Ice and Shadow (18 page)

“A man cannot make you see what he does not know exists. That star ship has no match here.”

“True enough. But this queer feeling in one’s head—though that is wearing off now, sir. But I tell you it was really bad when it first hit. Mattine ran around in a circle for a space, actually yelling he was a Nimp scout or some such nonsense. At least I thought I heard him say that. Hunlow had to lay him out when he drew steel. And the rest of us, we did not even know our own names for a while. If it was like that for us here, just think of what might have happened in a town with all the people going dazed or crazy. Some seem to take longer to get over it. Fleech did. We had to lug him along for quite a march and tell him over and over who he was and where we were. Nasty experience. Worse than facing a Nimp charge.”

Wuldon. Roane’s sluggish mind matched a name to that voice. Who else was with him? They—or Wuldon—must have seen the LB. But what if its crew was now hunting them? She must warn—

It required such an effort to force her hand up to her face, to tug at the fold of wet cloth blindfolding her.

“Nelis—” Hers was a ghost voice, a thread of whisper.

But it brought quick response. “Roane!” And her hand was stayed in its effort to sweep aside the cloth, put down to lie once more at her side. So he knew—understood again?

“Let that be for a while yet. Your eyes are badly inflamed. Do you know who I am?”

Did he think
she
was the one who had been out of her head? “Nelis Imfry,” she answered with a spurt of indignation. “And Wuldon is here, too. But—” She remembered that other urgency. “Nelis—the ship—they must not find us!”

“I assure you they shall not. We have a range of hills between us, and scouts out. I have all the respect for their powers you wish me to show. We take no chances. And at the first sign of any hunt we shall be on the trail again. Now”—a strong arm was slipped under her head, she was raised a little—“drink this!”

Cool metal against her lips. She sipped and then choked and coughed, for the liquid had a spicy warmth.

“No—” She found his hold was such she could not avoid what he offered. “More—it is what you need now.”

After the first mouthful or two she discovered it was not bad. So she obediently drank until the cup was taken away.

“My bag—the medicines—”

“Here, m’lady!” That was Wuldon.

“Look for a white tube.” With the spicy drink downed, Roane was regaining both strength and the ability to think for herself again. “It holds a green liquid—drops for the eyes.”

“Got it!” Then Imfry added, “How many?”

“Two each—for now.”

He settled her back on the thin bedding pad and the wet cloth was pulled away. Light dazzled and hurt, but she forced herself to lie still as the moisture dripped in. That burned, but with none of the pain she had known earlier. She held her lids tightly closed. If there would be any relief it would come quickly.

Slowly she counted to a hundred, but not aloud, hearing small sounds as if they were repacking her bag. Then she opened her eyes. The light hurt, but she could see—and more clearly than she had since the chain reaction.

Nelis, the stubble beard longer and darker, a tousled lock of hair sticking to his forehead as if plastered there—the Sergeant at an angle.

“I can see,” Roane said, more to assure herself then to inform them. “Let me look—please, let me look.” For suddenly she must reassure herself of this recovery.

Once more Nelis raised her before she could struggle up on her own. They were in a clearing and she thought it must be midmorning. Men moved or sat some distance away. Behind them a rope was strung between two trees, a tie place for the reins of saddled duocorns, who stamped or wrinkled their hides to drive off insects.

Some of the men were in uniform. Others wore civilian clothes or the green of foresters. Their small band of fugitives had doubled many times.

“Could you eat, m’lady? We have nothing but field rations—or there is one of those tubes of your own food left.”

“Get that,” Nelis ordered and the Sergeant moved out of her line of sight.

“How are your eyes?”

“I can see!” And she knew by her very joy how deep-reaching had been her fear. “Do the others know what has happened?” she asked.

“Not the whole of it. It is not the kind of story to be widely told. To know one has lived in slavery to a machine—” There was a hot undercurrent in his voice. “And how far that domination has gone—”

“Ludorica and the crown.” Her thought followed his. “If it has so affected all of you who had no direct contact with it, what will it do to those who hold the crowns?”

He was looking beyond her, as if he did not want her to see what lay in his eyes.

“That we must learn. The destruction seems to have affected people in various ways. So far all these men have come out of it. But with some the daze was longer, deeper. And they are all relatively far removed from influence. As you say—what has happened close to the crowns—”

“Here, m’lady.” The Sergeant was back with the E-ration. Roane sucked at the semiliquid avidly, for she discovered that her hunger had awakened.

Her recovery seemed to be the signal for which they had been waiting. Sergeant Wuldon went to the picket line, and men began to ride out, in twos and threes, each saluting Imfry as he passed. In the end only Wuldon, Mattine, and two others were left.

“We had best be on the move,” Nelis said. “I know you are not strong enough to ride alone, but we have a mount that will carry double, and that we can share.”

So it was that after Imfry had mounted, Wuldon lifted her as if she had no weight at all, passing her up to his superior.

“Where do we go?” Roane asked as the trees arched over them, shutting out the sun.

“Skulking. Until we know more of what chances. We shall follow the river road. The men are scouting in a wide sweep to see what they can pick up. If there is an open path we shall head for Urkermark.”

“The Queen?”

“The Queen—if she is still Queen.” His voice was remote, cool. “We do not know what we shall find, we can only ride to find it.”

“You had no part in this.” She tried to guess his line of thought. “It was my hand—and chance—which did it.”

“I told you, I do not believe that chance alone ruled this,” was his reply. And he did not add to that as they jogged ahead.

CHAPTER 18

THE ROOM WAS WARM
in spite of its size, almost too warm; But the light from the two lamps on the table and the on the hearth did not reach the corners, where shadows crouched. Roane looked about her with an interest fatigue did not quite dull. This was the first time she been in any house on Clio save a forester’s and the border keeps, with their rough frontier interiors, and the magnificent mansion in Gastenhow.

This was an upper private room of the Inn of Three Wayfarers, within a half day’s ride of Urkermark. Their steaming cloaks lay across a bench pulled close to the fire, for outside came the steady beat of rain. And it was under that cover they had ridden so far into the land.

Three days—Roane counted them off. The first been much of a blur for her. They had spent that night in the forester’s cabin. And there the first reports had come.

Reveny was in a state of chaos. And the dislocation had been the greater in the upper reaches of authority. The yoeman farmers, the “little” men and women, made better recoveries from the initial state of bewilderment. But in turn they had been alarmed by the erratic actions of their leaders.

Some appeared to go insane, either sinking into a state of idiocy to give no coherent orders at all, or mouthing such irresponsible ones that their own servants and followers refused to obey. Fighting had broken out, stopped as the men engaged suddenly asked themselves what they were fighting for. There were bands of raiders taking advantage of the misfortunes of others.

The closer their own party came to Urkermark—and now they traveled openly, having little to fear during this confusion—the wilder became the stories of what chanced there. Imfry grew bleak of expression, curt of tongue, with every succeeding report from his scouts. That there was dire trouble was certain. Three times they had met parties of refugees spurring away from the city. And each time those riders, men guarding women, some of whom had children in their arms, had refused any contact, twice shooting to warn off Imfry’s men. There had been wounded among them. And seeing those bandaged bodies, Roane was deeply unhappy. Chance or not, she felt that each of those hurts had come from her hand.

Imfry’s company had grown. The scouts who had spread to gain news brought, or directed, back to him more and more guardsmen, foresters, even stragglers from the private guards of stead nobles. He interviewed each newcomer himself, trying to sift from their stories a clearer picture. He was doing so now, sitting at the table, listening to the rambling story of a man in uniform.

There were few officers among these so far, and the one or two who did appear were all of lower rank, though some of them still held together a nucleus of their former commands.

“. . . the incall came,” the newcomer was saying. “And Major Emmick talked to this other officer in the guardroom. We heard a shot. When we broke down the door the Major was dead—took it right through the head. This strange Colonel—he started to say that the Major was a traitor, which we did not believe, then he grabbed at his head and ran straight at the wall and smashed against it, knocked himself right out. Well, we did not know what to do. The Captain, he was still dazed like, lay on his bed and just laughed when the Sergeant asked for orders. So Sergeant Quantil, he said up with the gates and not to let anyone else in, not until we got some news that made sense. And he sent three of us out—Mangron, he was to ride to the Westergate, Afran up to Balsay, and me, I was to try to reach our own Colonel in Urkermark. Only the gates were up there, too. They will not let anyone in. And I think there is a fight going on inside—there are fires blazing, anyway. Then I met up with your man, sir, and what he told me made a lot more sense than anything I heard since Major Emmick was killed, so I came here.”

“And this man who brought the incall, this Colonel—you did not know him?”

“Never saw him before, sir. He had a new royal badge, too—a black forfal head, with the mouth open and a forked tongue out, nasty-looking thing. The Sergeant searched him for papers afterward. Nothing but the warrant on the table. It was all written up like a real one but it did not have the Queen’s name. It just said ‘in the King’s name’—and King Niklas has been dead for days now! It was just some more craziness!”

“ ‘In the King’s name,’ ” repeated Imfry. And then he shot another question. “What king?”

The man stared at Imfry and then hurriedly pushed away from the table, glancing from side to side as if seeking some escape. Roane guessed his suspicions. He must think that Imfry was mad now.

“No, guardsman, I am not crazy. But there is good reason to believe that there is one near the Queen who might try to seize power in a time of trouble. If he has done so—”

The man swallowed. “Oh,” he said eagerly, “that could explain—I cannot remember any name signed. There was the thumb seal on the warrant proper enough—but no name! Maybe that was what made Sergeant Quantil think it so queer. It was a warrant telling the Major to hand over command, but no proper name signed. But, sir, where—where is the Queen?”

“In Urkermark, or should be!” Imfry said with the emphasis of one taking an oath. “You say the city is closed?”

“Every gate sealed up as tight, sir, as it was the time the Nimps got down within siege distance in the old days. It would take the biggest siege guns to force those.”

“The outer gates, yes, but there are other ways. Guardsman, how long will it take you to get a message back to your post?”

“If I have a fresh mount, I can make it by midnight, sir.”

“Well enough. You know what you have seen. Report it to your Sergeant. And take him this message from me.” Imfry drew toward him a writing sheet, the small ink holder, and the pen. As he had before at the conclusion of such interviews, he wrote a few lines, dipped his finger tip in ink to impress beneath his signature.

“Mattine!” he called and as the forester appeared in the doorway, “a fresh mount for this guardsman.”

“To be sure, m’lord.”

When the man was gone, Imfry stared into the fire. Roane stirred, unable any longer to bear the silence in the room, the circling of her own thoughts.

“You say there is a way into Urkermark besides the gates?”

“It was meant to be a bolt hole out. Our history has never been without its wars and alarms, dynastic struggles. The games in which we were the pieces have often been bloody ones. I wonder who took satisfaction from that? The machines could not. But were the results somehow known to those devils who fostered them upon us?” He looked at her as if he wanted an answer.

“At first they must have been. There would be no other reason for experimenting. But the Psychocrats have been dead a long time.”

“The machines have only been dead for days and look what is upon us now. I wish I knew why it seems to affect some more than others. At any rate, the Queen is our first concern. It could well be that Reddick has set himself up as king. Which leaves two possible fates for Ludorica—either she died with the destruction of the crown, or else she is held captive to back Reddick’s intrigues. In either case he must not be allowed to—” Imfry fell silent again, his face repelling Roane. That there was a strong bond between him and the Queen, Roane had known from the first. And if the Queen was dead—

She gave a sigh, wondering if she herself would ever be free of her burden of guilt. It seemed that as soft as that sound was, it was enough to arouse him from his dire thoughts, and when he turned to her there was a faint relaxation about his mouth.

“Rest, m’lady, while you can.” He nodded at a door to an inner chamber. “We may have precious little time in which to do so.”

Yet it was morning when the inn maid drew aside the curtains to let in a pale sunshine.

“M’lady.” She curtsied when she saw Roane watching her sleepily. “The Colonel says you must be on your way soon. But there is hot water for washing, and these also.” She pointed to folded clothing on a chair. “They are not what a fine lady wears, being of my own seaming, but the Colonel says they will do.”

“But I cannot take your clothes,” Roane objected, even though she shrank from drawing on again the stained and sweated garments in which she had lived for days.

“Oh, m’lady, the Colonel has given me that which will buy me twice what he selected from those I showed him. And much finer! But these are new, and there is a rain cloak to wear.”

Roane bathed, thankful for the water and the soap, which smelled of sweet herbs. She put on one of the divided riding skirts and the tight bodice jacket, both of green-blue, but lacking the bright braid and embroidery she had seen before. There was a gray cloak, lined in green-blue, with an attached hood. Roane tried to order her hair. It had grown from the close crop and had now reached a length difficult to keep in order, straying about her face. She was still tugging at it as she went out into the other room, where the maid was putting a platter of food on the table.

“Please, m’lady, the Colonel asks that you make what speed you can.”

“Surely.” Roane found that for the first time in days she was really hungry. Though she ate as fast as she could, she left a well-cleaned plate behind her.

The maid ushered Roane down the stairs. There were many men in the common room, most of them eating in a hurried fashion, calling for refills of tankards. Most of their faces were strange but Mattine waved to her from the doorway and they quickly made room for her to pass.

Imfry stood by a duocorn, critically surveying a second mount. As Roane came up he gave her a quick greeting and then indicated that animal.

“She is warranted sound and steady-going, and we shall not have to use her for long, but she is a sorry-looking beast.”

The mare was, Roane had to admit, a scrawny being, with a very ragged, rough mane at the root of her stubbed horns and only a wisp of a tail. Also she bawled a protest as the Colonel swung Roane into the saddle on her bony back, where she held on with a grim determination to last out the trip.

They rode out at the head of a troop which had been even further augmented during the night hours.

“We make for Urkermark?” Roane asked.

“Yes, but by the hidden way.”

So they turned aside from the highway onto the second lane feeding into it. And a little farther on they leaped their mounts over the way hedges, and crossed open fields, where hoofs cut into crop planting, trampling half-ripened grain. It seemed that Imfry was taking the straightest line possible to his goal.

They veered to the west, seeming to Roane’s mind to be heading directly away from their goal. But that brought them at about noon to the bank of a river and along that they angled back east, following the course of the flow as a guide. Not far along they came to one of those bridges with a small triangular tower as a part of its structure.

There they dismounted. Imfry and the Sergeant, plus two guardsmen, went to the tower. The men produced iron bars and set to work pounding in and breaking loose the blocks below the offering slit.

A block of masonry crumbled only too readily under that assault and they dragged the stones out of the way. With the same bars they swept the floor within. Coins spun into the air, fell into the grass, but the workers paid no attention.

Now the sun shone on the dusty floor, making plain a groove in the stone. Sergeant Wuldon worked the tip of a lever into the depression, under a small bar of stone set across it. He put his full strength on the lever, the men and the Colonel joining in his effort. There was a harsh grating, and the stone moved complainingly. Once it was up the two blocks on either side were released and drawn out in turn.

A short time later Roane found herself descending a steep ladder of stone, lit by the glow of lanterns held by those who went before. Then she faced a long passage walled and buttressed with stone slabs.

The way was dark and there was an unpleasant smell of damp. But also there was now and then a very welcome whiff of fresher air, as if a ventilating system existed. There was only room for two to walk abreast, so their company was strung out, Imfry and Mattine at the head, Roane with the Sergeant, and the remainder of the troop behind.

For the most part their path was level and Roane thought that the making of such a way had been a formidable task. She was beginning to wonder if it did run for leagues clear to Urkermark when they were faced by a new series of steep steps, down which they went to a yet deeper level. Here there were no signs of man’s building, but rather a series of cuts and caves, opening one into another, some large beyond the reach of lantern light.

Imfry went boldly on as if he knew the way well, though by all indications it must have been a long time since any had passed on this hidden road. He paused at last to consult his direction disk.

“Turn right here—” He signaled with the lantern. They were in one of the wider caves and the men were bunching up behind them.

Imfry went more slowly now, he and Mattine holding higher the lanterns they carried. And at length these revealed another stair, down which moisture dripped from where it gathered in great beads on the stone.

Roane climbed warily, fearing the slipperiness of the stone and the steepness of the steps. They ended in a stone passage fronting a fourth flight of stairs. The steps were enclosed on one side with wooden paneling, hung with thick spider webs heavy with the dust of years. Up and up, though Imfry went slowly, and apparently counting as he went, as if some tally of the steps was a key he needed.

He signaled by hand wave and the Sergeant edged around Roane, touching her shoulder lightly as he went.

“Pass that back, m’lady.”

She did, the signal halting the line of men.

Now, handing his lantern to Mattine, who held both lights closer to the wall, the Colonel felt across the wooden surface. His shoulders hunched as if he were exerting pressure on some stubborn fastening. Then a portion of the paneling swung open to make a door.

When it came Roane’s turn to step through she found herself in a room as richly furnished as had been that dining hall of her dream. The same kind of massive, heavily carved furniture stood about; the same colorful, if time-faded, tapestries ringed the walls.