"Your thakur is fine, and wants to see you. Iwill permit that tomorrow morning; right now you still need to rest.As for your assailants, they are dead. Clan Torrance is particularabout the safety of its guests, and the warrior Garvey caught them inthe act. Two were kept alive long enough to question, and--" Shebroke off. "Garvey is an honorable man and would report what he wastold accurately, but his prisoners might easily have lied to stop theinterrogation."
Dana felt a sinking sensation. "What . . . what did they say?"
The doctor hesitated, clearly unwilling to tell her, but honesty wastoo deeply ingrained in Sandemans for her to avoid it. "They said yourthakur's chief representative here had hired them to ambush you, do ...what they did, and worse, then leave you to die of your injuries andexposure."
Dana swallowed past the lump that had appeared in her throat. That fitin all too well with her earlier feeling that they hadn't just beencriminals. One starting to call his leader what sounded like "Cap,"their avoidance of names, the leader's expertise with the baton . . ."Were they carrying any ID?"
"No."
And that fit the theory she was starting to evolve, too. They soundedlike a mercenary commando team--but her thakur wouldn't do such athing! He wouldn't set her up for a particularly unpleasant death. . . would he? Suddenly she wasn't sure. One of the less pleasant thingsshe had done for him was to set up a--well, not a frame, the man hadbeen guilty--but a trap for someone who had gotten in Jason's way. Ithad, indirectly, led to the man's death . . .
"I'm disturbing you," the doctor said. "And that is something you donot need. A tranquilizer, if you permit, would help."
Dana felt a brief flash of amusement at a doctor asking permission fora treatment--but this was Sandeman, where medical treatment was kept asunintrusive and respectful as possible even with an unconsciouspatient, and never went beyond that permitted by a conscious one. Shenodded. "I think I'd like that, Doctor. Thank you."
"None needed." The doctor went to a wall cabinet, prepared aninjector, and used it, then left as her patient fell asleep again.
Dana didn't recognize the w'woman who was in her room the next time shewoke, but she didn't have time to ask for an introduction; she saw herthakur sitting beside her bed, scanning a tape.
Monitors apparently alerted the w'woman; she turned to Jason. "Your'na is waking, Mr. Jason. If you wish to speak to her alone, I canmonitor from outside."
"You needn't bother, Nurse," Jason said, putting down the tape-viewerand standing to look down at Dana, his expression mildly regretful."It's too bad we had to be rescued early, thakur-na. I did try to giveyou a heroic death; sorry it didn't work out."
"Thakur?" Dana didn't want to believe what she was hearing, eventhough she'd half-suspected it. "I don't understand. Have I donesomething wrong?"
"No, at least nothing you could help," Jason said calmly. "You'vesimply outlived your usefulness. I thought I owed you the satisfactionof a trip here, then the belief that you were dying to save me; youwere worth that much effort. Still, the fact remains: I wish you toleave me. I no longer need you."
Dana was stunned by the cold finality in his voice. He knew what hewas saying, too, what he was doing--he was condemning her with anImperial English paraphrase of the High War words that were a thakur'sway of telling his 'na, "Thou hast dishonored me."
But maybe he didn't know exactly what that meant. "Thakur--what am Isupposed to do?"
Jason shrugged. "That's up to you. Whatever a Sandeman 'na does when@'s no use any more, I suppose. Mentally you've always been moreSandeman than Terran anyway . . . yes, that would be best. Imitateyour Sandeman idols again." He started to turn away.
"Yes, Thakur." Dana went as cold as his voice had been, wishing shehad died back in the mountains, never had to hear this.
"Mister Jason!" the w'woman snapped.
He turned back. "Yes? You don't approve?"
"I do not, but I cannot interfere between thakur and 'na. So long asyou both live and she wears your mark, however, she is yours; no oneelse may be involved in what you order for her."
"Oh? All right." Jason took a folding knife from his pocket, openedit, and bent over his 'na.
Dana felt cold sharpness against her cheek, and she gasped. Then theknife bit, four quick shallow slashes, followed by a tugging, and shecried out more in loss than in pain. By the time the tugging stopped,she was sobbing quietly, the salt of her tears accenting the pain ofher missing tattoo. When she was able to see again, Jason was gone andthe w'woman was standing over her, cleaning her cheek.
Dana raised the head of her bed, trying to think. Her thakur--herformer thakur--had admitted seeking her death, but he had that right; a'na's gift of @self was absolute. She had even imagined circumstanceswhere she would welcome death at his hands, or give him his own--butthose had been honorable circumstances, where death was preferable tothe alternative. This was . . . She shied away from the thoughtmomentarily, then forced herself back.
Her thakur had ordered her to die, in humiliation and agony, even as hehad said she had done nothing to deserve such a death. Then he hadtold her to do whatever a Sandeman 'na would do under the samecircumstances. And she had absorbed enough of their ways to think thata proper response--except that, as far as she knew, similarcircumstances had never arisen.
For the moment, at least, she was too stunned to be really afraid. Sheturned to the w'woman. "Lady--can you help me?"
"Help you how?" the w'woman asked.
"To do what's needed--except that I don't know what is needed!" Shehesitated. "I mean . . . I've been dismissed, but he said I haven'tdone anything wrong!"
The w'woman shook her head slowly. "Nothing like this has everhappened before. All I can tell you is that custom says a 'na who hasbeen dismissed must make atonement for allowing @'s thakur to acceptone who proved unworthy."
Dana was silent for a moment, absorbing that, then she nodded. In hermisery, it didn't seem too unreasonable that she should have to diejust for being of no further use. She had tried to live by Sandemancustom; she couldn't change that now, simply because it became. . . inconvenient. "You're right, of course. But I can't do it myselfright now, and I don't have a clan-chief to help me."
The w'woman looked at her with what seemed to Dana like approval."Perhaps a clan-chief can be found for you."
"I'd . . . appreciate that." Dana licked her lips, fear beginning toemerge from her stunned misery, but her mouth was so dry it was littlehelp. "I should talk to them myself, I suppose--at least if they'lltalk to me--but I can't dial the phone. Would you, please?"
The w'woman nodded. "What clan?"
"I don't think it matters that much," Dana said. "Alanna first, if Ihave to pick one. If their chief won't help, just keep going until wefind one who will."
"A good choice." The w'woman dialed the bedside phone, obviously afamiliar combination, then spoke to the warrior who answered in HighWar Speech. Dana could understand only an occasional word of thatvariant of Classical Russian, though she could read and write itfluently; all she could gather was that the w'woman was asking for theAlanna.
A few moments later, a man wearing the arms of Alanna's chief appearedon the screen, introducing himself as Killian. The w'woman started tospeak, but before she'd said more than a few words, Killian frowned andinterrupted with a question. She answered with a "Da, Glavniy," thenthere was a brief conversation Killian closed with a decisivestatement. The w'woman stepped aside, and Dana found herselfconfronting the image of a stern-faced clan-chief.
He let her wait a few seconds, then spoke in Imperial English. "Thelady Arden tells me that your thakur has dismissed you and that yourequire a clan-chief's aid to atone."
"Yes, Chief, to both." Dana turned her face so he could see the rawspot on her cheek, and raised her cast-enclosed arms. "As you cansee."
"The lady Arden mentioned extenuating circumstances."
Dana hesitated, but she had spent so long trying to be Sandeman in allbut
body that her response was more by reflex than by thought. "Iclaim none, Alanna," she said formally. "Custom says none exist."
"True." Killian's expression became remote, almost frightening. "Verywell, I accept the responsibility of acting for the clan-chief you donot have. Alanna warriors will be there as soon as I can contact onesnearby, and they will bring you to our clanhome. You will be treatedas