Return to Eddarta (7 page)

I stared at him, surprised. “I told Thanasset everything, and I assumed he passed it all on to the Council.”

Zaddorn snorted. “I suspect that’s true. What gives you the idea that the Council tells
me
anything?”

“What
have
they told you?” I asked.

He sighed. “They have told me to ‘control the vineh.’ The day after the attack on you, Ferrathyn came to my office and shouted until his Supervisor friends dragged him away.”

“Ferrathyn?” I said. The image of the slight, friendly old man in an apoplectic rage was totally foreign to my memory of the Chief Supervisor. “
Ferrathyn?”

“He has changed,” Zaddorn said. “It would be a lie to say we have ever been friends, but I did think we respected one another. This situation has made him—the best word that occurs to me is
intense
. I fear the strain is making him feel his age, and I find it less and less palatable to concede to the whims of someone I suspect to be unbalanced.” He shrugged and sipped his glass of faen. “But then, I suppose I have given him little reason to respect me lately. I have been totally unable to control the spread of the vineh illness, and less than effective in protecting private property from the raids of the wild group.”

Ferrathyn must have changed a lot
, I thought.
I’d have bet that the old mans sense of fairness would insist that Zaddorn be told the truth about the Ra’ira and the vineh, instead of that crock about an ape flu. I don’t doubt that Ferrathyn has suffered from the strain
—
probably from a heavy load of guilt, as much as anything.

Zaddorn was staring into his faen, lost in his own sense of failure.

The Council didn’t tell me about the Ra’ira
, I remembered.
I had to find out the hard way. But now that I know, do I have the same obligation they do
—
not to reveal the truth without the Council’s consent?

Zaddorn glanced up, saw my face, and leaned across the table to touch my arm.

“Rikardon, I have seen that look on too many rogueworld faces not to recognize it. If you know something that can help, please tell me.”

Markasset had known Zaddorn throughout his youth. They had been rivals in sports and war games and romance. Through it all, Markasset had suffered from a sense of inadequacy, each victory only a reminder of his other losses. Markasset had resented and admired Zaddorn. I, as Ricardo and Rikardon, had shifted that balance toward admiration, even though I was not blind to Zaddorn’s irritating qualities. High on that list was arrogance—a quality absent from the vocal tone he had just used to ask for help.

Council or no Council
, I decided,
Zaddorn deserves to know the truth. He is being asked to control a situation he’s not even close to understanding.

“I don’t know how it will help,” I said quietly, “but I will tell you what I know. I ask only two things in return: that you accept what I say as the truth without question, and that you keep your temper under control. There are many reasons why you
haven’t
been told this, none of them born of lack of confidence in you. Agreed?”

Zaddorn’s face lit up with its normal expression—wry amusement, aloofness, cynicism. “With such an introduction, my curiosity is rampant. Of course, I promise what you ask.”

“All right, here it is. The Ra’ira can be used to amplify mindpower. It is and always has been, potentially, a tool for mind control. The early Kings used it to learn and lead better; the later Kings used it to control slaves. Serkajon knew what it was, and brought it here for safekeeping. Generations later, someone hit on the idea of using it to control the minds of animals, rather than men. Of course, the animal had to have something of a mind to begin with, and the accomplishment had to be worth the effort.”

“The vineh?” Zaddorn gasped. “Not trained at all, but
controlled
?”

I shook my head. “No, they were controlled only when the training broke down,” I said. “Since this stuff got started, a Supervisor has been on duty with the Ra’ira every hour of every day. I guess you could say they watched the vineh minds for signs of rebellion, and controlled it out of them when it was found.”

“And when the Ra’ira was taken away …” Zaddorn’s voice trailed off. His hand balled into a fist, and he raised it to hit the table. I caught his wrist just in time to save the faen glasses from a dangerous bouncing.

“You promised,” I reminded him.

He tensed as if he might use his other fist on my face, then opened his hand. I let my hand ride his wrist to the table, and kept it there—I had detected no signs of relaxation or resignation. I felt him pressing on the table’s surface.

“You do not know,” he said, “the charade they have put me through. Moving half the colony to another location, to avoid spreading the ‘disease.’ My men hurt often at the beginning because they were expecting only as much violence from the beasts as they had seen before—which had never blossomed fully, as you now tell me. All the scorn and blame heaped on me, when I was not given the basic truth of the situation.”

His hand was still tense; I could almost feel anger coursing in the pulse I felt at his wrist.

“You have it now,” I said. “Does it help?”

His gaze snapped up from the table to meet mine. “To know that I have changed one situation out of my control for another? You tell me the Ra’ira is the cause—and, I assume, the cure—of the vineh situation. Its return to Raithskar seems to have been left up to you.
Where is it?”

It took an effort of will to keep from flinching away from Zaddorn’s accusing gaze. “The Ra’ira is in Eddarta,” I said. “Tarani is the key to getting possession of it, and she is as committed as I am to delivering it back to Raithskar.”

“When?”

“I can’t say for sure. We have to get there, and back again. And we will need some time
in
Eddarta—it’s complicated, Zaddorn.”

“Several moons, then?” he asked.

“At least,” I said.

“And meanwhile?” he demanded. “The attack on you involved a huge group of the beasts. If that is a sign of their activity, in ‘several moons’ you may not find Raithskar here when you return.”

“It won’t be that bad, once we’re gone,” I said, and told him my theory about the sha’um stirring instinctive enmity in the vineh. “And you’re alert now to the possibility that the vineh can use some strategy when they fight. Being forewarned should help a little.”

Zaddorn’s tenseness had faded as we talked. I released his wrist and he sat back in his chair. His face went blank, and he stared over my shoulder.

He’s planning defenses
, I thought.
I hope the Council is aware of this mans value.

Tarani and Illia came back to the table. Illia’s hand on Zaddorn’s shoulder startled him back to the present. She glanced at me, then leaned down to whisper in Zaddorn’s ear. He put his hand over hers and grinned wryly at me.

“Illia reminds me of the reason we joined you this evening, Rikardon,” he said. “We want you to know that Illia and I shall marry soon. May I say that I hope you will not be able to attend the ceremony?”

“Zaddorn!” Illia gasped.

The golden-furred girl’s face was a study in shock and embarrassment. “Rikardon, he does not mean that, he—” she stammered.

Behind Illia, Tarani was merely watching and listening. I stood up, touched one hand to the pair of hands on Zaddorn’s shoulder, and kissed Illia’s cheek—and reached around Illia to take and press Tarani’s hand.

“Illia darling,” I said, “Zaddorn knows I will probably be leaving Raithskar before your wedding. I trust you know that I wish you both all happiness.”

“Leaving?” Illia said.

“Yes. Tarani and I must return to Eddarta.”

Illia twisted a bit to look at Tarani, and her glance saw our hands, joined behind her back.

“Oh,” she said, then, with a slightly confused sincerity, added, “I—I am happy for you, too, Rikardon.”

“It was a lovely evening,” Tarani whispered, as we opened the gate into Thanasset’s garden.

I closed the gate, staggering a little. My legs felt like thinly stretched rubber.

I wasn’t this tired after my three-day run from the Lingis mine to Eddarta
, I thought.

Tarani, too, seemed happily tired. We leaned on each other as we moved through the semi-darkness. In the desert, the moonless sky would have left us in blackness; in the city, the all-night glow of the entertainment district provided some illumination.

We made our way to the stone house at the back of the yard. The blackness inside the sha’um house was complete. We couldn’t see or touch them, and we had only to “look” with our minds to know they slept, but Tarani seemed to share my impulse to be close to the sha’um for a moment. We leaned on the wall of the house.

Keeshah’s presence came to me, large and warm and somnolent. The two cubs were there, too—each a lighter presence, as if weight in body and experience were reflected in a kind of mental mass. I was pervaded with a sense of
family,
and felt so full and rich that I couldn’t catch my breath.

Tarani felt it, too, and came into my arms as I reached for her. “I see from Antonia’s memory,” Tarani whispered, “that dancing is different in your world. I wish to learn.”

In spite of the fatigue in my legs, I drew her out into a clear area of the garden, caught her hand, pulled her close against me, and hummed. The tune had silly romantic lyrics that ran through my head as we swayed together. The tune and dancing together, bodies touching, had been unknown in Gandalara until that moment, yet sharing them with Tarani, combined with the comforting awareness of the sha’um made me feel, for the first time, totally and entirely a part of Gandalara. The feeling shimmered while we danced, then faded back from the force of its natural consequence: a renewed commitment to the task I had accepted.

In my mind, Keeshah’s presence stirred, then slipped back into sleep. Tarani stopped dancing; I pulled away to look into her face.

“I cannot read your thoughts,” she explained, “but I am learning to know your moods. I am ready to leave Raithskar as early as tomorrow.” I could barely see her face well enough to notice her smile. “I agreed to see Illia this evening, for a conference on dress design.”

“The cubs are ready to travel?”

“Can you not tell that better than I?” she asked, a little sharply.

“The cubs are
ready
for anything,” I said. “They have no way of knowing what they
can
do until they try.”

“Of course, I should have realized that,” she said. “I apologize, Rikardon. I have no right to envy your link with the children, when the forging of that link probably saved their lives.”

“I guess the big question is, will Yayshah leave?”

Tarani nodded. “I think so. She is fretful. The house is the closest thing she has seen to a suitable den and she loves it, but the garden lacks room for them to run. I sense a need in her to train the cubs, yet an awareness that it is unnecessary when food is provided without effort.”

“Tomorrow, then,” I said. “We’ll go back the way we came, along the edge of the Morkadahls. Most of the time, the sha’um will be able to hunt their own food.”

Tarani peered at me through the gloom. “I hear no eagerness in your voice, Rikardon. Yet you wish to go, I know that well. Please tell me what troubles you.”

“I’m not sure,” I said, and it was largely true.

“Is it leaving your home?” she asked gently.

“My home,” I said, pulling her close again, “will be going with me.”

After dinner that evening, Tarani left for Illia’s house. Milda went with her, intending to visit a friend who lived in the same area. Thanasset and I were settled in the sitting room with tiny glasses of barut when someone knocked at the door.

“I’ll get it,” I said, setting my glass down on the table and trying to heave my dinner-sated body out of the armchair.

“Stay there,” Thanasset said, laughing. “You ate as if you never expected another meal. I shall answer the door.”

He left the room. I heard laughter out in the midhall and Thanasset returned with a small man who looked frail and old. I tried to stand up again, but the old man smiled, wreathing his face in wrinkles, and waved me back.

“Sit, Rikardon, sit,” he said, and looked me up and down. “Thanasset said you have been doing Milda’s cooking justice since you returned. As thin as you still are, I am just as glad I did not see you immediately.” The smile faded. “I would have grieved heavily for your suffering on our behalf.”

He lowered himself into a chair.

“I shall not try to be subtle, my friends,” the old man said. “I have come to ask you bluntly, Rikardon, whether the Council should make preparations to fight Eddartans, as well as vineh.”

Thanasset looked startled and confused. I understood how he felt.

“Surely, Chief Supervisor, you don’t think—your letter—Tarani wishes only—”

It was Ferrathyn’s turn to look shocked, then he laughed.

“Oh, no, my boy—as you trust the lady Tarani’s motives, I can do no less. My concern is with the Ra’ira and its present danger to us. I have heard something of Eddarta and its rulers in my lifetime, and nothing good of Pylomel or his son. Indomel has the Ra’ira, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, “but there’s no need to be concerned about danger from Eddarta, for two reasons: First, Indomel hadn’t figured out how to use the Ra’ira by the time Tarani and I left Eddarta. Second, he’s greedy, but fairly practical. Only a raving madman would consider trying to rebuild the Kingdom with the world as it is today.”

Ferrathyn’s head snapped up at that, and he seemed to start to say something, then think better of it.

“I know,” I assured him, “Gharlas was that kind of a madman. If he had lived and kept the Ra’ira, Raithskar would have cause to worry about an attack from Eddarta.”

“Then there is no danger from Indomel?”

I shook my head. “For one thing,” I said, “as far as I know, he hasn’t yet learned the trick of using the Ra’ira. For another, he has small ambitions. All he wants is more power over the other Lords.”