Poul Anderson - The People of the Wind

Tabitha’s house stood open. She must have heard his footsteps and breath, for she came to the door. “Hullo,” she called. “You found her?… Hoy!” She ran. He supposed once he would have appreciated the sight “She okay?”

“No.” He plodded inside. The coolness and shade belonged to a different planet.

Tabitha padded after. “This way,” she suggested. “My bed.”

“No!” Arinnian stopped. He would have shrugged if he weren’t burdened. “Why not?”

Eyath lay down, one wing folded under her, the other spread wide so the pinions trailed onto the floor. The nictitating membranes made her appear blind. “Thank you.” She could barely be heard.

“What happened?” Tabitha bent to see. The odor that a male Ythrian could catch across kilometers reached her, “Oh.” She straightened. Her jaw set. “Yeh.”

Arinnian sought the bathroom, drank glass after glass of cold water, showered beneath the iciest of the needle-spray settings. That and a stimpill brought him back to alertness. Meanwhile Tabitha went in and out, fetching supplies for Eyath’s care.

When they were both finished, they met in the living room. She put her lips close to his ear — he felt the tiny puffs of her words — to say very low: “I gave her a sedative. She’ll be asleep in a few minutes.”

“Good,” he answered out of his hatred. “Where’s Draun?”

Tabitha stepped back. The green gaze widened. “Why?”

“Can’t you guess? Where is he?”

“Why do you want Draun?”

“To kill him.”

You won’t!” she cried. “Chris, if it was him, they couldn’t help themselves. Neither could. You know that. Shock and grief brought on premature ovulation, and then he chanced by—”

“He didn’t chance by, that slime,” Arinnian said. “Or if he did, he could’ve veered off from the first faint whiff he got, like any decent male. He most certainly didn’t have to brutalize her. Where is he?”

Tabitha moved sidewise, in front of the phone. She had gone paler than when Draun mocked her. He shoved her out of his way. She resisted a moment, but while she was strong, she couldn’t match him.

“At home, you’ve guessed,” Arinnian said. “A bunch of friends to hand, armed.”

“To keep you from trying anything reckless, surely, surely,” Tabitha pleaded. “Chris, we’ve a war. He’s too important in the guard. We — If Phil were here you’d never — Must I go after a gun?”

He sat down. “Your stud couldn’t prevent me calling from a different place,” he snapped. She recoiled. “Nor could your silly gun. Be quiet.”

He knew the number and stabbed it out. The screen came to life: Draun and, yes, a couple more in the background, blasters at their sides. The Ythrian spoke at once: “I expected this. Will you hear me? Done’s done, and no harm in it. Choth law says not, in cases like this, save that a gild may be asked for wounded pride and any child must be provided for. There’ll hardly be a brat, from this early in her season, and as for pride, she enjoyed herself.” He grinned and stared past the man. “Didn’t you, pretty-tail?”

Arinnian craned his neck around. Eyath staggered from the bedroom. Her eyes were fully open but glazed by the drug which had her already half unconscious. Her arms reached toward the image in the screen. “Yes. Come,” she croaked. “No. Help me, Arinnian. Help.”

He couldn’t move. It was Tabitha who went to her and led her back out of sight.

“You see?” Draun said. “No harm. Why, you humans can force your females, and often do, I’ve heard. I’m not built for that. Anyhow, what’s one bit of other folk’s sport to you, alongside your hundred or more each year?”

Arinnian had kept down his vomit. It left a burning in his gullet. His words fell dull and, in his ears, remote, though every remaining sense had become preternaturally sharp. “I saw her condition.”

“Well, maybe I did get a bit excited. Your fault, really, you humans. We Ythrians watch your ways and begin to wonder. You grip my meaning? All right, I’ll offer gild for any injuries, as certified by a medic. I’ll even discuss a possible pride-payment, with her parents, that is. Are you satisfied?”

“No.”

Draun bristled his crest a little. “You’d better be. By law and custom, you’ve no further rights in the matter.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Arinnian said.

“What? Wait a wingbeat! Murder—”

“Duel. We’ve witnesses here. I challenge you.”

“You’ve no cause, I say!”

Arinnian could shrug, this time. “Then you challenge me.”

“What for?”

The man sighed. “Need we plod through the formalities? Let me see, what deadly insults would fit? The vulgarism about what I can do when flying above you? No, too much a cliché. I’m practically compelled to present a simple factual description of your character, Draun. Thereto I will add that Highsky Choth is a clot of dung, since it contains such a maggot.”

“Enough,” the Ythrian said, just as quietly though his feathers stood up and his wings shuddered. “You are challenged. Before my gods, your gods, the memory of all our forebears and the hope of all our descent, I, Draun of Highsky, put you, Christopher Holm, called Arinnian of Stormgate, upon your deathpride to meet me in combat from which no more than one shall go alive. In the presence and honor of these witnesses whom I name—”

Tabitha came from behind. By force and surprise, she hauled Arinnian off his chair. He fell to the floor, bounced erect, and found her between him and the screen. Her left hand fended him off, her right was held as if likewise to keep away his enemy, her partner.

“Are you both insane?” she nearly screamed.

“The words have been uttered.” Draun peeled his fangs. “Unless he beg grace of me.”

“I would not accept a plea for grace from him,” Arinnian said.

She stood panting, swinging her head from each to each. The tears poured down her face; she didn’t appear to notice. After some seconds her arms dropped, her neck drooped.

“Will you hear me, then?” she asked hoarsely. They held still. Arinnian had begun to tremble under a skin turning cold. Tabitha’s fists closed where they hung. “It’s not to your honor that you let th-th-those persons your choths… Avalon… needs… be killed or, or crippled. Wait till war’s end. I challenge you to do that.”

“Well, aye, if I needn’t meet nor talk to the Walker,” Draun agreed reluctantly.

“If you mean we must cooperate as before,” Arinnian said to Tabitha, “you’ll have to be our go-between.”

“How can she?” Draun jeered. “After the way you bespoke her choth.”

“I think I can, somehow,” Hrill sighed.

She stood back. The formula was completed. The screen blanked.

Strength poured from Arinnian. He turned to the girl and said, contrite, “I didn’t mean that last. Of you I beg grace, to you I offer gild.”

She didn’t look his way, but sought the door and stared outward. Toward her lover, he thought vaguely. I’ll find a tree to rest beneath till Eyath rouses and I can transport her to the flitter.

A crash rolled down the mountainside and rattled the windows. Tabitha grew rigid. The noise toned away, more and more faint as the thunderbolt fled upward. She ran into the court “Phil!” she shouted. Ah, Arinnian thought Indeed. The next betrayal.

“At ease, Lieutenant. Sit down.”

The dark, good-looking young man stayed tense in the chair. Juan Cajal dropped gaze back to desk and rattled the papers in his hands. Silence brimmed his office cabin. Valenderay swung in orbit around Pax at a distance which made that sun no more than the brightest of the stars, whose glare curtained Esperance where Luisa waited.