Terry had moved around to the other side after separating from Brazil and had gone up a tree well distant from her own quarry. She moved with silent precision, using the night sense to see the links whereby she could get from one tree to the other and finally to the one next to the tent. The thing glowed brightly in her night sense, a sickly red like dried blood against the glowing tan of the tree. The outline was clear and now familiar to her: one of those scorpionlike creatures, its long, curved tail poised and practically screaming instant death to her.
She was right above it now, and for the first time she wasn’t sure what to do. She sensed that Nathan was about to pounce on the other one; whatever it was had to be done fast. If only she had a better angle . . . Nothing she could do would work unless she actually touched the loathsome thing!
At that moment Brazil moved, and from up the path there was a scream that she knew was not his. The creature was suddenly alert, then turned toward the direction of the sounds. At that moment, fidgeting, the deadly tail was pointed straight down, the curve right below her. Timing, of course, was everything, but there was no chance for anything else but direct force and a prayer that it would work.
She jumped feet first and struck the tail at its midcurve. The tail went forward and punctured the thick exoskeleton of the creature, who roared even as they both fell from the tree and onto the tent below.
She landed right next to the thing and gave a panicked cry as the poison-tipped tail flailed up and down in random directions. She rolled away just in time for it to miss her, but it was a near thing. She was entangled in the collapsed tent with the creature when it again struck within a hair’s breadth of her arm. She reached out reflexively and shoved it, at the same time sending her own fear and panic.
The creature managed to right itself but seemingly forgot about her. It leapt a good ten feet, landing on its feet, and began running on all six of its legs away toward the port, emitting an eerie, piercing sirenlike scream as it did so.
She had no idea where it went, and she didn’t care. She knew it was gone, and she felt that Nathan was all right as well.
Brazil was torn between his captive and his clear perception of her fright and panic. He turned slightly, distracted by the feelings he was receiving from her, and the would-be sniper took it as an opening, running into the man and knocking him down, sending the rifle into the grass. The creature didn’t look for it or go at Brazil, though; instead, it ran at top speed away into the darkness.
Brazil got up quickly and looked around, but the assassin was gone. “Damn!” he swore aloud. “Damn! Damn! Damn!” He looked around for the rifle, certain that the creature hadn’t retrieved it, and found it in about thirty seconds. The girl no longer worried him; he knew without even checking that she was safe and that the other assailant, too, had fled.
Instead, he walked back down to what remained of the camp, looking at the rifle, noting only now what had caused him to know that an ambush awaited.
The two embedded electric streetlights along the fountain path were out. Either put out or shot out, most likely.
He found Terry shaken but unharmed. She might have a bruise or two, and she had a couple of scratches where she’d fallen into the tent, but it didn’t appear to be anything serious.
He smiled, winked at her, and kissed her, then turned his attention to the rifle. It was a damned good one, too. Expensive. But the previous owner was no pro; a pro would never have taken up that exposed position or allowed anyone to get that close. Similarly, the Ecundo, for that was what the scorpionlike creature had been, had acted less like an assassin than like some ship’s crewman hard up for some spare cash and recruited on the spot for an “easy” job. Again, no matter what her own abilities, she shouldn’t have been able to get close enough to nail him without his hearing, and he certainly should have nailed her with that stinger when they fell. These were amateurs. Amateurs hired by somebody with money and sources of illegal weapons.
They’d just survived a crude attempt by amateurs at a paid “hit.”
“Now what the hell . . . ?” he mused, staring at the rifle. Who would want him dead badly enough to hire toughs to do it? Who would be dumb enough to think they could kill him? Yet if they didn’t know who he really was and what that meant, why bother? The Ambreza? Hardly. They could have snared him a lot easier a thousand times and with far less mess. He’d been only in Ambreza and briefly in Glathriel, and certainly the latter was out as a suspect. The only one who knew both who he was and where he might be would be Mavra Chang.
But this wasn’t her style. Remote-control hits by amateurs? And she of all people would know that he couldn’t be taken out any more than she could. But who else could it be?
Damn it, Mavra was as much if not more of an enigma to him than the girl was. If it was Mavra, what might be the motive? To slow him up, perhaps, now that he was on the move? A real possibility. But the worst possibility was one he didn’t want to think about.
That somebody here, somewhere, knew who and what he was and was bent on stopping him at all cost, a third player whose very race and motives were unknown.
He looked at the ruins of the camp and sighed. Then he went over to find his clothes and get dressed again. She might not mind, but it was damned chilly for him.
There wouldn’t be much sleep tonight, after all, even with all that had happened. Tomorrow morning the ship would sail, and they would be on it. Plenty of time to sleep then. Or, at least, if there was another attacker aboard, they couldn’t run away like these two and he might get answers to some questions.
It was the story of his life, he decided. Every nice turn was met with an unexpected plunge into something nasty.
Erdom
LORI HAD BEEN WITH POSIPHAR LONG ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND the bargaining game, and it was a good thing, too, since the tentmaker wasn’t offering a very good deal on getting Julian off his hands in spite of his professed disgust with her.
“Since the treatment has begun as the Holy One directed, she is coming along very well,” Aswam argued. “In a few more months, with the herbs the monk gave us to add to her food and drink, she will have forgotten all this foolishness and become a good girl and bear many fine children.”
Lori did find this particular scale of bargaining distasteful, though; it seemed too much like haggling over a sale price, and in this case the commodity was a woman reduced to the status of a brood mare. Still, the addition of drugs—”herbs”—to Julian’s food explained a lot as well about her mood swings and collapse of will.
“And you are arguing that I should repay you for your losses to date, when you are telling me that she is as she is now only because of herbs? And other than your loss of use of the storage shed, how much has she cost you so far above what dowry you were paid for her? How much for those herbs and all the special attention?”
“My investment is considerable now. That is why I will not give her away!”
“Ah! But you said it would still be months, perhaps many months, before it ran its course and you had the girl you wanted. Perhaps it will be months. Perhaps it will be longer. And can you ever be certain that what you see is real, is not an act? Will you ever be able to trust her fully? Or will your wives and daughters always be preoccupied watching her, so that they can never concentrate on their duties? It seems to me that you are boasting of doubling your costs in a fifty-fifty chance that she might work out. Right now, thanks to the dowry, your losses are small, but now that dowry is gone and all the costs are on you. Is yet one more wife worth that much to you?”
They argued back and forth, and for a little while Lori was afraid that Aswam might well not budge too much beyond a “Take her and go,” blaming Lori for Julian’s newfound resolve.
Lori had fought so hard just to get the tentmaker to this point that he feared pressing the matter might lose everything. Still, there was just some feeling inside, some gut instinct, that the old man really didn’t want Julian anymore. Lori wondered if he had the right to bargain beyond this point, considering that it was Julian’s future, not his, that was at stake, but something inside made it impossible to stop. He did, however, decide to bring down the hammer.
Lori got up from the cushion and looked down at the still-reclining tentmaker. “I cannot accept the dishonor of a wife with no dowry,” he said flatly. “If she is not worthy of it and I am not worthy of the respect, then there is nothing more to say.” He turned, feeling uneasy and queasy as hell about what he was doing, and started for the exit from the great tent.
He actually thought the old bastard was going to let him go, but just as he reached the curtained doorway and made to push back the drape and leave, Aswam called, “Now, wait a minute! Perhaps something can be arranged, young hothead.”
Lori smiled and felt immense relief, then set his face in a very serious posture before turning and coming back to the old man. From this point the haggling would be over how much the tentmaker would pay, not the other way around.
The final price was not nearly as much as Lori had hoped for as a stake, but he just didn’t have the heart or stomach to press it anymore. He kept thinking that if Julian had known what he’d done, she’d have killed him. In fact, if the old Lori Ann Sutton had seen this, she would have organized protests.
Once agreed, a marriage contract of sorts was drawn up, and then Lori had to go and see the village Holy One.
The monks of the hierarchy of the church looked and sounded quite odd. All males, castrated while still children, they tended to be small and wizened, with weak sopranolike voices, without hair or horn. Only the eyes showed that there was a lot more going on in the head than their appearance indicated.
“I must confess that I am not wholly in favor of this union,” the monk told him. “The role of females in this society is quite tightly prescribed, and no matter why the gods have chosen to put that person in that body, it was their holy will that it be so, just as it was for you. You were a step beyond her in your spiritual development, hence you were reborn male, and she was a step behind. In a sense, both of you were given a great gift. Few may be spiritually reevaluated while still alive. You were promoted, Julian was demoted one step, as it were. The proof of the lightness of it is how well you have adapted under a mental and cultural burden the rest of us do not have to share. That is why Julian is having so many problems with it; it is always more difficult to go down than up. I know the argument for the randomness of the Well process, but we reject it. There is a reason for all that happens. Randomness is an illusion. I fear that the joining of the two of you might well undermine that process.”
Lori remembered Julian’s warning that this monk was both devious and dangerous. Maybe they all were. Playing god and meddler on some level was the only thing they had.
“Are you telling me then, Holy One, that you will not allow it?”
“I am of two minds on it. On the one hand, there must be a reason why, out of 780 racial possibilities for each of you, both of you were reborn Erdomese and have come together in this way. On the other hand, since Julian will tend to cling to her old self more in your constant company, by allowing it I might jeopardize her immortal soul.” He sighed and thought a moment. “There is a possible compromise position here.”
“Yes?”
“First, what are your plans afterward?”
“Um, well, I am weary of being a needless guard for an old trader. I need more of a challenge. I had thought to travel to Aqomb and find tutors to teach me the full written language of Erdom. Once I am reasonably proficient, I hope to gain a position in the civil service there.”
The monk nodded, pleased with the answer. “Very well. Here is what I will do, then. I will marry the two of you, but on the official papers I will place conditions. First, you must swear to me on your honor that you will continue with the herbal additives until they are gone. This is not just a religious requirement; to discontinue them now might well cause her to become very ill and cause permanent mental and emotional problems. Do not believe that I say this just to make you do it. I swear upon the Holy of Holies that what I tell you is true.”
She didn’t like it, but there was nothing she could do about it for now. “All right, I swear it. But I must know what they are.”
“They are simply aids. In layman’s terms, they help her mind and body become one and her behavior to be consistent with Erdomese culture.”
“And in nonlayman’s terms? I was once a scientist.”
The monk gave a thin smile. “In technical parlance, they are natural psychochemical blockers and facilitators of attaining desired hormonal balances. One, for example, is a hybrid of two herbs used for countless generations as aphrodisiacs. Over a period of time the body begins to treat the blockers and newly set hormonal levels as normal and produces them naturally as needed. Once that happens, the drugs have no further effect and can be discontinued. In midtreatment, however, the body’s balances are quite disturbed and discontinuance can produce what anyone might call insanity. The pharmacology is quite complex, actually. To go into more detail would involve going through the Pharmacopoeia, and you cannot at the moment read it.”
She was startled by this sudden rather sophisticated science and immediately saw what Julian meant when she said that this guy was no fool.
“I accept what you say. The problem I have is, what is it doing to her mind?”
“You won’t notice any changes from the way she is now so long as you continue them. The bottom line is that she won’t want to kill herself, and she will be accepting of her role.”
“Okay, that’s one condition. You said several.”
“Yes. When you reach Aqomb, you must check in and present the papers to the Holy Office there. They will monitor your compliance and her progress.”
“Very well.”