Quest of the Golden Ape

by Randall Garrett

  CHAPTER XI

  _On the Ice Fields of Nadia_

  B'ronth the Utalian left footprints in the snow.

  Otherwise, B'ronth was invisible. But if a hidden observer watched theUtalian's slow progress across the ice fields of Nadia he would seewhere the ice was soft or where snow had fallen during the night intothe gullies, the unexpected, mysterious appearance of footprints, aleft staggered after a right, then another left, then a right again,then a left.

  Actually, B'ronth the Utalian was not invisible. But like allUtalians, he was a chameleon of a man. Within seconds his skin wouldassume the color of its environment, utterly and completely. Thus,from above B'ronth the Utalian was the dazzling white of the Nadianice-fields; from below, looking up at the pale cloudless sky, he wascold, transparent blue.

  All morning he had been trailing the girl. He had reached her camp onthe road to Nadia only moments after she had quit it in company withan old man. From the tattered snow cloaks they wore, they both clearlywere wayfarers. B'ronth could have challenged them at once, sprintingacross the ice toward them, but he hadn't done that. B'ronth theUtalian was a coward. He accepted the fact objectively: his peoplewere notorious cowards. The proper time would come, he told himself.There would come a time when the girl and the old man were helpless.Then he, B'ronth, would strike.

  The day before an Abarian warrior had given him a description of thegirl and had promised him a bag of gold for her capture, half a bag ofgold if he killed her and could prove it. A bag of gold, he thought.He would take her alive. It was a long, cold road to Nadia City. True,B'ronth the Utalian was small of stature, a puny creature like all hispeople. And there were certain disadvantages in his perfectcamouflage. He was walking naked across the ice-fields in order toremain unseen. His flesh shivered and his bones were stiff. But aNadian boy named Lulukee, whom B'ronth had promised half the gold, wasnot many minutes' march behind him with warm clothing, food, anddrink. After he captured the girl....

  * * * * *

  Invisible, he mounted a rise where solid sheet ice adhered to theshoulder of a rocky hill. Below him, traversing a snow-floored valleyand so far away that they were mere dots against the snow, were theold man and the girl.

  B'ronth the Utalian chuckled. The sound was swept up instantly anddispersed by the wind. It was a cold wind and it all but froze B'ronthto the marrow, but the Nadian sun was surprisingly warm and now seemedto beam down on him with promise of his golden reward. Shivering bothfrom cold and delight, the invisible Utalian walked swiftly down intothe snow-mantled valley.

  There would be a trail of footprints for the boy Lulukee tofollow....

  * * * * *

  "Cold, Hammeth?" Ylia asked her companion.

  "No, girl. I'll manage if you will. Is it much further?"

  "Half a day's march to Nadia City yet, I'm afraid," Ylia said. "Wecould rest if you wish."

  The man was extremely old by Tarthian standards, probably threehundred and fifty years old. He wore a snow-cape of _purullian_ furwhich the wind whipped about his bony frame and up over his completelybald head. "I'm sorry, Ylia," he said suddenly. There were tears inhis eyes which the cold and the wind did not explain.

  "What for? You came to the cave. You accompanied me here to Nadia."

  "When Retoc the Abarian almost killed the White God, I fled with theothers."

  "If you didn't flee you too might have been slain, Hammeth."

  "Yet you remained behind."

  "He still lived. Someone had to tend him."

  Hammeth's breath came in shallow gasps. He once had been a strong, bigman, but the life and the strength had fled his frame when Retocdestroyed Ofrid, a hundred years before. As a wayfarer on the Plainsof Ofrid, he had aged in those hundred years. And he had shrunk andshriveled with approaching senility. "Tell me, Ylia," he asked,panting, "is this Bram Forest you speak of indeed the--the god of thelegend? The God of the Tower come to right the ancient wrongs?"

  A frown marred the beauty of Ylia's matchless face. "At first," shesaid with a far-away look in her lovely eyes, "at first I thought hewas. Hadn't he come, suddenly, from nowhere, at the ordained moment?But then when he did not slay Retoc, when instead he allowed Retoc theuse of his whip-sword and was almost slain by Retoc, when he bled likeany mortal, when he--" All at once Ylia was blushing.

  "What is it, child?" Hammeth asked.

  "Nothing. It is nothing."

  "Ylia. You were the infant daughter of a lady in waiting of the royalcourt of Ofrid. I was a captain of the Queen's Guards. When Retoc'slegions brought their death and destruction, I fled to the wildernesswith you. I raised you from infancy. I--" the old man's eyes cloudedover with emotion--"you have no secrets from me, child."

  Ylia was still blushing. But a serene smile replaced the frown on herface. "Very well, Father Hammeth, I will tell you. There in the caveas I nursed the stranger back to health, as he grew stronger and couldmove about, as we conversed and came to know each other, I--I desiredhim."

  Hammeth said nothing. His face was stern.

  "Please," said Ylia, laughing now that her secret was out. "It wasn'tthe kind of desire that could make me a candidate for the Golden Ape,but--I desired him. It was a pure, sweet emotion, such as I have neverfelt before. I wanted him. I wanted to serve him. I wanted to spend mylife helping him and ... Hammeth ... Father Hammeth ... loving him.There, I have said it."

  * * * * *

  Hammeth only muttered. They plodded on through the snow, which herewas deep and powdery so they floundered sometimes to their knees.

  "But a girl shouldn't feel such desire for a god, so I told myself hewas mortal." Abruptly and for no reason that Hammeth could fathom,Ylia began to cry.

  "What is it, child? What is it?"

  "He--he fled. He had lost much blood and he was weak, yes, but hedidn't even stay to protect me. He fled from Retoc. Is that a god? Isthat even a man who can bring retribution to Retoc? Is it, Hammeth? Isit?"

  "Yet you're taking the road to Nadia even as legend says the White Godwill take the road to Nadia."

  "Nonsense," said Ylia, wiping away her tears. "Someone has to tell theNadians what really happened to poor Jlomec, that's all. Retoc, Retocwill have them eating off his hand. He'll have them believing whateverhe says. They'll never know that he killed a prince of their royalblood."

  "But what can Bontarc of Nadia--or anyone--do against the power ofRetoc's Abarians?"

  "The White God could--"

  "Ah, you see? Then perhaps you do believe, after all."

  "The White God or whoever he was," said Ylia coldly, "fled a cowardfrom Retoc." She pouted. "And yet, and yet he seemed so confused."

  "Perhaps he fled so that the Ofridians might live again in the prideof their greatness," Hammeth declared with vehemence.

  "You believe, don't you, Father Hammeth?" Ylia asked simply.

  "I want to believe, child."

  "You're panting so. You're tired. We'll have to stop and rest."

  They were traversing the deepest part of the valley where the Nadianwind, funneling through between the hills flanking the depression, hadpiled the snow into drifts twice the height of a man. They hunkereddown in the lee of one of the snow-drifts, where the wind could notreach them. With stiff fingers Ylia withdrew strips of jerked stadmeatfrom the inside pocket of her snow cloak, sharing them with Hammeth.They munched the tough cold meat, Ylia looking at the old man withtenderness and affection. Her foster father, he had been the onlyparent she had ever known. She closed her eyes and for a momentthought back over the years they had spent as wayfarers on theOfridian Plain, the years dreaming of revenge and succor which wouldnever come, the years....

  "Ylia! Ylia!"

  Father Hammeth was calling her name, urgently. She shook herself fromher reverie. They were seated with their backs to one of the greatsnow-drifts, where it fell off suddenly like a suspended, frozen seawave. With a trembling hand Hammeth was point
ing before him, outacross the ice fields.

  There in the soft snow which mantled the ice of Nadia to a depth ofonly a few inches, were footprints. They were not old prints,deposited there when some wayfarer had passed. Incredibly, they werebeing made even as Hammeth and Ylia watched, as if by some creaturewith no palpable existence. The icy wind seemed intensified.

  * * * * *

  "It--it's coming toward us," Hammeth said, his voice a croakingwhisper. Ylia knew that he was afraid again. Somehow with theadvancing years, the steel and fire had gone from Hammeth's heart. Orperhaps, she thought in sympathy, the terrible defeat and destructionof Ofrid a hundred years ago had done this to him, had turned one ofthe Queen's proven champions into an aging craven wayfarer.

  "We'll have to flee," Hammeth said breathlessly.

  Behind them was the frozen wave of snow. To the right, far away acrossthe snows, Abaria and the Plains of Ofrid. To the left, not half aday's journey, Nadia City. Ahead of them, the advancing footprints.

  "Your whip-sword!" Ylia cried. "Quickly."

  "I carry it, but I can't use it now," Hammeth protested. "I'm an oldman, Ylia. An old man."

  "Then let me have it."

  "You? But you're just a girl. You couldn't--"

  "Don't you see, Father Hammeth? It's only a man. An Utalian. It can'tbe anything else. If he comes in peace, well enough. Otherwise ...here, give me that sword."

  But Hammeth shook his head with unexpected pride and pulled the weaponfrom its scabbard.

  Just then the footprints became wider spaced and appeared more quicklyin the snow. The invisible Utalian was running toward them. Awkward,cursing at his own impotence, Hammeth fumbled with his weapon.

  _You who call yourself Bram Forest_, Ylia thought, _White God orwhatever you are--help us, help us_! Then she hated herself for theunbidden thought. Bram Forest had deserted her once, hadn't he, aftershe had saved his life? What help could she expect from a man likeBram Forest? Or was Father Hammeth right? Perhaps Bram Forest had fledso that Ofrid might one day live again to see the wrath of the godsfall on Retoc and his Abarians.

  Or, Ylia thought with an abrupt flash of insight, perhaps BramForest's flight had been out of his control. Perhaps he was as yet apawn in a game he barely understood....

  _Bram Forest, we need you!_

  The running footprints were almost upon them.