Norton, Andre - Brother To Shadows

The Zacathan had come to stand directly before Jofre and now the long taloned fingers of the lizard man moved slightly. Jofre tensed and then, with all his will, relaxed. He did not know where Zurzal had learned the finger speech of the Brothers and indeed his messages had been somewhat clumsily delivered, but they were forceful enough. The two of them were under surveillance, perhaps, Jofre thought, by both eye and ear.

"We have something of a voyage before us," Zurzal continued speaking, though his fingers twitched in a different pattern. "They are transporting us directly to Tssek. It is the Holder's desire to use the scanner to produce a viewing on the fiftieth anniversary of that event, the passing of the leadership long held by the Illustrious Fer s'Rang to himself. I am to employ my time en route to making sure that the results will be just as he wishes."

Watch, wait, listen, look, those fingers spelled out, the orders given to any spy about to be planted in an enemy lord's holding.

"I am at command, Learned One," Jofre found his voice which sounded unusually harsh in his own ears. "What aid I can offer is yours."

"Well enough. Now," Zurzal went to the wall and pushed some buttons, "we shall see you fed. The stass leaves a man weak. Then—well, I have notes to be studied and perhaps a few experiments to run. Some will not require training and your aid will be of assistance."

A tray had come in answer to the Zacathan's order and he carried it, burdened with sealed containers, over to place on Jofre's lap.

"Eat—ship's rations, of course, but they are palatable and nourishing."

There was a drift of mist-thin weaving lying across the backed seat in the woman's cabin. She plucked up a fold of it between thumb and forefinger to eye critically. This was of fabulous worth, twice-woven spider silk—the cost more than even a Lair Master could raise. The color was strange—or perhaps one might say unfixed, for, though the basic shade might be a very pale green, as the folds rippled there were rainbow flashes along each edge, patches which glowed and faded with every move of the length.

Her own personal taste was for richer, deeper colors, but training, severe and critical, had taught her to suit her robing to the demands of her mission. Such stuff as this was truly the gift of a world ruler and when the time came she must show it off to the very best advantage, both of the gift and of she who had the wearing of it.

No jewels—except the moryen fire stones for a simple girdle to refrain the fluttering stuff so that it might outline her body, bracelets of the same to make certain the eye was led to the delicacy of her wrists, the slender beauty of her hands. She would not use the cheek lacquer overlay; rather a moryen fastened between the near-meeting arch of her brows—she considered her choices and made up her mind. Then, deftly, she refolded the robe, which seemed to cling to her hands as if it did not want to be laid aside, before seating herself and lifting her eyes to the expanse of the wall.

The metal casing of the ship's cabin was not starkly plain here, rather there was a heavy scroll of pattern which was gem-brilliant in places. Her lip curled a little. Much as she inwardly rejoiced in color she found this display too ornate, lacking in taste. But it was not the patterning which she was viewing, rather she searched for a point which days earlier she had discovered, a water stone, into the blue-green depths of which she could channel her thoughts to outreach—

There was no true reading of the minds about her. To her knowledge barriers had never been pierced to that extent. Body language she was well versed in and she could pick up emotions, especially when they reached a certain intensity. However, that ability had served her well and she applied herself to it whenever she could be sure of privacy and quiet.

They were very satisfied with themselves, these Tssekians. So long had they held power that they had forgotten the useful curb of a little self-doubt. Certainly they were very apt to underestimate what they did not fully understand—a fault which might be safely used if the necessity arose. This one who named himself Horde Commander—her dealings had been with him and he was as clear to her as a cup of springwater from the Neeserdene heights.

There was the ghost of a smile about her lips as she considered the matter of Sopt s'Qu. Any issha-trained woman could have controlled him in three meetings, maybe less. She knew him for what he was, but she was after much bigger game.

There—that was this Sopt s'Qu; she caught a touch of his vast conceit, which was like a whiff of smoke in the air. Yes, he was very pleased with himself, swollen with success—too swollen. She considered that quickly. He was pleased with more than just her presence—the thought that he had in her a new toy for his master—he had achieved something else.

Her fingers moved. What else had he on board, or knew, or would receive in the future, to move him to such a fatuous belief in his own rise in the world?

She could not leave this cabin. It had been made plain to her that her presence on board this ship was not to be generally known. And she had accepted that, knowing that privacy would give her time to build her inner strengths for what would come. But now she wanted some touch with the ship world, to learn what was happening outside the walls of her own luxuriously furnished cabin. To perform, any issha must have all the information possible.

The only contact through which she might learn was Sopt s'Qu. So be it. She concentrated her gaze on that spot of sea-bright green on the wall and unwound her will to spin it as an intangible noose to summon the Horde Commander.

And the faint chime of the cabin bell came soon enough. She spoke only one word to loosen the inner locking:

"Enter."

Then as the Horde Commander strutted within, his bright eyes sweeping her up and down, she made a graceful obeisance, her own eyes lowered submissively, her attitude one of gentle waiting on his will.

"You have all you wish, Gentlefem?" Almost he spoke a little uncertainly as if he were not sure why he had come.

"You have given me of the best, Horde Commander." She made a small gesture to encompass the cabin and all that was in it. "I have specially to thank you for the tapes." One slender finger pointed to a small pile of discs. "It was most thoughtful to provide me with such information concerning your world—and your Illustrious Leader."

"What do you think of Tssek then, Gentlefem?"

"That it has very much to offer in every way," she returned promptly. "I think fortune smiled on the day we met, Horde Commander. You have shown me a very bright future."

Without being asked he settled himself in the second chair near that part of the wall which held the stone she held in focus. In her there was a prick of anger. He was making very plain what he thought of her. And she must make no move to destroy his summation of her character— the varl toad!

"So you like what you have seen on these." He indicated the discs. "Ah, Gentlefem, how much more will you like it in reality! And the Holder will indeed make you free of a very pleasant world. He can be very generous—when he is pleased."

She allowed herself a slight lift of eyebrows. "And you think that he will be pleased?"

"By you? He would have to be man without a man's body not to admire you, Gentlefem. Also we bring him not only your peerless self, but also the lock he can place on his future."

"You speak in riddles." She must be very wary, but also she must learn what she could.