Free The Steel of Raithskar by Randall Garrett Page A

recovered his own broom and joined them.
    The man picked himself up and grabbed his baton. He ran a few steps after the vineh, but stopped when he saw me. I could see him relaxing, the anger and terror going out of him.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad you were here. But I don’t think they’ll make any more trouble.”
    Someone in the crowd called out: “You ought to have better control over your vineh than that, Foreman; someone might have been hurt!”
    The foreman smiled and nodded, but I, standing next to him, heard him mutter, “Fleabite you, townsman.”
    “You hurt?” I asked, sheathing my sword.
    “No. I’ll be all right.” He smiled at me. “Thanks again.” He moved off, following his charges, who were once again calmly sweeping the street.
    I turned to go back to the shop, and found Keeshah beside me. Together we walked to where the girl was waiting anxiously. Beside her stood the meatmonger, holding a wrapped bundle half the size of a goat.
    “Markasset, what is the
matter
with you? Are you crazy?” She glanced at the meatmonger and refrained from reminding me that news of the fight—and my almost-participation—was sure to reach Zaddorn. “Why didn’t you stay out of it?”
    I was shocked. “And let a man get killed?”
    “Don’t be silly. Whoever heard of a vineh killing anyone? He would have been all right. He
was
all right, wasn’t he? You didn’t do any good by going out there, brandishing your sword, and making a spectacle of yourself.”
    “I don’t know,” the meatmonger spoke up for me. “I never saw
two
of ’em gang up on a man before. It could have been nasty.”
    She gave him a look that might have quick-frozen the meat he held, so hurriedly did he hand it to me. “Here’s your side of glith, townsman—er—Rider.” Then he disappeared back into the shop.
    I laid the bundle across Keeshah’s shoulders.
    *
Eat?
*
    *
When we get home.
*
    The girl handed back my pouch, but came close to whisper to me. “Markasset, why are you carrying around so much money? Do you realize that you have
five
twenty-dozak pieces in here?” I did now. “Why, you might be robbed!”
    “With Keeshah around? A thief wouldn’t get very far,” I said. There was a short silence which was, for me at least, very awkward. Did she expect an explanation for the money? If so, I couldn’t help her. “Well,” I said at last, “if I hurry, I can get home before Zaddorn gets the word I’m back.” I hesitated, then asked, “Are you coming?”
    “Oh, no,” she said. “I can’t come with you now, darling. Mother gave me definite instructions. ‘Get your shopping done and come right back,’ she said. ‘I need that cloth right away.’ ” The girl sighed.
    She looked up at me, and for a moment there was a look on her face that spoke more than all her words. Beneath the chattering, the nagging, the impatience, she was really frightened for me. She cared.
    “I’ll come by your house later, darling. And if I see Zaddorn I’ll try to send him in the wrong direction. Just hurry now and—take care of yourself.” And she was gone.
    I remembered her name now. Illia.
    Keeshah knew the way home, and I followed him through streets which narrowed and twisted as we approached the residential district. The homes reminded me of the Spanish Colonial style—mostly stone and sun-baked clay, plastered over and finished with pastel-pigmented whitewash.
    Thanasset’s house was larger than most, a sprawling two-story building. On the side facing the street, there were windows only in the upper story, and the front wall continued away from the house to enclose a large yard area. There were two massive parquet doors: one directly into the house; the other one, through which Keeshah and I passed, into the patio garden. It was carefully arranged and tended, patterns of green broken up with colorful and fragrant flowers. A cool and pleasant place.
    A broad pathway, inlaid with large flat stones, led through