The Golden Torc

by Julian May

  SUGOLL: Ally.

  DIONKET:—now so fortuitously allied, the Lord Sugoll, ruler of Meadow Mountain, and greatest of those called Howlers ... Sisters and Brothers, we are indeed poised on the brink. Say, Mayvar.

  MAYVAR KINGMAKER: Aiken Drum is ready. The human youth is fully operant, possessed of all faculties save redaction in a truly remarkable degree. I believe no single Tanu or Firvulag champion will withstand him. Failing catastrophe or a mass attack by the entire battle-company—which cannot happen unless he is attainted unworthy according to our ancient code—he will become king five days hence after defeating both the Thagdal and Nodonn at the culmination of the Grand Combat.

  MINANONN THE HERETIC: A human ... barely more than a child. A trickster, if rumor does not lie! This is your pivotal figure?

  MAYVAR: I have tested him in all the ways. He is flawed—and who among us is not?—but he will be worthy.

  ALBERONN MINDEATER: Kid's got good stuff. Nerve. Heart.

  BUNONE WARTEACHER: Jisum! Both kinds.

  MAYVAR: He can be cruel, but he is capable of love all unrealizing.

  I have been true to my Making.

  LEYR THE BANISHED: But—a little human mountebank?

  KATLINEL THE DARKEYED: You loved a human once yourself, Father. And our races are merged, for better or for worse.

  MAYVAR: Aiken Drum will engender operants. Not so many as Elizabeth might with her fuller penetrance, but enough.

  GREG-DONNET GENETICS MASTER: Have no fear, kinfolk! Aiken's genetic assay is colossal! I mean—compare him to Nodonn, for instance. The Battlemaster is gorgeous, but we all know how few pureblood offspring he's sired. And his hybrids haven't a High Table candidate or even a first-class power in the lot.

  BLEYN BATTLE-CHAMPION: Who wants to be the one to remind Nodonn of his deficiencies? (Rueful laughter.)

  LEYR: Well, you've seen this boy fight and I haven't. But it's hard to swallow the notion that any human could stand up to Nodonn, much less this stripling with a silly name.

  MAYVAR: He will receive another name, according to our custom, after he survives the High Mêlée.

  MINANONN: Look here. Granted this Aiken Drum licks Nodonn in the Encounter—and I'm not nearly so sanguine as you seem to be on that point, Kingmaker—both the post of Lord Psychokinetic and the governorship of Goriah will fall vacant when the boy assumes the throne.

  DIONKET: Exactly. And now that Sebi-Gomnol is dead, the Coercer Guild must also seek a new leader.

  LEYR: Almighty Tana! Is that why you got Minnie and me back here?

  KATLINEL: Father—surely you can best Imidol in the manifestation of powers. His coercive will is much weaker than Gomnol's was.

  LEYR: Ye-es, but don't underestimate the enemy, Katy-girl. Imidol won't settle for a simple manifestation the way someone like Aluteyn would. He'll want a battle-trial—minds and weapons—during the Mêlée.

  DIONKET: This is true. And you are much older than Imidol, Coercive Brother, and there is considerable risk. But we know your mind. If you were victorious and reascended to the High Table you would play a moderating role ... no matter who became High King.

  LEYR: Dammit—Minnie's the peaceloving heretic, not me!

  ALBERONN: But you'd never favor the extermination of humanity— nor of us hybrids—as does the Host of Nontusvel. LEYR: Of course not—!

  KATLINEL: And much as you love Combat between equals, Father, you have scant heart for the senseless slaughter of the Hunt, or the perversion of the Low Mêlée that has come about since the advent of torced human fighters, or the unsporting tactics used against the Foe in the High Mêlée itself.

  LEYR: Bad business, those gray shock troops and the whole matter of mounting our fighters on chalikos. Small wonder the Foe sulks and makes Lowlife alliances.

  DIONKET: The Host must not be allowed to dominate the High Table! We appeal to you, Leyr. And to you also, Minanonn.

  MAYVAR: We stand at a crossroads, Brothers and Sisters. We may choose our turning or have it forced upon us.

  LEYR: Very well. Perhaps I'm getting soft-headed in my old age ...but I'll challenge that young brawler Imidol.

  MAYVAR: And you, Minanonn?

  MINANONN: You see me allied to your cause in the event of Nodonn's defeat, contending against Kuhal Earthshaker for the leadership of the psychokinetics.

  MAYVAR: You have the power. You were Battlemaster once.

  MINANONN: Five hundred years gone, before my enlightenment. And you know me little, Kingmaker, if you think that I would sacrifice my principles now to become a killer once more.

  DIONKET: For an end to killing!

  MINANONN: Not even for that.

  MAYVAR: If the Guild presidency might be decided in a peaceful manifestation of powers and not in battle-trial?

  MINANONN: That will never happen under the Thagdal's regime.

  MAYVAR: But if our faction forces a change of the rules under a new king?

  MINANONN: Then I would willingly aspire. However, until the dawn of that unlikely new day, I must take leave of you, Sisters and Brothers. I fly back to my place of banishment in the wilderness.

  Farewell.

  (He goes.)

  BUNONE: Until we meet again, dear Brother Heretic! When our faction controls the Many-Colored Land and I forgo my war-teaching for fancy embroidery!

  ALBERONN: That you may, and pink and blue to boot, Lady, if you undertake further Quests with Aiken Drum.

  BUNONE: Shame on you, Creative Brother, for not considering the feelings of the Kingmaker.

  MAYVAR: I have no illusions about the sexual faithfulness of my human protégé. I see him as he is.

  DIONKET: Tana help us if you do not.

  LEYR: Yes—how about that, Kingmaker? What happens if this trickster of yours plays his own game once we've put him on the throne?

  BLEYN: We can all move into Minanonn's cave in the Catalan Wilderness.

  MAYVAR: He is worthy! I am certain of it! Under him, we will be able to inaugurate a new era. The only questionable factor was the influence of Gomnol—and he is dead. With the time-gate closed, we will push gradually for the emancipation of the grays, an end to involuntary human concubinage, abolition of the Hunt, and peace between Tanu and Firvulag at last. What was impossible under the Thagdal or Nodonn is not only feasible but certain if Aiken Drum is King of the Many-Colored Land.

  SUGOLL: Let us speak of others who also share this land.

  GREG-DONNET: Oh, listen! This is marvelous—and so logical, from a eugenic standpoint! Positively elegant! I couldn't contain my enthusiasm when Katy came to me. Of course, she and Sugoll will be only a token of what might follow as the old racial prejudices are broken down. But later—the results will be very similar to the injection of Aiken's genes insofar as ultimate improvement of the metapsychic phenotype—

  LEYR: What the hell is this little capon blithering about?

  KATLINEL: Sugoll and I, Father. The merging of all three gene pools.

  LEYR: Katy?! Do you mean to tell me that you and this—this Firvulag—

  KATLINEL: Howler.

  SUGOLL: My body is, of course, an illusion. Like all of my subjects, I am a mutant. Katy accepts me as I am. But let there be no masking between us, either, father-in-law elect. Look.

  LEYR: (!) Compassionate Tana.

  GREG-DONNET: Their children will be beautiful. Their minds, at any rate! And I'm off with them to the North Country this very night to look into the teratogenic thing and see if it might not respond to a little fiddling. Anyhow—monster is as monster does.

  LEYR: Katy... oh, Katy.

  DIONKET (embracing her): Blessings, Creative Daughter. And upon you, Lord of the Howlers. You take with you the flower of our High Table. Be with her a bridge.

  SUGOLL: Threefold, we may hope. Farewell. (He goes, with Katlinel and Greg-Donnet.)

  BUNONE: Cheer up, Leyr. At least they'll be out of this mess. You can work off your steam on Imidol. I rather like that Sugoll fellow myself. A lot of style for
a Firvulag...

  MARY-DEDRA: Then we only wait? Wait for Aiken Drum to conquer?

  ALBERONN: Some of us must take the active role in his cohort during the High Mêlée. There are numerous volunteers, admirers of his prowess, especially among the hybrids. But Aiken Drum will require captains following his banner as well. Bleyn and I have offered ourselves.

  BUNONE: And I.

  LEYR: Oh, hell. Why not? I'll throw in with him, now that the world's turned upside down ... But there's one tradition they haven't dared to meddle with: warrior's privilege! How about it, fighters? A little practical preparation for the Grand Combat, hey?

  ALBERONN + BLEYN + BUNONE: Warrior's privilege! No noncombatants allowed! Roll out the barrels! (They go.)

  DIONKET: The rest of us will have other work.

  CREYN: And may I remind you, Lord Healer, that some of the work awaits to be accomplished yet this night.

  MAYVAR: You have secured it, Mary-Dedra? DEDRA: It is here, Lady Kingmaker, in this golden box.

  MAYVAR: As a human, Dedra may touch it without peril. Open and show us, child.

  DIONKET + CREYN: Ah.

  DEDRA: It was where Elizabeth farsensed it, hidden beneath a granite sett in an obscure corner of the Coercer House basecourt. Lord Gomnol must have put it there himself long ago against—some contingency. No one saw me remove it.

  CREYN: And it is certain, Lord Healer, that this tool of the blood- metal may safely remove torcs from humans? DIONKET: I have it from Elizabeth, who learned it from Madame Guderian herself. Both silvers and grays have been liberated by means of iron in the north. As to the safety of the operation ... that depends upon the individual's reaction to the withdrawal. We will give the tool to Sukey and hope that her redactive powers are sufficient. When the fugitives are safely away and she is certain that she need not coerce Stein for his own good, she will cut his torc, removing him from Tanu influence and mind-hearing permanently.

  MAYVAR: But we will give her another option, poor little one. It is the wish of our future king.

  DIONKET: I see. Gold, instead of the silver she now wears. She would retain her metapsychic powers and still be free, while her mate remains a bareneck. And she must make the choice ... This putative Crown Prince of ours is a fiend! MAYVAR: It is late. Long past midnight. We must act.

  CREYN: I will fetch them. They will trust me—even Stein.

  DIONKET: Culluket is away, engaged in a premature warrior celebration with the Host. It will be safe. And Elizabeth is already waiting on the mountaintop.

  DEDRA: Elizabeth?

  MAYVAR: We have had to change the plan for the liberation of Stein and his wife. A boat could be too easily intercepted. And Elizabeth's hot-air balloon carries three.

  ***

  The hellad drawing the calèche let out a whicker of surprise when it came to the dark summit and saw the huge thing moored there, swaying in a gentle west wind.

  "Creyn?" Elizabeth was standing next to the gondola. Her red jumpsuit, like the scarlet balloon, was black in the light of the waxing moon.

  "Make Stein walk, Elizabeth. I'll help Sukey."

  "I'm all right," Sukey insisted, climbing down from the carriage. "I just thought it would be safer if Steinie were out..."

  "I have him," Elizabeth said. "The balloon is ready. Thank God you're a small person, Sukey. This will be crowded, but we'll be all right if we keep Stein sedated while we're in the air."

  "Elizabeth—" Creyn's voice broke.

  "Upsy daisy, Stein. Now you, Sukey. No—don't touch that cable. It opens the maneuvering vent, dumps hot air that we need to rise."

  The tall exotic was still standing by the carriage. The hellad drooped in the traces. "Elizabeth!"

  "Yes, Creyn?" She came toward him, thinking he wished to say goodbye.

  "Brede ... charged me to explain that... this was not foreseen by her. Nor planned by the rest of us. Believe me! The cell next to Stein and Sukey ... I could not help but perceive how little sanity was left to her, for all her uninjured body, and how the Combat would surely snuff it out whether or not she survived physically. And remembering that she had been your friend ... I consulted Brede. She said that the choice must be your own."

  He lifted a blanket. Curled up on the floor of the carriage, frail and vulnerable as a sleeping child, lay Felice.

  He said, "You could force-feed the balloon piloting data to Sukey ...a few minutes' work for a Grand Master. The hazard for them would be very small—"

  Brede!!!

  I hear Elizabeth.

  You did this!

  It is as Creyn avers. I did not foresee it, did not plan it. It is the work of the Goddess. Of God.

  No. No! Oh— damn you! All of you!

  ***

  The balloon rose, wafting unseen as the westerly breeze took it over the lights of Muriah. As it gained altitude above the Great Lagoon it met a wind-shear. The semidirigible envelope shuddered, caught momentarily in opposing currents. Continuing ascent injected it fully into the other airstream.

  It changed direction away from Corsica-Sardinia and sailed southwest, toward the Isthmus of Gibraltar.

  3

  THEY WAITED for dawn.

  Tanu and Firvulag and torced humanity gathered in splendid array on the Plain, which was pearl-colored now because of the traditional Mist of Duat that the creators of both battle-companies had conjured as a sky-canopy. A low droning sound, part growl and part minor chord, swelled on the still air. The commonalty of the Firvulag, standing on the sidelines all mingled with the Tanu and human noncombatants, were voicing their ancient overture to the Combat.

  Firvulag warriors in obsidian armor all decked with gold and jewels stood in a vast mob some 20, 000 strong, dwarfs and giants and middle-sized stalwarts all mixed together, some bearing the ghastly effigy standards, some clutching naked weapons. Their great battle-captains were massed nearest to the east-facing stage where the royalty of both races had assembled. On the opposite side of the marble platform waited the Tanu army. Disdainful of the informality of their shadow-brethren, they were ranged in elegant ranks according to their guilds: the violet and gold farsensors, the blue coercers, the ruby and silver combatant redactors, creators armored in beryl tints, and glowing rose-gold psyehokineties. Up in the front rank of the Farsensor Battalion, an impudent little human posed among towering jeweled champions. His armor of gold-lustre glass was adorned with amethysts and canary diamonds, and his cloak glittered uniquely black with a violet edge. He bore high his banner with its strange device.

  The light in the east brightened behind thick mist. The chain of silence rang.

  Eadone Sciencemaster came forward from the group of Most Ex-altered Personages and raised some small instrument to her eyes. Thagdal and Yeochee stood immediately behind the Dean of Guilds, the Tanu monarch attired in blue-white diamond armor, the Firvulag wearing sharply faceted black.

  "The First Day begins," Eadone declared, bowing to the Kings and stepping aside.

  Thagdal gestured. Nodonn Battlemaster came to salute the two sovereigns, trailed by gigantic Sharn-Mes the Young Champion—who as representative of the losers in last year's Combat had only a subsidiary role to play in this opening ceremony. Nodonn carried a glass weapon similar to the big two-handed swords used by both exotic races; but this Sword had a great flaring basket-hilt and a thin cable leading from its pommel to a box worn at the Battlemaster's waist.

  Glowing like an aurora, Nodonn formally offered the Sword to Thagdal. The King declined it with equal solemnity, saying, "Be thou our deputy. Open the sky to this Grand Combat."

  Nodonn turned, facing east and the veiled sun. He lifted the photon weapon. A brilliant emerald beam stabbed the low-hanging cloud deck, piercing the gray and allowing a widening shaft of solar radiance to spotlight its summoner, the two Kings and the Firvulag general standing behind him, and the rest of the Most Exalted Personages on the platform. Warriors and noncombatants together sang the Song, the soaring Tanu chorus counterpointed by the de
eper, more sonorous voices of the Firvulag. The break in the clouds expanded, just as it always had for long thousands of years on the foggy planet Duat, where the ancient rivals had been accustomed to use both mental force and laser beams to insure a sunny sky for their annual ritual war.

  The Song ended. The vault of the Pliocene heavens glowed blue above the White Silver Plain. Fighters and spectators gave a mighty cheer, and the First Day of the Grand Combat began.

  ***

  Felice awoke to stillness. Physical. Mental. Emotional.

  She was half-sitting on the bottom of some cramped container, crushed up against the sleeping form of a disheveled young gold-torc woman she had never seen before. Standing like some herculean statue almost on top of her, but looking out and away, with mind a singing blank, was a man both gigantic and familiar.

  But he was not the hated Beloved not him.

  Human-hairy legs rising to a grubby green tunic. A waist cinched by an amber-studded belt. Great hunched shoulders. Hands resting on the padded top rail of the box. Motionless homely blond head.

  Above, the blazing gridiron within the mouth of a vibrant scarlet gut. A blue sky.

  What? Some new amusement of the tormentor? But his mind was no longer with her. He was gone and she remained. The strength had been given to her and she remained.

  The gridiron thing was of a peculiar complex design, glowing with such heat that the air for meters around it was all ashimmer. It was mounted at the tip of a decamole frame that was attached to the decamole container that imprisoned the three of them. There were silvery cables depending from a wide ring around the red maw's opening, and these were also attached to their open-topped cell. Beside her, projecting from the wall of the box, was a fat shelf. She raised herself painfully and saw a digital instrument cluster:

  ALT — 2104.3; TER CL — 2596.1; VAR — +.19; ENV — 77[green]; AMB AT — 17.5; PO FX — 37:39N, 00:33E; GD SP — 66.2; HDG — 231; F RES — 2299.64HR; ZT — 07:34:15.