Amerie and the Indian Chief come at last into the wheelhouse and warm themselves at my fire. And then they put hands on me to still the shuddering and say, "Take us down, child."
And I descend. Softly.
12
"YOU ARE CERTAIN, Mother?" Nodonn asked.
The Queen replied, "You will see for yourself. The Thagdal finished with her only a short time ago and sent her back to Redact House. Culluket got the truth from her when I farspoke him of what had happened. He is bringing her to the palace again for our scrutiny."
They were in the Queen's morning room. She was still en désha-billé, while the Battlemaster, summoned from the arena, wore a light practice cuirass with vambrace and pauldron for his unshielded right arm and shoulder.
"A new human conspiracy!" he mused aloud. "The audacity of the Lowlives almost passes belief. That Guderian woman is at the bottom of it, of course. The human-Firvulag entente, the use of the holy Spear ... and now this!"
Nontusvel said, "It was a vengeance-thought that the girl Gwen-Minivel let slip, you see, when the Thagdal was filling her full of his grace. The gist of it was, 'You won't be able to do this to human women much longer when we destroy your torc factory and shut the time-gate. We will free all human slaves.' "
"It was fortunate that you were within range and caught her thought. "
"It was heavily screened. But I am the Mother of the Host."
"Exactly who is she, that she should have had knowledge of this plot?"
"Alas—a most promising young healer. She was reserved from the customary bidding by Dionket himself. She should have been sent to the King's couch long ago. But for reasons that are not yet clear to me—you will want to investigate this—she was secreted in the catacombs of Redact House by the connivance of Mayvar and the Lord Healer. With your Awful Father in such low spirits over recent melancholy events, I bethought me of this girl as a potential source of comfort. She had stunned the entire company at the bidding banquet with her empathy. I—I confess that I saw in her reminders of my own self as a young maiden, lulling my dolls to sleep and dreaming of the babies I would some day bear ... But enough of that. As it is my duty to assure the consolation of our King, I charged your brother Culluket to discover what had become of Minivel. A royal command superseded even Dionket's authority over the girl and she was duly produced. Culluket is much too forthright to deal with the mental preparations that Minivel required—your Awful Father being in the delicate condition he is, we could not risk her putting him down—and so I undertook the coercion and redaction of the young woman myself. I worked with her all yesterday afternoon, and she went to the Thagdal last night as eagerly as a nymph. He never knew that she despised him. And of course your Father never heard Minivel's deep avowal of revenge, since he was distracted by his own passion. I had her sing for him and vouchsafe the most maternal forms of solace in addition to the usual. She was a great success."
"And all unwitting," Nodonn now suggested, "she may become the key to our victory as well."
The door to the suite opened. The King's Interrogator, handsome and stern in a hooded cape of dark burgundy, pushed Sukey in ahead of him and motioned for the escort of garnet-armored guardsmen to remain outside. Culluket saluted Nontusvel and his brother.
"Awful Mother! Brother Battlemaster! I've questioned the woman Gwen-Minivel and laid bare all that she knows."
Sukey stood with a resolute face. Her eyes and nose were reddened from weeping and her hair hung in strings. She still wore the diaphanous love-gift robes the Queen's attendants had dressed her in the night before.
Nontusvel and Nodonn studied the intelligence that Culluket's mind displayed to them.
"Child, child," mourned the Queen. "Not only the treason—but a human lover as well! A lowly gray—Stein Oleson, man-at-arms to Aiken Drum. And you have conceived his child!"
"Stein is my husband," Sukey said.
The Interrogator, so like and so unlike his gentle mother, pushed back his hood. "The penalty for that action alone would be death, Gwen-Minivel. Death for you, for your unborn child, and for the father of the misbegotten. You have abased your silver torc and forfeited all claim to Tanu kinship. You are no longer Gwen-Minivel but merely Sue-Gwen Davies, an outlaw human. You and any persons who are accessories to this treason or to the larger infamies you have revealed to me will answer to our justice—no matter how high their station."
Sukey's swollen lips smiled. Her thought was clear: We lose our lives. But you will lose your whole world, even though you continue to live!
"Send her away," said Nodonn. "We must discuss this."
As Culluket turned Sukey over to the guards, the Queen said, "Let us go into the atrium where there is more air. I don't feel at all well."
The Second Redactor took his mother's arm, and the three of them went into a little enclosed courtyard that was a bower of autumn roses. The Queen and Culluket sat on the marble coping of the central fountain. Nodonn paced the flags, his armor's facets throwing prismatic refractions into the garden shadows.
"What have you done with the man?" Nontusvel asked.
"There was a row, of course." Culluket's tone was dry. "Stein and Aiken Drum were at the Coercer College, breakfasting with Gomnol, if you please! Naturally the young mountebank and the Lord Coercer claimed to know nothing of Stein's relation with Sukey—which was the ostensible reason given for my taking him into custody. Stein became quite violent, even in spite of his torc. Gomnol had no choice but to subdue him and turn him over to us, however. The truth of our accusation about the woman leaked from Stein's mind as from a sieve. He'll be imprisoned until the Grand Combat and set up in one of the gladiator events. The girl goes into the Great Retort, of course."
"And Aiken Drum?"
Culluket's laugh held admiration in spite of himself. "Now there's a cool one! You need no redaction to know that there must have been collusion between master and man in both treasons. But Drum insisted upon playing the innocent. He demanded that Gomnol and I inspect his mind together, right there on the spot. Without the proper softening process our examination had to be rough and ready—but the little wretch was a match for us. We couldn't discover a particle of treachery hidden anywhere in his mind. No knowledge of Stein and Minivel, no knowledge of any plot against the torc factory or the time-gate."
The Battlemaster stopped his pacing and sat down beside his brother on the edge of the fountain. He stirred the water with one finger. Little simmers of steam arose. "You and Gomnol did the interrogation ... together."
The Queen looked from Nodonn to Culluket. "You can't mean—"
But Culluket gave a slow nod. "It could very well be. Gomnol is capable of it! I suspected nothing ... Rumors of the King's impotence have been circulating among all members of the High Table, and we know our precious Lord Coercer cares for nothing if not the main chance. He has undoubtedly realized that his earlier appraisal of Aiken Drum as a metapsychic nova was mistaken. Furthermore, the disallowing of his genetic scheme featuring Elizabeth and the Thagdal has made necessary a slight revision in his dynastic scenario."
"Oh, the ingrate!" cried the Queen. "Gomnol allied with Aiken Drum! This is what comes of admitting Lowlives to our High Table! We must do something about him at once! Imidol must issue the challenge to Gomnol at this year's manifestation of powers."
"He'd lose," Culluket said flatly.
"What then?" the Queen implored. "Gomnol will throw in his lot with the Lowlife rebels! Isn't it obvious?"
Culluket looked puzzled. "But Gomnol wouldn't destroy his own torc factory, his power base. It's counter to the man's entire psychology. Somehow, Aiken Drum has managed to keep this part of the plot from him."
"Then let's tell Gomnol!" cried Nontusvel. "Turn him against that horrid little golden beast!"
"Peace, dearest Mother." Nodonn's sun-bright countenance relaxed the agitated Queen with its warmth. "There are so many things afoot—so many intrigues and plots and counterplots—that they collide with one
another and entwine in a tangle that seems to defy unknotting. The northern insurgents with their iron, perhaps with the Spear; the monstrous Felice, murderer of our sister Epone, who now wears stolen gold; the rebel general Guderian and her saboteur cohorts; Aiken Drum, whose loyalties lie Tana-knows-where; the King's schemes; the anthropologist and his survey; and the Lord Coercer—who would manipulate us all! A formidable snarl."
"But not," Culluket insinuated, "beyond your power to unravel, Brother Battlemaster?"
"I," said Nodonn, "have a Sword."
The Queen drew in a sharp breath. "You can't!"
"They are humans. They have outlawed themselves. Aiken Drum poses a peculiar problem because of his great popularity with our citizens. We'll need strong proof of his treason, but he can be dealt with. And so can Gomnol—much more easily, I believe. This entire mess can be turned to our advantage."
"Are you so confident of your own ability?" Culluket asked. "The iron alone is a mortal threat to our survival here. If you should miscalculate, the entire High Kingdom could be thrown into chaos."
Ever serene, the Battlemaster said, "We of the Host have agreed that it is necessary to return to the simpler way. To the old customs that we followed for nearly a thousand years. The superficial glamour of humanity's bastard culture has blinded too many of our people—even the Thagdal himself—and brought us to the brink of ruin. But Tana has been compassionate. It is not too late to turn back. The very conspiracies of these Lowlives show them up clearly as the danger we could only suspect before. Not even the most obtuse of our people will be able to ignore the human peril when I have done with my counteraction ... And there is also this."
He held up a pale-green plaque. Culluket exclaimed, "The survey! Congratulations, Brother! May I inspect it?"
Ignoring the request, Nodonn said, "The human anthropologist has been unwise enough to deliver an honest evaluation. His survey points to the inevitable ascendency of humans and hybrids in the Many-Colored Land, should we Tanu continue to exploit humans genetically and permit them to occupy positions of power. The King has studied the survey but he still waffles over the implications. He and the other moral weaklings at the High Table may think that the status quo can be maintained simply by destroying all copies of the survey and the computer file of data, and doing away with Bryan Grenfell and Ogmol. But thanks to my darling Rosmar, we have not only a copy of the book—but also the anthropologist himself safely tucked away. Dearest Mother, it is my intention to force the anthropologist to reveal the truth about his own human race at the culmination of the Grand Combat. I will produce him just prior to the Heroic Encounters so that the conspirators of the peace faction have no time to prepare opposition. When the peril is made clear, the combined wrath of our entire Tanu battle-company will fall upon those who are traitors to our ancient ideals. Upon Gomnol! Upon Aiken Drum! And upon any of our other kinsmen who have become so depraved as to consider humanity essential to our survival here."
The Queen raised a hand to her lips. "But then the Thagdal—"
Nodonn was relentless. "Queen and Mother, if he persists in his folly, his time has come. I will be merciful. The choice, at the end, will be his own."
Culluket hastened to say, "You, as Mother of the Host, are wholly exempt from his fate."
Nontusvel had her mental screens up. Her eyes refused to meet those of her sons. "Sometimes ... our ways are very hard. I thought there might be another way."
Nodonn swept on. "As for the sabotage plot in Sue-Gwen Davies' mind, there are ways to turn that affair to our advantage if we work quickly. We have no details of the proposed assault on the torc factory. Obviously, the northerners did not take Aiken Drum and his loutish crony entirely into their confidence. But we do know the date—the twenty-second, two days from now—and we can presume that the attack will take place at night when activity around the Coercer Headquarters is minimal. The second part of the Lowlife plot, the attempt to send a message through the time-gate, must certainly take place at dawn on the twenty-second."
Culluket exclaimed, "Gomnol would certainly try to stop the factory attack if he knew about it. We can beat him to the punch and take the credit ourselves!"
The Battlemaster threw back his glorious head and laughed. "Redactive Brother, what a simpleton you are! But never mind. The planning of campaigns is my duty. You'll see how well I've fulfilled it soon enough. Now then ... you must summon all of the top fighters of the Host, who have by now arrived in Muriah. This very noon our Mother will hold a sacred reunion in order to impart a special blessing on her warrior children before the games. When we are together and secluded, I will explain the strategy that will deliver all of our enemies into our hands."
"The murderer of our dearest Epone," the Interrogator put in, "she is reserved to me."
Nodonn nodded agreement. "Extract all useful information from this Felice and then it shall be as you request. But this female monster must be able to fight in the gladiatorial games when you're through with her. It is part of my overall strategy. The others will go into the Great Retort. These Lowlives must all suffer the most public destruction, as an example to the others. I will brook only one exception. I have other plans for Guderian."
"Both she and Felice wear the gold," cautioned Culluket.
"Felice's will be removed by her own iron," said the Battlemaster. "She will wear gray as she spills her blood on the White Silver Plain. Guderian's torc will not matter, as you will shortly discover."
Nontusvel's tears had dried. She rose from the fountain's edge and said brightly, "If we're going to have a great crowd for luncheon, I must consult with the cooks at once. You will excuse me." They kissed her hands and she rushed away, trailing fragmented thoughts of hostessly menu planning.
Culluket turned a level eye to the Battlemaster. "There is still one human whose position remains to be clarified. I must insist that you be straightforward in a matter of such high seriousness."
The image of Mercy seemed to hover between the brothers.
Nodonn's glowing face was unreadable and his mind as well. "The others of the Host were too polite to question my choice of consort—or too prudent. But since you dare to be frank, I'll tell you what I have discovered about her. From my first meeting with Rosmar, I was struck by the incredible affinity, the sweet consonance of thought between us that was so different from the relationships I had known with other human women—even with women of our own race. And so after I took her to wife, I had Greg-Donnet prepare a genetic assay of my remarkable bride."
"And?"
"Mercy-Rosmar's plasm is almost identical to our own. She has more of our genes than she has of human. Tana alone knows how to account for it—but then I am no scientist."
Culluket, who was, looked profoundly shaken. His screens hid a storm of intellectualizing but could not efface the tinge of suspicion pervading it.
The insouciance of the Battlemaster melted into something black. For one terrible instant the startled Culluket was wrapped in a second skin all lined with needles, and the point of each one was the source of an electric charge that inflamed the pain receptors of his epidermis almost to the point of overload. He would have fallen, would have lost consciousness except for the grip of Nodonn's great mind.
As swiftly as it had come, the agony was wiped away, replaced by a sensation of utter well-being.
And Nodonn's thought: Cogitate as you will Redactive Brother. But never again doubt my judgment or hint that MercyRosmar is anything but loyal.
Master of every obscenity!
"Now you're behaving like a simpleton again," chided the voice of Apollo. "Just remember who it is who will be king. And never make the mistake of thinking you can teach me anything about the inflicting of pain."
13
TOGETHER WITH many other sightseers from Muriah, Katlinel the Darkeyed went down on chalikoback in the evening cool to wander over the White Silver Plain and satisfy her perennial curiosity about the everyday activities of the ancient Foe, encampe
d now in harmless splendor all about the northeastern end of the battleground.
She rode over the wide bridge spanning the canal. The bed of the watercourse was paved with limestone blocks, and it ran three meters deep with star-spangled fresh water. The flow came from that huge spring, the Well of the Sea, whose waters had been the rationale for the siting of the field of combat from the earliest coming of the Tanu to Aven. Here and there the Little People dipped buckets or filled skins. Farther downstream, some Firvulag women were washing clothes; and still farther along, where the canal waters shallowed as they curved east and met the Great Lagoon, were the quaint bathing tents of the modest folk.
Katlinel let her chaliko have its head. It ambled down the long central avenue of the tent-city where bonfires burned atop cairns of heaped rocks. The large earth-colored pavilions of the Firvulag nobility were here, awnings and flies fringed in gold and silver, and embroidered designs ornamenting walls and roof panels. Every Great One's tent was fronted by a tall pole from which floated the richly jeweled standard of its occupant, all decorated with hair plumes and gold-plated skulls of vanquished foemen. Every standard was topped by the effigy of a different monstrous head, which represented the favorite illusionary aspect of the Firvulag warrior.
The Little People were everywhere. Some wore their handsomely chased obsidian armor; but most were more casually attired in trousers and jerkins or gem-studded robes with borders of fur (which must have been very uncomfortable in the sultry dusk). Pointed caps were the most common headgear among men and women alike. The grander ladies had veils floating from theirs, or decorated padded brims, or ornamental horns, or long lappets that hung before or behind their ears. It was customary for the lofty Tanu to refer to their shadow-kinfolk as "little." But most of those that Katlinel passed were at least equal to humans in stature; and now and again she caught a glimpse of some doughty champion who far surpassed any Tanu in height and bulk. It was being said in the capital that more Firvulag than ever before had come south for this year's Grand Combat, cheered by their triumph at Finiah. The army was rumored to include certain proud fighters who had disdained to contend of late because of the contamination of the games by human participants. Medor had come out of hiding, and the hideous Nukalavee who fought under the guise of a flayed centaur with all the raw muscles and sinews and blood vessels exposed to strike horror into his opponents; and even old Pallol One-Eye the Firvulag Battlemaster had returned, breaking his twenty-year sulk.