by Andre Norton
Turan smiled. "It would seem that she does not really believe in her own argument that I am but a rather solid shadow walking, or she would leave it to Vut to answer the matter."
Wamage made a small gesture. "Lord Commander, I think she believes two ways—she is fearful her own thought may be wrong. If you die again—then Vut's will is manifest."
"But I do not intend to die again." Turan's voice was firm. It was as if his strong will fed the talent which kept him alive. "At least not yet. Therefore I think I shall be safer—"
"We can get you to the Tower, Lord Commander. Vut's priests will then make a defense wall of their own bodies if the need arises!" Wamage interrupted eagerly.
Turan shook his head. "Do my own armsmen of Turan-la"—a shade of confusion crossed his face. "My armsmen of Turan-la," he repeated with a kind of wonder, Ziantha thought, as if he heard those words but did not fully understand them. Ziantha feared his confusion was visible to Wamage. But it would seem that the other was so intent upon his own message of gloom that his thoughts were for that alone. For he burst out then hotly:
"She sent them north after—after your entombing, Lord Commander. They were battle comrades of yours; they knew how you felt concerning Puvult. Me you can command under this roof, and Fomi Tarah, and of the younger men, Kar Su Pyt, Jhantan Su Ixto, and we each have armsmen sworn to us, as you know. Enough, Lord Commander, to see you safely to the Tower."
Turan was frowning. "There is another, not of this household, so he might not be suspected or watched. He lent me his weather coat on the night I returned—"
"Yes. I have sought him out. His father is a Vut priest, one Ganthel Su Rwelt. They live on the southern coast—the boy came with the levy from Sxark a year ago."
"From the southern coast!" Turan caught the significance of that at once. "Can you get word to him secretly?"
"I can summon him, but, Lord Commander, as you well know there are eyes and ears awake, watching, listening always amid these walls."
Turan sighed. His gaunt face looked even less fleshy, as if his grayed skin clung tighter and tighter to his skull.
"Wamage." He returned slowly to his bench, sat down as if he could no longer trust the effort standing erect caused him. "I would leave this palace, the Lady Vintra with me. But I do not wish to go—as yet—to Vut. There is something to be done, something of which I learned of late, which cannot be left while I tend this ailing body of mine. For time may be fatal. I must be free to move without question or interference. Now I call upon you for your aid in my service, for if battle comrades cannot ask this, then what justice lies in this world?"
"Truth spoken, Lord Commander. Can you depend upon no other for this deed which must be done?" There was a furrow of what Ziantha believed to be honest anxiety between Wamage's bushy brows. If Turan had not managed to gain the loyalty of his High Consort, in this man, at least, he had one faithful follower.
"No other. I have spoken truth to you; now I shall add more. You know of my visit to the land that the sea gave up? Only recently you spoke of this—"
"A place you have often mentioned yourself, Lord Commander. You wished to take a ship of your own and go seeking it again, but the rebels broke out. But—what of it?"
"Just this—there I made a great find, a find which I must now uncover for my own safety."
"Lord Commander, you are in some fever dream, or else—" he swung to Ziantha, his face hard with suspicion—"there is some truth in the High Consort's babble, and this rebel woman has bewitched you. What could lie on a rock in the sea that would aid you now?"
"Something very old and very powerful, and this is no bewitchment. For what lies there I saw long before Vintra came into my life."
"The gem! The gem which you took to Vut's tower and thereafter put from you, having it made into tombwear so that none could lay hand on it."
"In part, yes, but only in part. How think you that the Lady Vintra, wearing it in a tomb crown, was moved to come to my aid, brought me again to this very room? There were ancients of ancients. Do not men declare that they had strange knowledge we do not possess? What of the old tales?"
"But those are for children, or the simple of mind. And we do with the aid of machines made by our own hands what they did in those tales. Who could fly save with a double-wing?"
"They, perhaps. There were things of great power on that island, Wamage, how great I did not even guess then. I thought of such treasure as delights the eye; now I know it was treasure for the mind. With what I once found there and what still awaits to be discovered, I shall be armed against the forces ready to pull me down. Has part not already brought me from the tomb?"
"And how do you reach the island?"
"By your aid and that of this youth from Sxark. You shall arrange for me and this lady—for she has learned part of the secret—"
Wamage moved with a speed Ziantha had not expected. Only the flash of mind-reading alerted her. He would have flamed her down with a small beamer he brought from his sleeve, but she had thrown herself flat.
"Wamage!" Turan was on his feet. "What do you do?"
"She is Vintra, Lord Commander. Every rebel drinks lorca-toast to her at night. If she has such command over any part of your fate she is better dead!"
"And me with her, is that what you would want, Wamage? For I tell you, it is by her I live, and without her further aid I cannot continue to do so."
"Sorcery, Lord Commander. Have in the priests and gain their aid—"
From where she crouched, Ziantha put all her talent into a mighty effort. His voice suddenly faltered, his hand dropped limply to his side, and from his fingers the beamer thudded to the carpeted floor. She retrieved it swiftly. The operation of it she saw was simple. One aimed and pressed a button. What the results would be Vintra's memory supplied; they were both spectacular and fatal.
"You should not have told him," she mind-sent.
"We need him. Otherwise we can make one blunder after another and achieve nothing."
To Ziantha's thinking one blunder had already been made, but she would have to accept Turan's plan. Could it be that he was making such an effort to retain control of his body that he no longer reasoned clearly, and the time would come when she must take command?
Reluctantly she released Wamage from the mind-lock. The man shook his head as if to banish some feeling of dizziness. As full consciousness returned to him Ziantha laid the beamer on the bench at Turan's hand.
"Look you, man of Singakok." She had from Vintra the heavily accented voice of the rebel leader. "I have now no weapon. There lies yours. At whose hand does it lie? Do you think that if I were your enemy in this hour I would disarm myself before you and your lord? I have no love for Singakok. But that which was beyond any struggle of ours faced me in the tomb of Turan, and he and I were bound together in this. Take up your weapon if you do not believe me, use it—"
If he tried that, Ziantha thought—if I have gambled too high—I hope Turan can stop him. But Wamage, though he put out his hand as if to carry out her suggestion, did not complete that move.
"She speaks the truth," Turan said. "She stands unarmed in the midst of her enemies, and she speaks the truth."
Wamage shook his head. "She is one of tricks, Lord Commander, as you know. How else have the rebels held us off this long? It is their tricks—"
"No trick in this. Vintra is no longer of the rebels."
"Do you want an oath on that before the altars of Vut?" Ziantha demanded. "I was bound to another cause by those hours in the dark before the spirit door opened. Do you think any man or woman could pass through such an ordeal as that and not come forth unchanged? For the present I am pledged to the Lord Commander and will be so until his mission is accomplished." She hoped that Wamage believed her—for in this she spoke Ziantha's truth.
Wamage looked from one to the other. "Lord Commander, I have been a battle comrade of yours since the action at Llymur Bay. I am sworn by my own choice to your service. What you wish—that shall it be."
Was this surrender coming too easily? Ziantha tried mental probe. The confusing in and out pattern of the alien mind could deceive her, whereas with her own kind she could easily have assessed friend or enemy.
"What I wish is a double-wing and the armsman from Sxark as a guide. The hour is late, and I must move tonight."
"It will be difficult—"
"I have not said this would move with ease; it is enough that it does move!" Turan's voice took on a deeper note; there was authority in the look he turned upon the other. "For if we do not go at once, we may be too late."
"This is also true," Wamage agreed. "Well enough." He became brisk, producing weather coats from one of the coffers, these with head hoods, and, as he pointed out, no insignia.
Part of the way out of the palace they could follow corridors private to the Lord Commander, where none could intrude without invitation— A fortunate custom, Turan noted to Ziantha as Wamage went ahead to make sure of their clear passage in the public parts of the building.
"Do you trust him?" Ziantha did not. "He may be more loyal to what he considers best for you than to any order from you. Vintra is too long and bitter an enemy for him to accept otherwise."
"We can not lean too heavily on trust, no. But can you see any other way to get us out of this trap? If he is loyal we have won; if he plays a double game, we shall have mind-search to warn us. It is a pity we can not read their patterns better."
But it seemed Wamage would prove loyal. He led them through an inconspicuous side entrance to a waiting car.
"The armsman will meet us at the port, Lord Commander. But we have half the city to cross. And much can happen before we get there."
"So let us be on our way!"
Wamage slipped behind the controls of the vehicle. It was smaller than the one which had brought them there, and Ziantha was cramped tightly in beside Turan. Wamage was immediately in front of her, and she must be instantly alert, she knew, to any sign that he was not carrying out his orders. Half the city to cross—it would be a long time to hold that guard. Turan had raised barriers again, perhaps because he had to retain his talent to aid his own feat of endurance.
10
Under other conditions, Ziantha thought fleetingly, she would have watched about her with wondering eyes. She was doing what no other, not even the Zacathans with all their learning, had been able to accomplish, seeing a Forerunner civilization. But all that concerned her now was her own escape from it. It was necessary to concentrate on Wamage throughout this journey.
It would seem he was faithful to Turan's trust. At least the car traveled steadily, without hindrance, first along quiet streets and then along those filled with heavier traffic. If their escape had been discovered they were not yet pursued.
Wamage wove a twisted way from broad avenue to cross street and back. Ziantha had never had too keen a sense of direction; for all she knew they could be heading directly away from their goal. And Vintra's memory held little of Singakok.
The lights were bright as they took a last turn coming to a place where many cars were parked. Wamage slowed as he traversed this line of waiting vehicles, heading on past a lighted building.
To one side was a vast expanse lighted in part by rows of set flood lamps. There Ziantha saw one of the aircraft come into the light, turn rather clumsily, and rush forward, lifting after its run into the air. It was unlike the flitters of her own world, having fixed wings and apparently needing the forward run to make it airborne, rather than rising straight up as was normal.
Yet the Vintra part of her cringed at the sight of it, projecting to Ziantha a vivid and horrifying memory of death falling in objects that exploded upon impact. Objects that came from such a machine.
Was Turan a pilot? Vintra had no such knowledge. As Ziantha probed she received the impression that such a skill was difficult to learn and required long tutorage. Or was Wamage to serve them so, accompany them on what might be a vain search? Did Turan plan to take the other fully into his confidence? Or did he propose to put a mind-lock on the alien and so bend him to their aid? That she did not believe could be held for any length of time.
Wamage drove on. The lights were fewer. They now passed a line of flyers. He circled at the end of this and stopped by one much smaller craft.
What might have been a torch flashed in the night. Wamage turned off the lights of the ground car and leaned out of the window to call softly:
"Doramus Su Ganthel?"
"To answer, Commander!" came swift answer.
"You have done well." Turan spoke for the first time since they had left the palace. "My thanks to you, battle comrade."
"It is in my mind that perhaps I have done ill," Wamage replied, a tired, heavy note in his voice. "I do not know why you must do this thing—" He had half hitched about in his seat. "Lord Commander, this woman is your deadliest enemy. She is Vintra who swore before the Host of Bengaril to have your head on the tri-pole of rebel victory. Yet now—"
"Now, by the will of Vut, she serves me as no other can. Think you of where I have just come from, Wamage. If she wanted me dead would I not have remained there?"
"The High Consort speaks of sorcery—"
"For her own ends, and that you also know, Wamage. Was it not you who warned me of her, not once, but twice and more? I tell you that when I return all which puzzles you now will be resolved. But if I do not go—then between the High Consort and the priests I will indeed be returned to whence I came and that with haste."
Wamage sighed so heavily Ziantha could hear him. "That I cannot doubt, Lord Commander, having heard what I have heard. But if there is a third choice—"
"For my safety, Wamage, in this hour there is not! And above all what I must do now must be speedily done. The longer I waste here—the more chances there are for failure—"
He stepped out of the vehicle, and Ziantha made speed to follow him. The waiting armsman came to them.
"At your service, Lord Commander. What is your will?"
"To fly to the south coast where there is a place we may not be seen. This is of high importance, and it must be done with speed. You are a pilot?"
"Of my father's personal craft, Lord Commander. But a scout—I have not flown one—" He was beginning when Turan interrupted him.
"Then you shall gather air time in one tonight. Battle comrade"—he turned now to Wamage—"for what you have done this night I can never give thanks enough. You have indeed saved my life, or at least lengthened it. Let that always be remembered between us."
"Let me go with you—" Wamage put out a hand as if to clutch Turan's arm.
"I leave you for a rear guard, one to cover me. It is a hard thing I ask of you—"
"But nothing that I will not do. Guard your back, Lord Commander!"
Ziantha was aware he watched her as he delivered that warning.
"Be sure I do," Turan answered.
They climbed aboard the strange flyer, and with the armsman for pilot the machine came to vibrating life, swung around, and ran along the field, until Ziantha was sure there was trouble and it would not lift.
With a bounce it did, and she felt queasy as she never had in a flitter. In the cramped cabin she could feel the vibration through her body. And it seemed to her that flying in this Forerunner world was a more rigorous experience than she had been accustomed to.
"It is fortunate, Lord Commander," their pilot said, "that these scouts have instant clearance from the field with no questioning by the control tower. Else—"
"Else we would have had a story for them," Turan said. "Now we can rather plan on landing. Listen well, for much depends upon this. You must set us down in a place as near to the sea as you can take this flyer. And it must be done with as little chance of discovery as possible. We are seeking a source of power, something which lies on an island and to which we have a single pointer. With this—with this—" Turan had hesitated and then began again, "I can promise the future will be changed."
But he did not say w
hose future. Ziantha smiled in the dark. Turan's—the real Turan's influence must be great—or had been great that he could bind these two men to his purposes. Though Wamage had had his doubts. Perhaps a sensitive in this civilization where the power was apparently so little known could apply pressure without even realizing it. Though she knew that if there was need she could control the armsman for a short time as she had Wamage.
"There is the Plateau of Xuth, Lord Commander. It—it has such an evil reputation that not many seek it out, not since the days of Lord Commander Rolphri, though that is all countryman's talk—"
Countryman's talk, maybe—Ziantha caught a hint or two of what lay in his mind as he spoke—but he believes it holds a threat. I pick up fear which is not of other men but of something strange. If Turan caught that also he would seem to discount it, for he replied promptly:
"Xuth is to our purpose. You can pilot us there?"
"I believe so, Lord Commander."
"Well enough." Turan had edged a little forward in his place. He was intent upon what the armsman was doing, and Ziantha knew that he was striving to pick up from the other the art of flying this ancient machine.
Had the alien mind-patterns been easier to contact he would have had no difficulty. But having to make allowances for constant disruption of mind-touch, his concentration must be forced to a higher level. Without his asking she began to feed him power, give him extra energy. Nor did she cease to marvel at his great endurance.
They did not speak again. Perhaps their pilot thought they slept. Once or twice they saw the riding lights of what must be other aircraft, but none came near, nor did there appear to be any pursuit. However, doubt nibbled at Ziantha's confidence. Surely they could not have got away from Singakok and the High Consort as easily as this!
The night sky grayed; they were coming into day. Dawn and then the full sunrise caught them. For the first time in hours the armsman spoke:
"The sea, Lord Commander. We turn south now to Xuth."
Turan was half collapsed in his seat. Ziantha regarded him with rising concern. His look of fatal illness was heightened by the sunlight. Could he last? And this was so faint a hope they followed— She fought the fear that uncoiled within her, began to seep coldly through her body.