The Emperor of Everything

He gave the dagger to Dolmaero, who handled it as though he had no idea what to do with it. Ruiz recalled that there had been no wars on Pharaoh for many generations. He would have to remember not to expect too much of the Guildmaster, should they meet with hostilities before they escaped from Sook.

“Carry it through your belt, Guildmaster,” Ruiz instructed Dolmaero. “No, like this; you’ll probably want to avoid castration, should you stumble.”

Ruiz handed the sheathed kris to Nisa.

“And how shall I wear this?” she asked.

“I’ll show you.” Ruiz knelt and pushed up the hem of her tunic, enjoying the silky texture of her skin. When he’d fastened the garter that held the kris to the outside of her thigh, he had to force himself to take his hands away. Desire made his head swim for a moment. He realized he was still at the mercy of those reckless romantic impulses that the bootleg minddiver Nacker had afflicted him with.

He handed the club to Molnekh. “I wish we had a better choice of weapons,” he said.

“No matter,” said Molnekh, swishing the club enthusiastically back and forth. “We’ll make do.”

Ruiz pulled up the sleeve of his tunic and bound the stiletto to the inside of his forearm with a length of sturdy cloth.

Flomel edged forward. “Where’s mine?” he asked.

Ruiz turned to him, surprised at Flomel’s audacity. “Sorry. But surely you need nothing sharper than your wits.”

Flomel opened his mouth, as if he meant to argue, then snapped it shut and contented himself with a dark glare.

“Now,” Ruiz said. “Here’s what we must do.”

It was a pity, Ruiz told them, that the boat’s power system had been irreparably damaged and that the turret raptor was therefore useless. Otherwise, they might do well to wait here and arrange an ambush for Corean when she came, as she certainly would.

He explained his plan to the Pharaohans — they would walk over the pass, and hope to come across some habitation or at least a promising track. Then they’d try to reach a launch ring and get off Sook.

Ruiz was deliberately vague about what might happen to the Pharaohans after that; he didn’t know. He wanted to give Nisa the opportunity to stay with him if she wanted to; he could afford to buy her from the Art League. The others could escape to the pangalac worlds with his blessing, or he might be able to arrange to have them returned to Pharaoh — though the League would insist on removing their memories before they would be released on their home world.

The Pharaohans seemed no more eager to ask about their eventual fate than Ruiz was to discuss it, though Dolmaero looked as if he were full of questions that weren’t quite ripe yet. Ruiz was grateful for the respite.

Ruiz distributed the food packs equitably. Only Flomel grumbled over his load; the others accepted their packs cheerfully enough. He gave Flomel a hard look, and the conjuror subsided.

Into the food packs Ruiz jammed a few more useful items: three of the self-inflating tents, a water jug for each traveler, and insulated rain capes.

Finally he took one of the self-securing leashes by which they had all been tethered the night before. Flomel looked at him and showed his teeth in a grimace of disgust.

The sun was hot on Ruiz’s back as the five of them toiled up toward the pass, but a chill wind blew down the mountainside, making him shiver occasionally. They had scrambled across the talus slope and found a rough path leading in the direction of the notch through the mountains. It showed little sign of recent use, and Ruiz wasn’t optimistic that they’d soon come across anything resembling civilization. Still, he was as happy as he’d been since he’d landed on Pharaoh. He was free, except for the mission-imperative that still pushed him, and the death net that waited in the abyss of his mind. As long as he could stay free, the death net would remain quiescent. Only if he were helplessly captured by enemies of the League and in imminent danger of dying or divulging League secrets would the net kill him and send his recent memories to League headquarters on Dilvermoon.

Ruiz forced himself to optimism. All he had to do was to launch a message torp to the League, detailing his discoveries: the location and identity of the poacher who had been stealing slaves from Pharaoh — and the fact that an enclave of rogue Gencha existed on Sook. And when he’d done that, the net and the mission-imperative would evaporate from his mind, and he would be truly free.

He gave himself to the pleasurable contemplation of Nisa’s smooth strong legs as she climbed the path just ahead of him.

* * *

At the top of the pass they paused, and Ruiz looked out over the country on the other side of the mountains. The foothills were much greener, and the dense forest beyond indicated that this was the moist side of the range. In the far distance, another range lifted misty peaks. The broad valley between them seemed to stretch forever in both directions.