Golden Torc - 2 (36 page)

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, encamped 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 shadowkinfolk 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.

There were supposed to be nearly 50,000 of the Little People encamped on the Plain already-nearly two-thirds of the entire Firvulag population. About half of this number were fighters, and they outnumbered the Tanu knights and their human auxiliaries by about two to one. Eventually, almost the entire chivalry of the Many-Colored Land would be arrayed against this concentration of the Foe.

Firvulag hawkers importuned Katlinel as she rode among the campfires and the jolly groups of feasters and dancers. She was offered jewelry and precious trinkets on every hand, since this was the craft that the Firvulag excelled in above all others; there were also vendors of sweets and salted nuts and hard cider and strange fortified wines. But she resisted their pleas. Only when she reached the end of the long avenue and circled around among the squat black tents of the humbler folk did she succumb at last to temptation in the shape of a goblinesque little maiden with thick blonde braids and a pert scarlet hennin, who offered flagons of carved myrtlewood filled with a marvelous perfume distilled from forest flowers.

"Thank you, Lady." The diminutive seller bobbed a curtsy as she accepted payment. "It's said among us that the Dame's Hesperis breathes forth a scent that even the most reluctant swain finds impossible to resist."

Katlinel laughed. "I'll remember to wear it with caution."

"Well, I've heard," was the saucy retort, "that some of your Tanu gentlemen need all the help they can get."

"We'll see about that at the games," Katlinel said, and rode on, smiling.

Another chaliko fell in beside her own as she passed through an area crowded with dining and drinking tents. When a drunken ogre came carousing out and seized the reins of her mount, the rider on the other beast closed in even before she could spin a defensive illusion. One mental bolt sent the Firvulag oaf staggering into the arms of his jeering mates, who dragged him away with a breezy apology to Katlinel for the imposition. "I am in your debt, Exalted Lord," she said, bowing her head to her rescuer.

He was a handsome figure, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a close-fitting coif beneath a visored cap adorned with a small golden coronet. The coif hid his hair and throat and fell over his shoulders in a very short cape, all scalloped and jeweled at the edges. His hose and doublet were deep violet. "It is my pleasure, Exalted Lady. I'm afraid that some of my countrymen take their celebrating too seriously, too far in advance."

She studied him with frank surprise as they rode on together. "You amaze me, Lord. With your neck covered, I mistook you for one of my own people."

"And which are they?" inquired the other, the faintest taunt in his fine voice.

Katlinel flushed and gripped her reins, ready to spur the chaliko away from the upstart. But the man reached out a hand and the animal stood still.

"Forgive my impertinence, Lady. It was unforgivable. But it is obvious that your beauty derives from human as well as Tanu blood. And I perceive from your silver and green gown that you are-as I-of the illusion-spinners, and one of rare power. If you will forgo your just annoyance at my crude banter and think instead of the small service lately done for you, perhaps we may yet ride on for a few moments and speak together. I have a great curiosity about your people."

"And a clever tongue as well, Firvulag Lord!... Very well, you may ride with me for a short time. I am Katlinel, surnamed the Darkeyed, and I sit at the High Table in the very lowest chair, being the least among the Tanu Great Ones."

"Surely not for long!" He doffed the crowned cap; the purple coif covered his skull. "I am known as the ruler of Meadow Mountain. My domain lies far to the north, on the fringes of the Firvulag realm. Never before this have I attended the Grand Combat. My people are so occupied with the daily problems of survival that they have scant heart for religious games."

"A heretical notion, to be sure. But one that I can sympathize with."

"There are those among you who are not ardent members of the battle-company?"

"Many," she admitted, "especially among the hybrids such as myself. But the force of tradition remains strong."

"Ah. Tradition. But of late the old ways seem shaken. Humanity, once so docile and useful, rises up in revolt against your High King."

"In alliance with you Firvulag!"

"The Tanu were the first to use humans. Shouldn't we as well? We Firvulag are, it's true, more hidebound than you. Why-most of my people will not even mount an animal such as this, preferring to march on their own sturdy legs."

"But you have no such scruples?"

"I've been forced to be a realist, Lady. Tell me-is it true that human scientists are honored and fostered among the Tanu? That you've used their specialized knowledge to enhance your own technoeconomy?"

"I belong to the High Faculty of the Creator Guild. Most science, excepting that of healing and psychobiology, falls within our province. We have many human scientists at work in our College, educating our young people as well as engaged in practical application of their knowledge. Agriculturalists, earth scientists, engineers of every sort, even specialists in the social sciences-all have placed their talents in the service of the Many-Colored Land."

"And geneticists?" the Lord of Meadow Mountain inquired softly.

"Most certainly."

He said, "If only we were not Foes. If only we were free to cooperate, to have a free interchange of ideas and resources. I know that we Firvulag would have much to offer you. And you... could do so much for us."

"But that is not the way," she said.

"Not yet. Not so long as the stern old battle-company rules your High Kingdom."

"I must leave now," Katlinel said.

"Will you come again and talk? There is still more than a week before the Combat begins and we officially become Foes once more."

She held out one hand and he took it and saluted her in the classic manner. His lips were cold. A flash of metapsychic insight told Katlinel that they were also illusory. But the mind that opened to her in momentary hope-that was not cold at all.

"I'll come again tomorrow night," she said. "Shall I ask for you among your friends?"

"Few here would call me that." His smile was both rueful and cautionary. "Ride here and I will find you. It would be better if none of your people knew that you condescended to have converse with Sugoll, Lord of Meadow Mountain-which humans of Elder Earth call the Feldberg."