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A Dead God Dancing
Concord, Book 2
Ann Maxwell
1979
ISBN: 0-380-44644-8
Spell-checked. Read.
THERE WERE FIVE ON THE TEAM:
Lhar—the group leader whose psi powers hid a very human heart.
Syza—the healer, an unwilling participant, a woman plagued by a nightmare, and possessor of the
greatest medicine in the universe.
Nevin—the holy, a naive adventurer on his first deep space mission, but whose knowledge was the
key to Tal-Lith’s survival
T’Mero—the guardian, master of the assassin’s craft, whose quartz knife stood between success and
death.
Diri—the dancer, her silver skin electrified
any
being’s sensuality—but would she sacrifice the lives
of an entire people to her arrogance?
THEIR MISSION WAS RESURRECTION
EXCERPTS FROM CLOSED COUNCIL CONFERENCE. EMERGENCY CONTACT
SUPERVISOR YAHUE KE NOMEN SPEAKING. [Background music is the Chanteuse’s
Sixth
Elegy
.]
“.
..
extreme haste. Nonetheless, our computer selected fifteen probables, from which I chose a group
of five. They have just completed intensive imprinting. They now know as much about the culture and
conditions on Tal-Lith as we do.” [Scattered laughter.]
“I wish I could laugh with you. The mission has a deadline mimax. Think about that, Councilors:
within a few hours I may send five hastily trained people to their deaths on an unknown planet orbiting an
unstable star ...
“I violated Contact procedure seventeen separate times in selecting this group. You are here to judge
whether the violations make the mission unacceptable to the Concord. In my summation I will
concentrate on the major violations. As is customary, all measurements are on a logarithmic scale of 1 to
10.
“Tov Ryth Lhar, group leader. Recent infac [psychic integration factor] is an ideal 7.316. He first
worked for Contact as an integrator and has since become my most valuable field leader. Synthesist
9.15. Psi 8.798. Violation: he returned from leading a group on Saman less than eight days ago.”
[Random exclamations.]
“Yes. Saman. I believe one of you personally decorated him for ‘Unique Service to the Concord’...
“Nevin lo Skewml, specialist in energy-level-3b-cultures. He is extremely skillful in his specialty.
Negligible psi. Good infac. Violation: no prior field experience.
“T’Mero Verial Silariaoen, guardian and assassin. Extremely adept in the use of 3b weapons. Five
maturities of Contact experience. Normal infac. Psi 5.613. Violation: he has not worked as a guardian for
three centuries.
“Skandiri-Li, Lythen dancer. I see that some of you remember her; perhaps you were fortunate
enough to see her dance the role of Keriamian. The computer determined that her skill and phenotype
admirably matched Tal-Lith’s god myth. Marginally acceptable infac. No psi. Violation: she is not nor has
 she ever been a Contact agent.
“Syza Zomal, healer. Probably the most gifted healer known to the Concord. I need not stress how
valuable she could be on a no-technology Contact. She became a provisional Contact agent before she
entered first maturity. We have not tested her since. We have no usable infac, no psi index; we have
nothing but the certainty that she, alone, somehow preserved a Contact on Bjmsk. Violation: she refused
integration after the Bjmsk assignment and was placed on inactive status. She still refuses integration; we
have no reliable means of assessing her mental stability. Violation: she was coerced into accepting this
assignment; the alternative choice was forced integration, which is a probable death sentence.
“No precedent for either of these two violations can be found in the history of Contact. Yet the
computer would not give an acceptable mimax for Tal-Lith unless Syza Zomal was included in the group.
When I questioned the computer it quoted the Concord Privacy Code. My application for override was
refused.”
[Exclamations.]
“Yes. Refused. Like the singer whose voice haunts our
conference, Syza Zomal is among those
select galactic citizens who are exempt from official curiosity.
“There is one other violation that must be mentioned. Only agent Tov Ryth Lhar will be able to send
off-planet messages. He will communicate only in an extreme emergency; or, hopefully, when the mission
has been successful.
“Now, Councilors, if I may have your decision ....”
PROCEED WITH EMERGENCY CONTACT AND EVACUATION
I
PLATEAUS ROSE LIKE STONE WAVES FROM TROUGHS OF shadow. Crests eternally
flattened by wind and scoured by sand, the plateaus forbade casual habitation. Talkyer, the natives called
it, Place of the Wind. The wind stretched over black depressions, scraped cold fingernails of grit across
unfeeling rock, boomed hollowly down blind canyons.
Lhar’s taman moved restlessly, eager to join the others below. Lhar tightened the guide rein and
spoke soothingly until the sound of the taman’s gnashing teeth lapsed into silence. The wind curled
around him, smelling of stone and drought and time. With narrowed eyes he watched the Contact group
ride carefully through the boulder field at the base of the plateau. T’Mero was already far in the lead,
scouting trails that would lead from the jumble of plateaus and canyons to the brackish marsh that
showed only as a smudge across the distant horizon.
T’Mero vanished into a cleft between ochre walls; Lhar hoped it was not another blind canyon. The
route that they had chosen from recent survey holocubes had proved impassable. In the tenth-cycle
between survey and landing a rockfall had sealed a crucial pass. Their alternate route was still
open—barely. Numerous detours had tripled the length of the journey. For three days they had been on
half-rations of water; today the ration was reduced to one-third. The animals had none, but fared better;
if necessary they could work without water for up to eight days. That left five days for T’Mero to find a
trail out of the stone maze.
Lhar watched Kevin’s taman move out of sight, following T’Mero’s tracks. The trail was plain; no
other living thing had passed that way. Diri’s taman followed a short distance behind, moving with an odd
gait. When Diri had not been able to control the beast, T’Mero had snubbed its nose to its chest. It was
awkward for both taman and rider, but preferable to having a famished omnivore loose among the
smaller animals.
After an interval of emptiness and wind, Syza rode into view on his left. The muzzled pack taman she
led were roped together in a long line. Occasionally a drifsen would lope up and encourage a lagging
taman. Syza’s whistle pierced the wind; with a golden blur of speed the drifsen returned to help its mate
with the drifs. Unlike taman, drifs were not belligerent; two well-trained drifsen could control a large
herd.
With a last clear whistle Syza and the animals moved into a shallow trough. They would be out of
 sight until they circled the boulder field. Lhar held his impatient taman and waited for the animals to
reappear. As he waited, strange music drifted up, a sound not unlike the wind. He forced his taman to
stand quietly and listened with total concentration. All he could hear was the erratic click of hooves on
rock. His taman’s ears flicked forward, remained in an erect fan to gather in the vagrant sound. Lhar held
his breath and thought he heard a faint melody telling of loss and wind and the beauty of a cold mauve
desert beneath an alien sun.
Long after the sound had died he waited quietly, hoping to hear more, not really believing he had
heard anything. A sudden wind enveloped the plateau. His taman’s skin rippled nervously; its long neck
stretched into the cold wind. With a snort, the taman cleared its nostril hairs of dust. Lhar looked up from
the boulder field to the distant horizon.
The horizon had disappeared.
Where land had been rose a film of dust. As he watched, sky and desert became a heaving ochre
curtain. He sensed its distant, turgid weight, power which would flay and grind all beneath it. His taman
snorted again and began a low, booming call. The hair on Lhar’s skull stirred in primal response; if he had
not already sensed danger, he would have known its presence by the taman’s call. His mind reached out
to T’Mero, urgently.
*Storm coming. Bad. Any cover ahead?*
*We’re on a long incline. Might be something at the bottom.*
*Run for it. I’ll help Syza with the animals.*
Lhar’s golden taman needed no urging to slide down the plateau and race through the boulders.
Every instinct in the taman demanded that it intercept the pack taman and lead them to shelter. Over the
wind and the rush of his own taman, Lhar heard a continuous rumbling. Through wind-teared eyes he
saw the pack taman hurtling toward him. Syza’s distant but still piercing whistles punctuated the thunder
of hooves.
Lhar reined his taman up sharply. There was no need to warn Syza of the danger; taman, drifs and
drifsen were in full flight toward him. He prayed to childhood gods that the harnesses held. The loss of
tools and clothes would be inconvenient. The loss of waterbags could be fatal. Lhar fought with his
plunging taman and his eyes strained to distinguish a rider in the mass of running animals. He cursed
Syza’s refusal of mindtouch and the unbending will which enforced it.
A pack taman stumbled, somersaulted, fell in a tangle of harness and flailing legs. When it tried to get
up the beast fell again, hobbled by a loop of harness. Behind the struggling animal loomed the frightened
racing herd of drifs. The drifs did not swerve; in their panic, the downed taman did not exist. A drifsen
slashed razor fangs across the lead drifs shoulder in a futile attempt to turn the herd.
The taman was doomed, and with it as many of the drifs as were killed or maimed in the pile of flesh
that would come as one drif after another was tripped and trampled. And Lhar could only watch. The
drifs would reach the taman long before he could.
A dark shape separated from the laboring drifs. A taman fully extended, head down, ropy tail lashing.
Stretched low over its driving shoulders rode Syza. In her hand a quartz knife refracted light in splintered
colors. Behind her ran the golden shadow of a drifsen. A crystal arc flashed over the harness and the
taman was free of its hobbling pack, but the animal was too dazed to get to its feet. The running drifsen
leaped on the taman and sank its claws deep into struggling flesh. With a scream of terror the taman was
on its feet and running.
Drifs poured over the pack and harness in a bellowing mass. A few went down to be trampled into
shapeless smears, but the rest of the herd survived.
With a shout Lhar released his taman and raced along a diagonal that would intercept the pack
taman. When he appeared in front of the running animals his taman gave a hoarse call, and repeated it
until the other taman followed. Lhar eased his taman toward the
cleft, slowing the pace by degrees until
the animals were no longer in panic flight. Soon he heard what he had been straining to hear above the
staccato of hooves—Syza’s shrill commands to her drifsen. The herd was catching up.
As was the storm. Lhar felt a sudden thickening in the air, a gritty swirl heavier than the dust stirred
by running animals. He looked back and saw the drifs just as the storm overtook them. He yanked on the
 rein, forcing his taman in a wide turn. After a few instants of confusion, the baggage taman ran ahead
without their leader, spurred by their fear of the storm. After a fierce, swift battle, Lhar’s golden taman
obeyed its rider and matched strides with Syza’s mount.
Lhar shouted over the sound of wind and hooves, but Syza could not hear him. His anger blazed
through her tightly held mind. He saw the instant negation which swept over her face, sensed the force of
her resistance ... and felt the cold reluctance of her mind-touch.
*T’Mero found shelter, 20° right.*
Syza’s whistled commands split the air. Drifsen deflected the herd toward the right. Then T’Mero’s
mind, cool and machinelike as always, told Lhar of trouble ahead. Lhar allowed his taman to overtake
the pack animals as he relayed information to Syza.
*Cliff before shelter. Narrow path at end of boulder field. Slow drifs or they’ll be killed.*
More whistles sent the drifsen ahead of the herd. Just as Lhar managed to turn the pack taman
toward the cleft, the leading edge of the storm enveloped them. In an instant, ground and sky melded.
Abrasive wind scoured even the thick-furred taman, driving them before its irresistible power. The pack
taman turned their backs as one to the storm and slowed to a walk, bodies heaving, coughing when even
their bristled nostrils failed to filter all the grit from the air.
It was no longer possible to lead the animals. Instinct decreed that they turn their rumps to the force
of the storm. If their gold-coated leader wanted to expose his head to the cutting wind he would do so
alone. Nor would they be driven. Lhar would force one to walk at an angle to the wind, only to have it
swiftly turn back the moment he concentrated on another. He could either drift with them before the
storm or tie them together and try to lead them at an angle to it.
Under normal conditions, roping the taman one to another would have taken only moments. But
wind-driven sand made vision painful. Lhar counted to himself as he tied the taman one to another. He
was working on the eleventh rope when a blast of wind yanked it from his hands. The rope leaped and
the knotted end cracked against his cheekbone. The jagged cut spilled blood which the wind spattered
over his eyebrows and hair. In moments his face was matted with a mixture of blood and grit. The twelfth
rope was slippery with blood.
Lhar waited for his dizziness to pass. One side of his face sent searing messages to his brain. One eye
pounded with the magnified rhythm of his heart. Calmly, he began to work with the pain. His body took
on the relaxed tension of mental effort. He did not deny the validity of the body’s warnings. He
acknowledged the pain fully, then damped down its urgency. When he resumed normal consciousness,
T’Mero was patiently repeating his efforts at mindtouch.
*The drifs are safe. Syza is out looking for you. Said you were hurt.*
Lhar readjusted his hood and scarf. *How long ago did she leave?*
*Four and one-half standard minutes.*
*Hold mindtouch.* Lhar widened his mental awareness, letting his senses lift, float, and seek
T’Mero. He felt a distinct pull toward his left. As he had suspected, the storm’s direction had shifted
while he was roping the taman together. *I’ll find Syza. Hold mindtouch for bearing.*
The grit had thickened. During some gusts Lhar barely could see past his taman’s ears.
*Syza.*
*Here.* Reluctantly.
Lhar let his awareness float again until he sensed a presence like an ice sculpture, burning with green
flame. She was directly between him and T’Mero. Lhar kept contact as he urged his mount toward
her—and was nearly jerked out of the saddle as the guiderope he held snapped taut. The taman, though
securely roped together, still had no intention of exposing their heads to the storm. He tied the lead rope
to his saddle and once again urged his taman forward. With glacial reluctance, the string of animals
confronted the wind.
*Go back, Syza.*
*No.*
For the first time he sensed an emotion other than distaste in her contact. Danger.
*The storm will break soon.*
 Lhar squinted at the pulsing waves of wind-driven rock dust, felt again the abrasive, implacable edge
of the storm, rocked as a gust of wind nearly blew him off the taman.
*Break! Sweet Xantha, if it gets any worse—send me your drifsen.*
Then Syza appeared just in front of him. Her dark purple hood and gritscarf completely covered her
face; even her eyes were muffled. She made no sound, yet the drifsen ran quickly along the line of
laggard taman. On an impulse, Lhar’s mind reached out to a drifsen; there was awareness, but it was as
slippery as quicksilver. The taman began to trot as the drifsen moved among them like fanged shadows.
The trot became a pace, then a lope. Lhar pulled his hood over his face and concentrated on T’Mero.
A choking wall of grit and small pebbles broke over them. Both riders bent low on their mounts,
coaxing greater speed. Lhar coughed repeatedly, though the air he breathed was strained through both
scarf and hood. For the taman it was worse. The protective hair in and around their nostrils was clogged
with grit. Constant snorts gave only fleeting relief. He could hear the sound of their labored breathing
even above the storm.
Lhar knew they could either stop and pray that the storm did not kill them or run and pray that the
cliffs did not kill them.
*Syza. Has the storm peaked?*
*No. We must get to shelter before it does. Soon!*
For the first time Lhar struck his taman. With the will and stamina of the desert-born, the taman
stretched into a labored gallop. The drifsen made sure that the others kept pace through the choking
purple wind and staggering changes in air pressure. An arrhythmic, blind plunge into darkness finally
ended with a jarring slide down into the shelter of an ancient gully. Somehow they had avoided the cliffs.
The taman snorted and coughed, clearing their nostrils in the quieter air of the ravine. Without urging
they walked forward, following the sinuous course of a long-dead river. Dust sifted over everything, but
the steep walls and turns of the ravine baffled the full power of the wind. The ravine deepened into a
narrow canyon, free from all but occasional shouts of wind.
Lhar lowered his hood and unwrapped his gritscarf, grimacing as the cut over his eye reopened. The
eye itself was swollen shut, but he could see well enough to guide his taman beneath an overhanging ledge
of rock When he dismounted, T’Mero was waiting.
“Where—drifs?” said Lhar, coughing.
“Up canyon. There’s a blind spur. The drifsen will keep them there.”
“Good. Where—”
Lhar stopped as Syza rode in and pulled her grit-scarf off. On her face streaks of sweat-washed skin
alternated with irregular bands of dust, but most startling were the dark channels of exhaustion around her
eyes. Wordlessly she dismounted and began unpacking the lead taman. Her hands shook over the knots.
She reached for the pack bag, heaved it onto her shoulder and would have gone sprawling in the dirt had
not Lhar and T’Mero leaped forward to catch, her. Lhar took the pack.
“T’Mero, send Diri to help with the taman. They’re too tired to bite even her.”
Syza started to speak, coughed, then managed a hoarse whisper. “You’ll have to sponge out their
nostrils and mouths. A tiny drink.” She saw Lhar’s blood-streaked face and swollen eye, then looked
away. “You require healing,” she said tonelessly.
“After you rest.”
Lhar felt her surprise and her acute relief. He watched narrowly as she was half led, half carried to
the shelter of overhanging stone, and he wondered why she radiated fear at the thought of healing.
Somewhere in the Centrex files was the answer. He ran his fingers absently over the coarse fiber belt that
concealed the many fine wires of his psitran. He could assemble the psitran, contact Yarle ... and be told
again about the Privacy Code.
With a feeling of unease he turned and began removing packs from the taman. By the time he
finished, his mind was already immersed in other difficulties. A reluctant healer was the least of the
problems he faced on Tal-Lith.
The storm thrashed and groaned and spat grit over the steep canyon walls. Occasional blasts of wind
evaded the natural baffles protecting the huddled animals; the pervasive dust made breathing miserable
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