The Steel of Raithskar (28 page)

“I regret the loss of my son,” he said, and had to pause for a second or two. “But in Rikardon I have found qualities Markasset lacked: steadiness, confidence, a strong feeling for what is right and the conviction to stand by it. Whatever brought him here, he awoke into a mess not of his own making. He accepted and fulfilled Markasset’s obligations.

“We cannot tell if Markasset will ever be returned to us; we must accept Rikardon in his place.” He walked over to the portrait of the sha’um, stretched up and brought down the sword of Serkajon. I realized, suddenly, what he was going to do. I would have objected if my voice had worked, but I was trying to swallow a tennis ball.

He faced me, holding the long, gleaming sword across his body. It had been recently polished.

“Rikardon, few men of our family have carried the Steel of Serkajon. It has been the tradition for father to judge son; I found Markasset lacking, a fact which did nothing to draw us together. But I must change that judgment now.” He offered me the hilt of the sword.

“Please accept from my hands not only the great sword of Serkajon, but the love and respect I would feel for Markasset, could he be here. Whatever he might have asked of me is now yours.”

There were a lot of things I wanted to say. I looked at Thanasset and I knew
he
understood. I could explain to the others later, when that tennis ball finally moved.

I gripped the hilt of the sword and lifted it from Thanasset’s hands.

I felt a strange sensation, like the jarring crawl of an electric shock, but without any pain. There was a sweep of images through my mind, so swift and varied that I felt myself reeling.

Thanasset was there, as a younger man, riding the sha’um whose portrait decorated the wall. Laughing. And Milda, too, was younger, softly sad over the death of a man she had loved.

She changed into Gra’mama Maria Constanza, who patted my hand and dried my tears over a torn book page. And there was Julie, the first time we were together—sweet and wonderful. The war marched by and there she was again, weeping in shame because she hadn’t had the strength to wait for me. I kissed her and shook her husband’s hand and walked away….

Illia was there, near me, naked, eager. Zaddorn, a boy, losing a sword trial to me. Illia was watching, Zaddorn was angry, I was laughing.

Two lives paraded through my mind and mingled. A wall had dissolved and the stacked-up contents of two rooms crashed together and bounced around.

Ricardo’s life moved quickly through. School, reserves, students, summers, women … the doctor … the meteor. I viewed them lightly, as though I were watching an old movie so familiar that I could quote the next line at any given time.

I tried to cling to Markasset’s memories, to absorb them, make them part of me. But they, too, slipped by, one by one, giving me barely time enough to recognize the people in the images. I learned to let them go easily, sure now that I could call them back when I wished. I lived through Markasset’s life up to a night not long past …

Then I remembered the night the Ra’ira was stolen.

“It’s only seven hundred zaks, Father!” I pleaded desperately, hating him because I knew he was right. “I promise it’s the last time, and I’ll pay it back.”

“How?” he demanded. “You’ve applied yourself to the mondea tables, but to nothing else. You might have been a scholar, a teacher, an administrator. You might have learned a craft. Never mind this debt; how will you support Keeshah after I’m gone? Will you go and live in the wilds and share the game he kills?”

“Don’t start that old argument up again,” I warned him. “We’re talking about a single debt—my last gambling debt. I’ll find a way to pay it back. But Worfit wants his money, Father. And I do owe it to him.”

“Now you’ve hit the right word,” he said grimly. “You owe it to him. So
you
pay him.”

“It’s the last time!” I repeated again, appalled that he didn’t believe me. I meant it. I’d never made that promise before: I meant it now. Why wouldn’t he believe me?

“It’s one time too often!”

I left, then, slamming the back door hard enough, I hoped, to break the latticed glass panel. I sat with Keeshah in his house, rubbing his stomach and thinking.

Father was right about one thing: I had no way to earn that money myself.

Or had I?

“I do have one skill,” I told Keeshah. He looked at me with one eye still closed and told me to keep rubbing. “I can fight. I’ll hire on as a caravan guard.”

The more I thought of it, the better it sounded. It would get me out of Raithskar, and out of Worfit’s reach for a while. If the caravan went far enough, and was rich enough, and if I caught another caravan back, I could pay Worfit off completely. That would show the old man I could pay my own debts, make my own way.

And the promise was still good, I decided. Yd never gamble again. I didn’t have a hope in the world of becoming a Supervisor until I quit the rogueworld and really tried to study city administration. And I’d been letting Illia think that Dad would put me up for it next opening, which would probably be when Ferrathyn fell over at last. So—when I got back from wherever it was, NO MORE GAMBLING.

I gave Keeshah’s chest a final scratch and headed for the marketplace. On the way I revised the plan a little. I had been going to hire out me
and
Keeshah, then find Worfit and tell him what I’d done, promise him his money as soon as I got back. But I had a better idea—I’d hire on as a footguard, and use a phony name. Nobody’d get hurt; Worfit would get his money; and meanwhile, Markasset would just mysteriously disappear. The only bad thing was not riding Keeshah—but he could follow the caravan, and I could see him every night. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d do it.

I was in luck when I reached the marketplace. A big caravan, owned by a man named Gharlas, was leaving the next morning and going all the way to Eddarta. I hadn’t really wanted to go that far; the little man with only four fingers on his left hand said if I’d go as far as Chitzan, that would get the caravan past the raiding territory of the Sharith. They didn’t expect trouble; they’d paid their duty on the way in; but it didn’t hurt to be extra careful. If I wanted the job, I had it.

I took it.

It was dark by then. I thought about going home. Father would still be there, since he wouldn’t go on duty tonight until dayend. I thought I should tell him I was going, then decided just to let him worry. It was his fault I had to go. But if I went home, we’d only argue again.

So I went to say goodbye to Illia.

She came to the second-floor window when the pebbles hit it. “I can’t come out now, Markasset!” she whispered. “Mama’s in the front room; she’d see me and we’d fuss over me going out this late.”

“Jump down from there,” I told her. “That slim waist of yours will fit through. I’ll catch you.”

There wasn’t much light except what fell from her room. She stared down, deciding. “Are you sure you can catch me?”

“Yes, you don’t weigh anything! Jump!”

“All right,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Here I come!”

And she jumped. I felt a twisting in my chest. Illia believed in me completely. If I said I could do a thing, I could do it. She trusted me.

She nearly pulled my arms off when I caught her, but I kept on my feet. I could tell I had impressed her, but for once I didn’t care about that. I had realized, for the first time, how good it felt to be trusted.

“Put me down,” she said, but I kissed her instead. She was wearing her sleeping shift, and her body was soft and warm underneath it. Her breathing quickened to match mine, and I carried her out into her father’s garden. There was a place, near the bath-house, that was blocked from the house but open to the sky. The song of the Skarkel Falls seemed especially beautiful right there.

We had made that place our own. That’s where I took her to say goodbye.

“You really ought to tell your father where you’re going,” Illia said later. “He’ll worry something fierce.”

“You’re right,” I said. “But if I see him again, we’ll only yell at each other over this, too.”

“Write him a note,” she suggested. “I’ll take it to him tomorrow.” Her parents had gone to sleep by then, not even missing their daughter. She went quietly into the house, brought out brush and parchment, and I did write a note. “Leaving this morning on caravan to earn money for Worfit. Back when I get here. M.”

“That’s not much of a note,” she said when she read it.

“It’s all he’ll get. Listen—I’m going to miss you.”

“Ill miss you, too, Markasset. Terribly. Hurry back.”

“When I get back, you’ll see, love. Ill dig in, and I’ll be ready to be a Supervisor in no time. And then—”

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me, Illia? After I’m a Supervisor?”

“You know I will.”

When I left her, it was less than an hour before dawn, the time set for the caravan to depart. I realized that I hadn’t planned things too well—I had no extra clothes, and no money to buy extra food for Keeshah on the off chance that he couldn’t find game in the hills while we crawled across the desert at vlek pace.

So I stopped by Dad’s office. It was closer than going home, and he had never objected when I used my own key to the drawer where he kept extra money. That is, he hadn’t started to complain until I started gambling against money not yet in hand, and began losing. He had forbidden my use of that money, but hadn’t asked for my key back.

Well, this wasn’t for gambling, so I went into the building and up the stairs to Dad’s office. He would be in the security room now; it was some four hours into his scheduled shift. I unlocked the drawer—and found five twenty-dozak pieces.

It was the money Dad had had at home, in the wall niche. He had brought it down here and locked it up—why? Because he knew I knew there was never much money here. And he also knew I knew he had that money at home. He had been afraid I’d
steal
the money from him to pay Worfit!

If that was all he thought of me, so be it!

I reached in and took the money. I’d pay off Worfit before I left, I’d take the rest for travel expenses, and I’d come back when I was good and ready, not before. I’d come back to Illia.

I threw the key down on top of the desk. I wouldn’t be needing it again.

I went to Worfit’s largest gaming house, where he usually spent his dust-to-dawn office hours. Marnen, his one-eyed assistant, told me that Zaddorn had ordered Worfit’s testament about a disturbance in another of his houses the night before—a “scuffle” that had resulted in two dead men.

“I can’t wait,” I told Marnen. “Tell Worfit that I’ve got his money, but I have to leave town for a while. As soon as I get back, I’ll pay him what I owe him.”

Marnen nodded. “Sure, Markasset. You always been good for it before. A little slower than usual this time, maybe. You’ll be back when?”

“I can’t say for certain. Two moons, on the outside.”

The one-eyed man shook his head. “He won’t like that.”

“Tell him if he kept better security in his places, he’d have been a richer man tonight.”

Marnen hooted with laughter. “I ain’t gonna tell the Chief that, not me!” He wouldn’t try to stop me; he understood the peculiar code of honor that demands personal payment of gambling debts. “See you soon, Markasset.”

I had to leave with the caravan in only a few minutes—I
had
signed a contract. As I hurried through the streets toward the marketplace, I considered this new twist of events.

The effect would be the same, I decided. I’d just keep the money until I got back, then pay off Worfit. If he got impatient meanwhile, maybe he’d go directly to Dad and show him what it’s like to owe money to the rogueworld. They wouldn’t hurt him any more than they’d hurt me—because of Keeshah. But they could annoy him a lot.

I reported to the caravan and the little man—Hural—yelled at me for being late. He introduced me quickly to Gharlas, a tall, thin man with a piercing stare that made me uncomfortable. Then we were on our way.

I let the first few days of the caravan flow through my mind. The caravan passed through Yafnaar, and I understood Balgokh’s comment about the “change” in Markasset. He was unhappy with the choices he’d made, and he was curt and aloof from the people on the caravan. I skipped along to the caravan’s last night on the trail….

It was shortly after moonrise. As usual, I had met Keeshah a goodly distance from the caravan to keep his scent away from the vleks. The wind tonight was southerly, so we were out ahead of the caravan.

Keeshah warned me someone was near, and we flattened out on top of a mound to see who it was. Gharlas! Leading a well-packed vlek. What was he up to?

I had watched him a lot since the caravan started, and I had met many men I liked more. There was something odd about him—that piercing stare, the way he sometimes went all vacant, as though he were living in a dream world. He had been snappish and unpleasant the entire time; I’d come to the conclusion he was nervous about something.

And now he was sneaking off in the middle of the night?

“I’m going to follow him,” I told Keeshah. “You keep out of sight and be sure to stay downwind of that vlek.”

I did follow him. For about half an hour. Then there was a blinding, crashing pain in my head….

“Markasset is dead,” I told the others. “Touching the sword—I remember now.” I looked at Thanasset and Milda. “I’m sorry.” Then I turned to Zaddorn. “I remember what happened that night—”

I told them the bare facts of what I had relived in the few short seconds it had taken for the memories to march by. And while I talked, all sorts of pieces, scattered and out of sequence, fitted together.