on. It was Vil’s to speak. Or Parm’s himself. The calibans were off at hunt. From the river came splashes, grunts. There would be one already to deal with, its rider dead, when it discovered it.
“I’ll settle it,” Parm said.
It would not be safe. There would be Parm to watch. Parm knew that. They all did. But the structure was too fragile.
“Want those starmen back,” Jin said quietly. “Want this settled with Vil.”
“He’ll get them.”
“You be careful,” Jin said. He spared a slight shift of his eye to Parm. “You get this man out of my way. Hear?”
There was a slow sorting‑out, slow movements everywhere. Already an ariel had come to investigate the bodies. It tugged at one of Genley’s fingers.
Jin drove his spear through it, pinned it wriggling to the ground. Genley’s face still had its look of shock. “River,” Jin said. Burying was too much work. There was war to fight. He flung the spear down uncleaned, walked away to the fire, took up the skin of drink and had enough to settle his belly. He took a bit more. Tears welled up in his eyes, dammed up there, unsheddable.
Men came and went around him, moving softfooted. He sat there still, with his mind busy, ignoring the rage that had him near to trembling. There was Parm to reckon round now. This man would have to be killed. There were the calibans. When the dead man’s came in, that was to settle; kill the beast, before it spread. Let Vil make amends if he would; kill this man too, like killing infection, before it spread.
A tower had to fall over this. No, there was no stopping it. Unless Parm could die in battle. He considered this, more and more thinking of it.
“This Parm,” he said to Blue, who sat close by him. “Tomorrow.” He made a tiny sign.