by Andre Norton
She stood close beside him, for he still had wit enough to hold her beringed hand. And in this mirror she was a slighter, more fragile copy of himself. She could have been his sister, the relationship closely marked—he had to admit that. Though with the royal clans so intermated in the past, such a resemblance could well exist. Only, she was the Emperor’s daughter—that he was forced to accept. The daughter of an emperor Andas who was not he.
He could see her in the mirror as plainly as he saw himself. She had lost that teasing smile that promised ill. In fact, she had changed somewhat.
“You—you are like my father in the tri-dees taken of his coronation. You are like—too like! What sorcery has Angcela brought into being?”
She tugged to free her hand and bent her head to raise that ominous ring to her lips. But he held it to him so he could see it the better. The setting was a round stone with a heart of coiling light. Then the light changed and made a shadow face, which grew stronger, sharper.
“Anakue!” He hailed that tiny portrait.
The girl stared at him as if she were frightened at last.
“Anakue the traitor! But—how comes he? I did not summon—and he was long dead before my birthing.”
“When did he die?”
She still stared at the ring and did not answer.
“I said,” Andas demanded sharply, “when did he die?”
“When—when my father was made Chosen. He tried to kill him. There was much trouble, and Anakue and several of the nobles were executed. My father, he uncovered the plot, and Anakue tried to claim that he wanted to kill the Emperor. But no one believed that, for my father could prove his loyalty.”
The planted android—had Anakue been behind that? But if he were the android—Andas shook his head. It was like being caught in a fog.
“Why did he show in the ring?” the girl continued. “I did not summon him! Was it because you held my hand and looked within? But the ring was not sealed to you! I saw Rixissa draw it from the fire heart, and she sealed it to me only. And you are a man, so cannot serve the Old Woman more than as a slave.”
“Which you would have made me, had I let you,” he said grimly. “Now—what is your name?”
“Abena, as you must well know. Yes, I would have in-tied you with the ring. It warned me that I was spied upon. I could have made you my tool against Angcela.”
“I do not know who this Angcela is, and I am no servant of hers. What I am—well, that I must prove. And, Abena, this is now necessary.”
His free hand rose and pressed a spot in her throat. She had no time for protest, and he caught her before she slipped to the floor. He brought her to the bed, turned back the covers, and pulled out the spicers, laying her in their place. And he lingered long enough to work that ring from her finger. He could not take her with him through the runways, but he made sure of her strongest weapon against him.
There was one way of proving, at least to himself, that he was who he claimed to be. If he were not of the authentic blood, or if he had not undergone, before his grandfather’s eyes, the first of the Three Ceremonies, he could not hope to lay hands upon what he now sought. But the very fact that he could find it, hold it, would be an argument to prove his tale.
But, now he needed light. Fearing any moment to hear the scratch of a maid’s warn stick on the door, he toured the room, finding what he sought in one of the window seats. They were deep enough to provide a slender set of shelves against the frames, enough to hold tri-dee tapes. And there was a small porto light there also, clumsy for a hand torch but usable.
Andas had sealed the ring into a seam pocket of his coverall. Nobody was going to see it much longer. There were a couple of wells down which it could be sent to oblivion. He paused for a moment by the bed. As she lay there, the princess looked very young and innocent. Yet the fact that she knew how to use the ring meant she had ability to draw on deep and dark knowledge that most men loathed and few women had courage to claim for their own.
Andas got back into the hidden passage and snapped the panel shut behind him. He might have a very limited time to reach what he sought—so the sooner he was on his way, the better. So far he had come by a roundabout way. Now he must seize the chance on a passage that led into the heart of the Towers—the private quarters of the Emperor. And there was no telling about the ways there—maybe the Emperor knew them.
He switched the lamp on low. If the Emperor was the android, then he must have been provided with Andas’s memories—which meant that he would know all about the exploration of these ways in the old days. So he would be prepared, once he had heard Abena’s story, to hunt Andas through the very passages he had confidently trusted to hide him. He could even set up ambushes!
The only deterrent to the android against putting the guard in the passages as hunting hounds would be that too many secrets would be so revealed. But what that might mean in the future had no bearing on the present. Andas had to find the Emperor’s chamber as soon as he could, and he only hoped that his memory was correct.
He began to count side passages, three, four—it was the sixth one that he wanted. Yes, it was here, five almost wall to wall with six. That gave onto a flight of stairs where dampness oozed. And there was a dank smell of—what had Elys called it—evil! Yes, if evil had a smell of its own, this was where one could well find it. There had been death walking these narrow ways through the centuries before him.
Andas counted twenty steps, and then the passage leveled off. But there were slime tracks on the walls here. They glistened in the lamplight. He never rememberd seeing any of the things that left such traces, nor did he want to. But he dared now to turn the lamp up full strength to shine ahead.
The pavement under foot was crossed and recrossed by thicker trails of slime. He slowed his pace a little as his sandals slipped and slid. If he remembered rightly, this was the worst section of the way, for it ran under the moat pond that surrounded the Emperor’s pavilion.
Steps ahead, going up now. He turned the lamp back to low and climbed. It was like progressing out of the foul air of a swamp, for here the walls were drier, and now and then there was actually a whiff of incense or herbs wafting through the spy holes along this passage. But Andas did not pause at any of those holes. Time was important, and what he sought was at the very end of this way.
8
He must reach the bedroom of the Emperor, and if it were occupied—In his day (Andas found himself now separating past from present) there had always been guards in the outer chamber. But the Emperor was usually alone, even though on two sides of the pavilion wide vista windows opened on the Garden of Ankikas. And there were, according to custom also, small night lights made fast to the trees out there, illuminating moss and flowers. In addition, when the Emperor pleased, a transparent landscape could be thrown by concealed tri-dees on the walls, off-world scenes. Andas recalled more details as he sped along until at last he faced the wall where there was no spy hole but which should contain a small pattern of depressions.
Press—three together, then three more, then four. A band of light outlined a door panel. But opened no more than thumb’s width. He worked his fingers into that and exerted his strength against an ancient and apparently long-unused latch.
There was a sound, a dismal grating that froze him for an instant. But it heralded the giving way of the obstruction. The panel slid open, and he looked into the room. He more than half expected to front a blaster or else the ceremonial dagger worn by all of noble rank. There were too many times in the past when emperors had been trapped, even in their own quarters. He was a little surprised the panel opened at all. If this false Andas had his memories, he would have known about this entrance.
Luck favored him again. The room, under the soft radiance of lamps set on shoulder-high pedestals around the wall, was empty. Andas wasted no time in crossing to where there was on the wall a great mask, impressive in its solemn beauty. Three times life size, it was supposed to be the representation of Ak
medu, the first emperor, he of the House of Burdo, who legend said was more than human, having great knowledge, daring even to go against the Old Woman—thus making Inyanga a world free of her bloodstained shrines.
Andas paused, looking up into those wide-set eyes, so fashioned that they lived and held his gaze with theirs, as if there were indeed a spirit yet imprisoned behind the great bronzed metal face. The full lips were curved in a very faint smile, as if what those eyes looked upon provided lazy amusement.
He brought up both hands in the salute for one facing his overlord.
“Rider of the Storm Winds, Bearer of the Whip of Ten Lightnings, Judge of Men.” His head turned from right to left and back again. “He who is sought but comes only at his own will, who is desired but does not desire, who stands tall in the shadows watching those who follow in his footsteps, though their feet fill not the prints left by his mighty boots.
“He who is one with the sun, with the rain, with the cold, with the dark, with all that comes to Inyanga—look upon me, who am of royal blood, who has come here to undo a wrong, who needs that which lies in secret waiting—”
Once more Andas raised his hands as if to shield his face and his eyes from some awesome glare. And so he stood for as long as a man might count ten. Then he moved closer to the wall. There was directly below the mask a table of polished black-heart, and set into its top were various symbols in the red ivory of nurwall teeth. At mid-point there was a censer of gold from which now curled a wisp of scented smoke.
Facing him, as if to threaten, there lay on either side of that censer a weapon. Both were very old, treasures no man might touch, save after certain rites and ceremonies had been performed, for they were, according to tradition, those that Akmedu himself had carried. One was a dagger of ceremony, its blade concealed in a gemmed sheath. The other, to Andas’s right, was a blaster, of a type so old that he thought its like might not now be found anywhere else in the galaxy.
But the weapons were not what he sought. It was what they and the mask symbolically guarded—that which was death for a lesser man than the Emperor or his rightful heir to lay finger on.
Raising both hands to the mask, leaning at an angle across the table, Andas pressed his thumbs as forcibly as he could to the corners of that faintly smiling mouth. And though the mask appeared to be cast in a single unmovable piece, the mouth slowly opened. Between the lips protruded what he wanted. But again it was a case of using force on a long-untried spring. He pushed with all his strength, stretched as he was in that awkward position.
The mouth opened farther. What it held safe through the years fell with a metallic tinkle to the surface of the table, just missing the lid of the censer. Andas, with a sigh of relief, reached for what the mouth had disgorged.
He saw a key as long as the palm of his hand. The wards were intricate, the shaft a plain bar ending in curiously wrought combinations of symbols, so curled and embedded together that it would take much time and the searching eye of an expert in cyrmic script to translate, though Andas himself knew their message.
This was the heart of the empire. What it unlocked—that was not here but in the great temple of Akmedu’s Shadow. Only two men had the right to hold and use the key—one was the Emperor, the other his heir.
It lay before him. Andas wiped his hands nervously back and forth across the front of his dingy coverall. He believed he had the right—he must! But to take it up would in reality prove whether he did or not. Otherwise, there would be vengeance, dealt by something above and beyond any justice of humankind. So it had happened in the historic past—there was even a visual record of such punishment.
But, he knew! If his grandfather was dead, then there was no rightful emperor but Andas Kastor, and he was Andas. He picked up the key. It was cold and hard in his hand, feeling no different from any other piece of metal. No lightnings flashed; the mask did not denounce him with a wail of sacrilege. So, he was Andas!
He was alive with triumph, perhaps too much so, for he did not hear the sound until too late to retreat. The man who had entered the room was now between him and the panel exit. For the second time Andas reached to the table top. He held the key in his right hand, but his left closed about the ancient blaster.
It was like facing a queer, half-blurred reflection in the mirror. He should have been prepared for this after what he had learned from Abena. But it is given to very few men, if any, to see themselves as they would be after a long toll of years has passed. Rejuvenation had worked in that the man facing him was apparently in the prime of life. But his eyes were weary and older than the face framing them. Now Andas saw those eyes widen a little, though otherwise the other showed no surprise.
“So”—his voice was low, almost toneless—“after all these years Anakue is proven right. And we thought he raved.”
Andas had aimed the blaster. Its charge might be long since exhausted. That it would even fire he had no reassurance, but it was the only weapon to hand. He moved along the table cautiously, always watching the man by the bed. He hoped to get the other to move with him and so force him away from that line of escape. But the false emperor remained where he was.
“Clever—” When Andas did not answer, the Emperor stood with his head a little to one side, studying the intruder with growing curiosity. “Very clever indeed. They were artists, those Mengians. Lucky indeed that Anakue cracked and betrayed it all so we could clean them out. Or did we?” His eyes narrowed a little. “You are here, and you must have been decanted somewhere. But why a replacement years out of date? I am no boy. They could not even enthrone you by claiming some miracle of rejuvenation—my basic pattern is in too many files. Now, what did you come for—or were sent for?”
“To take my throne.” Andas refused to believe in that flood of words. Of course, this usurper would claim to be the rightful Andas Kastor. And apparently he had had years to build that claim into almost certainty. He had everything but what Andas held now in his right hand!
“Your throne?” The false emperor laughed. “Android doubles have no thrones—in fact, they are outlawed since the Mengian plot was uncovered during Anakue’s abortive rebellion. Whoever started you on this wild venture must be mad.”
“No one started me.” Andas had reached the side of the bed now, but he must win around its wide expanse to reach the panel, and the other had not moved. “I am Andas Kastor. This is rightfully mine as you know—android!”
“Android? Did they program you to believe you were real then, half-man? Where did you come from?”
“Where? In the prison where you had us all kept in stass.”
“Keep him talking,” Andas thought. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could hold the other’s interest long enough to make a rush. He did not trust the weapon in his hand to fire, but there was a trick in which it could be used.
“Us all? By the teeth of Gat, do you mean there are more? How many Andases did they have with which to inundate our poor empire?”
“I was not the only one of importance kidnaped. There were others—from other worlds.”
“Keep him talking!” Andas could not see that the other had relaxed any of his air of vigilance, but there was always a chance.
“We always thought that could be true”—the Emperor nodded—“though the Mengians followed their usual method of destroying their records when threatened. But perhaps we did not get their headquarters after all since they must have had you and these ‘others’ filed somewhere. But I don’t see what moved them to loose you all so late and uselessly.”
“They did not release us—we escaped.” That he was telling their story did not matter as long as he could keep the false emperor from summoning the guards.
“That explains it.” Again the other nodded. “Well, it is a pity that—”
“That what?” Andas held up his right hand, the thumb across the shaft of the key against his palm, so the other could see what he held. “That you should be unmasked at last, android? Do you think that anyone save him who
I truly am could hold this—and live? You know the precautions—”
The other stood very still. It was as if the sight of the key had turned him into a statue after the nature of sorcery in the old legends. Then his lips shaped a word Andas read rather than heard.
“That!”
“Yes, that! I have it as my right.”
“You are—it is impossible!” The surface of the other’s calm cracked. “It is totally impossible! I am human, as has been proven many times over. Why, I have children—three daughters. Can an android breed?”
Andas smiled bleakly. “We have been told not—but by an emperor’s orders children could be substituted or otherwise arranged for. We both know that in the Triple Towers there is only one law—the will of him who has the right to this!” Once more he held up the key.
“Now, call your gaurds if you wish. Let them see me—with the key!”
“I have guards the sight of that will not affect. Times have changed since the days of my youth. If you have been in stass, you have not been lately briefed.”
His hand raised, and Andas did not try to aim the weapon he held. Instead, he threw it in a way he had learned at Pav from a mountaineer of the Umbangai. It struck the other between the eyes, and he staggered back and went down. However, he had not been rendered unconscious, but was struggling up again when Andas was on him. This time he applied nerve pressure that kept the other limp until he had him bound into a chair.
“Now”—Andas went to the open panel—“tell your guards when they come to hunt if they will. But what I hold is the heart of the empire, and I take it with me. If fail, I shall make sure that it does not reach you again. And I shall assert my claim where it can be seen by all, in the temple of Akmedu.” Then he thought of something else. With his left hand he felt for a seam pocket and brought out the ring he had taken from Abena.
