After the horses were led out to graze, Mad Bear saw Hinuta climbing up to him. He would not have admitted it to anyone save the Father Sun, but he was glad to see that Hinuta carried a waterskin.
“What news?” he asked, after drinking.
“A rider has come from the camp of the Two Waters, a half-day north of us. He bears a message from their High Chief. Will we ride with him as far as the Mouth of Rocks? If we ride well together that far, he will let us go on with him until we reach the other Silver Wolves.”
“He is generous. Or has he too few warriors of his own?”
“I think it is not weakness. If he lacks men to defend his women and horses, why let those not his clansmen in among them? That is turning the wolf among the newborn colts.”
“True.” The people who followed Mad Bear had been chosen to be the last of the Silver Wolves to leave the clan’s ancient grounds. Someone had to do this, to perform the last sacrifices to the Sky Father and the Warrior, and see that the shrines were left clean and safe from defilement. The lot fell on Mad Bear and his people, and they called themselves honored, until they finished their work and learned that the rest of their clansmen were ten days’ march ahead of them. Try as they might, they hadn’t closed the gap.
“It would also be admitting our weakness, to shelter under the wing of another clan,” said Mad Bear.
“If they do not know of our weakness, they are more stupid than the ranwang.” Hinuta drew his sword and sat down to work on the leather wrappings of the hilt. It was one of only five swords among the warriors who followed Mad Bear, won by Hinuta’s father from a Green Lands warrior many years ago. Hinuta took good care of it, although he could not use it with much skill. It would have been dishonorable to question his right to his father’s gift. Also, he was a good-natured, generous man, who would share his last mouthful of water or sack of grain with those in need.
Mad Bear thrust his lance point-first into the ground and prayed for the Earth to strengthen it. Then he walked slow circles around it. It was certain that they would not overtake their own clan before they reached the Green Lands. They might even have to travel for some days in the Green Lands themselves before they saw another Silver Wolf. And they were only a hand of hands of warriors.
In the Green Lands, it was said, the warriors lived in stone houses, hard to set on fire. When they rode out to battle, all of them carried swords or long lances, and wore iron shirts to cover their bodies. They were not cunning in war, so it was not hard to force them to fight against odds. Unless you could do that, however, they were very hard to kill. And each stone house might hold several hands of warriors, and there were many stone houses in the Green Land.
It was still possible that the chief of Two Waters meant treachery. But it did not seem likely, as long as the rest of the Silver Wolves were far out of his reach, ready to take vengeance. It was very certain that the Green Lands did not seem a good place for a small band to wander alone. At least they should have a strong friend close at their backs.
“We will ride with the Two Waters,” Mad Bear said finally. “Or at least we will, as long as no warrior of ours has an unjudged blood-feud with any warrior of theirs.”
“The Two Waters people have long memories,” said Hinuta. “You should ask old Timusha. She will know.”
That seemed good advice, but when they got back to camp they found the women keening around the tent where Timusha lay dead; she had never awakened. Mad Bear felt uneasy. To have her die as he was coming to ask her advice and wisdom seemed an evil omen.
He would keep watch all tonight, with the point of his lance propped under his chin to prick his flesh if he so much as nodded. Perhaps Timusha’s death was a punishment for his not watching according to custom. He would also give her a horse sacrifice beside her grave, although she was a woman and not a warrior. He had been ready to listen to her as though she were a warrior, so perhaps it could be said that made her one.
* * *
The head of the column had vanished over the hills to the west before the rear guard left Castle Armagh. Within an hour the road was obscured by dust, and from the castle tower Rick and Gwen saw only occasional glints of sunlight on a helmet or pike—or caliver barrel. As the last troops left the castle, the semaphore towers linking Armagh with Dravan came alive, warning the garrisons ahead to be ready for the main army.
For a while they had been able to see the flash of red at the column’s fore: Caradoc’s Roman cloak, a gift from Publius Caesar. With it had come other gifts for Caradoc: a new back-and-breastplate from Drumold, and Tylara’s gift, a magnificent black gelding fit for a knight or greater. Mounted on his new charger and dressed in his finest, he looked every bit the warrior commander, and his troops liked that. Rick anticipated no problems promoting him after this campaign, and he looked forward to it. He could use another trustworthy general.
Rick watched the Mounted Archers until they rounded the flank of a hill and vanished. Below in the castle courtyard, sergeants’ voices rasped. “Line up and keep your eyes front, you lamils! Now it’s back to work!”
The newly raised Second Company of the Guards was about to march out for archery practice. So far they seemed to be shaping up fairly well. Certainly the cadre sent from Mason’s First Company was working hard enough! They had incentive, of course—the better they did, the more secure their promotions. When rank meant not only honor but a better chance for yourself and your family to live through The Time, you worked hard to hold on to it.
It had been hard to persuade some of the veterans that there was honor in staying behind to train new troopers. They all wanted to go out with the column. Rick shook his head and turned back to watching the road.
After Caradoc and his personal guard came more troops, mostly Romans under their legate Titus Frugi. Tylara had been surprised at Caesar’s choice of commanders, but Rick thought it made excellent sense. Frugi was a good general; and he couldn’t possibly be tempted to revolt when at the head of a single legion stationed deep within the territory of Marselius’ most powerful friends.
Finally, nearly a mile behind the column’s point riders, rode Wanax Ganton with Camithon, Tylara and her children, and Lady Octavia. Perhaps because the ladies were traveling with him, it had not been difficult to persuade Ganton to take a safe place in the middle of the column rather than be at its front. “Roman generals do not risk their troops by acts of foolish bravado,” Rick had said, and perhaps that had also stung the young king.
“He’ll do,” Rick said aloud.
Gwen had put down the binoculars now that Caradoc was out of sight. She looked very attractive in her skirt cut off just below the tops of her boots. It would have been thought scandalously short, except that she’d started a new fashion; now half the young women of Drantos had whacked off their skirts. “Who’ll do?” she asked.
“Ganton.”
“I think you’re right,” Gwen said. “He seems sensible enough.” She giggled. “Handsome, too, but I feel sorry for his lady friend just now. I hope he doesn’t get over-amorous for a few weeks—not until he’s willing to take that pistol off! I’m sure he’d wear it to bed.”
“I can’t imagine that Octavia is sleeping with him,” Rick said.
“Not yet,” Gwen agreed. “But don’t make book for the summer. She likes him. Sure, he’s a good catch, and the throne of Drantos is probably safer than anything Caesar’s relatives can expect just now. But Rick, she really likes him.”
“Interesting. He’s pretty thoroughly smitten too. Can it be we jaded old dynastic manipulators have made a love match?”
“I hope so,” Gwen said seriously. She sighed. “Or do we believe in love matches anymore?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. You’ve got Tylara—would you stay with her if she were a peasant’s daughter?”
“Gwen, I hated seeing her ride off today!” And my children—
“That’s not what I asked. You know damned well you wo
uldn’t have married her if she hadn’t been important,” Gwen said. “Love and marriage. Or marriage and then love. Or just marriage. Any of them seems to work, doesn’t it?”
The middle of the column vanished over the crown of a far hill. Just as they disappeared, Rick thought he made out long dark hair tossing in the wind, and a wave of her hand. He closed up the binoculars. “I thought you were in love with Caradoc.”
“What’s love?” she asked. “I respect him. I care for him, and he protects me. Sometimes from myself.”
The shadows were getting long. Rick led the way down from the tower. It stood above his apartments. An oil lamp had been lighted at his table, and a large pitcher of wine stood next to it. “Dinner in an hour or so,” Rick said. “Glass of wine first?”
“Sure.”
He poured and handed her a goblet. “I really thought you were in love with Caradoc.”
“Oh, let it alone, Rick. I am, I guess. But—well it’s not really the same. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t get on a flying saucer for Caradoc. But he isn’t going to ask me, either. And what about you? Don’t you sometimes get enough of your raven-haired contessa’s dynastic ambitions?”
“Come on, she’s wonderful! Who else could I trust to hold the strongest castle on Tran?”
“So do you keep her for love or advantage? You needn’t answer. Just as I don’t have to answer you.” She sipped the wine. “This is quite good.”
“Yeah, it turns out Sergeant Lewin used to live in the California wine country. He’s been giving them tips.”
She sipped again. “Rick, when will they come?”
“Who?”
“The Shalnuksis.”
“I’ve got skywatchers looking for satellites from Tamaerthon to Dravan—you’ve got as good an idea as I have, Gwen.”
“Mostly I’m reminding you of something. Distilling. Hammer mills. Printing presses. If they see real changes on Tran, they’ll do a lot to wipe them out.”
Rick sat heavily. “Yeah, I know. But we have to do something for these people! Gwen, I was out there in the surinomaz fields last week. Week. Hah. We don’t even have weeks. But I was out there, listening politely while Apelles told me about the cavalry patrols that herd the peasants back to work—have you seen surinomaz? I’d imagine working in that stuff is as close to hell as you can get. And I’m making people do it!”
“Rick, you’ve no choice—”
“Like hell I don’t. I could run. Vanish somewhere.”
“That wouldn’t be very smart,” Gwen said. “In the first place, you wouldn’t like it much, hiding out. But suppose you did. Are you mad enough to suppose that one of your men wouldn’t try growing surinomaz? Or that any of them would be gentler than you? Do you really think anyone cares what happens to peasants?”
“You do.”
“Maybe a little,” she said.
“I think that’s the worst of it,” Rick said. “Nobody really gives a damn. Even Tylara thinks I’m crazy, worrying about people who aren’t clansmen—”
“It’s going to get worse, too,” Gwen said. “And you’re avoiding the subject, which is how far can you go in making changes before the Shalnuksis bomb you out.”
“Yeah, but look, if we disperse knowledge far enough, the Shalnuksis won’t dare try to destroy everything. They’d have to drop enough bombs to make the planet uninhabitable, and that would ruin their little drug racket. They can’t risk that . . .”
“Can’t they?” She shrugged. “Rick, I don’t know. Les may have known, but he didn’t tell me that much. I do know the Shalnuksis are afraid of wild humans. Another thing, suppose what we do—”
Her look of fear was contagious. Rick automatically lowered his voice. “Suppose what?”
“That what we do gets back to the Confederacy. That they find out Tran exists. Then it wouldn’t be Shalnuksi businessmen we’d have to deal with. It might be somebody who thinks this whole planet is a cancer!”
“Christ almighty! But how would they know?”
She laughed. “A hundred ways. The Shalnuksis tell them. They send a human pilot and he tells them. Inspector Agzaral decides to make a new deal. Rick, I don’t know, I can only make guesses from what Les told me.”
“Yeah. But—Gwen, I don’t know either, but I do know I’ve got to do something!”
“To assuage your conscience,” she said. “You’re forcing the peasants to work the fields, so you need a higher cause to justify it.”
“I—yeah, I guess that is it,” Rick said.
“So why are you ashamed of being ethical?” Gwen asked. “For that matter, you have a higher cause. The University, for example. Rick, did you ever read a book called Connections?”
“I saw several of the TV episodes.”
“Well, I wish we had that book,” Gwen said. “But I can remember some of it. How glass-making led to a shortage of wood, and that made coal valuable, and coal mining needed pumps, and that resulted in the steam engine. And acetylene, and illuminating gas, and coal tar—Rick, we’ve already changed life on Tran, it’s just that you can’t see the changes from orbit. Unless you’ve studied Earth history, you wouldn’t see them no matter how closely you looked. There are a hundred students who think now. Maybe not well, but they ask questions, they wonder why things happen, and they know the difference between chemistry and alchemy. We’ll send them all over the planet.”
“That’s your work.”
“No, it’s yours,” Gwen said. “I know who keeps the University going. If it survives—”
“Your University has to survive,” Rick said.
“Ours. And I want it to, but we can’t be sure.”
“How will they know?”
“They’re not above capturing and interrogating you,” Gwen said. “Not at all.”
“I know. But I’m not going near them without mini-grenades. Their detectors don’t seem to find them—didn’t on the Moon, anyway. Pull the pin on one of those and they’ll have to scrape the walls.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “You’d do it, too. Will the others?”
“Elliot will, I think.”
“What if they take a local?”
“They might do that. But most of the Shalnuksis are lazy, Gwen. You didn’t know the local languages when you landed. How much time will they put in learning? And most locals don’t know about the University, and the ones that do don’t know where it is—how many can even read a map?”
“I hope you’re right,” she said. She got up and paced around the room. “You—don’t even mind,” she said. “You like for me to know things you don’t.”
“Sure—”
“It’s not sure at all,” Gwen said. “All my life men said they wanted me to be smart, but when I showed I could do something better than they could, they left me.” She stood at the window and watched the darkening sky. “You’re not like that. Why?”
“Too much to do, I guess.” He got up and joined her at the window, knowing what would happen next, not wanting it to happen but unable to stop himself.
She turned toward him. “It wasn’t fair, you know.”
“What wasn’t?” he asked.
“Meeting Tylara just after we were put on this planet. Les—expected us to say together. I think we would have, if we’d had a chance. If we hadn’t met her so soon.”
“And?” He put his hand on her shoulders.
“I have to go back to the University tomorrow.”
She moved closer to him, and after that they didn’t talk at all.
* * *
He woke startled and sat bolt upright. Gwen was on the other side of the room, fully dressed. “Hello,” she said.
“Where are you going?”
“To dinner, of course.” She came over to sit on the edge of the bed. “We’re both crazy, you know that? Caradoc would kill you. He’d have to try. And Tylara would have me boiled over a slow fire.”
Rick shuddered. “Sorry. That image is just a bit too graphic. She might do it.”
/>
“Adds a little spice, doesn’t it? Stolen fruit’s the sweetest and all that.”
“Gwen—”
“No,” she said. “I do not want to talk about it. Rick, we’re not in love, but we’ll always be a bit special to each other, and in this crazy place maybe that’s all we can ask for. And now I’m going down to supper, and after a decent interval you’ll come join me, and we’ll just plain forget this happened.”
“Do you want to forget?”
“No,” she said. “No, my very dear.”
“Would you get aboard a flying saucer for me?”
“I don’t have to say.” She jumped away from him before he could catch her. “See you at supper.”
PART SIX
WANAX AND
WARLORD
26
Tylara do Tamaerthon, Eqetassa of Chelm and Justiciar of Drantos, looked about the great hall of Castle Dravan with feelings of satisfaction. This was home as it should be, lacking only her husband. Her guards stood like statues along the far wall. The floors were newly scrubbed, the tapestries newly cleaned. Her well-trained servants were carrying away the remains of an excellent meal and had brought in flagons of the new wine. There was nothing to apologize for.
Not that Wanax Ganton noticed. He had eyes only for the Lady Octavia, and might have eaten straw from filthy plates for all he knew. Soon enough he would leave the table, to find some excuse to be alone with the Roman girl. Tylara smiled faintly. Octavia knew what she was doing. Or she’d better. She seemed genuinely to care for the young Wanax.
And he for her. Tylara fingered the Colt at her waist. I believe he would give his binoculars for her, though possibly not the Browning pistol, she thought. Rick wished me to encourage this match, but in truth I have little enough to do.
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