by Andre Norton
“Do you know how I came here?” he demanded bluntly.
He did not really expect an affirmative from her, but she was nodding.
“Yes. I was sworn to secrecy before it happened. But I am now absolved of my oath—by Osythes and, indirectly, by the Empress. They were afraid of you—deathly afraid. It is a matter of strange import.” She hesitated and then plunged on. “It seems that there are realms of knowledge which even the Enlightened Ones know little about. And in Lom a young expert in such matters, Melkolf, first got the ear of Berthal and then the Councillor Urswic. They took him to the Empress.
“It is proved that there are many bands of worlds which exist side by side, though they are walled from each other by some form of energy. In some, our counterparts live lives different from ours because in those worlds the action of history has moved in another pattern. This the Enlightened Ones have long known, just as they deduced also that, in places, the walls between these worlds grow thin at times, worked upon by some unknown energy. So may a man or a woman fall through, vanish from their own time into this other.
“All this Melkolf also knew, though he is not an Enlightened One, for he works not by mind control, but through certain machines he has been years in building, it being his desire to travel from one world to another. However, he had good reason to fear Ochall, and so he came to Berthal with a plan. It was this: If they could locate in one of these many other worlds the twin to Kaskar, then they could send the personality of the prince into the body of that stranger and arrange his death. Thus would Kaskar—tied to the other—also die—apparently of the failure of his heart—leaving no mark upon him.
“Three times did they do this with criminals condemned to death. But they needed Osythes’s aid, for the one on the other plane must be linked in preparation through a series of dreams—”
“Dreams!” Ramsay burst out.
“You dreamed, did you not?”
He nodded, but she continued before he could speak.
“Osythes foretold—he agreed that you could be controlled into a fatal accident, drawing Kaskar with you into death. Melkolf set up the machine. They felt they were justified because of Ochall and what would happen to Ulad if Kaskar came to the throne. But it did not work as they had planned. Kaskar died, and you came to take his body. And Osythes says that this happened because they interfered with your life plan and that you still had a pattern to complete.
“Now, with Kaskar’s body gone, Ochall is like a wild man. He believes that the Prince was only drugged and that he is being kept hidden somewhere. For this, Melkolf has no answer. But now Berthal, and Urswic, Melkolf, too—they hunt you eagerly. If they have their will, they will put an end to you—”
“Can I get back—” Ramsay brushed aside her warning. The story was so fantastic that somehow he had to accept its truth, odd though that reasoning might seem. He was here, and he had awakened in a dead man’s body.
“That I do not know—” Thecla answered honestly.
“But I must!” And he made of those three words a promise to himself and to those who heard him now.
FIVE
Ramsay was on his feet, his back to the open cavern of the fireplace, his attention focused on Thecla.
“Can this Melkolf reverse what he has done?” he demanded of the girl.
“I do not know. Dream sending—this is of the Enlightened Ones. And I have seen it in action many times among our own people. Foretellings that have come to pass—those, too, are common. But to use a machine—” She shook her head. “There Melkolf has ventured into new ways. I know only that it was his machine, combined with the dreams, that altered the planes so that Kaskar died—and you live. Though that was not what was intended.
“Osythes and the Empress—” She continued slowly. “They want you gone, for you are now a threat to all they would accomplish. But neither will raise hand against you to achieve that desire. For Berthal, Urswic, and Melkolf I cannot promise as much. They might willingly slay to cover their secret. And Ochall—if he could lay hand upon you—” Thecla shivered. “He could make you into such a weapon as would wipe out all who oppose him.”
“Do they know that you helped me out of Ulad?”
“Osythes must guess; Ochall certainly knows that the guards were under hallucination that night. But he blames Osythes. Only not even one of his Power can move against an Enlightened One. But naught has been said to me. Nor will it when I fulfill the destiny marked out and hand-fast with Berthal. I am now too precious to their plans—”
Thecla’s gaze was level. She was stating a fact that she believed; Ramsay had no doubt of that.
“If I could get to that machine—” he began again, half to himself, speaking aloud his thoughts.
“I know not what you could do,” Thecla replied frankly. “The secret of it lies with Melkolf alone. However, it might well be that, in order to protect their own plan, they would be willing to return you to your world.”
“They have hinted this to you?”
Thecla shook her head. “I cannot speak for any of them. But if you return to Lom, then you will be within reach of Ochall. And of him I have no doubts. Kaskar was his creature, well controlled. As he made of the Prince his tool, so could he also you.”
Anger was building in Ramsay. Wild as her story was, it carried belief with it. At least, the very fact that Thecla accepted it in entirety was somehow convincing. That he had been used to further an intrigue in another state of existence, callously, without his knowledge or will, chilled hot anger into an icy determination that from now on Ramsay Kimble was not going to be a puppet to be marched about at the whim of these who dared to entrap strangers for their own purposes.
“I want to go back to Lom.” He did not make that into any question. He stated a determined fact. “I must get to that machine—”
Thecla stood up. “It was in my mind that this would be your answer. Though it is the most dangerous act you may choose. However, I shall not speak against it. For, though I am no Enlightened One, I have a feeling that this is the path for you.
“But, since it is one of peril, we must move with caution—”
“We?” he echoed. “I will not depend upon any more help from you.” He supposed he should be grateful for all she had already done, giving him this respite, a safe way to hide out for a space from what seemed to be two determined organizations, neither one of which meant him any good. But he chafed at any more limitations being placed on his own action. Unfortunately, at the moment, he had no idea what form that action would take, nothing with which to counter any plan she might have concocted, since she knew the truth. He only felt resentment that he would be in any way bound to a plan that was not of his own devising.
Thecla shrugged. Some of the animation had gone from her face. “Walk openly, to your death, then, stranger. Or worse than death if Ochall’s searchers gather you in. Do you know enough of our world to take your place among its people and not betray yourself in a thousand ways, great and small, to the first to observe you closely?”
He rebelled against the logic of that, but he could not deny that she was correct. He spoke the language—after a stumbling fashion—only due to her orders and Grishilda’s patient help. But the customs in general usage, even the small ingrained habits of everyday living—she was right; he could make a fatal error at any time.
“So now you understand ?” Thecla must have read realization in his expression. “It is only if you understand, and agree to be guided by me, that you can return to Lom. Though that is great unwisdom. It would be better to remain here for a space, then depart overseas, where all strangers have odd habits and so are not greatly remarked if they dwell among the natives, being outlanders—”
“I have no intention of remaining here—nor even in Lom! I will get back to my own world!”
“Fair enough. If it can be done. You shall accompany me to Lom as Arluth, within the disguise we have already devised. A Feudman goes masked, by the old custom. And I have
no male kinsman, which is of importance in betrothal, for there is no one of my blood to stand as my champion at that time. This is an ancient form, long a form only. I would have had to choose some one of Berthal’s kin for this ceremony. But with a cousin from overseas, that is no longer necessary. You have learned our speech fairly well—now you must learn our customs, what is the role of a Feudman—that you may pass undetected in Lom.”
Thecla could not linger at the lodge. She stayed the night and was picked up in the morning by one of the flyers, but before the end of that day, another sky ship dropped a man on their doorstep. He was plainly past middle age, his black hair frosted by strands of gray, a star-shaped scar on his chin below one corner of his mouth.
He saluted Ramsay in an offhand manner, his dark eyes sizing up the younger man as if he must learn all he could by such measurement.
“Yurk,” he introduced himself, “Commander of Her Own Guard. Also once out of Tolcarne Overseas.”
Yurk became his instructor. Whether or not Thecla had entrusted her Guardsman Officer with the truth, Ramsay was never to know. For Yurk never mentioned his lady after that first moment of their meeting. Instead, he concentrated completely on the task he had been sent to do—making Ramsay into the best imitation of a Tolcarne lordling he could.
The overseas country, Ramsay was told, was in the same chaotic feudal state that Ulad had been in before the rise of the old Emperor and the subjection there of unruly and riotous nobles. There was no central power to bring order into Tolcarne; rather, each House had its own territory. And while House might ally with House for protection, for some more ambitious raid upon a mutual neighbor, or for some temporary benefit to both, such alliances seldom lasted more than a few years, or maybe for a single generation.
The idea of a personal feud was a fearsome part of the general unrest. One branch of a House might assault another in hope of coming into full control. And once a feud was officially proclaimed those caught within it could openly hunt or be hunted. However, when a House was reduced to a single male, that survivor was encouraged to forget honor and retire to some point of safety, while negotiations to settle the dispute were in progress. For the complete stamping out of any of the Houses was, oddly enough, against the highest code which these semibarbarous people bound themselves to follow.
For such a House representative to flee abroad was not uncommon in the least. When he appeared in public, he went masked and unarmed, that state meant to protect him against any paid retaliation.
Neither Tolcarne nor Ulad had always been in such a state of flux, Ramsay discovered, by what he hoped was adroit questioning. There had once been a worldwide civilization with a central government under stable rule. But a sudden and dramatic change in basic trade—brought about by the discovery of a new and far more effective metal—and a bitter dynastic struggle had broken down that concentrated rule.
Countries on both continents turned to war, first over the supplies of ore of what sounded like fissionable materials. There followed the horrors of some kind of atomic conflict, and then a dark age.
Ulad, in the space of three generations, was lifting itself out of this dark past. But the success of its struggle depended upon the defeat of Ochall, who still had the feudal state of mind, and saw only warring conquest as the answer for a strict rule.
Tolcarne had produced no leader as yet who had been able to win any loyalty from more than one or two Houses. Thus, the land remained buried in the morass of petty wars. And since wars defeat trade, few merchants ever ventured now to its shores. In fact, Tolcarne was to Ulad and Olyroun largely legend.
But to Yurk its ways had once been his life, and he recalled old customs and ceremonies, drilling into Ramsay all that he could during the days and nights that followed.
They were not to have too long a time for such study. Ten days after Thecla had returned to her own capital, a flyer dropped in with an urgent message that the party at the lodge move on to Irtysh, where she now held court.
Again Ramsay changed clothing. That which had been a forester’s uniform was laid aside for a dull red undersuit, an overvest-tunic of a lighter shade of the same color. The breast badge was that of a broken sword, encircled by a wreath of oak leaves. In addition, there was a mask that hid his face from upper lip to hairline, attached to a tight-fitting cap, which covered his head completely, rather like a skier’s helmet.
This had, at the crown of his head, a tuft of upstanding feathers dyed in the same silver as the embroidery of his badge. When he looked at himself in the mirror, Ramsay believed that his present barbaric figure could certainly not be recognized by any who had known Kaskar. At least not as long as he kept the mask firmly over his face, though it was uncomfortable to wear, and he disliked having his vision limited by the eye slits.
With Yurk and Grishilda he embarked, to fly over the long reach of the forest, and then above cultivated fields and several small towns. Unlike the bullet cars of surface transportation, these aircraft had windows, and one could push against them for some glimpses of the land beneath—as the flyer did not soar too high.
Irtysh itself lay at the beginning of the mountain foothills, well into the heart of Olyroun. It was in the mountains that the mines lay. And the only year-long passable road from those mines ran through Thecla’s ancient city, which was built more like a fortress than the usual capital. Her palace and headquarters of her government resembled most an eight-sided castle, enough like those of his own world for Ramsay to identify.
The flyer carried them over the clustered buildings of the city to land on the wide roof of one of the sentry towers, where a small guard awaited them. They saluted Yurk, seeming to pay little attention to his companion. Grishilda, her fingers closing on Ramsay’s arm, drew him to one side, through a doorway in a nearby turret, where a narrow stairway coiled dizzily down into a not-too-well-lighted interior.
The inner part of the castle was, to Ramsay, a bewildering maze of passages, doorways (nearly always closed so one could not guess the nature of the areas behind them), steps up, stairs down. At last the three emerged into a section where the walls and pavement were no longer dank stone without covering. Here ran soft carpeting, and wall hangings of painted designs, more stylized than realistic. Not that Ramsay was given any time to survey this art, for Grishilda urged him on as if they were now running some real race with time.
At a door she finally came to a halt, tapping on its closed panel. It was flung open by a man wearing the same servant’s garb that had clothed Ramsay on his escape out of Lom. The man bowed, edged out after they entered, and closed the door firmly behind him.
The carpet here was flowered, muted lavenders, golds, roses on a background of spring green. And panels of similar flowers gathered into loose bouquets with silken threads covered the walls, except on the far side, where there were tall windows open to the day.
Thecla sat by the window directly opposite the door, a table before her, its surface crowded by a collection of yellow painted chests, each open, and each full of what seemed separate sheets of paper, though they were thick and coarser in texture than any Ramsay knew.
She had been engaged in stamping one such sheet with her thumb ring, having first impressed that upon a crimson pad shaped in the form of a cat’s head and rimmed in silver. At the sight of them, she pushed aside the waiting pile of papers and arose.
“There has been a message.” She wasted no moment in any greeting, as if she must let them know immediately of some dramatic happening. “They have found a body that they claim to be Kaskar’s. Melkolf and Berthal supplied that. Once more the plans for his funeral are in progress. And I have been summoned for my role therein. Nor will I be allowed to return—that I know—until they have their way of me and I am betrothed to Berthal. But whether or not things will go so smoothly as they desire—that is another matter.
“Ochall has withdrawn into Vidin, officially to gather Kaskar’s own liege men to see him to his tomb. Vidin,” she said to Ramsay in e
xplanation, “lies under the rule of the Emperor’s heir. Though Kaskar spent as little time there as he could. He had no taste for the duties of rule, liking only what he deemed its pleasures and privileges—which he cultivated in excess. However, that Ochall has tamely accepted Kaskar dead and ready to be buried I cannot believe to be true.
“I have had a private message from the Empress Quendrida that the Emperor may depart to the Final Gate at any moment. With Ochall absent, then they will move at once to proclaim Berthal, even if Kaskar be not yet buried. Lom is filled with rumors and counter-rumors. There is much unrest, and the Empress has summoned the Life Guard into field duty order. She had laid it upon me to come at once. The betrothal with Berthal will follow immediately upon his proclamation.”
She spoke evenly as if this whole matter had no bearing upon her future; rather, that it was already a matter of the past, sealed into the unchanging wall of history. Ramsay felt a sudden urge to protest. How could Thecla accept as perfectly natural this arrangement of her future, as if she were a thing to be commanded, rather than a person with desires, doubts, wishes of her own? In his own time and world there were few vestiges of royalty. And those rulers remaining were much more free to be themselves, not stiff symbols of history and duty ever walled from ordinary men. Thecla to him now was no symbol of rule; she was a person, a singularly attractive and intelligent person, who had moved on his behalf, though she had had no reason to aid him from the danger devised by those whom she knew much better, those same forces with whom she now proposed to ally herself without any question of their right to demand this of her.
But he could not summon any words to dispute her choice. The very calmness of her speech, her acceptance of things as they were, defeated him before he could even find the words.
“Grishilda, as the Mistress of my body women, you will, of course, once more accompany me to Lom. And you”—she nodded to Ramsay—“for I have told the Empress by message that you have arrived in Olyroun and are kinsman to me through my great-grandfather’s daughter who married into the House of Yonec. At this moment you are the only kinsman of my blood, and since Ulad wishes to keep to all the old ceremonies it can resurrect (which is ever the way of a new House), you are acceptable to approve my hand-fasting. You need only remember that you are also a Feudman, not to be seen without that mask. Nor can you lay hand to any weapon. But doubtless Yurk has made this all clear to you?”