Lamarchos (25 page)

“You don't need me to tell you she's mad.”

“Hunh. What do you say, black serpent?”

“She lies.” Maissa's voice was suddenly cool and controlled. She smiled sweetly, sat up, and brushed the fragments of rotted weed from her shoulders. “She's barren and sought to take my child from me. I was afraid of her and ran.”

“It happens. How do you answer her, gikena?”

“The child is mine.” She glared at Maissa. “I doubt if she's ever had one.”

“If I decide in your favor, small one, what do you want done with gikena?”

“Kill her. She's dangerous alive.” Maissa smiled at him, then pulled her hands down over her small shapely body, invitation rank in her eyes and posture.

“And if I should decide for you, gikena?”

Aleytys glanced from him to Maissa and back. “Give her to me she's my servant. Let her serve.”

“If she should kill you, what are her services worth?”

“She wouldn't dare. I'm not easily killed, master.” She projected scorn at him. “Nor do I give my trust easily after betrayal.”

“Come here.”

Aleytys stepped closer to him, straining to ignore the rich aroma of urine, sweat, and years of accumulated filth billowing out from his gross body.

“Closer.”

She crawled up onto the leather and knelt beside him.

One meaty hand closed on her shoulder, pulling her up against him. He bent over her, taking her nipple in his mouth. His tongue licked over the tip briefly, the he began sucking the milk from her breast.

Aleytyts closed her eyes, struggling to contain her disgust.

He tongued her breast again, nuzzled the other a minute, then pushed her down on the bed with a quick shove. “Dward, your dugs are dry as a well in drought while this one is heavy with milk. The child is hers.” He closed his eyes and let his hand wander down to touch himself, a smile growing on his face. Aleytys glanced at him then swallowed a newgrown lump in her throat. She began shaking as apprehension chilled her.

Still fondling himself, lids hooded over his strange eyes, the master said slowly, “Take that dwarf out, tie her so she can't leave the black wagon. Take the baby also. Put it back in the caravan. The rest of you get out. Not you, woman.” He closed his hand over Aleytys' shoulder.

Blood trickling down her legs, Maissa found strength enough to turn and smile maliciously at Aleytys before she ducked through the arch. Aleytys could hear her laughing shrilly as the guards prodded her along.

Aleytys tried to push the huge hands off her. “I'm gikena. No.”

Breath whistling hoarsely, hands trembling, face furiously intent, he ignored her protest and drew her onto his lap.

Chapter VI

Aleytys slid off the stained leather and stood staring down at the gross bulk of the master as he lay deep in satiated slumber, handsome mouth dropping slackly open, lips vibrating to the hog snores that shook his jowls.

Should I kill him now? It would be easy and oh, my god, I would like to do it. She looked around the malodorous blood-warm interior of the tent, more like a womb than a place where a grown man lived. No weapons in here. They made sure of that. She spread her hands out and smiled down at them. Except these. She closed her fingers into fists and opened them again. No, with the diadem to help her, she could not be disarmed.

She sighed. No. It's too soon. I don't know enough about these people. Loahn said they change when they enter the lakelands. Like the master is the brain and they're the fingers of his hand. He's dying … why …? She shook her head … no … besides, I haven't got my bolt hole set yet. No use going through all this to get myself killed. And Sharl. Oh god, Sharl. No.

A waterskin hung from one of the ribs. She unhooked it and splashed the water over her soiled and aching body. Rape, she thought. He didn't care what I was feeling. A hole. That's all I was. She shivered. Then glared angrily at the master. Gritting her teeth, she splashed more water between her thighs, trying to wash away the humiliation. I won't feel clean again until I soak a week in a hot bath.

She tugged the batik from under the master's huge leg, not caring whether she awakened him or not. After shaking out the damp crumpled folds she wound it around her waist then kicked through the debris until she found the twisted brooch where the master had flung it. Holding the cloth around her with an elbow she struggled with the silver wires, straightening the brooch as best she could. With an exasperated sigh she shoved the pin through the material and slipped the point under the guard. When she turned, the master's eyes were open, glowing palely in the dim light. Grunting, he pushed himself upright.

Aleytys dropped on the heap of leather and stared at him. “What do you get out of that? Poking yourself in me.”

He looked surprised. “I don't understand.”

“I could be any woman.”

He shrugged. “To arouse, no. After that …” He spread out his hands. “A woman is a woman.”

“It doesn't matter what I feel?”

“A woman is a woman.”

“I see. Nothing to bother about.”

He nodded, pleased to find her so reasonable. For a minute Aleytys felt like throwing caution away and attacking him now, gross lump of conceit, then she caught her breath. “Why do you go into lakelands?”

He pursed his lips, moved them slowly from side to side. After a strained silence he decided to answer her. “It's time to make a new master.”

“Because you're dying?”

He winced. “You're blunt, woman. Never mind. Yes. Because I die.”

“I heal. You saw. Why not let me heal you?”

His face grew grim and cold. “There are things you don't understand, woman.”

“Many things.” She nodded in quiet agreement. “But …”

“I'm tired, woman. I die because I'm tired of living, tired to my soul of being what I am.”

Chapter VII

Maissa growled deep in her throat as Aleytys pushed the curtains aside and stepped into her caravan. Ignoring her, Aleytys walked quietly to the drawer where Sharl lay whimpering fretfully. She lifted him down on the bed where he lay kicking his feet and whining his discomfort. She splashed water into a basin, removed his soiled diaper and bathed his dirty body, healing the small bruises and abrasions while she cleaned him. At the remembered touch Sharl stopped his uncertain wailing and reached for her with waving clumsy hands. Then he began to howl in earnest as certainty returned to his world and hunger demanded satisfaction. Aleytys tickled his stomach, laughing herself as his face reddened with wrath; she pinned on a clean diaper and lifted him to her breast. As he sucked eagerly at the breast, small fists kneading her soft flesh, Aleytys climbed onto the bunk and sat facing Maissa.

“Well. That was stupid.”

Maissa pulled at the leather thongs binding her wrists. Animal eyes, shallow and mindless, flickered over Aleytys and then away, conceding nothing.

“You see where you got us. I have my baby back in spite of you. Soon, I'll be getting both of us free from these savages. However, as you well know …” She chuckled, smoothing her hands gently, possessively over Sharl's back. “As you well know, as you are counting on now, we need you to get us off this world. But I'm taking no more chances with you, my friend. If I worked at it, I could probably figure out a way to have one of the traders take me offworld.” Maissa's eyes glared suddenly, and Aleytys chuckled. “You see. Convince me.”

Maissa shifted on the bunk, wriggling around so her back was against the wall. Intelligence crept back into her narrow face. “How?”

“Good question.” Aleytys looked down at the nursing baby; her mouth tightened. She looked up with a jerking abruptness. “You can't lie to me.”

Maissa's face sharpened until she resembled a hunting ferret. “Can't I?” She giggled.

“The tea.” Aleytys nodded. “You fooled me easily. But.…” She looked silently at Maissa, searching the unresponsive face. “I trusted you. But don't fool yourself. I have no more trust left where you're concerned, Maissa. If I lose my alertness when you're around, then I deserve what I get. You can't lie to me, not when I'm watching for it.”

Maissa shrugged “So?”

Aleytys lifted a sleepy Sharl across her shoulder, rubbing and patting his back to bring the air out of his stomach. “Stavver says you keep the letter of your word if not the spirit. Dredge up your sincerity, Maissa. Make me believe you.”

The small woman met her eyes a minute then looked away sullenly. “Cut me loose.”

“Not just yet.”

“What do you want?”

“Your word you'll do no more harm to us. Me. Stavver. Sharl. Your word you'll do what I tell you with no argument. That's only sensible, by the way. I know a lot more than you about our present situation.”

“When I'm on my ship I don't take orders from anyone.”

“I wouldn't be stupid enough to give any. What do I know about starships? Will you swear?”

“Since I keep to the letter, as you say, what do I swear to?”

“Think.” Aleytys settled Sharl back in his drawer. When she straightened, she said quietly. “Mean what you say or I'll know.”

“What?” Maissa snapped. She thrust her bound wrists forward. “Do I have to stay like this?” When Aleytys ignored her, she let her arms fall into her lap. “Do you expect me to love you, witch?”

“No. Simply mean what you promise and stick to it. First, this. You won't leave us on this world. Sharl, Stavver, and me.”

“What if I get to the ship alone?”

“You wait there until we show up. No time limit. Just wait.”

Maissa licked her lips. She sat staring at Aleytys with blank dreaming eyes. Then she nodded. “I'll wait. Not that I expect to have to.”

“Right.” Aleytys closed her eyes and sought the emotion behind the words. Then she looked at Maissa, surprised. “No reservations?”

“You tell me.”

“I wonder why. Never mind. Second, this. You will in no way, and I mean NO way, bring harm to Stavver, Sharl, or me before we get to the ship.”

“You don't want much, do you.” Maissa laughed. “I swear.”

“No reservations again. You make me uneasy, woman.”

“Do I lie?”

“No. But it puzzles me.”

“Exercise for your marvelous brain, witch.”

“Third, this. You will deliver Stavver, Sharl, and me to any world he names, without argument, trick or other treachery.”

Maissa tipped her head forward, hiding her face behind her masses of blue-black hair. Then she tossed the hair back, a crooked smile on her small face. “All right. I swear.”

Aleytys slid off the bunk. “You mean these things. But I sense there's something I've missed. I'll keep thinking and poking at this, that I promise you. Hold your hands out. I haven't anything to cut with, so I'll have to work on the knots. It'll take a while.”

Chapter VIII

The bands of color were contracting into towers as the sun rested on the eastern horizon, painting the air vermillion. On the master's wagon the guards hacked away at the entrance to the tent, enlarging it so he could come out. Near the edge of the huge wagon behind the hedge of swords six men sat with tall drums clutched between their knees.

“What's happening?”

Aleytys turned when she heard Maissa's voice. The small woman stood just behind the bench, hands resting on the top slat.

“Getting ready for some kind of ceremony, it looks like. That's the road into the lakelands just ahead there.”

Maissa fidgeted about, her fingernails scraping repeatedly across the weathered surface of the wood. “I know that. Look around. All the wagons driven back. Somewhere. Except ours. That makes me nervous, witch.” She laughed suddenly, eyes gleaming with malice. “You should know, you're close enough to that monster.”

Aleytys shuddered. “Don't remind me.” She watched the wagon in frowning silence. Five boys scrambled up the ladder herded by a pair of sober-faced guards. They stopped before the mangled entrance to the tent and formed up into a ragged line.

As the last tip of the sun slipped away the master emerged, dipping through the broken arch to stand blinking in the misty twilight, his white curls glowing like a halo around his grotesque head. He nodded briefly to the line of boys as he walked past them. While he eased himself down on a leather mound, the boys moved in a wobbly line to sit on the wagon floor in front of him, facing outward, legs folded into full lotus, hands resting on knees.

“The making of a master,” Aleytys muttered. “It begins.”

“What?”

“Hush. I'll tell you later.”

The master's wagon was drawn up on the summit of a low rise with the caravan parked close on the sundown side. The thousands of beings in the horde stood packed in a wedge-shaped mass that began at the foot of the rise and continued on up to the rim of the three hillocks beyond. The standers were silent, so still they were like a forest of statues. Waiting—there was a tension in the air—waiting.

With a great burst of sound the drums began beating. At first they throbbed wildly with no perceptible commonality, then, slowly, out of the chaos of sound, a thrumming double beat rose triumphant.

Aleytys heard a low murmur, a whispering wordless sound that fluttered across the crowd. Behind her she heard a faint echo. When she looked back Maissa was staring glassily at the master, moaning very very softly in a cadenced whisper that matched the double beat of the drums. Aleytys swallowed, closed her eyes and pressed her hands tight against them, then forced herself to watch, locked into watching by the pressing need for knowledge.

The master bent slowly forward, planting his elbows on his knees. He lowered his massive head onto his hands. The chant intensified, merging with the beat-beat of the drum.

The shaman came from the tent to stand erect beside the master, his head barely reaching the top of the meaty shoulder. He crossed his arms over his skinny chest and looked around, an absurd little figure with a clattering kilt made from strips of leather threaded through small polished skulls that danced about and clicked mightily whenever he moved.