"It is time, Tylara," Trakon said. "Time and past time."
She looked helplessly at him, then at the others:
Cadaric, his son Caradoc, and Yanulf. "Have I no other advice?" she asked.
"You know mine, Lady," Cadaric said. He clutched his bow. "There are no more shafts. As for me, as well to die; but it would be waste to no purpose."
Cadaric's son Caradoc opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by his father's look. The young man looked down at the towers in hatred.
Yanuif nodded sagely. "What choice is there? In a day they will be inside, and it always fares ill with the populace when a place is taken by storm." He paused. "You need not stay, Lady. My place is with the acolytes in the caves of the Preserver, and we could find you a place there as well."
"No," Trakon said. "I will have a better bargain for her than that."
Yanulf bowed. "I will not wait, then." He turned to leave the battlements.
"I will send my son with you," Cadaric said. "Perhaps Yatar will aid him to return to Tamaerthon."
"And perhaps not," Yanulf said. "But it is well to have young men as apprentices." The old priest waved toward the armies below the walls. "Fools all. The Time approaches, and still men fight."
"But not for long," Tylara said. She turned to Trakon, but for a moment she could not find words. Finally she said, "Make a good bargain for our people."
"I will. It will be for the best."
Tylara stood at the battlements as Trakon went to the gate and hoisted the green branch of truce.
Her ladies dressed her, and one of Sarakos's officers led her to the council chamber. She felt strangely light without mail and steel cap, and stranger still to be unarmed. Strangest of all was to see Sarakos in her place at the head of the table.
He looked young to be so powerful. He was a big man, but not fat; even his eyes showed strength. He was handsome, but she did not forget for a moment that this was the man who had killed her husband while others held him helpless.
His smile was not pleasant. "Welcome, Lady." He stared at her and she shuddered.
Sarakos was not alone in the room. Guards held Bheroman Trakon. His shirt was open; there was blood on his bare chest. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.
"You are all traitors," Sarakos said. "Traitors do not die easily, as you will learn." He motioned to the guards. "Take that carrion out and kill him with the rest."
Trakon shook off the guards and stood straight, although he winced to do it. "Is this how a Wanax keeps his promises?" he demanded. "You gave your word that the lady Tylara and I-"
"Would marry," Sarakos said. "After the traitors were killed. And so shall you be. Joined forever." He turned and looked appreciatively at Tylara. "I can see why you wanted her. You may have to wait for her, but you will have her for all time when I am through." He waved dismissal to the guards.
For an hour, Castle Dravan sounded with the screams of the dying. Tylara was forced to stand at the window and watch as her soldiers were killed; some beheaded, the archers used as targets for Sarakos's crossbowmen, the officers flung from the castle battlements.
Then she was taken to Sarakos's bedchamber, and another kind of horror began.
She heard the massive door opening and whimpered, trying to draw her knees tighter to her chest. She kept her eyes closed. Which would it be; the crone with the whip or Sarakos himself? She remembered his parting words; "You have not pleased me. I would as soon have a corpse. But before you die, you will please me. You will beg for the chance."
"My Lady."
The voice seemed different. Familiar, and youthful. It was not Sarakos- "My Lady. There is little time. You must come now."
She was afraid. Was it a trick? But the voice was urgent. She found the courage to open her eyes and turn her head, although she dared not hope.
She saw kilts — her own plaid- and looked higher. "Caradoc!" she cried. He reached for her and she let him help her stand. He gasped when he saw her back, and she leaned on him as he led her urgently out of the bedchamber. There were two dead men lying at her door.
The hour was early. They saw no one as they went down the back stairs to the large cistern below ground; then to the massive doorways that led still farther below; to the caves of the Protectors. The ammonia smell was strong. She hesitated, but Caradoc hustled her through and closed the doors behind. Two acolytes with torches came to help her now. Their faces showed disapproval of this invasion of their realm.
They went through darkened tunnels, turning until she was lost. Finally they came to a larger room lit with another torch. Yanulf was there.
"The guards were drunk," Caradoc said. "I killed four. No one else was awake."
"We must be gone before they are found," Yanulf said. The priest turned to the acolytes. "Fetch bladders."
They stared at him in horror.
"Do you think Yatar prefers his secrets to the torture of his friends?" Yanulf snapped. "This lady treated us well. She will not reveal what she sees, nor will Caradoc."
The acolytes hesitated a moment more, then left. When they came back, they carried inflated sheep's bladders.
Yanulf pointed to a door in the chamber. "We will go through there. You must breathe only from the bladders, and you must hold your breath as long as possible. The journey is steep, and we cannot pause to rest until we are through the tunnels and outside the door on the far side. It will be dark. Is this understood?"
Tylara stared at him in confusion. She wanted to lie down, to rest, to sleep, to forget the pain in her back and the terrible pain between her thighs. Pain filtered the memories, but not entirely. "There is no need," she said. "Give me your dagger, and-"
"Don't be a fool," Yanulf told her. "Do you think I have invited Sarakos to violate Yatar's house just to let you die?"
"I may carry Sarakos's child," she said. "I'd rather be dead."
"Time enough when you know. But it's unlikely," Yanulf said. He was thoughtful for a moment. "Very unlikely, even leaving out your virginity."
The priests of Yanulf were said to know when women could conceive.
"Alive there is hope of vengeance," Caradoc said. "For you and for my father. Until I see Sarakos gull-feathered, I will stay alive."
"Come." Yanulf handed her the bladder. "Before you use the bladder, breathe deeply. Many times." He demonstrated. "More." When he was satisfied, he motioned to the acolytes to open the heavy doors.
There were more doors beyond. These next were sealed with leather. Tylara felt the ammonia stinging her eyes, and even through the bladder she could smell the pungent odor when the last doors were opened.
Cold welled out of the caves. She took an acolyte's hand and let herself be led into darkness.
There was no light at all. She felt the walls as they went through. There were shelves with baskets, and slabs of meat hanging below those. Between the shelves were slimy bulbous things, cold to the touch. Then there was ice.
They seemed to go on forever. The air in the bladder was stale, and her lungs ached so much that she nearly forgot her other pains. She was certain that she would faint from lack of breath, but at that moment they stopped. Light burst in from a door opened in front of them. They hurried through, past another door, and stood outside in the dying light of the night sun. To the east was the red of dawn.
There were horses. She felt herself lifted up behind Caradoc. She clung to him and they rode away. After a while, she fell asleep clinging to the archer. In her dreams, she had Sarakos flayed alive, and she smiled.
The true sun was high overhead when at last they stopped at a crossroads.
"We must hurry on," Yanulf was saying.
"This horse must rest," Caradoc answered. "Carrying double has nearly foundered him." He reached up to help Tylara down, then led the horse to the watering trough that stood next to the stone heap. He bowed to the heap before allowing the horse to drink.
Tylara bowed as well. Crossroads were sacred to the Guide of the Dead. Th
en she turned to Yanulf. "Thank you."
"Thank him." He pointed at Caradoc.
"I have. But we would not have escaped if you had not-" she stopped herself.
"Broken my oath of secrecy?" Yanulf said. "Yes. Doubtless I will answer for that. But I spoke truly to the acolytes. Yatar cannot wish his secrets held at such a cost."
"Where are we going?" Tylara asked.
Caradoc answered from behind her. "This is the east road," he said. "Perhaps we will find the boy Wanax and the Protector. And if not-it leads home."
Home. She looked to the east, but Tamaerthon was more than a hundred leagues, across salt flats and pirate lands. "There's someone coming," she said. She pointed eastward. Two men and a woman were walking up the road. The woman wore strange-trousered clothing like the men.
PART FOUR: THE CROSSROADS
1
The planet below did not look like Earth. The polar ice-caps were too large, and there was much more water, too little land. Despite the vast empty seas-because of them? Rick knew too little to guess-there were great deserts ringed by mountain ranges.
From high orbit there was no trace of man at all.
The pilot seemed to be afraid of them. He made them store all the ammunition for the rocket launchers and mortars in one locker and the guns in another. He made it clear that the two would be offloaded a considerable distance apart.
The last few hours had been continuous briefings with the pilot insisting that both Rick and Andrй Parsons attend them all. They were told how to raise surinomaz, which had a complex ecology and even more complex harvest procedure; how to use the transceivers to communicate with the traders when they came for the harvest; endless details, and always an underlying note of warning that the people of Tran were human and deserved to be well treated.
The landing area had been chosen: far enough from the equator to have an endurable climate even after the rogue sun came close; far enough from the poles to be inhabited even during the centuries when the invader was far away; at high enough altitude to remain dry when the polar caps melted and raised the sea level a hundred meters. There were several areas that would do, and Rick had no way to know which was best. He had pleaded with the pilot to let them spend several days observing the planet before landing, but that request was refused. The pilot seemed to be in a frantic hurry. Rick wondered why, but there was no explanation.
They moved to a lower orbit, and the TV screen showed images of the country below: a few large cities, but mostly a land of villages and fields. Many of the villages and all of the cities were dominated by massive castles. There were few roads.
Parsons wanted to land near a city, but Rick chose a village near a major road, fifteen kilometers from a castle. The orbital photographs showed an army encamped outside the castle and massive siege towers nearing completion.
"If there's a battle we may decide to join it," Rick said. "After we get some political intelligence."
"Nearer a city would be better," Parsons said. "And if you intend to take that castle, why land a day's march away?"
Rick again protested that they didn't know enough and should land a safe distance from conflict. Eventually Parsons stopped arguing.
They landed at dusk, just after the major sun had set but before the distant secondary was up. When the secondary sun fully rose, it would light the planet with a blaze like a thousand full moons, making the night as light as a heavily clouded day on Earth. When they landed, the tricky light-dusk from the sun, rays of dawn from the secondary- made weird images and shadows.
They offloaded the guns first, then the ammunition nearly a kilometer from their first touchdown spot. Rick was the last to leave. Before he could jump out, the hatch closed and the ship lifted.
"Stop! I'm still aboard!" he shouted.
"I know." The pilot's voice was impassive. The ship moved half a kilometer and settled to the ground. Rick heard the whine of machinery, but the hatch didn't open for several minutes. Then the voice said, "Now you can get out."
When he jumped to the ground, the ship lifted. Rick watched it rise into the clouds until it was gone. He hadn't really believed it would leave until then. He felt completely alone.
"It's really gone."
He fought a moment of terror as he realized the voice had been a woman's. He turned.
She was a tiny girl, not very pretty in the half-light. She was dressed in coveralls much like his own. "You're human," he said.
"You don't sound very sure of that."
"I'm not very sure of that."
"I'm human. My name is Gwen Tremaine, and I come from Santa Barbara."
"Santa Barbara. As in California? On Earth?"
"Yes." She tried to laugh, but she didn't succeed. "Oh, yes, I'm from Earth."
"We'd better get over to the others," Rick said. He moved closer to her and saw tears in her eyes. "Are you all right?"
"I'm scared as hell," she said.
"So am I. Uh-"
"I was the pilot's mistress," she said. "That's what you wanted to ask, wasn't it? I got pregnant and didn't want an abortion, so he put me out here." This time she managed a laugh. Rick thought it sounded horrible. "Pretty convenient. I asked him if this was the traditional way for flying-saucer pilots to get rid of excess baggage, but he didn't answer."
"Jesus!" Rick muttered. He led her through the scrub brush-it seemed a lot like the chaparral of the western United States, but there was a strange pungent odor to it-toward the distant lights where Parsons and the guns had been unloaded. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but he couldn't think of anything. God Almighty, he thought. She must be as alone as anyone has ever been. "Do you know anything about-about why we're here?"
"Probably more than you," she said. She walked beside him, but several steps away, as if repelled by him.
"If you know more than I do, I'd appreciate the information," he said.
"We've got plenty of time. Let me get used to the situation, will you? When he had me read up on
Tran, he didn't tell me it was because he was leaving me here."
"When did he tell you-"
"That he was ditching me? About five minutes ago."
"That was-" He tried to think of something to say, but couldn't.
"A rotten thing to do?" she asked. "Sure was. You see, I thought I was in love with him." She walked on for a few steps. "Do I sound like you?" she asked.
"How?"
"Scared and trying to be calm about it when what you really want to do is run in circles flapping your arms."
"Do I sound that way?" Rick asked.
"Yes."
"I guess I do," he said.
Parsons had assembled the troops on the hilltop. He seemed as surprised to see Rick as he was to see Gwen. "I thought they'd taken you on to wherever the saucer was going," Parsons said.
Rick didn't like the edge to Parsons's voice. He didn't much care for the way Parsons held the M-16 rifle, either. "They didn't," he said. "I guess he wanted an escort for Miss Tremaine." Rick explained who she was.
"I see. And now what do we do?"
"There are about a thousand things to do," Rick said. "When there's more light, we can go down to that village. The first thing is to start learning the local language. And figure out which side to take in that war we saw. Then-"
"There's one thing a bit more urgent," Parsons said.
"What's that?"
"I think it time we restructure the command," he said. The rifle swung around until it almost pointed at Rick.
"What the hell do you mean?"
"You are not an experienced officer," Parsons said. "An ROTC boy, with almost no combat experience. Under the circumstances, do you really feel qualified to lead?"
"As qualified as you-"
"No. This is my career. For you it was an accident," Parsons said.
"So you're taking over."
"Yes." Parsons shrugged. "If you like, I'll fight you for it."
"Isn't that a little barbaric?" Rick
demanded.
Parsons smiled broadly. "Of course. We are on a barbarous planet. In fact, that is one major objection to you, Rick. You are unlikely to have the proper instincts for survival here. I have long noticed a regrettable tendency toward softheartedness in you. That was bad enough in Africa, Here it is likely to be fatal."
A circle of men had gathered around them. Rick looked at them. "Elliot-"
"Cap'n, I'm truly sorry. I thought about this a lot when Mr. Parsons first brought it up, back aboard ship. He's right. You just don't have the experience."
And he sounds really sorry about it, Rick thought. And probably is. One thing was certain. If Elliot and the NCOs accepted Parsons's takeover, there was nothing Rick could do about it. At best he'd cripple the command. They were all staring at him.
He had to say something, and quickly, before Parsons decided to shoot and be done with it. "Maybe you're right. Andrй, you do have more experience than me. All right, you command." As he said it, he felt a wave of relief. Someone else could do the worrying.
"Glad you understand," Parsons said. "Sergeant Elliot, get our perimeter defense set up."
"Sir.''
"And the rest of you clear out," Parsons said. He waited until the other troops were gone. "Rick, there is another problem. Surely you can understand that you can't stay with us."
"Why not?"
"You were in command. Some of the men would look to you every time I gave an order. It wouldn't work," Parsons said. His voice was low and urgent, almost pleading. "I ought to shoot you out of hand," he said. "That would be the intelligent thing to do."
"Bull crap. The troops wouldn't stand for it," Rick said.
"You see?" Parsons said. "Some of them do admire you. And there can be only one commander."
"So you're sending me off alone."
Parsons shrugged. "What else can I do? Look, I don't want to kill you. You can take your personal weapons-"
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