There was silence again while the council members studied the great map Rick had caused to be drawn on one wall of the chamber. The Drantos contingent saw it first. The river valley with its roads pointed like a dagger at the heart of Drantos-but it equally threatened the western border of Tamaerthon.
"It could be," Dragomer said. "The cities have produced good soldiers."
"Mercenaries," Dughuilas said. His voice was filled with scorn. "No match for the chivalry of Tamaerthon."
"They have been a match for better cavalry than yours," Dragomer said.
Not the wisest thing he could have said, Rick thought. Dughuilas was chief of a large clan, and led a powerful faction of the Tamaerthan upper classes; and Dragomer was one of the Drantos lords who'd invited city-states mercenaries into Drantos in their revolt against young Ganton's father.
"I remind you of the King's Peace," Camithon said. "Answer gently, Eqeta Dragomer."
"I need not answer at all," Dragomer said. "Were the cities to find one leader-"
"They have not done so in memory." A new voice. Corgarff, a subchief. "Nor do I fear they will do now. Not so much as to send my sons to die in a Roman fight, to save lands for Rome. Unless-" He paused for a long moment, until he had everyone's attention. "Unless this Star Lord Gengrich, who leads the star-men lords in the south may yet come to lead all the cities? Perhaps the Lord Rick can tell us more of this man who once followed him."
I'll have his blood, Rick thought. I'll- "Careful," Tylara said. She kept her voice low. "He is Dughuilas's man, and Dughuilas has good reason to wish you ill."
"That is not well said." Camithon was very much Lord Protector when he spoke. "The Lord Parsons rebelled against the Lord Rick. The Lord Gengrich deserted the cause of the Lord Parsons, and by both our laws and the laws of the starmen remains in rebellion. How is the Lord Rick guilty of blood shed by rebels against his rule?"
But I am, Rick thought. I brought them here, and I let them get away from me. And now they're like wolves among sheep.
"They are rebels, but the Lord Rick has done little to capture them," Corgarff said. He didn't sound comfortable.
He's only following orders, Rick thought. Dughuilas's orders. Fairly crude way to embarrass me.
"He has done more than you," Yanulf said. "And by Yatar's blessing, the Lord Rick prevailed against the Lord Parsons." He glanced at Sigrim. "And the next day Vothan One-eye was pleased to smile upon our armies.
"But enough of this. Our talk does nothing. My lords, the Demon Star rises even as we speak! The ice forms thick in the caves. Yatar sends us the means of life, but we must grasp them. We must make sacrifice. We must."
"Indeed," Rick said.
"The stories of previous Times are clear," Yanulf continued. "Those whose castles stand on bare rock will learn their folly, and seek the caves of Yatar. There will be wars enough then.
"And then shall the gods come from the skies to trade; and from that trade shall come good and evil. And fire shall fall from the skies, and men shall smoke and burn as faggots, and their sores shall not heal. The only safety is the caves of Yatar and his Preserver."
"How can we grow the grains we need while our young men stand in arms?" Camithon demanded.
"Let the Star Lords protect us," shouted a guildsman. "They have power. Let them use it."
"Aye, we hold great power," Rick said. "Enough to turn the tide of battle, once, twice, several times.
But I think not enough for the troubles that come."
There was a long pause, as everyone considered what Rick had said. "If the starmen cannot defend us, and we cannot defend ourselves-" "March north." "No, march east." "Plant crops and trust to Yatar…" The babble rose in pitch.
"Your advice, Lord Rick?" Ganton spoke carefully and clearly, his boyish voice penetrating the noise. The room fell silent. "We would welcome your advice."
"Majesty. I would send an embassy to Marselius. A strong Rome has ever been important for the safety of Drantos. It is doubly important now. The Roman civil war must end, and Marselius owes us much already; while Flaminius owes us nought but hate.
"To see that Tamaerthon does not suffer from this, I say send Mac Clallan Muir himself as ambassador. Assisted by the Eqeta Morron and the Lady Gwen, and such others as I and the Lord Camithon shall agree to."
Camithon looked thoughtful, then turned to Drumold. "My lord. Will you seek truce between the Romans, and alliance?"
Drumold looked thoughtful. "Alliance with Rome. 'Tis a strange thought. Strange indeed. And yet-I will not oppose it. Aye. The Lord Rick is convincing. There is danger in a strong Rome, but there is more in a divided Rome during these times."
There were murmurs of approval.
It doesn't look like anyone saw it was a setup, Rick thought. Which is just as well. Machine politics, medieval style…
"Then let it be done," Camithon said.
"Go with the blessings of Yatar Skyfather," Yanuif said. "Go swiftly, before The Time comes on us and we all perish."
4
"How is your head?"
"Better," Rick said. "I wasn't sure you were speaking to me."
"You are my husband. How can I not speak to you?"
"Come off it," Rick said wearily. "What's wrong, anyway?"
"Nothing is wrong."
Sure. I can believe as much of that as I want. "I love you-"
"And I you."
"Do you?"
"Certainly." She seemed about to say something else, but instead she turned away. "The meeting begins soon, and I must see to Isobel. I will be there when you begin."
"Look, Gwen means nothing to me! But I have to see her. She's the only one who might know what the
Shalnuksis are going to do. And she asked to see me alone. Don't you understand? We need her. The whole country needs her."
"Certainly I understand," Tylara said. "You told her that her child would have the stars."
"It was a way of speaking," Rick said. "Our children will have no less opportunity."
Her smile was wintry.
"For the stars, or here on Tran," Rick insisted. "You need have no jealousy of Gwen Tremaine!"
"I have none."
"You damned well don't act that way! And now you're angry, and I'm sorry."
"Have I reason to be angry?"
"Tylara, please. I don't need this," Rick said. "And I must speak to Gwen."
"I understand perfectly." She strode from the room.
Women, Rick thought. Is she determined to drive me away from her?
He brooded all the way down the stone corridors to the guest suite. He paused at the door, then knocked.
"Enter."
Gwen Tremaine was standing at the window. Yellow light streamed through light brown hair, showed up green eyes. She was very short; "five-foot-two," the song said, and that was about right. She wore a spectacular blue gown, cut in a style more Parisian than anything fashionable on Tran. It was made of some kind of blue silk that shone in the evening sunlight. She continued to stare out into the gathering dusk as Rick came in.
"A penny for your thoughts," he said in English.
She laughed. "There aren't any pennies here. But I'll tell you anyway. I was trying to decide which made me sadder, that Earth is out there somewhere, or that my baby's father is there-"
"You do miss him, then?"
She shook her head slowly. "Rick, I don't know. Sometimes I want him so bad I could die. And sometimes I just want to kill him." She turned away from the window. "I was in love with him, you know. I could say I was kidnapped, but I wasn't, I got on that damned flying saucer of my own free will because the man I loved asked me to."
"And left you here when you got pregnant."
"Yes." She went over to the small table and sat down in one of the wooden chairs. "Wine? Yes, let's both have some."
"The real question is did Les mean it when he said he'd come back?"
"Yes. That's the real question." She drank the full glass of wine and poured anot
her. "He said he'd come back-but Rick, have you ever thought that maybe he intended all along to dump me here? That he never did tell me the truth about anything? Sure, I got pregnant and wouldn't let his damn machine do an abortion, but maybe that was just a good excuse to get rid of me. Maybe he was tired of me anyway."
"You didn't think that last time we talked." Rick took the chair across from her and lifted his own wine glass. "Cheers."
"Cheers. No. Last time we talked I was sure he loved me. Next time maybe I will be, too. But just now-just now I'm not sure."
"Okay. But he did give you the transceiver. And he told you about the rebellion among the human troops of the Confederation-"
"It's not a rebellion," Gwen said. "More a-a dissent. And-Rick, have you told anyone about this? Anyone at all?"
"No."
"Not even Tylara?"
"Not even Tylara. I won't tell any locals. Or any of the troops, either. Not unless I have to-if you and I are both killed, someone here has to know. Warner, maybe."
"Yes, I've thought of that too. But don't tell him yet."
"I won't. Next subject. You know more than me about what the Shalnuksis will do. Had any more thoughts?"
"Some. Over there-that wooden chest. It has maps, areas I think might be best for raising surinomaz. One good area would be along the western border of the Roman Empire."
"Which we don't own. Oh-have you heard about the Council this morning? I'd like you to be on the delegation to Rome."
She nodded. "Another journey. More time away from my son."
"Take him with you-"
"Into a civil war? Don't be silly. But you're right, I have to go. I can inspect the potential cropland on the way. Meanwhile, we want to begin growing madweed on our side of the border. We won't get a full crop this year, but we ought to start experimental plots now. Get some experience with the stuff. It's tricky, Rick. The ecology is all bound up with some little mammals that are something like rats. They swarm into the fields and die, and when they rot they fertilize the plants. They also stink to the throne of God."
"Not to mention necrotic products."
She nodded agreement. "I'd think those fields get pretty unhealthy. Which is one reason the peasants don't want to grow madweed. You've got your work cut out to make them do it."
"Convicts. Criminals-"
"I suppose. And when you're done with them, when the madweed fields have killed most of them, the Shalnuksis will finish the job for you."
"When?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Certainly they'll want to trade with us as long as we have surinomaz, but after that-you have as much evidence as I do. I think they'll try to find out which is our center of culture, and destroy it."
Rick nodded thoughtfully. Certainly there was plenty of evidence. Every six hundred years, when surinomaz grew well under the influence of the Demon Star, the Shalnuksis came to Tran with a fresh crop of Earth mercenaries. Roman legionaries, Celtish warriors, Franks. And every time, when the aliens had got all they wanted, they tried to exterminate their agents. The legends told over and over of skyfire, and everyone knew where there were fields of glass…
"So we'll want to be sure we don't build anything modern looking."
"That may not be good enough. Rick, there were Tran languages in the computer on Les's ship. They talk to locals. They'll ask questions, and 1 think our University will be the first target."
"I thought of that too," Rick agreed. "Which is why I'm not putting much into brick and mortar. By the time your boyfriend starts dropping atom bombs on us, all the important people will be long gone to the caves. Meanwhile the travelling teams go teaching science to every villager in Drantos. And-Gwen, this is all crazy! A galactic civil war over Earth-"
"I told you, it's not a civil war. Just a disagreement among the leaders of the Confederate Council," Gwen said. "And I think it's crazy too, but-" She pointed out the window.
"Yeah." Crazy or not, they are here, on Tran. It wasn't Earth. Given that one undoubted fact, what couldn't they believe? "Look, your friend Les is the best chance we'll ever have for getting off of this planet. And he told you he'd come for you-"
"If he could. Yes."
"And you believe him."
"I remember I did when he told me," she said. "I don't know about now. What difference does it make? He is our only chance."
"And what about the rest of us?"
"Rick, I don't know."
"Yeah." But it wasn't likely that Les would give a damn about the mercenaries. He might care for Gwen and their child. That might even be likely. But there was no reason at all for him to worry about a bunch of mercs. "Gwen, why did you want to see me alone?"
"Your wife doesn't like me. I don't much care for her, either."
"She's jealous. She thinks I'm your baby's father. Or that I could have been, anyway. Your wanting to see me alone didn't help the situation."
"It didn't hurt it, either."
"No, I expect you're right. Not much would."
"And I just wanted the chance to speak English and talk without having to worry about what I say. Rick, it gets pretty bad up there in Tamaerthon. Always on guard so that I don't give away something."
"And you're not on guard with me. You're not keeping any more secrets?"
"No, of course not."
You sure as hell did, Rick thought. For damned near too long. So how can I trust you now? "So. How are things at the University? Any trouble?"
"No. And of course I have the pistol you gave me-"
Another point of contention with Tylara. She thought she should have had Andre Parson's.45 Colt. But Tylara had plenty of experience protecting herself on Tran, and Gwen had none. "Do you like my dress?" she asked. "Yes. I was just admiring it."
"It's called garta cloth. Larry Warner got it. Rick, it's a very close weave."
"So?"
"So we could make a hot-air balloon from it."
"You're kidding. Hot damn, of course! Observation balloons! They used them in the Civil War, and the Franco-Prussian War, and-can you really sew the seams tight enough?"
"Yes. We've tested a small model, and Larry made glue from horses' hooves. It will really work. The only problem is the cloth. It comes from the south. We don't have enough, because the trade routes are in a mess. It's very expensive-"
"Sure looks it. Warner got that lot?"
She nodded.
"And gave some to you?"
"He had the dress made for me," Gwen said.
"Why?"
"None of your business."
"The devil it's not," Rick said.
"Captain Galloway, I have not asked you to be my protector. I don't ask now."
"Sure, Gwen. I thought Caradoc was sweet on you."
"He likes me."
"Seems to me you encouraged him, back when you were pregnant."
"I might have-"
"And now Warner. Gwen, I need both of them. You play them off against each other, and you'll get one killed sure as hell!"
"No, that won't happen."
And there's not a lot I can do anyway. Keep them apart? Nonsense. Warner and Gwen are needed at the University, and Caradoc goes there to see her whenever he gets the chance, and how do I stop him?
"There's more news," she said.
"All right. What?"
"I know of a village where they make drugs out of surinomaz."
"Somebody else mentioned that. Warner?"
"Probably. Anyway, there is such a place. One of the travelling medicine-show teams came in with the news."
"Which one?"
"Doesn't matter. The merc with the outfit was Beazely, but it was an acolyte, Salanos, who had wits enough to come tell me."
"That could be important. If there's some local use for the stuff it might be easier to get people to grow it."
"Yes. I'll check that out, shall I?"
"Please. And the balloon; that's a great idea. It could be decisive in the Roman civil war. Observation of the enemy, comma
nd and control of our own forces, artillery spotting-Gwen, it could really be the winning factor."
"Thank you."
"You don't look too happy."
"Should I be? More battles-"
"They'll be fought anyway," Rick said. "And people will starve no matter what we do, too. But at least we can save some of them, this time, and we can get civilization spread so far across this planet that the Shalnuksis and their goddam skyfire can't root it out."
"We can try," Gwen said.
5
Tylara stared at the roughly whitewashed door of the farmhouse. The one-eyed image of Vothan stared back. She waited until she heard a faint click and saw movement behind the one eye.
"Who seeks entry to the House of the Wolf?" a voice demanded.
"Tylara do Tamaerthon, Eqetassa of Chelm."
"Enter, lady," said a rough voice, followed by the sound of a lock turning.
Tylara stepped into the house, stamped the mud off her riding boots, then glared at the man who'd let her in. "What are your orders about tending the door, Bartolf?"
The man turned the color of a winter sunset. He swallowed. "To recognize all who come, and let them enter with hands open and empty."
"Did you ask me to open my hands?"
"No, but-"
"But nothing. I might have been a spy disguised as the Lady Tylara. If I had been-" Her right hand darted into the full left sleeve of her riding tunic. Then she raised it. As the sleeve fell back, it exposed her husband's Gerber Mark II combat knife. She'd borrowed it for just this sort of demonstration.
"You'd have been dead from that mistake, Bartolf."
"Perhaps, Lady Tylara," he said. "But an enemy in your place wouldn't have lived enough longer to do hurt or learn much." He raised his voice. "Bennok! The berries are ripe."
The tapestry on the opposite wall of the antechamber rippled, then rose as a dark-haired, pimple-faced youth slipped through a waist-high opening it had concealed. He held a small crossbow, the sort noblewomen used for shooting birds and rabbits. Not enough, thought Tylara, then saw that the thin point of the quarrel was barbed and glistening with something green and sticky.
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