by Steve White
Eventually the conclave broke up, having accomplished nothing as usual. Winslow got to his feet, stiff with weariness and discouragement. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Walsingham in close conversation with Riahn. He strolled over.
"You want me to set up a meeting for you with Avaerahn?" the Eilonwë was saying incredulously. "But he's the leader of the faction most opposed to the plan. Why not Imalfar, who is inclined our way, or even Leeriven, who might be persuaded?"
"I thought I might be able to make our position, and the plan's advantages, clearer to Avaerahn," said Walsingham smoothly. "Incidentally, I think it would be best if Tyralair could be there to translate. Avaerahn might be more comfortable with an Eilonwë interpreter."
"He might very well," said Riahn in a tone of studied understatement. "All right. I'll see what I can do."
"I think, Thomas," said Walsingham as Riahn walked off, "that you might want to be present. You may find it interesting. But please don't act surprised at anything I say."
"And so," Walsingham concluded through the medium of Tyralair's translation, "you can see why we humans are very much in earnest in this matter . . . and why your sheuath stands to benefit if the plan succeeds."
"Yes, yes," said Avaerahn with the ostentatious disinterest of one who had agreed to the meeting only as a courtesy to Riahn. "Although I hope you don't mean to imply that I, or any leader of any sheuath, would be motivated by any desire for competitive advantage over his fellows."
"Of course not," Walsingham assured. "Such a thought never crossed my mind—even when I heard the reasons why Leeriven is about to declare in favor of the plan."
Mindful of Walsingham's instructions, Winslow kept his face impassive. Not so Avaerahn, who practically sprang forward. "What?"
Walsingahm wore a flustered look that might have fooled some people. "Oh—you didn't know? Dear me! Perhaps I've said too much."
Avaerahn wasn't listening. "Preposterous! Everyone knows how cautious Leeriven is."
"Of course she is. That's why she isn't letting it become general knowledge yet." Walsingham gave a head-shake of bogus self-reproach for his careless tongue.
"But . . . but . . . what are her reasons?" demanded Avaerahn.
"Precisely the reasons I've been explaining to you: to improve the relative position of her sheuath in the world that follows the plan's successful conclusion. Think of the territorial concessions she could insist on—and, even more important, the share of captured Grella weapons. Whereas, on the other hand . . . those sheuaths which do not participate . . ." Walsingham left the thought dangling.
If Winslow hadn't known that the Eilonwë didn't go pale, he would have sworn that Avaerahn did so. "I can still hardly believe that she would . . . This must be investigated!"
"Most certainly," Walsingham nodded. "Permit me to suggest a possible avenue of investigation. There is a certain aide of Leeriven's. Here is his name." He slid a slip of paper across the table that separated them. Avaerahn took it. "I have happened to hear that he is, uh, friendly with one of your subordinates." Another silent transfer of paper took place. "You could have her sound him out, under circumstances where his tongue might be less guarded than it should."
"Hmm . . . your suggestion may well have merit." Avaerahn departed, looking very thoughtful. As soon as he was gone, Winslow turned to Walsingham.
"Is this true, Mr. Secretary? And if it is, will this aide of Leeriven's really reveal it to a paramour from another sheuath?"
"To both, the answer is, of course, no. The aide is one who, with Riahn's help, I identified early on as one of Leeriven's people who favored a bolder policy against the Grella. I have been working on him for some time, and have explained his role to him. He will, in an apparent heat of passion, repeat to Averahn's female subordinate the story I have just told Avaerahn. Shortly, everyone except Leeriven herself will know that she plans to declare in our favor." Walsingham stood up briskly. Winslow thought he hadn't looked so young in years. He was clearly enjoying himself more than a Puritan ought. "And now, let us proceed to our next meeting."
"Our next meeting, Mr. Secretary?"
"Yes—with Leeriven. There I will let her know that Avaerahn plans to join with us, and make sure she understands the implications of that for the future position of her own sheuath." Halfway out the door, Walsingham paused for an afterthought. "Oh, by the way, Thomas: I suggest you proceed to finalize your plans for the raid on the Grella fortress. With Avaerahn and Leeriven vying with each other to join Riahn and Imalfar, we'll have all four of the most important factions behind us and I anticipate no further trouble organizing the Eilonwë side of the operation." Then he was out the door, and Winslow could only follow in a daze.
It came to him, though, that he should feel no surprise. The Grella had made an enemy of Mr. Secretary Walsingham, and they were about to join a select company that included Anthony Babington and Mary Stuart. Only this time he, Winslow, was going to wield the headsman's axe.
On reflection, though, he decided he might well be persuaded to share the task with Virginia Dare.
Fourteen
Winslow stared incredulously at Riahn. They were sitting in the elderly Eilonwë's private retreat: a small room cluttered with papers, books, maps, and a miscellany of objects most of which lay beyond Winslow's understanding. In one corner was a globe of this world to which Winslow's eyes kept straying, for the sense of familiarity that underlay its strange continental outlines was fascinating and somehow disturbing. But now he could think only of the incredible statement Riahn had just made.
"Are you saying the Grella have made moons?"
"Very small ones," Riahn assured him. "One of them could fit into this room. And not many of them—a few artificial moons, a hundred or so miles up. Their presence is one of the reasons we Eilonwë have to conceal ourselves and move about so stealthily. The Grella put them up there for the purpose of watching the world's surface. They circle the world every ninety minutes, traveling at eighteen thousand miles an hour." Seeing Winslow's incredulous look, Riahn tried to explain. "It is the speed at which an object keeps falling around the world rather than falling down to the surface. They mount devices which can instantly send images of what is below them, greatly magnified, to Grella observers in the fortress."
"But . . . but . . ." Winslow struggled to understand. "I can see how the images could be magnified, using lenses like those of ordinary eyeglasses—"
"Well, yes, you might say that," Riahn allowed.
"—but how can the Grella down here on the surface of the world see these images?"
"It is very difficult to explain. But you are, of course, aware of the way a magnet attracts iron. Dr. Dee has told me that the Queen's physician Dr. William Gilbert has performed experiments to see if that is somehow related to the way amber, when rubbed, attracts almost any very light matter. He has postulated a quality for which he has used the Greek word for amber: electron. In fact, the quality is not unique to amber. It is everywhere, and it can be used in innumerable ways. It is the basis for our devices for speaking across great distances. We had advanced that far before the Grella conquest. It can be used to send images as well as sound." Riahn spread his hands in one of the human gestures he had picked up. "I'm afraid that is the best I can do in your language. You must take my word for it."
"So," said Winslow thoughtfully, "if one of these . . . things is overhead every ninety minutes, we must make our move during one of those ninety-minute intervals."
"Just so. Fortunately, we have been ordering our lives around that interval for a very long time. We will have no difficulty timing the movement of your force to the portal."
"Well and good. But that still leaves the ordinary dangers: Grella on foot and in flyers. They may not be as thick in the area as they were, considering how much time has passed since our return." Winslow bit back his frustration at the length of time it was taking the Eilonwë alliance to get its forces into position. He knew the difficulties they labored un
der—it was more like an infiltration than a mobilization—but the waiting still gnawed at him. "Nevertheless, they're still patrolling."
"Yes—and you are contemplating moving a whole group of raiders up the open slope to the portal," Riahn nodded. "It would seem that your chances of success would be best if you moved under cover of a moonless night."
"Shakespeare suggested that. I'll tell you the same thing I told him: I doubt my ability to locate the portal in the dark. And a large group blundering about in search of it would have trouble staying together. I know from experience the dangers of trying to coordinate a night attack."
"Yes, Mr. Secretary Walsingham has indicated to me the nature of some of your experiences," said Riahn dryly. "Fortunately, I believe I can be of assistance." He rummaged in the clutter and emerged with what looked like a small pair of the bi-oculars with which Winslow was already familiar, except that they were set in a headband of a flexible material that reminded Winslow of the rubber that the Portuguese had discovered in Brazil. Then he touched a tiny lever-like object in a wall, and the lights went out. Winslow didn't hope to understand, but now he wondered if the flameless lights might also be somehow related to Dr. Gilbert's experiments with amber. The room was now dark save for dim glows from a few instruments. "Put it on," said Riahn.
Winslow obeyed, slipping the flexible headband around his head and settling the lenses over his eyes. All at once he could see the room in all its detail, albeit in weird shades of green. A horrid oath escaped his lips. Riahn smiled.
"The device gathers light," he explained. "Even the tiny amount of light presently in this room. That's the only way I can explain it. It can do the same with the starlight. Seeing in this way, do you think you could find the portal at night?"
"I'll want to try using it outside, to see how well it works for distant objects. But . . . yes, I think I might. Is this one of the wonders from your great age, before the Grella conquest?"
"No. It was beyond our capabilities even then. We have copied it, with great difficulty, from a captured Grella device. Thus we have only a very limited supply of them, despite their great usefulness to us in evading the Grella. But we can supply one for you, and perhaps two others for your lieutenants—one of whom, I gather is going to be Alanthru . . . I mean Virginia."
"Good," said Winslow, not noticing the slip of the tongue. He took off the light-gatherer, and Riahn restored the room's light in the same incomprehensible way he had banished it. "I suppose this means," Winslow continued, "that we no longer need to worry about avoiding the passage of these . . . moons of the Grella. All we need do is proceed by cover of night."
"Unfortunately, this is not the case. The moons' devices also have means of seeing in darkness. You wouldn't be as visible to them as you would in daylight. But for safety's sake we must still plan to avoid them."
"They can do this from . . . there?" Winslow pointed upward. Riahn nodded. Winslow said no more. He was rapidly ceasing to worry about things he couldn't hope to understand. He understood that he could trust Riahn. That was enough.
One moonless night, Winslow made his lone, stealthy way to the portal. He needed to be certain he could find it using the light-gatherers. He also needed to perform an experiment, on whose results the practicality of the whole plan rested. He entered the Near Void, walked a short distance away from the portal, lay down, and went to sleep.
His often hazardous life had give him the ability to cat nap at need. He did so now, and awoke to find himself still in the indistinct gray world of the Near Void. Things looked the same there as they did in daytime, confirming Riahn's supposition that whatever he was seeing the solid world by was not ordinary light. But more importantly, Winslow had confirmed his own earlier impression that once one had made the conscious decision to stay in the Near Void, it took an equally conscious act of will to return to the material world. The raiders would be able to pause and sleep on their way to the Grella fortress—which, he thought, was very fortunate indeed. A forced march of thirty miles at a stretch was not impossible for young, fit, lightly laden people. But it would be for naught if they arrived too weary to fight a battle. And John White would probably be lucky to make two fifteen-mile marches with a sleep period between. Relieved, Winslow made his way back.
That was the only transit of the portal they dared risk in the course of their preparations. Winslow would have liked to take his hand-picked raiders through for familiarization and training purposes, but it was out of the question. If they were caught entering or exiting the portal, thus revealing its location to the Grella, all would be lost. So the actual attack would be their first experience of the Near Void—a fact with which Winslow was far from happy.
Actually, it was even worse than that. Winslow had no way of being sure that all of them would be capable of the kind of mental effort required to remain in the Near Void rather than passing on into the Deep Void. All he could do was choose men—and a couple of women from among the colonists' children—who seemed to possess both intelligence and determination, explain to them carefully what was required, and hope for the best.
He also chose Shakespeare. The actor might seem somewhat out of place among a group—eleven sailors and soldiers from Heron and nine young English of this world—chosen as hard-bitten fighters, but at least he had proven his ability to negotiate the Near Void. He was also eager. Winslow only wished his eagerness had a little more warlike experience standing behind it.
Similar considerations caused Winslow to refuse to accept any Eilonwë for the raiding party, despite the passionate entreaties of some of the young bloods in Riahn's sheuath. In the absence of opportunities for experimentation, there was still no way to know for certain if the Eilonwë could pass through portals the way humans could, much less will themselves to remain in the Near Void. He could afford no stragglers on this raid.
Then there was the matter of equipment. Moving through the Near Void, a human could take with him as much as he could have carried in normal conditions. Tyralair was of the opinion that this was a limitation imposed by the mind, much like the walking motion the body underwent. Be that as it might, they were stuck with it. So Winslow wanted their weapons chosen with care.
Firearms, as they knew, were useless. The Grella hand weapons of focused light, and the small energy packs that powered them, were beyond the ability of the Eilonwë to reproduce. They were therefore limited to the precious, irreplaceable supply of captured ones, most of which must be used in the frontal assault if it were to have a prayer of success. But Eilonwë workshops could replace handles, stocks and triggers with ones suited to human hands. Winslow had five of these converted weapons, all of which he assigned to the local English, who were familiar with them.
Virginia Dare took one. She also had a new sword made, to the same design as the one which was now in the hands of the Grella. She loudly bemoaned the inferiority of the replacement. But Winslow, watching her practice with it, was reminded of tales he had heard from a Portuguese mariner who had been to the fabulous islands of Japan and seen warriors in fantastical lamellar armor wield the slightly curved two-handed swords he had sworn were the best in the world. He had also sworn that their ancestral fighting technique of kendo put a force behind those swords' supernally sharp edges that could cut a man in half—the long way—with a single stroke. Winslow had thought he was hearing typical sea stories. Now he wasn't so sure. Not a man, his mind still insisted. But a Grell . . . ?
Winslow's backsword was likewise lost. He looked over the slashing blades the Eilonwë had designed for humans, chose a two-handed one, and then asked the Eilonwë to shorten the hilt and add a lead-weighted pommel for balance. The result was a one-handed sword with authority. He wanted it one-handed so he could simultaneously wield a favorite knife of his: an old-fashioned but still very serviceable example of the ballock dagger, so called because of the suggestive shape of the guard.
Each of those who did not have one of the modifed Grella weapons carried a small but heavy
bomb of Eilonwë make which could be set to explode at a desired instant. Winslow was skeptical of their utility. It would, of course, be wonderful to leave a trail of such things behind them as they advanced into the fortress. But they couldn't, unless the people carrying them reentered the material world—which, of course, meant that they'd be stranded there, in full view of the Grella. Still, he had agreed to take the things. One never knew what would prove useful.
Otherwise, everyone carried his or her usual weapon—including, in Shakespeare's case, his boarding pike. John White, about whose presence Winslow still had misgivings, would take the lightest sword he could borrow, and a stiletto.
Military amateurs like Walsingham and Dee, falling into the common fallacy of equating numbers with strength, wondered aloud why Winslow wasn't taking every able-bodied human fighter available. He did his best to explain it to them. In an infiltration raid like this, numbers were secondary. He preferred to appear inside the Grella fortress with a few raiders he felt he could be sure of. The other humans could do more good by stiffening the spine of the Eilonwë assault. He finally carried the point by citing the Biblical precedent of Gideon, who had overthrown the Midianites with three hundred reliable men winnowed from 32,000 volunteers. In the meantime, he put the enforced delay to good use by training his twenty-three people as thoroughly as circumstances permitted.
