Norton, Andre - Brother To Shadows

Jofre flushed, 'it is no real wounding," he muttered. "I failed you once—when they took us—did you expect me to fault every time?"

"I cannot see there was any failure. You fronted a weapon you knew nothing about, were caught by something which could well have caused your death. You are a very tough fighting man, oathed, to have survived stass holding as well as you did. The issha are certainly highly regarded, I know, but I was not aware they had ribs like tillenium to keep them breathing—"

Jofre had pulled on shirt and tunic and was being careful with his girdle, holding as it did both the Makwire and the talisman. But not careful enough, for the ovoid slipped out of hiding, struck on the floor and landed near the Zacathan's feet.

JOFRE SWOOPED FORWARD BUT HE WAS A FRACTION late; Zurzal had already half stooped to eye the artifact more closely. Against the light shade of the carpet it presented the appearance of a giant drop of some unknown liquid frozen in shape.

The Zacathan put out his hand. However, when it hovered over the ovoid, he jerked it aside just as Jofre made a determined grab for it. From his stooped position Zurzal was staring up at his bodyguard with a keen measurement.

It was almost as if he were questioning the younger man's possession of such an object and Jofre responded to that sensed demand.

"Mine!" His hand closed about the stone and he felt the familiar flare of warmth in the cup of his palm.

Zurzal straightened. "Yours," his word came in agreement. Too quick an agreement? Was the Zacathan trying to placate him?

Slowly Jofre opened his hand; he had no true explanation for what he held. But if an oathed could not trust his lord, then he was indeed a man without hope or being.

"I do not know what it is—" he said slowly.

"A thing of power." There was no doubt in Zurzal's quick return. "And without a doubt very old." He was shaking his head as if to deny one of his own thoughts. "But there is no record of any Forerunner remains on Asborgan—perhaps that is from off-world—"

It was Jofre's turn to gesture denial. "It is of the assha." At the moment he was sure that all his speculation concerning his find was correct. "I found it in Qaw-en-itter— a Lair which died four generations ago. I—I am sure it was part of the great stone—the Master's assha heart—though I have never heard before of any such retaining any life after the fail of assha—"

"This retains life?" Zurzal's voice came quietly, hardly above a murmur.

At that moment Jofre remembered where they were— that those eyes in the walls might well be turned upon them. Rather than answer in revealing words, he hunched a little, bringing the stone up between their bodies and loosed the tight grip of his fingers. He could see that point of light at its heart—could the Zacathan? Or was it all some ancient spell set by one of the Shagga?

"Interesting—" was Zurzal's comment. "It is a luck talisman then?"

Jofre's lips tightened. Let this off-worlder dismiss his find as one of those luck pieces such as the lowlanders gave credit to—sometimes wearing them on chains about their necks. Very well, let this be thought a talisman—a superstition. He did not raise his eyes but—he sensed— this was what the Zacathan wanted—that he be lessened in the sight of any spy, a ruse. He dared to give the ovoid a toss, catch it lightly.

"Well, Learned One, I have a good measure of luck since I found it"—or, his thought added, it found me— "so I shall not deny that." He tucked it away again in the folds of his girdle. "One of my calling needs any help fortune may send."

"And we need luck that this has not been injured by our recent skirmish." The Zacathan turned back to the table where he had parked the scanner. Taking the machine from its case, he set it on the tabletop and then crouched down so that he could view it at eye level from a number of angles.

Jofre watched with interest, though he understood little of what was going on as the Zacathan's one good hand touched here and there, his large eyes squinting along the surface as if he were bringing to bear on some target one of the large weapons of the Tssekians. At length he settled back on his heels.

"As far as I can say without actual testing, it has not suffered. As for testing—" Now he stood up and laid the scanner on its side, hooked a clawed finger at the side of a small plate there and jerked it up. Within that cavity were two coils of fine wire of a particularly vivid blue-green wound in even patterns around what would appear to be a core of another substance—that a sullen grey-black.

"Sssoooooo—" the hiss as well as the lifting and coloring neck frill of the Zacathan suggested agitation of some sort. "Power—perhaps one more viewing and then it must be recharged. We have no chance to experiment."

"When is this viewing these Tssekians want? Can they provide the power you need?" Jofre wanted to know.

"The viewing is within two days. As to the other—I shall find out." He shut that pocket in the side of the scanner. "That was folly, errant folly," he hissed again, "to waste what I had on that peep show this morning!"

"I do not think you could have said 'no,' " Jofre observed. "This Holder is not one to have his wishes denied. And— it worked! You proved that, did you not?"

"Worked? Raised some shadows and near got itself—and us—fried. I can do without such examples of its proficiency," snapped the Zacathan. "What is done is past— there is what lies ahead. At least they can give us a proper dating this time and not too far in the past."

Jofre noted that "us" the Zacathan used so easily. It was as if he had suddenly advanced from a mere oathed to an accepted kin sworn. And that brought a quick touch of warmth within even as the assha stone had given him in the past.

Taynad turned the thread-slender stem of her wineglass between two fingers. Her lips smiled provocatively as her thoughts raced. The Holder's performance this morning— the man was afraid for his precious skin! This—this weld-worm was what she must court with all her skill, soothe into contentment, encase in feeling that all was right with his world and there was no need for fear. She could have spat the wine she had just taken into her mouth into his face! No, control, control that contempt, make of it a weapon.

At least she had had a chance to learn much these past hours. Now as soon as she could get this booby occupied with all the various acts to make sure of his continued safety she must start piecing together her scraps of true knowledge.

The first was, of course, that the Holder of Tssek believed himself anything but secure in his exalted position. In the past sweeps of the timekeeper since they had returned to this fortress of his she had heard orders given, raids planned, lists of suspects made—names marked for death, for imprisonment, for questionings.

There had been returning reports also. Of suspected nests of rebels which had been found deserted when the raiders moved in, of the disappearance of a number of those whose names appeared on those lists. It was as if the failure of the attack upon the Zacathan and his machine had been a signal, somehow broadcast farther than any mirror flicker or flyer message, to take cover.

And with each reported failure that man by the table had tensed the more, spoken fewer words, become more— dangerous! Yes, perhaps she had indeed misread him— even a vomink caught in the trap could flay the hand of the hunter who did not brain it in time. The orders for death were now outweighing those for imprisonment. And such summary deaths began to be listed a few at a time.