As the music died a man called, "We drink to the dead,

Zehava."

"I know that."

"Are you saying my nephew is dead?" A woman thrust herself through the crowd, a hand resting on the dagger at her waist. Ruby light shone from polished steel as she twitched at the blade. "Abandoned?"

"Is he here? Have you his body? Did any see him die?"

"But-"

"I was there. On Arpagus after the raid. Abandoned by a man I thought I could trust. I know how they felt about us and what they wanted to do. If Dren died quickly he was lucky." Zehava lifted her goblet. "I drink to a comrade. He was forgotten by his captain – let us not forget him now. To Dren Ford!"

Glass shattered as she flung the empty goblet to the floor. Destruction compounded as others followed her example. As the crystalline tinkling died a man walked from the crowd gathered at the door.

As he halted before the table Zehava said, "So you've shown yourself at last. Earl – meet Captain Leese Toibin."

He was tall, lithe, a man at the end of his fourth decade. The black leather which clothed his body bore plates and jewels of price. His belt was wide, set with gems, hung with a knife in a gleaming scabbard. More jewels glowed from his rings, bracelets, the thick chain about his neck. His face was a contradiction to the barbaric garb, long, smooth, the eyes enigmatic pools of darkness beneath arching brows. The visage of an artist who delighted in creating images of pain. An actor who had timed his entry for maximum impact.

"Earl Dumarest," he said. "I have heard much about you."

The voice, like the face, held an unexpected gentility. The tones of an aristocrat who could afford to be bland, but Dumarest sensed the force within him, the arrogance of a man accustomed to being obeyed.

"Zehava." He turned to the woman. "How nice to see you again. You were talking, my dear. What were you saying?"

"You heard me."

"Some of it, yes, but had another told me of your tirade I would have doubted his sanity. Do you honestly believe that I deliberately abandoned you?"

"I was left." Anger flared in her voice and eyes. "Damn you! Can you guess what would have happened to me had I been taken?"

"A risk you willingly accepted for double a captain's share. You failed to make the rendezvous. Blame yourself, not me."

"You were the captain. I risked my life on that raid and deserved better consideration. And what about Ford?"

The woman who had claimed to be his aunt called out from where she stood. "Tell us about Dren, captain. What happened to him?"

"It was time to leave. I sounded the recall. Later we found he had missed the ship."

"How? Why?"

"I questioned the others of his team. They said he was more interested in delving into bales than getting on with the job. He could have lingered after private loot."

"Dren wouldn't have done that!"

"He missed the ship." The softness held the touch of an impatient snarl. "He knew what he had to do and failed to do it. Was I to sit and wait for him? Risk everything because he was tardy?"

Zehava said, "You could have waited. There was no risk."

"No?" Toibin gave her his attention. "How can you be sure of that?"

"I was there. You know that."

"In the warehouse? At the ship? Near to it?" The softness of his tone was the warning of a serpent about to strike. "Tell us," he urged, a hand lifting to the crowd pressing close. "Tell us what really happened to you. To you and Dren Ford."

A trap and she had fallen into it. Now it was his word against hers and the crowd was on his side. Ford's aunt edged forward, steel glimmering as she lifted the dagger from its sheath. Others, seeing the gesture, rumbled their approval.

"Were you caught?" mused Toibin. "Questioned? Did you buy your life? Have you returned with accusations so as to minimize your guilt? Is there none to challenge your assertions?"

"I challenge them!" The woman with the dagger lifted it high. "If she's lying I'll cut her guts out! Well, bitch? Shall we put it to the test?"

The rough justice of the barbarian in which might equaled right. It was a part of Zehava's culture and she was prepared to face it. Dumarest saw the determined set of her jaw, the tension of arms and shoulders, the hand which fell to her belt, the knife it carried. Guns were too impersonal, too dangerous to use in a crowd even if tradition wasn't against them. She would fight and she would die. She had drunk too deeply and lacked the savage hate of the other woman.

Dumarest said loudly, "Zehava didn't lie. I was there. I know."

"You were with her?!" Toibin reared back a little as afraid of contamination. A theatrical gesture which caused the yellow light to shimmer on his clothing, the dark mass of his hair. "On the field? In the warehouse?"

"I was there but she wasn't with me then. A stone damned near smashed her skull. I ran to tell you she was hurt but couldn't get close. By the time I'd made it into the warehouse you were getting ready to leave. God knows why you had nothing to be afraid of."

Dumarest paused for effect, looking at Toibin, the assembled crowd.

Deliberately he said, "You had destroyed the towers, killed the guards, blown open the warehouse and hit the town. You had the inhabitants at your mercy and they knew it. Even if they had wanted to resist, it would have taken too long to assemble men and find missiles, get them into place, aim and fire them and do it all without being spotted. You had time to do anything you wanted. Instead you ran like a scared rat. You didn't even check what you'd taken. And you left Dren Ford to die."

The woman said, quickly, "Did you see it?"

"No." A necessary lie. Dumarest compounded it with another. "I heard he put up a good fight. Two men died before they shot him down."

"I knew it had to be like that." The blade she'd drawn vanished into its sheath. "Dren had guts and was no petty thief. His captain should have known that."

Toibin snapped, harshly, "Watch your mouth, woman!"

"My nephew -"

"Is dead. Had he done as he should he would be with us now. But he died bravely – if you choose to believe a stranger." Toibin lifted his hand to point at Dumarest as he raised his voice. "Who is he? What is he doing here? A man who claims to have penetrated my guards, to have remained undetected in the warehouse, to be close enough to the authorities to know what happened to Dren Ford? Can you believe him? Can you trust him? Take his word against mine?"

A clever man acting a part and doing it well. No man could have achieved Toibin's status by the use of brawn alone. Within the rounded skull rested a shrewd and calculating intelligence. One cunning enough to have picked the time and place for his confrontation with Zehava and her discontent. Now he was appealing to the loyalty of the crowd. A tried and trusted member of the community setting himself against a stranger. There could be no doubt as to the outcome.

Dumarest said, "Are you calling me a liar?"

"You?" Toibin shrugged. "I call you nothing for that is what you are. A toy hired to satisfy a harlot's lust."

"You bastard!" Zehava rose, quivering with anger. Snatching Dumarest's goblet she lifted it to hurl its contents into Toibin's face. "No one calls me that!"

Dumarest lunged towards her, hands extended, fingers striking her wrist to send a shower of wine spraying to one side. Rage had blinded her to danger. On Kaldar no distinction was made between the sexes.

"Sit." He felt her tremble beneath his hands as he forced her back into her chair. "Don't play into his hands. He's baiting you. Give him an excuse and he'll kill you."

"How touching." Toibin rocked back on his heels. "See how he comforts her. He does it well. A pity he is a liar. A betrayer. A coward. Something less than a man."