"You stupid, clumsy ham-handed bastards!" Cap's anger was not in the least ameliorated by the fact that they had brought him another core section. "You deserve to be bloody court-martialed, or at least flayed for gross insubordination."
Beywulf was probably the only one feeling the edge of his tongue. Keilin was still too unused to riding to be doing anything but concentrating on staying in the saddle at this speed. And S'kith was sunken deep into some private and expressionless misery.
By that evening Keilin felt that even flaying would have been more gentle than that ride. The opal dealer's shop stood beside the south wall, above the fault cliff. They had not dared ride back through the toll passage. Instead they were pushing further south just as fast as their horses would carry them.
At least Cap's temper had cooled by sunset, although the three were still at the top of the fecal list. The tall man grimly produced a core section from his pocket, and looked at Keilin and S'kith. He drew the thin-bladed knife. "I need to know where we are going next." S'kith showed fear, backing away slightly, his eyes growing that dangerous glazed look which foreordained combat. Keilin sighed. "I'll do it. Relax, S'kith."
The vastness was comforting and familiar. Here at least there was a sense of a job well done. Five more core sections lay together in a place of near total darkness, and endless repeated patterns. It was warm and not-quite scented . . . somewhere between a badger's hole and sweet lavender. The emotion ran high in it, too. It had the tinny taste of hatred . . . and fear. Then came the familiar message about betrayal . . . somehow tied to the smell.
"A place. You've got to tie it to a place, dammit," Cap said, his ire rising in a perceptible tide.
Keilin shook his head helplessly. "I've told you all I can," he said. "But . . . there are four sections," he lied conservatively. He could always say it was a mistake. "It's somewhere north of here."
"Great. Why the hell couldn't you mindee types get that before we ran south?" Cap said in disgust. "You damn psi are all the same. Bloody prima donnas and then next to useless on top of it. S'kith! Come here, damn you!" Instead the Morkth-man curled himself into a ball. Cap stepped over, gripped him by the shoulder and shook him so that his teeth rattled. It was only in acts like this that one got some idea of the power in that tall, spare frame.
But it had no effect on S'kith. He stayed lost in his distress. Cap took out his knife.
"Don't!" said Keilin. He'd not been too sure if this was to be execution or just blood for the core-section contact. Seeing the look his interruption had brought him he decided to play it as the latter. "Cap . . . in his present state, give him a core section and he'll call the Morkth down on us." Cap's eyes narrowed. Finally he nodded and dropped S'kith to sprawl like a rag doll. His eyes caught Kim's horrified ones. "Come here, girl."
Once again Keilin risked life and limb. He didn't dare risk the familiarity of "Cap." "Sir! Let her put it in her mouth. Then she won't be so scared." It earned him another fulminating look, but Cap did allow her to put it into her mouth, instead of using his knife.
For the first time Keilin saw what happened instead of having it happen to him. Her face lost expression. A vague nimbus seemed to dance around her.
And then she was back. Her eyes darted to his face for a brief frightened moment, before answering Cap's query calmly. "The same as Keilin . . . with Morkth clickspeech. I think it must be the inside of a hive."
"The inside of a hive . . ." said Cap and whistled between his teeth. "I knew it had to come to this sooner or later . . . Question is: Which hive? To the north, yes, but which side of the narrow sea?" He sighed. "We'll have to try and get something more out of that jelly of a Morkth-man's brains . . . when he's stopped bloody quivering. See that he is kept warm. Try to get him to eat." Although this was directed at both of them, it was loftily ignored by Kim. She waited until Cap had stalked off into the dark and then retreated to her own gear. Keilin was left to try to spoon the thick pea soup into the vacant-eyed man's mouth. He found himself sitting with an arm around the crumpled-in shoulders for a long time.
Finally, the muscular man shook himself, and sat up. He looked at Keilin strangely and then as if tasting an unfamiliar word in half-whisper he said, "Friend?" Keilin looked doubtful for a moment, and then nodded. The man stood up without a word and went across to his sleeping furs. With relief Keilin went to his own. He was just settling down when it occurred to him that he'd better return haughty Miss Muffet's bangle to her. With it, and another small bundle in hand he crept quietly across to her bedroll.
"Go away! If you come near me again, I shall scream," she said in a fierce whisper. "Oh! It's you Keilin . . . I thought . . . I thought it was S'kith . . . again. Don't go . . . I need to talk to you."
"Don't whisper. The sound carries much better than just talking quietly," he said in a low voice. "If you want to shout at me as usual, we'd better sneak away from the camp a bit."
"Oh, you . . . yes we'd better. I always end up wanting to shout at you, no matter how we start," she said, getting up.
Soon they were sitting on a small knoll about two hundred yards from the campfire. They were out on the great sward of the southern plain, under a full moon. The night wind sent waves of silver and darkness washing across it from far horizon to far horizon.
Without intent she reached out and touched his arm. "It's so beautiful."
He nodded. "Like something out of a romance novel."
She snorted. "What do you know about novels? I'll bet you've never even seen one, and couldn't read it if you did." He was about to protest when she continued, "Look, that's not what I brought you here to talk about. Keilin . . . go very carefully with Cap. He's this close to killing you."
"What?! I mean, I know he's got a bad temper . . ." he said, earlier protests about books forgotten.
"I've been taught to read voices. I promise you, you were so close this afternoon I was nearly scared out of my wits. Cap needs to be in control. He doesn't allow others to challenge him. He didn't like your questioning him, and he likes your being right even less," she said.
"But . . . but, I'm helping him!" he said helplessly
"Listen to me for once you . . . idiot. Why do you think he was angry when you came back with the core section? It was supposed to be a total disaster with you getting killed. I know. He was all set to dump your kit back in the caravanserai. I put it on to the packhorse. Then when you took S'kith as well he was worried as well as mad. Don't do it again!"
"I don't believe this stuff. He's Cru, for heaven's sake. Why would he send Bey with me if he thought I'd get killed?" Keilin said, doubt in his voice.
"Beywulf had orders to give you away, maybe, or even to kill you . . . or Cap didn't trust you on your own. I don't know. All I know is he wasn't expecting you back. He can afford to lose one `psionic' as he calls us. And you were supposed to be an example to the rest of us. `We'd better do things his way or else.' Look, just be cautious, and step carefully around him. If you need to get him to do something, let him think it was his idea. Tell him how clever he was to think of it. He doesn't mind then, as long as he gets all the credit," she said.
"Okay. I'll try. But I'm a terrible liar," he promised.
"Then keep your big mouth shut. You only open it to change feet anyway. Now, why did you come creeping to my bed?" There was an edge in her voice at this. It suggested that his answer had better be good.
"I was just bringing your bracelet back."
He was not sure what the look was. Relief? Disappointment? At least he hadn't made her mad at him . . . yet.
"Oh . . . um . . . look, would you keep it? I'm sure someone searched my things." She cocked her head slightly, and tried something different, "Please?"
He grinned. "That's the first you've ever said that to me. I thought you saved pleases and thank yous for Cap. Yes, sure. I'll keep it."
She stood up, her chin rising slightly. He scrambled to his feet, too, reaching out and taking her arm. She shook his hand off angrily. "Look, Kim. D-don't go. Oh. Um, er, Bey and I . . . we bought this for you."
She eyed the proffered parcel suspiciously. "What is it?"
"It's that dress. You know, the one Cap made you take back. We thought you might like it."
She said nothing. Just stood there looking at him.
"Look, I'm sorry it's second-hand, but, well, we didn't have much spare money. You don't have to take it."
She did, however. If the moonlight had been brighter Keilin would have seen that the little Princess was close to tears. "Thank you," she said, her voice slightly husky. "I suppose you've never heard me say that to you either."
He grinned "Na. Another first for tonight. But you can thank Bey, too. It was his idea really."
"Beywulf! But he doesn't like me. He's always so rude."
"Only rude to people he likes. He fights with the others. Insult him back. He says you remind him of his daughter. Just about as much of a pain in the ring as she was, too."
"He says that about his own daughter! What does she say about him!"
"She doesn't. She's dead. It's his way of dealing with it, see."
There was a long silence at this. "Cay . . . That core section. It described you both . . ." He was sure she was blushing. He began to glow himself. Then she began to giggle. "It got S'kith right, and it wasn't so far off about you."
She would say no more, and after a few minutes they went silently back to the camp, each lost in words unspoken. But Keilin noticed a change the next morning in her response to Beywulf. She took a second helping of breakfast. Bey snorted, "God, not more, you frowsty little hen. You're getting as broad as an ox cart."
Instead of the usual haughty silence which had been her response to his heckling, she replied calmly, "I vomited the first lot up. It was full of some ugly ape's hair."
This provoked a snort of laughter, and a swat across the posterior. She jumped. Nobody did that to her. Then she noticed that both the ape and Keilin were grinning at her. But it was too much to ask her to ignore it completely. She reached out and dug her nails into Beywulf's arm with all her strength. It was about as yielding as teak. "Don't you dare do that to me again, you damned gorilla!" A further snort of laughter.
"Or you'll beat me up, eh? Yes, yer ladyship. I'll be good."
"Good for nothing most likely, you overgrown baboon."
The broad, hairy man drew himself up to his full five-foot-six. "I'll have you know there's not a drop of baboon blood in me. Pure chimpanzee." His face had a look of injured innocence.
"No, the baboon blood is in his cousin Alfeus. The respectable member of the family." This was Leyla, joining in the fray.
"Huh, you just liked his body."
From there on the conversation went rapidly downhill in a cheerful manner. To her amazement Shael found she was enjoying the verbal fencing. Later, when they were going to mount and ride, she asked Beywulf to adjust her stirrups, and thus she found a chance to thank him for the dress. He shrugged it off. "Young Cay's idea. Waste o' good money on a skinny bint like you."
"You're a shameless liar, Beywulf! You said I was getting fat not twenty minutes ago . . . and Keilin said it was your idea," said Shael.
"It's your bottom that's getting so broad. The rest's still skinny. As for the boy, well, he's a good lad, but a bit slow upstairs like," replied Beywulf with a disarming grin that made him look twenty years younger.
"Will you stop babbling and mount, Beywulf? We've a way to go, and I daresay there'll be some pursuit as well." Cap's interruption prevented any more comments.
The word "friend" was no sinecure with S'kith. Or so Keilin found out. S'kith obviously thought it meant "constant companion," "father confessor," "walking encyclopaedia," and "mother." He kept making physical contact, too, needing the reassurance of touch. It made the solitary-natured boy uneasy. However, when they walked into an ambush late that afternoon, Keilin discovered it also meant he had a superbly trained warrior as his utterly devoted personal bodyguard.
Their brief and running brush with bandits in the north was as nothing compared to this. In the north they'd been set to rob, and let be. Here, killing came first, and robbery was an afterthought. The ambushers always selected small enough parties to annihilate, and bury deep. They made sure no one ever carried word to the patrols out of Amphir. This time, however, they'd bitten off far more than they could chew.
The first arrow had missed Cap, and this, it seemed, would be their nemesis. The man had always radiated an air of menace. Now Keilin had an opportunity to see just how deadly he really was. There was a crimson blaze of an energy discharge. The killing machine led his group, calling orders as he rode, galvanizing them from a riding party to a fighting unit in moments. Cap had chosen the weakest flank, and the long curved blade from his saddlebow sang its way through blood and bone. In seconds it had stopped being an ambush and was a just a bloody melee.
The ambush party had been on foot, and the mounted charge sliced bloodily through them. The vast two-handed landsknecht's sword smashed through any defense, its jagged blade ripping off gobbets of flesh as Beywulf's huge, rearing horse careered through. On the other flank, keeping close beside Keilin, the Morkth-man fought with trained clockwork movements. In front, with weasel-fluid ferocity, Cap's long curved blade wove an unstoppable ritual dance. In seconds they'd surged through the skirmish line, with Leyla calmly turning in the saddle to drop arrows behind her. Keilin was unaware of using his spear, but there was bright gore on its tip. It had all been so quick. He hadn't even had time to be afraid.
Cap laughed rich and free, the sound carrying even above the hoof thunder. He turned to look at them and his eagle eyes seemed to glow with an inner wildfire. Keilin felt the pull, knew that this was a man that men would follow into hell itself.
Some miles later, with the evening sky fading from pinks to dark-blue ash, they pulled up. Although they were sure that they were not being pursued, they nevertheless made a defensive camp before comparing wounds. These were slight, but Cap examined them thoroughly and cleaned and dressed the cuts with meticulous care. He also insisted they'd merely been lucky. So he set out on the following days to drill them into a fighting unit. Keilin discovered discipline. It didn't fit him very well. The only comfort was that it suited Kim even less. The only one who thrived under orders was S'kith. Leyla and Beywulf were plainly used to a military regimen, and had worked as a team before.
S'kith had, under Keilin's gentle persuasion, offered to see what guidance he could give to their next target. It had left him somewhat wild-eyed again. "FirstHive. The patterns, they say FirstHive."
"Well, at least we don't have to cross the narrow sea. But FirstHive. That's bad news," Cap muttered. "I suppose we'll have to go back along the West Coast. Other than going back through Amphir, where I don't think we'd be very welcome, thanks to you gentlemen's bungling, that is the only route still open to us." He looked at Beywulf. "We'll make for Dublin Moss. I'll need an army."
This seemed to both elate and frighten Beywulf. He explained later as Keilin wept and sniffed his way through slicing onions. "It's home. My kind, those of us that there are, are all settled around there. Mind, there's always a few hired out as mercenaries here and there, same as I did as a youth. But it'll be grand to see my folk again." He sighed melancholically.
"You don't sound very happy about it. Won't you at least be seeing your wife and son?"
Beywulf sighed again. "I don't have a wife, Cay. We don't breed too well so . . . um, we tend to try and spread the chances around that two reproductively viables will meet. It's not much good for home life, but with children so few, the whole community spoils 'em. But, aye, it's my boy: He'll be fifteen . . . old enough to join the army Cap'll raise."
"But, why should he? I mean, it sounds like there are so few of your kin anyway you shouldn't be joining anybody's army."
"But we will. We owe a debt. And we always honor our debts. You see, Cap's been our people's physician ever since we had to run from the marines' quarters up in crew territory. He's all that has stood between us and extinction. Every one of the Gene-spliced who can walk will fight at his call."
Keilin kept silent at this. From what he'd heard from S'kith the whole idea of attacking FirstHive was ludicrous. As near ridiculous as the "military exercises" Cap kept putting them through. He had nothing against learning something about the weapons he didn't know, but it did seem rather futile in some ways: He couldn't lift Beywulf's sword—and could barely pull Leyla's bow. His own hunter's bow was a small and weak thing, relying on the poison arrows to make its kill. Cap regarded it with scorn. "All very well for hunting, but no earthly use in combat. The toxin load won't kill quickly enough." Keilin kept quiet about the fact that the poison glazing the arrows' tips killed Morkth quickly all right. He'd learned by now to keep quiet about what he could do. "Like that spear of yours," Cap went on. "Once it's thrown, what have you got? It's all very well for defense, and keeping an unskilled enemy out of swordrange, but no good as an offensive weapon. Well, Bey? What can little lord muck here use from your armory? He hasn't the strength for an axe or a longsword. Saber perhaps?"
Beywulf was rummaging through one of the packhorse's saddlebags. "I've just the thing. He's used to a spear, so this is not a big change." He came up a with canvas-wrapped parcel. Out came three short, broad-bladed spears. The blades were fully two-foot-six long, and sharp enough to cut hair.
"Nice, eh? Ndebele assegais. Picked them up down Estend way. You can throw them . . . but they're essentially a stabbing weapon. Ironwood handle. Beautiful pieces of work." He held out one.
Keilin took the proffered weapon warily. As the heavy silky-smooth wooden shaft slid into his hands that feeling of rightness slipped over him again. The weapon felt as if it were simply part of him.
"He holds it right, anyway," said Bey with a satisfied nod. "Hey, you. The girl with the broad beam and the big mouth. Come and try this saber. It's the lightest thing I've got."
They rode eastward and down off the high plateaus. From the dry, hot, dusty grassland plains into the muggy heat and vicious storms of the lowlands. The ridges they followed downward were covered in coarse blade-edged grasses, with occasional straggly palmettos and ragged tufts of bamboo forest. The valley bottoms, on the other hand, were thick with jungle, and so hung with lianas that they were virtually impassable. Keilin found it unnerving country. He kept feeling they were being followed, but despite carefully studying the hazy distances, he never saw anyone. Yet . . . he was sure there was someone behind them. It was all that kept him from rebelling against Cap's constant order barking. He also found that Beywulf, the friendly chef, and Beywulf, the acerbic ex-mercenary sergeant-major and weapons drill instructor, were vastly different people.
Day after day they rode further into the lowlands, the air becoming stickier and thicker. To pass through to the north they had to go down to the coastal plain and thread their way between the swamps. You could ride for a week across the plains of Amphir and see nothing but the occasional betraying dust of a cattle herd. Here in the lowlands, people settled where the landscape forced the trails to go. Settlements popped up at every river fork and jungle crossing. There was virtually no easy way of avoiding the villages and their little terraced pocket-handkerchief fields.
Only Beywulf rejoiced in the villages. He purchased stems of green bananas and pawpaws, m'dumbi bulbs, ground nuts, fresh eggs and smoked monkey flesh: an assemblage with which he experimented to produce exotic dishes. S'kith was unhappy because the women wore very little clothing. The little Princess bemoaned the lack of baths in the villages, and Leyla, still in a militant mood after revisiting her birthplace, muttered about the women working in the fields while the men idled in the shade, smoking long pipes and drinking corn beer. Keilin, for once, found himself in agreement with Cap's reasons for discomfort. The villagers saw them, and could say where they went.
The sea was not the blue which Keilin remembered looking at from his rooftop eyrie in Port Tinarana. Instead, it surged red-brown with the silt of the hillsides. But the smell of salt was enough to distract him, to trigger memories of the security of his bookstand nest and recall the contentment of a good absorbing read. It took the edge off his concentration. He did not spot the scouts in the tangle of brush and palmetto. The rain-laden breeze off the sea meant they were downwind from Beywulf's keen nose. The party rode down a long sand spit between the calm brown lagoon and the churned brown sea. If the lagoon mouth was open it would undoubtably have the usual laconic ferryman, who after a glance at Cap, would give up any attempt to overcharge them.
The race of brown water from the storms in the hills spewed out of the mouth and tangled and frothed with the breakers. The ferry lines hung down, their cut ends dangling and dripping as a coarse mist of raindrops settled on them.
Beywulf sighed. "We've a fine choice. Bloody sharks in that riptide," he pointed to the black shapes visible in a cresting wave, "or going inland and having crocodiles and quicksand in the mangrove swamps."
Cap looked over his shoulder, his eagle eyes squinting into the mizzle. "There is one choice you left out." He pointed. "We might just end up dying right here." In the grayness they could just make out the advancing horsemen. At least two hundred of them in military array across the entire sand spit. "Too many for some petty bandits . . . and too well disciplined. Probably some local baron bent on raising revenues the easy way. Let me try and talk our way out of it."
But as they rode closer it became obvious that it was no local baron. The stiff black horsehair crests on the helmet of the Tyn States Cuirassiers bristled with raindrops. Beside him Keilin heard Kim's sharp intake of breath as a tall man with a finely-carved bloodless face rode out of their midst. His voice was dry, sardonic. "Why," asked the self-proclaimed Emperor, "do you persist in making me travel about in the rain, Princess?"