Yanulf looked surprised. “Aye. Manure and brimstone. But I do not know what magic he can make with those.”
“I do,” Gwen said. Gunpowder. “Every cart in the land” was probably an exaggeration, but it still meant that Rick was making a lot of black powder. Why had he decided on war, black powder against machine-guns? “Yanulf, I must speak with him,” Gwen said.
“It would not be wise,” the priest answered. “You have yet to regain your strength. Besides the army marches as soon as the clans reach Tar Hastigar. You might not arrive before the war begins.”
“Then it will be even more important that I speak with him.”
“Your fear shows clearly,” Yanulf said. “Do you not believe that the lord Rick will be able to defeat the starmen? Drumold believes so—”
“I do not know,” Gwen said. What can Rick be planning? He doesn’t take foolish chances. He must believe he can do it. And if he does— “But there is much that he must know before he goes to battle. We must go to him.”
Yanulf studied her carefully. “This is important to you.”
“It is important to everyone on this world,” Gwen said. “On this world, and on other worlds as well.”
“Can you not send him a message?”
“None that he would believe,” Gwen said. “Nor dare I tell anyone what must be said. It would be more unwise to write it. No, I must go myself, and quickly.”
“I believe you,” Yanulf said. “I will arrange what I can. But we will not travel swiftly, my lady, for you would not survive a swift journey. And we will require nursemaids for your child, and soldiers to escort you. This will take time.”
“We have so little time,” Gwen said.
“I will do what I can.”
* * *
“It would be better if we waited,” Camithon said. “The spring rains are barely over, and the mud will be thick. We will not be able to travel swiftly.”
There were murmurs of assent from around the council table. Rick was pleased to see that Drumold and Balquhain said nothing, but waited for Rick to speak. “Neither will Sarakos,” Rick said. “But more than that: we will not have sufficient food to wait longer and still carry supplies with us. Mason has trained the new troops well.”
“I’d like more time with them,” Mason said. “But I think they’ll be steady enough.”
“Thus we gain little by delay,” Rick said. He pointed to the map on the council table. “At noon on the day after tomorrow we march. We’ll take the direct route along the road. At dawn tomorrow I want the scouts out ahead to make certain that news of our passage does not get to Drantos ahead of us. Now there are other details.” He unrolled several parchments, and bowed to the boy seated at the end of the table.
“Majesty, these are decrees,” Rick said. “The most important proclaims a general amnesty for all acts prior to this spring and guarantees that each man will inherit from his father. When we reach the borders of Drantos, these will be sent throughout the land as quickly as possible.”
“You ask me to forgive the traitors who rose against my father,” the boy said. His voice rose. “Never!”
“You must,” Rick said patiently. “How else can we arouse the countryside against Sarakos? Think upon it, Majesty. Would you rather sit on your father’s throne, or look at your kingdom from exile?”
“If every man inherits from his father,” Calad said, “how do you propose to reward our clansmen and allies?”
“Sarakos has created vacant places enough,” Rick said. “Lands without heirs, for those who would be bheromen of Drantos rather than clansmen of Tamaerthon. One of these documents gives Mac Clallan Muir the right to dispose of the ownerless lands in two counties. Another gives the lady Tylara the same rights within Chelm.”
“My lord,” the boy said, “the price of your aid comes high.”
Rick said nothing. After a moment, Camithon said, “It is not so high as might be. We came to Tamaerthon as beggars, and we leave with hopes of victory. Sign, lad. You will not see a better bargain.”
Rick took the parchments to the end of the table. In the past weeks he had come to like the young king. The boy was intelligent enough to bow to the inevitable.
“What are these other parchments?” Ganton asked.
“One is a treaty of alliance between Tamaerthon and Drantos,” Rick said. “It contains provision for the Roman Empire to join the alliance if Caesar wishes.” And getting both Camithon and Drumold to agree to that had taken many nights of arguing; nights that Rick would rather have spent planning the battle. Eventually the growing Demon Star had convinced them more than any arguments Rick could make. When the invading star got closer, the lands to the south would be too hot to live in. They could expect hordes of refugees, an influx they couldn’t possibly accept. And the refugees would come armed—a wandering of the tribes such as had happened in Julius Caesar’s time. It would take a strong alliance to force them to settle elsewhere.
“Another document states that you will live in the household of the lady Tylara during your minority,” Rick said.
Ganton smiled. “Oh, I’d like that. She’s nice,” he said. He looked up at Camithon. “Since the Lord Protector agrees, we consent,” he said formally. He took the pen and scrawled his name on each parchment.
One less thing to worry about, Rick thought. At least we’ve made a start on the mess I’ll face after we win.
If we win.
* * *
Gwen arrived at Tar Kartos to find the fortress town nearly empty except for Caradoc and a company of mounted archers.
“The lord Rick received the message that you were coming,” he said. “He could not wait, but asked me to remain to greet you. He left this for you.” The archer commander handed her a parchment.
Gwen unrolled it. “Gwen,” it said. “I’ve already had Camithon send marching orders to the holdout forces in Drantos. This operation takes careful timing, and I’ve got to move now if we’re going to link up with them. I can’t wait for you.
“If you’re still in a hurry to talk to me, Caradoc will escort you. You’ll be taking your chances. I intend to make a fight of it as soon as I can, so you might be coming into a battle. I think we’ll win, but nothing’s certain in war.
“My advice is to stay in Tamaerthon. Even if we lose, they’re unlikely to annihilate us. There’ll be enough force left to hold Tamaerthon no matter what. The university is more important than the war. I’ve sent Larry Warner back to The Garioch. He wasn’t much of a soldier, but he ought to be pretty good as a professor. If I don’t come back, you’ll have all of my share of the plunder from the raid, and that ought to be enough to get a school going.
“I almost left orders to have them keep you in Tar Kartos, but I’m just scared enough of what you know that I want to leave that choice up to you. I hope you decide to stay.” The parchment was unsigned.
She looked up to Caradoc. “How long will it take to catch up to them?”
“They left nine days ago,” he said. “And they intended hard marching. We can travel faster than they, but I doubt we will reach them in much less than a ten-day.”
Just possible, she thought. Yes. I may get him to call off this war before it’s too late.
I may not get there in time, either. “I will come with you as soon as I have arranged quarters here for the nursemaids and my baby,” Gwen said. “We must find Rick before he battles the starmen.”
* * *
They reached the rear guard of Rick’s force seven days later. It took another day to pass through to the front. The countryside was wooded and hilly, and the single road was clogged with baggage carts and camp followers. Toward evening they reached an area where the countryside opened out and the road ran through broad fields. The army had deployed in battle array across a front three miles wide. Before they could reach the forward edge of the front, they were stopped at a roadblock. Despite Gwen’s shouts and Caradoc’s rank, they were firmly escorted back to a headquarters pavilion a kil
ometer behind the lines.
The headquarters was occupied by orderlies and staff officers. Messengers came and went in obvious preparation for a major battle on the next day. No one seemed to know why Rick had taken the light cavalry and several heavily laden wagons three kilometers farther up the road to the only village in the area.
Just before evening, Gwen heard shouting and then saw several groups of heavy cavalrymen ride northwest up the road. The sun was setting when she heard them returning. They were followed by the mounted archers at full gallop and, a few minutes later, by Rick and his personal guardsmen.
He paused to send messengers off with orders, then came into the pavilion. Gwen would not have recognized him if she hadn’t heard him talking. He was dressed in chain mail and the scarlet cloak Marselius had sent as a gift. His helmet was the typical bullet shape with nasal guard worn by heavy cavalrymen, and he wore steel shoes and greaves rather than boots. As he came in, Jamiy helped him remove his helmet and gorget, but he kept the rest of the armor on. He sat at the table across from Gwen. “They told me you were here,” he said. “If you’ll excuse my saying it, you couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve a battle to plan,” he said. “Before dawn tomorrow, which means there are a million details tonight. If you’ve got something to say, Gwen, make it quick. I want you a good way toward Tamaerthon before the fighting starts.”
“Your concern touches me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You could have stayed in Tar Kartos. I wish you had. I don’t intend to lose tomorrow, but if I do, I’m counting on you to start the university. I still think that’s the most important thing we can do for this planet.”
“The most important thing you can do is to call off this war,” Gwen said.
“Are you ready to tell me the truth at last?” Rick asked. “That calls for a celebration.” He turned to the door. “Jamiy, a flask of wine, please. And ask the lady Tylara to join us when she arrives.”
“Sir. I think I hear her patrol coming now.”
“Good. All right, Gwen, why is this so important, and why haven’t you told me before?”
“It wasn’t my secret,” Gwen said. “Why couldn’t you leave things alone? Everything was going so well. We had a perfect place to hide, and enough to eat. Parsons would grow those stupid drugs—”
“That’s debatable,” Rick said.
She looked up in alarm. “Why?”
“Parsons and Sarakos don’t have much of a hold on this country. They’ll be doing well to feed their army, much less grow a couple of thousand acres of madweed.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway. With any luck, Parsons and Sarakos will both be dead by morning.”
“How?”
Rick grinned without humor. “I selected this place pretty carefully. Took real timing to reach it just about the time that Parsons would. We’ve got a nice muddy field out there—better suited to my infantry than Sarakos’ cavalry. Ideal for a battle. Of course there are other places like that, but this one has a special feature. There’s only one village for thirty kilometers up the road ahead.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Swampy fields. One village. We held it last night and most of today, but we let Sarakos chase us out of it this afternoon. We had to run fast. Didn’t get a chance to burn it down. Warner says Parsons and his people don’t like sleeping in fields. Guess where they’ll make their headquarters tonight—”
“What are you planning?” Gwen demanded.
Rick looked at his watch. “The hardest part was the fusing,” he said. “Took me weeks to come up with a slow match that burned reliably, and I still can’t time it too close. Making twelve barrels of gunpowder wasn’t so difficult, and it was no trick at all to bury it in the village. An hour or so before dawn, André Parsons is going to get one hell of a surprise.”
“You’re going to kill them all? And destroy all their equipment?”
“I certainly hope so. I wish there were another way, but I can’t think of one. I can’t even parley with them. If André knows he’s fighting me and not just locals, he’ll be a lot more suspicious. Were in hell is that wine?” He shouted for his orderly.
“You don’t look very pleased,” he said. “I thought you lived in terror that Parsons would find us and report to the Shalnuksis. Now you won’t have to worry.”
“Oh, boy!” she said. “And I was trying to be careful. I didn’t expect you to be able to win—”
“Thanks for the confidence.”
“Rick, this isn’t a game! If you win—when you win—will you be able to grow the surinomaz for the aliens?”
What is this? Rick wondered. He had noticed her alarm when he told her Parsons might not be able to grow the crops for the aliens. Now this.
Could I manage it? Probably. I’ve got enough allies, and I can talk Camithon and the king into it provided we can import enough grain. But I can think of at least one damn good reason not to deal with the aliens at all. Why is she worried about surinomaz? And how can I make her tell me what she knows?
He shrugged. “Without the equipment Parsons has? Not easily. Madweed isn’t a popular crop here, and taking that much good land out of grain cultivation wouldn’t be simple. But Gwen, I’ve been listening to those legends about the dangers of dealing with the sky gods.”
Jamiy came in with wine and pewter cups. “The lady Tylara has returned safely,” he said. “She will come when she has spoken with her brother.” The orderly hesitated. “I do not think she was pleased to learn that the lady Gwen is here.”
Rick laughed. “I don’t expect she was,” he said. “Thank you.” He filled the cups. “Look, what’s got you scared?”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Maybe I can suggest something,” Rick said. “I’ve given this a bit of thought, too. Try this. The rogue sun comes at six-hundred-year intervals, and that’s the only time the Shalnuksis have any interest in Tran. That’s roughly 1400 a.d., 800 a.d., 200 a.d., 400 b.c., 1000 b.c., and 1600 b.c. The languages are Indo-European and you’ve several times mentioned similarities to Mycenae and Crete. That’s 1600 b.c. or a little later; the rogue’s period isn’t a full six hundred years. All right so far?”
She nodded. “It’s the earliest I’m sure of. Archaeologists on Earth have violent arguments about the languages of the Mediterranean in that time period—”
“They’d love to know what we know,” Rick said. “All right. The 1000 b.c. expedition blends in with that. Maybe that’s when they brought the Celts. Then or 400 b.c. There’s no question about 200 a.d.—that’s Imperial Rome about the time of Septimius Severus, and we’ve even got Lucius’ parchments. Then about the time of Charlemagne they brought in a group, and there’s plenty of evidence for that. Charlemagne was crowned Holy Roman Emperor on Christmas Day in 800 a.d., and they must have picked up some of his heavy cavalrymen not long before. That brings us to 1400 or so. There’s not one single trace of that visit. Why not?”
Gwen didn’t say anything. Rick leaned forward to throw a block of peat onto the small hearth fire.
“We know they didn’t skip that time,” Rick said. “You told me you’d studied Tran languages of six hundred years ago. But nobody knows anything about longbow tactics, so they couldn’t have brought English or Scots or Welsh. Maybe French. The French didn’t learn anything from Crécy. Only nobody ever heard of the Swiss pike, either. Nobody knows how to make plate armor, but they were using it in Europe in 1400. So who did they bring? There’s no sign of mixed races. No Orientals or blacks or Indians.
“And 1400 is well into the age of gunpowder, but they never heard of it here. Is that reasonable? And it’s not just weapons. Magna Carta in 1215. Nobody ever heard of it. Thomas Aquinas, Roger Bacon, Malatesta, all thirteenth century. By 1400 a whole slew of geniuses had lived, and nobody’s ever heard of them. Not even Lucius, who’s spent his life digging in old documents; or Yanulf, who’s got epic poems s
o old there’s even a version of Homer. The 1400 expedition vanished without a trace.
“What happened, Gwen? Did somebody kill the lot of them?”
She looked up unhappily. “Les thought so. For about the same reasons you just gave. Why hasn’t there been any progress on Tran? You can’t blame it all on the unstable climate,” she said. “But he didn’t know. There weren’t any records in the computer.”
“But that was why you didn’t want electricity. Or anything else. You weren’t all that worried about Parsons, it’s the Shalnuksis who’ve got you scared.”
“Of course. But if Parsons knew where we were, he’d tell them.” She took a deep breath. “Rick, have you guessed the rest of it? Secret caves. Fire from the sky. And those epic poems about the bad luck that comes from dealing with the evil sky gods. They bring wondrous gifts but take them back again. Fire will fall from the sky, and the only safe place is in deep caves. And there’s another I don’t think you heard—about a taboo place where nothing grows, and a lake with a glass bottom—”
Rick nodded gravely. “They don’t do things by halves, do they? Atom bombs—”
“I don’t know. But even without knowing about Yanulf’s epics, Les thought it likely. That’s why he wanted me to run away. Hide as far from Parsons as possible.”
“And why you didn’t warn me that Parsons was going to mutiny,” Rick said. “So you’d have someone to go with.”
“Yes. Rick, I’m sorry.”
“Sure. But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me all this before.”
“Because I didn’t know what you’d do. Rick, I’m sorry I’ve kept you in the dark, but after all, we’ve done pretty well. We have a safe refuge, enough to eat, a place for a university—I thought of starting one before you did, but it seemed better to let it be your idea. Everything was going fine. Why should I complicate matters by telling you about problems you couldn’t do anything about? And I was afraid you’d want to warn Parsons. After all, they were once your men—”
“I probably would have. I’d do it now if I weren’t about to kill them anyway.” He drained his wine cup and cursed. “If I’d known before, maybe this war wouldn’t have to be. André can’t have any love for Sarakos.”
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