[The Book of the Gods 01] - The Face of Apollo

by Fred Saberhagen

  Once, as they gazed at each other across the width of the li­brary, Tamarack, smiling, repeated the gesture in minimal form. In return, Jeremy could only stare. Then he walked slowly away, with the feeling that he was doomed.

  SIXTEEN

  There arrived an otherwise undistinguished afternoon in which some person or force unknown invaded the Scholar's rooms during the hour or two he was away attending a faculty meeting. Nothing was stolen, but the place was effec­tively turned inside out. Two of Ferrante's low-ranking com­rades in arms who were standing guard duty at the time, one at the door and one below the windows, swore they had neither seen nor heard anything out of the ordinary, nor had any visitors come to call.

  During the intrusion the whole apartment, walls, floor, and ceiling, was repainted in strange colors, laid on in irregular stripes and splashes by some unknown and amazingly broad brush. But that was not what drew awed attention. Incredibly, a window had actually been moved from one wall to another. The place where the aperture had been was solid wall now, blending seamlessly with the old wall around it.

  Arnobius, on coming home, ran his hands unbelievingly over the fabric of the stonework.

  The Scholar's face as he contemplated the turmoil was a study in mixed feelings. On the one hand, his routine of study and ex­periment had been seriously, irreparably, disrupted, his precious papers and artifacts of magic tossed about promiscuously. On the other, the very nature of the disruption argued powerfully for the reality of divine intervention in human affairs.

  Intervening to save the unhappy guards from military punish­ment, he questioned the pair closely and was delighted to estab­lish that powers beyond the merely human had been at work. Not that any other explanation seemed possible. "The very win­dow, Jonathan! Look at it! Obviously no merely human ..." He let the statement fade away in bemused mumbling.

  Jeremy looked into the several rooms, not knowing quite what to think. Certainly this was not the work of Death—some other god must have come upon the scene. The nature of the prank strongly suggested the Trickster.

  Arnobius's colleagues, gathering at the scene as the word spread, reacted in predictable ways. The antigod faction found ingenious arguments to explain how merely human pranksters could have accomplished the feat after all.

  Jeremy's private opinion, fortified by what indications he could gain from the Intruder, was that if the vandalism had any mean­ing, it must be intended as a warning to the Scholar. But a warn­ing from whom, regarding what?

  Meanwhile, Carlotta was once more nowhere to be found.

  "I suppose it's possible she's run away." Arnobius sighed— another of life's complications, designed to bedevil him.

  Probing gingerly into his augmented memory, Jeremy could find no instance where any god had ever operated independently of a human host. Therefore, the Trickster must now be associated with some man or woman, even as Apollo had come to dwell with Jeremy. The person who now shared the Trickster's nature could be one of the faculty or a student at the Academy. It might just as likely be one of the lowliest laborers.

  The fact that Carlotta had coincidentally disappeared raised Jeremy's suspicions as to who the Trickster's latest avatar might be.

  In recent days Jeremy had begun to wonder whether the In­truder, after melting down to get into his head, had then reas­sumed some solid shape. Sometimes he had the feeling that the invader in the form of a shapeless blob lay hidden only just barely beneath his skin, in the shape of a giant snail or slug, peering out through his left eye, listening through his ear; then again it seemed to him that the thing must have taken up resi­dence right in the center of his brain.

  Wherever he imagined it, he shivered.

  The military situation, across that portion of the continent sur­rounding Lord Victor's domain, which had seemed likely to flare into open war at several widely scattered points, had in recent weeks apparently calmed down a little.

  The various potentates who were Lord Victor's chief potential enemies, along with the infamous and already hostile Kalakh, were keeping each other fully occupied, and Lugard wanted to seize the opportunity to make his own bold move. Some of the Academics tried to keep a close watch on the military and polit­ical situations as they changed, but others, including Arnobius, did not.

  Some three weeks after Jeremy's arrival at the Academy, he was told by Arnobius that a final decision had been made on the new expedition. They were going, with others from the Academy fac­ulty, to explore the Mountain of the Oracle. Margaret Chalan­don was long overdue from her solo attempt to accomplish the same thing. Arnobius had now been given an additional reason for wanting to go to the Mountain—to help locate Margaret Chalandon.

  Arnobius had long been hoping to launch an expedition for that purpose and some time ago, due to the unsettled political sit­uation, had requested that a military escort be provided by the Lord Victor.

  Arnobius's father had now at last agreed, and the Scholar found this moderately surprising.

  The real reason for this acquiescence came out in a conversa­tion between the two brothers that Jeremy happened to over­hear. It was the Lord Victor's wish to carry out a reconnaissance of the Mountain and, if at all possible, boldly seize control of the Oracle and of the heights above. The uneasy balance of forces that had heretofore kept the Oracle open to most people was now spoiled.

  Now at last His Lordship had assembled what he considered an adequate military force.

  A quiet search for Carlotta was under way, though she had not been officially posted as a runaway slave. For one thing, the sul­tan wouldn't have liked to hear that news. And Arnobius kept muttering that he didn't want to be harsh.

  Lord John, the girl's new owner—though so far in name only—muttered once that he looked forward to getting his hands on her. Soon enough his father was going to require him to marry and settle down, and when a wife came on the scene the possession of a handsome and intriguing slave girl would no longer be the simple and uncomplicated joy that it now was—or ought to be. The same would be true of the elder brother. "Maybe that's why you were so willing to give her away."

  "I gave her away because she and I had ceased to get on at all well together." Arnobius smiled faintly. "And because I had the idea that you liked her."

  "I'm beginning to wonder if I'm ever going to see the gal at all."

  Arnobius was looking at a map, spread out on his worktable, when he noticed Jeremy standing nearby. With quiet excitement the Scholar pointed out to his young attendant exactly where the new expedition would be heading and with a finger traced the route.

  The Mountain dominated the region for almost a hundred miles in every direction, psychologically if not necessarily in any other way. On the map it loomed over a nexus of roads. Posses­sion of the heights would not guarantee military control, but control would be extremely difficult to sustain without it.

  The Scholar, thinking aloud as he often did, mentioned to Je­remy in a casual afterthought that he'd need a replacement for Carlotta as a technical helper. "Do you have any idea who we might... but no, how could you possibly?"

  Jeremy was glad to see that Andy Ferrante, as a member of the Scholar's permanently assigned bodyguard, would be accompa­nying the Expedition, too.

  In command of the whole military escort was Lord John, who gave some signs of not being entirely happy with his military life. He was out of favor with his father because of lack of imag­ination in a recent battle.

  "If we go up there in the guise of an expedition of philoso­phers and naturalists, maybe no one will notice that we're also carrying out a reconnaissance in force of the whole Mountain. Or at least as far up as the Cave of the Oracle."

  The more the Scholar got into the planning and preparation for the Expedition, the more quietly excited he became. He now thought that there was reason to believe that truth was likely to be found on the peak of the Mountain, high above the Cave of the Oracle.

  In what was commonly considered the Oracle, the utt
erances delivered by some drugged priestess inside the entrance to the Cave, Arnobius had no faith—"though I would very much like to have." He confessed that he had lately been visited by certain dreams that he interpreted as prophecy. Suddenly he had found reason to hope that atop the Mountain, if not at the Oracle itself, he could and would provide him with some credible answers to his eternal questions. "If it can possibly be true that the Moun­tain was once truly the home of the gods, then perhaps they are really to be found there once more."

  Jeremy said, "Possibly only the bad gods, sir." Hades had won the deadly battle there, had seized the ground, and was not likely to have given up his prize.

  "I do not fear them."

  Then you are even a bigger idiot than I take you for, Jeremy fought down the impulse to say the words aloud.

  When the military escort for the Expedition showed up at the Academy, it turned out to be considerably larger, with more of­fensive capability, than the Academic nominally in command of the Expedition had expected.

  The center of the campus had temporarily become a military parade ground, and people goggled and murmured at the display. One of the Academics marveled: "One hundred men ought to be more than enough to defend us against any conceivable gang of bandits. Four hundred seems a ridiculous number."

  Ferrante muttered to his friend that half that number of lancers would be a lot more than were needed.

  And the Scholar: "Of course, it's absurd. And how are five hundred people going to feed themselves and their cameloids? Forage off the countryside? That'll win us a lot of friends in the area."

  He was assured that there wouldn't be five hundred, unless he was determined to bring half the faculty with him. And whatever the number, ample supplies would be provided; there was a siz­able pack train.

  Arnobius suspected that more was going on here than he had been told about. His father and brother thought he gave so little thought to anything outside of his philosophical speculations that even five hundred men, under his brother's command, would not set him to wondering what was going on.

  It was soon obvious even to Private Ferrante, who explained the business to Jeremy in one of their private conversations, that the ostensible armed guard for this expedition had as its real purpose a preemptive military strike, with the purpose of bringing the Mountain and Cave under control of the Lugards. More likely just a scouting effort, as above—but ready to seize the key strate­gic points if that should appear feasible. Lord Victor and his military sons wanted to seize control of the Oracle, with the idea of at least preventing other warlords from getting its presumed powers under their control.

  Meanwhile, a rumor was going about to the effect that Arnobius had secretly had his unhappy slave girl killed.

  "Do we make an open announcement, then? We haven't much precedent for setting in motion a search for a runaway slave. And I'm still reluctant to do that."

  "Damn it, I never thought of her in those terms."

  "Maybe she didn't want to be forced to move out, to be told that she now belonged to someone else."

  "Maybe I won't want to get married, someday, when it comes to that. Matter of duty. Each of us has a role to play, according to his or her position."

  In any case, someone had to be chosen to take Carlotta's place as the Scholar's lab assistant and fellow natural philosopher.

  When Jeremy thought about it, he soon realized that Carlotta had been deluding herself that someday she might really be granted a lady's rank and even would be considered suitable as a bride for Arnobius. She'd managed to convince herself of that while she and the Scholar were carrying on a long-term affair, ca­sually accepted by his father and the rest of society.

  The Intruder's memory, coupled with snatches of conversation overheard, made it possible for Jeremy to see with some clarity the social and political implications. It wasn't really that the Scholar stood to inherit his father's rank and power directly. Something in the way of lands and other wealth, no doubt.

  Pretty much the same thing applied to his brother, John. Lord Victor's position as ruler of the Harbor Lands was theoretically nonhereditary, but in practice one of his sons was very likely to succeed him, given the approval of the Council in Pangur Ban.

  Meanwhile, Lord Victor, while trying to keep his full plans se­cret, even from his older son (whose lack of interest in them could be assumed), was mobilizing and keeping ready a still larger force, this one a real army, eight or ten thousand strong. These reserves were prepared to march on short notice in the same direction as the supposed scientific expedition.

  Lord Victor intended to forestall the seizure of the Mountain, and the psychologically and magically important Oracle that lay inside it, by any of his rival warlords.

  SEVENTEEN

  Three other Academics, two men and a woman at the level of advanced students, were chosen to accompany Arnobius and serve as philosophical assistants. Several servants accompanied them. All were practically strangers to Jeremy.

  The total number of people in the train was now something more than four hundred. Such a group with all its baggage was going to move relatively slowly, no matter how well mounted they might be and how well led. The journey from the Academy to the Cave of the Oracle, whose entrance lay halfway up the flank of the distant Mountain, might take as much as a month. Some cold-weather clothing was in order, as the end of the jour­ney would take them a mile or more above sea level. Still, it was decided not to use baggage carts; everything necessary would be carried on animals' backs.

  The question Arnobius had asked, as to how they were to feed themselves on the march, turned out to have a rational answer and had been routinely managed by Lord Victor's military plan­ners. There were some allies along the way, and the chosen route afforded good grazing for the animals.

  Consideration had also been given to the roads, which were known to be fairly good. Someone showed Jeremy His Lord­ship's file of maps on the region, which was impressive.

  Preparations for the first leg of the journey were at their height when Ferrante asked Jeremy, "Have you ridden before? Or will you need lessons?"

  They were standing in the yard in front of the Academy's ex­tensive stables, where people were engaged in picking out mounts for the Academic delegation.

  As Jeremy approached, the nearest cameloid turned its head on its long hairy neck and regarded him gravely from its wide-set eyes. The boy in turn put out a hand and stroked the animal's coarse, thick grayish fur, the hairs in most places a couple of inches long. Dimly he could remember taking a few turns, years ago, aboard his parents' mule, but outside of that he had no ex­perience in riding any animal. Still, he felt an immediate rapport with this one.

  What happened to Jeremy now was very similar to what had occurred on his first day at the Academy, when he had ap­proached a pasture. And recalled his earlier clandestine adven­tures in numerous farmyards.

  He had foreseen some such difficulty and was as ready for it as he could be.

  Looking round at the other animals in the stableyard, fifteen or twenty of them in all, he saw with an eerie feeling that every one of them had turned its head and was looking steadily at him. The sight was unnerving, all the more so because of the side-to-side jaw motion with which most of the beasts were chewing their cud.

  No. Look away from me! The urgent mental command was ev­idently received, for at once the animals' heads all swung in dif­ferent directions.

  Carefully surveying the nearest of his fellow humans, Jeremy decided that none of them had noticed anything out of the or­dinary.

  The common procedure for getting aboard the cameloid called for the rider, with a minimum of effort, to climb onto the back of a conveniently kneeling animal. But Jeremy had noted that some of the more youthful and agile folk had a trick of ap­proaching a standing animal at a run, planting the left foot in the appropriate stirrup, and vaulting up into the saddle in one con­tinuous motion.

  The saddles were light in weight, made of padded lengths of
bamboo, glued and lashed together. Each was in the shape of a shallow cone, with an opening at the apex into which the cameloid's single hump projected. Those of the best quality were custom-made for each animal, while lesser grades came in a se­ries of sizes. The rider's seat, of molded leather, was actually forward of the hump, with the space behind it available for light cargo or for a second passenger, in emergency.

  Taking two quick steps forward, as he had seen the others do, Jeremy planted his sandaled left foot solidly in a stirrup and then without pausing vaulted right up into the saddle. Once having at­tained that position, he grabbed and hung onto the reins with both hands, not knowing what to expect next, while the animal's body tilted first sharply forward, then toward the rear, adjusting to the load.

  Other people, surprised at his unexpected acrobatic display, were staring at him.

  The position felt awkward to the boy at first, and he wasn't sure just how he was supposed to hold the reins, but the power­ful animal beneath him was standing very quietly, only quivering slightly as if in anticipation of his commands. Some of the other riders, experienced or not, were having considerably more diffi­culty.

  Mentally he urged his mount forward, requesting a slow pace, and was instantly obeyed. Taking a turn around the stableyard, Jeremy soon discovered that he had only to think of which way he wanted to go and at what speed and the animal instantly obeyed. He couldn't tell whether his wishes were being trans­mitted by subtle movements of his hands and body or by some means more purely magical.

  It was not that his body had automatically acquired a rider's skill—far from it, for he continually felt himself on the verge of toppling out of the saddle. Nor was his mind suddenly filled with expert knowledge. But his mount obeyed his every wish so promptly—leaned the right way to help him keep his seat, stood still as a stone when that was required—that no one watching would doubt that he was experienced.