The Adversary

by Julian May

  Mr. Betsy adjusted the exotic sky-sweep scanner to watch the departure. He sighed. "What an abysmally sloppy peel-away. It's those wretched wings. Only a very decadent technology would put wings on a rhocraft."

  "Yet thus equipped," Dougal said, "they are the more fearsome to the miscreant eye ...and the wings are also a damn good place to mount the secondary zapper arrays."

  Mr. Betsy gave a scathing snort. "Guns, dear zany, are only useful when you have competent gunners. May I remind you that Stan and Taffy Evans are the only persons with the appropriate training, while the other six Bastard pilots and I are as hopelessly noncombatant as the recruits. I doubt if any of us could hit Mont-Dore at point-blank range—and Miss Wang goes into hysterics at the mere thought of a fire fight."

  "If the Firvulag host gets between her and the time-gate," Aiken noted dryly, "she mayfind her backbone stiffening." He twiddled the controls and the sky outside the flyer turned from cobalt to star-spangled black. "There's hope for you duffers, though. Yosh Watanabe is putting together some robot target locks for the weaponry. As long as the spooks don't mount a Flying Hunt, the targeters should take most of the worry out of air-to-ground zapmanship."

  "Only one thing will do that," Betsy said. "Aircraft force-shields that don't have to be neutralized at every salvo!"

  "I'm sorry," the King said uncomfortably. "All we have left are small sigmas. The weaponry we have available just isn't compatible. You'll have to turn the shield off before firing. I'm trying to work out a method of metapsychic shelter—assign several creative stalwarts to each ship. But I'm afraid that if war does come, I'll need every strong mind I can scrounge for my own metaconcert. In an all-out attack, the Flying Corps may have to do the best it can with conventional weapons and screens."

  "Blow, wind! Come, wrack!" Dougal declaimed. "At least we'll die with harness on our back!"

  "Why don't you stuff it, you anachronist booby?" Betsy hissed. Then he seemed to notice for the first time that they were high in the ionosphere. The expanse of the Northern Peneplain spread out below like a brown and ochre map of low relief, veined with dark green watercourses. "Where are you taking us?" he asked the King petulantly. "I'm not really in the mood for any joyrides."

  "No joy," muttered the King. "Now that I can fly one of these birds with medium incompetence, I thought I'd better have a cautious look-see at the River Seine. It's been four days since Marc got the bad news from Elizabeth, and still not a squeak out of him. So it's time for an aerial survey."

  "God's death!" snarled the incarnation of Good Queen Bess. "What if the brute tries tozap us?"

  "We're out of range of the 414 blasters. Hagen says that there's nothing heavier on Kyllikki, now that the X-lasers are out."

  "Remillard could d-jump on board!"

  "He doesn't know we're here. We're too high to see, and he's got no reason to be farsensing up here. Now quit your chuntering, man, and get on that ground sweeper. Comb the river starting at the estuary."

  Grumbling bitterly, Betsy did as he was told.

  The King relaxed in his seat, staring pensively at the daytime stars. After a while hesaid to Dougal, "I hate to admit it, but I've about given up trying to figure out what Marc Remillard will do next. I guess I didn't really expect him to reply to my invitation to the Grand Tourney. He's hardly about to abandon his scheme after so many years, just because his kids run out on him. Elizabeth said it was a long shot, though, that he might pack it in. And I saw for myself that the guy really does love his children."

  "Love is not love," Dougal murmured, "when it is mingled with regards that stand alooffrom the entire point. As you should know."

  "I like enemies I can pin a label on," Aiken complained. "Sharn and Ayfa! Nodonn! EvenGomnol, damn Iris dead eyes. But Marc's a different breed. So bloody charming..."

  "One may smile and smile and be a villain."

  The King seemed to be talking to himself. "I can't let Remillard put the wind up me. I've got to carry on with my royal duties, even if it means he might nail me when I least expect it. But if I could find where he's hiding..."He called out to Betsy. "Any sign?"

  "Negative," growled the counterfeit Elizabethan.

  "The king's will," Dougal said, "is not his own. He may not, as unvalued persons do, carve for himself, for on his choice depends the safety and health of the whole state. So then, my liege, be bloody, bold, and resolute! Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are—for if 'tis true that doomsday's near, then die all, die merrily!"

  He placed both hands upon the crowned lion blazon on his knightly surcoat.

  Aiken stared at the golden charge. "Perhaps I should have taken the lion for my embleminstead of the hand." His brow creased. "Dougie, I've seen it before. Back on Dalriada, when I was just a juvenile delinquent disturbing the peace of the other haggis-wallopers. What does the lion emblem mean?"

  "It is Asian, of course," said the madman, "and an ancient badge among our Scottish kinfolk as well, with its motto 'S Rioghal Mo Dhream —Royal Is My Race. It's the crest of Clan Gregor."

  Aiken drew in a sharp breath. "And that's your family name?"

  "No. I was born a Fletcher—a sept of the clan. But the one I sought so long is a MacGregor unknowing. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless." The mad knight smiled at the King.

  Aiken sank back in the pilot's seat and began to laugh. "First it's born and then it'srooted! Priceless!" He opened a leg pocket, took out a white handkerchief, and wiped his face. "Thanks Dougie, I needed that."

  The medievalist said softly, "My liege, receive what cheer you may. The night is long that never finds the day."

  "If you can get control of yourself," came Betsy's acerbic interrup tion, "you might care to take a goggle at this. Your Majesty. I've scanned the entire river from the Gulf of Armorica to its confluence with the Nonol just below Nionel. The only remotely anomalous object I can pick up on this barbarian peep-scope is here—a little over one hundred kilometers inland."

  The King frowned at the display. "Jack up the magnification. No, that only makes it fuzzier. And look how the damn thing keeps hopping about, skipping up and down the river like a will-o'-the-wisp."

  "I told you it was anomalous," Betsy said. "It could be some obscure gravomagnetic effect, or a glitch in the imaging circuitry. After all, the poor scope's at least a thousand years old. On the other hand—"

  "You don't get this gremlin in any other part of the river?"

  "No. We could descend to a lower altitude, of course, or probe it with a detector beam or your farsense."

  "I don't think we'll risk that," said the King. "If it is Kyllikki, they might feel the tickle."

  "The better part of valor is discretion," Dougal quoted.

  "And I have a High Table meeting at Castle Gateway in an hour," Aiken added. "If Marc wants to play coy, I'll let him. For now."

  ***

  There were other travelers abroad in the land besides those headed for the tournament Field of Gold, and Mary-Dedra, chatelaine of Black Crag Lodge, came to tell Elizabeth of the latest batch.

  "Six more got in just after lunch. On foot, without supplies, and they'd sent back their escorts before setting out on the last leg of the climb today. That's twenty-two all told. Nine humans, the rest Tanu."

  "But there's nothing we can do," Elizabeth exclaimed. "Didn't you tell them that?"

  "They're not taking no for an answer."

  "Oh, dear. I suppose I'll have to deal with them myself." Elizabeth pressed fingers against her aching temples, trying to call up a self-redactive impulse. But she'd been at the farsensing too long, hoping to discover where Marc and the schooner might be concealed, and the fatigue and some perverse mental block frustrated healing. She sent out a plea to Creyn on the intimate mode, then said to Dedra: "You'd better bring them all up here— without the children—and I'll try to explain things as kindly as possible."

  The human farsensor nodded and left the suite. Elizabeth sat in a c
hair by one of the large windows, which stood open to the breeze coming out of the north. The heath had begun its second bloom, brightening the dusty green slope with patches of carmine and delicate pink. Brother Anatoly pottered in the kitchen garden below, and cerulean doves cooed inthe rafters of the rambling chalet.

  Creyn closed the door softly behind him. She sent him a wordless appeal and he strode to her chair and spread his hands above her head. The throbbing ceased.

  "Thank you." She let her eyes close. The hands descended to rest lightly on her hair as he stood behind her.

  "Have you found anything?" he asked.

  "Not a trace. Marc must be using some kind of artificial screen. Not a sigma—that would stick out like a beacon—but something absorptive that swallows my mental beam instead of reflecting it. I never had much to do with such mechanisms back in the Milieu so I don't have counterprogramming. Most of my farsensing was communication, bespeaking other teachers and exchanging information among the worlds of the Human Polity. Hunter-searcher farsensors operated in an entirely different sphere." Aware that she was babbling, she fell silent. After a few moments had passed, she said, "Perhaps Marc's done the unexpected after all. Gone away to another planet and taken the others with him."

  "I doubt it. He's been deprived of his life's objective—or he will be if he accepts the rejection of his children. He will not be satisfied until he discovers the new work that is to take the place of the flawed dream. I would have told him—even given him the mitigator program that would have made the work possible. But I was a fool and tried to bargain with him."

  Distracted, Elizabeth had no notion of what he was talking about. In the courteous wayof metapsychics, he opened the deeper level of his mind in explanation, reprising the memory of his last meeting with Marc. The request. The refusal.

  Bewilderment clouded Elizabeth's comprehension. "A new work for Marc?"

  Creyn nodded. "The Goddess has been pleased to give me the insight. But I was wrong not to pass it on to him freely. My only excuse is that I was a man desperate."

  "You wanted Marc to apply Brendan's redactive program to your mind?" She was incredulous. "But it would never work! You're fully adult, burdened with the habitual thought-patterns of years—centuries! Oh, my dear, I'm sorry. You thought ... but even if such aredaction were possible, it could never change things between us."

  "I know that now." He smiled reassuringly. "Another insight vouchsafed by Tana, although tardily. And I had not then visualized your own role in the work, nor appreciated the significance of the inevitable duality. Again my emotions clouded my thinking."

  She frowned. "You're speaking riddles, Creyn. What work?"

  He showed her.

  "My God!" she cried. "Are you mad?" Horror and revulsion poured from her mind before she sent her walls crashing into place. She collected herself and said in a calm voice. "Your deep disappointment has affected your judgment even more seriously than you realize. I think you'll understand this yourself in a little while. But I must ask you—I want you to promise—you must never speak of this idea to anyone!Most especially not to Marc. Please, Creyn. If you care at all about me, you must promise."

  His barriers lowered as a warrant of sincerity. "I promise. It's enough that you know."

  "The entire notion is futile. Besides, we both know quite well what Marc will decide to do. As for the rest of it—" She shook her head. "You've been infected by the Shipspouse's lunatic prescience, not touched by Tana's wisdom."

  "Perhaps." He turned away. "Forgive me if I insulted you. But as a solution, it displayed an elegant inevitability—"

  "Don't mention it again. God knows I have enough to worry about."

  There was a knock on the door, and Dedra's leading thought. Elizabeth rose as the dooropened and steeled herself to meet the mothers of the black-torc babies.

  6

  AIKEN CAME INTO the dark coolness of the Roniah City-Lord's sanctum, where the High Table members had gathered. Of those that had served the Thagdal there remained only Kuhal Earthshaker, Bleyn the Champion, and AlberonnMindeater. Celadeyr, who had been raised to the Table on the battlefield of the last Grand Combat and then attainted for his role in Nodonn's treason, was now finally adjudged worthy of reinstatement. He stood with the seven newly chosen Great Ones ready to take the pledge of fealty.

  AIKEN: It's fitting that the High Table should be complete at this first Grand Tourney celebration so that our High Kingdom may present a unified face tothe Foe. To this end I have nominated a full slate of Great Ones...

  ALL: [Surprised murmurs.] But two seats are unfilled!

  AIKEN: A full slate, I say. But before receiving your oaths I command your commemoration of those High Table Members who have passed into Tana's Peace since our last convocation at the Grand Loving: Aluteyn Craftsmaster, Second Lord Creator; Artigonn of Amalizan, Second Lord Coercer; Armida the Formidable of Bardelask.

  ALL: To them be Tana's Peace.

  AIKEN: And in compassion let us commend those who fell from My favor and forfeited their seats through treason: Thufan Thunderhead of Tarasiah; Diarmet of Geroniah; Moreyn Glasscrafter of Var-Mesk.

  ALL: To them also be Tana's Peace.

  AIKEN: [Pain.] And the late Queen Mercy-Rosmar.

  ALL: Peace to her.

  AIKEN: Peace to her. And my most noble antagonist Nodonn Battle- master.

  ALL: Peace to him.

  AIKEN: And finally, let us commend one who does notrest to the mercy of the Goddess, that in her good time she may give him peace: Culluket the Interrogator, Lord Redactor.

  ALL: [Dread.] Tana grant him release. [The Song.] (Silence.)

  AIKEN: Now let the sitting Great Ones reaffirm fealty.

  MORNA-IA KINGMAKER + SIBEL LONGTRESS + BLEYN THE CHAMPION + KUHAL EARTHSHAKER + CONDATEYR FULMINATOR + ALBERONN MINDEATER + EADNAR OF ROCILAN + NEYAL OF SASARAN + LOMNOVEL BRAINBURNER + ESTELLA-SIRONE OF DARASK: Slonshal to the Shining One, Aiken-Lugonn High King of our Many-Colored Land.

  AIKEN: And to you Slonshal ... Let the nominated Great Ones here present pledge fealty. Celadeyr of Afaliah, Second Lord Creator.

  CELADEYR: I swear by the tore.

  AIKEN: Boduragol of Afaliah, Lord Redactor, and Lady Credela, Second Redactor.

  BODURAGOL + CREDELA: We swear by the tore.

  AIKEN: The city-lords Ochal the Harper of Bardelask, Parthol Swiftfoot of Calamosk, Ferdiet the Courteous of Tarasiah, Heymdol Buccinator of Geroniah, and Donal of Amalizan.

  OCHAL + PARTHOL + FERDIET + HEYMDOL + DONAL: We Swear by the tore.

  AIKEN: And now I will fill the last two seats.(Speculation. Wonderment.)

  AIKEN: We live in terrible and portentous times, greatly outnumbered by our ancient Foe and beset by outlandish menaces as well. Yet we are not without friends, some of whom are unable to publicly declare themselves. These friends have given Me good counsel and deserve to sit among the Great Ones by reason of the love they have for our land, the goodwill they bear toward its King, and their own sovereign dignity. They must for now sit at our Table in secret. Let them manifest themselves in simulacrum to take their pledge.

  (Stupefaction.)

  KATLINEL THE DARKEYED AND SUGOLL: We swear by the love we bear one another and by our love for the land and its people that we will uphold King Aiken-Lugonn in all noble-minded endeavor. We vow our alliance in battle in the event of the Nightfall War, and repudiate our erstwhile vassalage to the Firvulag Throne. And thou, Teah, witnesseth.

  AIKEN: Slonshal and Slitsal to one and all.

  (Uproar.)

  AIKEN: Does anyone dispute My right to seat these two?

  (Silence.)

  AIKEN: Brothers and Sisters, desperate times call for desperate remedies. Sugoll and Katy have told me how King Sharn openly boasted of a scheme to touch off Nightfall at the climax of the Tourney.

  CELADEYR: I knew it! And they called me an antiquated death-wisher!

  AIKEN: Sharn has been drilling his stalwarts in metaconcert technique for mo
nths. And Ayfa's contribution is dinging the brains of the stubborn ones who cling to the old individualistic Way. The Little People have new tactics and new weapons. They use cavalry and captured Milieu weapons—and even the blood-metal, since they're not as sensitive to iron poisoning as Tanu are.

  DONAL OF AMALIZAN: But this is monstrous! Sharn and Ayfa must be insane to think of precipitating Nightfall. They're both young, with children, and Nightfall means the doom of both our races!

  CELADEYR: Only according to orthodox Tanu belief, son. The Firvulag have convinced themselves that Nightfall will bring victory to one faction: themselves. And there is a dim justification for the notion in our sacred writings, given a fast and loose interpretation.

  KUHAL EARTHSHAKER: Trust the Firvulag to do just that.

  OCHAL THE HARPER: We have confidence that the Shining One will forestall Night!

  AIKEN: I'm going to do my damnedest. We're outnumbered, but we've got discipline in our metaconcert—and a much more efficient program that yields more watts per mind. We've also got the Spear, a good supply ofsophisticated weapons, and the Royal Flying Corps—which you saw in action this afternoon.

  (Admiration.)

  SUGOLL: Are all the flying machines armed, as was your flagship?

  AIKEN: We're working on it. Refitting a rhocraft istricky because of the reticular field that covers the skin. With luck, most of the fleet will be zapper-equipped by tournament time.