Eye of the Zodiac

A journey into the mountains, to look for-what? Nothing of interest, perhaps, but the expedition offered transportation and a chance to learn of what lay in the valleys the old woman had mentioned. They only way, perhaps. One he would have to take if ever he hoped to find Leon's home.

Dumarest said, slowly, "I'm interested, but I need to know more."

"The pay for example. The cost of a High passage, that I can promise. As for the rest-" Kinabalu finished his wine. "-that Jalch Moore will explain."

Chapter Eight

There was something odd about the man. He moved with the restless pacing of a hungry feline, his head jerking, hands twitching, eyes never at rest. His room at the hotel was littered with papers, maps, scrolls, moldering books, items of equipment. A dagger with an ornate hilt and engraved blade lay beside a small statuette of a weeping woman. In a crystal jar an amorphous something turned slowly, as if imbued with sluggish life. An illusion, the thing was dead, preserved, the motion the result of transmitted vibration.

"Dumarest," he said. "Earl Dumarest. From?"

"Vonstate."

"And before that?" The thin, angry tones sharpened a little. "The planet of origin, man. Where were you born?"

"Earth."

Dumarest waited for the expected reaction, the incredulity, the conviction of a lie. None came and he looked at Moore's hand, the small instrument it contained. A tonal lie detector, he guessed. The recorded vibrations of his voice tested by electronic magic to reveal the truth. An unusual tool for an explorer to carry.

He said, flatly, "And you? Usterlan?"

"Yes."

A lie. Dumarest knew the world despite what he had told the Hausi. The people of Usterlan were dark, their hair a kinked ebon, a protection against the fury of a sun radiating high in ultra-violet. His eyes slid to the woman sitting quietly beside the window. She wore masculine garb, her russet hair cropped short, her face devoid of cosmetics. A strong face, the bones prominent, the lips firm, the bottom pouting a little. Her eyes were uptilted, a pale gray, the lids thickly lashed. Her hands were broad, the fingers long, the nails neatly rounded.

Iduna, Jalch Moore's younger sister.

"My lord," Bhol Kinabalu bowed a little, his hands extended, palms upward. "This is the man for whom you have been waiting. He will suit your requirements-if not, I must cancel the commission and answer to my guild."

An ultimatum, despite the appeal of the hands, the deferential bow. Moore grunted, dropping the instrument he carried, his hand moving towards the dagger, to snatch it up, to hurl it with a sudden gesture. A bad throw. Left to itself it would hit the wall close to where Dumarest stood, denting the plaster with its hilt.

He caught it, spun it to grip the point, threw it all in one fast motion. Metal tore as the blade ripped into the lie-detector, inner components ruined, its discharged energy flaring in momentary sparkles.

"Fast." The woman's voice was deep, musical. "A test, Jalch? If so, the man has passed. At least his reactions leave nothing to be desired."

"The instrument-"

"Is ruined, but he could have buried the steel in your throat had he wished." She rose, tall, a little imperious, the curves of her body betraying her femininity. "Have you been told what it is we want you to do?"

"No."

"No?" She frowned, glancing at the Hausi. Again Kinabalu spread his hands.

"I have explained the basic duties, my lady, but the details must come from you. To guard, to protect, these things are vague. Only a rogue would promise to deliver what he cannot supply." Pausing he added, "The guide?"

"Has been accepted."

"And this man?"

"We shall see. You may go." As the door closed behind the Hausi she said to Dumarest, "Have you been engaged in such employment before?"

"Yes."

"And yet you are not satisfied with what has been told you?"

"No." Dumarest met her eyes. "If I am to be efficient I need to know what dangers to anticipate. This enterprise you propose, what is it's purpose? To hunt? To map a region? To trade? To search for minerals?" The pale gray orbs did not flicker. "What?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"It could." Dumarest looked at the scattered maps, the scrolls, the moldering books. "How many will be on this expedition?"

"We two, the guide and yourself if you agree to join us."

"A small party."

"But large enough," snapped Jalch harshly. "Sister, let me explain." His hand touched a scroll, moved to a book, lingered on the statuette. "We are chasing a legend," he said abruptly. "Shajok is an old world and must have been settled many times. In the mountains are valleys which could hold the remnants of previous cultures. One of them could be the life that was native to this planet in ages past. From what I have been able to discover they were unique. You have seen the pennons?"

Dumarest nodded.

"You know their purpose?"

"A warning."