A World Divided

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Montray’s face went dark as if a shutter had dropped over his eyes. “Impossible, Reade. I know what you have in mind, and I won’t go along with it.”

  Reade’s face did not change. “You see the position this puts us in. The boy’s not prepared for the tremendous opportunity this opens up, but we’ve still got to grab this chance. We simply can’t afford to let Larry refuse this invitation. For God’s sake, do you realize that we’ve been trying to get permission for someone to visit the outlying estates, for fifteen years? It’s the first time in years that any Terran has had this chance, and if we turn it down, it may be years before it comes again.”

  Montray’s mouth twisted. “Oh, there have been a few.”

  “Yes, I know.” Reade did not elaborate, but turned to Larry. “Do you understand why you’re going to have to accept this invitation?”

  Suddenly, with the visual force of a hallucination, Larry saw again the tall figure of Valdir Alton, and heard him say, as clearly as if he had been in that white Terran room with them, I have a feeling we’ll see you again before long. It was so real that he shook his head to clear it of the abnormally intense impression.

  Reade persisted. “You are going to accept?”

  Larry felt a delayed surge of excitement. To see Darkover—not only the city, but far outside the Terran Zone entirely, the real world, untouched by Terra! The thought was a little frightening and yet wildly exciting. But a tinge of caution remained and he said warily, “Would you mind telling me why you are so eager to have me, sir? I understood that the Terrans were afraid of any—fraternization with Darkovans.”

  “Afraid of it causing trouble,” Reade said. “We’ve been trying to arrange something like this, though, for years. I suppose they felt we were a little too eager, and were afraid we’d try something. Larry, I can explain it very easily. First of all, we don’t want to offend Darkovan aristocrats. But more than that. This is the first time that Darkovans of power and position have actually made an advance of personal friendliness to any Terran. They trade with us, they accept us here, but they don’t want to have anything to do with us personally. This is like a breach in that wall. You have a unique opportunity to be—a sort of ambassador for Terra. Perhaps, to show them that we aren’t anything to fear. And then, too—” he hesitated. “Very few Terrans have ever seen anything of this planet except what the Darkovans wanted us to see. You should keep very careful records of everything you see, because something you don’t even realize is important might mean everything to us.”

  Larry saw through that at once.

  “Are you asking me to spy on my friends?” he asked, in outrage.

  “No, no,” Reade said quickly, even though Larry felt very clearly that Reade was thinking that he was a little too clever. “Just keep your eyes open and tell us what you see. Chances are they will be expecting you to do that anyhow.”

  Montray interrupted, pacing the floor restlessly. “I don’t like having my son used as a pawn in power politics. Not by Darkovans trying to get next to us—and not by the Terran Empire trying to find out about Darkover, either!”

  “You’re exaggerating, Montray. Look, at least a few of the higher Darkovan caste may be telepaths; we couldn’t plant the kid on them as a spy, even if we tried. It’s just a chance to know a little more about them.”

  He appealed directly to Larry: “You say you liked this Darkovan youngster. Doesn’t it make sense—to try and build friendly relations between the two of you?”

  That thought had already crossed Larry’s mind. He nodded. Montray said reluctantly, “I still don’t like it. But there’s nothing I can do.”

  Reade looked at him and Larry was shocked at the quick expression of triumph and power in the man’s face. He thought, He enjoys this. He wondered, suddenly, why he could see into the man this way. He was sure he knew more about Commander Reade than Reade wanted him to know. Reade said softly over Larry’s head to Wade Montray, “We’ve got to do it this way. You son is old enough, and he’s not scared—are you, Larry? So all we have to do is tell the Altons that he’ll be proud and honored to visit them—and say when.”

  Back again in their own apartment in Quarters A, Larry’s father swore under his breath, ceaselessly, for almost a quarter of an hour. “And now you see what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he finished at last, viciously. “Larry, I don’t like it, I don’t like it, I don’t like it! And damn it, I suppose you’re overjoyed—you’ve got what you want!”

  Larry said, honestly, “It’s interesting, Dad. But I am a little scared. Reade wants me to go for all the wrong reasons.”

  “I’m glad you can see that, at least,” Montray snapped. “I ought to let you hang yourself. You got yourself into this. Just the same—” He grew silent; then he got up and came to his son, and took Larry by the shoulders again, looking very searchingly at him. His voice was gentler than Larry could remember hearing it in years.

  “Listen, son. If you really don’t want to get into this, I’ll get you out of it, somehow. You’re my son, not just a potential Empire employee. They can’t force you to go. Don’t worry about their putting pressure on me—I can always put in for a transfer somewhere else. I’ll leave the damned planet before I let them force you to play their games!”

  Larry, feeling his father’s hands on his shoulders, suddenly realized that he was being given a chance—perhaps the last chance he would ever have—to return to the old, protected status of a child. He could be his father’s son again, and Dad would get him out of this. So the step he had taken, in declaring himself a man, was not quite irrevocable after all. He could return to the safe age, and the price was very small. His father would take care of him.

  He found himself wanting to, almost desperately. He’d bitten off more than he could chew, and this was his chance to get out of it. The alternative would put him on his own, in a strange world, playing a strange part, representing his Terran world all alone.

  And the Altons would know that his man’s decision had been a lie, that he clung to the safety of being a Terran child hiding behind his society—

  He drew a long breath, and put his hands up over his father’s.

  “Thanks, Dad,” he said, warmly, meaning it. “I almost wish I could take you up on that. Honestly. But I have to go. As you say, I got myself into this, and I might as well get some good out of it—for all of you. Don’t worry, Dad—it’s going to be all right.”

  Montray’s hands tightened on his shoulders. His eyes met his son’s, and he said, “I was afraid you’d feel that way, Larry—and I wish you didn’t. But I guess, being who you are, you’d have to. I could still forbid you, I guess”—a wry smile flitted across his face—“but I’ve found out you’re too old for that, and I won’t even try.” He dropped his hands, but then a wide grin spread across his worried face.

  “Damn it, son—I still don’t like it—but I’m proud of you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The morning mist had burned off the hills, but still lay thick in the valley. Above the bank of pinkish cloud, the red sun hung in a bath of thinning mist. Larry looked down at the treetops emerging from the top of the cloud, and drew a deep breath, savoring the strange scents of the alien forest.

  He rode last in the little column of six men. Ahead of him, Kennard looked round briefly, lifted a hand in acknowledgment of his grin, and turned back.

  Larry had been at Armida, the outlying country estate of the Altons, for twelve days now. The journey from the city had been tiring; he was not accustomed to riding, and though at first it had been pleasant novelty, he found himself thinking regretfully of the comfortable ground-cars and air-ships of Terran travel.

  But the slow trip through forests and mountains had gradually won him to its charm: the high rocky trails reaching summits where crimson and purple landscapes lay rainbow-lovely below them, the deep shadowed roads through the forests, with here and there tall white towers rising high against the horizon, or glowing faintly luminescent in the nig
ht. At night they had either camped along the roadway, or now and again been guests in some outlying farmhouse where the Darkovans had treated Valdir and Kennard with extreme deference—and Larry had come in for his own share of this respect. Valdir had told no one that his son’s guest and companion was one of the alien Terrans.

  The home of the Altons was a great gray rambling structure, too low for a castle, too imposing to be a house. He found himself fitting into the place easily, riding with Kennard, helping him train his hunting dogs, learning to shoot with the curiously shaped crossbows they used for sport, savoring the strangeness of the life he lived. It was all very interesting, but certainly nothing that he could tell Reade which might be of benefit to the Terrans—and he was glad of it. He hadn’t liked the idea of being what amounted to a spy.

  Mostly the days were too full for much introspection, but sometimes when he was in bed at night, he found himself wondering why the invitation had been issued in the first place. He liked Kennard, they were friends, but would that alone cause Valdir Alton to ignore the long tradition on Darkover of ignoring the Terrans?

  He found himself wondering if Valdir’s reason for issuing the invitation was not very much the same as Reade’s reason for wanting Larry to accept it—that Valdir just wanted to know something about the Terrans, close up.

  He was, by now, used to riding, and a three-day hunt had been arranged partly for his benefit. He had managed to shoot well enough to bring down a small rabbitlike beast on the first day, which had been cooked over the campfire that evening, and he was proud of that, even though it was the only thing he had hit during the long hunt.

  At the top of the hill he drew even with Kennard, and they sat breathing their horses, side by side, looking across the valley.

  “It’s nice up here,” Kennard said at last. “I used to ride this way fairly often, a couple of seasons ago. Father feels that now it’s too dangerous for me to come alone.” He gestured at their escort, Darkovans Larry did not know: one a well-dressed young redhead from a nearby estate, the others men from the Alton farms, workmen of various sorts. One was in the uniform of the Guards, but Kennard himself was wearing old riding-clothes, slightly too small for him.

  “Dangerous? Why?”

  “It’s too near the edge of the forests,” Kennard said, “and during the last few seasons, trailmen have spread down into these forests. Usually they stay in the hills. They’re not really dangerous, but they don’t like humans, and we stay out of their way, as a rule. Then, too, this is on the border of mountain country, and men from the Cahuengas—”

  He broke off, stiffening in his saddle, looking intently across the valley.

  “What is it, Kennard?” Larry asked.

  The Darkovan boy pointed. Larry could see nothing, but Kennard called to his father, a shrill insistent shout, and Valdir turned his horse and came cantering back.

  “What’s wrong, Ken?”

  “Smoke. The mist lifted just for a minute, over there—” Kennard pointed, “and I saw it. Right at the edge of the Ranger station.”

  Valdir frowned, narrowing his eyes, shading them with his thin brown hand. “How sure are you? It’s a good hour’s ride out of our way—damn this mist, I can’t see anything.” He flung back his head like a deer sniffing the wind, peering into the distance, and finally nodded.

  “A trace of smoke. We’ll ride and check.” He glanced at Larry. “I hope you don’t mind the extra riding.”

  “Not at all, but I hope nothing’s wrong, Lord Alton.”

  “So do I,” Valdir said, his brows drawn down with worry, and touched his horse’s flank with a light heel. They were off down the trail, the sound of hoofs making a dull clamor on the leaves underfoot. As they neared the bottom of the valley, the mist lifted slightly and the men pointed and shouted. Larry’s nostrils twitched at a faint, acrid whiff of strange smoke. The sun had swung southward, and they were turning their horses up a widened trail that led to the top of a little hill, when Valdir Alton let out a great curse, rising in his stirrups and pointing; then he clapped his heels to his horse’s side and vanished over the top of the rise. Kennard spurred after him, and Larry, urging his horse forward, felt a surge of excitement and fear as he followed. He came over the rise in the road and heard Kennard cry out in consternation; he pulled up his horse and looked down, in dismay, at a grove of trees from which black smoke was coiling upward.

  Kennard slid from his horse and began to run. The man in the Guardsman’s uniform called to him and drew his crossbow up to rest, and Larry realized, with a shiver, that they were all looking warily at the surrounding trees. What might lie behind them?

  Valdir leaped from his saddle; the other men followed suit, and Larry slid down with the rest. The deathly silence seemed more ominous because it was cut through with the soft chirping of birds from a distance, twittering in the grove.

  Then Kennard called; he was kneeling in the road beside what Larry thought to be a gray boulder, but he put out his hand to turn it and Larry, his stomach cramping in horror, saw that it was the hunched body of a man in a gray cloak.

  Valdir bent over the man; straightened. Larry stood frozen, looking down at death. He had never seen a dead body before, let alone the body of a man dead by violence. The dead man was young, little more than a boy, a shadow of thin beard on his face. A great wound in his chest gaped black and bloody. He had been dead some time.

  Kennard was looking pale. Larry turned away, feeling faint and sick, and struggling not to show it, as Valdir turned away from the dead man.

  “Cahuenga—his cloak is Cahuenga from the far hills,” he said, “but boots and belt are from Hyalis. A raider—but no beacon flared when this station was attacked.” He stepped warily around the corpse. The Guardsman shouted, “don’t go up there alone, Lord Alton!” and, sliding from his saddle, crossbow lowered, ran to follow him. Kennard followed, and Larry, as if compelled, ran after them.

  A blackened ruin, still smoking, showed the vague outline of a building. On a little stretch of green at one side lay the crumpled body of a man. When Kennard and Larry reached Valdir’s side, Valdir was already kneeling beside the body. After one glance, Larry turned away from the glazed, pain-ridden eyes; the man was bleeding from a great gash across his side, and from his lips a little dark-flecked foam stirred with his rasping breath.

  Over the inert body the other Darkovan aristocrat looked at Valdir; gripped the limp wrist. His forehead was ridged with dismay. Valdir, looking up, said, “He must speak before he dies, Rannirl. And he’s dying anyway.”

  Rannirl’s mouth was set. He nodded, fumbled at his belt, and from a leather wallet drew forth a small, blue-glazed vial stoppered with silver. Handling it carefully, and keeping his own face free of the small fumes that coiled up from the open mouth of the vial, he measured a few cautious drops in the cap: Valdir forced the man’s mouth open and Rannirl let the fuming liquid fall on the man’s tongue. After a moment a great shudder ran through the frame of the dying man, and the eyes fluttered.

  His voice sounded harsh, far away. “Vai dom—we did what we could—the beacon—fire—”

  Valdir gripped the limp hands, his face terrible and intent. There was something in his hands, something that glittered cold and blue; he pressed it to the dying man’s forehead, and Larry saw that it was a clear jewel. Valdir said, “Do not spend your strength in speaking, Garin, or you will die before I learn what I must know. Form your thought clearly while you can, and I will understand. And forgive me, friend. You may save many lives with this torment.” He bent close to the dying face, his own features a grim mask, lighted blue as the strange jewel suddenly flared and burned as if with inner flame. A spasm of terrible anguish passed over the dying Ranger’s face; he shuddered twice and lay still, and Valdir, with a painful sigh, released his hands and straightened up. His own forehead was beaded with sweat; he swayed, and Kennard leaped to steady his father.

  After a minute Valdir passed his hand over his wet brow, and spoke: �
��They didn’t sell their lives cheaply,” he said. “There were a dozen men; they came from the North, and hacked Balhar to pieces while he was trying to reach the beacon and set it aflame. He thought at first that they were Cahuenga, but two were tall pale men who were hooded almost like the kyrri, and one was masked. He saw them signal; they carried a mirror-flash device of some sort. After he fell, Garin saw them ride away northward toward the Kadarin.”

  Rannirl whistled softly. “If they could spare so many to prevent one beacon being lighted—this doesn’t look like a few bandits out after a raid on the farms in the valley!”

  Valdir swore. “There aren’t enough of us to go after them,” he said, “and we’ve only hunting weapons. And Zandru alone knows what other devil’s work has been done along here. Kennard”—he turned to his son—“go and light the beacon, at least. Quickly! Garin tried to crawl there, when they had left him for dead, but his strength failed—” His voice went thin in his throat; he bent and covered the dead face with the Ranger’s cloak.

  “He didn’t fight me,” he said. “Even for a man weakened with many wounds and after a dose of that devil’s drug of yours, Rannirl, that takes a rare kind of courage.”

  He sighed, then, recovering himself, told two of the workmen to bury the dead Rangers. The sound of mattock and pick rang dully in the grove; after a few minutes, Kennard came running back.

  “No way to light the beacon, father. Those devils took the time to drench it with water, just in case!”

  Valdir swore, again, moodily, biting his lip. “The people along the valley should be warned, and someone should track them and find which way. We can’t go to all four winds at once!” He stood for a moment, scowling, thoughtful. “If we had enough men we might take them at the fords, or if we could warn the countryside by beacon—”

  Abruptly he seemed to come to a decision.

  “There aren’t enough of us to follow them, and they’ve too big a head start in any case. But this probably means a good-sized raid. We’ve got to warn the people in the valley—and we can find a tracker there who can get on their trail and follow it better than we could. Nothing’s likely to happen before night.” He glanced up at the sun, trembling crimson at the zenith. “The hunt’s over; we’ll eat a bit and then start back. Kennard, you and Larry—” he hesitated. “I’d like to send you both back to Armida, but you can’t cross this country by yourselves. You’ll have to ride with us.” He looked at Larry. “It may mean some hard riding, I’m afraid.”