by Andre Norton
KNAVE OF
DREAMS
An Ace Science Fiction Book - published by arrangement with The Viking Press, Inc.
ANDRE NORTON, one of Ace Books’ most respected and prolific authors—with over fifty books and millions of copies in print—is world renowned for her uncanny ability to create tightly plotted action stories based on her extensive readings in travel, archeology, anthropology, natural history, folklore and psycho-es-per research. With classic understatement belied by the enthusiastic critical reception of all her books, she has described herself as“… rather a very staid teller of old-fashioned stories…”
Miss Norton began her literary career as an editor for her high school paper and quickly progressed to writing, publishing her first book before the age of twenty-one. After graduating from Western University, and working for the Library of Congress for a number of years, she began her writing career in earnest, consistently producing science fiction novels of the highest quality.
Miss Norton presently resides in Florida under the careful management of her feline associates.
ONE
The room was large enough to breed shadows in its far corners, for the one light came from a globe set in the middle of the long table. The woman who occupied a canopied chair of state could be distinguished only with difficulty by staring straight at her cloaked form. Though the room was warm, she had drawn the furred garment close about her as if she were chilled.
However, the men, seated in less impressive chairs, were far enough into the glow of light for their features to be clearly visible. There were four of them, and they ranged in age signs from youth to more than middle years. For the moment they were silent, as if each were brooding upon some thought he did not want—or feared—to share with the rest of the company.
To the woman’s right, the black-and-white robe of the Chief Shaman identified Osythes, a representative of Powers Unseen (but not unfelt) at this gathering. Beyond him was the slightly younger Privy Councillor Urswic. These two represented age and a conservative caution, to balance the youth and impatience facing them beyond the limited source of light.
Prince Berthal sat there, his tunic glittering as he shifted impatiently, uneasily; the heraldic symbols emblazoned on his chest displayed glints of gemmed splendor. His neighbor was the least impressively clothed, for his tunic carried only the badge patch of the Household. Yet his face had a trace of arrogance that marked him as no common servant, but one who had a right to address those about him with equality. He was Melkolf, a delver into new ways of thought, an experimenter whose recently discovered knowledge made him a power to be reckoned with.
They all turned their faces now a fraction toward the canopied chair, as if willing its occupant to speak. Perhaps their concentration did act upon her, for she leaned a little forward as if to see them better.
Now her features were illuminated. She was old, her dark skin drawn tightly over the bones of cheek and jutting nose. But her eyes were not those of one entirely in command, reminding the other that it was her will that was paramount in their venture, whether they would have it so or not.
“You are certain?” The Empress spoke directly to Melkolf.
“The proof has been shown, Your Splendor Enthroned,” he replied with complete confidence.
Berthal once more shifted in his chair. Osythes’s wrinkled, large-veined hand, resting on the table top, began a tapping of forefinger, his thumb ring glinting red and green as the light caught the jewels in it. He might have been measuring the number of words spoken or the passing of time.
Urswic, although an elder usually taking a conservative course, reinforced the Younger Melkolf’s statement, though there was a ring to his words as if he did not do so with entire willingness.
“There were three exchanged, Your Splendor Enthroned. All succeeded.”
Once more a moment of silence fell. To be broken by Osythes: “This is wrong, an evil thing—”
The Empress’s eyes fastened upon him alone.
“There are small evils and large. You yourself, Reverend One, have correlated the phophecy of what will happen to this land if matters proceed as custom decrees. My son lies on his deathbed. He breathes, and only while he breathes do we have this small space of time to amend or prevent that darkness which Ochall and his slave Kaskar will bring upon us.
“Can you deny that what they would accomplish is an evil,” she continued, “a very large evil, enough to engulf all that my lord Hunold, my son Pyran, have wrought? Sometimes we have no choice between good and evil; rather, there is set before us a small ill and a great one. And in this hour we face that.”
Osythes’s eyes no longer met her fierce ones. His forefinger moved upon the table, tracing signs no man, except perhaps himself, could read.
“You speak only what is true, Splendor Enthroned. Still, the deed is evil.” Then Osythes, the Shaman, was silent, as if withdrawing from what they were about to do here.
“You are sure”—this time Urswic spoke, addressing Melkolf—“that you have the right man selected?”
Melkolf shrugged. “Ask that of His Reverence, the Shaman. It is his knowledge that searched the worlds for us.”
“Yes.” The Shaman did not raise his eyes from his moving finger. “He who is twinned to Kaskar has been found. The dream sending has been very clear—it is all recorded.”
“You see?” Melkolf demanded. “All is ready. We have only to move. And by the latest reports, we must move soon. His Supreme Mightiness fails fast. Ochall has his man in the outer chamber there. The moment breath fails, Kaskar will be heralded as ruler. And, think you, when that is done, any of us here will be safe for even a portion of an hour?”
Berthal ran his tongue over his lips. He glanced uncertainly at the Empress Quendrida in her cave of a chair. His fingers dropped below the edge of the table to close upon the hilt of a ceremonial short sword.
“For all Ochall’s impudence,” the old Empress said, “he will not move openly against me. But there are hidden ways—yes, I do not doubt that he intends to dispose of all opposition with his usual efficiency. And with Kaskar entirely in his power, there is no limit to what he can do. To see all that I and my lord have fought for, all that Pyran labored to make stable, go crashing down because of this—this man—!” She beat her first upon the table top, her voice rang deeper in an intense note.
“If the death of one man of whom we know naught, except that he exists, can save our land, then, to me, that death is a deed of worthy cause!” Her gaze centered again upon the Shaman as if demanding some answer from him. But he did not speak.
“Very well. Let it then be done. And as soon as possible. There is one other who must know—”
They all stared at her, startled.
“The Duchess Thecla. She is on her way here now for the ceremony of betrothal—to Kaskar. That she comes unwillingly and under threat, we are all aware of. However, she loves her country and would not see it under Ochall’s fist—so she comes. We need Olyroun, but we shall not overrun it as Ochall would do. Thecla is well beloved. Her people would rise, even if it meant the blotting out of their land.
“My Eyes and Ears have sent me many reports. Already there is unrest in Olyroun. Rumors spread that Thecla comes under duress to this matter of a future wedding. Therefore, we must assure her that she does not have to see in Kaskar her betrothed—”
“Splendor Enthroned”—it was Urswic, the Councillor, who dared to speak as his mistress paused for breath—“is this wise? Need she know? When all will be done perhaps before her arrival?” The Empress nodded.
“She must know. She must understand what we are doing for the sake of the land. This will make her more amenable afterward to the suggestion that she be joined with Berthal. Le
t Kaskar die without her understanding and she may depart to Olyroun, there to make some other alliance that will not be to our liking. But if she is assured that she need not hand-fast with Kaskar, in her relief she will look to Berthal. It will be your duty”—now those hawk eyes were turned upon the Prince—“to woo her with that skill that I have heard much of—” He flushed and his lips parted as if he would reply, but the Empress was already continuing: “You, Osythes, will bring her to my private chamber upon her arrival. I shall make plain to her what we do and why. I ask no other to say such a thing. Kaskar—” She hesitated for a breath’s space, and then spoke on. “He is the son of my son in body, though surely not in mind or spirit. I could well believe in the ancient tales of possessed ones. How Ochall wrought this change in him I do not know. Perhaps that should be the subject of your searching, Master,” she struck out at Melkolf. “Does Ochall also have the use of some machine which he may put into operation to change the spirit of a man? Or, Osythes, can he call up the Power Unlimited to do such a thing?”
“Perhaps he can,” the Shaman answered quietly.
Quendrida stared at him, shock showing for the first time on her face. “You mean that, Reverend One!” Her voice held the same astonishment.
“In one way of thinking, yes, Splendor Enthroned. There are things of the mind that can overrule the identity of a man. Just as Melkolf can use his machine to exchange the spirit of one person into the body of another in an alternate world. Ochall is not of the Enlightened Ones. However, that does not mean that he may not have learned some trick of mind control that he has used to override the inner man in our poor Prince and make Kaskar only an echo of himself.”
Councillor Urswic leaned forward. “But if that is so—could such an enthrallment not be broken? Why have you not said this before? As an Enlightened One, you could have—”
“Done nothing,” Osythes interrupted him. “That which was free once in Kaskar was long ago killed. Do you think”—he lifted his head, looked from one pair of eyes to the next in that company—“I have not tried? I do not know what power Ochall has called upon, but it is such as cannot be broken now. But think not so ill of Kaskar, for he is but a helpless tool in the hands of a determined and evil man. And now we plot his death—and the death of another, who is wholly innocent. Also, we say that this must be done for the good of Ulad.”
“You know that it must—” There was almost a pleading note in the Empress’s voice.
Osythes nodded. “As you say, Splendor Enthroned, it must. Yet that does not make this deed any the less evil when it shall be weighed against us as we come to the Final Gate of all.” He raised his hand and covered his eyes, his shoulders hunched under the heavy folds of his black-and-white robe. “I offer what excuse I may to the Power Unlimited in the name of all of you. Still, it will weigh—”
Now it was Melkolf’s turn to move in his chair. There was a faint expression of distaste on his sharp features, as if Osythes were uttering nonsense that the younger man found hard to endure.
“Then we are to move at once?” he asked.
The rest looked to the Empress. A moment later she inclined her head in a nod, though her expression was troubled and she watched Osythes with a fraction of uncertainty she had not shown earlier.
“Reverend One?” Her mention of his title was half question.
Osythes dropped the hand that had masked his eyes. “Splendor Enthroned, the coordinates have been already sent to the machine. The dreams have prepared the selected one with linkage and for the necessary manipulation within his own time world.”
“What is he there?” Berthal showed some curiosity. “Is he a ruler, one who will be missed? If we have our counterparts in these alternate universes—and we must or the experiments would not have worked—do they live lives such as we do? Is there another Berthal who is a Prince, and a Reverend One”—he nodded to Osythes—“a Councillor— a—”
“Circumstances alter with the world, Prince,” Melkolf answered. “I think there are very few princes or emperors left in the world to which we send Kaskar.”
“Then how do they govern?” Berthal asked.
“Through representatives elected by the people, I believe. We have only a few scattered readings picked up from our subject there. He is not connected with the government. He has been a student; now he seeks work—”
“And such as he is Kaskar’s twin?” Berthal laughed. “No prince but a commoner who must work with his two hands to earn his bread? I wish that Kaskar knew! I wish I could tell him—” He laughed again.
“This is not amusing!” Quendrida’s tone was cold, the snap of a lash. Again the Prince flushed. “You speak of a man who must die, and you do not jeer at death. From what Osythes has told me, this one who is not tied to Kaskar is far more worthy of wearing the Imperial Crown than he who is of my own blood. I wish that we might save him, but there is no way. Yes, Master, let it be done and speedily—while the Emperor, Kaskar, still lingers. We must not hesitate too long.”
“The deed is—evil—” The Shaman drew a deep breath. “Yet the foreseeing is also evil. It is true we have no choice, but to say yes—that I cannot do. Agree you will. As I have agreed in spirit, may the Power forgive me!”
“It is agreed then?” The Empress kept her eyes away from Osythes as she asked.
The “yeses” from Melkolf and Berthal came quickly and firmly, followed by that of Urswic.
“Then I say it be so,” Quendrida ended. “Make ready, Master. And that speedily. As you have pointed out—our time is very short.”
Three of the men arose and bowed formally to the old Empress, withdrawing with some haste back into the shadows beyond the reach of the globe. Osythes remained where he was.
“My friend”—the Empress put out her hand toward him—“do not believe I cannot understand what lies in your heart now. It is through the Power Unlimited that this person to be sacrificed was found, and through your direction that he was entangled in the destiny of Ulad. Duty is a harsh mistress. I have spoken words that my heart would not have owned had there been any other way to achieve that which had to be done. Now I condemn one of my own blood because he is unworthy, because he would be only the face behind which an utterly evil and vicious man would rule. This is not easy—But it is what I must do so that all that has been built of peace and goodness here be not destroyed.
“When my lord came to the throne, you will know what measure of hardship there lay in this land. Small lord warred against his neighbor, famine and death stalked hand in hand. No man, woman, or child was safe. My lord used what forces he could summon to counter this chaos. He brought you and the other Enlightened Ones, and set up the Groves wherein you might teach your ways of peace and fulfillment. He tamed the outlaw lords, he fostered the trade of cities, he made Ulad a bright and smiling land.
“And after him Pyran carried out his father’s work with the same will and dedication. But this wasting illness which was sent upon him, sapping his body and then his mind—that defeated him. Then came this devil Ochall who made himself so strong that he put hand upon the High Chancellor’s key and none dared say him no. And Kaskar—Ochall enfolded Kaskar as a swamp serpent enfolds its prey, crushing out of him everything except his own will.
“I was in deepest despair, for I knew, as well as your fore-tellings could say, what would come to Ulad when Kaskar ruled. Then Berthal and Urswic brought Melkolf to me, and I learned to hope. Not for my own line—for now we perish—but for the land which was our duty to protect. Yes, I live by duty, not by my heart, old friend. And if indeed that fact weights ill upon me when I reach the Final Gate, then I can offer no other excuse for all the acts of my life.”
The Shaman lifted his eyes, and there was a sadness in them.
“Lady,” he said quietly, “I was at your hand-fasting to your lord, at the naming of our dear lord-in-chief who now lies so spent and helpless, at the naming of his son who is now a lost one. I know well that what moves you to this lies as he
avily upon your shoulders as does the ancient Power weigh upon mine. We made our choices long ago and we must live by them. I do not doubt that this act will save the Ulad which your House brought into being. And I shall entreat the Power that good may come from ill, for there is no other way—”
“No other way,” she echoed. “Now I must go to Pyran and watch the life ebb slowly from him, praying for him to live, in spite of all his pain and torment, until we can make safe his country. And upon me that weighs heavily also.”
She pressed on the wide arms of the thronelike chair, levering up her body as if her limbs were so stiffened she found movement hard. Osythes also arose, but he made no move to help her, knowing well that her fierce pride would not allow her to acknowledge the infirmities of her aged body.
With effort, she stood erect, and now her back was very straight, her head, bound with an embroidered scarf over which was set a small diadem of Presence, held high. She walked toward the shadowed end of the room, moving with purpose, Osythes near but not touching her.
Another dream! Ramsay Kimble sat up in the bed on which sheets were rumpled and tangled as if he had been fighting some hard-pressed battle against it. He was sweating, though the night was rather chilly; his black hair was pasted across his forehead. He looked around him, half amazed to find that he was really here, in his own well-known bedroom—not in that other place that had been so real. Then he snapped on the reading lamp and reached for the notebook and the pen placed to keep the pages open at that point.
“Get it down right when you wake up”—that was what Greg had told him last week. “The longer you wait, the more the details can recede.” Ramsay set the notebook on one knee and began to write.
“Big room,” he scrawled, “machines of some sort—never saw them before. Two men—” He must remember details. “One young—queer clothes—a kind of body suit something like a leotard, close-fitting, all over—color—” Ramsay closed his eyes and tried to center a memory that was already growing fuzzy around the edges. Yes! “Color green—dark green. Over the suit a kind of loose-fitting vest— sleeveless—fell to about the mid-thigh—but not really a vest because it was not open in front. There was a design on the chest—looked like gems and gold—very intricate—” Only he could not remember more than the general impression of that.