Ice and Shadow (5 page)

“As long as you live,” Roane echoed her meaningfully.

“You mean—but of course! That is why—he had a double purpose.” The Princess nodded. “Stop me from searching, or else make sure if I did chance upon it—Which also means—” Her face now mirrored not only determination and cold anger but also fear.

“Roane, I have not seen King Niklas for five days. It was he who told me I must make haste to find the Crown, gave into my hands all he had denied me for years, the clues he had tried to sift and follow, all that my father and uncles had when they went seeking. Perhaps he is more ill than he would have me know, or else has since grown worse. And Reddick knows this. If the King were himself, the Duke would never have dared to have me stolen from Hitherhow.”

“Do you not have someone to depend on?”

“None sharing the Crown secret. But if I can now find that and reach Yatton or the border, I can cross over into Leichstan with the Crown and gain a breathing space in which to rally the loyal lords. My mother was a princess of Leichstan, though she died at my birthing and he who sits the throne there is but a distant cousin. Yet I can claim blood kin, and all must aid one who wears a crown!”

She flicked the beamer ahead. “Come! If it lies here—do you not see? I must have it, and soon!” Now she began to run.

But the beam had picked up something else, a change in the wall to their right. Roane pressed to that side and then halted at a slab of transparent material. Inside—an installation! It could be nothing else. Rows of machines with here and there a flashing point of colored light. She pressed her face to the glass, trying to see more of what lay there. But the light was too intermittent—she had only glimpses as one flash was echoed by another. Green, blue, red, orange, a multitude of colors and combinations. Yet those did not reflect into the passage where she stood.

“Come on!” The Princess was ahead, paying no attention to what held Roane fascinated. “Why do you stop?”

“The lights—this must be an installation. But what—”

Ludorica came back reluctantly. “What lights?” she demanded, flashing the beamer directly onto the panel, thus revealing two machines of pillar shape inside, spinning off flecks of color.

“What lights?” The Princess pulled at Roane’s arm. “Why do you stand staring at bare wall and talking of lights? Are you mind-twisted?” She dropped her hold, drew back a little.

“What do you see there, then?” Roane asked.

“Wall—just as there, and there, and there—” With a stabbing finger the Princess pointed ahead, to the side, behind them. “Nothing but wall.”

Roane was shaken. But she
did
see a strange installation behind a transparent panel! She could not be mistaken or imagine that! There could be only one reason why the Princess did not see it too—conditioning!

And such conditioning could mean something else. Roane’s thoughts took a leap into dark surmise. Perhaps what they had uncovered was not Forerunner remains, but rather something left by the Psychocrats who had decreed Clio’s fate. While such a find might not have as much impact as the discovery of a genuine Forerunner installation, it could be important in another way. The Service knew little of the techniques of conditioning on the various closed worlds. To discover part of such an experiment might excite those in fields beyond that which Uncle Offlas represented. So she might have a bargaining point after all, some claim for consideration for the Princess.

“It is just bare wall!” Ludorica proclaimed again, still backing away from Roane, now eyeing the off-worlder as if she expected some dangerous outburst.

“A trick of the light.” Roane thought that a feeble answer, but she knew that if the Princess was conditioned she would resist even the thought of what might lie there.

“Trick of the light?” repeated the Princess doubtfully. “Oh, perhaps Olava set her own safeguards against seekers. I have heard of such tricks but they only work with some people.” She now regarded Roane pityingly and put out her hand. “Let me guide you past. I cannot be so bemused, you know. None of the Blood Royal can be caught in a foreset mind-maze.”

Ironic, Roane thought with wry amusement, a case of the blind leading the sighted. But if the Princess was willing to accept that explanation, she should be thankful. She did not look again at the panel.

Shortly thereafter the nature of the passage changed. The wider, smoothed walls gave way abruptly to a narrower way with rough rock on either side—as if those who had cut this path had used a natural break in the cliff for their purposes and this was the original cave unmarked by their improvements.

As the beamer caught the narrowing of those rough walls the Princess slackened pace, looked puzzled.

“Why should it change so?” she asked, more as if she questioned in her own mind than expected an answer from her companion.

“Do you still think this is Och’s Hide?”

“What else could it be? There would be no other reason to cut a passage through rock. Yet—”

“Wait!” Roane lifted her free hand, held it before that crevice. “There is air—a current of it. Maybe there is another way out ahead.”

They found the narrow passage a rough one. Twice walls closed in, so that they had to scrape through, and Roane had no idea how far they might be from the entrance. What if those from camp cleared the blockage there and did not find her? But at least they would have her report and so go exploring. Of course, the men might run into difficulties raised by some hunting the Princess and thus be delayed.

As they emerged into a wider space Roane spoke: “I do not know about you, but I am hungry.”

“Do not speak of food!” retorted Ludorica. “When one has nothing, it is better not to dwell on that lack. Let us get out of here—”

“But I have provisions of a sort,” Roane countered. There was no use in trying to conceal such things as tubes of E-ration when so much else in the way of cover had been broken, and she was painfully hungry.

“Where? You carry no provision bag—” The Princess once more turned the beamer on Roane, who had already unsealed her coverall and brought out one of the tubes. There were only two left, and with their rescue still uncertain, it was better that they now divide one between them.

The Princess stared at the tube. “You carry food so? But there is not enough in that to make even a quarter of a meal if you hunger as I do.”

“This is a special kind of food, made for travelers,” Roane explained. “A small portion, say half of this tube, is equal to a full meal. It does not taste as the real food you know, that is true. But it is as good for the body, and it will give us strength. If you hesitate, I shall eat first.” She measured off half the length of the tube, squeezed the contents bit by bit into her mouth without touching the edge to her lips.

Her companion watched her with deep interest. And when Roane had done and passed her the tube, Ludorica put it to her mouth in turn. She made a slight face as she tasted the paste, swallowed.

“It has little flavor, as you warned. Truly I do not think I would relish many meals taken so. But when one hungers there need be little choice of dish; any food will do.” She finished the tube quickly and gave it, empty, back to Roane.

From long training the off-worlder wadded it into a ball, which she hid under a loose stone. The princess had set the beamer upright as one might a candle, and its light reflected from the roof over their heads, showed them that the space in which they now stood was a true cave.

But it showed something else, too. Roane gave a start as she caught sight of it, snatching up the beamer to turn it full upon what lay there. That had been a man once. But she had seen ancient burials enough not to be squeamish. These bones lay half buried under a fall of rock which concealed the skeleton above the waist.

She heard an exclamation from the Princess as the light caught a spark of fire to one side of the crushed bones. Roane stooped to pick up a band of metal in which were set small gem stones. It was a fine piece of work, the stones making small flowers among raised leaves of the metal.

A moment later the circlet was snatched from her hand, the Princess turning it about in her own fingers.

“The arm ring of Olava! This is Och’s Hide! And the Crown—the Crown!” She turned around, searching the walls of the cave as Roane swept the beamer. But the side wall opening which had once existed where the skeleton lay crushed was filled in past their exploration. There was now no opening at all that Roane could see.

CHAPTER 5

“IF IT WAS EVER HERE,”
Roane pointed out, “then it must now be buried under that fallen rock.” Privately she thought the bracelet a very small clue.

“But it can be dug free!” Ludorica crowded as close to the mound as she could and still avoid the skeleton. “You say those you know will come to free us from the outer cave. They surely can aid here to find the Crown! Let me but rest my hands on it and Reveny has naught to fear, for then as long as I live no one else can claim it—”

“As long as
you
live. What then, if, once you have found the Crown, your enemies find you? How long will you continue to live?”

The Princess looked back at Roane, her eyes wide with what might be shock.

“But no common man can raise his hand against the wearer of the Crown; such are under the protection of the Guardians. Any such death must come
before
the Crown has rested on the chosen’s head.”

“But the Crown now would belong to your grandfather, would it not? So long as he remains alive you will be in danger.”

“True. But if what I fear is also true, and that is in a manner proved by the fact that Reddick moved against me so openly, then the King is very near to death. The Crown will know that; it has many strange powers. All the crowns do. They are the hearts of the countries possessing them and their lives are those of the nations—as was proved at Arothner. No, when your people come they must dig for the Crown. It still exists and I must find it!”

And that influence she was able to exert at times, which Roane recognized but somehow could not resist, brought Roane to half agreement now. Yet enough of her fought that compulsion so that she was able to persuade the Princess to return to the other end of the passage to meet their rescuers.

That Uncle Offlas would come she had no doubt, but how long he would take was another matter. Especially if he had to avoid searchers in the woods. And she said as much in warning to the Princess.

“But you can send a message—though why tapping on that ugly arm circlet carries a message—” Momentarily she was diverted. “I do not know who you truly are. But that you are not of Reveny, nor of any kingdom I know, I will swear to. Had you not brought me out of that tower, I would not—” Again she paused. “But I stand here and not in the hands of Reddick’s men, so I have a measure of trust in you. Send another message to those you say will come to unseal us; tell them to use my name to the garrison at Yatton. There is there Colonel Nelis Imfry. He was of the palace wards before he took service with the March Guards. Summoned in my name, he will come. You may tell your people, if those clicks really talk, to say to him—”

“No.” Roane shook her head. “They will not go to Yatton nor any other place for your guard, no matter what message I send.”

Perhaps she was wrong in being so definite about that. It might arouse Ludorica’s suspicions even further. But she must make plain before the camp party arrived that they would not give the Princess any help in solving her complicated problems of dynastic inheritance.

“My people are sworn”—she tried to put the situation into words the Princess would understand—“by oaths, very tightly binding, to have naught to do with the affairs of others. I have already broken this oath by what I have done since we met. For this I shall have to pay. But you will find deaf ears if you ask for any aid from those who come.”

They were passing the wall panel which the Princess could not see but which so fascinated Roane. The latter kept her eyes resolutely turned from temptation. And at that moment the com on her wrist flashed. She did not need the beamer light to read the sparked code.

Sandar! But no mention of Uncle Offlas. Only a sharp demand that she turn the call beam higher so that he would have a guide.

“They are here now!” She began to run along the smooth flooring, not caring whether the Princess followed or not.

Back in the entrance cave she again faced that plug of stone and clay, cautiously, since she did not know the force of the tool they would use to clear it. And she threw out an arm to hold the Princess to an equally safe distance.

The latter had given no vocal protest when Roane had denied her help. But she was smiling with anticipation. There was such an aura of confidence about her that Roane was uneasy. Perhaps she should have given her the whole truth in warning—not only that Ludorica could expect no aid, but that those who came might take her into another captivity, that her quest for the Crown might well come to an end here and now. Roane half opened her lips, was about to say what she must, when there was a shifting of earth about the plug. The stone which was its anchor disappeared.

Roane caught her breath. They were using
that
tool! Then indeed they were ready for desperate measures; such were unboxed only at times of extreme need.

She glanced at the Princess. What effect had that sudden disappearance of a very large and heavy rock had on her companion? But she could detect no sign of surprise, only a deepening of that confidence which was going to be so rudely shattered soon.

Fresh air bearing the damp of the rain blew in. Then Sandar, stooping a little, came through. He was alone, and in his hand—Roane gasped but she had no time to move, to warn. He had already pressed the button of the stunner. Beside her the Princess wilted to the rock floor. For the first time in her life Roane faced her cousin with open anger.

“Why did you do that? You did not even know what—”

His mouth had the same twist as Uncle Offlas’s could wear upon occasion. But this time it did not daunt her as it might have in days only shortly past.

“You know the rules. I saw a stranger—” he said harshly. “Now—” He looked down at the detect he carried, as if Ludorica were no more than the rock he had blasted out of existence. Then his face lost a little of its grim cast. “But you are right! There is a find here—”

Roane was on her knees by the Princess, lifting her limp body to lie against her shoulder. Ludorica would sleep it off, of course, but she must not remain here. The dampness of that inflow of air was already reaching her. Roane did not know how disease might develop on Clio, but she was certain that the inhabitants could not endure long exposure without suffering for it.

“Leave her—she’ll keep!” Sandar came to her side. “What’s inside?”

“An installation. You can see it through a plate in the wall down there.” She made no move to guide him.

Nor did he wait for her, but switched on his own beamer and trotted away in the direction she pointed, while she was left with the problem of the unconscious Princess. Uncle Offlas and Sandar would be solidly united against any plan of freeing Ludorica; Roane had known that. But she determined that the Princess would have shelter and care even if she herself had to face such pressure of their wills as had always before frightened her.

She was still holding the girl against her for warmth, interposing her body between that of the Princess and the damp inflow of air, when Sandar returned.

“I don’t know what it is. It may be Forerunner. But at least it is not of present-day Clio,” he reported.

“Maybe something of the Psychocrats, to do with the settlers’ conditioning.”

“How do you—” he began and then shrugged. “Who knows before we take a closer look at what is in there? Now—there are men searching the woods. I had Eight-fingered Dargon’s own luck trying to dodge them. Father has had to extend the distorts to cover this area. Who are they after—her? If so, we give her a brainwash and dump her where they can pick her up. Then our troubles are over.”

“No.”

“No, what?” He stared at her, Roane thought (with wild laughter stirring far within her), as if she had suddenly grown horns or turned blue before his eyes.

“No brainwash, no dumping. This is the Princess Ludorica.”

“I don’t care if she’s the Star Maiden of Raganork! You know the rules as well as I do. You’ve broken them alðready by being with her at all. How much else have you spilled?” He was twirling the setting on his stunner. Roane went cold with more than the wind.

She drew the small cutting tool from her belt. “You try brainwashing, Sandar, and I’ll burn that stunner out of your hand. Drop it—now—or see how you like a seared finger! I mean exactly what I say!”

He eyed her with even greater astonishment. But he must have read the determination in her eyes. There had not been many times in the past when Roane had been faced by some major demand upon her will and courage, but twice that had occurred in Sandar’s company and he must remember now her reaction.

“You know what you are doing?” His voice was very cold. He still held the stunner, but she noted, with a small sense of triumph, that his finger was now carefully away from the firing button.

“I know. Toss that over to me!” Her tool did not waver. She might have used close to its full charge when she cut the Princess’s chain, but there was enough left to give Sandar a burn and at that moment she would not hesitate to do just that. The captivity, her own feeling of inferiority and helplessness, to which the domination of the Keils, father and son, had sentenced her for so long was like the Princess’s metal collar and chain.

That restless desire for freedom which had been born at Cram-brief was coming to a flowering here on Clio. Certainly she might know far less than her uncle and Sandar, be now under their orders, but she was also a person in her own right, not a robot they had programed.

Not that all this flowed coherently through her mind now. But she was determined to stand up to Sandar. His callous solution to the problem of Ludorica had acted on Roane like the cut of a whip—not to lash her into a slave line, but rather to awaken her resistance.

Sandar did not try to reason with her. Not that he ever had. He had given orders, she had meekly obeyed—until he and his father had had her wrapped in a cocoon of acceptance. But larvae develop in cocoons and in time they break free.

He tossed away his stunner. Roane steadied the Princess against her, held the cutter steady until she could reach out and close her fingers about that weapon.

“Are there any searchers near here now?”

“As long as the distorts are on they will keep their distance without knowing why—you ought to know that! But that will hold only for a short time. We shall have to move quickly.”

“Good enough.” Roane tucked the cutter back in the belt loop, kept the stunner in her hand. “Now we’ll go. You carry her.”

“It won’t do any good,” he said. “You know that. Father has discretionary powers. He’ll make the final decision and there will be no appeal. Also, you’re finished with our team. I trust you understand that!”

Roane would consider that future when she had time. The here and now were more important—getting the Princess to shelter and seeing she stayed out of the hands of her enemies.

“You’ll carry her,” she repeated.

Carry her he did. Enough of Roane’s training remained, even as she enjoyed the heady sensation of ordering Sandar around, to prompt her to use the last of the tool’s powers to bring down another fall of earth as a mask for the hole. She hoped that would keep its secret. For what lay within and the fact that she had discovered it were all she had left to bargain with.

Though the distorts were on, Sandar took no chances, setting a fast pace, even thought he had the inert weight of the Princess draped over his shoulder. Roane walked behind, intent on concealing their back trail.

So they reached camp. At least Uncle Offlas was not there, and Roane ordered Sandar to put the Princess in her own private cubby. She set to work then, stripping off the soaked, mud-caked rags Ludorica wore, tugging loose the strips of cloth making her improvised leggings. And she had the Princess rolled into a heated sleeping bag when the chief of their party did tramp in.

He came straight to the cubby and looked at the Princess with no readable expression on his set face.

“Who is she?”

“The Princess Ludorica, heir to the throne of Reveny.”

“And the story?”

He had a recorder ready, Roane noted bleakly. She was going to be condemned out of her own mouth. But there was nothing else she could have done. To her, Sandar’s suggestion was unthinkable.

In the clear, terse manner of making a report which had been drilled into her, Roane began her story—the storm, her refuge in the tower—their flight, the cave—what she had found there—the Princess’s tale of the Ice Crown, and all the rest.

Uncle Offlas listened without comment, though Sandar stirred now and then as if he wished to voice some derisive interruption. Yet he did not. And having conðcluded, Roane waited for the storm to break, knowing that verbal lightning could be as disastrous as the real.

“As for this girl,” he said first, “we can attend to her when it is needful. But this find of yours—you saw it, Sandar?”

“Yes. What I could make out through the panel. It may not be Forerunner, but Psychocrat. It could have something to do with the experiment on Clio.”

“Either way, it is apparently a find of importance. We can report that, along with this.” He looked at the Prinðcess as if she were not a human being at all, but some object which must be disposed of. “However, we have a matter of two days before the com can relay properly to the right orbit pickup, and by that time we should have much more information.”

“What about the Princess?” his son demanded. “They are going to keep hunting her, and we can’t run the distorts on high for long. If we do as I wanted and brainwash her—then leave her where they can find her—”

Roane knew better than to voice another “No” right now. She had no weapon to back it up. That confidence which had supported her began to ebb. She might be able, for some moments of wrath, to stand up to Sandar. She had no defense against Uncle Offlas.

“For the moment they are hunting to the north. And I would like to know more about this crown she believes hidden in there. Once her memory is erased we can learn nothing. We haven’t the equipment for being selective in such matters. We can wait—for a while. Now, I want to look at that installation.

“As for you”—he spoke to Roane—“you must realize what you have done. You are not a blind fool, just a fool. And I would suggest you think upon the future which you have just thrown away.”