Lord of Janissaries (107 page)

“Not more than I have already sent. His problem is that he casts his nets very wide indeed. He is not content merely to secure a small area and grow
surinomaz
. He seeks to spread civilization across much of the planet.”

“This Galloway is not a typical mercenary soldier.”

“Obviously.”

Agzaral and his companion watched in silence until Les finished with technical details of the status of his ship, and a polite farewell. The screen went grey and the robed man turned to Agzaral.

“He is being rather discreet.”

“I imagine there had been some developments which he did not wish the
Shalnuksis
to know about at this point. I can hardly imagine anyone of Les’ intelligence trusting their judgement. Can you?”

The other man smiled faintly. “Hardly. But I can hardly imagine anyone of your intelligence not trusting a classmate with the information needed to carry out his assignment. Yet it has happened. So perhaps Les—”

“Wilno, what makes you think I am not trusting you with necessary intelligence?”

“What makes you think I’ve forgotten the time you wanted me to make a diversion while you reprogrammed the mess computer? I might have been thrown out of the Academy for that!”

“True. But you were not, and you must remember why?”

“Indeed, you retrieved that situation in your inimitable manner. As you always do. But this time you will be light-years away during the crucial moments of whatever it is you want me to do.”

Wilno was smiling, but Agzaral was not deceived. Wilno was trying to keep the atmosphere pleasant out of old friendship, not out of weakness.

He would have to put the full details of the Tran situation in the hands of someone not already part of his plans. This was a moment he’d known for some time would come; he could not regret too much that it had come so soon.

“It is important, what I am asking of you.”

“I suspected as much. You aren’t the sort to spend your leave traveling a hundred and seventy light-years on four different ships over a trivial matter.”

“It is also secret.”

“If it involves the
Shalnuksis
, how could it be otherwise?”

“Very well. What I want you to do is serve as weapons officer aboard the
Shalnuksi
ship they will send against Tran when they believe they will obtain no more
surinomaz
. It may be a crucial task.”

“As usual, the Council knows nothing of this?”

“As usual, some know and some do not. Wilno, we are both committed. The future of our species is no small matter.”

“No. But why do you believe we are crucial to that?”

“Because we are.” He handed Wilno a plastic envelope. “Put this in water for a minute, then play the disk inside. It will tell you most of what you need to know. If you need any protection for your viewer—”

His companion laughed. “Thank you, but there is no need for your skills. Confederate Intelligence pays little attention to the Houses of the Guides. If we were annoyed we would not be so useful.”

The controlled anger in Wilno’s voice and the eager way he reached for the envelope gave Agzaral more hope. He let none of it show on his face as he walked to the door of Wilno’s chamber.

* * *

The red dwarf sun of D’Jorr was touching the peaks of the mountains on the horizon. The valley below the viewing gallery was already in shadow, but sun still blazed from the snow near the summit of the great triangular peak across the valley. A dancing plume of snow trailed from the summit like a feather from a war helmet.

Higher still, a vapor trail crept across the sky, with a golden glint at its head. Human or Confederate? At this distance it was impossible to tell. Agzaral decided to have his eyes examined soon. He would not again need the keen sight of his youth, but he would need every year left to him. It would be as well to lose none of them getting new eyes.

Probably Confederate, he decided. Few humans came to these mountains, which ranked above the Himalayas for both height and splendor, except the Guides and some hardy climbers. Both came on the ground. On the other hand, the flying city of Nesha was barely an hour’s flight beyond the horizon. Doubtless there would be some Galactics aboard it who had never seen the mountains and would now be taking the chance to fly over.

“A beautiful view,” said a soft voice behind Agzaral.

He turned to see Wilno. The Guide had taken off his red robe and boots and wore only undertunic, kilt, and sandals. His expression was unreadable.

“Very. Earth’s Himalayas and Chrin’s Giants are almost as splendid.”

“I have never seen either. Nor do I really need to, after seeing these. I fell in love with this view when I was only a lay servant. I think I would have stayed on in the House even if I had never risen higher, if only to look at the mountains at sunrise and sunset.

“Let us go to my quarters.”

When they were alone, Wilno’s smile broadened, until it was an old familiar grin. Agzaral had seen that look when Wilno took a choice assignment from a rival.

“I would judge that you find the mission worthy of your attention?” Agzaral asked.

“You’d have to shoot me to keep me off it now.”

“Our
Shalnuksi
friends may yet save me that trouble.”

Wilno shrugged. “Then I die in battle. Better than dying here as Chief Guide, and a damned sight better than dying in some Slave hospital or by my own hand!”

Agzaral could find no reply to that. He knew even better than Wilno the toll suicide took among the Slaves of the Confederation. However light his chains, a slave was still not a master, even of himself.

“Questions before we settle details,” Wilno said. “I think I understand why you don’t want Les for the job. Even a
Shalnuksis
might be suspicious of his presence on the bomb ship. Also—I can see circumstances under which our interest lies alongside the
Shalnuksis
. You may wish Tran bombed.”

“Reluctantly.”

“I would be as reluctant as you. Let us not think of such unpleasant things.”

“And your other question?”

“Is there any chance that our grey-skinned friends will be able to come up with someone for the job themselves?”

“A small chance. If their Intelligence somehow concludes that the secret has leaked out, they may override the Council of Merchants.”

“Why don’t I believe you’ve told me everything?”

“I have told you all I know. Wilno, I am doing all I can. All that anyone in my position can do.”

“And you fear it is not enough.”

Agzaral spread his hands. “There may be ways to obtain more resources.”

“My friend, it is no great matter to deceive the
Shalnuksis
, but robbing them is something else entirely.”

Agzaral smiled.

Wilno shrugged. “Since I have known you, Agzaral, I have had many complaints, but boredom has never been one of them.”

PART FOUR

THE ROYAL

SACRIFICE

18

Gwen Tremaine’s Diary

Almost summery weather today, even by the standards of Iowa. By the standards of Tran, it’s a blistering heat wave. I’d try introducing the bikini or at least the sunback dress, but who’s going to spend money on clothes useful maybe ten years out of every six centuries?

Lunch with Larry Warner, who turns out to be riding off on the mission to Margilos with Rick and a whole bunch of the other rough-and-tough types. I asked him why, when the Margilans are supposed to be hostile and the rule is “No University People in Combat.”

He said the Margilans have promised the mission safe-conduct, and by all reports they have an ironbound sense of honor that won’t let them do anything to guests who don’t insult them. I asked him if he knew all the things Margilans consider insults, and he decided he’d better keep his mouth shut. As if he could.

Apparently having the Westmen dumped on them was more of a fight than the Margilans liked, and they want to find out if this was part of some new policy toward them, or just the fortunes of war. So maybe the Margilans aren’t so dangerous, but then there are stray bands of Westmen. Larry says the expedition will be armed to the teeth. I hope so. We need Rick. For that matter I need Larry.

Even if the risk was a lot greater, Larry says it would be worth it to visit Margilos. Apparently they have some very unusual methods of gold-mining, plus hot springs where they can dump the gold if the city is in any danger. Also, they can do things with centaurs nobody else can, like teaching them to use simple weapons.

After the second cup of wine I realized that I was going to miss Larry a lot. So I kissed him goodbye. He turned red and didn’t kiss me back, but he didn’t back away either. I have the feeling that Larry is settling into kind of a brotherly attitude toward me, which is better than nothing. Besides, suppose he was just as indispensable to Rick’s plans but a real slimeball like Alex Boyd? Boyd’s going to Margilos, and if the Margilans want to string that one up for messing with their women I hope somebody invites me!

Later—A letter from Octavia, sent from Benevenutum. The visit to show Publius his grandson Adrian was a great success. Maybe that will mellow Publius. I know Rick hopes so.

Rick. What’s wrong with him? The servants tell stories. He hasn’t been alone with Tylara for a year. A year. Rick’s a normal man, he must hate that. And don’t get ideas, Tremaine. . . .

Of course the Roman matrons are tongue-clucking the way the Drantos ladies used to, only it’s “Octavia’s barbarian husband” instead of “the Wanax’s Roman wife.” At least Octavia has learned to laugh at the old biddies.

Old. None of them are really old. This place ages people. It hasn’t done that to me yet. Has it?

Publius is quite the proud grandfather. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. I guess knowing his line won’t die out makes a big difference to him. Even if it does have to be passed on through his daughter. Note: Be even more careful with Catwin than with Les and Caradoc. As long as Caradoc’s only legitimate child is alive, that family has got an obligation to help you, or at least not help your enemies.

Still Later—Mortimer Schultz dropped in. He says Diana is doing fine; Campbell expects the kid any day now. Mostly he wanted to talk about printing presses. I admit I groaned when he started off, because he’s kind of obsessed with getting moveable type introduced before the
skyfire
falls, but this idea made a lot of sense.