Assassins' Dawn (53 page)

“For a woman with much to get ready, you talk a lot.”

Again, that eternal smile. “I’ll be going now. Ulthane, Thane; whatever she says to you, remember that what we’ve spoken about is still valid. Don’t make a decision just because you’re scared of jeopardizing your standing with the Alliance. They’re a lying breed. They’ll soon join the ippicators and the Hag like all he rest.”

Oldin slapped at the door control, swept through, and strode into the corridors of Center.

D’Embry watched the door sigh closed. She’d not moved from her position. The hands were still in an attitude of reverence on the desk, the spine was erect against the straight-backed floater. “That wasn’t a scene I wished the two of you to see.”

Valdisa shrugged. She brushed at the shoulder of her nightcloak. “How does it affect Hoorka? That’s all I care about.”

“Did you send someone to Heritage?”

“We’d declared bloodfeud against Guillene, m’Dame. All we wanted was his death, in any manner it could be accomplished. If someone else did the deed before us, it really doesn’t matter. Guillene’s Hag-kin now, and we don’t speak of him.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

Silence.

After a moment, d’Embry exhaled heavily, closing her eyes. She unclenched her hands, her posture sagged. The movement aged her. She tapped at the desk with a finger the color of ice. “I don’t know where this leaves us, Thane, Ulthane. Niffleheim was upset with the entire Heritage affair—the Hoorka work well enough for Neweden, but Heritage . . .”

“Which means what, Regent?” Valdisa asked the question

“It means that there has to be some reevaluation, an examination of Hoorka and the Alliance.”

“But you’re not restricting us to Neweden again?”

“I didn’t say that, Thane.”

“What
are
you saying?” Gyll broke in. He was tired, tired of the evasion, tired of the semantic games he’d seen played here this morning. He’d rather be out in the drizzle and clouds, or back in Underasgard—to have time to think.

D’Embry smiled faintly. “I’m sorry, Ulthane. You’ll have to forgive an old woman her whims. I’ll try to be more direct. I do feel that the Hoorka can still find a place in the Alliance. But I think we—you and Thane Valdisa and I—need to examine the offworld contracts more carefully, with an eye toward the compatibility of social structures. For the time being, I’m going to hold all contracts in abeyance, until I’ve had the opportunity to study this more.”

“But we’ll eventually have offworld work?” Valdisa.

“I would think so.”

Valdisa looked at Gyll. He was unable to decipher her expression. It seemed to waver between triumph and uncertainty.

“In that case, you may consider the Hoorka to have dropped any thought of working with the Trading Families.”

D’Embry nodded. “That’s good, Thane. I wouldn’t have liked the other options open to me.”

Gyll could only seethe, silent, in frustration.

•   •   •

The thin, cold drizzle glazed the expanse of Sterka Fort. The rain-slicked surface darkly mirrored the ships on their pads, the spires and conveyors that fed and relieved them. Farther back were the huddled buildings of the city, looking miserable under the mist and low clouds.

Gyll turned from the window and handed his identification to the impassive gate-ward. “I’m boarding the
Peregrine
shuttle,” he said.

The ward nodded, glancing at Gyll, the full pack over the Hoorka’s shoulder, the bumblewort in its traveling cage. He rustled the flimsies in pretended scrutiny. “You know
Peregrine’s
asked for clearance to leave orbit.” The sentence fell halfway between declaration and query.

“I know,” Gyll replied. He gave his attention to the view outside the window again.

It had not been a pleasant day. He and Valdisa had begun arguing from the moment they’d left d’Embry’s offices. It was a quiet disagreement, marked by an exaggerated politeness that bothered him more than any violent confrontation. The apprentice driving their flitter had kept his eyes discreetly averted, but Gyll knew that the ears had been busy. The gossip would spread through Underasgard as soon as his shift was done. Valdisa had left him at Tri-Guild Square, saying that she had errands to run. Gyll knew the excuse was to avoid continuing the discussion in her rooms where the civilized pretense could be dropped. And he knew that her position was now set in stone, hardened by her fear of losing authority as Thane. She would not bend.

He’d begun packing as soon as he’d returned to his rooms. He took very little beyond a few essentials, amazed at what he felt he could do without for the few months he would be with Oldin. He could have given the wort to Cranmer for the duration, but he indulged a whim and shrank the field-cage down to traveling size. A few months . . . and then he would know whether the Families were worth further expenditure of energy. He told himself that Valdisa’s anger would be softened by time.

And he told himself that he wasn’t simply avoiding Valdisa by doing it in this manner. He left a short note for her in her com-unit; it would have to be enough.

The ward snapped shut the paper-case with a grunt. “You’ll need to be quick, then. You’ll only have a few hours before she leaves.”

He nodded—the ward did not have to know that he didn’t intend to return before
Peregrine
left. Gyll started toward the field entrance.

“Gyll!”

The shout turned him. Down the corridor stood Valdisa, breathing rapidly as if after a long run. Port workers and passengers moved aside, away from the Hoorka woman with anger on her face, her nightcloak back to reveal the dagger at her belt. Gyll watched her approach, waiting, willing himself to stay calm. The wort moved in the cage, curling itself in a corner. Valdisa stopped a few meters away, hands on hips, frowning. The gate-ward began to come forward and demand her papers, but Valdisa quelled him with a look.

“Ulthane,” she said. Her voice was dangerously quiet. “I hope you’re not taking the shuttle. I hope it was just an airing for the wort.” Over her dark eyes, lines deepened.

He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, Valdisa.”

“Thane
Valdisa, Ulthane. You left Underasgard without my permission. You break your own code—obedience to the Thane is paramount.”

“I told you what I intended.” Then, after a pause: “Thane. We’ve gone over it too many times. I’m doing this for the good of your own authority and for Hoorka. That’s not exactly deserving of censure.”

“You’re doing it for yourself first. I know you that well, Gyll.” For a moment, the harshness softened, the lines of her face smoothing. Gyll thought she might smile, that they might hug and depart still friends. But her stance had not altered, and if her fingers clenched uneasily, they still strayed near the hilt of her dagger. Her eyebrows lowered, the corners of her mouth twisted down. “I didn’t want it to come to a confrontation, Gyll, but you seem to want to force it. Fine. As Thane, as kin-lord of your guild, I’m telling you to return to Underasgard. We’ll talk there, try to settle our differences—maybe we need to split the guild, start another guildhome on Illi or the Waste, with you Thane of one. I don’t know, but we can find some way to assuage your boredom, your ennui. But first you have to come back.”

Almost, he stepped toward her. He swayed. Then his resolution hardened. “I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

Again, he shrugged. There seemed to be nothing else to do. He stared at Valdisa, willing her to back down, but she would not—she returned his gaze flatly. Gyll shifted the pack on his shoulder, hefted the wort’s cage in his right hand, wiped at the sweat on his forehead. The gate-ward examined papers to one side. Passersby stared curiously at the two, sidling past and giving the Hoorka as much space as possible in the corridor.

“Valdisa, you know how I feel about you. I really don’t want to hurt you. That’s partly why I want to go with the Families.”

Her face spoke disbelief.

“I don’t want to hurt myself, either,” he continued. “It’s better this way. When I come back, much of the pain’ll be gone. We’ll both be surer of ourselves, more confident of our positions.” He waited for her to answer, half-wanting her to say something to convince him to stay, half-impatient to leave. His fingers drummed the strap of the pack. When she said nothing, he finally turned away. Through the windows of the port, he could see the Trader shuttle. Under the spidery bulk, a figure lounged near the lift: Helgin.

“You can’t go as Hoorka, Gyll.”

He stopped.

“I mean that, Gyll.” Her voice wavered on the edge of breaking. Her defiance was brittle; he knew he could break it with a word. Her gaze fluttered, away and back. “If you go, you do so unguilded. Lassari, not Hoorka-kin. And you won’t be welcome to return.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do, Gyll. I mean it more than anything else I’ve ever said to you.”

He could see a trembling in her lower lip, but he knew her better than to think it vulnerability. Emotion, yes; she might give in to tears when this was over and she was alone, but he could sense no weakness in her resolve now. He wanted to touch her, to pull her to him, but he knew he could not—she wouldn’t allow it.
It would make you look silly, old fool. It’s over between you.

“You’ll change your mind,” he said. “When I come back.”

“No.” Chin lifting, she defied him. “Stay or go; it’s your decision, Gyll. I’m long past thinking I can change your mind or force you into acceptance with logic or bribes or love. You insist on doing everything alone. Fine. But you’re not going as Hoorka, and if you step on that ship, you may as well stay with the Families forever. You’ve Hoorka property on you. I’ve come to reclaim it.”

“What!”
Surprise lashed him into irritation. He nearly bellowed the word. People nearby halted in mid-stride. “I
made
the guild, woman. I got us everything we share.”

“And now you’ve cast yourself from the kin. Your nightcloak, the guild holoclasp, that vibro: they all belong to Hoorka. I’ll let you have the wort’s cage, but I want the rest, Gyll.” Her fingers caressed the dagger’s hilt. “I’m as stubborn as you. Or is the Ulthane a thief as well as lassari?”

Her eyes were suddenly arid, the verging tears gone. Even the gate-ward, an offworlder, could sense the head of the conflict. He put his back to a wall, eyes wide. Muttering, those watching skittered away. Gyll was startled by Valdisa’s quick vehemence, the casual use of the impersonal mode to insult him. He grimaced, lips drawn back. He set the wort’s cage on the floor, let the pack fall unheeded. He set his legs apart, a fighting stance. For a long moment, they regarded each other, balanced between fury and defiance.

That’s Valdisa, not some contracted victim, not an enemy.
Gyll’s restless hand touched the smooth leather of his vibro sheath.
You’ve not liked taking blood—do you want hers so badly?

“I mean it, Gyll.”

The rage left him. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t let the conflict become physical.
You forced it, old man. Be satisfied with it.
Slowly, Gyll forced himself to calmness. He unclasped the nightcloak from his shoulders, swinging the heavy cloth around and letting it drop around his feet. Then, hurrying as if he wanted the task done, he unbuckled the sheath-belt with the Hoorka insignia and let vibro and belt drop on top of the cloak. He stared down at the pile.

He felt very naked.

“Is this the way you want it?” he asked.

She shook her head, slowly, sadly. She let her nightcloak fall around her shoulder, reached back to pull the hood up so that her face was shadowed. All he could see was the glinting of her pupils. “No, Gyll. It’s the way
you
wanted it.”

“That’s very facile.” He could not stop the words from sounding bitter.

A shrug.

“Your feelings will change, Valdisa. You’ll miss me, miss the advice and help I can give you. You’ll need it, when the Li-Gallant tries to control the guild’s way, when d’Embry procrastinates on her promises.” He bent down to retrieve the pack; it slid over his shoulder easily without the encumbrance of the nightcloak. He picked up the wort’s cage. Outside the window, above its rain-image, the shuttle still waited.

To the side, the ward began rustling paper once more.

“I won’t say that you’re wrong, Gyll. But there’s a lot of scars that have to heal. I don’t think I’ll change my decision.” Valdisa stepped forward, bent to take the cloak and vibro. Holding them in her arm, she looked at Gyll. He could not guess at what she might be feeling under the mask of gray and black cloth. They were close enough to touch, but then she pivoted and began walking away. Gyll watched her leave, thinking with every step that she would stop for another word, another chance at reconciliation.

She reached an intersecting hallway and turned left.

Gyll was suddenly aware of the gaggle of people, offworlders and Newedeners, staring at him. He forced himself into aloofness.
Feel the emotions, yes, but keep them hidden. You have to feel, but don’t let the others see it unless they are your kin.
The old code. The Hoorka lore he’d created.

Except that now he had no kin.

Gyll moved away from the onlookers and Neweden. He walked out into the damp embrace of the sky.

Helgin, seeing his approach, waved.

A QUIET OF STONE

TO THE FAMILY:—Walter and Betty Leigh, for more than can possibly be expressed here. They are ultimately responsible.—Eva Kohnle. Gigi, for gentle and uncritical encouragement.—Sharon and Pam, because they insisted.With much love to all.

Chapter 1

M
CWILMS NEVER LET HIS HAND stray far from the sheathed dagger’s hilt. He knew the gesture for the nervous habit it was, but he’d long ago convinced himself that the feeling of proximity gave him confidence.

“How many are there, and what have they got?” he asked the apprentice brusquely, staring at the building before him. In the wan light of Gulltopp, it looked formidable enough. He was willing to bet that they’d need a disruptor to batter down that doorshield.