Bram Forest kissed her. She clung to him, sobbing his name when their lips parted. Finally Bram Forest disengaged himself and said:
"The poem, Ylia. We've seen an ape, a boar, a stallion. This world is the 'land beyond the stars.' But was the boar also the raging beast?"
Ylia shrugged. Bylanus stood up and told Bram Forest, "The Golden Apes are ready to serve you in any way you wish."
Three worlds, Bram Forest thought. One which Portox had saved from doom, one which had been the haven in which Bram Forest had grown to manhood, and one in which all their destinies soon would be written.
"Then Tarth thanks you," Bram Forest told the Golden Ape Bylanus. "Assemble your fighters. We're going back up the River of Ice."
"To Nadia City?" Ylia asked.
Bram Forest nodded grimly. "To Nadia City—and Retoc."
* * * *
Bontarc, King of Nadia, asked his royal guest, "You like the Games so far?"
They sat, with Princess Volna, in the box of honor at the Amphitheater of Nadia. "Aye, I like them," Retoc said slowly. "But sire, I would like them much better if they were not to commemorate the passing of your noble brother, the Prince Jlomec."
Bontarc nodded his head in gratitude. "That was well-spoken, Retoc," he said.
Retoc went on: "Have you any idea who killed him so treacherously? Jlomec was not a fighting man."
"None," Bontarc admitted. He missed entirely the smile which passed between Retoc and Princess Volna.
"Well," Bontarc said after a while, "if you will excuse me, I must go down below to prepare for the dueling. Under the circumstances I'm hardly inclined to participate in the Games, but my people expect it of me."
"Yes, brother," Volna said softly. "They do. Oh, they do."
And Bontarc went. Retoc looked at Volna. "I'd best get ready myself," he said. Volna nodded her lovely head.
A blood-lusting animal cry welled up from a hundred thousand throats as the gladiators of Nadia marched out across the sands of the amphitheater to do battle with the fierce snow-sloths of the Plains of Ice.
While several jeks from the Gates of Ice, Retoc's legions waited....
* * * *
"Wait here," Bram Forest told Bylanus, who had led them safely, along with the vanguard of the Golden Apes, back up the River of Ice.
"What will you do, Bram Forest?"
"According to Ylia, we can trust Bontarc of Nadia. He's a fighting man, but he craves peace for all Tarth."
"I'm sure of it," Ylia said. "Bontarc didn't send us to the Place of the Dead. Princess Volna did. And long ago, according to the stories the Wayfarers of Ofrid tell, Bontarc and your mother, Queen Evalla, were allies striving to establish universal peace throughout Tarth. Besides, despite his civility and fairness, Bontarc losses no love on Retoc of Abaria."
"And if you need us?" Bylanus asked.
"We'll get a signal through to you," Bram Forest said. With Ylia he climbed into a skiff and poled it out into the river.
Now the riverbanks were deserted, except for the solitary stilt-birds, tall as men, wading out into the frigid water, their low-pitched calls all but swallowed by the sound the cold wind made rustling through the river rushes.
After a while the skiff came to a bend in the river. It was the last turn before the Gates of Ice—and Nadia City. Here the wind blew more strongly, and there was a section of rushes which had been cleared, cut probably by an Ice Fields nomad who had used the tall rushes as fuel.
"Look!" Ylia cried suddenly, startled.
Through the gap in the rushes, at a distance of two or three jeks across the flat plain from the river, Bram Forest saw an armed encampment. There were tents with flying standards, tethered stads, pyramids of stacked spears like hayricks, and pacing sentries.
"What can it mean?" Ylia asked. "Those standards are Abarian."
"Retoc," Bram Forest said. He lifted the pole and felt the mud of the river-bottom cling to it before it came clear. He allowed the skiff to drift toward the bank. "Retoc's planning treachery. We'll have to go back and alert the Golden Apes. Bylanus and his Apes can destroy Retoc's legions before they even march on Nadia City."
"But we can't go back, Bram. If Retoc's army is here, ready, then what's happening in Nadia City? Who can say what Retoc is doing? You'll have to go ahead and stop him—or at least delay him. I'll go back for Bylanus."
* * * *
Bram Forest shook his head. "I can't let you go alone, Ylia. Not with the Abarian legions so close."
"But I must, don't you see?"
Bram Forest frowned. There did not seem any other way, but he was reluctant. "I love you, Ylia. I couldn't let—"
"What happens in Nadia City today is more important than our love, Bram Forest! What would our love mean if Retoc the Abarian ruled all Tarth?"
"Then you take the skiff," Bram Forest said finally. "I can make my way to the city along the bank."
"No. The army is still encamped. They won't do anything for some time yet. See? All their tents are still standing."
That was true enough. "Besides," Ylia went on, "we don't know what Retoc is planning in the city. You can reach it faster by skiff. I'll go back for Bylanus on foot."
The logic of what Ylia said could not be refuted. With sinking heart Bram Forest helped her from the skiff. He kissed her quickly. "I love you, Ylia," he said.
"And I love you, Bram Forest."
"Be careful. Keep hidden in the rushes. Tell Bylanus to use his judgment in attacking or waiting for Retoc's legions to make the first move."
Ylia's pretty head nodded. Then she ducked into the rushes and was gone. Bram Forest looked after her until the rustling in the rushes stopped, then he poled the skiff once more out into the center of the river and sped swiftly toward the Gates of Ice.
No one stopped him. No guards were posted. He beached the skiff and sprinted through the gates and through the city and up its biggest hill toward the amphitheater. Then, only a jek's distance away, he heard the crowd at the funeral games. They roared suddenly in a frenzy of excitement and another part of Portox's poem slipped into place. The crowd watching the games in Nadia City was the raging beast, blood-lusting, expectant, animal-savage, whipped into a fever of goggle-eyed enthusiasm and ready to move, en-masse, in whatever direction a strong leader might push them.
A strong leader....
Retoc? Or Bram Forest? Which one?
* * * *
Pirum the Abarian shifted his weight uncomfortably, leaning down on the haft of his spear. The whole idea of posting pickets along the bank of the river seemed unnecessary to him. They could not actually see the river through the rushes, and they dared not go closer for fear of being spotted by whatever traffic moved on the icy waters. Then what was the point of them standing here, half-frozen with the cold, waiting for an assailant who would never come?
And while he was thinking thus, the girl virtually walked into Pirum's arms. At first he heard a faint rustling in the rushes and, before he could investigate, the tallest of the dry plants had parted and a lovely bronze-skinned girl appeared. She turned to run, but Pirum caught her in his muscular arms and held her despite her struggles.
She bit his arm and, with an oath, he caught her hair and twisted her head back. "Who are you?" he said. "Who are you, eh?"
The girl glowered at him.
Pirum dragged her along. She continued to struggle. Shaking his head, he hit her on the jaw with his fist and caught her before she could fall. Then, swinging her up over his broad shoulder, he stalked through the rushes toward Nadia City.
CHAPTER XVII
The Prison Without Bars
No one tried to stop Bram Forest until he reached the very gates of the amphitheater. But there a guard with drawn whip-sword barred the way and demanded: "You don't look Nadian to me. What delegation are you with, man?"
Bram Forest had no time to parry words with words. He tried to push his way past the guard who, too surprised to thrust with his weapon, used his free hand t
o grab Bram Forest by the shoulder and spin him around. Bram Forest drove his left fist into the guard's belly and heard the whoosh of air escaping from his lungs.
That was the last thing he heard for some time. A second guard crept up quietly behind him and struck expertly with the hilt of his whip-sword just behind the left ear. Bram Forest fell as if the ground dropped out from under him.
"By all the fiery gods of Tarth, will you look at that!" the first guard exclaimed.
The second guard could only gawk, not comprehending.
The unconscious man was growing tenuous.
The first guard in confused alarm, lashed down with the whip-sword. But its point passed through Bram Forest's now transparent body without meeting any resistance.
"Right through him! Right through him!" cried the guard.
And, by the time he said it, and coiled his sword again, Bram Forest had vanished.
* * * *
When an urgent message had come for Retoc, the Princess Volna, alone in the royal box, had decided to investigate the matter herself. She had to hurry, though. In not many minutes, Retoc and Bontarc would find themselves face to face on the sands of the amphitheater. Wouldn't Bontarc be surprised! Too proud to flee, not swordsman enough to match the mighty Retoc....
"Yes, yes, what is it?" she snapped irritably when she entered the dungeon-like ready-room below the amphitheater sands. She was in a hurry to return to her box, lest she miss the duel between Bontarc and Retoc. Alone in the ready-room was a soldier in the uniform of Abaria.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am," said the soldier. "My message is for Retoc of Abaria."
"And I tell you Retoc of Abaria is not here to receive it." Volna clapped her hands and two of her own guards appeared. "I am the Princess Volna. Well?"
Pirum looked at her, at the armed guards flanking her on either side, at the door through which she had entered, at the ready-room's second door. "Very well," he said at last, and opened the second door, beckoning.
Volna went to the doorway and looked. She gasped involuntarily, hardly able to believe her eyes. There on the stone floor of a smaller ready-room, only now regaining consciousness, was the Virgin Wayfarer of Ofrid, she who had seen Retoc slay Jlomec, she who had been sent by Volna herself to sure death on the Journey of No Return. Terror gripped her.
"What does this mean?" Volna cried. "Where did you find her? Where, man? Speak!"
"On the river, ladyship."
"On the river? Returning from the Place of the Dead?"
"No, ladyship. Heading toward the Place of the Dead."
Volna went to the girl and stood over her. "You! What's your name?"
"Ylia," the girl said.
"What were you trying to do, Ylia?"
The girl said nothing.
Volna called to Pirum, who came at once. "Hit her," Volna said.
Grasping Ylia by her hair, Pirum struck her face with his open hand. Her head snapped back. The mark of his fingers was on her face. She said nothing.
"Hit her again," Volna said.
Pirum struck Ylia a second time. The girl whimpered, but held her tongue. "Where is your friend, that giant of a man?" Volna asked.
Again Pirum hit Ylia when she would say nothing. Finally Volna shrugged. "She'll talk, given enough of that. What's your name, man?"
"Pirum, ladyship."
"Very well, Pirum. My guards and I are returning to our seats. There is a duel I wouldn't want to miss. All Tarth will reap its consequences. Meanwhile, stay with this girl and do what you must do to make her talk. It might be important."
Pirum bowed. "Yes, ladyship," he said, and watched the others depart. Then, when they were alone, Ylia surprised him by flying at him, nails bared, like a wildcat. He fought off her attack and struck her a savage open-handed blow, and she fell back. At least this, Pirum thought advancing on her, might be an interesting assignment.
* * * *
"... hit by that cab, mac."
"You all right?"
"He's getting up, ain't he?"
"Jeez, I swear," the sweating taxi driver said to the crowd which had gathered about the prostrate man, "he popped up outa nowhere. One second I'm driving along, looking for a fare, the next, he's standing right in front of me. I almost pushed the brake through the floor, honest, but—"
"Ylia," the stricken man said.
"Hey now, take it easy."
"What he say, anyhow?"
"... be going to a costume ball or something. Lookit that outfit he's wearing, willya? What's he supposed to be, a man from Mars or something? I read in the papers where Mars was pretty close a while back. My kid thinks there are...."
"Aw, shudap about your kid."
"Need any help, mister?"
"No. No, thank you. I'm all right."
"... got a nasty crack on his head, is all. See? See the blood?"
"He's getting up."
"... a cop. When you don't want 'em, they're around. Now you need them, where in heck are they, that's what I wanna know."
"The bracelet!" the stricken man said in sudden alarm. He stared at his own right arm in confusion, then his left. His arms were bare.
"You wasn't wearing no bracelet, mac," someone said.
"No bracelet," he said. "No bracelet." His eyes looked vague, confused.
After a while a policeman came and took in the situation at a glance. "All right, all right," he bawled. "Step back and givemair, givemair, will you?"
The crowd dispersed slowly, and the policeman talked for a while with the taxi-driver, then with the stricken man.
"My name?" the stricken man said in answer to a question. "Bram Forest. Yes, Bram Forest. But I don't have the bracelet. The bracelet is gone, forever. Without the bracelet I can't...." his voice trailed off.
"He drunk?" the policeman asked the cab driver.
"Search me."
"'A prison without bars,'" the man recited. "Earth is my prison, forever. Ylia. Ylia!"
The driver made a circular motion with his forefinger, in the general vicinity of his temple.
"You both better come down the station house with me," the policeman said.
"Aw, officer, I'll lose some fares."
"Anyhow. The guy talks batty, but he don't look drunk. We got to figure this here out."
"Ylia," the man said, almost as if the sound were a name and he was crying out to the owner of that name across an unthinkable abyss.
* * * *
Bontarc, King of Nadia, felt as good as could be expected under the circumstances. Now that the first shock of bereavement had passed, he knew no mourning would bring back his dead brother Jlomec. And the sun of Tarth was hot on the amphitheater sands as Bontarc stood awaiting his as yet unknown adversary. He flexed and uncoiled his whip-sword, smiling in expectancy. He was a competent swordsman, among the dozen or so best in Nadia. The duel-to-first-blood would be just what he needed. Win or lose, he'd feel a lot better afterwards. And meanwhile, he was a king, wasn't he? The adulation of the crowd swept down all around him, lifting his spirits. The corpse of Prince Jlomec, treacherously slain, seemed very far away—as, indeed, it was....
A roar of expectancy went up from a hundred thousand throats as Bontarc's adversary appeared at the other end of the arena. The sun was dazzling. At first Bontarc saw the swordsman only as a dot across the gleaming sands. But now the roar of expectancy had turned to a groan of dismay, which was followed by a silence, as of death, then an eager whispered buzzing. Why should this be? Why....
The figure came closer on the burning sands. Bontarc squinted. Was it possible? He felt a tremor go through his body.
It was Retoc of Abaria!
"To the death, Bontarc," Retoc said softly, savagely, as they approached.
Bontarc shook his head imperceptibly. He was no coward, but knew he was no match for Retoc and didn't see why he should lay down his life on the amphitheater sands. "I'll not fight you to the death, Retoc of Abaria," he said.
Retoc shrugged as if it weren't very im
portant. "Well," he said slowly, "if you don't want to kill the slayer of your brother...."
Bontarc charged.
Laughing, Retoc was ready for him.
* * * *
"... Please ... please ... you're just wasting your time. I ... won't ... tell you."
"No?" Pirum said, panting. He saw the girl through a haze of anger, frustration, and desire. She was naked, her lips were bloody, but her eyes still flashed defiance. Pirum, like most Abarians, was something of a sadist.
"Oh, you'll talk," he said. "You'll talk."
"... never...."
He dug his strong finger cruelly into her tender body.
"Bram Forest...." she cried.
* * * *
The policeman behind the desk was saying things. Bram Forest heard the droning voice, but not the words. Ylia, he thought. Ylia. A moment before, he actually believed he heard her cry out to him in pain. But that couldn't be. Besides, what could he do about it? He was trapped forever on Earth, without the bracelet which could send him, almost on the wings of thought, back to Tarth, to Ylia, to his destiny.
I love you, girl of Tarth, he thought. I love you, Ylia, more than words and more than worlds.
Something whisperingly cold plucked at him, and for an instant his heart was stilled.
Ylia!
Could his love for the girl of Tarth draw him across the unthinkable abyss?
"... immodestly attired and ..." the desk sergeant was saying.
Ylia, Ylia, call me! Draw me to you, girl of Tarth.
... bramforesthelp....
Ylia! I hear you! I hear you!
"What the heck's he doing? Praying?" the patrolman asked.
For Bram Forest was staring devoutly at nothing, staring at the air in front of his face there in the mundane precinct room as if it held a radiant vision.
Suddenly the desk sergeant's jaw dropped open. The patrolman said: "Hey, wait a mo...."
Bram Forest was becoming tenuous, vanishing.
* * * *
Insubstantial, transparent, the image of Bram Forest soared past the encampment of the Golden Apes. "Bylanus!" he called, and his voice was not insubstantial. Bylanus came at once.
"If the Abarian legions move, attack them, Bylanus."
"As you will, Bram Forest. But you...."
The 8th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK ™: Milton Lesser Page 37