Ice and Shadow

by Andre Norton

  With a sigh, she spread out the coverall, ready for Ludorica, who was sampling cautiously the contents of a container.

  “But this is good!” commended the Princess. “It is much better than what you carried with you in the cave. How is it that you have it hot? For you did not take it from any stove—I saw you!”

  “It is another of our ways,” Roane told her wearily. She was very tired, wanting nothing more than to lie down in the warm and comfortable bed bag, to sleep. But instead she mouthed two sustain tablets, which would ease her fatigue. Then she ate her share of the meal.

  The Princess finished first and was now fingering the coverall. She and Roane were much of a size and Roane did not think it would be an ill fit. She showed her how to work the inseal by merely running a fingertip along it, and the Princess gave an exclamation of surprise and pleasure.

  “But what ease you have in dressing! Though there is a beauty to buckles and lacing. And”—she surveyed her slender figure, muffled now in the alien dress—“I do not think I would like to wear this for long. Wait until we reach Yatton, Roane. Then I shall exchange gifts with you—and I think”—she eyed the other critically—“you will look well in our dress. Though it is a pity about your hair. Perhaps it will grow in time. Ah, I know! You can wear a Charn bonnet, that will be proper. Wine yellow for your dress, and a bonnet with tyra ribbon for cording—”

  Roane laughed. She felt as if she had slipped from the real world into fantasy. How could she, Roane Hume, be sitting in a Service camp listening to the Princess of Reveny describe a dress of high Clio fashion meant for her to wear? Perhaps it was best to treat this venture as a dream, to drift along with the tide of events rather than trying to fight them. But for a wistful minute or two she wished it could be true, that once she could see herself as the Princess visualized her.

  “Best hold a dress in your hands before you don it,” she commented. “I know we are a long way from Yatton—if we ever make it.”

  Roane took what precautions she could against being traced. She unbuckled her work belt and laid it straight on the floor to study its cargo of tools. The beamer—yes, with fresh charges. Not the detect, nor her wrist com either; they were linked to devices in the camp. The cutter—no. Though she had betrayed the Service in some ways, she would draw the line with that. It could be lost—and, found by another, arouse too much speculation. A small medic kit and—

  “Have you aught here to free me from this?”

  Roane looked up at the clink of metal. The Princess was pulling at the collar, its chain dangling down over her shoulder.

  “Come closer to the light and let me see.”

  The Princess stooped so that Roane could inspect the small lock hole, which had not been visible in the tower. The off-world girl brought a larger kit. She tried two of the tools it held, inserting their tips into the hole, prying with them. Then, with a click, the collar sprang open.

  “Ah.” Ludorica jerked it off to rub her throat where red marks showed. Roane reached for the medic kit, squeezed out a fingerload of soothing paste, and applied it carefully.

  “Ahh—” The Princess sighed again. “That takes away the soreness. Another of your many marvels. With your food in me, your clothing on my back, and now your paste of herbs, I feel as if I could front Reddick and be victor. Though I know well that is a belief I should not put to the proof.”

  Roane continued to choose supplies. Not a flamer, of course—but a stunner was another matter. In the first place, its inner workings would be instantly destroyed if handled by anyone who did not know its use. Service personnel had to be furnished with some form of protective weapon for other worlds, and this refinement was the ultimate result of much research. It could not kill, though on the highest voltage it could cause brain damage—as Sandar had proposed to use it.

  She had refurnished her belt—beamer, stunner, the medic kit, a bag of rations, but nothing which would link her to the camp or the camp to her. When she was done and ready to go, she saw that the Princess had gathered up the collar and chain, winding the latter around the former for easier carrying.

  “Why take that?”

  “Why? Because it was put on me. There are those I shall show it to when I tell my tale, and they will be the hotter against Reddick. Women are not treated so in Reveny. Even more will it be resented that a Princess of the Blood was chained like an animal. I do not know how deep or wide Reddick has made his move against the throne, but that he has done this to me is a warning. There may be those who follow him without knowing what manner of lord he is. And to those such a symbol as this”—she shook the collar and the links clashed against one another—“will lead to second thoughts. Let me but reach Nelis—”

  Roane took a last look at the camp. It was no different from the ones she had known on half a dozen worlds. Yet now she had the feeling that once she walked away she was turning her back on everything which had always been. So, as she glanced from this to that, all had a slightly unfamiliar cast, as if they were already strange and she was one apart.

  At least yesterday’s rain had stopped, though there were still effects of the storm to be seen as they moved from the bubble half buried in the muddy earth. Out in the open Roane was wary, not only of Reddick’s men, but of Uncle Offlas and Sandar. She quickened pace. And the Princess, her feet now protected by boots, matched her stride for stride.

  That Yatton lay to the north was all Ludorica could tell Roane. The Princess was not used to traveling except by well-defined roads, and all that lay here were foresters’ tracks. Nor had she any idea how far away from their goal they might now be.

  “Sending Nelis there three months ago was perhaps another move of Reddick’s,” she commented. “All I know is that he is loyal only to the true line. Ahh—though these boots are better to tramp in than bare feet, I wish for a duocorn. My good, fleet Zarpher—or even Batlas, though I have named her slug-crawler in the past!”

  She paused, one palm against a tree trunk for support. Her face was drawn and there were dark shadows, almost matching her bruises, beneath her eyes.

  It had been well into afternoon when they had left the camp, though the cloudy sky made it dusk in the thicker parts of the woods. Although they had borne north as steadily as they could, there had been many detours forced by the rough country, so they could not have covered too much distance. The only hopeful note was that they had seen no searchers.

  Roane, to her surprise, discovered that the Princess had an acuteness of sight and hearing besting hers, often pointing out some trace of bird or animal Roane missed. She smiled at Roane’s comments, saying that Hitherhow had been her favorite place when she was a child and that she had often gone with the foresters.

  “But that was when Duke Reddick was still a palace squire in Thrisk. And would that he had remained there! He was sent to Thrisk in exchange for the second son of the Duke of Zeiter. I think all hoped he would make a marriage of merit. What did happen”—she shook her head—“not even I know. Though the King was told. And after, he sent Reddick for two years to Tulstead. Which is a place to make a man think twice before he wishes to settle therein. Reddick came back much altered—for the better, my grandfather thought. Though he might have known that the blood of Olava was not to be so purified. Anyway, the Duke’s actions thereafter were such that he could not be denied his rights to Hitherhow. That beautiful place! To be so tainted! But let me get the Crown—”

  “And what of your grandfather?”

  “We are blood kin,” Ludorica answered slowly. “He is an old man and to him I am merely a means of preserving our House. He wanted a prince; he must take me. So for the years since my Uncle Wulver’s disappearance, I have not been a person—myself—but a tool in his hand. That he is right makes it no more easy for me. If he dies I shall be a little sorry, for in his way he is a good man, and has always done his best for Reveny. But it will not be true heart-sorrow. I have none close enough to me to strike that deep.” She spoke as if stating a fact she ha
d long faced.

  “And with the Crown you rule Reveny?”

  “I do! Then Reddick shall learn what it means to reach for what is not his. I have already made plans—since I do not know how far he has flung his net, nor in what places it lies to entangle me. I shall get Nelis and his men to escort me, and ride to Leichstan, crossing the border where one may slip over with no eyes upon one. Then we shall go to Gastonhow where the High Court summers. As blood kin I can treat with King Gostar—” She hesitated and the chain of the collar rang as she turned it.

  “He has sons, two still unmarried. One such would be an acceptable prince consort for Reveny, and such a marriage would pacify that border at least. So he will be ready to listen to me. Then—with a chance to gather loyal forces—I shall find the Crown and ride to Urkermark City. If I enter with the Crown and with border peace secured, Reddick will have no one left to guard his back. The ambassador at Gastonhow is Imbert Rehling, who was cup-brother to my father in their youth. He will arrange it all once I get to him. Yatton, the border, Gastonhow—it is all a straight move.”

  It might seem a straight move to the Princess, but Roane thought she could see a good many places where trouble lay. However, that was none of her concern. She would get Ludorica to Yatton, if she could. What happened thereafter would be the result of the Princess’s actions, while Roane returned to camp to take what would be waiting for her there. All she would have to offer in her defense was that the future Queen of Reveny would be in her debt—always supposing Ludorica did become Queen.

  “And how do you get the Crown?”

  “We know now where it lies. Once I have support behind me I can find it. But those to go there with me to loose it from the rocks must be carefully chosen. This is a story which must not spread. Nelis I can count on to the death and beyond. He will know others that I can trust.”

  Roane wondered if she was as confident as she sounded. But the off-world girl was not prepared to question it. She was too intent now on the fact that night was coming. The night lenses—she had forgotten those. How could she have been so stupid? The effect of the sustain tablets she had taken was wearing off, too. And it was very apparent that, for all her push and courage, the Princess was in an even worse state. They would have to rest, eat, and perhaps spend a portion of the night in whatever shelter they could find.

  That in the end proved to be in the lee of the trunks of two trees brought down in the storm, their broken limbs still flying rags of withering leaves. The girls tramped the smaller branches and leaves into an untidy nest and hunkered in together. Roane brought out E-rations and they ate. By the time they had finished it was dark.

  The Princess slipped into an exhausted sleep, lying in a tight curl, her head pillowed on a tree limb. But they would have to keep watch! Roane battled her own deep fatigue as the long minutes slipped by.

  Sharp pain in her shoulder—Sandar was prodding her with a Gamelean longsword. He wanted her to get up—march—show him a crown of ice. If he took that into his hands he would be a ruler—He drew back the sword, to turn the point on her again—

  Roane opened her eyes.

  “Up!” The command came out of deep dusk, was enforced by a prod in her ribs. Not Sandar—

  One of Reddick’s men! Roane’s sleep-rooted daze cleared a little. She moved her hand toward her head, only to meet with a sharp blow on her wrist, delivered by the man standing over her.

  “Keep your hands in sight—try nothing. And on your feet!” His orders were terse, and she could see he held a weapon ready to enforce them.

  So they had been captured in their sleep. But Roane was still too tired to know more than a remote dismay.

  “What do you do, Sergeant?” That demand came from the Princess.

  “My duty. You are on Royal land without a warrant. You shall so answer to the Captain.”

  “That is right, Sergeant,” the Princess replied briskly. “But you will act with more courtesy, or you shall answer to the Captain, and that answering will not be pleasant. Touch us not again!”

  Perhaps the imperiousness of that command had its effect, for he withdrew a pace or two. There was pale sunlight about them. And in the full light stood three men. They wore a uniform of boots, tight breeches, and tunics which were latched from throat to waist with metal, the skirts cut to flare out over the hips to mid-thigh. These coats were of a rust brown, and each bore on the right breast a complicated symbol worked in purple and green, the same colors appearing in a small tight crest of feathers jutting from the bands of their high-crowned, narrow-brimmed headgear.

  Each wore a sword slung in a shoulder baldric, and their leader had drawn his weapon in threat. But in addition they had other weapons Roane recognized as being the most lethal on Clio, hand arms which fired a solid projectile.

  “You are of the Jontar Cavalry,” Ludorica said. She faced the Sergeant and he stared at her, plainly puzzled. “Your Colonel is Nelis Imfry. Him I would see and speedily.”

  “You will see the Captain.” The Sergeant might have been momentarily disconcerted by her attitude but he had regained his composure. “March.”

  March they did, through a tangle of brush into a road which was a trail of beaten earth. And there waited four duocorns, another man holding their reins. Roane found herself uncomfortably mounted behind one of the men, the Princess behind another. This was not, the off-world girl decided, an easy way to travel. But it did bring them to another tower, or rather a set of towers, not too unlike the one in which Roane’s adventure had begun. Only these were in use, and they formed the pillars of a gate with a threatening portcullis, through which the forest track went to join a much better road.

  The Sergeant had spurred ahead, and by the time the rest arrived, there was an officer awaiting them. The insignia on his collar was in the same purple and green and his cockade of feathers had an extra metal embellishment.

  He looked curiously at Roane, but when his glance went to the Princess his eyes widened and his astonishment was plain. He moved swiftly to the side of that mount and held out his hand to aid her down.

  “Your Highness!” Then he turned upon the Sergeant. “Off with you to the Colonel; tell him we have found the Princess!”

  The Sergeant took a second look and climbed back into the saddle. Under his spurs the duocorn leaped under the gate arch, thudded out into the road beyond.

  Roane was aided from her own perch far more gently than she had been bestowed there. And she followed the Princess up to the second floor of the left-hand tower, where chairs were hurriedly brought, the second having been summoned by a hand wave from the Princess for Roane’s accommodation.

  “Your Highness, we have been out hunting for you. When the word came by courier bird last night that you had disappeared from Hitherhow, the Colonel dispatched three companies in search—led the first one himself. But how—” He had glanced several times at her coverall, and at Roane, as if he wanted explanations he dared not ask for openly.

  “I was taken from Hitherhow,” Ludorica answered, “from my very bed. By the grace of the Guardians, and the good will of the Lady Roane Hume here, I escaped whatever fate was intended for me. For the rest—it is not to be discussed openly. But you I have seen before. You accompanied Colonel Imfry to Urkermark on the occasion of the last birthday review of His Majesty. You are Captain Buris Mykop, and you come from the stead of Benedu.”

  “Your Highness, but only once did I have the pleasure of being presented to you—and you remember!”

  She smiled. “Does anyone forget those who serve them faithfully? It is not strange to do so. Rather it would be unfitting and strange if one did not.”

  She leaned forward suddenly and tossed the collar wound with the chain onto the top of a nearby table.

  “You see there, Captain, a small keepsake of my adventure. That collar was fitted to my throat for a space, the chain was well anchored to hold me at another’s pleasure.”

  The Captain looked from the Princess to the chain. H
e put out one hand to touch the collar. When he turned, his face was grimly expressionless.

  “And who did this, Your Highness?”

  “I do not know—yet. But doubtless all shall be made clear in time. It suffices for now that that did not hold me as was meant. And for that, thank my Lady Roane.” She nodded to her companion, and the Captain gazed at the off-world girl as if he would impress the sight of her on his memory for all time.

  “What day is this? We have been turning night into day for our traveling. I can no longer reckon clearly.”

  “It is the fourth day of Lackameande, Your Highness.”

  “And it was on the second that I rode to Hitherhow,” she said. “There has been no word of weight out of Urkermark?”

  “None, Your Highness. By all accounts the King rests comfortably with no change in his condition.”

  Ludorica relaxed a little. But that she did not altogether rely on that report was proven when she asked: “The Leichstan border is within two leagues of here, is it not? This is the Westergate?”

  “That is true, Your Highness.”

  “And what—” But what she might have asked was lost in sounds below. A moment later another man came into the room with a rush which halted when he saw Ludorica. He was tall and young, but there were already lines of responsibility on his face.

  Beside Sandar’s finely cut features his would seem blunted, plain, of a coarser mold. Yet Roane found she was staring at him as the Captain had earlier done with her; she wanted to fix his face in her mind. Though why, she could not have told.

  His hair was close to the shade of his tunic, a rusty red-brown, but his eyebrows were as black as the Princess’s, and one had an upward tilt which gave him a slightly cynical look.

  The way he eyed Ludorica now made Roane a little uncomfortable, as if to be witness was taking an unfair advantage. Then that expression was gone as he crossed the room, took the hand Ludorica held out to him, and raised it to his lips, bowing before her with a grace Roane would not have credited him with had she not seen it for herself.