"An accusation made not only by Lavinia," said Roland, quickly. "I made it also."

"And you are a part of her Family." Navalok did not elaborate, it was unnecessary, a man would lie for a relative and more than lie for a woman he loved. "And you could both be speaking the truth as you know it. In fact we all are convinced of that." Pausing he added, softly, "It was a pity Gydapen was killed. Dead he can answer no questions."

"And present no threat." Lavinia drew in her breath, making an obvious effort to master her anger. "What is happening here? If you are not all mad then what rewards have been offered for you to blind yourselves to truth? How high did you set your honor?"

Suchong said, thickly, "Woman, you dare to smear my name and that of my Family? If you were a man-"

"If?" Her contempt was a blow. "Don't let that stop you my Lord of Suchong. At dawn? On the upper promenade?"

"You bitch! You-"

"Are overheated," said Dumarest. "And this has gone far enough."

He dominated them with his presence, his height, the aura which radiated from his somber figure. Despite their talk and wild threats the rulers of Zakym were strangers to violence as he knew it. They adhered to the punctilious code of the duello-he killed in order to survive and to give an opponent a chance was to act the fool. Looking at him Lavinia remembered that, remembered too how close he had come to killing her. A fraction less swift in his recognition and her larynx would have been crushed, the splinters of glass thrust up beneath her lower ribs into heart and lung.

Drugged by his smoke Suchong had found unsuspected courage.

"You," he said, thinly. "Who are you to give us orders? A stranger. A fighter and little more. On Zakym we treasure the old ways and the old blood. We have no time for those who do not belong!"

* * *

He would die, Lavinia was certain of it. Dumarest would stoop and rise and his knife would flash as she had seen it flash before and Suchong would double, the steel buried in his heart and the insult would be avenged.

Instead he laughed.

It was a sound divorced from humor, the snarl of a beast, the bared teeth and exhalation a sound more stinging than the lash of a whip. It held contempt and an acid comment on their concept of honor. It showed the hollowness of gratitude. It made them feel soiled and a little ridiculous and more than a little ashamed.

Then he said, bluntly, "You want to get rid of me, is that it?"

"No, Earl! No!"

He ignored the woman, looking at Roland, seeing the answer in his eyes, at the others, seeing the same thing. Roland, at least, was honest, his desire was born in human, natural jealousy and desire. Once Dumarest had gone Lavinia might remember him. Could even turn to him. If she did he would consider honor spent wisely for the sake of realized ambition.

The others?

Suchong had spoken the truth. He was an outsider. He was a stranger. Zenophobia, incredible in this age, was not dead. And, on small, backward worlds like Zakym, what place had someone who did not belong?

"I own land on this world," said Dumarest, quietly. "Gydapen's estate. I didn't ask for it-you voted that it should be given to me. But I think I earned it. No matter what you say or pretend to believe you know the danger he represented. Well, he is dead now and can do no harm. And you have had time to regret what you did. And you talk of a mysterious son of his who claims to be the "natural heir."

"An attested claim, Earl," said Roland. "The ceremony of marriage was performed by a monk of the Church of Universal Brotherhood. The birth of the child, the acknowledged parents, the witnesses-there can be no argument."

And no real proof if it came down to it. The original child could have died, the present claimant an impostor, but Dumarest didn't mention what should have been obvious to all. It suited them to believe and, should the new owner prove intractable, ways could be devised to eliminate him once the future of the land had been decided.

Roland said, slowly, "I don't like this. Earl. It wasn't my decision. I think you have earned all that has been given you. I know I would be pleased for you to stay among us."

"He will stay," said Lavinia. "Listen to me, all of you! Dumarest will stay!"

He wondered what made her so sure.

What made him so eager to go.

Satiation, perhaps. Life was cloying with its ease and he sensed he was in a trap baited with honey and entrancing perfume. The softness of her body, the warmth of her bed, the future she spoke of so often, the hints, the acceptance that, no matter what he decided, she would get her own way. And the other thing. The pressure at the base of his skull. The odd feeling of detachment. The sudden wakings in the night, the fear, the imagined sound of crying.

Crying.

The ghosts.

The lost and lonely ghosts.

Dumarest blinked and looked sharply around but the figures he had imagined vanished as he concentrated. Tricks of the light and not of delusia. The suns were far on their journey by now, the sky dark aside from the glitter of stars, cold and remote points glittering like gems against the bowl of the heavens. There would be sheets and curtains of luminescence, the fuzz of distant nebulae, the somber blotches of interstellar dust. The Rift would be close, stars set close yet masked by the ocher haze of dust, a pass through a host of suns into the empty spaces beyond.

Did Sungari study the heavens?

Did they check and count and look, perhaps, for their home world? If they had a home world. If they had eyes. If they cared.

"Earl?" Lavinia was looking at him. They were all looking at him and Dumarest realized that he had been standing silent and ominous. The woman had expected an answer. She was still expecting it. But to what? A statement of some kind? A challenge?

She said, "Earl, tell them you will stay."

That wasn't the problem. To the watching faces he said, "You gave me land. I will not allow it to be taken from me. But I am willing to sell it."

"Sell it?" Navalok hadn't considered the possibility. Now he stood, frowning. "For how much?"

"Have it valued. I will take one quarter of the estimate in cash. Each of the Council can contribute to the total. How you determine how much each should give I leave to you."

"Money," said Suchong. Amber smoke wreathed his face, clung in tendrils to his hair. "I was right-how can we trust a stranger who is willing to sell his land."

"It would restore the old blood," said Erason. "And it is a solution."

"Earl is being kind." This from Alcorus. "It can't be easy for him."

"And it won't be easy for us," said Roland. He pulled thoughtfully at his left ear. "How can we put a price on Gydapen's estate? When we trade land we do it by exchange or barter and always in small parcels. When did we ever sell an entire estate? When would anyone ever be permitted to buy? It will take time. And the claimant- will he be willing to wait?"

"He has no choice." Navalok shrugged. "Personally I've finished with the matter. What needed to be said has been spoken. An arrangement has been made and one I think fair to all. It is time now to share wine and end our differences. We are of the Council of Zakym. Let us remember our dignity."

Suchong said, suspiciously, "Are you hinting that I have conducted myself with less than proper standing?"

"No."

"I am old and need more help than most but, if you smear my name, then I must demand satisfaction." The smoke had made him first aggressive then maudlin. Tears shone in his glittering eyes. "Satisfaction," he repeated. "On the upper promenade at dawn. Knives, I think. I used to be good with a knife when I was young."

"I know," said Alcorus. "We were all good when young. It isn't kind of you to remind us." Then, turning toward the woman, his tone became formal. "Lady Lavinia Del Belamosk, for any friction caused while beneath your roof as your guests we apologize. Let all hurtful words be as never uttered. Let all misunderstanding be swept away. Let friendship prevail. This, of your kindness, we beg."