Basket torches, hanging from those high walls, and mounted in several places on the docks themselves, made the immediate surroundings very nearly as bright as day. Lady Yambu, still intent on reestablishing her rights as a person of importance, froze the captain and some crew members with a single glance, and was allowed to be the first to disembark once lines had been secured. The captain even bowed his head in her direction as she stepped ashore. She felt inclined to pardon his earlier lapses in matters of protocol, as doubtless he had other matters on his mind that he considered much more important. Yambu had heard him talking to his mate during the brief crossing, both men were worried that their boat was going to be seized by the new masters of the lake and islands, and what would happen to them and to their crew in that event they did not know. Still, they had not dared to refuse the summons to come here.
Quite possibly, thought Lady Yambu, they were too much afraid of demons to do that.
She herself, during her years of power, had had too much experience of those inhuman entities to fail to sense their spoor now. It was not an immediate presence, but still the subtle sickness of them hung about this castle like a polluted mist.
Behind the lady, as she stood on the dock waiting to be noticed by someone in authority, the riverboat’s crew had begun a hasty unloading of her cargo, apparently in obedience to orders already received somehow from within the walls. Whatever part of the lading the new masters of the castle might find valuable would doubtless go no farther.
She took note that several beautiful sailing craft, as well as vessels of a more utilitarian nature, were already tied up at these docks.
On the mast of one of the sturdy cargo boats nearby was stuck a poster; the torchlight Lady Yambu could read its largest print, advertising the forthcoming return of the Magnificent Show of Ensor, whatever that might be.
And now her presence had indeed been noticed by someone in authority. And the first decision regarding her had already been taken. A man in a uniform she took to be that of a junior military officer appeared at an open gate, and with a few words and a deferential gesture indicated that he was ready to conduct her within the walls.
They passed in through a postern gate that was doubly guarded, and after, a brief passage between tall stone walls, beneath a narrow strip of clouded sky. Then they entered another door. This led them to a dark chamber furnished with several benches, worthy to be the anteroom of a prison. Lady Yambu was invited to take a seat, then left to wait alone.
Again she chose to remain standing. Her wait had lasted only a few minutes when another official, this one obviously of higher rank, appeared. This man, bowing low, announced that the Ancient Master was willing to see the great Queen Yambu at once.
“Queen no longer,” she declared.
But the elegantly dressed courtier, holding the door open for her now, might not have heard her objection. He led her from the anteroom and along a different passageway. Soldiers in uniforms of gray trimmed with red, a livery she had seen in the town but still did not recognize, opened door after door for her, offering salutes. Torchlight showed the way, indoors and out, but the castle as a whole was now too deeply bound in darkness for her to form any estimate of how strongly it might be defended—making such assessments was a habit that had stayed with her, it seemed.
At one point she passed a descending stair, ill-lighted, that looked to her like a way down to a dungeon. Yambu made a mental note, as well as she was able, of the stair’s location.
She was making swift progress, she believed, toward the Ancient Master, whoever that might be. Evidently no games of power and rank were going to be played in the nature of keep-the-old-lady-waiting. Probably the new lord of the castle was something of a stranger to this part of the world, and he expected, or at least hoped, that she might be able to provide him with some useful information. Well, perhaps she could.
It was good that she was not going to be kept waiting. Still, she could almost have wished for a few hours’ delay, to give her two allies time to get to the island.
It seemed oddly reasonable and natural to Yambu that she should be here, inside a castle again, with men of rank bowing deferentially before her, and events of great moment to be decided. Suddenly she found herself wondering how far she really would be willing to go to help her old enemy, Prince Mark. And what had happened to her search for truth? Only hours ago she had been serenely convinced that finding some abstract truth was all that mattered to her any longer.
But that, of course, had been before another Sword had touched her hand.
She had just finished congratulating herself on her swift progress toward her meeting with the Ancient One when she was made to wait once more, this time in a more comfortable place. Hardly had she settled herself to inspect the artwork on the walls—left over, she supposed, from the days of Honan-Fu—when a door opened and a man entered, dressed in rich garments and wearing a jeweled collar. He was a large man, aging, scarred, and somewhat overweight, and he limped heavily on his left leg.
“Amintor,” she said, surprised—but then on second thought she was not really all that surprised. This man had served her as a general, years ago. And more than once during those distant-seeming years he had also shared her bed.
Amintor bowed. “The last time we met, my lady, you were certain that you had withdrawn from the world.”
“I have discovered no other world but this one in which to live.” She looked him up and down. “You seem to be prospering, Baron.”
“Indeed, fate has been kind to me of late.”
They chatted for a few moments, of old times, mostly of inconsequential things. Presently Amintor turned her over to the guidance of another officer, who led her out into the corridors of the castle again.
Following her new guide, she climbed steep stairs.
They emerged from these stairs onto a balcony overlooking a central courtyard of the castle, an enclosure much disfigured by what must have been quite recent vandalism. A crude new construction, looking like a sacrificial altar, occupied the center of the space. But she had little time to look at this, or the rest of the setting—the figure that awaited her on the balcony demanded her attention.
This figure was manlike—with some surprising qualifications—and as the former queen drew near, it rose from its throne as if to greet an equal.
The torchlight here was adequate, and her first good look at the Ancient One, his vestigial wings and certain reptilian attributes, afforded Her Ladyship something of a shock. But Queen Yambu had seen strange things before, and she was not going to show that she was shocked unless she chose to do so.
The formalities of greeting were got through routinely, despite the no more than half-human aspect of her host. In a minute Yambu found herself seated near the throne, on a chair almost as tall as it was, and of fine workmanship compared to the crudity of the throne itself. No ordinary throne would have done for this particular ruler, Yambu realized; there was the problem of accommodating his tail.
But she had to pay attention. Her host, in his harsh and somewhat absentminded voice, was declaring that the fame of Queen Yambu, great as it doubtless was in these regions of the world, had somehow escaped his ears until very recently. The implication seemed to be that until very recently he had been far away, in some other part of the world altogether. But he did not say where he had been.
She asked: “And where, my lord, are these remote areas, in which I am unknown?”
He chuckled. “It is not a matter of where, so much, dear lady, as of when. But that doesn’t matter now.” He paused. “My leading counselors inform me that you are an old and bitter enemy of Prince Mark of Tasavalta.”
“Indeed, sir, until now my relationship with the Prince has been conducted almost entirely across battlefields.”
“And I am given to understand that you are also an old acquaintance of Baron Amintor, my military commander?”
“I am more than an old acquaintance, I should say. He is a skillful officer
, and served me well.”
“Ah, my lady, I could wish that I had met you sooner—I wonder how many more of your former associates I am likely to encounter in these parts?”
Already Lady Yambu was morally certain that this man knew something of her meeting in the inn with Mark’s two companions. She said: “I myself have seen one other, during the past two days. And with him was one who was presented to me as a nephew of the Prince—but I cannot vouch for the truth of that relationship.”
“Ah.” The beast-man did not sound surprised. “And your old friend was—?”
“Hardly a friend of mine. An interesting fellow, though—Ben of Purkinje is his name. Which way he and the princeling nephew went after I had terminated our meeting, I have no idea.”
“And in what way—if I may ask—is this man interesting?”
“You may ask of me whatever you like, dear Ancient Master—is that title an appropriate one for me to use to you?”
“It will do, Your Ladyship, it certainly will do.”
“Good … an interesting man, then, and I do not mean only in physical terms—I suppose you will have heard about his remarkable strength. He was presuming rather desperately on his status as an old enemy, to ask my help.”
“An intriguing thought.” The tailed creature shifted on its throne; for just a moment Lady Yambu had the impression that it, or he, was flirting with a change of shape into a much more fully human aspect. “And what did you tell him, dear lady, if you do not mind sharing your discussion with me?”
“I do not mind. The idea of helping an old enemy—at least some old enemies—might have its interest. But I have other interests now. Ben was disappointed when he learned that my status as a pilgrim is quite genuine.”
“Your status, then, is still quite genuine? Your pardon, Queen Yambu, I did not mean to question your sincerity. But I thought that you might now be in the process of returning from some spiritual quest, and therefore ready to replace your gray robe with something more—well, more regal.”
“Alas, no. My pilgrimage, though it is several months old, can hardly be said to have begun as yet.”
“I see. A difficult venture, then. I thank you for interrupting it to visit me. And what god or goddess is its object, estimable lady?”
“The goddess Truth, Your Ancient Lordship.”
The figure on the throne threw back its head and gave vent to an honest laugh, which gave the impression, if not the look, of greater humanity. “I do not know that goddess yet. But then I have been absent from the world’s affairs for a long time.”
“I do not know her either,” Yambu admitted readily enough. “Oh, once or twice in my life I think that I have seen her, passing through the air above a battlefield; but never did she linger there for long.” And now the tone of Lady Yambu’s voice changed suddenly; a certain dreaminess appeared in it, as if in anticipation of a pleasure. “And now, sir, I have a question of my own. I would like to know what you have done with Prince Mark.”
“I have done that which ought to please any old enemy of his.” Having said that, the Ancient One paused for a moment as if in thought. “He is another interesting man, this Mark. They tell me he is a child of the Emperor, though I am not sure in what sense that description is to be taken. The expression is new to me, a part of this new world in which I find myself. Proverbially, it would mean anyone subject to great misfortune, would it not?”
“Something like that, sir. But in Mark’s case I think it is meant in a literal sense. There really is an Emperor, you know.”
“There were those who claimed that title in the world from which I came. Perhaps they had earned the right to it. But I understand that this Emperor is something different.” The Ancient Lord’s eyes, purely reptilian for the moment, probed at Yambu. “They tell me further, Your Majesty, that when you were only a girl yourself you bore the Emperor’s girl-child. At that time, apparently, he was still considered a person of some importance.”
“He was so considered by many people. Yes.” There was much more that Yambu might have said on the subject, but she saw no reason to enter into such a lengthy discussion now.
“Interesting. But not a matter of vital concern, I think. Rather an example, it sounds to me, of a potentially important power whose day has already come and gone.” The grotesquely misshapen man stroked his chin—more precisely, his lower jaw—and said to her: “Of much greater interest to me in this new world are the Swords—all the more since I have seen what one of them is capable of doing.”
And with a flourish the figure on the throne leaned forward slightly, into fuller torchlight. The Ancient One’s right hand brought forward, where Yambu could see it, a black-hilted weapon that she was sure must be Shieldbreaker, though just now whatever symbol might be on the hilt was covered by a clawlike hand.
The man who was holding the Sword said to her: “I have heard that the adoptive father of Prince Mark was the smith who actually worked at the forge to make these twelve fascinating toys.”
She shook her head. “Look at the workmanship, dear Ancient Lord. If that is even an adequate word for it. I think it transcends workmanship; it almost transcends art. Can you believe that it is merely human? Even Old-World human? No, it was Vulcan, the god, who forged these blades. But I believe there is some truth in the story, that the man called Jord was also there, pressed into providing some kind of assistance—and Mark was born to Jord’s bride less than a year thereafter.”
She had made sure to register restrained surprise when first the Sword was shown to her. And now she let herself react again, when her host suddenly leaned the cruciform hilt a little closer to her, and moved his claws to let her see the small white hammer-symbol on the black.
Yambu said: “I have, at one time or another, held others of the Twelve in my own hands. But never this one.”
As if he suspected that she yearned to hold it now, its present owner drew it back. He asked: “You would agree that this is the most powerful Sword of all?”
The lady smiled at him faintly. “All twelve have great magic. And also little tricks. The most powerful Sword of all is that one whose powers happen to be required at the moment.”
“Well answered, Queen Yambu!”
“Queen no longer, as I have already told your people.”
“But queen again, perhaps, one day.”
She wondered suddenly if this man might really be anxious to recruit her to his cause. If all this part of the world was truly new to him, it might really be hard for him to find trustworthy and capable subordinates—that was hard enough to do at any time.
She said: “I think not, Lord of the Lake—but that sounds too small a title for a man of your obvious accomplishments.”
“Oh, it is, Your Ladyship, far too small. I mean to be Lord of the World one day—one day not too far distant.” He sounded calmly confident.
He drank wine then, and suddenly arose from his throne. A rich cape, which had been draped behind the chair, now fell about his body, covering most of the deformity from the shoulders down. Standing, the Ancient Lord was taller than Yambu, somehow considerably taller than she had expected.
Around his upper back his cape bulged out, a symmetrical enlargement quite unlike the deformity of a hump. And as Yambu watched, the bulge stirred lightly, giving her the sudden idea that rudimentary wings might be enfolded there. Wings on a man, she thought, would make no sense at all; but they would not be the first thing about this one that did not make sense.
He said: “Come with me, lady, and I will show you what has happened to Prince Mark.”
They descended the interior stairway from the balcony, and this time turned out onto the courtyard and across it. On its far side a postern gate let them out through a comparatively thin interior wall. The place they entered was more a grotto than a courtyard, a narrow space surrounded by high walls, in which a narrow rim of paving surrounded a well or inlet of dark, chill water. On the far side of the well a low arch of stone covered the entra
nce to a watery tunnel under the castle, which was defended by a heavy steel grillwork against any commerce with the lake outside.
Standing on the narrow stone rim of the pond, Lady Yambu watched as attendants took hold of a heavily secured rope and hoisted an ice-encrusted form, in human shape, out of the water in which it had been shallowly submerged. Lake water, she thought, oughtn’t to be quite that cold, not at this time of year anyway. Magic, of course.
Two of the soldiers who had done the hoisting held the bound form up between them, while another leaned forward and struck it where the face ought to be. The blow seemed impersonal, as if he were trying to get a good look at a frozen fish. The soldier’s fist shattered the white integument sufficiently for Yambu to be able to recognize the features of Prince Mark. The Prince’s battered face was blue and gray with cold, and there was bright blood around his mouth, as if he might have bitten his tongue with the violence of his shivering, perhaps, or in some effort not to cry out. But Mark’s eyes were open, and alive, and when they rested on Yambu she thought they recognized her.
A moment later she had taken a step forward, and swung her own arm. It was more like a warrior’s blow than an old woman’s slap, and the Prince’s helpless head bobbed sideways with the impact.
Yambu stepped back with a sigh. “I have long dreamed of doing that,” she assured her host. And in the privacy of her own thoughts she marveled at this strong new evidence of how suddenly and completely her dedication to the abstract truth seemed to have evaporated. Evidently some things, after all, were more important.
“Is there anything else that you would like to do?” her host inquired. When she turned to face him she saw that his reptilian aspect was entirely gone, and the wings too; in place of the grotesque creature she had been talking to now stood a fully human man, young and strong and of surpassing beauty. The rich cape hung now in different, straighter folds. Golden curls fell to the young man’s muscular shoulders; his clear blue eyes regarded her.
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