Ice and Shadow (50 page)

“You have no chance anyway, Slip-shadow,” the leader of the squad rasped. “They will come when we do not report in. If you think to make a deal with me—with that lamebrain,” he glanced toward the man Taynad had disarmed, “or Yager here—forget it. The Guild doesn’t deal—they’ll simply fly over and stass us all and then pick up what they want and leave the—”

“Jofre!” Taynad was on her feet, looking north, “They come—in the air—”

He caught it, too, the hum of another flitter. He could try—it was so small a chance but the only one he had—Jofre called upon his full energy and made for the cone hill. Fear as well as rage fed him now. He pulled and threw himself from hold to hold. Somehow he reached the crest and crouched, panting heavily behind one of those smaller mounds. But he was not too exhausted to steady the barrel of the blaster on the top of that mound, ready himself for the single small chance he might have for a beam at the flitter as it bore in to stass them as the squad leader had promised. He was not even sure that if the beam hit it would cause enough damage to bring the craft down; he could only hope.

The craft did not swoop in, but made a circle well above where he waited. Then it slipped sidewise and his fingers tightened until he willed them fiercely to relax. He had a single second to see that emblazoned sign on the side of the flitter, to depress the barrel of his weapon. The flare of fire shot across the cone crest, it did not touch that machine.

There was no return—either of stass beam or weapon fire. The flitter dipped where the others were, and then lifted for a space to set down near the other flitter. Jofre drew a ragged breath as he watched the uniformed passengers emerge, take evasive action.

The first of those silvered helms reached the Guild flitter. Then they were all past it. One halted briefly beside the body, but only for a moment. Jofre turned and started down the hill, his body still shaking from the stress of that charge to reach the heights. He found it far more difficult going. No one appeared to notice him until he made the final drop to the level where the Patrol troopers had the three from the Guild in tangle cords and their officer was fronting Zurzal.

“—a good catch,” the officer was saying.

The Zacathan’s frill darkened, his eyes were coldly reptilian. “Bait, Captain? Then we were bait all the time? Well, that explains some incidents I wondered at.”

“Bait?” returned the officer coolly. “You greatly desired this expedition, Learned One. You wished to prove something, I believe. We merely allowed you to fulfill what you desired. You did get the results you wanted, did you not? We have some video-casts which are certainly amazing. And I do not think that you need fear any more attentions from the Guild. They have lost a great deal—including an in-port that they were very eager to establish in secret. On the whole, a most successful operation, do you not agree?”

Zurzal lifted his maimed arm. “One well paid for,” he returned.

The Patrol officer lost a little of his confident calm. “We have regenerative facilities, Learned One. Our command ship carries a medic with the techniques. You shall be given every attention. We are most indebted to you—”

Jofre felt drained. There was no longer any need for an oathed man. He had completed his service and in a very checkered fashion. It seemed to him now, and painfully, that he certainly had not shown well as an isshi—in many ways.

Issha—Taynad. At that moment he remembered what the Guild leader had said. Taynad had been sent to take him captive and deliver him to the Shagga. Well, enough of the issha was left in him that he would not be so easily disposed of.

“Friend—friend—”

Something tugged at his sleeve and he looked down to see that Yan had him fast. But the Jat was still in Taynad’s arms, she had moved that close to him. He tensed.

“Friend—” It was imperative—it was a demand for understanding.

Jofre looked to the girl. “But you are oathed—”

She stooped and allowed Yan to slide out of her hold. Her hands went to her braids and she pulled out the notched twigs, showing them clearly to him.

“They sent me these on Wayright. I was ordered—but I gave no oath before the High Altar.”

“They will hold you to it anyway. I know the Shagga.”

She looked at him proudly. “The Shagga may order; they do not oath.”

“They will oath against you then, unless—” He started away from the rock against which he had been leaning, a new energy building in him. “Your sleeve knife, Sister—give it!” He held out his hand.

She stared at him, not understanding. Yan pulled at her other hand and looked up into her face, uttering one of those small coaxing mews.

Slowly Taynad drew that most precious, most intimate weapon and held it a little away from her. Jofre put out his hand and closed it about the bared blade.

“Pull!” he ordered and almost instinctively she answered. He felt that smart as its keen edge met his flesh and cut. Then she was holding a bloodstained knife, looking from it to him in wonder, as he brought his own hand up to lick the blood welling in that cut.

“You have done as ordered,” he said. “My blood dims your blade. So can you swear and no one, Lair Master or Shagga, can hold you wrong!”

The mask which she ever wore cracked. For the first time he saw more of the one who wore it than he ever thought he might.

“It is so—Shadow Brother,” she said in a half whisper.

“It is so!” he told her firmly. “Shadow Sister.”

“Jofre, Taynad!”

They awoke to the present and answered Zurzal’s call.

“My coworkers. Captain,” the Zacathan said. “It is thanks to them that the Guild did not put an end to these games you all have been playing before your somewhat late arrival Now, I think, we should be shown some of this gratitude which you mentioned is owed to us.”

They were off Lochan, aboard the Patrol cruiser and in the sickbed where the Zacathan lay with his maimed arm under a roofing bubble which kept in the fine spray bathing the charred wrist, before they were together again in private.

“You were oathed to me for this venture now ended,” Zurzal spoke first to Jofre. “I declare you have fulfilled your oath. Unless—”

“Unless?” Jofre asked.

“Unless you wish to make it a life burden?”

“Never a burden!” Since he had knelt to say farewell to the Lair Master in Ho-Le-Far he had not felt exactly like this. There was no question in him but what the Zacathan offered him now was all he could wish.

“Taynad Jewelbright,” Zurzal seemed to need no more words from Jofre but looked past him to her.

“Not Jewelbright.” She shook her head. “I think there are other roads.”

“There is one we may take together,” Zurzal said. “What we did on Lochan is only the beginning—there are treasures out of time beyond all reckoning—it is up to us to find our share of them!”

Jofre’s bandaged hand arose—his fingers shaped “Greeting to Shadow Comrade,” which seldom, if ever, in his lifetime, an oathed issha could pattern.

Taynad’s hand reached into his full sight—“So let it be.” Her fingers gave assent.

“We deal then no more with the shadows of others,” he spoke aloud, “only those which shall be our own.”

And into his wounded hand slipped a paw—a paw for Taynad also. The last link closed tight.