Golden Torc - 2 (24 page)

Here they come."

A block of air above the granite began to shimmer as if suddenly heated. Four figures materialized within the singularity and hovered some thirty centimeters above the surface of the rock.

"Sindbad the Sailor, a Joe Meek mountain-man type, one moribund hash aficionado complete with hubble-bubble, and a classic British birdwatcher," Pitkin rattled off in snap appraisal. "The drugger's for the discard, I'm afraid; wasted to a shadow. But the others will serve."

The guardians had darted forward to seize the arms of the time-travelers and assist them as they stepped down the gap that separated the invisible floor of Professor Guderian's device from the solid ground of Pliocene Earth.

"Fortuitous that they don't materialize inside a mass of bedrock, isn't it?" Pitkin remarked. "This region has undergone many vicissitudes, geologically speaking."

Sindbad had been separated from his scimitar, and the other dazed timefarers were being frisked for iron by a guardian with a metal detector. Pitkin said, "That new iron-sniffer of the Craftsmaster's is a great improvement. No more worries about missed contraband... Ah. There goes the tail-field back for the second lot."

On the next cycle the time-portal admitted a young man in a suit of white denim carrying a crossbow; a goateed chap costumed as Queen Elizabeth I, whose farthingale skirts were a dreadful nuisance to his fellow embarkees, a deeply tanned woman wearing an Atalanta peplum and buskins; and a wellrejuvenated black man in a dacot lounge suit, draped with a dozen extremely expensive AV recorders.

"All serviceable stock," Pitken said. "Don't be fooled by Good Queen Bess. There's probably a useful technician under that pearl-studded red wig... Now let's see what kind of impedimenta we rate today."

The temporal field sprang into existence once more and guardians hastened to remove three large containers labeled MEDICATIONS, a case of Canadian Club, a papillon dog yapping hysterically inside its mesh carrier, a twenty-liter carboy of "Joy," a set of Larousse's Grand Dictionnaire Universel du XIXeme Siecle Francais, and a contrabassoon.

"After these new arrivals are processed, they go to the holding area, as you know, Exalted Ones. Because of the emergency, we have set up a temporary stockade by walling off sections of the outer ward, transferring the bear-dogs to exterior pens. In this way we can accommodate most of Lord Velteyn's refugees from Finiah in relative comfort within the castle proper until they are able to move on to Muriah. It's fortunate that this disaster took place at Truce time when there are extra supplies and transport available for those traveling down to the games. And of course the security matter is much more easily dealt with at this time as well."

"Sounds like you've got things in hand," the King muttered grudgingly to the Castellan.

"We have Lord Gomnol to thank for the initial disaster relief planning. Castle Gateway was the logical receiving area, of course, and we were able to rush help northward in time to meet the refugees on the eastern shore of the Lac de Bresse just five days after the-uh-exodus from Finiah. Now, if you'd care to step into my office, Exalted Ones, I can go over the revised distribution system for the time-travelers that compensates for the temporary suspension of the Finiah run. There are also preliminary overviews of Castle Gateway's role in laborforce procurement for the reconstruction and pacification operations."

"Thank you, Pitkin," Gomnol said. "We won't trouble you for that now. I'll meet with you later myself to finalize the concentration of time-travelers during the Truce interim." The Castellan bowed, excused himself, and hurried back up the path leading to the fortress. Only the five Exalted Personages and a small squad of soldiers waiting at a discreet distance now remained in the time-portal area. The sun was well over the brow of the eastern highlands.

"Sometimes," the King said, looking after Pitkin with a peeved expression, "the efficiency of you humans really depresses me. No righteous indignation. No avowals of vengeance or fealty. Just revised distribution systems and preliminary overviews!"

The Lord Coercer laughed in a genial fashion. "Vengeance is the Battlemaster's department. Mine is making certain that this disaster is confined to the Finiah region and neutralized as quickly as possible to minimize its impact on the socioeconomy. If it weren't for the importance of the barium mines, I'd be inclined to write Finiah off."

"Why, you arrogant little squeakpoop!" Velteyn's face was suffused with a red glare. "You're talking about my home! The cradle of Tanu culture on this planet! The City of Lights!"

"The lights," Gomnol said, unperturbed, "have gone out. Finiah is in ruins. The Foe used brilliant strategy to attack it. It's awkwardly situated, on the wrong side of the Rhine and too far away from our other population centers. There are Firvulag on one side of it and Howlers on the other-and Madame Guderian and her rustic irregulars making merry in between. Of all our cities, it was the ripest for surprise attack."

"I've kept it safe for five hundred years!" Velteyn shouted. "Once we get the walls back up and some reinforcements for the Flying Hunt, we'll have it as secure as ever. We'll wipe out Guderian's outlaws by organizing a Quest through the Vosges to destroy their settlements. Once the Lowlife nests are burned out, the Firvulag will crawl back into their own holes just as they've always done. They never would have mobilized for the attack at all if it hadn't been for that obscene old woman and her damned iron."

"It may not be as easy as you think to put down the hostile humans, Creative Brother," Eadone told Velteyn. "And I'm afraid that Lord Gomnol raises a serious point about the isolated position of Finiah. In the early years, when there were fewer of us and fewer Firvulag, your little walled city on the promontory was at a strategic advantage. But today it is trapped within a web of inimical forces. Now that the humans are aware of the power of iron, they'll make dreadful use of it. Even a handful of Lowlives will be able to waylay caravans and troop columns, attack your plantations, perhaps set up a blockade in the river that could reduce your citizenry to starvation. There is no way you can be supplied by land. The Black Forest massif

behind you is too formidable a barrier. Neither could your armed forces be reinforced by land. Soldiers would have to cross the Rhine to reach you from our other northern strongholds from Goriah, Burask, or Roniah. Even rebuilding your city will be a very difficult task because of the length of the lines of supply."

Velteyn's flaming face went almost purple. "But we must rebuild! The destruction wasn't total. By no means! Almost all of our noncombatant Tanu citizens survived. Six hundred and eighty-nine airlifted to safety by me, by Lady Dectar, and by our gold-torc human brother Sullivan-Tonn."

The King said, "But you lost most of the knights. And more than four thousand humans-silvers, grays, and barenecks-and every single rama! The whole damn working populace either dead, taken prisoner by that Tana-bedamned old harridan, or run off into the bushes where the Howlers or the wild animals will finish them off."

"The plantations are still secure! And the military outposts.

We can rebuild, Awful Father! We can make Finiah impregnable. We'll bring in more PK and coercer adepts to strengthen our mental capability."

For the first time, Nodonn Battlemaster spoke. "We will have to reopen the mine. That is selfevident, unless we discover a new source of the vital barium ore. But there can be no thought of restoring Finiah to its former glory. Its day as a gracious and venerable seat of culture has passed. In future, it must present an austere but secure face to our Foe. We will rebuild it as a fortified mining settlement...but that's all." Velteyn's entire body reacted as if from a physical assault.

His mind screamed.

O my Brother what do you say how can you woundsoulflay me disgracedegrade me before my people a battlechampion fallen unavengedunrestoredabandoned to human/Firvulag derision/Tanu pityscorn ...

Nodonn turned away. He walked to the empty granite platform of the time-portal and stood in the middle of it, aurorahued robes bright in the sunrise. His immense voice rang in their minds and ears.

"Blame this! From this came your pain, Brother! From this source of rottenness and deadly peril that has seduced us from our ancient way! Cursed be the woman who first opened the time-gate to invading humankind. We will all of us be mourning for a world forever lost unless we have the courage to shut the humans out before it is too late. If we continue our fatal dependence upon them, the death of Finiah will be nothing in comparison to the death of the Many-Colored Land!" Eadone said, "I could almost believe it now. And yet-"

"You're wrong, Nodonn!" Thagdal said. "You've been trying to sell that prophecy of doom ever since they first started coming. But look at us! We're stronger now than we ever were before. It's a damn shame about Finiah. The city was a shrine to our pioneer heritage. But, let's face it-a bloody inconvenient place to get to or from, for all its picturesqueness and charm and pretty lights and all!...Tell you what, Velteyn, son! We'll build you a new city in some better place. How's that sound?"

Gomnol joined the King in persuasion. "Perhaps on the shore of the Lac de Bresse. We can cut a new road from it to Goriah and open a whole new region for exploitation. Just as soon as the Combat is behind us, we can begin the planning. All of the other cities will contribute to its building, and you can have every one of the time-travelers for the next two years as a population base. We'll build you a new Finiah even better than the old. Proper streets and drains, proper water system and access, proper urban planning and defensive works. What do you say to that?"

Nodonn said: Proper/human?

Gomnol said: Rather wattledaubhuts handcrafted You?

Eadone said: Take comfort our Mourning Brother. We will see you restored never fear. Go now to your LadyWife sorrowing folk and bid them hope.

"Yes." Velteyn lifted his head and the psychic luminosity faded. He spoke aloud. "It is a good plan, Awful Father, and I stand humbly grateful before your generosity." And to Nodonn:

"If you think me lacking in courage, Brother Battlemaster, I'll prove differently at the Grand Combat. I confess that the battle-joy went out of me with this disaster... but by game-time I'll be a warrior restored. The Firvulag will pay a thousand times over for their unholy alliance with the Lowlives. As for the human despoilers-iron or no iron, we will see them screaming in the Great Retort as they offer their lives to the Goddess at the Combat's glorious end!"

"Well said," observed the High King. "And now that the future is assured, I believe it is safe to go into the Castle for breakfast."

4

THE REFUGEE CAMP AND FIELD HOSPITAL HAD BEEN SET UP IN the former invasion staging area in the Rhine bottomland. With the Tanu withdrawal to Castle Gateway and the retreat of Finiah's loyalist humans to the lake forts, the riverside was secure enough while the Truce prevailed. The wisdom of Old Man Kawai had dictated that the unfortunates not be sheltered in Hidden Springs village.

"It is a matter of simple psychology," he told Peopeo Moxmox Burke. "If we bring them to our canyon they will want to stay there, where there is ready-made housing and a vestige of civilization. But we cannot feed five or six hundred people indefinitely, nor will our buildings and sanitary facilities accommodate such a number. And the Firvulag bring in fresh stragglers every day! No-these refugees must be motivated to establish new settlements of their own. For this reason we must assemble them in a spartan campsite, care for their disabilities, furnish them with equipment and guides, and disperse them as rapidly as possible before the post-Combat Truce ends and the Tanu begin their countermeasures."

It was Khalid Khan who came up with the suggestion for the Iron Road. The metalsmith pointed out that the wilderness smeltery should become the site of a new human stronghold. Other smaller settlements could be strung along the bank of the Moselle to secure the trail between the iron workings and Hidden Springs.

"Provided the Tanu don't return in force too soon after the Truce's end," Khalid had said, "we can secure this whole region for Lowlife humanity by producing quantities of iron. The refugees can support themselves by making it after we help them to get established. I think we can bank on the Howlers clearing out once word of the iron is passed around. But a massive Tanu Quest would be another matter, of course."

"If the next two phases of my plan succeed," Madame Guderian had said, "there will be no Quest."

Seven days following the attack on Finiah, Madame Guderian and Chief Burke came on chalikos to meet with Kawai for a last inspection tour of the refugee camp before proceeding south. The old woman and the tall Native American dismounted and tied their beasts to bushes near a stream, then walked with the aged Japanese into the grove with its rows of palmettothatched lean-tos and other rather squalid shelters. The area was becoming garbage-strewn and fetid.

"We have tried to have the refugees police the area," Kawai said in a low voice, "but many are still in a shocked and depressed state and indifferent to personal hygiene and orderly behavior. There was a bit of trouble yesterday, as Chief Burke has doubtless told you. A group of perhaps forty, led by five de-collared gray soldiers, insisted upon being allowed to proceed to Fort Onion River on the lake. We procured an escort of Firvulag and sent them away. It would have been useless to detain them."

"We did not lose any of the doctors?" Madame was anxious.

"Or the glass technicians?"

"The medical personnel remained with us," Kawai said.

"They were not willingly enslaved. One glassblower is gone. We have also lost the printer, several skilled stonemasons, some weavers and jewelers."

The old woman attempted a chuckle. "We will not miss the latter, at any rate." Her voice was hoarse and she coughed often. During the aerial bombardment of Finiah, when she lay unconscious on the floor of the flyer, she had inhaled fumes from cabin materials set on fire by Velteyn's lightning balls. Unlike Claude and Richard, she had not been seriously burned; but Amerie was deeply concerned about damage to Madame's lungs, which could not readily be treated with the medications and equipment on hand. Also, the old woman refused to rest and was obstinately determined to participate personally in the next phase of her plan. The youthful appearance brought about by her rejuvenation had begun to fade away, and there were now deep furrows in her forehead and beside her thin mouth. Loss of facial substance had thrown her cheekbones and her beaklike nose into gaunt prominence. The golden torc rolled loosely about her thin, corded neck.