Numbly Lavinia looked at him, at the hilt of the knife which rose between his shoulders.
At the near-naked figure of Dumarest who stood behind a rock.
"Earl! Earl, you-thank God you're alive!"
"Are you hurt?" He came forward to kick aside the fallen laser and stood watching her as she shook with reaction and relief. "He fired at you. Are you hurt?"
"A small burn. It's nothing. But you-Earl, I saw him kill you."
"Not quite," he said dryly. "I set up a dummy. It's an old trick. I had a thread fastened to the arm. When it moved he fired and thought as you did. He wouldn't have landed until he was certain there was no danger."
A trick-the whole thing had been planned, but why hadn't he told her? Lavinia swallowed, remembering how she had felt, the terror, the sick, horrible fear.
"You should have told me."
"And you shouldn't have moved. I warned you to remain still. If you had he wouldn't have seen you." Dumarest stooped and tugged out his knife, wiping the blade on the dead man's clothing. Rising he saw her face. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." She sucked air into her lungs, remembering who she was, her position. The Lady of Belamosk should not be a coward and yet she had known fear. A word, a hint even, and she would have been able to retain her composure. Instead of which she had almost begged.
Begged!
"There's probably water in his raft," said Dumarest. "And maybe something for that burn. Wait here and I'll get it."
"There's no need." At least she could salvage something of her pride. And, woman-like, take a minor revenge. Looking at the dead man she said, meaningfully, "The knife. You threw it. You stabbed him in the back."
"Of course," said Dumarest. "What else?"
Chapter Sixteen
Roland said, "I don't know how to thank you, Earl. There are no words. Lavinia-well, you understand."
More than he guessed, to Dumarest it was obvious the man was in love with the woman. An emotion he managed to hide or she was too blind to see. It would not be the first time that close association masked the truth.
Leaning back he looked around the room into which he had been led. They had arrived late in the afternoon, beating curfew by an hour, attendants ushering them to baths and food and rest. Now, toying with his wine, Dumarest waited for the other to speak what was on his mind.
"Gydapen. Are you sure he tried to kill you?"
"Yes."
"But the mercenary-"
"Was a paid tool." Dumarest added, acidly, "You find it hard to believe that a noble of this world could descend to murder?"
"On Zakyra it is unusual. A challenge, yes, followed by a duel if satisfaction cannot otherwise be obtained, but murder-" He broke off, shaking his head, a man no longer certain of his world. And yet he had traveled and must know that not all cultures followed the niceties of procedure as to the display of courage, the duelist's code-idiocies for which Dumarest had no patience. "And there is no doubt as to his arming men?"
"Ask Lavinia."
"Ask her what?" She entered the room and came towards them, helping herself to wine, sipping before looking from one to the other. Now, washed, her hair neatly dressed, her body clothes in fine material, she wore her composure like a cloak. "Earl, I must apologize, I was rude."
He said nothing, waiting.
"I was angry and sneered at your having killed that man the way you did. You were right. He deserved no warning, no chance to defend himself. He was filth!"
"He was dangerous," said Dumarest. "An armed man always is. And I was in no mood to play games." He looked at Roland. "Are you?"
"Games? Me?"
"The Council if you prefer. Those whose job it is to keep the peace on this planet. Those who have the authority and so should have the responsibility. Or have you no objection to war?"
"Earl!" Lavinia stared at him, her eyes wide. "What are you talking about? War? What war?" Then, thinking she understood, she nodded. "Of course. Once he breaks the Pact the Sungari will attack."
"The Sungari don't enter into it," said Dumarest. "At least not as far as Gydapen is concerned. He has no intention of breaking the Pact."
"But his new mine?"
"What mine? Do you dig holes with guns?" He stared at them, baffled by their innocence, the cultural drag which made it impossible for them to comprehend. "Don't you understand even yet what Gydapen intends? Lavinia, try!"
She stared at him. "Earl?"
"He told you. He admitted he was ambitious. He has traveled and knows what can be done by men of determination and drive. He has men and guns and who is to stand against him? Conquest, woman! Gydapen intends to become the sole ruler of this world!"
"No!" Roland shook his head. "He can't. The Council will never permit it."
"The Council will be dead."
"But he will be stopped-"
"By whom?"
"The Families. The retainers. We, that is, there must-" Roland broke off, helpless. "Lavinia?"
She said, "He wants me. If it will bring peace he can have me. I will make the surrender of the guns the price of my agreement to wed."
Dumarest said, coldly, "He tried to kill you, have you forgotten? Are you a child to value your body so highly? Marriage? He doesn't have to marry, he can take. As Gnais would have taken. Don't be a fool, woman, this isn't a game. Gydapen is gambling for the ownership of a world. What is a woman against that?"
Nothing as she was willing to admit. A momentary fire, a passion, the easing of lust, the use of a toy-unless love was present what use to talk of sacrifice?
"Earl, what can we do?"
"You have little choice. It's too late to send for arms and hire mercenaries to use them. Too late to train your retainers. The Sungari, perhaps, but gaining their cooperation will take time and you have no time."
"So?"
Dumarest said, "Once, on a far world, I heard a story. It could be true. There was a man who sat at the head of a great House. Those under him were ambitious and friends came to warn him of danger. He said nothing but stepped into his garden. In it were flowers, some taller than others. Still remaining silent he slashed the head off the tallest bloom with his cane. Those with him knew exactly what he meant and what to do."
"Kill," said Roland. "Gydapen?"
"Gydapen." Dumarest finished his wine. "Before he learns that we're still alive."
This time they approached from the south, riding low, skimming over the hills, hugging the valleys, invisible to men and machines which searched the upper sky. Three rafts, each with a driver, hand-picked young men who could shoot and were eager for adventure. More rode with them; five in Roland's vehicle, four with Lavinia, four with Dumarest. Numbers only, shapes to be seen against the skyline, weight which would provide a distraction.
Only half of them were armed with weapons culled from the trophy room of the castle; rifles used for sport, not war, crossbows which could fire a bolt as lethal as a bullet if aimed true, a clutter of knives and ornate spears.
Pathetic things to set against machine rifles, but those rifles could change hands.
And the plan was simple.
Roland to break shortly and gain height. To lift and ride high as he headed directly towards the camp. There he would land and make a noise, demanding to see Gydapen, asking questions, worried about Lavinia and her continued absence. The men with him, even though crudely armed, would be a problem and would need to be handled with caution unless Gydapen was ready to make his move.
Lavinia would come in from the direction of the firing range, dropping as close to a small party of armed men as she could, using her authority to demand a momentary obedience, a chance to overpower them, disarm them, to move in with the captured weapons.
Dumarest would work alone.