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casting one or two interested looks at him.
He picked up the spit and cut it in two with his sword, handing her one
animal. She tore greedily into the fresh, smoking meat, letting the grease
ooze down her chin. That was another thing that she found hard to accept.
Blade always served her first and made a special point of giving her the
choicest pieces.
When they had both finished off their meat, Blade poured both their cups full
of beer from the last skin bag. He drank, then smiled. "Silora, what is a
'Principal Technician of War'? What does he do, among your people?"
Silora did not stiffen or glare as she had done before. She only replied, "Why
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do you want to know?"
"Because I don't know if I am really one or not, among the people of Tharn.
It's a strange title, and you've made me curious about what it might mean."
"It means it is what the commander of the shtafari calls himself. It is not a
title that is rightfully his, but he uses it anyway." Both her eyes and her
voice showed indignation.
Blade nodded. "And who-or what-are the shtafari? That's something you haven't
mentioned before."
He caught the sudden tightening of her lips and the veiling of her eyes and
laid a hand gently on one of her knees. "It just struck me-you know very
little of how we live in Tharn. So why don't I tell you of it, and what I am
as Mazda. Then you can tell me whether I am indeed a-a Principal Technician of
War-or whatever." He said the title as though the words left a bad taste in
his mouth.
She nodded. "That-that seems fair enough. I would like to know more about
you." The curiosity in her voice was genuine. So was the curiosity in her eyes
as they ran over his body again.
Blade launched into his description of life in Tharn. He didn't say very much
about the history of the people or how they had ended up in their present
situation. Instead he gave the impression that life in
Tharn had gone happily along this way for centuries.
Blade got quite caught up in his own tale, enough to stop paying attention to
Silora. It wasn't until he broke off for a drink of water that he realized she
was staring at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. He hadn't seen her eyes so
wide since the day of her capture.
"What is it, Silora?" he said. "Has my face turned blue or something like
that?"
Silora swallowed and shook her head. "No, it is-it is-it is-"
"It is what, Silora?" said Blade gently.
"Your warriors-your shtafari-do they rule the-the neuters?"
"What do you mean by 'rule,' Silora? They-"
"They keep them behind bars at home, don't they? And the women-no, there
aren't any women neuters-but if there were women, they would-" She realized
she wasn't making any sense, stopped, took a deep breath, and went on. "The
warriors-do they give the orders and the neuters and the women obey?
Or-" Her voice trailed off, as if she could not imagine any other way of
living.
"I'm still not sure what you mean," said Blade. He was quite sure, in fact.
The truth about the Looters was coming out at last. He had his victory, and
the torturers would not have Silora. "Both our men and our women fight, as you
have seen. Our neuters do not fight, but that does not mean they obey. They
are often wise teachers, and much respected."
"Then-then your warriors are not-shtafari. They-there was no war between them
and the neuters and women?"
"War? No." Almost the truth. "Why should there be? They-"
Silora swallowed. "The shtafari-they rule in Konis. They have ruled since
their revolt, the revolt that took away all the power of the Peace Lords. All
the hope of the Peace Lords." Her eyes were wet and she seemed about to burst
into tears.
"The Peace Lords?" repeated Blade, nodding as though he understood absolutely.
"Naturally you as a
Peace Lord were-abused-by those two shtafari who were with you in the
machine?" That was a gamble, a shot almost in the dark. But he couldn't think
of anything to say that would do more good if by some chance it did hit its
target.
Silora quivered as if she had been struck by a real arrow, and her eyes closed
for a moment, squeezing out tears to make trails down her soot-darkened
cheeks. "Yes. Yes. They-the shtafari do-always have done-what they wish with
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Peace Lord women. But these-" She could not go on. It was as though the memory
of what the two shtafari had done made her so physically ill that words would
not come.
Blade nodded. But this time when he spoke he made his voice sound harsher and
more suspicious than he felt. "I see, almost. But-then why were you armed with
that sword, if you and the shtafari were ene-"
Silora giggled hysterically. "Oh-if you had seen me with those two-animals-you
wouldn't ask. I did-they thought I was so hungry for everything they wanted me
to do that I would never turn against them.
Never, never, never! They thought I was a hungry little pet they could keep
tame by feeding what she wanted. What I wanted!" The giggle rose to a
hysterical laugh. Silora threw back her head and howled and shrieked
open-mouthed, eyes staring blindly up at the starlit sky. Blade reached out to
take her and hold her, but she sprang to her feet and away from him. For a
moment her eyes drifted down to focus on him, then she turned and ran off into
the darkness.
Blade threw another armful of wood on the fire and lay back on the furs spread
on the ground. There was no need to follow Silora. In fact, she might become
more hysterical and run faster if he did. She would come back when she was
calm enough to say to Blade all the things that were obviously bubbling up
inside her. That would take time. But after tonight Silora would be talking
much more freely, and
Blade would be learning about the Looters-the people of Konis-much faster than
he had been.
Gradually the warmth of the fire made Blade feel sleepy. He considered trying
to stay awake until Silora returned, then decided there was no need. She had
no weapons and could not fly away in the machine.
There was small chance that she would want to either harm him or flee, in any
case. Blade quietly drifted off to sleep, feeling more at peace with the world
than he had felt since he returned to Tharn.
He awoke to the sound of soft footsteps approaching him along the lake shore.
Without rising, he slid his hand under the furs over him and clasped the hilt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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