by John Dalmas
Many or most—perhaps all—of the voitu-sired babies were red-haired and green-eyed, and rather like the voitar, had large flexible ears. Over generations of subsequent back-crossing with the ylvin gene pool, the "rakutik ears" disappeared by "genetic dilution," though contributing perhaps to the ylvin trait of pointed ears. But the voitik red hair and green eye traits persisted, manifesting infrequently but strongly. Sarulin, the founder and progenitor of the Sisterhood had had them, and according to tradition, so had her consort.
It seemed to Macurdy that Sarkia, at least, had seen the possibilities. The Tigers had probably been bred deliberately for rakutur traits—athletic redheads bred to athletic redheads, and the offspring graded according to "Tiger" traits. Those who met specifications would then have been segregated and trained. The breeding and genetic segregation records could probably be checked, if they'd survived Ferny Cove.
Varia had been interested in genetics and animal breeding when she'd been married to Will, back in Indiana. She might have drawn the same conclusions. If he ever got back to Duinarog, he told himself, he'd ask her.
At any rate, today the Tigers had proven as hard and strong and athletic as the rakutur, and seemingly better trained.
Rillissa, back in Hithmearc, had been a female rakutu, with Kurqôsz her father and some human woman her mother. In an old ylvin manuscript, he'd read that the rakutur weren't connected with the voitik hive mind, but Rillissa had definitely been. Some of the rakutur they'd just fought might have been, too. If so, the voitik high command knew of this battle. So when his Tigers had finished looting the rakutur's equipment and rations, and tethering the captive horses to a lead rope, Macurdy ordered them to move out.
* * *
His companies camped that night in the shelter of a dense stand of arborvitae—a "cedar swamp." Sentries were posted, the horses hobbled, and tarps strung up as lean-tos. Innumerable small warming fires were lit in front of them. They had no hay for their horses, but they did have corn and nose bags. And though few if any of the horses were familiar with arborvitae, after a bit some began to browse it. By morning many would, and take no harm from it.
Macurdy bedded down on the snow with Vulkan, without stringing a tarp. While waiting for sleep, he thought about Cyncaidh, whom he'd checked with the morning before, via the great raven connection. Each of the ylf lord's strike forces had averaged more than two raids a week, with casualties that were moderate for all the trouble he'd caused. Macurdy recalled his earlier doubts that the ylver could fight such a nonstandard war! So much for that worry.
He'd check with him again in the morning, he decided, and with the East Ylvin guerrillas. The Ozians were already in business, and the Kormehri and Kullvordi had left to begin harassing supply trains nearer the Deep River.
He'd thought about attacking Kurqôsz's headquarters, to see what would happen, and had brought it up with Cyncaidh the day before. The ylf hadn't liked the idea; Kurqôsz would probably have sorcerous traps in place. The thought was sobering.
Meanwhile, with Kurqôsz's army having difficulties, what sorceries might the voitu be cooking up to deal with supply train raids?
Macurdy was rather good at not worrying until he saw a handle for the problem. Rarely did unacknowledged tensions ambush him with an anxiety attack; ordinarily he trusted his intuitions rather cheerfully. So he didn't dwell now on the possibility of sorceries. It had been a long day in the saddle, walking in the snow occasionally to rest their horses. His thoughts soon bogged down in vague semi-dreams, and he slept.
* * *
He didn't waken for hours. When finally he did, it was to sit bolt upright, from nightmare. Slowly he got to his feet, walked off a few yards, and urinated against a red maple, the smell pungent in his nostrils. Then he returned to his place beside Vulkan's bristly bulk. Lying down again, he tried to call back the dream, and examine it. It seemed important—something about Kurqôsz—but beyond that it refused to show itself.
To hell with it, he thought. If it's important, the seeds are there. They'll sprout.
* * *
The next time he awoke, the sky was paling. Getting to his feet, he oriented himself, then roused his deputy, Captain Skortov, who sent an aide to roust the companies from their sheepskin blankets, and order the company officers and senior noncoms to a conference with the Macurdy.
While Macurdy waited, he described his intentions to Blue Wing, and asked directions. "Backtrack into the hardwoods," the great raven said, "then keep the new sun off your left shoulder." He paused. "Hiding Vulkan, you should reach Road B quite soon. Then go west until"—he paused; he still had trouble judging human travel time—"until sometime past midday. You'll pass four crossroads on the way."
His beady eyes studied Macurdy. "Just the two of you, going to beard the voitik troll in his lair. Hmh! I'd argue if I could suggest an alternative.
"Take care, my friend. I do not want to lose you. I hope you don't plan to knock on his door and introduce yourself."
Macurdy grinned ruefully. "Vulkan will cloak us. It seems to me his cloak will do the job even against voitar. When we get close, we'll probably leave the road, study the place from the edge of the woods. Then we'll decide how to go about it."
By that time his Tiger officers were arriving. When they were all there, Macurdy addressed them. "Tigers," he said, "I'm going to leave you on your own. Skortov will be in command. We can kill hithar and voitar and rakutur till spring, but if I can kill their leader, it'll finish this a lot quicker.
"He's likely to have his headquarters protected by major sorceries, so Vulkan and I are going to give it a try alone. Just the two of us; without even a horse. It's the sort of thing they're not likely to expect. If we don't pull it off, it'll be up to you. If you can bleed the voitar dry, that could win it. And if you can't bleed him dry, make him wish he'd never crossed the Ocean Sea."
It occurred to Macurdy that some voitik adept might sense the spells in his armor and saber, so before leaving, he traded the saber for Skortov's, and his hauberk and steel cap with two Tigers whose sizes matched his own. Then he shook their hands, climbed aboard Vulkan bareback, and left.
"What do you think?" he said to Vulkan as they left the bivouac behind. "Am I crazy?"
Vulkan snorted. «Not at all. I've been wondering when you'd make this decision. I'd almost decided to nudge you again.»
PART SEVEN
Climax And Aftermath
The greatest wizards and sorcerers of antiquity lived and studied under Sorthaelius Halfylvin at Beech Mountain. There a great library of magicks and sorceries was gathered, with extensive notes and commentaries by the masters.
Halfylvin was a powerful mage, but his greatest powers were of intuition, intellect, and discipline. He saw how things interacted, how matters remote to a problem applied to it, and how to test speculations.
He learned to enlarge greatly the power of circles, through configuration, amplification, and control. Configuration being how the members of a circle connected each with the others in the Realm of the Force. But perhaps his greatest advance was to create crystals of power. It is said that a crystal was formed layer on layer, each member of the circle contributing to the spell. Each such crystal contained the essence of each member's soul, harmonizing them all. And only they could use it.
Unfortunately the knowledge was destroyed by the earthquake and firestorm known as Fengel's Punishment.
From: History of Magicks and Sorceries.
Ylvin manuscript dating from
the fifth century before Exile.
37 SORCERY!!!
One of the powers Vulkan had that Macurdy didn't was an infallible sense of position and orientation. Thus they left without waiting for sunrise, and half an hour later reached Road B. Clouds were moving in, concealing the sun, and shortly afterward it began to snow. When it stopped, six hours later, the old snow had been covered by five inches of fresh white. It was the first substantial snowfall since the big storm in Eleven-Month. Meanwhile the air
had warmed notably. At midday, it seemed to Macurdy, it wasn't a whole lot below freezing.
He preferred the weather they'd been having, bitter though it had been. With the new snow, Kurqôsz could order out his entire cavalry to hunt and track raiders. Though knowing the Ozians, Kormehri, and Kullvordi, they'd no doubt take advantage of it to lead pursuers into ambushes.
Cloaked or not, Vulkan too left tracks. They were not, however, the only cloven tracks. There were both deer and elk around, and to inexperienced observers, Vulkan's prints could pass for elk. Even as Macurdy thought it, Vulkan left the road, to parallel it forty to sixty yards back in the woods. In the woods, of course, the old snow had not been packed by traffic, and travel was somewhat slower. But cloven tracks that went straight down the road for miles might inspire curiosity.
It was late afternoon when they reached the big clearing. They examined the buildings from the forest edge. The row of cabins suggested the homes of tenant farmers or bonded help.
Now, of course, they housed soldiers. But by no means all the soldiers, for nearby were rows of crude huts under construction, and a short distance from them, rows of squad tents with the new snow swept off. But Macurdy gave the manor house his major attention. The number of people going in and out suggested considerable command activity.
Macurdy and Vulkan settled into a position sixty or seventy yards from the road, careful not to betray themselves by needless movement, or tracks to the road.
Near sundown he saw about twenty mounted men ride up to the house and sit waiting. Even four hundred yards away they struck him as rakutur, from their bearing. Then a voitu emerged from the house and began to lope down the road. The horsemen fell in on both sides and behind him. He ran fast enough, they spurred their horses to a canter to keep up, continuing almost all the way across the clearing. Then he loped his way back and forth on the pattern of farm lanes that from spring to fall gave access to different fields.
Macurdy guessed the time spent running was something under half an hour. And fast! Clearly the sonofabitch could outrun Gunder Hegg without shifting out of second.
When it was dark, Macurdy contemplated going to the house. He had no idea what he might accomplish, but he'd accomplish nothing sitting where he was. Still he didn't move, till across the clearing he saw northern lights begin to form an emerald curtain across the sky. He remembered a night in Bavaria then, and felt a sudden pang of urgency.
Quietly he told Vulkan he was going to the house by himself, under cover of his own concealment cloak. And kill Kurqôsz if he could. He'd hardly used his cloak since World War II, but he had no doubt he still could. He'd developed considerable confidence in it. A voitik master or adept might see through it, but he also wore a genuine rakutik greatcoat and cap. Hopefully they'd take him for one of their own.
Assuming the spell itself didn't give him away.
He had greater confidence in Vulkan's cloak, of course. He thought of it as bestowing actual invisibility, rather than simply making the wearer unnoticeable. But even it might not work against masters and adepts. And if someone saw through it, a giant boar with a rakutu on his back would draw serious attention.
He half-hoped Vulkan would suggest an alternative, or argue with him. Instead, the red eyes regarded him calmly, a pair of smoldering ruby coals. «I will monitor you,» Vulkan told him, «and if a situation develops, I will take the best action available to me.»
Macurdy took a roundabout route to the road, then strode down it into the clearing. He carried Skortov's saber, and the knife Arbel had given him, that had saved his life at least twice. They did not reassure him. As he approached the house, he saw that the entrance guards were also rakutur. How, he asked himself, do I pass them? Even if they don't see me sooner, when I open the door, it'll take their attention. Then they'll see through the spell.
As he approached, they showed no awareness of him. Their gaze was past him, fixed on something else, and pausing he looked back. A column of horsemen was trotting briskly into the clearing. At their front, enclosed by them on three sides, was a group of running voitar.
Macurdy stepped toward the house, then stood at attention a few yards from an entry guard. The approaching voitar would be his acid test.
The column reached the yard in perhaps twenty seconds, the mounted escort peeling off to the sides. The voitar slowed to a walk, and strode purposefully toward the entrance. Macurdy stood only a couple of yards out of the way. If they noticed him, they showed no sign of it, and when they'd passed, he fell in behind them. Their auras marked them as powerfully talented, but just now they were focused on something else. He had no idea what.
They pushed through the door, Macurdy with them. Inside was a vestibule with pegs on both sides, festooned with uniform coats. It opened into what once had been a parlor. Now it was an office reception area, with administrative personnel both voitik and hithik. And a pair of rakutur: security guards. No one challenged the voitar who'd come in, nor Macurdy, who at any rate would have seemed an attendant. Someone called "Attention!" in Hithmearcisc, and everyone stood ramrod straight, facing the newly arrived voitar.
Across the room was a wide staircase. His voitar were headed toward it. Another had just descended, and stood at attention. The leader of the group slowed and spoke. "Good evening, Captain Rissko! It's good to see you." The Hithmearcisc was simple and formulaic, well within the scope of Macurdy's limited knowledge.
"Good evening, Prince Chithqôsz!" the voitu answered. "It is good to see you, Your Highness." Then the voitar passed him, taking the steps three at a time. At the top they turned right.
Prince! But not the crown prince. This one he'd never seen before.
Macurdy was the last one up, and paused. The upper hallway had a short section to the right, and a much longer one to the left. At the end of the right-hand section was a door guarded by a rakutu, who was reaching for the door handle, as if to let the prince through. Meanwhile Macurdy felt seriously exposed to the voitar below. To stay where he was seemed unwise, and to turn right seriously dangerous, so he turned left.
Through the opened door behind him he heard a big voice. One he knew well: the crown prince's. "Hello, brother! I'm glad to have you here! You traveled quickly! I'm sure you..." Then the door closed.
Ahead of Macurdy were doors along both sides of the hall. If he could find a room unoccupied, and hide till late at night... But if the rakutu guarding Kurqôsz's office was paying attention, he'd notice a door opening, even if it opened inward. Of course, he might assume it was someone inside who'd opened it. On the other hand, if someone was inside... Macurdy heard footsteps on the stairs, and stepping quickly to the nearest door, opened it. Inward.
The room was not empty. A woman was there, garbed in a long shift. She turned, her face the color of bread dough. For a moment she peered uncertainly, then her eyes widened. For a long second Macurdy stood rooted to the floor, stunned. Then he raised a finger to his lips. "Ssh!"
Varia's knees had almost given way. She took an unsteady step backward and sat down on a chair behind her, staring at him. Carefully Macurdy closed the door. "Where can I hide?" he asked quietly.
For several seconds she simply stared, looking as if she couldn't breathe. Her eyes were darkly circled, as if from long weeping. Her mouth moved soundlessly, then she gestured. "Under the bed," she murmured, "or in the closet."
He frowned. "What's that?" He gestured at floor-length drapes hanging on one wall.
"There's a balcony, but the doors are locked." She hardly more than whispered it.
He went to the drapes and spread them a few inches. They concealed a pair of many-windowed doors. There was a simple latch, opened and closed by a doorknob, and a bolt operated through a keyhole. He wished he had the set of OSS lock picks he'd carried in Bavaria. But maybe... He could see the bolt through the crack between the doors. Deadbolt? Spring-loaded?
"What have you got that's metal and might fit between the doors?" he asked.
She took a clip fro
m her hair, seemingly silver set with emeralds. "It's called dwarf silver," she said. "The same thing as platinum on Farside, I think. It's hard."
I'll take your word for it, he thought. All those books she'd read while married to Will... He wondered if she ever forgot any of it.
He carried a clasp knife. Now he forced its smaller blade between the doors, just above the bolt. Then he inserted the forked clasp of the hair clip, pressed it hard against the bolt, and pried. There was almost no room to work, but he gained a smidgen, and held it with the knife blade. Then got a new purchase with the clasp and pried again. And again. Something felt hot against his chest, but he ignored it. His nerves were stretched. He had no doubt whose room this was; Kurqôsz could walk in at any moment.
Once he lost it all, and started grimly over, but finally the bolt was clear. The two minutes it had taken seemed like five. "Push," he said. Varia pushed, and the doors opened. He sheathed his knife, then pressed the dead-bolt the rest of the way back with his thumb. It stayed. He drew the doors closed again, and closed the drapes over them.