Book 2 - Warlock by Glen Cook Page A

to smolder.
    Barlog merely heaved a sigh of relief.
    Bagnel did likewise. “Good. Now, shall we talk? Marika,
what in the name of the All did you think you were doing, coming in
here like that? You cannot just walk in like you own the place.
This is convention ground. Have they not taught you anything over
there?
    “I know. It was stupid.” She stepped closer, spoke
more softly. “I was just wandering around, exploring. When I
saw the airships I got so excited I lost my head. I forgot
everything else. I just had to look. Then these
males . . . ” She broke off, realizing
she was about to make accusations that would be unreasonable and
provocative.
    Bagnel was amused. But he said, “Did you have to be
so . . . I see. They have taught
you—taught you to be silth. I mean, the way silth here
understand being silth. Cold.
Arrogant. Insensitive. Never mind. As they say, silth will be
silth. Timbruk. It is over. There is no need for you here now. This
is to be forgotten. No record. No formal protest.
Understand?”
    “Bagnel . . . ”
    Bagnel ignored him. “I owe you a life, Marika. But for you
I would have become meat in a nomad’s belly more than once. I
repay a fraction of the debt here. I forgive the trespass.”
In soft humor, he added, “I am sure your seniors would have a
good deal to say to you if they heard about this.”
    “I am sure they would. Thank you.”
    Timbruk and his males were stalking away, some occasionally
glancing back. Except for the male who had tried to use the box.
Despite his wound, he was crouched over the remains, prodding them
with a finger, shaking his head. He seemed both baffled and
disturbed.
    “Come,” Bagnel said. He started toward the buildings
through which Marika had made her dash.
    She asked, “What are you doing here?”
    “I am assigned here now. As assistant security chief for
the enclave. Since I did such a wonderful job as security officer
at Critza, they awarded me a much more important post.” His
sarcasm was thick enough to cut. Marika could not determine its
thrust, though. Was he his own target? Or were the seniors who had
given him the job?
    “That was what you were doing up there? I always had a
feeling you were not a regular wander-the
forests-with-a-pack-on-your-back kind of tradermale.”
    “My job was to protect the fortress and manage any armed
operations undertaken in the region of its license.”
    “Then you were in charge of that hunting party you were
with the first time we met.”
    “I was.”
    “I thought old Khronen was in charge.”
    “I know. We allowed you think so. He was just our guide,
though. He had been in the upper Ponath all his life. I think he
knew every rock and bush by name.”
    “He was a friend of my dam. At least as near a friend as
she ever had among males.”
    Bagnel, daring beyond belief, reached out and touched her
lightly. “The memories do haunt, do they not not? We all lost
so much. And those who were never there just shrug it
off.”
    Marika stiffened her back. “Can we look at the small
aircraft on the way to the gate?”
    Bagnel rewarded her with a questioning look.
    “The crime is committed,” she replied. “Can I
compound it?”
    “Of course.” He altered course toward a rank of five
propeller-driven aircraft.
    “Stings,” Marika said as they approached.
“Driven by a single bank nine-cylinder air-cooled radial
engine that develops eighteen hundred meth power. Top speed two
hundred ten. Normal cruising speed one sixty. Not fast, but capable
of carrying a very large payload. A fighting aircraft. Who do
tradermales fight, Bagnel?”
    “You amaze me. How did you find out? We fight anyone who
attacks us. There are a lot of wild places left in the world. Even
here in the higher Tech Zones. There is always a demand for the
application of force.”
    “Are these ones here for the push against the
nomads?”
    “No. We may reoccupy our outposts if the Reugge manage to
push the nomads out, but we will