“I’d say they were people from here,” said the Marshal. “Heading south-westward, at some speed. They got warning of Your Effulgence’s intent and simply departed. From the looks of the place, I’d say it has never been more than a way-station. A camp. Unless there’s a hidden well, they have to carry water in, which means they can’t use it for protracted periods.”
“They intend to hide in the mountains,” grated His Effulgence. “I won’t have it! We’ll go after them.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said the Marshal, unthinkingly.
“Cut that man’s tongue out,” said the Shah, staring at the Marshal. “Who is he to recommend to the Effulgence of the World, the Divine Sun, the Glory of the Galaxy?”
“My apologies,” cried the Marshal, suddenly aware of acute danger as he fell to his knees. “My desire is to protect Your Effulgence from harm, and there could be harm waiting in the mountains.”
“There is truth in what he says,” murmured Ybon Saelan. “We are only trying to protect you, Great Sun. The Marshal is well known in Haven as a superb tactician. We should not dismiss his words, no matter how insolently uttered.”
“No harm waits,” said the Shah. “What harm can befall a god? Am I not a god? Do I not warm the worlds with my rays?”
“Certainly. This is true,” said Ybon, bowing deeply.
The others had sense enough to say nothing.
“If he is such a great tactician, he can no doubt foresee any danger,” murmured the Shah, with a piercing look at the Prince. “You know him. Can’t he foresee danger?”
The Prince turned his head slightly, painfully, as though something had rusted in his neck. He said unwillingly, “The Lord Paramount trusts the Marshal greatly, Effulgence.”
“Well then, so will we. We will go into the mountains, in pursuit of our prey, and the Marshal will foresee any trouble in time to warn us of it. If he does not and we come into danger, we will kill him.”
The Marshal bowed low in apparent acceptance while the Shah contented himself with sneering in his general direction.
* * *
Aufors, meantime, along with Kamakama, Awhero, and the baby, was sitting on the floor of the palace entryway, waiting to be questioned by the Aresian officer in charge, one Terceth Ygdaleson, youngest son, so the guards had said, of Ygdale Furnashson, the Chieftain of Aresia. Aufors, head bent forward between his knees, was still dizzy and bleeding from the wound at the back of his head. Still, he could hear Awhero clearly enough as she murmured to him:
“They will ask whyyou have weapons. You will say you have weapons to protect us from wild animals in southern mountains, where we are going. They will ask why we are going. You will say the Shah is angry with all malghaste, and we must flee before he returns. We did not go with others for baby was sick. Your name is Taipa, which means ‘be silent.’ You are my son and only child. Kamakama is an orphan I am fostering. The baby is not yours, or mine, just a baby I am caring for. Understand?”
Aufors nodded slightly, even the tiny motion enough to set up waves of nausea and pain. They had taken his pack and his weapon. Well, there was nothing in the pack to identify him. The weapons were ones the malghaste might have stolen from the Mahahmbi. The locator was an exotic item, but it and the glasses might have been traded for. The few items of clothing were anonymous. Other than that there were only food and water. Awhero carried food for the baby. The boy had nothing suspicious on him. He took a deep breath and concentrated on finding the pain. If he could find it, trace it to its source, he could cope with it, a trick an old warrior had taught him. “Concentrate on where it starts, and you have it trapped,” he had said. So Aufors concentrated upon the back of his head, a certain spot, perhaps as wide and long as the first joint of his thumb. All the pain was in that one spot. He had it trapped. It could not spread from that one spot . . .