Джеффри Лорд - Return To Kaldak

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 passed 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 bitch.'»

«Big bitch?» 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 gods 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 assassins' sentries? And who was the «big bitch»? Bekror knew, at least, or thought he knew. If he didn't, Blade was no judge of faces or voices!