Usually.
“ ’Tis far to our interest to end these wars.” The voice rose shrilly from Rick’s left. Morron, father of the King’s Companion and Eqeta of the south-central region of Drantos. “Our trade is ruined by this war,” Morron said. “Each side takes its tolls, and all profit is lost to finance their wars. The sooner the issue is settled, the better for Drantos.”
“Hah!” Drumold shouted. “So we have the truth of it. Tamaerthon is to be sold for the benefit of Drantos.”
“Enough!” Rick shouted. He pounded the table again. “Enough, I say!” His hand went to his pistol. The babble ceased. Once, weeks before, Rick had fired a round into the ceiling as a means of shutting off debate. “Drumold, my old friend, you wrong me.”
The old chieftain looked hurt, then thoughtful. “Aye,” he said reluctantly. “I spoke in haste. Yet I cannot retract this much: it is not in our interest that the Romans make peace among themselves.”
“Do not be so certain. True, while Roman fights Roman they cannot attack us—but they cannot defend themselves, either. Of the eleven legions in Rome before the civil war began, scarcely six remain in condition to fight.”
“Och, and who will invade Rome?” This came from Dughuilas, Chief of Clan Calder. “Unless we do, divided as they are . . .”
“The High Rexja, for one,” Tylara said.
Dughuilas and Drumold stared at her. Women did not speak at Council in Tamaerthon.
“He will want to avenge his son Sarakos,” Tylara continued. “If we fight the Romans, the Five Kingdoms will be in Drantos within five ten-days. If we do not—will not Rexja Toris eye the Roman lands with greed? He has bheromen and knights, even sons of Wanaxxae who hoped for lands in Drantos. How shall they be rewarded, now that the Five hold no sway here?”
“Such a one as Sarakos deserves no revenge,” Drumold muttered. Balquhain, his oldest son, pounded the table in agreement.
“Do you think you know that better than I?” Tylara demanded.
The room fell silent. Everyone had heard that Tylara had been tortured—some even whispered raped—by Sarakos, but no one expected her to mention it.
Rick took advantage of the silence. “We cannot fight Rome, for if we march east then Toris will lead the armies of the Five Kingdoms into Drantos.”
“Then strike the Five,” someone said. “Now, before they prepare.”
“Leaving a divided Rome behind us?” Rick asked. “When we can’t be certain of the friendship of either faction?”
“We have aided Marselius,” Tylara said. “He sends us gifts.”
“Aye. We sent him aid after we bested him in battle,” Drumold said. “He is a proud man and his legionaries are prouder. They will not forget how the clans stood against them—and won.”
“Another good reason for alliance,” Rick said. “And how sure are you that Flaminius will not win while we flounder about in the north? It is certain enough that Flaminius bears nought but malice toward Tamaerthon. Let Flaminius win, and we will be as grain between the upper and nether millstones.”
And about now, Rick thought, is when someone’s going to think of the master stroke of dissolving the alliance and letting Tamaerthon float off on its own. There, Dragomer is about to speak—
“This is madness.” The voice thundered from immediately to Rick’s left. Yanulf, Archpriest of Yatar, stood defiantly, his arms thrown out wide. “The Time approaches. And in the Time of Burning, then shall the seas smoke and the lands melt as wax. The waters of ocean shall lap the mountains. Woe to those who have not prepared. Woe to the unbelievers.
“And how have we prepared?” he demanded. “The starmen have come, exactly as prophecy foretold; they themselves tell us of The Time. We bicker among ourselves and make talk of petty wars, when the ice caves are empty of stores. I say it is time we fill the caves with grain and meat against the Time, and cease this talk of ‘interests.’ There are no interests more important than preparation for The Time.”
“Well said,” someone shouted. The guildsmen stamped their feet in approval.
“Well said indeed,” Rick agreed. “And another thing is certain: as the Demon Star comes closer, the lands to the south will be hurt first. Their people will stream north looking for places of refuge. That has already begun. The city-states of the south can scarce defend themselves; they will not seek to halt these migrations.”
“We can hold the borders to the south,” Dughuilas said.
“Perhaps,” Rick agreed. “But what of the southeast? What of the river valleys there?”
“Roman land,” Drumold muttered. “Under Roman truce from time out of mind—”
“Roman until city-state mercenaries take it,” Tylara said. “Aye, take it and open the roads for those coming from the south. They will want soon enough to have the wanderers leave their lands.”
There was silence again while the council members studied the great map Rick had caused to be drawn on one wall of the chamber. The Drantos contingent saw it first. The river valley with its roads pointed like a dagger at the heart of Drantos—but it equally threatened the western border of Tamaerthon.
“It could be,” Dragomer said. “The cities have produced good soldiers.”
“Mercenaries,” Dughuilas said. His voice was filled with scorn. “No match for the chivalry of Tamaerthon.”
“They have been a match for better cavalry than yours,” Dragomer said.
Not the wisest thing he could have said, Rick thought. Dughuilas was chief of a large clan, and led a powerful faction of the Tamaerthan upper classes; and Dragomer was one of the Drantos lords who’d invited city-states mercenaries into Drantos in their revolt against young Ganton’s father.
“I remind you of the King’s Peace,” Camithon said. “Answer gently, Eqeta Dragomer.”
“I need not answer at all,” Dragomer said. “Were the cities to find one leader—”
“They have not done so in memory.” A new voice. Corgarff, a subchief. “Nor do I fear they will do so now. Not so much as to send my sons to die in a Roman fight, to save lands for Rome. Unless—” He paused for a long moment, until he had everyone’s attention. “Unless this Star Lord Gengrich, who leads the starmen lords in the south may yet come to lead all the cities? Perhaps the Lord Rick can tell us more of this man who once followed him.”
I’ll have his blood, Rick thought. I’ll—
“Careful,” Tylara said. She kept her voice low. “He is Dughuilas’ man, and Dughuilas has good reason to wish you ill.”
“That is not well said.” Camithon was very much Lord Protector when he spoke. “The Lord Parsons rebelled against the lord Rick. The lord Gengrich deserted the cause of the lord Parsons, and by both our laws and the laws of the starmen remains in rebellion. How is the Lord Rick guilty of blood shed by rebels against his rule?”
But I am, Rick thought. I brought them here, and I let them get away from me. And now they’re like wolves among sheep.
“They are rebels, but the Lord Rick has done little to capture them,” Corgarff said. He didn’t sound comfortable.
He’s only following orders, Rick thought. Dughuilas’ orders. Fairly crude way to embarrass me.
“He has done more than you,” Yanulf said. “And by Yatar’s blessing, the lord Rick prevailed against the lord Parsons.” He glanced at Sigrim. “And the next day Vothan One-eye was pleased to smile upon our armies.
“But enough of this. Our talk does nothing. My lords, the Demon Star rises even as we speak! The ice forms thick in the caves. Yatar sends us the means of life, but we must grasp them. We must make sacrifice. We must.”
“Indeed,” Rick said.
“The stories of previous Times are clear,” Yanulf continued. “Those whose castles stand on bare rock will learn their folly, and seek the caves of Yatar. There will be wars enough then.
“And then shall the gods come from the skies to trade; and from that trade shall come good and evil. And fire shall fall from the skies, and men shall smoke
and burn as faggots, and their sores shall not heal. The only safety is the caves of Yatar and his Preserver.”
“How can we grow the grains we need while our young men stand in arms?” Camithon demanded.
“Let the Star Lords protect us,” shouted a guildsman. “They have power. Let them use it.”
“Aye, we hold great power,” Rick said. “Enough to turn the tide of battle, once, twice, several times. But I think not enough for the troubles that come.”
There was a long pause, as everyone considered what Rick had said. “If the starmen cannot defend us, and we cannot defend ourselves—” “March north.” “No, march east.” “Plant crops and trust to Yatar . . .” The babble rose in pitch.
“Your advice, Lord Rick?” Ganton spoke carefully and clearly, his boyish voice penetrating the noise. The room fell silent. “We would welcome your advice.”
“Majesty, I would send an embassy to Marselius. A strong Rome has ever been important for the safety of Drantos. It is doubly important now. The Roman civil war must end, and Marselius owes us much already; while Flaminius owes us nought but hate.
“To see that Tamaerthon does not suffer from this, I say send Mac Clallan Muir himself as ambassador. Assisted by the Eqeta Morron and the Lady Gwen, and such others as I and the Lord Camithon shall agree to.”
Camithon looked thoughtful, then turned to Drumold. “My lord. Will you seek truce between the Romans, and alliance?”
Drumold looked thoughtful. “Alliance with Rome. ’Tis a strange thought. Strange indeed. And yet—I will not oppose it. Aye. The Lord Rick is convincing. There is danger in a strong Rome, but there is more in a divided Rome during these times.”
There were murmurs of approval.
It doesn’t look like anyone saw it was a setup, Rick thought. Which is just as well. Machine politics, medieval style . . .
“Then let it be done,” Camithon said.
“Go with the blessings of Yatar Skyfather,” Yanulf said. “Go swiftly, before The Time comes on us and we all perish.”
4
“How is your head?”
“Better,” Rick said. “I wasn’t sure you were speaking to me.”
“You are my husband. How can I not speak to you?”
“Come off it,” Rick said wearily. “What’s wrong, anyway?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
Sure. I can believe as much of that as I want. “I love you—”
“And I you.”
“Do you?”
“Certainly.” She seemed about to say something else, but instead she turned away. “The meeting begins soon, and I must see to Isobel. I will be there when you begin.”
“Look, Gwen means nothing to me! But I have to see her. She’s the only one who might know what the Shalnuksis are going to do. And she asked to see me alone. Don’t you understand? We need her. The whole country needs her.”
“Certainly I understand,” Tylara said. “You told her that her child would have the stars.”
“It was a way of speaking,” Rick said. “Our children will have no less opportunity.”
Her smile was wintry.
“For the stars, or here on Tran,” Rick insisted. “You need have no jealousy of Gwen Tremaine!”
“I have none.”
“You damned well don’t act that way! And now you’re angry, and I’m sorry.”
“Have I reason to be angry?”
“Tylara, please. I don’t need this,” Rick said. “And I must speak to Gwen.”
“I understand perfectly.” She strode from the room.
Women, Rick thought. Is she determined to drive me away from her?
* * *
He brooded all the way down the stone corridors to the guest suite. He paused at the door, then knocked.
“Enter.”
Gwen Tremaine was standing at the window. Yellow light streamed through light brown hair, showed up green eyes. She was very short; “five-foot-two,” the song said, and that was about right. She wore a spectacular blue gown, cut in a style more Parisian than anything fashionable on Tran. It was made of some kind of blue silk that shone in the evening sunlight. She continued to stare out into the gathering dusk as Rick came in.
“A penny for your thoughts,” he said in English.
She laughed. “There aren’t any pennies here. But I’ll tell you anyway. I was trying to decide which made me sadder, that Earth is out there somewhere, or that my baby’s father is there—”
“You do miss him, then?”
She shook her head slowly. “Rick, I don’t know. Sometimes I want him so bad I could die. And sometimes I just want to kill him.” She turned away from the window. “I was in love with him, you know. I could say I was kidnapped, but I wasn’t. I got on that damned flying saucer of my own free will because the man I loved asked me to.”
“And left you here when you got pregnant.”
“Yes.” She went over to the small table and sat down in one of the wooden chairs. “Wine? Yes, let’s both have some.”
“The real question is did Les mean it when he said he’d come back?”
“Yes. That’s the real question.” She drank the full glass of wine and poured another. “He said he’d come back—but Rick, have you ever thought that maybe he intended all along to dump me here? That he never did tell me the truth about anything? Sure, I got pregnant and wouldn’t let his damn machine do an abortion, but maybe that was just a good excuse to get rid of me. Maybe he was tired of me anyway.”
“You didn’t think that last time we talked.” Rick took the chair across from her and lifted his own wine glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers. No. Last time we talked I was sure he loved me. Next time maybe I will be, too. But just now—just now I’m not sure.”
“Okay. But he did give you the transceiver. And he told you about the rebellion among the human troops of the Confederation—”
“It’s not a rebellion,” Gwen said. “More a—a dissent. And—Rick, have you told anyone about this? Anyone at all?”
“No.”
“Not even Tylara?”
“Not even Tylara. I won’t tell any locals. Or any of the troops, either. Not unless I have to—if you and I are both killed, someone here has to know. Warner, maybe.”
“Yes, I’ve thought of that too. But don’t tell him yet.”
“I won’t. Next subject. You know more than me about what the Shalnuksis will do. Had any more thoughts?”
“Some. Over there—that wooden chest. It has maps, areas I think might be best for raising surinomaz. One good area would be along the western border of the Roman Empire.”
“Which we don’t own. Oh—have you heard about the Council this morning? I’d like you to be on the delegation to Rome.”
She nodded. “Another journey. More time away from my son.”
“Take him with you—”
“Into a civil war? Don’t be silly. But you’re right, I have to go. I can inspect the potential cropland on the way. Meanwhile, we want to begin growing madweed on our side of the border. We won’t get a full crop this year, but we ought to start experimental plots now. Get some experience with the stuff. It’s tricky, Rick. The ecology is all bound up with some little mammals that are something like rats. They swarm into the fields and die, and when they rot they fertilize the plants. They also stink to the throne of God.”
“Not to mention necrotic products—”
She nodded agreement. “I’d think those fields get pretty unhealthy. Which is one reason the peasants don’t want to grow madweed. You’ve got your work cut out to make them do it.”
“Convicts. Criminals—”
“I suppose. And when you’re done with them, when the madweed fields have killed most of them, the Shalnuksis will finish the job for you.”
“When?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Certainly they’ll want to trade with us as long as we have surinomaz, but after that—you have as much evidence as I do. I think they’ll try
to find out which is our center of culture, and destroy it.”
Rick nodded thoughtfully. Certainly there was plenty of evidence. Every six hundred years, when surinomaz grew well under the influence of the Demon Star, the Shalnuksis came to Tran with a fresh crop of Earth mercenaries. Roman legionaries, Celtish warriors, Franks. And every time, when the aliens had got all they wanted, they tried to exterminate their agents. The legends told over and over of skyfire, and everyone knew where there were fields of glass . . .
“So we’ll want to be sure we don’t build anything modern-looking.”
“That may not be good enough. Rick, there were Tran languages in the computer on Les’ ship. They talk to locals. They’ll ask questions, and I think our University will be the first target.”
“I thought of that too,” Rick agreed. “Which is why I’m not putting much into brick and mortar. By the time your boyfriend starts dropping atom bombs on us, all the important people will be long gone to the caves. Meanwhile the traveling teams go teaching science to every villager in Drantos. And—Gwen, this is all crazy! A galactic civil war over Earth—”
“I told you, it’s not a civil war. Just a disagreement among the leaders of the Confederate Council,” Gwen said. “And I think it’s crazy too, but—” She pointed out the window.
“Yeah.” Crazy or not, they are here, on Tran. It wasn’t Earth. Given that one undoubted fact, what couldn’t they believe? “Look, your friend Les is the best chance we’ll ever have for getting off this planet. And he told you he’d come for you—”
“If he could. Yes.”
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