Ace Books by Gordon R. Dicbon ALIEN ART ARCTURUS LANDING THE ALIEN WAY COMBAT SF THE FAR CALL THE FOREVER MAN HOME FROM THE SHORE IN IRON YEARS JAMIE THE RED (with Roland Green) LOVE NOT HUMAN MASTERS OF EVERON NAKED TO THE STARS ON THE RUN SPACEPAW THE SPACE SWIMMERS SPACIAL DELIVERY TIME TO TELEPORT/DELUSION WORM WAY OF THE PILGRIM THE EARTH LORDS The Childe Cycle Series DORSAI! LOST DORSAI NECROMANCER SOLDIER, ASK NOT THE SPIRIT OF DORSAI TACTICS OF MISTAKE THE FINAL ENCYCLOPEDIA THE DORSAI COMPANION THE CHANTRY GUILD THE CHR TRY GUILD fil AGE BOOKS, NEW YORK This Ace book contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition. It has been completely reset in a typeface designed for easy reading, and was printed from new film. THE CHANTRY GUILD An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author PRINTING HISTORY Ace hardcover edition / October 1988 Ace mass market edition / June 1989 All rights reserved. Copyright @ 1988 by Gordon R. Dickson. Cover art by Jim Bums. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 100 16. ISBN: 0-441-10266-2 Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 100 16. The name ACE and the A logo are trademarks belonging to Charter Communications, Inc. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 CHAPTER A little before dawn, Amanda Morgan woke in the front room of the tiny apartment rented by the family which had risked giving her shelter. A young girl shared the front room floor with her; but she still slumbered, as did the rest. Amanda had slept in the shapeless brown smock that had been all but forced on the inhabitants of this world and its sister planet of Mara by the Occupation Forces now ruling them. She rose now without putting on her ankle-high bush boots, and squatted on her heels beside her borrowed sleeping mat, and rolled it up. Stowing it in a corner of the room and picking up the boots in one hand, she quietly let herself out into the hall. Still carrying the boots, she went along it to make use of the communal bathroom at the hall's end; then descended the narrow wooden stairs into the street. Just inside the tenement's street door, she stopped to put on the boots. The smock had a hood, which she now pulled up over her head to hide her face. Silently, lifting the latch of the door, she slipped out into the mist-dimmed, pre-dawn light of the empty streets of Porphyry. It was a small town in the subtropical uplands of Hysperia, the northeastern continent of the Exotic planet of Kultis. Through those streets between the graying, unpainted wood faces of the tenements, she went swiftly. Most of the local Exotics, rooted out of their countryside homes, had been brought here and required to build these dwellings for their own shelter, close under the eye of authority; and the fact that the required design and materials of the buildings made them firetraps had not been entirely unintentional on the part of the designers. For the plan behind the Occupation was for the Exotics of Mara and Kultis to die off-as much as possible by their own doing. She thought of those sleeping within; and felt a sensation as if her heart moved under her breast at the thought of leaving them, as a mother might react at having to leave her children in the hands of brutal and antagonistic caretakers. But the word that had been sent her was the one message that could override all else; and she had no choice but to go. After several turnings down different streets she slipped between two buildings and emerged into the open yard-space behind them. Just before her lifted the six-meter height of the wooden fence that now enclosed the town; and which those who inhabited it had also been forced to build. At the foot of this fence she stopped and, reaching in through a slit in her robe, loosened something. As she gave her body a shake a coil of loose rope dropped about her feet. She stepped out of it and bent to pick it up by the running loop already worked into one end. She gathered up the rest of the rope and dropped it by arm-lengths back onto the sparse grass of the untended ground at her feet, shaking it out and recoiling it up again into loose loops in her left hand, to make sure there were no kinks in it. Then, taking the last meter or so of the other end with the running loop into her right hand, she shook the loop sliding through that eye of rope to a larger circle, swung it a few times to get the feel of its weight and balance, and took a step back from the foot of the wall. She looked up at the fence, past the flimsy walkway that allowed it to be patrolled by those on guard, with no more than their heads showing above the pointed ends of the uprightly placed logs that made it. Selecting one particular log-end, she swung the captive loop in her right hand in a couple of graceful circles and then let it fly upward. She had been handling a lasso since her early childhood on the distant planet of her birth, one of the few Younger Worlds THE CHANTRY GUILD 3 where a variform of horses had flourished. The loop flew fair and true to settle over the upper end of the log she had chosen. She pulled it tightly closed, and tried her weight on the rope. Then, with its aid, she walked up the inner face of the wall until she could pull herself onto the walkway. Loosening the loop from the log-end, she enlarged it and put it around her so that it formed a loop diagonally about her body from one shoulder and around and under her opposite hip. Doubling that loop with more of the rope, she threw the long end of it down the wall's far side, climbed over the fence and proceeded to rappel down its outside face, mountaineer fashion. Once solidly on the ground she pulled the rest of the rope around the log-end overhead and down into her hands. Recoiling it around her waist over her robe as she went, she headed for the darkness of the forest, only a short distance away. The forest hid her and she was gone. But she had not left unobserved. One of the early waking inhabitants of a building, looking out a back window, had seen her go. By bad luck, he was one of the few locals who tried to curry favor with the Occupation Forces-for there were good and bad Exotics, as there were people of both kinds in all cultures. His attention had been caught by a glimpse of a figure moving outside while the curfew of the night just passed was still in effect. Now he lost no time in dressing and hurrying himself to Military Headquarters. Consequently, she was almost to her destination when she became aware of being followed by green- uniformed, booted figures, with the glint of metal in their hands that could only come from power rifles or needle guns. She went on, not hurrying her pace. They wei-e already close enough to kill her easily with their weapons, if that was what they wanted. They would be waiting to see if she would lead them to others; and in any case their preference would be to take her alive; to question her and otherwise amuse themselves with her before killing her. However, if she could only gain a few minutes more, a small distance farther . She walked on unhurriedly, her resolve hardening as she went. Even if they tried to take her now before she reached her intended destination, still all might not be lost. She was Dorsai, of the Dorsai; a native of that cold, hard, meagerly blessed planet whose only wealth of natural resources lay in its planet-wide ocean and the scanty areas of arable and pasture land on its stark islands, upthrust from the waves like the tops of the underseas mountains. For generations, the Dorsai had seen their sons and daughters leave home to sell their military services in the wars of the other Younger Worlds; and so earn the interstellar credits the Dorsai needed to survive. While those behind her now were the sweepings of those other worlds. Not real military; and spoiled beyond that by the fact that the Exotics they were used to dominating did not know how to fight, even if they were willing to do so to save their lives. So that those who followed her now had come to believe that merely to show a weapon to any unarmed civilian produced instant obedience. So, at close quarters, if those behind did not first cripple her with their power or needle guns, she could handle up to half a dozen of them. In any case, it would be strange if in the process she could not get her hands on at least one of their weapons. If she did that, she would have no trouble dealing with even a full platoon group.