Golden Torc - 2 (52 page)

Referees from both races took their positions. Heralds sounded a fanfare of glass and silver and the Firvulag drums began to beat. Out of the black-armored multitude came Pallol One-Eye, bearing his terrible effigy battle standard, which he implanted in the salt. The nine Great Ones of the Little People emerged from the throngs of their adherents to declare fealty to their Battlemaster: Sharn-Mes, the veteran Medor, Galbor Redcap, the female heroes Ayfa and Skathe, Tetrol Bonecrusher, Betularn White-Hand, and-newly accoladed in place of the defunct Bles and Nukalavee-Fafnor Ice-Jaws and Karbree the Worm.

While the cheers for the Firvulag champions still resounded, Nodonn came forward to plant his sun-faced blazon. Those who gathered beneath it were Imidol, Culluket the Interrogator, Kuhal Earthshaker, and Celadeyr of Afaliah, field-promoted to the High Table and now Second Creator, who had chosen to follow Nodonn after all. But then, with the crowd's murmur building to a new crescendo, Aiken Drum strolled out and planted his banner, and to him adhered Tagan Lord of Swords, Bunone Warteacher, Alberonn Mindeater, and Bleyn. The assembly erupted. This partisan division among the Tanu heroes signified that Nodonn's position as Battlemaster and heir apparent was challenged by the little gold-clad human. Tanu and Firvulag viewed such a split in leadership differently; among the Little People, there would have been a popular election to settle matters, just as in their choosing of kings; but the Tanu resolved their intramural conflict on the field of honor. The Heroic Encounters between Tanu and Firvulag might not be broken for partisan jousts, and so the total performance of each aspirant's attaches would decide whether Nodonn or Aiken Drum ultimately met Pallol. The ensuing Encounter of Battlemasters would bring to a close the scoring; and following would be the awarding of the victory trophy by Thagdal-who would either yield up the Sword to King Yeochee or keep it himself. This officially marked the end of Grand Combat hostilities. But not the end of the fighting-for the two rivals for the field leadership of the Tanu would then have their duel, the winner earning the option of declaring fealty to the reigning monarch or challenging him on the spot.

The prospect of provoking the downfall of Tanu royalty gave a nice added incentive to the already victory-hungry Firvulag heroes and they began stamping their mailed feet on the salt in a gesture of defiance that was immediately taken up by all of the Little People among the spectators. The ground shook. The Tanu knights blazed in furious retaliatory display. The aether and air vibrated with insults and it seemed that a riot might break out.

Then from the crowded area where Thagdal and Yeochee stood, there stepped a woman dressed all in black and red with her face hidden. The chain of silence was held unmoving between her outstretched hands. The mob fell back and the mindstorm calmed.

The Marshal cried out: "Let the Encounters begin!" Now there was frantic whispering and a cudgeling of wits among the spectators, trying to compute the odds for this decisive event. Poor Karbree was bumped from the field because of the Aiken Drum-Nodonn combination, leaving eight subsidiary heroes on either side. As each Firvulag contestant stepped forward in order of reverse seniority, Thagdal-as present custodian of the victor's Sword-was entitled to name a Tanu opponent. It was a time of suspenseful calculation. Would the King succumb to the temptation to shave points in favor of Nodonn's boys? Would he risk the loss of the Sword in order to beat out the little human? Past matches between Nodonn and Pallol had been very close, pointwise. Was it possible that the small golden manikin had stronger metafaculties than the glorious Apollo? (Physically, there was no comparison.) And yet-the upstart must have something going for him or he wouldn't be in a position to challenge at all! Not since the Times of Unrest had there been such a wild windup to the Grand Combat; and a heretic aspiring to the Tanu throne was nothing compared to the prospect of a human King of the Many-Colored Land...

Thagdal raised rainbow-glinting arms.

"For Fafnor Ice-Jaws-Culluket the Interrogator!" (It figured; the novice Firvulag versus a High Tabler notorious for his mind-tricks and dubious courage.) "For Betularn White-Hand-Celadeyr of Afaliah!" (Two codgers, but the edge clearly belonged to mean old Celo.) "For Tetrol Bonecrusher-Alberonn Mindeater!" (Nod to the Firvulag. Was Thaggy getting sly in this match?) "For Galbor Redcap-Tagan Lord of Swords!" (Nope, guess not. Tagan had beaten this boy before.) "For Skathe-Bunone Warteacher!" (A tossup. Nothing harder to handicap than battling broads.) "For Ayfa-Bleyn!" (Now there was a real mismatch! Sharn's wife would take that hybrid apart like fried chicken. This one could finish Aiken Drum.) "For Medor-Kuhal Earthshaker!" (Now the big guns. Pretty close, but this Tanu threw a helluva PK punch.) "And for Sharn-Mes-Imidol Lord Coercer" (Anybody's fight, Imidol being so young. But coercers were a nasty lot and this boy was overdue.)

"You will come forth," Thagdal said, "contend throughout the allotted time, and then withdraw promptly before the next contestants. And may the Goddess of Battles look upon you, judge your valor, and make her choice!"

"Listen to me, Coercive Brother!" the Craftsmaster pleaded.

"The ground tremors! The electromagnetic changes in the crust!

Can't you feel them yourself?"

The cherry-faced human gold in the blue armor shrugged.

"With the fans making such a brouhaha over at the Encounters, I should bloody well hope the Earth would shake! It's two losses and two wins for Aiken Drum's folks now, and the lads of Nodonn have a win, a loss, and a tie between Kuhal and Medor. So you see we're down to the wire in this last tilt with Imidol versus Sharn-Mes-not only in the Battlemaster sweepstakes but very likely in the whole friggerty Combat to boot! And I'll thank you to stop impeding me in me duties so I can get back to the action!"

Gray soldiers herded into the great glass enclosure the last of a draggled column of men and women, cleared from the dungeons and lockups of Muriah and brought to the White Silver Plain to make their last offering. There were not fallen nobility or craven fighters, but the saddest dregs of the realm-the traitors, the criminals beyond rehabilitation, the rebellious barenecks too feeble to provide sport in the Hunt, women worn out by childbearing, and above all the mind-burned, who shuffled along through the impetus of their gray or silver or gold necklets to stand in neat lines along the show-window front of the Great Retort and stare out at the moonlit battleground with empty eyes.

"Read me!" shouted Aluteyn to the commander of the guard. "Check my mind! There's something funny going on, I tell you! Just give me permission to farsense the King-or Lady Eadone Sciencemaster."

"None of your guff now," warned the human coercer. "Just ease off, old fellah-me-lad. Cash in your chips like a man." He sent a mental order to the soldiers, turned his back, and hurried outside to where his mount waited.

"I told you it wouldn't do any good," Raimo said gloomily.

"But nice try, Al."

Aluteyn's teeth ground together as he looked out of the thick, clear front of the Retort. "Damn them! Damn them! This Mediterranean Basin is unstable! Over to the east, between Kersic and that long archipelago that you future people call Italy, there's a zone of crustal instability I've had my eye on for a couple of hundred years. What if it has a major disturbance? There could be a seiche in the lagoon!"

"What's a saysh?" asked mystified Raimo.

"A tidal wave. A little one," said one of the craven gold knights, chuckling. "Wouldn't that be a kick in the nuts for all the brave gladiators on yon battlefield? Och, we know how the Tanu love to get their little trotters wet!"

"The lagoon's too shallow to slosh up much," somebody opined.

"It might make things too wet to light the fire under the Retort!" another shouted.

"Not bloody likely. You ever see one o' these here conflagrayshuns, cockie? Ask old Al Tub-o-Guts Craftyfuckinmaster here! He usta be the one to touch off the corpse pile every year. Goddam psychoenergy from the whole goddam Guild o' Creators'll broil us in the goddam box even if it pours goddam pups and pussycats!"

"I must give warning!" Aluteyn cried. "It's my duty! If I could only communicate-"

"Send 'em a stargram C.O.D.," a harsh voice suggested. A woman said, "We could act out your message in charades when they come to light the bodies!" Her giggle was hysterical and infectious. Laughter spread.

"Testify like those muffers Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego! Too bad we got no Nomex angel in here like them oldtime Israeli cats had!"

The rabble of the doomed cackled and taunted and wept.

Meanwhile, Aluteyn Craftsmaster, former Lord Creator, used what was left of his metapsychic power to etch a warning message on the inside of the Retort's smooth front pane. It probably wouldn't do any good, but he had to try something.

"You lost!"

"It was a lousy Firvulag trick he pulled on me, Battlemaster," protested Imidol hotly. "I really had Sharn-Mes worried, him and his damn scorpion suit, and if I'd just had three more seconds-"

"You lost, and your bungling and inexperience may have cost us the Grand Combat!"

The sapphire titan removed his helmet and dumped a bucket of cold water over his still-smoldering hair. "You know you can beat Aiken Drum in the one-on-one."

"Fool!" The Battlemaster raged to incandescence. "Have you forgotten the Firvulag? They now lead us in the pointscoring!" In the minds of the eight Tanu champions and Nodonn hung the telltale scorecard:

CULLUKET (LOST) vs. FAFNOR

CELADEYR (WON) vs. BETULARN

ALBERONN (WON) vs. TETROL

TAGAN (WON) vs. GALBOR

BUNONE (LOST) vs. SKATHE

BLEYN (LOST) vs. AYFA

KUHAL (TIED) vs. MEDOR

IMIDOL (LOST) vs. SHARN-MES

The Battlemaster gestured to the four allies of Aiken Drum who stood around the defeated coercer hero. "And thanks to our turncoat brothers and sister here, we must send a puny trickster into the Encounter against Pallol One-Eye!" There was a puff of purple smoke. "I thought I heard my name taken in vain," chirped Aiken Drum. "Don't tell me, Brother Sun-Face, that you have doubts about me being able to put a lid on the Big Eyeball?"

Nodonn said, "He is five times more mighty than his bloodcousin, Delbaeth, who led us such a merry chase on the Quest. And he does not strike and run away, as the Shape of Fire did. He stands! Do you think that your mind will be able to shield you indefinitely from that Eye? Are you confident that your psychocreative power is a match for his? Or will you expend yourself in defense, human youth, using all of your strength to fend off his energies while he demolishes you with a single blow of his armored fist?"

"How would you like me to kill him?"

The eight champions and the Battlemaster broke into bitter laughter.

Aiken frowned. "No. Seriously. I could kill him. Just like I did Delbaeth. I'd have to do it in a human way, and you and the rest of the High Table have to all agree that I can do it my way without getting zapped by the lot of you for breaking some holy fewkin' rule."

Nodonn's face within the fantastic rosy-gold helmet was bright with contempt. "You may not use the Spear on Pallol, Lowlife. Only against me."

Aiken flipped one finger toward the Battlemaster. "That's not what I meant. And don't be impatient, Sun-Face. Your turn's coming!" He glared at the champions in turn. "Well? Am I going to pull your baked patoots out of the fire and win this damn shindy for you-or not? My trick's no more dirty than the ones the Firvulag and their human pals pulled on you guys at Finiah." And Aiken's mind showed them what he proposed to do. "Yes or no, dammit? Give the rest of the Table a holler or I'm gonna just take off like a skyrocket and leave you here with your thumbs in place."

"Go and be damned!" Imidol yelled. "The Battlemaster will meet Pallol if you default. And he'll win!"

"Are you sure?" inquired the jester softly. "Will he win by enough points to clinch the ball game? Nodonn can't decapitate Pallol. But I can. And you know what that'll do to our score. We win, walkin' away!"

"I will confer with the High Table," said Nodonn. Fifteen seconds later he said, "You will fight Pallol One-Eye in your human way, without prejudice."

The moon was descending now, having done its work. It still shed light on the Mediterranean Basin, but its tidal effects, so long inconsequential on the shallow water, were just beginning to make themselves felt in the area west of Aven where the dark waters lapped a crumbling lava crest.

11

AIKEN DRUM ADVANCED ON PALLOL ONE-EYE.

The giant did not bother to shape-shift. He waited, an ebon monolith planted in the middle of the white-salt circle, and chuckled. The sound reminded some of the hushed spectators of a metal dustbin caroming down a long flight of stairs. Fools! What fools the Tanu were, sending this puny creature against him! They had forgotten, that was it. His long absence from the field had dimmed their memories, just as their fatal contact with Lowlife humankind had softened their wits. This insect, this gaudy midge in his golden glass and jaunty purplefeathered crest, was not even worth toying with. He would die in a single thunderclap thrust, incinerated by the incomparable blast of psychoenergy from Pallet's Eye!... Aiken Drum had come to a standstill. He had no lance, no amethyst sword, no weapon at all that Pallol could discern save a small golden ball and a dangling leather strap wide in the middle and thinning toward the ends.

Holding up one admonishing forefinger in the universal gesture that begged a moment's wait, Aiken transferred the strap to his teeth and concentrated on trying to manipulate the ball in some way between his mailed fingers. Still laughing, Pallol removed his awesome helmet, tucked it under his right arm, and with the other hand raised the patch over his Eye. ZAP went the scarlet beam. It struck an invisible metapsychic barrier, a three-meter dome covering Aiken, and disintegrated into a web of lightnings.

Aiken scowled, continuing his struggle with the ball. Was he trying to unscrew its halves? Press some button or lever countersunk in it?