Чтение онлайн

Not remote, impossible should he fall into the wrong hands. A fact the major was making clear even as he hinted at a way out.

"I don't like to see a man of your calibre wasted, but it is the system and the rules must be followed. Of course, if you could raise the money, then as one soldier to another, I would be pleased to accept it."

"Give me two days and I will raise the money," said Dumarest. "That is a promise."

"One which, unfortunately, I cannot accept. The regulations must be followed you understand." Lofoten frowned and picked up a paper from his desk and then, as if remembering something, let it fall. It had been in clear view for a moment only, but long enough for Dumarest to see the symbol stamped on the heading, the hatedly familiar Seal of the Cyclan.

"I was forgetting," said the major. "A small matter which could be a fortunate coincidence. I have an acquaintance, a woman who is in some slight difficulty. It could be that you may be able to help her. She, of course, could help you in turn. Will you give me your word that you will make no attempt to escape if I send you to her?" He added, casually, "You will, of course, be under guard."

An opportunity he couldn't refuse. Trapped, Dumarest knew that he had no real choice, but caution made him reluctant to appear too eager.

"This woman, who and what is she? What would be my duties?"

"That she will tell you."

"And my pay?"

"To leave Hoghan," said Lofoten. His voice, his face, were expressionless. "To escape a rather difficult situation. Surely that is reward enough?" Then, smiling, he added dryly, "But there could be more. The Lady Dephine is a most unusual person."

Chapter Two

She was tall with a mane of auburn hair, and seeing her as she stood before the window, Dumarest felt a momentary shock of recognition.

Kalin?

Then she turned and he saw her face and eyes, green as Kalin's had been, but the similarity ended there. The hair lacked the inbred flame of the woman be had once known and the face was not the same. It was older and bore the stamp of a harsh determination, a feral intentness accentuated by the concavity of the cheeks beneath prominent bone. The mouth was wide, the lips full, parted a little now to reveal the predatory curve of sharp, white teeth.

She said, sharply, "You know me?"

"No, my lady."

"Your eyes. I thought-but never mind." To the guard standing behind Dumarest she snapped, "Wait outside."

"Madam, my orders-"

"Were surely not to insult me. Now do as I say." As the door closed behind the man she smiled and extended her hand. "Earl Dumarest. From what I hear you are something unusual. I'm glad of that in a universe of mediocrity how refreshing it is to find the unique. Do you know what all this is about?"

"You are to tell me."

"Yes, of course. Well, sit down and take things easy while you may. Some wine?"

The room was in a hotel close to the field, a place of luxury untouched by the recent conflict. Only the ruins far to one side told of what had happened. As she busied herself with a bottle and glasses, Dumarest, ignoring the invitation to sit, crossed to the window and looked outside. It was close to dusk, the sun touching the horizon, yet activity had not diminished. Uniformed men guided and controlled traffic and pedestrians; gangs of workers cleared rubble and demolished shattered structures. They worked hard; within a few more days the city would be almost back to normal. Within a few months new buildings would have replaced the old, fresh trees taking the place of those now standing like shattered teeth.

"To the victor the spoils," said the woman at his side, where she had come to stand. Her voice was deep, almost masculine, rendered truly feminine by its musical resonance. "Look at them, Earl. Children playing with their toys. Bangs and noises in the night, the sight of flame, the trembling of the ground. Then, when it's all over, they come out of their holes and wave flags and chant songs of triumph. And they call it war."

"And you, my lady?"

"Stupidity." She handed him one of the two glasses she carried. The wine it contained was a lambent green holding the flavor and odor of mint. "Men are such fools. What has the war decided? That taxes shall be paid to one faction instead of another and to gain this so-called victory, what has it cost? A year's revenue at least to pay for the mercenaries. Two more to repair the damage. Wanton extravagance when the whole matter could have been settled by cutting a deck of cards."

Dumarest said, "An easy solution, my lady."

"Too easy, which is why they never take it. Always they need to strut and adopt their postures, make the same old threats and the same old appeals. Always they need sacrifice and blood. And always, they prate of their pride. Why are men such fools?"

"To have pride?" Dumarest sipped his wine. "Some men have little else."

"And so, because of that, it becomes more important to them than life itself. Is that what you are telling me, Earl? That a man is nothing without his pride? That rules dictated by others should determine how he should live and die? That tradition has the right to eliminate self-determination?"

Her voice had deepened, holding the raw edge of anger and acid contempt. Dumarest wondered why… not because of what she saw through the window. Earthquakes could ruin houses, and many cultures adopted a common garb, so destruction and soldiers were not unique to war. There were no dead lying in the streets, no blood staining the walls, no fragments of limbs and shattered tissue to tell of recent events. Like all mercenary-fought wars the engagement had been conducted with due consideration to those who footed the bill.

He said, casually, "If you had your way, my lady, some of us would find it hard to find employment."

"I was forgetting." Light flashed as she lifted her hand, each nail a silver mirror. "Yet how many soldiers actually kill? And what, to them, does killing mean? The touch of a finger can launch a missile to destroy a city a hundred miles distant. A child could do it, and children do. Children in uniform. Soldiers."

Dumarest watched as she poured herself more wine. Beneath the shimmering fabric of her high-necked gown her figure held the lithe grace of a feline. Her breasts, high and firm, were taut beneath the fabric above a cinctured waist, the long skirt falling over neatly rounded hips and thighs. A woman who carried little excessive fat, one whose metabolism would burn up energy as fast as it was ingested. One of indeterminate age, not young, but far from old. One, he guessed, who had lived hard and fast-as if to crowd two lifetimes into one. And she had the ingrained arrogance of a person born to the power and privilege of wealth.

Lowering the glass she met his eyes. Bluntly she said, "Well, Earl, do you like what you see?"

"Is that important, my lady?"

"No, but something else is. When you first entered this room I was watching your reflection in the window. You thought you recognised me. Correct?"

"You reminded me of someone."

"A woman?" She didn't wait for an answer. "It would have to be a woman. One with red hair, obviously, but redder than mine?" Her hand lifted to touch it and again light threw brilliance from her nails. Splintered reflections from metal inserts each honed to a razor edge and needle point. Talons Dumarest had seen before tipping the fingers of harlots plying an ancient trade. "Earl?" She was insistent. "What was her name? The woman I reminded you of, what was her name?"