“Don’t you see? I want to know! And I’ve stumbled upon something that might give me the answers.”
“Might, Varian. . . . You don’t know for certain.”
“We don’t anything for certain!” He turned away from her to stare up at the sky. “Damn it all! You want me to give up the search, don’t you? You want to pack it in if there’s nothing here. What would Stoor think if I just gave up and said I was going to stay in G’Rdellia?”
“Is that a threat to your masculinity?” Tessa was not smiling.
Varian laughed. “No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. Think about it, Tessa. Think for a moment. If you were Stoor, what would you think? Your partner in a search for what might be the most priceless discovery in the history of the World suddenly decides that he wants to pull out. . . . Does that make sense? No, of course not! So what is the reason, thinks Stoor, and he comes up with the only viable answer: treachery.”
“Do you actually think that Stoor would suspect you of—?”
Varian laughed. “I don’t think it; I’m convinced.”
“But why? How?”
“Because that’s the kind of world it is! I would suspect the same thing of him if he suddenly wanted out. It’s simple. You just don’t walk away from a fortune! Not in this world.” Varian’s hands were shaking and his voice had grown loud. He turned away from her, at the same time hoping that neither of his partners at the campsite had heard him.
“And . . . and I have asked you to do that, haven’t I? Asked you to walk away from a lifetime of fame and wealth . . . for what? For love? Oh, Varian, I don’t even know what love is, so how can I ask you to give up a life’s dream for it?”
Turning, he looked into her green eyes. “I don’t know. How can you?”
“And how can you not hate me for forcing you to make such a choice?”
“Hate you? Why should I hate you?”
“Look what I’m doing to you!” She was close to tears. Varian clearly did not understand her; she was a compelling blend of emotions and rational thoughts which would forever be a mystery to him. He needed that kind of woman.
“But that doesn’t explain why I would suddenly hate you. . . .”
Tessa dropped her hands to her sides in a gesture of exasperation.
“Oh! You men are impossible sometimes! Why can’t you be more like women? Why can’t you ever understand?”
“I do understand. You don’t want to spend all of your time with me and a couple of hard-edged nomads. You want some of the comforts you tasted in Eleusynnia . . . and you want it with me, right? I understand that. And you don’t want it maybe in a few years, or even longer than that, while we look for the Guardian. You want it as soon as possible. Am I right?”
She looked at him, trying to smile, or trying not to smile. He could not tell which “Yes, that’s right.” She looked down for a moment, then back at him. “And you don’t hate me, or resent me, for wanting that?”
Varian laughed. “No, of course not. Perfectly understandable for a woman to feel like that.”
“I resent the distinction.”
Varian shrugged. “Nevertheless, the distinctions are real enough. I’ve never known any man who would feel like you do. . . .”
“All right then . . . Varian?”
“What?”
“Will you just promise me one thing then?”
“Name it.”
“If you understand how I feel, if you really understand, then will you promise me to think about it seriously?”
He looked at her, trying to divine what she actually meant. “Think about what? About quitting the whole thing and bagging off to G’Rdellia?”
Tessa nodded after a brief hesitation.
“Yes, of course. Of course I’ll think about it. . . .”
She smiled and put her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much. You’ve made me very happy.”
“I have?”
“Yes, but . . . you wouldn’t understand.”.
“That’s what you said before,” he said, holding her in his arms. “Sure you don’t want to try me?”
Tessa nodded. “I’m sure. Let’s just leave it at that, all right?”
Varian shrugged. “All right. . . . Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want me to do?”
Tessa grinned. “Yes, there’s one thing. . . .”
And this time, Varian did understand, very well indeed.
Chapter Six
Three and a half weeks passed before they found the Guardian.
Actually, it was the Finder which first located the ancient complex, and then it was only a vaguely defined area of electromagnetic activity. The group could not be certain it was the Citadel of the Guardian until they were finally within its fortifications, which was an accomplishment in itself.
On a map, the location was in the eastern end of the Ironfields, angling northeasterly to the Carrington Range, which formed the southern borders of the Baadghizi Vale.
Stoor was elated, so much so that he could not think of anything other than homing in on the incoming signals and reaching their origin. This meant a respite from the unending parade of tall tales. Varian was now convinced that Stoor would have had to be several hundred years old to have accomplished even half of the exploits he claimed.
The personnel carrier continued to perform flawlessly, running on the methane converter and the human-excrement fuel. The solar panel/batteries provided warmth and power for their equipment. The machine was a testament to the ingenuity and skill of the First Age, but the group knew that the vehicle was like a child’s toy when contrasted with the miracles of the Guardian’s Citadel, of which the robot, Kartaphilos, had been an impressive example.
Varian had been reluctant to question Tessa on her true feelings about the discovery of the Citadel’s location. Whatever she felt, she masked it beneath a placid and determined demeanor, which belied only a desire to help accomplish the task at hand.
And so they mapped out a course through the ruins of the Ironfields, confident that they were closing in on the quarry. Varian had made the observation during the almost full moon cycle spent in the Ironfields that more than one great battle had been fought here. It seemed that there had been some great explosions or other cataclysmic events that had taken place in the ‘fields which uncovered levels beneath the present one. Sometimes they would rumble into an area where the broken pieces of the First Age were less prevalent, where there were slashes ripped into the semidesert, revealing marbled striping of past strata. In some of these places, the bones of men were so thickly impregnated into the rock as to resemble a white thicket of brambles. Had they been mass graves? Execution areas? The remains of a singular kind of battle which could only be imagined in the blackest nightmare? It was a mystery to be forever lost, they feared, one which led only further into the shadows of other mysteries.
As they grew closer and closer to the signal source, they found other odd things. Lying among the rusting hulks of war, amidst the wind-strewn bones of men, were the bones of other creatures. Although there were few skeletons in relatively intact positions, the group was able to estimate the sizes of these creatures, and they were truly immense. Many of them were bipedal, possessing thighbones as thick as a man’s waist and almost three ems in length. One spinal column found snaking across the sand was more than sixteen ems long! Even if this included some kind of long balancing tail, the creature would have been an impossibly huge animal, towering above men by a full ten ems. In many cases, the scorched skeletons of the large creatures were scattered in certain areas, as if burned down by some kind of immense heat. The imagination reeled when trying to conjure with the horrors which had once stalked this battleplain.
As the kays ticked past, and the atmosphere grew thick with anticipation, the hour approached when visual contact could be made. There was less than half a sun still above the littered horizon, when they saw the oddly shaped structure slowly taking form out of the haze and shifti
ng air of convection currents.
At first it seemed to be moving, wavering, changing shape even as they stared, but this proved to be only an illusion, a trick of the climate, and perhaps their excited minds. As they drew closer, the shape attained rock-hard stability, rising up almost defiantly. It was a multitiered building of perhaps five distinct levels, although the geometry of the design could have easily disguised two or three additional levels. Having the same basic ocher color as the sand of the terrain, the structure was partially camouflaged, and they were not aware of the extremity of its architecture until they were very close. It was a maze of impossible angles, cantilevers, facings, declinations. There existed nothing like it in the known World; it climbed boldly into the sky, a symbol of the power and imagination of those who had created it.
The indicators of the Finder danced wildly, homing in on the building. There was no doubt: whatever the thing was, it was still functioning within its multifaceted walls. If the personnel carrier had been equipped with an operable radio, it would have by this time intercepted a broad-spectrum-warning broadcast from the Citadel, instructing the unauthorized vehicle to stop, identify itself, and await further instructions.
Since this was impossible, the personnel carrier would receive a different kind of greeting.
“Losin’ power on the engine,” said Stoor, throwing switches, trying to locate the problem. “Lights goin’ down in the console, too. Damn thing’s dyin’ out on us.”
Varian was not listening. He had just seen movement near the base of the Citadel, which was now less than two kays distance from them.
“Look, out there. Something’s coming this way.”
A dark shape, not very large, but moving very fast, was homing in on them, leaving a dust-devil plume in its wake.
Without speaking, everyone reached for their weapons and trained them on the approaching vehicle, which was recognizable as such because of the large balloon tires now visible. The tires were as high as the vehicle itself.
It rolled to a quick stop very close to the personnel carrier, apparently oblivious to the weapons trained upon it. It was quite small and did not appear large enough to carry a man. There were no apparent weapons emerging from it, and for a long moment, the machine and the men stared mutely at one another.
Suddenly a stream of unrecognizable words poured forth from a speaker hidden somewhere on the surface of the small, wheeled robot. After a short pause, the message was repeated, but this time in a different language, which Varian thought might be G’Rdellian. Another pause, and it spoke again, this time in Nesporan, which everyone understood. Tessa was to later admit that she could pick up sense from all three, but was too stunned to respond, having never imagined a machine capable of speaking to someone.
“You are requested to identify yourselves immediately. You did not acknowledge the warning radio transmission, therefore a null-power net has been thrown over your vehicle.”
“What’s it mean?” asked Stoor. “That little thing has shut down our carrier?”
“It seems so,” said Varian. “Let’s try and do what it says.”
Stoor looked from the small robot to Varian and back, then he nodded. “We come lookin’ for Cartor Fillus, or Kartaphilos, or whatever he calls himself.”
“Cartor Fillus? You know of him? Please identify yourselves. Immediately.”
“I’m Stoor of Hadaan. The others are Varian Hamer, Tessa of Prend, and Raim of the Maaradin.”
There was a short silence, in which Varian grew cautious and a bit suspicious. His hand tensed on his sidearm, aiming it from his hip at the machine’s center.
“You have been sent here by Cartor Fillus?”
“Yes,” said Varian. “He told us to seek out the Guardian.”
“Describe Cartor Fillus, in detail.”
“Describe him!? What in Krell’s name for!?” Stoor’s face was growing flush, and his hand shook as he retained his aim upon the small, dispassionate robot.
“Do as it says,” said Tessa. ‘It’s the only way the Guardian has of knowing if we’re telling the truth.”
Varian agreed, looked to Stoor for the go-ahead, then described the old man be had met as Kartaphilos.
Another pause, after he had completed his description, then: “An accurate portrait. Power will be restored to your vehicle momentarily. You will follow closely behind me. Do not, at any time, deviate from the course I run. To do so may prove dangerous since this area is carefully defensed against intruders.”
The little robot turned smoothly in a tight radius and began trundling back toward the dreamscape architecture of the Citadel. With a surge of power, the engine sparked alive and the lights of the control console winked on; the personnel carrier was rumbling forward as Stoor took over the controls.
Following the robot, everyone noted that there was little, if any, debris within the tight perimeter of the Citadel. It was as though the Guardian had taken measures to keep the area free of any wreckage which might prove good cover or protection to an attacking force. Clearly, anything that approached the Citadel would be totally exposed and defenseless. Looking up at the maze of intersecting lines and angles that formed the front face of the Citadel, Varian tried to spot any projections, ramparts, or other signs of battlements, or worse, any weapons which might be trained upon their approaching vehicle. He could see nothing but the ever-present facing of what looked like sandstone. Since it was unlikely that the Citadel lacked this kind of defensive system, Varian concluded that the design of the structure and the artful use of camouflage would keep the system a secret to him.
They rolled slowly across the sand, covering the last two kays with extreme caution. The small, wheeled robot sat silently waiting for them as they neared what appeared to be a seamless wall at the southern base of the Citadel. It was then that Varian truly appreciated the immense size of the Citadel—the wall which they now fronted was easily 1,000 ems in length, larger even than the Great Library at Voluspa, the most massive building in the modern World.
A small device which looked like a deeply concave dish rose up from the robot on a stalk and pointed at the blank wall, and as if by magic, a rectangular seam appeared in the sandstone, which then began shimmering a bright blue-green. The shimmering stopped, revealing a black rectangular opening a full three ems wide and almost five high. The little robot retracted its dish and stalk, began rolling forward into the wall, and was lost in the consuming darkness. Stoor hesitated for a moment, then thrust forward on the controls. The carrier followed its guide into the Citadel.
Once inside, they were on a smooth, featureless ramp of dull metal, which gradually sloped downward, the angle of descent barely perceptible. Varian looked back to see that their entrance was sealed and invisible. If they wanted to get out of this place, it would be impossible to go back the way they had come. But, of course, he thought, there must be more than one exit. There had to be.
Studying the area ahead, it was obvious that they were traveling down a large corridor, illuminated by an unseen source. There were no torches, gas lamps, or lanterns, yet there was an abundance of light, as if the walls themselves were the illumination. The walls of the corridor were also featureless, although Varian imagined that this too was an illusion after seeing how the outside entrance had operated. His mind flashed back to the face of the old man/robot who had grabbed his arm on board The Courtesan, and told him the story of the Guardian. Oddly, Varian trusted the robot—if one could actually place trust in a machine—and believed that the story of the Guardian was true.
No one spoke during the journey downward as if everyone preferred to keep their thoughts to themselves. Or perhaps, thought Varian, it was simply fear which kept anyone from talking.
They kept moving in a slightly declined position for what seemed like an hour. It was impossible to estimate how far into the depths of the Citadel they had traveled, but Varian had the impression that it was very far indeed. It was also impossible to estimate the size of the Citadel, altho
ugh there was little doubt that the First Age structure was truly immense and probably contained treasures and technological wonders far beyond the wildest imaginings of even old Stoor.
Eventually, the little robot guided them into a large five-sided room, from which several large baylike doors exited from each wall panel. The room was empty of fixtures except for a highly detailed mosaic floor, using the pentagon-shaped figure as the basic motif. There were graphics on the walls in the form of letters, and words of a language which none of the group recognized but which was presumed to be Genonese. The words could have been routing signs, warnings, or other similar instructions; it was not certain.
“You will wait here until the Guardian contacts you,” said the small robot, abruptly turning and rolling off silently through one of the exits and quickly vanishing beyond a maze of turns and switchbacks in the maze of hallways.
Stoor jumped from the cab and approached the metallic surfaces of the walls. “Just look at this workmanship, will you?”
Raim joined him, holding his scope-rifle at his hip, ever vigilant to protect his master.
“The tilework is also beautiful,” said Tessa, climbing down from the cab with Varian. “Look at the patterns.”
“There’s no doubt about this, lad. First Age! Look! The men who control this place control the World!” Varian was about to speak when a voice was heard behind them.
“Welcome to the Citadel. I am Guardian.”
The voice was deep, masculine, full of resonance. The group wheeled about quickly to see a tall gray-haired man wearing what appeared to be a military uniform. It was a light tan color, with olive-green piping and trim. It fit the body in trim fashion, accented by brown boots and a matching weapons belt, even though the man was unarmed. His face was angular, clean-shaven, handsome. His eyes were large and brown, partially closed by heavy lids which gave him a patient, kindly appearance. His nose was sharp and hawkish, his mouth thin-lipped and forming a small grin. He had his right hand extended in the universal offering of friendship.
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