The Golden Torc

by Julian May

  NONTUSVEL: We must demand a ruling of Brede.

  EADONE-I-ALUTEYN: Excellent. The Thagdal will surely agree.

  RIGANONE: But there's no telling what that weird old Two-Face will say! She never involves herself in the affairs of the High Kingdom. She's no true Tanu at all ... she's something else altogether.

  ANÉAR: Something dreadful.

  EADONE: Listen to me, you fearful young ones. Brede is the oldest and wisest, our guide and our first benefactor when an entire galaxy was arrayed against us. She had the original vision that inspired transport of the First Comers to our Exile here.

  KUHAL: True, Lady Sciencemaster. But let us also remember that Brede brought both Tanu and Firvulag to this Earth. In some deep way she is linked in destiny to both races. We cannot be sure—

  NONTUSVEL: We can only hope that she will choose what is best for both. We may even pray that she will choose what is best for all three races!...And now, my dearest ones, I would have you link minds with me once again. But this time you will not sing the Song for our poor dead sister, Bybar, but for all of us living on this planet, exiled and afraid.

  13

  AFTER NEARLY TWO WEEKS of Questing it had come to this: a vast black hole in the mountain and a nasty choice.

  "What's wrong with chasing him underground?" Aiken Drum asked.

  Nodonn bestowed a pitying glance on his diminutive rival. "On foot? With no bear-dogs to help catch his scent and distract him?"

  The two of them were sitting on thoroughly winded chalikos, waiting for the other leaders of the great Hunt to reach the ledge in front of the cave. Several dozen amphicyons milled about yowling their frustration. None ventured more than two or three meters into the cavern entrance, from which a chill, dampish exhalation flowed.

  "Let's take a peek at what's inside," Aiken suggested. He conjured up a fulgurant ball of energy like a floating star shell and sent it wafting into the dark cleft. The two Hunters followed its progress with their farsight. It came into a huge chamber all fanged with stalactites and stalagmites where there was a broad lake. On the far side a low arched passageway led deeper into the mountain and Aiken guided the psychoenergetic flare into this opening, through which an underground river flowed. The tunnel pinched and the roof lowered after about half a kilometer, and finally the stream flowed over a precipice into a void so black that the light of the flare could not illuminate it. For a moment the two metapsychics saw with their mind's eye a waterfall dropping like a length of gauze into nothingness. Then the flare was suddenly extinguished.

  A faint sound of laughter floated from the depths.

  "And up yours, too," Aiken said to the faraway Shape of Fire.

  The King's mount came scrambling up the rocky slope, followed closely by Stein—whom the monarch had taken a liking to, Lord Celadeyr of Afaliah, Lady Bunone Warteacher, and fifteen or so others of the party possessing the PK power to assist their faltering steeds in the climb. Because of Delbaeth's habit of bombarding pursuers with fireballs, it had not been possible for the Quest to take to the air.

  "Well?" growled Thagdal.

  "Gone to ground," said the Battlemaster.

  The King removed his diamond helm, slouched in the saddle, and chewed his golden mustache. "Damn it all to hell. After chasing him all this way."

  "He does it every time," Celadeyr of Afaliah remarked, shrugging aquamarine-armored shoulders. "Leads you from one plantation to the next. Lets you think you've got him trapped, then pops up outside your line, fries a few grays and anybody else he catches with his pants down, and then off to the races again. Daring you to nail him! That's our Delbaeth. But it always ends the same way—into some bloody cave, and the laugh's on you."

  "Damn smart for a Firvulag, Celo."

  The Lord of Afaliah spurred his chaliko through the rabble of bear-dogs to the cavern mouth. "Would I have asked for your help against an ordinary spook? Good thing for us Delbaeth is a maverick and doesn't fight in the Combat!...This is a new bolt-hole. At least we've managed to chase him farther west than ever before. This part of the Cordillera is way to hell and gone out on the Isthmus."

  The King spat. "Don't know where the devil we are, not being able to reconnoiter from the air. Steinie—you got any beer left?"

  The Viking passed a large canteen.

  Celadeyr said, "Now that the Shape of Fire's underground, it's safe to fly if you wish, Majesty. He'll stay holed up for several days now to rest. There'd be no danger at all flying back to Afaliah."

  "Give it up?" cried Stein. "We still got three days clear until the friggin' Truce! There's still a chance we could get him."

  The mounted assembly laughed. Bunone Warteacher, awesome in a silvery bascinet that made her look like a bird of prey, said, "Delbaeth isn't coming out. Would you and your saucy master follow him in?"

  "Why not?" Stein asked, and once more the Hunters laughed.

  Aiken said to the King, "I told you I'd get him for you. I promised it, in fact. If I don't get Delbaeth, I'm screwed for the Grand Combat—right?"

  "Oddly phrased," said the King. His smile was affable. "But the conclusion is accurate. You've had ample opportunity to carry out your boastful proposal on this Quest. If we return to Muriah having failed, I'll consider your service-bid for Stein null and void. It would be proper to punish you for the insolence of having made the bid in the first place, but in consideration for your repair of the computer and several other worthwhile accomplishments, I feel disposed to generosity. You'll be eligible to fight in the High Mêlée with the other gold-torc human warriors. But you may not aspire to the Heroic Encounters."

  "It is fitting," said Nodonn, glowing in the advancing dusk. A few bats began to zip out of the cave on their evening forays.

  "If we're packing it in," Celadeyr said, "Let's get down the mountain before any others ruin their mounts trying to climb up here."

  "Now just a damn minute," Aiken protested. "I didn't say I was giving up. There's still three days before the Truce ... I'm going after Delbaeth. Into the cave."

  "And I'm going with him," Stein said. "Nobody's gonna auction me off like a prize steer again!" The mental and vocal babble greeting their declarations made it possible for Aiken to screen off Stein's unspoken thought: So what if I get killed? If any Tanu takes me for a slave, I'll never see Sukey again.

  "Make your foolhardy gesture if you must," said Nodonn. "Show us, if you can, that you know how to beat the Shape of Fire on his own home ground." Most of the Tanu crowded onto the ledge roared appreciation of the Battlemaster's remark. "The rest of us will return to Lord Celadeyr's castle for refreshment, then fly on to the capital. Delbaeth will keep until after the Grand Combat. Should we discover your bones when we finally penetrate to his lair, we'll conduct suitable obsequies and sing for you the Song."

  More laughter. But in the midst, a protest.

  "So you object, Bleyn and Alberonn?" inquired the Battlemaster.

  Two riders urged their beasts to the fore. Bleyn the Champion was a hybrid, powerful in both PK and coercion, who sat at the High Table. Alberonn Mindeater, another hybrid, was one of the best warrior-illusionists. Both were of the faction of Mayvar and both had helped to train Aiken and Stein in martial arts for their initiation.

  "It is not fitting that this company desert Lord Aiken here in the wilderness while he descends to challenge Delbaeth," Bleyn stated. "Shame on those who would hold a brave man's endeavor up to mockery."

  Nodonn only smiled.

  Alberonn said, "We two will await the return of Aiken and Stein. We will camp before this very cave mouth, praying for their success. We will wait for the three days, so that the time originally allotted for this Quest may be honorably fulfilled."

  "I also will wait," decided Bunone, "and my three warrior-maids. Aiken Drum is a man of singular talents! We, too, will pray that he survives."

  The High King threw up one flashing hand in a gesture of resignation. "Oh, very well! What's three more days? We've earned a little rest after
chasing that damn spook the length of the Betics and never once daring to take to the air for fear of his fireballs. But if we stay here, Celo, you've got to fly us in some decent food and booze."

  The Lord of Afaliah said, "We can set up camp in the meadow below, near the torrent, where the attendants and the baggage train now wait. My son Uriet himself will lead a squadron of levitants to bring refreshment."

  "That's that, then," said the King. He glowered at Aiken. "Three days only! You hear me?"

  The golden manikin leapt from his saddle, knelt on one knee before the royal chaliko, and grinned under his golden visor. "Thank you for your patience, Awful Father. We'll bring you Delbaeth's balls for biddy-swabbers!"

  And then, while the Questers watched in incredulous silence, Aiken Drum and Stein took off their armor and stacked it in a pile just beside the cave entrance. They left all their weaponry except Stein's bronze sword and took from their saddlebags only the Viking's parcel of snack foods, the canteen of beer, and a thin golden box about the size of a pen case, which Aiken stuffed quickly into the front of his undertunic.

  Waggling an admonitory finger at Nodonn, the golliwog said, "No fair peeking after us, Sun-Face. Don't you chase us with flares."

  "I will not," the Battlemaster promised, his smile undimmed.

  "Then—goodbye, all!" said Aiken Drum.

  There was a soundless snap.

  Two extra bats joined the flock wheeling over the heads of the Hunt. After taking a few minutes to get used to their wings, the pair swooped down and disappeared into the darkness of Delbaeth's cave.

  ***

  "Hey, kid!"

  "Shh. Gotta be sure nobody's farsensing us. Wouldn't trust that fewkin' Archangel one AU's worth."

  "...Kid, what about the friggerty monster?"

  "Will you shut your snoose-chompin' yap? It's tough work, doing these different kinds of mind-bendery all at the same time."

  "Sorry."

  They hung from the roof of the cataract shaft by their tiny claws. The world was utterly, appallingly black. The waterfall made a hissing sound as it sprayed into the mountain's gut. A faraway rumble down below announced its drainage into an abyssal sump.

  The two bats could "see" by means of the sounds.

  At last Aiken said, "It's okay. They're all going down to the campsite. Nobody's making a real effort to farsense us. The least little screen'll take care of them now ... Trouble is, Steinie, I don't really know how good at farsensing any of these Tanu biggies are. I'm certain that most of the exotics can't farsee underground. That's why the Firvulag live in caves and burrows. But the King, Nodonn, that damn Fian who does the PK stunts—they just might be able to figure some way to spot us through a klom of solid rock ... just like I can."

  "Jeezuss God. Will you lay off the bragging and scan out where that torch-ass spook is holed up? Or don't you care if we get incinerated?"

  "We're not gonna get incinerated. Delbaeth isn't waiting in some cranny to ambush us. He's gone home. He knows nobody in this Exile world is stupid enough to follow him into the caves."

  "Ha ha. All right, Ace. Now that we're here—where the hell are we?"

  "We're in a better position to nab the spook than we were before, hemmed in by that mob of exotics. This is just the kind of chance I hoped for ever since we took off on this dumb monster hunt! A chance to go after Delbaeth without the rest of 'em watching how I kill him!"

  "You're not gonna zap him with your superbrain?"

  "Betcher sweet ass I'm not. I wouldn't have a chance in a mind-to-mind with Delbaeth. Neither would any of those Tanu turds—unless the Firvulag was taken completely by surprise. And fat chance of that happening, with that friggerty circus parade of three hundred knights of the Round Table whooping after him. Nope! There's only one way to take the Shape of Fire. My little old sweetheart, Mayvar, knew it."

  "Well how, for chrissake?"

  "I'm gonna cheat. Come on. Let's get outa here to some place where it's flat and dry and I'll show you."

  The two bats spiraled down the shaft. At the bottom they turned into pallid eyeless fish and went whisking through the flooded tunnel of the sump, "seeing" the twists and turns of the rock pipe by means of pressure changes and the reflection of water currents, rather than the echolocation they had used while they were bats. They traveled for more than a kilometer before the stream broke into a large airfilled space. One fish leaped from the water—flopped back. Then both jumped up and metamorphosed into bats. A few moments later they were in human form again, sitting on a rock shelf beside the underground river while a small ball of incandescence hung in midair to furnish light. The cave ceiling two or three meters above was covered with a fantastic growth of crystal soda-straw formations, thin and delicate, each with a pendant drop of water at the tip.

  Aiken wasted no time admiring the scenery. He took the golden box from his shirt, manipulated the lid in some tricky PK fashion, and showed Stein what was inside: a single thin gray object about twenty cents in length, vaguely resembling a silvery length of punk with a wire stem.

  Stein frowned. "You know what that looks like? When I was a kid back in Illinois we had—"

  "That's what it is. Just one of these little things is gonna kill that shitfire Firvulag stone dead. A long time ago, some poor sucker brought this through the time-gate, thinking he'd liven up the Pliocene a little bit. Since they're perfectly harmless, the people at the auberge had no objection. But when the guy stepped into Exile, his stuff was confiscated—and all but this one destroyed before Mayvar got hold of it. You know why? Because here, things like this are deadly! Not to humans—not even torc-wearing humans—but to the exotics."

  "Iron." Stein was awestruck. "No iron tools here, no iron implements, nothing iron at all. All glass, vitredur, bronze or other alloy, silver, gold, whatnot. But never any iron! Hell—why didn't anybody notice?"

  "How much iron did we use back in the Milieu in places where it showed? We were almost out of the iron age. You know what the Tanu and Firvulag call the stuff? Blood-metal! One prick and they're goners. Or, in the case of this thing—"

  "Jeez, yes!" Stein exclaimed. His expression became intent. "You're gonna do it, kid. I'm a believer at last. And after we finish off this Delbaeth, you're gonna help me escape with Sukey. And if any dumb Tanu tries to stop us—"

  "You stupid squarehead! You forgot your gray torc? And Sukey's silver one? The Tanu could track you anywhere. Relax! I got other plans. We'll all make it if you don't pull any more great moves like you did with Tasha."

  Aiken closed the golden box and put it back into his shirt. "Now sit still and shut up. I gotta track Delbaeth, and this X-ray vision thing is a hell of a lot tougher than you might think. Good thing these mountains aren't granite."

  "Naw. Limestone, sandstone, medium-grade schists, and other metamorphics down below at this end of the Med. Don't forget I used to work these rocks when I was a crust driller."

  "Shut up, dammit."

  The two of them sat there in their underwear. The psychoenergy flare went out as Aiken concentrated all of his power in his seeker sense. The only sounds were the drips from the slender calcite pipe-lets.

  Could I reach out, too? Stein wondered. Sukey had told him it was love that did it before, that broke through Dedra's coercive control. Was love strong enough to cross the thousand kilometers that separated him from Sukey, hidden back there in Muriah in the catacombs beneath Redact House? First, visualize her in the mind's eye. (Easy when your optic nerves are getting input zilch.) There she is. Now tell her that you love her, that it's going to be all right, that you're safe, that you're going to come back, that you're going to win...

  "I found him, Steinie! I found the fuckard!"

  The astral light snapped on. Stein passed a great hand over his eyes and wiped it on his hip. The attempt at farspeech hadn't worked. His head hurt.

  Reddish hair standing up like a charged mop, eyes seeming to snap with excitement, the trickster sprang to his feet and pointed towa
rd a solid rock wall. "That direction. Maybe eight, nine kloms and a couple hundred meters lower down. There's this fuzzy blob—a mental aura, I guess. Only living thing anywhere around. It's gotta be him."

  Stein sighed. "And all we have to do is walk through the wall."

  The golliwog was apologetic. "That's not my act, Steinie. I can't do interpénétration. Can't zap mountains, either, not so's you'd notice. We'll have to walk, fly, or swim. If Delbaeth got there from here, so can we. This whole lousy range is honeycombed with caves. It'll take a while finding our way through the maze." He looked grim. "But it better not take too long or we'll be into the Truce. That's when Firvulags go outa season until Grand Combat time."

  Stein looked at his wrist chronometer. "Half past eighteen hours, September twenty-seven, six million B.C."

  "Checko."

  "Just tell me one thing before you do your Dracula act, kid. Do we really turn into bats and fish and things when you say shazoom, or is it some kinda shape-shifting illusion thing and do we keep our regular bods all the time?"

  "Damned if I know," said Aiken Drum. "Hang onto that food and beer, pally—we're off!"

  ***

  They searched.

  Tunnels dry and flooded; great galleries where flowstone and stalactites and rippling curtains of thin rock fell like frozen creations of peach and vanilla ice cream; constricted slots and tortuous low corridors studded with sparkling calcite teeth; tumbled rockfalls where a cave ceiling had collapsed into piles of house-sized chunks; partially drained streamways gleaming with mud; dead-end holes that had to be retraced; tempting passages that took them in the wrong direction.

  They ate, and after a while, they slept. They woke and continued flying, swimming, walking, climbing. The food and beer were finished midway through the second day. There was plenty of water, but no bugs for bats, no edible bits floating in the subterranean waters that the men-fish could swallow to assuage the all-too-real spasms of their possibly illusory stomachs.

  Aiken's mental screen was now projected only between them and the concentration of psychic energy that presumably marked Delbaeth. This hardly seemed to shift position at all now; perhaps the Shape of Fire took very long naps between sorties, or perhaps the fuzzy aura marked something else altogether...