The Noborn King

by Julian May

  “Please, colleague,” Greggy protested. “I’m eating.” He licked strawberry jam from his fingers and went back to the lavish buffet, where the privileged human guests mingled with exotic nobility, gorging themselves on pastries, tongue toast, scrambled eggs with morels, grilled antelope sausages, barbecued kid, and fresh fruit-cup spumanti slathered with honeyed whipped cream. “However, if you fancy a really first-rate piece of euhemeristic speculation, consider the ceremony involving our innocent King and Queen of May and the maypole—”

  “Putting your naughty interpretations on our folklore again, Greggy?” Sugoll was standing there, tall and splendid, crowned with red and white lilies. The Genetics Master had the grace to look sheepish. Sugoll turned to Basil and Chief Burke. “And your companions. Are they enjoying the spectacle thus far?”

  “It’s a welcome diversion, Lord Sugoll,” Burke said. “We’ve had a long, hard winter. And then to be saddled with that crowd of poor starving wretches when we thought we were safely on the way to Hidden Springs . . . “The last of the Wallawallas shook his iron-gray head.

  “Are you sure you can assimilate them?” the nun asked anxiously. “We still don’t understand why Elizabeth told us to bring them to you. Some of them are quite hard-bitten, you know. They’re mostly from the lowest bareneck straturn of Burask—or else Lowlife outlaws driven from their remote little settlements by your own Howler migration. Frankly, we’ve never come across such a wild and cranky bunch of humans before. Not during the Finiah war and not even during the evacuation from Muriah. We nearly went crazy riding herd on them. Gideon got a broken hand refereeing one fight, and some raggedyas brutes ambushed Ookpik and Nazir in retaliation for a punishment detail and roughed them up quite badly.” She poured herself more coffee. “It was also rather tedious for Wang and Mr. Betsy and the Baroness and me, always having to fend off the odd slavering rapist.”

  Sugoll’s smile blended humor and compassion. “Now I’m more than ever certain that Elizabeth did the right thing, sending these desperados to us. You’ll see!” He lowered his voice. “We have a little time before the skill-contests and other entertainments begin. Sister, if you will excuse us, I’ll take Basil and Chief Burke away to settle a matter relating to the Ship’s Grave expedition.”

  Amerie nodded and went off to join Greggy, who was arguing mutagenics with Magnus and Thongsa, the expedition medics.

  “This way,” the Howler lord directed. He led Burke and Basil to a draped alcove where a well-dressed dwarf was waiting. “This is Kalipin, who has volunteered to be your guide into the eastern wilderness.”

  The little exotic shook hands. But even as Burke was uttering conventional pleasantries, the dwarf underwent a metamorphosis that froze the words in the big Native American jurist’s throat.

  Kalipin’s body shrank. His torso became rounded and his limbs spindly. The grinning face compressed and sharpened until it was nearly birdlike, except for the flapping ears with their droopy upper margins. The eyes turned black and sank into grotesque pouches. The exotic’s skin became greasy and his hair, falling in strands from beneath a smart green cap with a jeweled buckle, resembled a dirty mop.

  “Well?” The bogle shifted his glance from one human to the other. “Still want to risk traveling to the Ship’s Grave with me?”

  “We know about the genetic misfortune of the Howler nation, old chap,” said Basil gently. “We can’t pretend that your— differences—don’t exist. But I can’t help wondering whether we humans don’t look just as odd to you. Perhaps we can all agree to ignore one another’s peculiarities and simply get on with the job at hand. It’s formidable enough.”

  “We must travel more than six hundred of your kilometers,” Kalipin said. “During the first part of the journey, we may be in danger from the Firvulag if they suspect the purpose of the expedition. Sharn and Ayfa aren’t fools. We’d do well to get beyond the Rhine before they return to High Vrazel.”

  “We have chalikos,” Burke said. “Can you ride?”

  The bogle grimaced. “Not those bloody great monsters! I can manage a hipparion. But mounts won’t do you any good beyond the Rhine. You’ll have to walk until we reach the Ystroll’s source under the Feldberg. I hope your people are all in good shape. The Black Forest trek is going to be rugged.” Kalipin glared at the Native American. “I noticed that you limp.”

  “That I do,” Burke sighed. “But it’s pretty well decided that I’ll stay behind at Hidden Springs while Basil takes charge of our tribe of daredevils. Elizabeth expects trouble around the iron mines this summer.”

  “Blood metal!” Kalipin shuddered. He shot a reproachful look at Sugoll. “Sometimes, Master, we simple ones despair of understanding why you insist that we ally ourselves with the Lowlives!”

  “It is our only hope,” said the ruler of the Howlers. “Some day you’ll understand. Until then, obey me!”

  For the briefest fraction of a second, the handsome figure in the white robe seemed overshadowed by another shape, hideous beyond belief. Burke and Basil gave involuntary gasps.

  Sugoll’s smile was melancholy. “You didn’t know? But I am the greatest among my people in all things—even in physical abomination. As my guests, it was simple courtesy to spare you.” He addressed the goblin guide. “And you, Kalipin. Use your goodly form when you are in the company of humans. We must not distress our friends unnecessarily.”

  The creature obediently transformed himself into a normal dwarf. “But all of us go back to our regular shapes when we’re asleep,” he told the men with wry satisfaction. “You’ll just have to be brave at bedtime on the trail! Unless my Master orders me to sleep in a sack.”

  Sugoll laughed “Impudent scoundrel. Just fulfill your mission faithfully .And now you are dismissed. Back to breakfast with you!”

  When the bogle was gone, Sugoll indicated a sizable carved chest that stood in the shadows. “There is one more way I am able to assist you in your expedition. Open that, please ‘

  Basil knelt. When the lid lifted he cried, “Great Scott! Where did you get these?”

  “The stun-guns were a gift from Sharn and Ayfa.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Chief Burke.

  “I can only presume they were a delicate hint Sharn may already suspect that my loyalty to the Firvulag throne is less than wholehearted. And if there is war with Aiken Drum . . .Well, it takes no grand strategist to note Nionet’s position between Goriah and High Vrazel.”

  “If we’re successful in procuring the aircraft,” Basil said, “neither Aiken nor Sharn will dare harm you.” He ran his weather-beaten hands over the weapons, mutely pointed out the recharging unit to Burke, then closed the lid. “These could be very useful to us. We thank you, Lord Sugoll. Even with our thirty technicians and experienced wilderness hands, it will be a dangerous trip—and it’s questionable just how many of the flyers can be made operational. The Chief and our people at Hidden Springs will prepare a hiding place for at least two.”

  “How would they be useful in a war?” Sugoll asked. “You must forgive my ignorance, but flying machines would seem to be quite useless against ground forces such as the Firvulag would mount. You no longer have the Spear of Lugonn, which was used against Finiah.”

  “True,” said Burke. “But in their haste to get a single flyer airborne, Madame’s party may have overlooked another set of potential weapons. This was pointed out to us by one of our new companions, a former spacecraft design engineer named Dmitrios Anastos.”

  Basil said, “You see, the ancient devices at the Ship s Grave are actually sophisticated gravomagnetic craft with planet-orbiter-capability—quite similar to machines we had back in the Galactic Milieu. In our era, such orbiters were always equipped with tractor and pressor beams to assist in docking and midspace transfer when the rho-field was off. These force-beams were also used for meteor deflections. Sometimes, our ships even had small lasers for zapping away space debris. If our technicians can find similar systems on the ancient flyers, they might ve
ry possibly modify them for offense. If this isn’t feasible—there’s always the iron. And the hope of finding and raiding Sharn’s cache of twenty-second-century armaments.”

  The Howler Lord had been looking more and more puzzled. Now he threw up his hands in resignation “Téah grant that the mere possession of flying machines by our friends will deter aggression!”

  “Amen,” said Basil. He added, drily, “Nevertheless, let’s not count too heavily on divine intervention, shall we? Not with the Firvulag on one side of us, and Aiken Drum on the other.”

  “Look at those little beauties! Just look at them!”

  Tony Wayland clutched Dougal’s mailed arm and dragged him toward the front row of the exotic throng. The gnomes and ogres were good-humored enough about the shoving, although one fighting-drunk human in Firvulag costume threatened to upend his seidel of beer on Tony if he didn’t mind his manners. “You’re not the only eager one, cockie,” the sudsbuster declared. “Simmer down, and you’ll get plenty before this night’s over.”

  It was nearly midnight. The carousing and dancing of the married folk had come to an end and a great space around the maypole was cleared for the Dance of the Brides. The impromptu orchestra played a slow, demure melody and the maidens emerged in solemn procession. All of them wore gowns and headdresses of fantastic richness, with a color scheme of either red or green. The girls in scarlet were the most striking, with their gorgeous coats, tight jeweled cuffs, and tantalizing body suits with red boots. Perched on flowing locks of brown or dark red were tall starburst headpieces encrusted with rubies and some fiery gemstone resembling opal. The piquant faces beneath the towering constructions were enhanced by jeweled frames.

  “Pocket Venuses, every one of them!” Tony rhapsodized.

  The knight’s expression was unreadable. “They’re exotics. Kin to the soul-devouring Tanu.”

  Tony ignored that. “And willing, just for tonight’ God, Dougie—it’s been so long!”

  “Too long for all of us,” growled the beer drinker. “Jesus, look at the jewels on ’em!”

  “Jewels, hell,” said another Lowlife feelingly. “I wouldn’t care if they was wearin’ gunny sacks. Real live women at last!”

  “Inhuman women. Faerie women!” Dougal’s voice rose.

  Tony said, “Who gives a damn? Just on this one night in the year, they’ll go with anybody! All you have to do is grab the flower ring they hold out in the dance.”

  “I want me a red one!” somebody yelled. “A gal in little red boots!”

  “Keep your breeks on, amigo! It won’t be long now!”

  The gnomish musicians struck up a more lively air and the damsels began to circle the maypole. The male exotics all bawled out a phrase in their own tongue and the girls responded. Back and forth the two sexes called, teasing each other, while the veils on the starry headdresses streamed behind the accelerating dancers in a blurred conflagration. Finally, after a great shout, the circling girls extended their arms and rushed toward the central maypole with its braided ribbons and heaped flower garlands at the base.

  The maidens vanished. In their place rose a myriad of small, rambow-hued lights, like tropical fireflies. In some magical fashion, each ignis fatuus attached itself to the end of a gleaming ribbon, and the entire swarm resumed dancing at a more languid, sensual pace. The ribbons twined and untwined; the wispy lights soared and fell, undulated and whirled. The in vitational song was almost a hum, lower-pitched and alluring. Swaying helplessly, the ensorceled males sang along.

  Abruptly, the music changed again to the faster beat. The costumed maids were back on the yellow sand and each one had a wreath in her hands. They danced out to where the swains waited, and as the teasing phrases were exchanged, the pairing-off began. One man after another gripped the wreath of his chosen red or green sweetheart and let her draw him by it onto the dancing ground. It was all irresistible: the spinning colors, the intoxicating scent of the flowers, the music with its thumping sexual beat.

  One of the diminutive beauties stood before Tony Wayland. Black eyes sparkled beneath the jeweled face-frame. The fragrant May wind blew aside red and gold draperies to show a delicate body, curved, enticing, and perfectly human in its contours.

  “Come, come,” sang the nymph.

  “No, my Lord!” Dougal cried, trying to haul Tony back. The metallurgist shook free.

  “Come, come!”

  Tony clutched the wreath. She pulled him out among the other couples. The girls in red, he noted, had mostly chosen Lowlife lovers. How fastidious of them, since they were by far the loveliest of the lot!

  “Don’t go!” Dougal pleaded. “You’re bewitched.”

  He was indeed, and gladly. The darling exotic wench hung the hoop of flowers around his neck as they danced. She kissed the fingers of one hand, then pressed his tips. Tony’s blood sang. The warning shout from Dougal was swallowed as the music became a sonorous paean of love triumphant. Two by two, the couples circled the maypole.

  On the side of the square nearest the city gate, the mob of spectators was suddenly cleft, opening a clear path. Two huge bonfires sprang to life, their flames topping the seven-meter walls. The couples marched safely between the twin fires, through me gate, and into moon-drenched meadows. The music back inside Nionel floated to them on the warm breeze.

  “I am Rowane,” the nymph in red said. “I love you.”

  “I’m Tony, and I love you, too!”

  Giddy from the insidious flowers hung round his neck, he let her draw him on until they were far away from the other couples. They came to a rustic bower formed of bushes and entered, and he lifted the starburst headdress and the face-frame away and bent to kiss her. They shed their clothes and made love—not once, but four times. She howled in ecstasy and he was devastated by bliss, and wept at the end of it and she comforted him.

  “Now we’ll sleep,” she said. “My dearest Tonee.”

  He fell a silken cloth pressed over his eyes, wrapped around his head and softly tied. “Rowane? What are you doing?”

  “Shhh You must never see me when we sleep. It would be terribly bad luck. Promise that you’ll never try.” Her warm lips met his, and she kissed his eyelids through the silk.

  “My little Mayflower. My exotic darling. If it’ll make you happy . . . “He was sinking toward sweet unconsciousness. Her voice faded, and the memory of her exultant cries, but not his pride in his own manhood that she had so marvelousiy reaf-firmed. “For your sake . . . I won’t look. Strange little one . . .

  “It’s not for my sake, dear Tonee. It’s for yours.”

  She laughed fondly, and then he was asleep, and he had the most singular dream.

  When he woke up and absent-mindedly tore off the blind-fold, he discovered that the dream had come true.

  “Oh. my God!” he croaked.

  She opened her eye and was instantly her old self. Petite. Lovely. Putting on her clothes and lifting the withered remnants of the wreath from his neck.

  “Rowane!” His voice was anguished. “What have they done to you? And to me?

  Her smile was pert and very wise. “The ordinary Firvulag are able to see through our guises. They never would choose the brides in red, you see. And you poor human males . . . we know how few of your own women came through the time-gate, and those still mostly enslaved by the Tanu. What could be more right than this?” She reached up and kissed him passionately. He felt himself respond in spite of the knowledge. “Dear Lord Greg-Donnet says the first cross will produce a normal-appearing hybrid. After that, there can be genetic engineering to modify the mutant strain.”

  “The—first—cross?” He felt the world lurch. The meadow was full of golden flowers and rising larks.

  “And our child will be immune to the blood metal, just as you humans are. Isn’t that a nice bonus?”

  “Uh,” he said.

  She was pulling him to his feet. “And now everyone’s hurrying back to Nionel for the May Morning feast. We don’t want to be late,
do we!”

  “No. . .”

  “You’ll love Mummy and Daddy,” she added. “And you’re going to love Nionel, too. Let’s run?”

  They went racing over the soft grass, hand in hand. Tony thought: What am I going to tell poor old Dougal? But then he saw other lovers converging on the city gates, and among them was a great ginger-bearded man wearing a surtout with a golden lion’s head, being led along by another lovely little woman in red.

  And Tony knew that his question was superfluous.

  13

  “WE’VE TRIED FOR THE PAST THREE NIGHTS TO BLAST THE little gold devil while he was asleep and drawn zilch,” Medor grumbled. “I don’t see why tonight should be any different. He’s using some kind of mechanical brain-shield. Pass the rabbit mousse.”

  King Sharn shoved a platter toward his first deputy, who scraped a great quivering wedge onto his plate and slurped it with gusto. “Tonight, Aiken won’t sleep in the castle,” the King explained. “He’ll be out here in the Grove with everyone else, and using the gadget would cramp his style.”

  “How so?” inquired Mimee of Famorel, who was viceroy of the Helvetide Little People.

  “Our ingenious hostess has scheduled another crazy innovation. Something called the Night of Secret Love. After the feast, we’re all supposed to go to those robing tents on the other side of the amphitheatre and pick up a masquerade costume. No illusion making allowed. At midnight, a masked ball begins, followed by hanky-panky in the Trysting Grounds until dawn. Kind of a glorified bachelor party before all the weddings tomorrow. Except, being Tanu, the damn brides’ll probably be off in the bushes rutting away with the rest of the Foe.”

  “Decadent bitches,” growled Mimee. “And to think that our own folk are beginning the sacred Dance of the Brides almost at this very moment up in Nionel.” He cast a wistful look at the high-riding full moon, whose light was drowned by the gem-lamps that illuminated the feasting boards. The Firvulag had insisted on segregated dining facilities. They were willing to wolf down Tanu food, but disdained Tanu wines and high-proof brandies in favor of good old beer, mead, and cyser.