Future Indefinite (Round Three of The Great Game)

by Dave Duncan

  "What else? But all he has to offer them in exchange is Zath removal, and they have to gamble that he'll pay them back afterward. They'll stick with the devil they know."

  Alice did not reply. She had no idea, really, but she was confident that Edward had worked it out a long time ago, before he even started his crusade. He had gambled his life to arrive at this one point, so he would not let the Pentatheon cheat him out of everything he had won. Yet they must know he had his back against the wall. Events were rushing to a climax and if he needed their help, he needed it now or never. That was not a good bargaining position.

  Have faith!

  The darkness was total. This, above all, was the time when the reapers pursued their grisly work, when Zath might be distracted by the inflowing surges of mana. Was that another reason to choose the eclipse as the time of meeting? Starlight showed only as a gleam on rimy branches and on the walls around the courtyard. Whatever was happening, whatever was being negotiated, the scene was invisible and inaudible. She wanted to run out there and shout, “You can trust him!"

  For Edward was trustworthy. An Englishman's word was his bond. That creed had been drummed into him all his life, and no one believed it more strongly than he did. If he borrowed mana on a promise of returning it later, then he would do exactly that, even if it killed him. He would repay every penny of it. Yet how could those age-old pseudogods ever believe that? He had set out to prove himself to them, but why should they believe? Far more likely, they would judge him to be what they were themselves—sly, devious players of the Great Game. The whole point of that game was to lie and cheat. It would be no fun at all if a promise could not be broken at will.

  "This is crazy!” Julian muttered at her side. “They'll cross their hearts, but when the chips are down, they'll pull the plug on him and leave him holding the bag.” Metaphors were never his strong suit.

  "Wait!” she said.

  They had no choice but to wait. Even the fire had disappeared. They stood in darkness, broken only by faint outlines of windows. She could not have found the door had she wanted to. Oh, what a wonderland this Alice had found! She did not belong here in the dark and cold, on another world, meddling in tumultuous events; she never had. She should return to her own place soon, as soon as possible, if indeed it was still possible at all, for the Service had collapsed. The old Church of the Undivided had been overthrown and Edward obviously intended his new church, whatever it would be called, to be a populist movement with little place for world-jumping elitist strangers. Go Home. She tried to frame a prayer in her mind, for the act of putting her fears and wants into words often clarified her thinking. First, let the good triumph here on Nextdoor. Let Edward survive, his purpose achieved. Go Home, yes—she did not belong here. Go Home with Edward ... yes again, wonderful! If he still wanted her. His name was still on a murder warrant, but the trail was cold, and perhaps Miss Pimm could solve the matter anyway. Norfolk? The cottage? It would be spring there now. London was gorgeous in spring, and this first spring after the war it should blossom beyond imagining. But neither prospect thrilled her. Africa did; return to Nyagatha. The war was over; it should be possible. No warrant would find them there. Heat and starkly brilliant sunshine and the scenes of their childhood. That was really Home. Thy will be done, but if I had my dibs, Lord, it would be that.

  The light had begun to return. The trees came first, then the roofs and the general shape of the courtyard. Soon she made out the ghostly glimmer of Visek's robes, the pallor of Tion's bare flesh. The circle was still there, still presumably negotiating—the Liberator and the six who made up the Five.

  Tion sank gracefully to his knees. Mana rippled. Then more. Julian gasped. The node writhed with surges of power, wilder and wilder until reality itself seemed to twist and the house undulated. Karzon went down, then the Maiden, the Lady ... and finally, slowly, the two who were together Visek. A silent thunderstorm of mana rolled through the courtyard, dim flickers of sepulchral color playing over the kneeling Pentatheon and the one triumphant figure looming over them.

  "My god!"

  Edward Exeter stood in the clearing and the paramount sorcerers of the Vales knelt before him, fulfilling the prophecy: “They shall bow their heads before him, they will spread their hands before his feet.” Then, suddenly, everything vanished again into darkness, blacker even than before.

  Alice and Julian had their arms around each other, although she could not recall who had started it. “He's done it! They have agreed to help!"

  "Shush! And don't be so bloody sure! I wouldn't trust any one of that lot as far as I could throw a battleship."

  The scene changed almost too fast to register, the Five gone and Edward trudging back to the windows. Alice ran forward to meet him as he stepped over the sill. She hugged him. He drooped in her arms like a man exhausted. There was no doubt now—he was shaking. Relief, of course!

  "You did it!"

  He sighed, leaning his head on her shoulder. “Think so,” he mumbled.

  "Oh, Edward!” There was nothing else to say. Just hug him, hold him.

  He endured her embrace without returning it. She discovered she wanted to tell him to get a good night's sleep, so he wasn't the only one suffering from reaction. She had not realized how taut her nerves were. She clung as he made a halfhearted effort to break away.

  "Things to do, Alice."

  "But the worst is over, isn't it?"

  He made a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob. “The worst hasn't even started."

  She looked at him in alarm and did not like what she saw. His forehead was beaded with sweat like dew.

  "What more? What happens now?” she demanded.

  He shook his head. “Have faith, remember?” Then he did laugh, a bitter, hollow laugh. “What does it matter? Even if Zath wins, he can't stop what I've started. The Five can't. They've pushed their own theology so long that they have no idea how flexible faith can be. Even if I die tomorrow, some people will go on believing I brought death to Death in some mystical way. I am the resurrection, or something. They'll find a faith to fit."

  "Stop that! You're going to fight and win."

  He pulled free and straightened up to his full six feet. “Even if I do, what do you suppose they'll make of it all? What will the Church of the Liberator be like a hundred years from now? Religions don't spring up fully armed. They sprout, they grow, they change. They split off heretical sects and persecute them until the best creed wins.” His voice was dangerously shrill. “As soon as the Caesars stopped torturing Christians, Christians tortured Christians. What would Jesus of Nazareth have thought of the Inquisition? What would Saint Paul have said to a Borgia Pope? Will the Free do that now? Or have I convinced them enough? Do they believe my lies about the Undivided? Have I convinced anyone? Who really believes in that hodgepodge god of mine?"

  "I do."

  "No, you don't!"

  "Yes, I do! Details don't matter. The principle does. I believe a god sent you to them."

  He studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide how serious she was. Then he forced a smile. “Wish I did, but thanks anyway.” He kissed her.

  Well! If that was the best kiss he could manage at his age, she ought to be ashamed of herself. She pulled him back to her and showed him what a real kiss was. Eventually he put his arms around her and cooperated clumsily.

  Afterward he just said, “Oh!” For a monosyllable it seemed to convey an awful lot of meaning.

  "You need lessons.” She was breathless herself.

  "Would you give me lessons?"

  "Gladly, oh gladly!"

  He glanced around the big, empty room. Julian had gone. Another man stood in the doorway, leaning limply against the jamb as if he had just run over Figpass. It was only Dosh, with his blond hair awry and some lurid welts across his face—how long had he been there? Why did little Dosh look so sinister, so ominous, waiting there?

  Edward shuddered and broke free from her embrace. “Too late. Time
to go."

  "Not just yet!"

  He took a step or two and stopped. He looked back unwillingly and bared his teeth in a snarl. “I have to go, Alice. Got a job to do. I promised. God knows I don't want it but I asked for it and I can't evade it now."

  "What job? Promised what? Promised whom?"

  "Pray for me,” he whispered.

  Then he turned and hurried over to join Dosh. The two of them went out together.

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  58

  There was prickly grass in his face, an earthy smell in his nostrils. The back of his head thumped a sickening beat, keeping time with his heart. He was cold.

  "I don't think you should lie there like that, love,” said a man's voice. “It isn't good for you, and it's likely to get a great deal worse very shortly."

  Dosh groaned. If he spoke he would throw up, or die. Dying would be better. He opened his eyes a crack and made out a bare knee close by. He closed them and tried not to groan again.

  "I suppose I can waste a little more mana on you, just for old times’ sake,” Tion said. “There, how's that?"

  Cool fingers touched his scalp. The pain and nausea disappeared. Dosh felt infinite relief and then shame at having accepted a favor from the sorcerer. “Go away."

  "Oh, I shall! But I do think you ought to make yourself scarce, too, lover. They're going to tear you into small pieces if they catch you."

  Dosh raised his head. He could hear a strange, low roaring noise in the distance. Like a waterfall. He did not know what it was. Come to think of it, he didn't know what he was doing here or how he had come here or even where here was.

  Keeping his face averted from the sorcerer, he scrambled to his feet. Trumb blazed green in the sky again, drowning out the stars, shedding its unholy light on the peaks of ... er, Thargwall. Yes, this was Thargvale. He was in a meadow, just below the wood where the Free were camping. He turned around to look for the two lonely bristlenut trees, and they were right beside him. This was the rendezvous he'd set up with...

  He spun around. “D'ward? Where's D'ward?"

  Tion was on his feet also, wearing the same appearance as before, the dark-haired boy of ethereal beauty. He shrugged. “Almost at the river. But I think you ought to worry more about those irate peasants, lover."

  Reluctantly, suspecting a trap, Dosh glanced again toward the woods. It was shedding a tide of stars, a dark flood full of twinkling lights, flowing down the hill. The roar was growing louder. The dark mass was ... people with torches.

  "The Thargians! They took D'ward?"

  "Well, of course. They cracked you on the head. You're of no value to them. You are to me, of course, lover, but not to them. They broke your skull with a sword hilt. Didn't want to get the blade dirty."

  "But it was a parlay!” He had delivered the Liberator's message. He had promised that the Liberator would come in person to confirm the agreement, as D'ward had told him to. They had agreed on these two trees as a landmark....

  "Dosh, Dosh! You know Thargians!"

  "They took him! They're taking him to Tharg?"

  Tion rolled his eyes. “I can't heal stupidity, lover."

  "They can't kidnap the Liberator! He'll perform a miracle. He'll escape!"

  "No he won't. He promised not to."

  "Promised who?"

  "Me—and my associates."

  Filthy lies! Who would ever believe Tion?

  "The river?” Dosh looked at Mestwater, a brilliant silver highway looping through the valley. It was in flood, deadly—but it would lead to Thargwater and then the city. “They've got boats?"

  "Even ephors can't walk on water, Dosh, dear."

  Treachery! If the Thargians had boats ready, then the perfidy had not been a sudden impulse. The swine had planned it. Rescue? Rescue! There might be time for the Free to overtake them before they reached the water with D'ward and were swept away to safety.

  He had taken two steps when Tion's hand closed on his shoulder and effortlessly stopped him in his tracks. “Think, Dosh, think! Somebody saw you. They're coming already. But I really don't think they want your help now, darling."

  "But—"

  "Think! You haven't forgotten verse two twenty, have you? ‘In Nosokslope they shall come to D'ward in their hundreds, even the Betrayer'? Where did you enlist, Dosh?"

  Dosh screamed. “I was only doing what D'ward told me to!"

  "But they don't know that, do they, dearest?” Tion chuckled. “You were seen leading D'ward out of the camp. Now the Thargians have got him. What would you think? If you want to die horribly, then I suggest you stand pat, and your wish will be granted very soon. If you want to live, then your best course is to get down to the river before the last boat leaves and before D'ward's friends can catch you."

  The lights were much closer. The roar was louder, and distinguishable now as the sound of mob fury. Being a loner, Dosh had always hated mobs. Panic! He turned and sprinted downhill, running as hard as he had ever run in his life, leaping and stumbling over the rough pasture. When he came to a stone wall, he hurdled it recklessly and kept on going. His shadow raced ahead of him. The river was a hatefully long way away.

  Tion loped along easily at his side. “I did warn you that you shouldn't deliver the message, didn't I, dear? I told you it wouldn't do you any good."

  Dosh tripped, regained his balance, and went on. He thought he could feel a stitch starting in his side. He had no breath to argue with the evildoer.

  "I did tell you D'ward was being nasty to you, didn't I?"

  And so had D'ward. D'ward had warned Dosh that the mission might kill him. He had known.

  Dosh ran. He had always hated mobs. They would never give him a chance to explain. He thought of Tielan and Doggan, of Bid'lip.... They wouldn't stop to Listen to reason or explanations. It wasn't fair. But he'd always done best when he expected the worst. D'ward knew the truth. If he could get to D'ward, he would be all right.

  It wasn't D'ward's fault, it was Tion's. If Tion had left him lying unconscious in the field, then the Free would have found him like that and known he hadn't helped the Thargians. He would have been a betrayed, not the Betrayer. He ran. D'ward had known the physical danger. He had foreseen the probability of Thargian violence. He couldn't have expected Tion's meddling.

  The river was closer. Dosh looked around, and the pursuit was closer also. There were hundreds of them, spread out now. Some of them would be younger and faster than he. The leaders carried no torches, and they were gaining on him rapidly. It would only take one stripling to bring him down and let the others catch up.

  "A little more to the left,” Tion said quietly, “over by those sheds.” That was the last Dosh heard of him. At some moment after that, the sorcerer disappeared. Soon, though, Dosh made out the Thargians, two or three score of them, dragging boats across the grass to the river. The boats had been beached for the winter, pulled up high, away from floods. As he ran, he watched one after another being launched and swept away in the swirling torrent. He could not see D'ward, but he would have been loaded into the first. Tree trunks and ice floes and ice-cold water: Without a boat, the river was death.

  Reeling and gasping, he arrived at the bank just as the last boat was loading. The men were armored and armed. A couple of them drew their swords. Somewhere he found breath enough to scream, “They'll kill me!” in Lemodian, which was close to Thargian. Men laughed, but someone shouted an order. The soldiers sheathed their blades and vaulted over the side as the dory began to move. Dosh splashed through water so cold that it burned his legs. He grabbed hold of the gunwale and tumbled over it headfirst.

  Howls of fury and frustration from the shore faded swiftly into the distance as the little craft was seized by the current and swept away on its long trek to Tharg.

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  59

  Whatever Edward was doing, Alice knew she could be no help, only hindrance, but she wished she knew what it was, where he was. She strong
ly suspected he had set off for Tharg already, with only Dosh to keep him company. That would explain Dosh's mysterious errands—filching a couple of rabbits and concealing them somewhere.

  Lugging her bedroll along on her shoulder, she went in search of the feast. She investigated two or three campfires, hoping to find Julian, Ursula, or anyone she knew who could speak English. In a community of thousands, that was not very easy. Eventually her hunger drove her to join a group of—she thought—Lappinians. They jabbered at her cheerfully, laughed at her halting efforts to reply in Joalian, and presented her with a slab of roasted meat on a scrap of bloody hide as a plate.

  It was disgusting and absolutely delicious. She ate all the meat, handed the skin on for someone else to use, and licked her fingers. A woman offered her a rib to chew on, but she declined with thanks. She had a strong desire just to lay out her blanket and go to sleep. Her eyelids weighed tons.

  On the other hand, her nerves were still jangled and jumpy. She heaved her bundle up on her shoulder again and renewed her search. She had not reached the next campsite when the shouting began. It spread like ripples on a pond. Soon the whole camp was in an uproar, people racing around howling and waving torches that threatened to set the entire hill on fire. Unable to understand a word of what was going on, she just stood her ground, a rock in a whirlpool, and watched the faces streaming by. Were the Thargians attacking already? Should she flee with the mob or go to the house for a last stand?

  Then a woman with carroty red hair going past in a shrieking crowd ... Alice grabbed her arm.

  "You speak English?"

  The woman glared at her, then at her vanishing companions.

  "Yes, Entyika. I must go."

  "Just tell me what's happening!"

  She did, then she ran.

  In some sort of herd reflex, Alice found herself racing down the hill with thousands of others. The night was a madhouse. People were falling and being trampled, screaming, yelling. Others were pushed by the mob into the freezing river. A few crazier souls went as far as the Thargian army camp, four miles away, and were repulsed with heavy casualties. It was useless, of course. The mob rampaged along the flooded meadowland for hours, but their Liberator had long gone.