“I suppose we could drive a train ourselves,” he said. “How hard can it be?”
Kris picked up the idea immediately. “No harder than stopping a train—and if we can do one, we should certainly do the other.”
“Are you suggesting that we hijack a train?” Michael asked.
“Of course,” Kris said.
“A train powered by our efforts would be sure to reach Athrom faster than anything else,” Stocky said.
“Aye,” Michael answered. “And my brave relations have already figured out how to do this thing, I suppose?”
“It can’t be harder than getting a ferry in the middle of a storm,” Shannon said.
“No,” Michael grumbled. “We shall just have to send one of the girls off to flirt with a conductor first.” Lilac, who was seated a few feet behind the council, choked back something indignant. Michael stood and stretched, turning on his heel to face the eavesdroppers.
“Perhaps Jenna could promise her hand in return for a good stock of coal?” he asked. “Or Cali might promise a lock of her hair for every train car we make off with.”
Grandmother O’Roarke waved a stick at Michael. “Sit down, young man,” she said. “Or you’ll see how much power feminine wiles can have.”
Michael grinned. “I already know on your account, Grandmother,” he said. “My backside could never forget.”
“Well, it’ll get a memory boost if you don’t stop this and lead us like a leader should,” Grandmother said.
“Right,” Michael said, turning his eyes to the young men of his clann. “Are you ready for a hunt, boys?”
“What are we hunting, Michael?” Patrick called.
“An iron serpent,” Michael answered.
* * *
The underground was at once a lonely place and a crowded one. There were stone ceilings, walls, and people everywhere, yet Maggie usually felt out-of-doors. No place under the ground could truly be called “home.” The knowledge that an ancient colony dwelt just under their feet made Maggie feel even more estranged.
The nearest thing to a homey spot in all of underground Pravik was a little alcove that overlooked a wide thoroughfare. The Ploughman had made it his private quarters. Woven rugs lay on the floor, given to the Ploughman and his lady by farm wives, with a low table in the center of them. In the far wall was a sort of fireplace. The alcove was always open to the little circle of the Ploughman’s friends. Maggie resorted to it each time she felt alone, oppressed, or dreamy.
Today was a dreaming day, a day when the haze of underground fires curled in the black corridors before drifting through chimney-cracks in the rock. Maggie sat by the low fire in the alcove and hummed a song. The tune brought images to her mind, and now and then she sang words. It was a ballad, about an ancient warlord who commanded golden forces. It had come to her, as all songs did, unexplained and unannounced.
Haras, the Darkworld priest, was listening to her instead of to the others. He had come to the alcove with Harutek and the Ploughman. Libuse came on their heels, Professor Huss with her. They talked in low, serious voices. When they first arrived, Maggie stood to excuse herself and was told to stay. She could have joined the conversation but didn’t care to. Even so, their words intruded on her song.
“I don’t know what to offer in return,” the Ploughman was saying. “Some of my people brought money below ground with them, but it would do you no good. We have little left in the way of provisions to trade.”
“Which is why you need our help in the first place,” Harutek said. “Perhaps we can use your labour. Your time for our fish?”
Maggie looked into the fire and concentrated on her song. If it would come clearer she could sing it for her friends at dinner. In her mind’s eye she could see golden warriors, long hair streaming in the sun, row upon row on horseback. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought she could feel the sun on her face.
Something broke her concentration. She turned her head and saw Virginia standing in the entrance to the alcove. Mrs. Cook stood behind her, concern written on her matronly face.
The party at the table had just noticed Virginia. They fell silent before her presence.
“Who is here?” Virginia asked. Mrs. Cook answered her. “The Ploughman and Libuse; Professor Huss, Maggie, and the Darkworlders.”
Virginia nodded and said, “I have seen.”
Mrs. Cook rushed to guide Virginia as she stepped down into the alcove. Room was made for her at the table. Maggie moved away from the fire and slipped into the circle next to Haras. The priest acknowledged her with an uneasy smile and nod of his head, but his eyes did not leave Virginia’s face. No one’s did.
“I have seen the future,” Virginia said. “A terrible future. The Blackness will come here. They will destroy us.”
Libuse uttered an exclamation. Virginia continued. Her voice was strained, hiding great emotion no one could touch. “I have seen the Veil torn and the Blackness coming through.”
“We fought them once before,” the Ploughman said.
“What you fought was nothing,” Virginia said. “Only a pittance of their strength.”
“How can they come through?” Professor Huss began.
“The Veil will tear,” Virginia said. “It is fading now—wearing thin to the breaking. It is meant to be so. That is not what frightens me. I have seen a violent tearing—something not meant to be, something wickedly forced before its time.” For a moment she stopped and struggled to regain control of her voice. “They will do a great evil and unleash the Blackness too soon. Somehow you must stop them.”
She reached out until her fingers found the Ploughman’s hand. Gripping it, she said, “You must fight them before the Veil is torn, or it will be too late for us.”
“What can I do?” the Ploughman asked. “I am only a man.”
“Fight them with the power of the Golden Riders,” Virginia said.
“Where are they?” the Ploughman asked. His voice twisted. He stood, tearing his hand from Virginia’s grasp. Libuse stood also, looking for some way in which she could help him.
“They left me after the battle,” the Ploughman said. “All my life they have been with me. I have sensed them with me, but no longer. Now I am only a man, and I cannot fight.”
“Then all will be lost,” Virginia said. The strain had returned to her voice. “But you may be wrong. I know what it means to distrust a Gift. Perhaps you must go farther—trust the King.”
Someone cleared his throat. Every head turned at the sound. A guard was standing in the entrance to the alcove.
“Forgive my interruption,” he said. “Someone is approaching the Upper North Gate.”
They left the Ploughman’s quarters, all of them—not because it was necessary for any one of them to go, but because Virginia’s words had shaken them. Not one of them wished to be left with only silence and imagination for companions.
Maggie approached the Gate with Mrs. Cook behind her and Virginia on her arm. There was light in the passage—real light, filtering through the mass of branches that blocked the Gate from sight. Maggie could smell green things growing beyond it. She breathed in deeply and heard the murmur of voices outside. Branches swished; she caught the smell of pipe smoke; and a ragged figure stepped into the passage. Libuse saw the look on Maggie’s face and asked, “Do you know him?”
“Yes,” Maggie told her. “He’s one of the Major’s Gypsies.” She took a step forward, into the stripy, filtered light. “Peter.”
Peter seemed just as surprised to see Maggie. “It’s good to see a familiar face,” he said.
“Are you here alone?” Maggie asked.
Peter bowed his head. “The Major is a day behind me on the road, helping a few others along,” he said. “I need to speak to the Ploughman.”
The Ploughman bowed his tall head. “I am he,” he said.
“I have a message from the Major,” Peter said. “He told me how to find you. We need your help.”
Libuse took
the Ploughman’s arm and said, “Perhaps we can speak elsewhere?”
“Yes,” the Ploughman said. “It is not safe here, so close to the surface.”
“Are you hungry, Peter?” Maggie asked.
“Very,” he replied.
“I’ll feed him,” Mrs. Cook said, hurrying past Maggie. “You walk with Virginia.”
Mrs. Cook disappeared down the passage. The others followed more slowly. They went back to the Ploughman’s quarters. Peter sat down with Maggie on one side of him and Virginia on the other. He looked over the low table at the Ploughman.
“I’ve been told that you have a great army here,” Peter said. “They say you beat the High Police and—others—in the Battle of Pravik.”
“We weren’t alone,” the Ploughman said. “There were others with us then.”
“However that may be,” Peter said, “we need your help. We, the Gypsies.”
“We’ve sheltered as many as would come to us,” the Ploughman said.
“Yes,” Peter said, “and we are grateful. But many couldn’t come. Many were taken by our enemies before they could. It’s on their behalf that I’m here. We’ve lost two of our own now. The High Police have taken Nicolas and Marja.”
A cry escaped Maggie’s lips. The professor looked white.
“Nicolas fought with us in the battle,” the Ploughman said. “We’ll help him if we can.”
“To help him you must help all of us,” Peter said. “The High Police are taking them to a place—a prison camp— in the city of Athrom itself. We heard the soldiers say so. All of our people are there—the hundreds who have been taken from the roads. ”
“What do they want with them?” Libuse asked. “Why imprison hundreds of Gypsies?”
“They will kill them,” Virginia said.
There was silence, and then she spoke again. “They will sacrifice the Wandering Race and tear the Veil open.”
“A great evil,” Maggie said, echoing Virginia’s earlier words.
“Even they wouldn’t dare do such a thing,” Libuse said. She closed her mouth and looked away.
The Ploughman looked at Virginia. “That is what you saw? Why did you not tell us?”
Her head was bent, as it had been throughout the conversation. “I am not always sure of what I see at first. Now I am.”
“And what can we do?” he asked.
“You must take the battle there,” Virginia answered. “Or they will bring it here.”
“If the Veil tears now, everything we’ve hoped for is lost,” Libuse said.
Haras, the soft-spoken young priest of the Darkworld, spoke up. “We have waited far too long to lose all now.”
The Ploughman stood. “Professor,” he said, “will you walk with me?”
“Of course,” Huss answered.
The two men left the alcove and walked down the dark thoroughfare. Professor Huss waited for his companion to speak, and at last he did so.
“How great is the danger?” the Ploughman said.
“If it happens as Virginia has seen,” Huss said, “we will all die. And the world will be enslaved again before the King returns.”
“Why does he not come now?” the Ploughman asked.
“I only wish I knew,” Huss said.
“You know many things,” the Ploughman said. “There are many who seem to think you know everything. Tell me, Professor—do you know who I am?”
Professor Huss stopped and looked up at the younger man. “A great leader,” Huss said. “A man chosen for a difficult hour.”
“Chosen,” the Ploughman said. “By whom?”
The professor did not answer, and the Ploughman began to walk again. His eyes swept the rock, the floor, walls, and ceiling, and flashed to Huss’s face. “I have fought evil all my life,” he said. “I protected my tenants, my farmers, even as a boy. I raised a militia. I taught them to fight when the Empire came to their doors, asking a greater price than any man should have to give. But I was never alone. The Golden Riders were always with me. As a child I could almost see them. They gave me strength. They taught me to fight. And now they are gone, and how can I move against the Empire without them?”
“Perhaps you can’t,” Professor Huss said. “But at the same time—can you remain here, buried away from the world, for the rest of your life? Even if Virginia is wrong and the Blackness never comes, can you allow the Empire to slaughter a whole race of people while you hide here?”
The Ploughman leaned against the wall. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was raw. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You asked me how great the danger is,” Professor Huss said. “But perhaps I have answered you wrongly. I told you once that you must be everything the Emperor is not. That Pravik must be a place of light in the darkness. Perhaps the greatest danger is that a free people will be enslaved and destroyed—and we will have done nothing.”
The Ploughman looked up at his mentor. Conflict and deep concern showed behind the surface of his eyes. He was listening.
“Perhaps it will not take the Blackness to put out Pravik’s light,” the professor said. “Perhaps we will do it ourselves.”
The Ploughman lifted his hand to his chin. His ruby ring seemed to glow, deep, dark red. “Do you know, all my youth I suspected myself of being insane. I was trained by warriors no one else could see. But now it all comes together—and I realize that none of this is my plan. Someone else has directed every step of my life until now. Virginia tells me to trust the King, and I wonder how I can. But maybe—maybe I cannot do anything else.”
“Did the Golden Riders teach you so that you could use them as an excuse not to fight?” Professor Huss said.
The Ploughman was silent for a long time. “No,” he said at last.
“Then do what they trained you for,” Huss said. “So you are only a man. Be a good man.”
“Advise me,” the Ploughman said. He stepped away from the wall and folded his arms. He seemed to have grown in stature; a decision had been made.
“Pick out the leaders among your men and meet with them,” Huss said. “Find the fastest route to Athrom.”
The Ploughman nodded, but sadness lined his face. “My men fought for their families,” he said. “They did not want this.”
“Let them choose,” Professor Huss said. “Let them make the same choice you do.”
“And if none will go with me?” The Ploughman smiled. “I know. If none will go with me, I will ride on Athrom myself and behead the Empire singlehandedly.”
Professor Huss chuckled. The men turned together, and Huss’s laugh died in his throat.
Virginia stood behind them, alone, her hand on the wall. She looked toward them but not at them; her green eyes unseeing.
“Take me above,” she said.
“Above—” the Ploughman began.
“Take me into the city,” she said. “I have something to show you.”
The threesome passed through the colony with uneasy steps. No one saw them leave. They made their way up stairs and through layers of rock until they reached a familiar passageway and descended one last, well-known flight of steps. Then the Ploughman found a triggering mechanism. The rock above them lifted, and they stepped into a burned-out courtyard in the fading light of dusk.
The professor looked around him with watering eyes. “My old home,” he said. “Sad that no one has been to repair it.”
The city was empty of civilians, a ghost-haunt of blackened stone and ashes. The smell of smoke lingered in the air. The only sounds were the distant tramp of a High Police battalion and the rush of the Vltava under the fifteen bridges that spanned the river. The Ploughman stood in the street and looked down at the Guardian Bridge, where the old statues still stood. Soldiers stirred among them.
“Do you think they have other watchposts, or is the bridge the only place in the city they hold?”
“I don’t suppose they’re eager to make themselves at home here,” the professor answered. “What happened
in this city is a mystery to us—imagine what it is to them.”
They ignored the watchmen on the bridge and entered the unwatched ruins of Pravik Castle. Together they climbed to the highest parapet, and there they stood, Virginia closest to the edge, with the wind in her face and a light in her eyes.
“Now,” she said, turning to the Ploughman. He started when she turned, because there was recognition and focus in her eyes; she could see him, for the moment. She smiled at his fright and said, “Now, see what I see.”
And the Ploughman turned back to the city. The streets beneath him were full of warriors, of great golden giants, armed and silent and watchful. Their white horses stamped their feet and moved through the streets.
“You do see them?” Virginia asked after a moment.
The Ploughman nodded. “Yes,” he said. His eyes filled with tears, from emotion or from the thin wind in his face.
“I envy you,” the professor said. “I see nothing. Except… there is something glowing in your cloak.”
The Ploughman looked down. “It is Libuse’s thread,” he said. “Maggie gave it to her.”
“Thread from the Huntsman’s cloak,” Professor Huss said.
A great golden giant with hair like a lion’s mane rode to the parapet and reined in his horse. He looked to the Ploughman and bowed his head.
“We cannot ride against men to destroy them,” the giant said. “The hour for that has not come. But we can go with you and lend some measure of strength.”
“Have you been here all this time?” the Ploughman asked.
The warrior smiled a lion-smile. “We are ever where we are needed,” he said. In an instant the vision was over. The Ploughman looked out over an empty city, even as his heart soared above it.
* * *
Chapter 13
Hope Lives
There was a coliseum in Athrom, a great oval chamber where thousands could sit and look up at the open sky. But little could be seen in the sky but grey clouds. The skies of Italya were bright blue when the world was right, and sometimes crossed with cotton-wisps of white, but the world now was wrong—so wrong—under the leaden sky.
The Seventh World Trilogy omnibus Page 47
