* * * * *
Alfric's eyes traveled up to Amaris, the farther moon, high in the
darkening heavens. The nearer one, Dannos, had not yet risen--out of
the west, as was its strange wont--but its rocket-like speed would
carry it up to and beyond the farther before dawn.
Aye--aye, now he remembered that tonight the moons would mate. On such
nights the Temple no doubt had great ceremonies afoot; perhaps this
matter of the assassination was involved in some religious proceeding.
Whispered legend and the moldering history books alike agreed that the
turning points of the old Empire's fate had come on nights when the
moons mated. No doubt that still held good for the withered remnant of
territory which Valkarion still ruled.
The moons were not important in the religion of the Aslakan barbarians,
whose chief gods were the wind and the stars and nameless powers of
winter and death. But a tingle of fear ran along Alfric's spine at the
thought of what might be abroad that night.
To Luigur with it! His lean face twisted in a snarl, and he snapped
sword and javelin back in place and rode trotting on toward Valkarion.
Come ambush or priesthood or the Moons themselves, he meant to sleep in
the city tonight.
Behind him, the hovering falkh wheeled down toward the two still forms
sprawled on the highway.
The sun slipped into the dead sea-bottom, and night came with a silent
rush. Amaris rode high in a froth of stars, painting the hills with
a dim eerie silver in which monstrous shadows lurked. The wind blew
stronger, colder, with a faint smell of salt like the ghost of the
long-dried ocean. Alfric wrapped his worn cloak tighter about him
against its searching chill. Save for the vast echoing howl of the
wind, the hiss of sand and rustle of leaves, he was alone in the dark.
He heard the creak and jingle of his harness, the rapid _clopclop_ of
the hengist's hoofs, against a background of hooting night.
The crumbling city walls loomed darkly before him, rearing enormously
against the myriad brilliant, unwinking stars. He had half expected to
find the gates closed, but instead a fire blazed in the tunnel which
the gateway made through the walls. A dozen city guards stood about it.
They sprang to alertness as he rode up, a sudden wall of spears leaning
forth in front of him. Behind that shining steel, the light picked out
helmets and corselets and faces drawn tight with strain.
"Who goes?" called one. His voice shook a little.
"A stranger, but a friend," said Alfric in his north-accented
Valkariona.
He rode into the circle of firelight and sat in a watchful quiet as
their eyes raked him. Plainly he was an outland barbarian--taller by
a head than most of the southerners, his hard-thewed body clad in
the plain leather and ring-mail of a northern warrior, his sword a
double-edged claymore rather than the scimitar or shortsword of the
south. His skin was a sunburned leathery brown where theirs was tawny,
his long slant eyes a brilliant green where theirs were dark, and
there were jeweled rings in his pointed ears. He went cleanshaven in
accordance with southern custom, but the high cheekbones, thin straight
nose, and long jaw were not theirs.
"Who are you, stranger," demanded the guard captain, "and what is your
errand?"
"I am Alfric, Beodan's son, of Aslak," he answered truthfully enough,
"and am simply wandering about in search of employment. Perhaps
Valkarion could use another sword-arm, or some merchant may want a
good warrior to help guard his caravan, or--" he spread his calloused
hands in a general gesture. No need to add that perhaps some highwayman
was in town recruiting or some would-be rebel was in search of an
experienced war-captain who would help for the loot. In his years of
adventuring, Alfric had held most jobs, lawful or otherwise.
The guards seemed more taut and wary than the occasion warranted.
Surely they had passed stranger and more dubious visitors than a single
barbarian. Perhaps they wanted a bribe to let him by, or--
The captain nodded stiffly. "You may enter, since you are alone," he
said; and then, with a friendliness not quite natural: "If you wish
good cheap lodging, and a place where men come who might want to hire a
fighter, try the Falkh and Firedrake. First turn to your right, three
streets down, one to your left. Good luck, stranger."
Alfric scowled. For a moment he paused, tensing. There was something
here--To Luigur with it. His nerves were still on edge from the fight.
If something was supposed to happen, let it.
"Thanks," he said, and rode into the city.
* * * * *
It was like most of the old Imperial towns--somewhat larger and busier
than the rest, no more. On either side of the broad paved street rose
the ancient, columned facades of the Empire, proud building even now
when their treasures were long gone and their corners worn smooth by
the winds of millennia. There were lamps lighting the main ways, their
yellow glow splashing on a milling throng of folk.
Most were native Valkarionas--merchants in their flowing cloaks
and fur-trimmed silken robes, workers and artisans in tunics of
blue or gray, peasants in clumsy homespun garments and fur caps,
swaggering young soldiers in red tunics and polished metal, painted
harlots, ragged beggars, near-naked slaves, the others of a city
where life still pulsed strong though the days of glory were more
thousands of years behind than it was pleasant to count. But there
were strangers--robed traders from Tsungchi and Begh Sarrah riding
their humped dromads, black-skinned men of Suda and Astrak, coppery
feather-cloaked mercenaries from Tollaciuatl, fair-haired barbarians
from Valmannstad and the Marskan hills--all the world seemed met at
Valkarion, in a babble of tongues and a swirl of colors.
There were many of the tonsured priests of the Moons abroad in long red
and black robes with the double crescent hanging from a silver chain
about the neck. After each shaven-pate padded one or more of the yellow
slaves, silent and watchful, hand on knife or blowgun. Alfric scowled,
and decided he had best find lodging before venturing out into such
company. A trading center like Valkarion necessarily tolerated all
creeds--still, someone _had_ tried to kill him--
He edged out of the throng and followed the captain's directions. They
brought him into an unsavory part of town, where moldering blank-walled
houses crowded a winding labyrinth of narrow, unlighted streets and
stinking alleys. Men of dubious aspect moved furtively through the
shadowy maze, or brawled drunkenly before the tawdry inns and bawdy
houses. Strange place for a city guardsman to direct him to--
But no priests or soldiers were in sight, which was recommendation
enough. Alfric rode on until he saw the sign of the Falkh and Firedrake
creaking in the chill gusty wind above a gloomy doorway.
He dismounted and knocked, one hand on his dagger. The door groaned
open a crack and a thin scar-faced man looked out, his own hand on a
knife.
"I want lodging for myself and my hengist," said Alfric.
The landlord's hooded eyes slid up and down the barbarian's tall
form. An indrawn breath hissed through his lips. "Are you from the
northlands?" he asked.
"Aye." Alfric flung open the door and stepped into the taproom.
It was dim and dirty and low-ceiled, a few smoky torches throwing a
guttering light on the hard-faced men who sat at the tables drinking
the sour yellow wine of the south. They were all armed, all wary--the
place was plainly a hangout of thieves and murderers.
Alfric shrugged broad shoulders. He'd stayed in such places often
enough. "How much do you want?" he asked.
"Ah--" The landlord licked his lips, nervously. "Two chrysterces for
supper now and breakfast tomorrow, one soldar room and girl."
The rate was so low that Alfric's eyes narrowed and his ears cocked
forward in an instinctive gesture of suspicion. These southerners all
named several times the price they expected to get, but he had never
haggled one down as far as this fellow's asking price.
"Done," he said at last. "But if the food is bad or the bed lousy or
the woman diseased, I'll throw you in your own pot and cut my breakfast
off your ribs."
"'Twill not be needful, noble sir," whined the landlord. He waved a
thin little slave boy over. "Take care of the gentleman's hengist."
* * * * *
Alfric sat down at a corner table and ate his meal alone. The food was
greasy, but not bad. From the shadows he watched his fellow guests,
sizing up their possibilities. That big spade-bearded fellow--he might
be the head of a gang which would find an expert sword-swinger useful.
And the little wizened man in the gray cloak might be a charlatan in
need of a bodyguard--
He grew slowly aware of their own unease. There were too many sharp
glances thrown in his own direction, entirely too many--too much
whispering behind hands, too much furtive loosening of sheathed
daggers. There was something infernally strange going on in Valkarion.
Alfric bristled like an angry jaccur, but throttled impatience and got
up. Time enough to find all that out tomorrow--he was tired now from
his long ride; he would sleep and then in the morning look the city
over.
He mounted the stairs, conscious of the glances following him, and
opened the door the boy showed to him. There he paused, and his hard
jaw fell.
The room was just a room, small, lit by one stump of candle, no
furniture save a bed. Its window looked out on an alley which was like
a river of darkness.
It was the woman who held Alfric's eyes.
She was clad only in the usual gaudy silken shift, and she sat plucking
thin chords from the usual one-stringed harp. Her rings and bracelets
were ordinary cheap gewgaws. But she was no common tavern bawd--not
she!
Tall and lithe and tawny-skinned, she rose to face him. Her shining
blue-black hair tumbled silkily to her slim waist, framing a face as
finely and proudly chiseled as a piece of ancient sculpture--broad
clear forehead, delicately arched nose, full mobile mouth, stubborn
chin, long smooth throat running down toward her high firm breasts. Her
eyes were wide-set, dark and starry brilliant as the desert nights; her
lips were like red flame.
When she spoke, it was music purring under the wind that whimpered
outside and rattled the window sash.
"Welcome, stranger."
Alfric gulped, licked his lips, and slowly recovered his voice: "Thank
you, my lovely." He moved closer to her. "I had not--not thought to
find one like you--here."
"But now that you have--" She came closer, and her smile blinded
him--"now that you have, what will you do?"
"What do you think?" he laughed.
She bent over and blew out the candle.