Star Winds

He regarded the waiting Veautrin with a more cautious eye. The fellow was used to free-fall swordplay; Zhorga was not, and besides he was out of practice. Just the same, he told himself, he had better put up a good show or he would be booted off this ship and onto the red desert below.

Cunning would be required.

He charged again at Veautrin, apparently in the same manner as before, but at the last moment changed direction. As he had anticipated, Veautrin was impeded by his cling-slippers and was unable to take advantage of Zhorga’s momentary defenselessness. As he lunged past the starman, Zhorga swung round and kicked him behind the knee—a trick he had learned on the Victorious. Veautrin buckled and in the next instant Zhorga’s whole bulk collided with him. In a moment the star captain was knocked to the floor, his sword arm pinned down by Zhorga’s knee, and Zhorga, teeth bared, held aloft his own blade in both hands, directing the point at Veautrin’s throat.

“Yield,” he grunted.

Veautrin twitched his sword arm. Too late, Zhorga realized that he lacked the planetary weight to hold his opponent to the floor. Already he had made the mistake of lifting one foot from the carpet, and the other remained attached only by the sole. Now the remaining inches of grip-felt came free, and Veautrin sent him floating into the air, spinning slowly, unable to reach his adversary and feeling ridiculous.

With a chiming sound his sword was struck from his grasp and went flying toward the ceiling. As it bounced back, Veautrin deftly caught it. Then he tugged Zhorga to the floor by the skirt of his jacket and handed him the weapon hilt foremost with a curt bow.

“Your play has merit, though it lacks finesse,” he said.

Baron Matello was laughing loudly and clapping his hands. “Well done! The best bit of clowning I’ve seen for a long time!” He turned to the victor. “Well, Veautrin, what do you think of him?”

The captain looked Zhorga up and down. He might have been appraising a horse. “He’ll be all right, once he’s been put through the drills. A good reliable type, basically—if he’ll accept discipline.”

Privately Zhorga marveled as he dabbed at the blood that still oozed through his beard. The two were discussing a fealty oath that could bind him to the baron for life—yet nothing had even been mentioned to him of the baron’s own allegiances, his ideals and aims, even though Zhorga was obviously quite ignorant of them. It was apparently of no consequence, for instance, that he did not even know the name of Matello’s monarch.

All this accorded with what he had heard of the mentality of these great star nobles, who lived in an atmosphere of unquestioning obedience and treated their bondsmen as personal property without any opinions of their own. Zhorga tried a new tack. “Perhaps your lordship would be generous enough to give us passage to the star worlds and allow us to fend for ourselves thereafter. In return, let us work for you during your stay on Mars.”

“But what use would you be to me?” Matello said petulantly. “It is not as if you had any special knowledge of Mars, or could help me in my mission.”

“That depends, of course, on what brings you to this planet,” Zhorga said in a low voice.

Matello was silent for a moment. Then he grunted.

“Well, what does it matter if you know? Mars, at one time, was a venue for those seeking a thing of value called the Philosopher’s Stone. It has come to my knowledge that a book is hidden here somewhere, said to contain the ultimate alchemical secret. Alchemy, as such, doesn’t interest me—but I have reasons for wanting this book.”

He gestured to Veautrin to return the swords to the cupboard rack. His florid tones became complaining.

“Where, however, is it? The towns are in ruins, scarcely anyone in them can even read. It could be under any square foot of sand.”

Zhorga blinked, and looked astounded. “That is all you know, my lord? That the book is on Mars?”

“That is all.”

Zhorga grinned. His eyes gleamed. “Then I can be of use to you after all!”

***

“You’re sure your mentor had nothing else to add? No hint of an address? No idea of what quarter of the city to look in?”

“No, my lord,” Rachad lied, trying to sound as guileless as possible. “He only knew that I should go to Kars.”

They stood on a rise overlooking the ruins of the ancient city. Around them were parked the Bucentaur’s three lighters, which had ferried some hundreds of men to the site. Included in the work force were Zhorga and his crew, transformed now into a small squad and wearing the baron’s uniform, but without his coat of arms. They stood at ease alongside the others, awaiting instructions.