by Andre Norton
But one fact was ever before him. Though he had not taken that oath in the temple or before the glitter of a court, he had given it. And all the conditioning of his life had set in one mold, that the Emperor had a duty of service. Once he had taken the oath, he was no longer so much a man as a symbol. Though that was cold and bleak, yet it was the position to which he had been born and bred.
Could he explain it so that Yolyos would understand? Andas sought to put it into words—only death now could dissolve his responsibility. He could not tell why he had been moved to answer the appeal, the determined will of that other Andas. But having done so, he was bound.
“And if you are not in truth this Andas, but an android?” Yolyos asked then as Andas stumbled through his explanation, finding his logic dwindle when he had to present it to an alien who could not understand long conditioning.
“I am Andas, Emperor, now!” He refused that other thought.
“This female tells you there is no going back. Can you believe her?”
“As she knows it, she is telling the truth. And the harp that seems to have brought us here, it is now broken.”
“Conveniently, as far as they are concerned,” Yolyos growled.
Andas was jolted out of his own concerns. He might be bound here, but what of the Salariki? He certainly had no duty pressed upon him by death and a ritual of words, and he would be wholly in exile.
“Perhaps there is other information kept by this Magi, to be found in the cache of which she spoke. We can—”
“Always hope?” Yolyos finished for him. “Yes. Also there is this. As you have found yourself so superseded in your time, perhaps I also have been long so. There has never come any good of counting the horns on a Kuay buck before one has shot it, nor the teeth of a gorp that escapes one’s net. It is better to look to the foretrail than behind one. So we hide this emperor’s body—then what?”
“She must tell us.” So much would depend upon Shara’s help. That she would be willing and eager to give it, he knew. And she must be able to brief him so thoroughly that he could pass as the proper Andas, even with those who knew him well. What he would do as that Andas, however, he had not even speculated.
They buried the Emperor in the ruins of the building he had chosen for a campsite, piling rubble from the walls up, over, and around him and then, at last, uniting their strength to push over a standing portion to cascade upon the mound, covering it.
Shara brought a bundle into the open when they were done. She opened a roll of mat-cloth and shared out twists of dried meat and some fruit as hard as metal pellets and tart enough to pucker the mouth.
“It would seem that your commissary does not do well, Emperor,” Yolyos commented when they had managed to choke it down, washed by drafts of water they hand-scooped from hollows where the rain had gathered.
Shara tugged at Andas’s sleeve. “He speaks with the tongue of the mercenaries. It is better that he learn ours as swiftly as he can.”
Andas passed this suggestion along. The Salariki growled.
“Well enough, if you can teach it. But these mercenaries—are any of them Salariki?”
When Andas translated, Shara shook her head. “They are all like us, save that they have very pale skins and their hair is yellow. They wear it even on their faces—so—” She drew her finger across her upper lip. “And they speak among themselves with a sharp click-click—like a pang beetle—though they use the speech you talk in to this one also. They wear garments something like yours”—she touched Andas’s sleeve—“so we shall say that you killed one of a patrol and took his robe. With supplies so few for us, this often happens. Even the enemy go ragged at times since there are no more ships setting down to bring them what they wish.
“White-skinned, yellow-haired, wearing mustaches.” Andas was trying to place the enemy. He translated for Yolyos. The other had a suggestion.
“Mercenaries are now hired from only two sectors. I have seen men of Njord among the bodyguards of the Svastian overlords who resemble your description. But how can we judge the here with our own world? Mercenaries among us are largely outlawed. It could be for a similar reason that ships have ceased coming here. Your empire may be under ban by the Patrol.”
Andas had heard of such bans—of planets, even systems, so deeply embroiled in some chaotic war that they were declared off limits for any space contact. Or it might be that the plague Shara had spoken of had isolated this world. There was nothing so feared throughout the galaxy as plague, and nothing that sooner put a whole world into a quarantine that might last for generations.
But if such limited the inflow of mercenaries, perhaps this isolation was to be welcomed rather than deplored. However, it was what lay immediately to hand that mattered. Andas did not know how long they had been about the business of burying his double, but the rain had stopped and the sky was now lightening into day. The ruin they had demolished as much as they could to cover the grave was only a part of a vast, devasted area where the signs of fire, explosion, and the use of weapons that could melt and curdle stone were only too evident. He stared about him, seeing no relation to anything he had known in his own world.
Finally he asked, “What is this place?”
Shara had tied together her bundle, taking care with the scant remnants of the unpleasant field rations she had supplied. She looked up with a strange half smile.
“This is the one-time heart of the empire, my lord. Know you not the Triple Towers?”
“The—the Triple Towers?”
He put his hand to his head as if dazed by a blow. Nor could he believe that this wilderness of riven desolation was the vast spread of palace, pavilion, hall, courtyard, and garden that he had known so well all his life.
Andas turned slowly, pivoting, to seek out some point of reference, at least one of the towers themselves, or the bulk of the temple against the sky. But the change was too great. He could not guess where they now stood as compared with that other world.
“What happened here?” he demanded.
“Ask of Kidaya,” Shara replied. “We were hiding afar, back in the hills. All we saw was the flash of fire. What survivors we have met were not in the palace at all, but across the river in Ictio, and they were all suffering from radiation burns.”
“But if the burn-off destroyed Kidaya—”
“I did not say that! She and those who could best serve her purposes were away before it happened. We do not know whether it came from her will or some accident—but it ended our chance of holding the heart of Inyanga. We had those planted here ready to further our cause. And could Andas have reached the temple—” She shrugged. “What might have been and is are far removed one from the other.”
“The temple!” Once more Andas’s hand closed upon the key. If the other Andas had had its equivalent and could have reached the temple, and if the old records were true—
Shara turned around, much as Andas had when seeking a landmark. “That way, I think. But it is high in radiation, and no one can enter without a protecto suit, which is as difficult to obtain as Kidaya’s death. What want you with the temple?”
He turned the key around. But what was the use of thinking now about what that might have led him to. If the temple lay in hard radiation, it was as far removed from his penetration as the third moon of Benin.
“Nothing that matters now. But I think we would be better away from any source of radiation. Where do we go?”
“This is wasteland now.” She swung her bundle under one arm. “And the only path I know is the one by which we came. It is roundabout but will bring us to the Garden of Astarte, or what is left of it. And from there we go to the mountains. It is a weary walk and one not to be taken too openly. The enemy still send out scout skimmers. I know not how effective the Old Woman’s seers may be, but Kidaya has put them to good use in the past. And such events as your coming through the gate of the Magi should have set up a troubling in that spirit world and made them suspicious.”
; She believed in cold facts, the colder the better, Andas decided. He translated her warnings to Yolyos, and they followed behind her. It was a weaving path, swinging wide at times to avoid places Shara told them still registered high in radiation. She had a small wrist detect, which he was not sure recorded correctly, but it was their only guard against straying into deadly territory.
All through that march Andas was unable to recognize any building or part of a building that he knew. He concentrated on Yolyos’s learning the new language. Except that he had a hissing accent, the Salariki fortunately proved to be quick at picking up their speech. Of necessity his answers were curtailed and very simple, but he retained words at a single repeating much better, Andas thought, than he would be able to do himself under the circumstances.
They came out at last into a place where vegetation had survived, though it was an odd color and misshapen. Pillars had been tossed back and forth, crisscrossing each other on the ground as one might toss twigs in a game. But this was, Andas knew, the Garden of Astarte.
Here they halted, sheltering belly down under a trio of fallen pillars. Shara motioned at the ground stretching before them. There was not even a bush of a size to give cover.
“By day to walk there is to be seen,” she commented. “They patrol outward from the Drak Mount, which is their stronghold.”
“How far do we have to go?” Andas wanted to know.
“A day’s travel, plus a night more, on foot. After we reach the cache there are elklands for riding, if they have not broken free.”
“Wait!” Yolyos’s hand closed upon Andas’s upper arm. “Listen!”
He could hear now, too, the high, faint whine from the sky. There was a skimmer aloft.
13
It was a scout. Andas watched it hungrily. If they could get their hands on that now—He did not relish the cross-country travel Shara had described—not in this desolate waste.
“Are you thinking with me, Prince?” Yolyos was so close beside him the slightly raised fur of the Salariki’s arm brushed his sleeve. “I believe that you are.”
“How do we get it to land? By wishing?” Andas scoffed at his own desire.
“They must have a scanner,” speculated the other. “Therefore, they can pick up the ground on their screen. Suppose they saw something—someone they had no reason to believe could be here—”
“Such as an emperor?” questioned Andas. “Their reaction would be to trigger a flamer!”
“Not an emperor, an alien.” Yolyos’s claws showed. “According to this lady, there have been no off-world ships here for some time. Therefore, they would want to know what a Salariki was doing at the ruins of their once First City. They must have a prisoner, not a dead body, to learn that.”
“If we had even a stunner—” breathed Andas. It was utterly mad, but sometimes a mad throw in the very face of fate paid off. Above them was not only transportation but also men who could answer his questions.
“You plan something with this furred one?” Shara’s voice was hardly above a whisper, as if she expected those cruising overhead to be able to pick up their voices.
“Weapons—surely you came here armed?” Andas returned. He had seen no blaster, stunner, or even sword or dagger with the dead emperor. But they were supposed to have fought their way out of an ambush to reach the ruins, and they could not have done that empty-handed.
For a moment she hesitated. Then her hands fumbled at the neckline of her outer robe, and she drew out a slender tube, hardly thicker than a branch a man could effortlessly snap between his hands.
“This—but the charge left is very small, perhaps only enough for a single firing.”
She did not hand it to Andas. And when he reached for it, for a moment he thought she would not release it. Finally she let him take it. It was an officer’s sidearm—a flame-needler. But it was strictly a short-range weapon and, if the charge was nearly exhausted, not too potent.
“They could turn a stun beam on you,” he said to Yolyos. “I would under the circumstances, just to be on the safe side. They might even blanket the whole area—”
“Beam, yes,” the Salariki agreed. “But blanket, I think not. They would carry only hand stunners on patrol. A skimmer is too light a craft to arm. They are sent to scout, not to fight. It only remains to be seen if I can make tempting bait.”
Before Andas could put out a hand to stop him, Yolyos rolled out from under their pillar cover. But he did not get to his feet. Instead, he struggled only to his one knee, the other leg stretched out as if useless. He propped on one hand to balance himself, while with the other he waved, shouting aloud in Basic for help.
“He betrays us!” Shara snatched for the weapon Andas held. He fended her off.
“Quiet!” he ordered. “Yolyos is bait in a trap.” He thought their chance was very slim, however. The skimmer had only to keep on hover and report back to its base. It all depended upon the temperament of those who manned the craft and whether they were cautious or otherwise.
Andas divided his attention between the Salariki, who was giving an excellent performance of someone hailing long-hoped-for aid, and the hovering craft. The skimmer had made a swift downward swoop and hung over the place where Yolyos was flopping about. Then a rope dropped from the belly of the craft, weighted with harness.
Why had he not foreseen that? Of course, with rescue equipment the skimmer did not need to land.
Yolyos’s movements slowed. He was acting as one so weakened by some injury that his efforts of the last few moments had totally exhausted him. As the harness swung down, he made a very convincing grab at it, falling back to lie still. There was a shout from the skimmer. Yolyos lifted a hand in a gesture of appeal and let it flop on his chest. His other, hidden in the shadow of his body, held the force knife he had taken from Grasty.
The line of the harness jerked and arose to dangle in the air. Would they draw off now? No, a figure appeared at the belly hatch of the skimmer and took off with the leap of an anti-grav equipped sky trooper, spiraling down almost lazily. He made an excellent landing beside the prone Salariki and knelt beside him.
Yolyos moved with the speed of a trained fighting man of his own species, reacting faster than any human. He had one arm about the trooper, pinning his hands away from his weapon, yet holding him across his own body as a shield.
Andas leaped out of hiding, the flame-needler gripped between his teeth, both hands outstretched to catch the dangling line. He caught the harness, and his weight pulled it earthward as he began to climb. There was another after him—Shara had copied his run. The skimmer went out of hover into rise, or tried to.
But the very safety precautions built into the rescue equipment defeated the pilot. Though both Andas and the woman were lifted well above the ground, the harness could not be reeled in while it supported a double load, nor might the skimmer rise higher with the harness outside, for it had been designed for the ultimate safety of the unfortunate in the lift.
Andas could take no thought for Shara now. He had only moments of which he must make the most. He climbed the swaying line above the harness, and when the hatch was directly above him, he took the needier with one hand, prepared to fight his way in. It all depended now on the number of crew the skimmer carried, though these craft were not intended for many.
He was in the hatch. Behind him the rope of the harness began to coil in on its own since Shara’s weight alone could not halt it. But Andas was facing the man, who, having put the skimmer on autopilot, was just emerging from the control section. He had a blaster at ready, but Andas fired a fraction of a second earlier.
The blaster ray was close. Andas cried out at the sear of it on his neck just below his ear. But the pilot had crumpled forward. The blaster, still blazing, spun past Andas, out of the hatch. He threw himself at the downed man, but the body was inert, and he scrambled over it to reach the controls. The rope of the harness was still winding in, and until it was all within the cabin, he could not set down.
So he waited, tense.
Shara’s unkempt head appeared above the edge of the hatch. She clung grimly to the harness, her eyes closed, her teeth set as if she were in the midst of an ordeal she could only endure. Andas moved back, caught her robe, and heaved her in with little ceremony. He let her lie gasping as he went to the controls and thumbed the button to set them down.
Even as the skimmer settled, he could hardly believe that their wild and hopeless ruse had paid off. But he was in the skimmer, the pilot was dead, and they were in command of the situation. By the look of it, Yolyos had finished off the other crew member.
Sometime later they hunched in the shadow of the craft, ravenously eating the rations the crew had carried. Andas had always considered E-rations as totally lacking in anything but strict nutritional value. But what he mouthed now from tube and container was equal to an Imperial feast.
Before them on the ground lay their prizes of battle. There was one stunner, a blaster (the one that had pitched from the skimmer had been too badly jammed when it struck the ground to use again), and another needier, as well as fresh rounds for the one Shara had brought. The dead crew of the ship had been stowed under the overlapping pillars where they could not be sighted from the air.
“The First Ancestress,” remarked Yolyos, “is always said to favor the brave, though ‘reckless’ and ‘brave’ are not always the same. When I have time, I shall offer five jars of fine essences for her delight. And what do we now? We have a ship, we have weapons—”
Andas turned to Shara. “Where do we go? The skimmer can take us fast and far.”
She had not said much since she had been so unceremoniously pulled through the hatch of the skimmer after her ride aloft on the harness. It was as if she thought, reserving speech for later.
“We must return to the Place of Red Water—there lie the Imperial forces now in the field. But we cannot fly all the way in this. There are defenses about the headquarters, and we would be sky-burned before we could signal. It would be best to set down in the heights. There are places there possible. It has been long since we have had any fliers of our own.”
