"How so?"

"As you know Zakym is an unusual world. Some adapt and some do not. A few find it too disturbing to live here for long. There is a breakdown in the adaption syndrome which reveals itself in unusual physical oddities. One man, I remember, developed a tormenting itch while another acquired a craving for salt. If the thirst continues I would be tempted to look for the reason in the psychosomatic region. You are in excellent physical condition and you most certainly have nothing to worry about as regards the organic health of your brain."

"Thank you," said Dumarest.

"For giving you reassurance?"

"For saving my life. The bill?"

"Lady Lavinia has taken care of that. She left word she would be waiting for you at the hotel."

It was night and Dumarest made his way through the maze of tunnels connecting the various buildings of the town. A corridor led to the hotel and he climbed stairs leading to snugly shuttered chambers. Lavinia was in the common room seated at a table. She was not alone.

"Earl!" She rose as she saw him and came to meet him, smiling, hands extended. They lifted to fall to his shoulders as, without hesitation, she pressed herself close, her lips finding his own. "Thank God you are well! The doctor-"

"Gave me a clean bill of health." Holding her he added, quietly, "You saved me."

"You saved yourself. We saw the smoke and found you and I had men ride back to summon the physician and get a raft. Roland helped. Chelhar-Earl, what happened?"

"A mistake." One which had cost the assassin his life but this was not the time or place to talk about it. Dumarest glanced at the man seated at the table. "A friend of yours?"

"Not of mine, of yours. Don't you recognize him? Kars Gartok. He arrived this afternoon Ilyard. He claims to have known you for years."

He rose as they approached the table, his scarred face creasing into a smile. His bow was deferential without being obsequious. A man accustomed to dealing with the rich and powerful but one who had retained his independence.

He tensed as Dumarest strode towards him, seeing the eyes, the anger they held, the set of the mouth which had grown cruel. A killer's mask. Quickly he lifted both hands and held them before him. The fingers were devoid of rings.

"I am unarmed!"

"And a liar!"

"There are times when need dictates deception. You were unavailable." He glanced at the woman. "My lady I apologize for my subterfuge yet I did not wholly lie. While not close we do have mutual acquaintances if not exactly friends. Major Kan Lofoten, for example? You remember him, Earl?"

Dumarest met the deep-set eyes, his own shifting to the temples, the scars, the corners of the mouth, recognizing the choice the man had given him by the use of his name. He could reject it and learn nothing.

"Hoghan," he said. "You were there?"

"A bad world and a bad war. Yes, Earl, I was on Hoghan fighting under Atlmar."

"And Lofoten?"

"Dead with most of the Legion. Cheiha-all plagues are a curse, of them all cheiha is most to be feared. I was lucky and managed to escape in time. Well, enough of that, some things are best forgotten." Gartok glanced at the bottle standing on the table. "Are best drowned in wine. Of your charity, my lady?"

She smiled at the quaint method of asking for a drink. "You need no charity."

"You are gracious." Gartok lifted the bottle. "You will join me, Earl?"

Dumarest nodded, watched as the man poured, lifted his glass and studied the other over the rim. A man typical of his type but with a gift the majority lacked. A touch of humor, a philosophical attitude towards the life he had chosen, a native shrewdness which had enabled him to survive. A man who had sought him out-why?

"To warn you," he said when Dumarest asked the question. "You are a target, my friend. Need I say more?"

"A target?" Lavinia didn't understand then, as the meaning dawned on her, she caught her breath. "An assassin? Earl!"

"His name?"

"How can I answer that? Men use many names, my friend, but watch for a stranger who has an excuse for getting close. Someone not too-" Gartok broke off, his eyes narrowing. "Am I too late?"

"Chelhar!" Lavinia's glass broke in her hand. "Mbom Chelhar!"

A man who had been a little too eager, a little too inexperienced and so had made the lethal mistake of underestimating his victim. His casual disregard of protocol, the lack of elementary courtesy, his challenge, his very attitude had jarred with his adopted pose. Now he was dead and his secrets with him.

Dumarest said, "How did you know I was a target?"

"Rumors. Whispers in the dark. Hints dropped over wine-does it matter?"

"It matters. You mentioned Hoghan. I never saw you there. You fought under Haiten, you say?"

"Haiten lost. I was with Atlmar." Gartok reached for the bottle and poured himself more wine. "And we never met-did I claim we had? I learned of you from a captain who was greatly impressed. Listening to him I gained the impression that you watched a soldier lift his rifle, waited until he had fired then dodged the bullet. An exaggeration, naturally, but stories gain in the telling. And later I saw you as you walked in the town." He glanced at Lavinia. "You were not alone."

"A woman, Earl?" Lavinia had caught the subtle shift of inflexion. "Were you with a woman?"

Looking at the mercenary Dumarest said, "Describe her."

"Tall, well-made, beautiful if your interests lie in the patrician mold. She had red hair and her nails were tipped with metal. Her name-"

"I know her name." The man was either well-schooled or telling the truth. "Why are you here?"

"I told you. To carry a warning." Gartok stared at Dumarest for a long moment, then sighed. "There is more, naturally. Sometimes in life a man recognizes an opportunity. If he is wise he takes it. And if others aid him in his ambition, well, what else can he do but follow the tide? On Ilyard I heard rumors of the situation here on Zakym. Of an heir eager to claim his inheritance-or a man claiming to be that heir. You see the difference?"

"Go on."

"There was a monk who died. An old man but tough as monks always are. Why should he have died? I was curious and went to his cremation. I saw there a man with his wife and both seemed unduly distressed. The woman was almost hysterical. Again I wondered why she should have been so upset at the death of an old man. So I investigated and found something, an old book which the monk had kept. A record of sorts. I borrowed it."

"And?"

"I will make it plain, my friend. Gydapen had a partner as surely you must have guessed. His name is Charl Erabris and he is one of the largest dealers on Ilyard. You want men, guns, heavy equipment in order to wage a war? He can supply them. Credit? He can supply that too. Offer him the loot of a world and the prospect will fill his universe." Gartok drained the last of his wine then added, quietly, "You can appreciate why such a man would be your enemy."

"He sent the assassin?"

"Yes."

"And the monk?" Lavinia leaned forward over the table. "What had he to do with it?"

"Nothing. He was a victim and that was all. Lady Othurine, Embris's wife, was distraught and sought comfort from the church. The old monk attended her. She would have told him things others wanted to remain secret. Her husband for one. Her son for another. Especially her son."

"The false heir?"

"You are shrewd, my lady. When Gydapen died an excuse had to be found to continue with the original plan. The original heir provided it. He is dead, of course, and his identity has been adopted by another. A vicious murder for the sake of greed, but what intelligent man would set another on a throne when he could take it for himself? The Lady Othurine loved her son and is afraid for him. She spoke of this to the old monk." Gartok stared into his empty glass. "For that he died."