"I don't blame them," said a heavy voice that Miles knew. "Let them go, forester! If they've fled to that place, they're as good as imprisoned."
"Aye." The voice became muffled, as though the man had turned his back. "Anyone who would flee here of his own free will, must be like all the rest of them."
"Yes," said another. "If they chose this place, what difference? Here or in the madhouse, it's all the same."
The noises of the dogs, and the men's calls to them, faded, then stopped abruptly.
"Directional sound," Dirk offered, "automatically adjusting the focal point."
Gar nodded. "Parabolic audio pickups buried in the wall, at a guess. And that lightning would give them a good reason to stay away."
"It would scare me. " Dirk turned to the robot. "How did the city know to keep them out, sentry?"
"Why, sir, because you had told this unit you were being chased."
"So." Dirk looked up at Gar, interested. "If we tell one part of the city, we tell it all. Central computer somewhere?"
"That sounds likely," Gar agreed. He turned to Miles. "Why would our coming in here be the same as being imprisoned in a madhouse?"
Miles could only spread his hands, baffled. Ciletha shook her head, equally at a loss.
"Why not ask the people who live here?" Dirk asked softly. They turned and looked into the "temple." Soft lights had come to life, showing them the line of dumpy-looking people in gorgeous clothing, stepping out to gather in the doorway of the temple.
Orgoru was suspicious of the strangers, as were all his fellow aristocrats, but when the Guardian told them the newcomers were being chased by a bailiff and his foresters, Orgoru felt pangs of sympathy. Then, when the moving picture on the wall of the great hall had shown them the foresters turning away, and they had heard the foresters say the fugitives belonged in the city, King Longar cried, "That is reason enough to trust them, at least enough for a night's hospitality!"
"After all," said an older duke, "the Guardian will tell us whether they really are our kind, or not."
"Then let them stay one night," King Longar pronounced, with regal largesse. "Orgoru, Prince of Paradime, the greeting is yours to give, since you are the newest come."
Orgoru felt a surge of elation that overcame his shyness of strangers. "I thank Your Majesty." He turned with the rest of them, following the king to the portal of the palace.
There he stopped, as they all did, waiting till the strangers turned to see them, and beginning to feel indignant because they seemed to be rapt in gazing out at the moonlit buildings, preferring them to the aristocrats. Finally they did turn, and froze. Orgoru smiled, feeling confidence return as the strangers stood staring.
"Orgoru, relieve their fears," King Longar said.
"I shall, Majesty." Orgoru stepped forward, hand raised to greet the newcomers. "Welcome to the city of Voyagend." The youngest of the three stepped between Orgoru and the woman, but the tallest raised his hand and his voice. "I thank you for your welcome."
"I am Orgoru, Prince of Paradime." Orgoru made his smile as reassuring as he could.
The woman leaned out from behind the short man, staring, and Orgoru finally saw her face clearly. "Ciletha!" Then he was running out through the portal, princely dignity forgotten, to throw his arms about her. "Ciletha, you came back after all!"
"Oh, Orgoru!" Ciletha cried. Then her voice broke; she sobbed and clung to him.
The youngest stranger's face darkened, and he turned away, but the tallest held him by the shoulder.
Orgoru looked up over his old friend's head, stroking her hair, but remembering his duties as welcomer. "Who are you who seek our refuge?"
"I am Magnus, cousin to the Count d'Armand and heir to the Lord High Warlock of Gramarye," Gar said.
Orgoru stared. Behind him, he heard a rustle of excited comment. No wonder; these folk were their own kind after all! "Show-off," the middle stranger muttered.
"My apologies." Gar inclined his head and gestured toward Dirk and Miles. "I am slow in my courtesies. These are my companions, the Duke Dulaine and the Marquis of Miles. I thank Your Highness for your hospitality."
Marquis? Gar must be mad! Anyone could see that Miles was no more than a peasant! Miles glanced at Dirk for support, but saw that the other companion was only nodding with slow approval, and Miles's mouth went suddenly dry. Was Dirk mad, too?
No. Of course not. These men were experienced travelers, and knew how to meet the situation. Miles tried to relax, but he couldn't help wondering Why Gar had introduced himself as Magnus.
They took their places at the festive board, the visitors at the head table with the king, since they were of noble rank, and Orgoru with them, since it was he who had greeted them. Miles told himself sternly that he had no right to feel downcast; Ciletha had shown no interest in him other than friendship.
Gar picked up his cocktail fork as the bowl of prawns appeared at his place. He pretended not to notice that several of the "aristocrats" hesitated over the choice of silverware, then imitated their older neighbors. Gar turned to Orgoru, who was just picking up his cocktail fork after a glance at the king. "Ciletha tells us that you are only newly come to this city, Prince."
"Indeed," Orgoru replied. "Like so many of my fellow aristocrats, I was reared in hiding, disguised as a peasant." He gestured toward the table with a self-deprecating smile. "We are clumsy and have much to learn that our peasant hosts couldn't teach us, but we learn quickly." The smile became more firm. "I have already improved my carriage and bearing considerably."
"Carriage?" Miles asked in an undertone, not wanting Ciletha to hear. "He walked on his own two feet! And how could a human body have bearings?"
"Same word, different meaning," Dirk explained, equally low-voiced. "By `carnage and bearing,' he means the way he stands and walks-the way he holds himself."
"How strangely they twist words," Miles said.
"Have you indeed!" Gar's voice was warm with admiration. "How have you learned so quickly?"
"Oh, by watching the other lords and ladies, of course," Orgoru said, "but also by the magic picture in my suite."
"Magic?" Dirk's interest pricked up. "Does it show moving images?"
"Indeed it does," said Orgoru. "I told it to show me pictures of lords and ladies moving about, and it presented me with a story called King Richard H." He grew sad. "A tragic and noble story it is, of a right royal king overwhelmed by a base traitor and slain in his prison."
"And the lords and ladies in it moved most elegantly," Gar summed up. "But as I remember the play, there are peasants in it, too."
"Oh, most surely, my lord!" Orgoru grinned. "They're clumsy and ungainly in their movements, very much as I was when I came here. The Guardian showed me pictures of myself as I was when the others first brought me into this palace. Already I find them most amusing."
"Yes, quite." Gar glanced at Dirk. "Recorded pictures of events, you say? Who is this `Guardian'?"
"All have met him, but none have met him," Orgoru said cryptically. "He is a spirit that lives inside a wondrously decorated wall. You shall speak with him yourself before this night is over."
Miles noticed that he didn't mention their having any choice. He glanced at Ciletha, and his heart twisted, for he saw she was suffering, and no wonder-Orgoru had scarcely paid her any attention since he'd greeted her, and kept making eyes at the tall, rawboned woman with the long face. She responded with roguish glances that looked frankly ridiculous in a woman of her size.
Gar noticed. "But tell me, Prince, why there are no children to be seen in this city. I see from the flirtations going on around this very table that your courtiers are certainly aware of one another romantically; do they never have sons or daughters?"
Orgoru stared, frankly at, a loss. King Longar saw, and stepped in with an explanation. "Love-games are constant, Count, and affairs are frequent-they combat the ennui which is the aristocrat's constant bane."
"I trust there are few marriages, t
hen, or questions of honor would be rife."
"My lords and ladies seldom marry," the king confirmed, "and somehow no children are born of the affairs. The few children born of the marriages are always stolen by elves, alas."
"Elves?" Gar's interest focused. "Are you sure?"
The king shrugged impatiently. "Who can be sure, with elves? But the babe is laid to sleep in its cradle, guarded by several lords-for they are quick to serve one another in such wise, I assure' you. In the morning though, no matter how wakeful and alert they are, the child is gone. What could it be but the work of elves?"
Gar and Dirk exchanged a glance; then Gar turned back to the king, nodding.
"Thank you for enlightening me, Your Majesty." Gar inclined his head, as though the short, fat little man had a real aura of royalty about him, rather than looking like the village brewer.
"It was a pleasure," the king said, with a condescending air that was ludicrous in so cuddly a body. He turned back to the table, and other conversations, with his back straight and chin high, and an air of nobility that contrasted so wildly with his physical appearance that Miles was hard put not to laugh.
"Tell me, my lord," said Orgoru, "what does your father the Lord High Warlock do, to merit such a title?"
Gar launched into a very elaborate explanation that made absolutely nothing clear, then managed to ask question after question that drew responses from everyone else at the table, their eyes brightening and excitement entering their voices as the conversation roamed over history, literature, and politics. When the meal ended, conversation went on, the "lords" and "ladies" forming little knots of discussion, even though music called them to dance.
The tall, rawboned woman with the long face hearkened to that call, though, and swept over to Orgoru. Since he'd been glancing at her every few minutes, he noticed her immediately, and turned to give her a courtly bow. "Countess Gilda! May we have your opinion on the Hussite Wars?"
"Perhaps later, Prince," the countess said, "but at the moment, I could not stand still; the music animates my feet."
"Does it so? Why, then, allow me the pleasure of this dance!" Orgoru swept her up in his arms and swirled away with her onto the floor.
Miles and Ciletha, stranded at the high table, stared. "Did he always know that dance?" Miles asked.
"No! He never knew any dance! He has learned it in just these last few days-as he has learned to bow, and to hold his head with that slight tilt, to stand so straightly and walk so lightly!" Tears stood in her eyes. "But who is that horse who calls herself a countess? Who is she that plays at being a creature from a children's tale? How dare she take him!"
Miles stared at her, then felt a rush of hope-she might be in love with Orgoru, but he felt no more than friendship for her, might even be in love with this "countess"! He felt shame, too, that he should be pleased at something that caused Ciletha pain, but there was no point in hiding it from himself-Gilds gave Miles an opportunity with Ciletha, and he had to admit to himself that he had already fallen in love with her. It was a strange and thrilling feeling, for he had never been in love before. He turned back to watch the two dancers-still easy to single out, though other couples were coming out on the floor to join them-and saw the sparkle in Gilda's eye, saw the answering gleam in Orgoru's, heard her hearty laugh and his throaty chuckle.
Ciletha, too, saw the interplay. She gave a choking sob and rose, turning away from Miles and rushing out of the great hall. Miles stared after her, taken aback. Then his heart overflowed with pity for her, and he leaped up to follow.
CHAPTER 11
Miles chased the sound of Ciletha's footsteps through half-lit halls and around two corners before he found her leaning against a wall, crying her heart out. Then what could he do but hover anxiously? She looked up and saw him, though, stared almost in fright a moment, then threw herself into his arms, sobbing as though her heart would breakwhich it very well might.
Finally the sobs slackened, and she moaned, "Let me go triad, too! Wouldn't Orgoru fall in love with me then?"
Miles stood frozen, staring over her head at the wall. Of course! She was right, very right! Living their lives as though in a fairy tale, learning to bow and mince and dance in elaborate rounds-of course they were insane! Who else could live so? How else could people who were clearly peasants think themselves to be kings and duchesses?
But if insanity let them live in luxury, without working, who wouldn't want to go mad?
Fear stabbed, fear at the thought of Ciletha becoming one of those painted, posturing, artificial creatures. "Cupid shoots his arrows where he will, Ciletha," he said softly. "People who are clearly right for one another, usually fall in love with somebody else."
Ciletha stilled a little, but still quivered. "You don't think she's right for him, then?"
Miles had to be careful here. "How much do they have in common, besides their madness? Oh, I've seen boys in my village fall in love, all right-but rarely with the good women who would be so good for them! It's always the minx who turns their heads." He frowned, not liking the next thought "Maybe it's better to let the reeves choose for us, after all."
"No!" Ciletha pushed herself away enough to glare up into his face. "To have to try to be a wife to a man I loathe? Never! If anyone has to plan my life, it'll be me!"
"Planning seems to have very little to do with it," Miles said, with irony.
"Beauty does, though," Ciletha said.
They were both silent a moment, thinking of Orgoru and Gilda. Then Ciletha said, "Perhaps not, though."
"I'm sure he sees her as beautiful," Miles said, "even as she seems to see him as handsome."
"He is, in his way," Ciletha said, her voice small.
"Maybe," Miles said, "but I don't think that's the handsomeness that Gilda sees."
Ciletha frowned up at him. "You mean that they actually see different faces, different bodies, from the ones we see? Surely that can't be."
"Maybe," Miles said slowly, "but I saw a picture in my childhood, when my parents took me to stand before the reeve, and I remembered it very well-a bright, colorful image of a knight and a dragon, hanging in front of a house. I remembered it for years, and when I'd had a terrible day and was trying to sleep, I'd think of that picture, and it gave me an odd sort of comfort. But when I was fourteen, they took me to the reeve's town again, and I saw the picture once more. It was all wrong-the knight was standing, though I remembered him as kneeling, and held a spear, not a sword. The dragon was much smaller, not really surrounding the knight with its coils-in fact, it didn't have coils, and it did have wings, though I hadn't remembered them. To cap it, at fourteen, I knew the house for what it was-a tavern, and the picture was the sign that hung over its door."
Ciletha stared; then she burst into laughter and pressed a hand up to his cheek. "Poor Miles! How dreadful that must have been!"
"Meeting reality always is," Miles confessed. "But I still have the picture my memory made up, there in my mind, where I can always look at it."
Ciletha frowned. "I see what you mean," she said slowly, "that the woman Orgoru sees may have a lot in common with the Countess Gilda we see, but is far more beautiful, and far more graceful."
"Oh, she's graceful enough," Miles said. "None of them are clumsy. They all have the magistrate's walk, the tilt of the chin-but it looks wrong on them, somehow. Not `graceful,' perhaps, but `stately.' "
"Certainly not alluring." Ciletha's voice hardened. "Though I'm sure that's how Orgoru sees her."
"Yes, and she probably sees him as tall and lean, with a noble brow and Roman nose."
Ciletha smiled, then gave in and let a giggle out. "Yes, she probably does. I can see how you might be right, Miles." -Miles thought the delight he felt at hearing her laugh must have been far more than he had any reason to feel. He couldn't keep the smile in, though, and said, "Right or wrong, I'd rather not go back there right now. Do you think we can find a door that leads out? I'd like some fresh air-and the ruins shouldn't be too fr
ightening by night."
"Not as long as we don't see another of those skeletons." Ciletha didn't really seem to find the prospect very frightening. "Let's stay close to the palace, though."
They found the door, and the plaza outside was so wide that they could wander as much as they wanted and still be fairly near the building. They didn't see any robots, but they did see plenty of stars. They began to talk about how vastly far away the sky must be, and Miles told her the silliness he'd heard from Gar and Dirk, that each of those points of light was a sun, that some even had worlds circling them, and that it would take the Protector's fastest courier thousands of years to ride from one to another. She laughed with him, first at the notion of a horse galloping between the stars, then at the absurdity of each star being a whole sun. Then she quieted, though, and told Miles she had heard a story like that in her childhood, that stars held other worlds around them, and that their ancestors had come from such a world, so very far away.
Then they began to really think how far it must be between stars, if that tale were true, and that led them to thinking of eternity, of how long the world might last beyond their deaths, and of course that led them to talking about whether or not their ghosts really would live on after their bodies died.
So they spent an hour or two in one another's company, passing the nighttime hours discussing the great questions that confront the young, and when at last they went back into the palace, each was smiling, but each felt a little sadness that these few hours together, alone, were over.
Countess Gilda decided on a bit of variety, and accepted another lord's invitation to dance, though she kept glancing at Orgoru as she did, no doubt hoping to see him jealous-but before the green-eyed monster could come upon him, Gar and Dirk had buttonholed him near the refreshment table.
"You seem to be one of the younger lords," Gar commented "How did you come to be here?"
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