by Andre Norton
“Just what do you mean by that? It is a symbol of authority, and it seems true that no one not of the true line of the Blood can hold it. But what else is it?” he demanded.
“We do not know yet,” she told him frankly. “But there was a power unleashed in it even as we drew it back that we do not yet understand. Or perhaps”—she looked to Tallahassee sitting silent on the bed—“that was the doing of someone else.”
“I have nothing of your Talent,” the girl quickly denied. “You have given me enough of her memory so I know what I lack.”
Herihor glanced from her to Jayta and back again, his eyes now searching Tallahassee’s painted face as if beneath that cosmetic mask he could find a truth he must have.
“Yes, Daughter-of-Apedemek—your number of supporters lacks now the one I think you esteemed the highest of all. By so much are you the loser.” There was bitterness in his voice, and his eyes were cold, his expression closed. Did he really hate her? Tallahassee was sure that that must be the truth.
“We do not know what we face.” Jayta seemed to temporize. “It is only true that above all else we must hold in safety the Rod and the Key and pray that the Candace finds a quick way home. Since the spy ray holds us mute, perhaps it is better to send some messenger directly to the Temple to speak with Zyhlarz. And guards—”
“I know my trade. I brought the Ibex Regiment with me when I came. And two messages have gone to those commanders I can still trust in full. One answered while I was still airborne. He is moving overland to keep open the north road—if he can. For if Khasti extends this power of his, who knows what evil surprises we shall have to face.”
He gave a quick nod of his head, divided between the two of them, and was gone before the priestess could speak again. Tallahassee broke the silence between them with a question she was herself surprised to hear, even as she asked it:
“Did he love her very much?”
For a second or two Jayta appeared so buried in some thought of her own that it did not register. Then she started, stared at Tallahassee, so that the girl had a queer, shamed feeling, as if the question she had asked broke some important rule of politeness.
“The Prince Herihor was chosen as consort for the Princess,” Jayta’s tone was very remote and forbidding, “since he was not of the pure Blood. It was believed that perhaps a mixture of such heritage would strengthen anew the line for the next generation. It is—was—Ashake’s child who would wear the next crown.”
A marriage of convenience and state, then. Yet Tallahassee thought that that greeting shouted outside her bedroom earlier had held something else, a warmth of feeling. But she could not judge these people, she told herself firmly. She might have Ashake’s memories filtered through their recall machine, but she did not possess any concerning Herihor that seemed especially close. In fact, she was now engrossed by a discovery she had just made—there were no overtones of emotion raised by any of those memories she had yet sampled. She was not aware that Jayta, having watched her closely for a breath or two, went silently out of the room. For Tallahassee was testing, after a fashion, those memories, drawing to the fore of her mind each of the people she was supposed to be closely allied with, to wait some response, a yes or no of liking—no matter how faint. And still she could detect none at all.
Tallahassee’s headache dulled, she was able to eat all of the meal Idia brought her later and knew her energy was flowing back. In fact she felt almost euphoric, a condition that aroused suspicion in her mind. Had the restorative also been a drug of sorts to tie her more closely to Jayta’s will? She could not detect a ground for such suspicion in the Ashake memories she could tap. But it was well not to depend too much on those for present assurance.
She went out beside the pool and sat on a bench, gazing into the water where the lotus blossoms spread wide their pointed petals. This was her own villa, or Ashake’s, she knew now, a private retreat where the Princess had many times withdrawn for study and meditation in the past. Within it she was as secure—as long as she was Ashake—as she could be anywhere in this world.
The kittens came leaping out of nowhere to jump up beside her. One spoke in feline fashion at some length, staring straight up into Tallahassee’s face as if delivering some message. When she put out her hand, it nipped delicately at her fingertips, while the other small mouth yawned wide, as, sleepy-eyed, it settled down for a nap.
This was soothing. She could almost push away that feeling of displacement. Would Ashake grow stronger in her and become dominant? Tallahassee stirred uneasily. How much dared she give open passage in her mind to those implanted memories?
There was—
Tallahassee stiffened, tense. Both cats roused, turned on the bench to stare at some point behind her. Both wrinkled their lips in silent snarls. The girl’s hand went to the hilt of the dagger at her waist. Behind her—now—was danger.
She made herself rise slowly as if unaware. A call would bring one of the Amazon guard. Only there was something … This she had felt before, not as a Princess of Amun but rather as herself, Tallahassee Mitford.
Slowly she turned to face what lurked there. Though this was day and not in a dark building in another time and world, there was again that presence—no better could she describe it. Only she could see nothing.…
Nothing? No! In the doorway of that chamber where Jayta had her roles of wisdom—there flickered a shadow. And that shadow …
Tallahassee could not define it as more than a kind of blurring of her own sight, a blurring confined to that one area. Drawing upon every bit of courage she possessed, the girl started toward it. Her hand moved, not by her will, but directed by the Ashake memory, in a gesture, to draw in the air the outline of the Key.
There was—not menace, she realized, as her own controlled fear began to ebb. Here was a need that reached her fleetingly. And then that blur was gone. As if a door had closed. What kind of a door and why? Ashake was dead. It could not have been the Princess’s shadow-self that invaded Tallahassee’s world and lingered here now. Both memories assured her that was impossible.
But there had been that other one. The curdling in the air among the ruins when Jayta had sent such a presence away. The other one—he or she who had been dispatched by this Khasti to steal and hide the greatest defense of Amun—could such be the lurker? If so—they might face a danger now that even all the vaunted Ancient Knowledge could not handle. For when an enemy is invisible …
Tallahassee made herself go to that doorway, gaze into the room beyond. But she knew the thing had gone. The cold chill of fear that it could bring with it was already fading. However, that it went did not mean it would not return.
“Great Lady?”
Tallahassee was so startled by a voice from behind that she nearly cried out. But she mastered her loss of self-control before she turned to face Colonel Namila, herself.
“Warrior-of-the-lion.” The old, old acknowledgment came unbidden from the second memory.
“There is one who has come—the Princess Idieze. She would have speech with the Great Lady.”
Idieze—the wife of Userkof—she whose jealousy had brought on much of this trouble here. But why did she come?
“You may admit her to the presence, but summon also the Daughter-of-Apedemek and Prince General Herihor.”
“As it is commanded, so it is done.” The Amazon gave the formal response.
Tallahassee moved back to the bench, deliberately seated herself. She guessed that Idieze might come so boldly on a kind of “fishing” expedition. She had both the cunning and the arrogance to take such action. Ashake’s memory supplied much concerning Idieze and little or none of it good.
There was a stir at the main door at the far end of the pool as a slender woman wearing a garment of saffron yellow and a small travel wig came determinedly forward, those escorting her lingering by the gate. Tallahassee did not rise to greet her. Ashake’s rank was far higher than that of this upstart female. In the old days, before the smo
thering etiquette of the court had been revised, this one would have approached on hands and knees and kissed the sandal strip of the Princess. None of the Blood ran in her veins.
If no emotion had broken through from the memories Tallahassee had earlier sifted, she had been wrong in feeling that none such existed. For the very sight of Idieze’s smooth, painted face brought to life now a flare of hot anger.
The woman was very beautiful, her lips finely chiseled, her features well cut. Though she was small and dainty, yet she had excellent carriage and she held herself with that inborn assurance which beauty breeds in a woman. Even as contemptuous as Ashake’s memories were, Tallahassee knew that the Princess had always understood the appeal Idieze had for her weakling cousin, and how this perfection in flesh could mold him easily to her purpose.
“I see you, Idieze.” Tallahassee-Ashake gave greeting, not of intimate to intimate, equal to equal, but rather of the Blood to the lesser. And she saw the swiftly hidden spark in Idieze’s eyes. It was as if something in Tallahassee now fed triumphantly on the hate the other projected.
“The Great Lady receives her servant.” The other’s voice was soft, carrying no hint of anger. Idieze was a superb actress, Tallahassee had to admit.
There was the sound of sandals and boots on the pavement behind. The girl did not need to look around to know that Namlia had carried out orders. Jayta and Herihor were coming. She wanted no confrontation with this—this viper that was not witnessed by those she could trust.
“Greeting, Daughter-of-Apedemek,” Idieze continued. “And to you, General of the North.” She smiled gently. “Has some emergency arisen that you are called from your station when the Glorious-in-the-Sun Naldamak is not with us?”
“I did not realize, Lady, that your interest in military matters was so marked.” Herihor’s voice was cool.
She only smiled, warmly and graciously. “Is not my Lord, also, of the defenses of our land?” she countered sweetly. “As his wife, I have learned much.”
That you have, Tallahassee thought, or perhaps should it not more rightly be that he has learned from you!
Impatience stirred in her. Idieze would not come here without a purpose. Let them get to the point quickly. Though she could trust her implanted memory, yet there was something about this female that was a threat she could well do without and speedily. It might not follow the rules of formality and custom, but she decided now to dispense with those.
“You have sought me out, Idieze,” Tallahassee said bluntly, “and for that there must be a reason.”
“Concern for your welfare, Great Lady. It has been rumored in New Napata that you have been grievously ill—”
“So?” Tallahassee was aware of that searching glance the other gave her. She wondered what had really been told Idieze, what had been the result on the enemies’ side of that invasion into the other world? Had they even suspected the real result—Ashake’s death? If so, Idieze must be confounded now, through she showed no trace of surprise.
“Rumor,” she continued deliberately, “often is fathered and mothered by false reports. As you see, my health is good. As one of the Talented I withdraw to renew my spirit—as all know must be done at intervals.”
“When the Graciousness-in-the-Sun and her sister of the Blood are both gone, and none is delegated to hold the Rod, there is uneasiness.” Idieze still smiled with her mouth, kept her voice low and gentle, but Tallahassee wished she could see more clearly into those downcast eyes.
“And to whom would the Rod pass,” Tallahassee asked in a voice she hoped was as deceptively mild as the other’s, “seeing that there are none of the pure Blood to set hand to it?”
The smile was gone now, the lips set straightly together, as if the other had an answer that prudence alone kept her from saying aloud.
“But”—Tallahassee was being forced to this because Ashake’s memory warned her that she dared not trepass too deeply on a field of action adverse to the ways of the court—“since you have come in your concern, you are greeted. The way to New Napata is long, and it is close to evening. You are bidden to dine, to sleep within these walls, you and your people.”
It did not sound very gracious, and she did not mean it to. Also she heard a slight stir from the direction of Herihor, behind her left shoulder, and she knew that perhaps he was not pleased with what she had done. But to send Idieze forth now would mean an open break that perhaps they could not afford. Tallahassee clapped her hands, and as two maid servants appeared she gave orders.
“Escort the Lady Idieze to the guest quarters. See also that those who serve her are made at ease.”
Idieze smiled again, and at the sight of that a small doubt arose in Tallahassee. The woman wanted to stay, she had come here for no other reason. Why? Now she made a graceful gesture of homage and withdrew, walking down the other side of the pool toward rooms at the back of the villa, her people coming from the gateway to follow her. Two maids and another woman, older and somewhat hunched of back, who hobbled along leaning on a cane. Yes, that was the old crone Idieze had ever about her. Some said she was the ancient nurse who had tended her as a child—others retailed more fantastic suggestions.
“She comes for a purpose.” Herihor spoke first, staring after that ordered withdrawal as Tallahassee arose and turned to face the other two.
“Better,” Jayta remembered, “that she be under our own eyes now. Our Lady could not turn her from the door, even though there lies no friendship between them. It may be that we can learn what has brought her here.”
“Learn anything from that one?” Herihor laughed harshly. “She is like the scorpion hiding beneath a rock, her sting raised—yet the shadow of the rock ever hides her threat. I do not like it.”
“Neither do I,” returned Tallahassee as frankly. “But, as Jayta says, what else could be done with her? We do not yet court an open break with her party. Let the Daughter-of-Apedemek deal with the matter; there is perhaps something that can be done by the Talent to learn more.”
Jayta nodded. “Yes. For now, we must be content with the matter as it stands. It would be well to acquaint Colonel Namlia with a suggestion that the guard of honor be doubled tonight—”
“With special emphasis on the outer part of the guest quarters.” When Herihor’s left brow slid up as Jason’s had so often, for a moment Tallahassee’s heart lifted. If he only were Jason! If she could have confidence that he did not hold any grudge against her, that he was not just serving her because it was his duty!
“We must all do our best,” were the only words that came to her lips. She was not looking forward to this disturbing night wherein she must fence with Idieze across food she had now little desire to taste.
At least they did not share the same table, and there was nearly the width of the room between them. For it seemed that the household at the villa followed the old Egyptian custom of food being served on small, separate tables, each placed beside a chair. Tallahassee, Herihor, Jayta, and Idieze were grouped at one end of the room, while members of the household of sufficient rank were a little apart. Among the latter there was easy if low-voiced conversation, though it did not include the hunched form near the opposite door—Idieze’s crone attendant But among those of rank there was a general silence as if each were only too-well occupied with his or her own thoughts.
Once or twice Tallahassee had that shivering sensation of being overlooked. She saw Jayta stir, glance over her shoulder at the painted expanse of the wall at their backs. Did the priestess also pick up that feeling that there was something hovering about them? The girl longed for the meal to be done, for Idieze to be gone, so she could share with the Daughter-of-Apedemek her curious experience beside the pool.
Only Idieze showed no sign of wanting yet to withdraw. She had finished her meal. Now one of the maids standing along the wall ready to give service brought forward a carved box from which the Princess selected a slender brown stick, putting it to her lips, waiting for the maid to touch a flame to i
ts tip. Smoke rose in needle-thin curls from the stick when Idieze drew deeply upon it, so that a tiny spot of flame flared.
“It is sad that you who followed the Upper Path, Great Lady,” she said, “are forbidden so many of the luxuries of life. These pleasant dream sticks can be most soothing to the nerves.”
A tendril of the smoke floated in Tallahassee’s direction. It was sickly-sweet and, without thinking, she fanned it away.
“Lady,” it was Jayta who spoke, “this is a house for those who do follow the Upper Path. Such—”
“Cannot be defiled by my dream stick?” Idieze laughed. “I am rebuked.” She thrust the glowing tip into the dregs of wine in her goblet. “Forgive me, Daughter-of-Apedemek. We of the outer world are not so constrained in our life. The old ways”—she gave a dainty shrug—“they fasten chains upon one, and it is so unnecessary. For much can be learned by an open will and mind.”
She was insolent, being deliberately so, Tallahassee realized. And why did Idieze feel so free to speak thus—here?
Herihor set down his goblet, his eyes were on Idieze with that narrowed intentness that had been—was—Jason’s when he was considering some problem. Tallahassee could believe that he was now as alert as she was to the danger of Idieze and her real purpose in coming here.
It was as if Idieze herself could read that thought. Her lazy smile was gone. Now she leaned forward a little in her chair.
“Great Lady, there is a matter that must be discussed. But, privately …” And her eyes shifted to those in the other part of the room.
“So we had guessed,” Tallahassee returned. “Let us to the poolside, then.”
Herihor was almost instantly at her side, holding out his arm so she could touch fingers to his wrist. As she arose, Tallahassee bowed her head to Jayta, but gave no such courtesy to Idieze. The sooner that one spat out whatever poison she had brought hither, the better. For Ashake, memory was only too clear in reminding what Idieze could do.