The Adversary

by Julian May

  The Earthshaker steered Tony toward the stairway. "We'll leave the shackles on for safety's sake. They're not too uncomfortable. I wore them myself for a while."

  "No shit?" said Tony listlessly. Glass links extended from each wrist to a ring fastened about his tore. The chains were more symbolic than confining; nevertheless, the humiliation quotient was sizable. He brooded as they descended into the lower regions of the palace and made their way to the courtyard, where chalikos waited to take them to the Roniah docks.

  "But at least I'm free of that band of Lowlife cutthroats who caught me in the swamp," Tony remarked as he settled into the saddle. "I presume they were showered with the royal favor."

  Kuhal said, "The High King was pleased to grant their requests. They asked for free passage back through the time-gate, should it be reopened, and the opportunity to take with them such of their fellows who also yearn to return to Elder Earth."

  "Huh!" Tony was contemptuous. "Good riddance, I say."

  Kuhal flashed him a sudden smile. "I think the High King shares your sentiment, Creative Brother."

  A pang of remembrance went through the metallurgist's heart. Creative Brother ... The Tanu in Finiah had called him that, and now this High Table member nonchalantly reaffirmed his adoption. Tony thought: I might be temporarily déclassé, but at least I have great expectations!

  "I really meant it when I said I'd cooperate," he said in a low voice.

  "I know." Kuhal was entirely amiable now. "And the knowledge gladdens me. I myself am one of those who would pass through the time-gate into the Galactic Milieu."

  "You!" Tony cried, incredulous.

  "If you do your work well and quickly, many people will owe you gratitude. There are portentous events in the offing that you know not of, and your destiny may be crucial to that of thousands."

  Tony was struck dumb. They rode out of the palace grounds and through the Tanu quarter of Roniah. The city was ruled now by Condateyr Fulminator since the death of Bormol in the Great Flood, and the population was somewhat diminished. But for the most part, Roniah had scarcely been touched by the turmoil visited upon so many other parts of the land. Ramas scuttled about delivering packages, sweeping the cobbled streets, and tending the flowerbeds. Fountains tinkled into silver basins in the cool, tree-girt plazas. Roniah was not so baroquely magnificent as the City of Lights had been, but it was splendid enough, with its filigree arches of frost-white marble, its dazzling buildings with their stained-glass windows, and the roofs of gold and blue tile punctuated by lacy spires.

  Tony and Kuhal rode down to the esplanade. All around them were the Tanu and human inhabitants of the city, strolling or going about their business in the drowsy afternoon heat.

  "I'd forgotten how nice a Tanu city could be," the metallurgist said. "After Finiah fell, the Lowlives had me trapped up north in the Iron Villages. God, it was squalid. I ran away."

  "And came to Nionel?" inquired the Earthshaker.

  Tony grinned. "Right at Grand Loving time. I never expected to get married. After I was, I couldn't bear to stay, even though I loved Rowane. They'd cut off my silver tore and ... well, you know. But after I left and got into all sorts of trouble, I realized that I had to be with Rowane again. I just had to. It's very odd, really. We had very little in common. Rowane is a Howler." He projected her astonishing mental image, all softly haloed, and studied the reins of his chaliko. "Strange thing, love. One doesn't pick and choose."

  "I understand, Brother. Better than you know."

  "I don't suppose—" Tony hesitated, then said, "Would the King consider letting Rowane come to Goriah? If she'll forgive me for deserting her, that is?"

  The beautiful, melancholy face of the Tanu was full of regret. "There must be an incentive for great tasks, Brother. The King would say that Rowane is yours. Butsurely you will communicate freely with her. Through your golden tore, your hearts may meet across the leagues."

  "I've tried," Tony said wretchedly. "But I wasn't forced when we were together, and I guess I'm just not up to farspeech on the Firvulag mode. I'm really not very good at it even with our own people at long range."

  "Then you might ask help from the Lady Katlinel."

  Tony brightened. "Could you let me have her signature?"

  "Willingly," said the Tanu. And he projected the image while Tony labored to commit it to memory, vowing to attempt contact with the Lady of Nionel that very night.

  In a mood of easy companionship, they rode along the river, where there was a green pleasance with willows and flowering shrubs. Human and exotic women were there with their gold-torced children, and an ancient bareneck wandered about with a hurdy-gurdy and a costumed monkey on a chain. Tony's mouth tightened at the sight of the captive beast, but Kuhal's thought slid into his mind:

  ›Your only true freedom is with your adopted people. Soon the shackles will be removed and everything will be better than before. Only help them build the time-gate generator.

  You really must be eager to go!

  She will go and I must follow.

  Oh. Well it's a funny place the Milieu. But good luck.

  They were approaching the main dock area, which was thronged with workers. Carts full of goods and hellad caravans added to the congestion on the quays. The slips were nearly all occupied by pneumatic craft in the process of being off-loaded.

  "Supplies for the Grand Tourney," Kuhal explained. "Fortunately, the plantations of the upper Rhone have been spared Firvulag depredation. Perhaps the Little People are shrewder than we know and did not wish to risk a shortage of refreshments at the games."

  "So the King's really abolished the Combat, then?"

  "There will still be ardent competition, and doubtless some loss of life. But the scoring no longer is based upon heads taken." He sighed. "The Peace Faction are most gratified and have declared their intention to participate. Perhaps the events will not be so tame as some traditionalists fear if Minanonn the Heretic enters the jousts."

  They came to a large pier that had been cordoned off from the others. Some twenty large craft were being loaded by gray-torc stevedores rather than ramas. Tanu knights in full glass panoply bearing Milieu weapons stood guard on the boats and near the piles of sealed crates that still remained on the dock. Squads of grays in bronze half-armor patrolled the perimeter, shooing away curious onlookers.

  "You will sail down the Rhone, then go overland to Sasaran and the River Baar," Kuhal said. "You may be interested to know that you accompany a cargo that is perhaps the most valuable ever to be shipped from this city. The Lord of Sasaran himself will escort you."

  "Oh? Treasure?"

  The Earthshaker shook his golden head. "It's better that you do not know. But be assured that you and the cargo are both extremely precious to King Aiken-Lugonn."

  Kuhal rode up to a blue-crested captal of the guard and saluted by placing his fist against the counterchanged Janus-face emblem on his rose-gold tunic. "My compliments to the Most Exalted Lord Neyal the Younger, and tell him to come collect his passenger."

  "At your service, Exalted Lords," the captal said. "His baggage has already arrived and been put aboard." He helped Tony to dismount and the metallurgist stood there uncertainly.

  "Well, I'll say goodbye—" he began.

  A loud hail, both vocal and telepathic, rang out from the far end of the pier. Waving a clipboard and bounding toward them broadcasting waves of geniality came Sasaran's City-Lord, helmetless but otherwise attired in sapphire coercer harness all chased with gold and amber zircons. Neyal was so tall and thin that he could only be called gangling. His hair was like wheat stubble.

  "Shaker! I meant to see you when the caravan got in, but they put me right to work on these Tana-forsaken boats!"

  Neyal exchanged cordialities with his fellow High Tabler, beamed on Tony like the Spirit of Harvest, and proffered a gauntleted hand.

  Tony took it with some trepidation, but the greeting proved to be discreet.

  Kuhal said, "May I prese
nt our Creative Brother Wayland-Velkonn, who wears the symbols of Tana's peace only until he is given into the custody of the High King."

  Again Tony experienced the feeling of déjà vu. No one had styled him with his honorific of Velkonn since the City of Lights went up in flames so long ago ... or was it long?

  "A year ago today," said Neyal, going somber. "And as some think, the prelude to Nightfall."

  Kuhal's opaque blue eyes held warning. "Those who think so should keep their thoughts to themselves."

  Neyal shrugged. "Come aboard with us and hoist a jar," he invited Kuhal. But the latter declined, saying he had to hurry back to Castle Gateway.

  "I was only summoned to Roniah to act as the King's negotiator in securing the services of Lord Wayland-Velkonn," the Earthshaker said. "With the Truce upon us, I must make sure that the platform for the time-gate is completed inside Castle Gateway before sports fans come north in great numbers for the Tourney. All manner of spies are abroad these days, and the King wants the site secured."

  Tony looked surprised. "But surely you'll build the Guderian device outside the castle, where the Milieu side of the warp opened..."

  Kuhal said, "I would have thought so myself. But the King sent to us one Dimitri Anastos—late of the outlaw cadre called Basil's Bastards. This worthy seems to have spent his days in the Milieu designing upsilon-field equipment, and he presumably knows something about the theory of temporal plication as well. At any rate, he cautioned us that our device would not work unless there was no possibility of interference from the Milieu device. Our gate must debouch into empty air on Elder Earth."

  Tony looked wise. "Right. I see. Just as this end has you materializing half a meter or so in midair above the open rocky place fronting Castle Gateway."

  "It seems," Kuhal added, "that the tau-field will operate more or less anywhere within the environs of a certain futuristic city in the Rhône Valley. The original machine was even moved about by its inventor. But if one selects a site where the—uh—shipment would materialize inside an obdurate mass of matter, then the Guderian device simply will not work."

  "Fail safe," Tony noted. "It would be depressing to emerge from the warp into solid rock. Or even partially embedded in the wall of a French provincial cottage."

  Kuhal said, "This Anastos picked out a suitable spot inside Castle Gateway. We're building a platform on it, to take into account the way this region has risen slightly in the six million years between now and then."

  "You will be there at the games, won't you, Shaker?" Neyal asked. "Our Sasaran lads are ready to put on a good show at shinty, but we'll need cheering on."

  "I'll be there," Kuhal said, "unless our friend, here, does his work very quickly. In which case I have a previous engagement."

  Neyal laughed uncomprehendingly. "Well, see you anon. You come right along, Velkonn. We'll be casting off straightaway." He whacked his fist to the nine-pointed star on his cuirass in a farewell salute and beckoned Tony to follow.

  "I — I will do my best," the metallurgist said again to Kuhal. "Good luck to you and your lady." He turned away and went slowly down the pier, threading his way through bustling porters. Lord Neyal was arguing with a truculent silver foreman, waving his clipboard, and seemed to have forgotten about his passenger. Tony sat on a mysterious crate for a while, unmolested and unremarked. Finally the captal of the guard told him he was to be quartered on the endmost boat, so he ambled on board. The cabin with his baggage was tiny and drab, so he went out into the open stern, which projected out toward the mainstream of the Rhone. The inflated fabric formed a comfortable bench, and it was pleasant to sit in the sun and watch the other river traffic. Lord Neyal's promise of an imminent departure turned out to be a typical Tanu piece of overoptimism. An hour passed, then two. Tony fell asleep.

  He woke to an ironic telepathic voice:

  Nu if it isn't the prize shlemiel!

  He peered groggily about. At first he saw nothing but the broad river, streaked with maroon and ochre from the sunset, and the twinkling lamps along the curving esplanade, and the big torchères flaming in the twilight at the head of the pier.

  Eh! Out on the water shmuck! Upstream eighty meters.

  Tony strained to focus his farsense. His eyes made out a dark narrow blob, some kind of rivercraft. His mind-sight, still muzzy from sleep, sorted out a rough-hewn figure leaning on the gunwale and watching him.

  Tony said: Chief Burke.

  Burke said: The same. I thought you'd be sold down the river by now.

  Tony said coolly: Any hour now. This bunch is about as efficient as you Lowlives.

  Burke said: Touché bubi. But you don't have anything to worry about you know. I made sure Aiken Drum would treat you right before I even agreed to bring you into Roniah. Not that I could tell the rest of my people that.

  Tony said: I hope you held out for more than a string of wampum and a return ticket to Utopia Limited in exchange for me.

  Burke said: We also got this powerboat plus all the weaponry we could carry. Now we're on our way to Nionel where the rest of our Hidden Springs folks have gone to escape Firvulag raiders.

  Tony said: Nionel?

  Burke said: Not many Lowlives left in the Vosges. Or anywhere else in the Firvulag stamping grounds. Nionel is about our only alternative to joining up with Aiken Drum ... until the time-gate reopens.

  Tony said: Well ta-ta and don't bother to write.

  Burke said: No hard feelings?

  Tony said: Number 10 on Moh's Scale will suffice.

  Burke said: Nasty nasty. And I was trying to be Kemosabe.

  Tony said: Burke ... my wife's in Nionel. I left her. I was an ass. I'll try to contact her but if anything happens will you tell her I'll try to come back somehow? This is what she looks like. [Image.] Her name is Rowane.

  Burke said: I'll tell her. She looks like a sweetminded little lady. Shalom bubi. Keep out of trouble for a change.

  Tony didn't bother to answer. He sat with his head down and the world blotted out, sequestered in the golden solitude of his tore. Two more hours passed. Lord Neyal's minions, having finally finished the loading, were now obliged to hunt out the riverboat crews among the taverns and knocking shops of the waterfront. The guard on the pier was assiduously maintained.

  Tony was roused from his reverie when something sharp jabbed him in the breastbone. He opened his eyes with an indignant squawk and saw a heavy-set man dressed in outlaw rags at the other end of an iron-tipped lance.

  "Keep your trap shut, Lowlife," came a harsh whisper. "If you move or farspeak, I'll skewer you like a broiled lark."

  Some kind of rude boarding ladder had been hooked over the stern. The ruffian climbed up and was immediately followed by a dozen or so comrades. Two had Matsu carbines and the rest carried iron weapons.

  "How many people on this tub?" inquired the leading rascal.

  "I didn't see anyone but the knight guarding the gangplank," Tony replied. The spear shifted to his Adam's apple and began to prick. "For God's sake believe me! I'm only a bloody passenger. A prisoner!" He held up the glass chains. "Most of the soldiers were out on the dock when I came aboard. That was hours ago."

  "Search the boat," ordered the spearman.

  There were soft splashes out among the other moored vessels. The moon was not yet up and the Rhone, swathed in mist, was nearly pitch-black just a few meters off the sternrail. Sounds of music and jollity arose from the region beyond the cordon, and Roniah's faerie lights were all turned on, spangling the buildings with amber and blue. It seemed likely that the city was prematurely celebrating the Truce, and the departure of the convoy had been postponed in spite of royal orders to the contrary.

  Most of the boarding party had gone off to investigate the inner reaches of Tony's boat. "You're making a big mistake, you know," he hissed urgently. "You Lowlives don't have to steal from the Tanu cities any more. There's an amnesty. I suppose you're after weapons."

  "Smart little nipper, isn't he, Pingol?" obse
rved a hulking villain armed with a zapper.

  "Too damn smart." The iron lance drew a gentle semicircle from one of Tony's ears to the other, snicking his golden tore en route. "On the other hand, his metapsychic powers are pretty pitiful, as any fool can plainly see, and he's a fucking coward to boot. So why is he wearing gold? To say nothing of the Goddess's holy fetters?"

  The tall Matsu carrier leaned forward, face nearly concealed by a great mop of greasy dark hair. The outlaw's breath made Tony reel. "What's your name, squeak-poop?"

  "I'm Lord Velkonn!"

  The lance tip hovered in front of Tony's left eyeball and the spearman spoke in tones of silken menace. "Your human name."

  The words tumbled from Tony's lips. "Tony Wayland. But you shouldn't be doing this, I tell you! Chief Burke got a load of arms in exchange for me. He's off to take them to your people in Nionel. If you carry out this raid, the King might be so pissed that he cancels your amnesty! As for me, they'll never get the Guderian device built without my help, and if you harm me, your Lowlife mates who want to return to the Milieu will have your sweetbreads on toast!"

  The tall invader drew back and exclaimed, "Tony Wayland?!"

  "Te in a tapdance, what're you all shat up over?" the spearman growled to his companion. "Let's snuff this bloodless turnip and—"

  One of the outlaws who had gone forward came dashing to report. "Captain Pingol! Captain Fouletot! Great tidings. There was but a lone Tanu knight guarding the vessel within, and she succumbed to our blood-metal. The other vessels at this pier seem to be similarly neglected, although there are numerous grays patrolling the esplanade. Shall I signal the other boarding parties?"

  "Deliver the command in person," said the spearman. "No farspeech, lest the Foe overhear." His features now shone with a foxfire luminosity and there was something curiously insubstantial about his form.

  Tony took a shuddering breath. "You aren't Lowlives!"

  The pair chuckled in malevolent unison.

  The dwarfish bearer of good news added gleefully, "We opened a crate in the cargo compartment. Praise be to Te, it was as our spies foretold! The crate was full of Milieu weapons!"