In the wood, Lia searched with infinite patience for a group of Oplytes forming ranks for departure and reassignment elsewhere upon Skye, just as she had searched for Donol when he had failed to make a promised visit to the tower. She looked down at his limp, bloodstained body and was surprised to feel nothing. Perhaps she would in days—or years —to come.
The moment arrived. Using the best command voice she could muster, taught her in a hard and thorough school to which a very important man—who did not know that she knew who her father was—had ordered his daughter sent, she strode from the wood into the garish firelight, for the moment leaving Donol where he lay.
"Field Agent Woodgate." She spoke the syllables, harsh but low, to a non-human warrior which attempted to seize her, as it and its fellow monsters had seized hundreds, perhaps thousands, this night, only to withdraw a broken wrist. "Priority Code Ceo's Hand."
Ignoring its injury, it snapped to attention, reflections of the city flames flickering along its battle harness. Of a rare new breed of Oplyte ofl&cer, recently being tried in the elite corps, it was a hybrid, lacking the speed and strength of an ordinary Oplyte, the initiative or compunction which might have made it human, unable to boast of any third quality compensating for either deficiency. "Your orders, Ceo's Hand?"
"You will find a body in that patch of woods yonder, still alive."
"Yes, Ceo's Hand!" It sent two of its creatures to retrieve Donol, groaning his way back to consciousness as they dragged him to one of the transports. He should begin screaming soon and should be suffering pain, as well. Considerable pain. That ought to help keep him awake.
Ceo's Hand, indeed, she thought. She looked down at her hand, which had often done the Ceo's work and would again in future. Tonight it had done its own work, with another of its little homemade knives, another esoteric skill she had been taught, castrating Donol Islay.
"I ^all require transport to the landing pentagrams immediately—no, not in that vehicle, some other—and afterward offplanet as quickly as possible. And Captain?"
"Yes, Ceo's Hand?"
"I want you to see personally that this thing stays alive while you use it, as my gift to you, for as long a time as possible, until you have eaten every bit of it."
"Thank you, Ceo's Hand!"
Chapter XLVII: Skye of Gold
"Truly, things have not turned out that badly, have they, Uncle?"
Breathless with anticipation, beautiful Loreanna, no longer Mistress Daimler-Wilkinson, but with joy and without question Henry Martyn's woman (and Arran Islay's, she realized, as well, whatever that might prove to mean), saw her uncle aboard the golden draywherry, battered but still glittering, ghostly by ringlight, which another Henry Martyn had so long ago adorned. Demondion-Echeverria, already aboard, made no polite pretense of not listening to the private conversation between his colleague and his colleague's niece.
"I would say the estimate," her uncle spared a wry look for the Jendyne ambassador, "rather depends upon one's viewpoint. Being freighted hastily ofiplanet in the middle of the night, without the dignity of leave to remain until morning— and in a farm waggon, of all conveyances—smacks of ignominy, would you not agree?"
The ambassador could identify with Daimler-Wilkinson's feelings and was himself grateful that he had come to Skye at the behest of the Hanoverian Ceo rather than his own, and only as an observer. Fighting thoughts that wished to stray elsewhere, Loreanna shook her head. "You are not an honored guest, Uncle, but an unsuccessful invader. Moreover, as I have recent occasion to appreciate, day and night are all
432 HENRY MARTYN
the same within the bosom of the Deep." Nonetheless, her smile was kind. "The only viewpoint I own is that of one who must bid you farewell. I suspect the Ceo will understand, if that troubles you. Affairs here would inevitably have concluded the same way had he come himself. I shall enthille a message and tell him so."
The Ceo was indeed what worried Daimler-Wilkinson. Fancying pirates as he professed, possibly Leupould would be amused by what had transpired upon Skye, however displeased he must officially appear. Which reaction, personal or political, to humiliating failure upon the part of his Executor-General would most likely determine that worthy's fate? Sharing his niece's opinion with regard to the eventual outcome, nonetheless he wondered, with an anticipatory shudder, what Baffridgestar was like this time of year.
Events now moved relentlessly, as if by their own weight, toward some momentous conclusion he would apparently not be here to witness. The fire in Newtown had already burnt itself out. Among themselves, the rebels seemed to hold a sense of unnamed excitement. Hours had passed since Henry Martyn's complicated ruse had been revealed. His forces continued to make planetfall in great numbers at the starport—a new name would be found for it, now—to hunt for Morven's stragglers, aided by woodsrunners, villagers, and (it rankled the Executor-General) some elements of Hanoverian soldiery lately persuaded to join the famous star-raider.
"Many of his crewbeings will be staying planetside, I should imagine." Joining the two men within the draywherry —their pilot had as yet failed to make his appearance— Loreanna poured tea from a portable service she had carried with her. She seemed nervous and preoccupied, anxious to have done with this and be elsewhere. "At present they are sorting out genuine deserters from the spies you had planned leaving behind."
"He will have no one left to work his ships," her uncle replied, taking the cup she offered, "and this pleasant woodland world will be overwhelmed with people—and other things."
"I rather doubt it, Uncle. It is what he promised," she observed as she sipped her tea, "as a substitute for the usual prize brigands seek. Yes, even some nacyl and seporth will remain. Skye will be the first home many of them, human or otherwise, have known. It is a large worid, and their places will be taken by a greater number of Skyans wishing to travel to the stars."
"While I, the Ceo's personal representative, am rudely, unceremoniously booted off a world under Hanoverian sovereignty by a mere ..."
"Freebooter?" Despite herself, Loreanna giggled. "Does this look rude to you?" She threw a glance about the comfortably appointed draywherry. They had just quit the paneled library office where a sumptuous breakfast had been served while music played and a fire burned in the grate. His niece had eaten little, having been called to the communicator several times during the meal. "I understand that, as soon as he returns from looking at something in the woods which Mr. Krumm wished him to see, he will come to wish you bon voyage, whereupon you will be free to return to Hanover—if, as he says, you believe that the most prudent course. This is what he wishes. Uncle, what he planned, and assured at great personal risk by entering a rather obvious trap."
Daimler-Wilkinson snorted. "He did not look for our presence here, it was a complete surprise!"
"It is the policy he purposed following all along, whoever claimed to represent the Monopolity upon Skye." She raised an admonitory finger. "He still desires to send a message to Hanover, which Captain Bowmore somehow failed to deliver. I daresay he is rather pleased that it happens to be you to whom pragmatics compel him to show mercy, rather than certain others."
Daimler-Wilkinson nodded his satisfaction. "Yes, even the ruthless Henry Martyn seems to have acquired some restraint of late, I suspect as a result of his violent and emotional experiences with you."
Scarcely concealing her impatience, she shook her head. "I would not stake my life upon that theory. Uncle. Not in the way you mean. He will continue to be what he must be, merciful or ruthless by turns as practicality requires of him.
434 HENRY MARTYN
Rather say that your niece has learned profoundly from the sometimes splendidly, deliciously ruthless Henry Martyn, and hopes to continue her lessons in future. Violent emotional experiences are not a bad thing, altogether. True, perhaps, he feels he has regained some measure of humanity he feels he lost—"
"In no small part, thanks to you, my dear, I have no doubt of it." He nodded to
ward the ambassador. "For which two great spheres of influence shall be grateful for a long time to come."
She frowned. "Be that as it may. Uncle, I warn you, he will never grow soft like the fops you complain of. I know him. It was only by heroic effort, against what has long since become reflex with him, that he refrained from thrusting the Ceo*s personal representative when he first laid eyes upon you in his father's house. For him it constituted one usurpation too many."
Daimler-Wilkinson sat up. "The presumption of the whelp!"
"A whelp who has you by both spheres of influence. Uncle Sedgeley!"
She almost jumped from her seat. The words were not Loreanna's, but arose from the ladderhatch. Henry Martyn was muddy from head to toe, the sling upon his arm filthy. Blood spatters lay across his other sleeve. Krumm climbed the ladder behind him, filling the hatchway as, at their feet, flowed one of the bandit's nacyl companions. Henry Martyn strode up the aisle, bent to kiss Loreanna—who gave him a look fraught with expectation—and straightened to face her uncle.
"My message is a simple one, sir," he continued, his voice level, "I bid you and your unclean minions and mass-murderers begone, not only from the planet Skye, but from this entire region of the Deep. If not, then by all that is unholy in a universe brimming with obscenity, I swear I shall bring long-overdue revolution to Hanover itself. And, whatever else may come of it, not one stone of that planet shall I leave standing upon another!"
The cabin lay silent a long while. Ignoring this annoying, overhanging air of unfulfilled awaiting as he usually ignored air altogether, Demondion-Echeverria found he could be
quite philosophical about not having acquired Loreanna. Given a measure of ruthlessness upon her part fully comparable to that of Henry Martyn—not to mention her apparent taste for weaponry—he was vastly better off.
A voyage of some weeks lay ahead. It would be well to introduce his Hanoverian friend to the mysteries of the Immortal School. Sedgeley's was an intelligent and stabilizing influence in the galaxy. The Practice would extend a useful life—did Leupould not see fit to end it after hearing of events upon this planet—and give them something personal in common.
They would need it. If this threat to bring anarchy down upon Hanover were taken with a fraction of the seriousness it merited, life was going to become interesting and difficult for the established powers in the not-too-distant future. Perhaps it was time to begin thinking about ending a Thousand Years' War which diverted their attention from matters more important.
At last, the troublesome individual who had created the silence broke it. "I would have said all of this earlier, had we not been interrupted and my attentions urgently required elsewhere. Now matters are out of my hands for the time being. May I have some tea, my darling Loreanna, and a cup for Mr. Krumm, I think, as well?"
Krumm nodded enthusiastic agreement. He threw a grin and a wink at the girl, as if sharing some mysterious private joke with her, found a seat which protested under his weight, and affectionately scratched the alien upon what served it as a head.
"Even with this small armada of yours—" Daimler-Wilkinson gave a polite cough, attempting to regain some measure of his dignity, "—this may prove a difficult edict to enforce, young man, against the massed naval power of the Hanoverian Imperium-Conglomerate."
"You would be well advised to believe him. Uncle," Loreanna suggested as she poured, "when he speaks in this manner without raising his voice." Unable to contain herself further, she turned to Henry Martyn. "And what, if I may ask, have your various searches produced?"
Suddenly appearing weary and much older than his years, Henry Martyn stared into his teacup. "Broken, gnawed.
436 HENRY MARTYN
marrow-split bones, left behind in an abandoned Oplyte camp. I have reason to be certain they are the remains of Morven and his evil daughter Alysabeth."
Suppressing a shudder, Loreanna looked a different sort of question at him than had earlier been the case. He passed it to his first oflftcer. Krumm fumbled in a grimy camouflage-patterned kefflar bag slung over a massive shoulder. Daimler-Wilkinson cringed within himself (nor was he alone in this), dreading to see what grisly trophy of the Usurper had been retrieved. Still grinning, Krumm produced the battered "persuadible" which, for man and daughter, had proven the deadliest possible failure. The nacyl took the object in its stubby tentacles, turning it as if examining something once familiar, now much altered by circumstances.
"It is my hope," Henry Martyn offered in the same uninflected tone he had earlier employed, "that in the last, terrifying moment of their lives, they realized it was all a deliberate hoax, conceived by myself and executed by my comrades, to forestall many less-sophisticated but more brutal measures upon the Usurper's part by rendering him complacently dependent upon miracles."
Another silence ensued. "And of Mistress Woodgate," Daimler-Wilkinson asked, drawing odd looks from Henry Martyn and his niece, "is there no word?"
"Nor," Loreanna added, some measure of her excitement having evaporated, "of your brother, Donol?"
He shook his head. "Nor, I have come to suspect, will there ever be."
Loreanna reached out to place a comforting hand upon her lover's forearm. Daimler-Wilkinson had quite another reason for the look of concern and loss in his eyes. "And what is to become of you, my dear?" j
"I had almost forgot!" Of a sudden, she was bright and lively once again. From a pocket of her gown, she handed him an engraved autothille upon a jeweled chain. Henry Martyn smiled. Her expression had become one of rejoicing. "For you. Uncle Sedgeley, from both of us." She raised adoring eyes to Henry Martyn, who now grinned from ear to ear, momentarily a boy again, and took her hand. "Since he has asked me, I shall sail the dark, endless currents of the Deep with him, or else live the rest of my days in happi-
ness, upon this, our liberated Skye, its halo for my wedding ring."
Henry Martyn pointed upward. "And here, unless I am mistaken, in answer to all your unasked questions, are the first of our wedding guests, four hundred nacyl fighting captains, their stout crews, and their new apprentices, late of the Jendyne naval academy!"
An unfamiliar roaring hum filled the air. Through the open meshwork of the draywherry, Daimler-Wilkinson at first thought dawn lit the sky in golden contrast to the dusty silver of the moonring. Yet it was still many hours until sunrise. Then he realized that the Ceo would have little to blame him for, after all. Somehow it seemed like small comfort.
Overhead, from horizon to horizon, the sky filled with hundreds of alien vessels descending—without benefit of cabelle, starsail, or rocket blast—directly toward the planet's surface. Each pulsed with inner light in quality resembling the eerie blue flicker of §-glow, yet brighter, stronger, daytime brilliant, challenging the night-black Deep, bearing the first real progress for mankind in a thousand years.
"In either case,*' declared Loreanna, suffused with a certain glow of her own, "upon Skye or in the Deep, I shall be with the man I love, forever."
DiMe(n)M
mmmi^
Book Three
C-»'O0fC^»O
The Wheel of Time
by
Robert Jordan
Praise for Eye of the World
"A powerful vision of good and evil...fascinating people moving through a rich and interesting world." —Orson Scott Card
"Richly detailed...fully realized, complex adventure."
— Library Journal
"A combination of Robin Hood and Stephen King that is hard to resist...Jordan makes the reader care about these characters as though they were old friends." — Milwaukee Sentinel
Praise for The Great Hunt
"Jordan can spin as rich a world and as event-filled a tale as [Tolkien]...will not be easy to put down." — ALA Booklist
"Worth re-reading a time or two."
-Locus
"This is good stuff...Splendidly characterized and cleverly plotted...The Great Hunt is a good book which wiU always be a good boo
k. I shall certainly [line up] for the third volume."
— Interzone
The Dragon Reborn
coming in hardcover in August, 1991
Coordinated Arm 01: Henry Martyn Page 48