Ice and Shadow (9 page)

Ludorica looked down at her own hands as if she held there something very precious the others could not see. “Unless he would be out of Reveny before his foreseeing can be proved. What excuse does he give for coming?”

“That he has matters of great moment for King Gostar which will affect the future of his House, and that he was bidden by his gift to come.”

“By his gift! Then he is very sure—”

“Just so,” cut in Lord Imbert. “And it is against all custom for him to be so persistent. He has lately been at Ichor, and the Lady of Ichor—”

“Was once Reddick’s very dear friend. But surely here, well guarded in your house, my lord, I need not fear any web to entangle my feet. Why, you yourself said to Nelis that he could leave us here and go with a free mind. Why, if you had these reservations, did you say that?”

“For the simple reason, Your Highness, that this news had not yet come to my ears when the Colonel rode forth. And it is best also that he return to his command, for if your journey has not yet been discovered, his return will help to keep it secret.”

“A secret? I did not think that here—” She hesitated and then continued. “But let me see King Gostar and all will move as we wish.”

“There, too, you must practice patience, Your Highness. The Queen is not in good health and King Gostar is much concerned about her. He is never at the best an easy man to deal with. Rather is he sometimes prey to odd whims and sudden changes of mind, so that no one can predict what he will do. For the past three months, since he learned the Queen is carrying a child, he has not even been to the secret sanctuary of the Flame Crown for guidance.

“He will receive no delegations from the council and has refused his ministers’ audiences. Even to reach him with a message may take some time.”

“And time we may have in scant supply!”

“I understand, Your Highness. But I am being frank with you. We shall have to approach the King with care. An incautious move on our part may arouse him to refusal before we even state the case. He has done such many times, more times even than his people have general knowledge of. Now—you will note, Your Highness, that you have seen few servants in this wing of the house. That, too, is on purpose. The fewer who know that you are here, until I have some understanding with the King, the better. For we have not only to fear his changeable tempers, but also interference, perhaps directly from Fancher, indirectly from Shambry—or so I suspect.

“The Queen is much taken with foreseeing and there is good reason to believe that once she knows Shambry is here she will have him summoned to read for her. Once gaining her attention, he could defeat us with ease. For he is a subtle man with more to him than the usual Soothspeaker. He already tells the day and hour of His Majesty’s death with confidence. What if he adds to that some direful word concerning yourself? Could you then get a fair hearing for your plea? Ill luck is too real a thing to most kings and lords.”

“What hour and day—no, I do not want to know lest I begin to believe it too. So I can do nothing but wait?”

“Hard as it seems, Your Highness, that is so. And not only wait with good grace, but also stay within these walls and let none have a chance to see you. You thought yourself safe at Hitherhow, and what happened? I have guards here, but how can I swear that all of them, and of my servants, are true to the old loyalty and that none of them secretly supports Reddick?”

“It is hard to believe,” Ludorica said slowly. “I feel, as one trying to cross the Bog of Snelmark, that any step may be the wrong one. But suppose the King—” She turned a little away. “Very well—tell me, how long does this smooth-tongued Soothspeaker give him yet?”

“Four days—until high noon.”

“Four days! And he would not dare to make such a prophecy if he were not sure it would be proved true. Four days, and if I am not back to Urkermark by then with the Crown—I must consider this carefully, Lord Imbert.”

“Do so, Your Highness. In the meantime, for your own sake, keep within these walls and out of sight. What I can do to reach King Gostar, and there are several ways that can be tried, that I shall do.”

He left them with another bow and the Princess turned to Roane. “It would seem that we cannot enjoy the garden except through a window. But that we can do in the gallery. Come aloft again.”

They returned to the long upper chamber and Ludorica brought Roane to the middle bay so they could look out. There were few flowers below, rather hedges and shrubs trimmed and clipped into fanciful shapes, many resembling the statues which had been set out at Hitherhow before the Princess’s arrival.

“It is very well kept,” commented Ludorica. “One has the feeling that were even a single leaf misplaced such would be instantly noted. Lord Imbert has a liking for such formality. There is a large garden such as this about his stead keep in Reveny. The Lady Ansla never cared much for it. She had her own place and the sweetest-smelling flowers grew there. Also a pond with an erand nesting, and the bird used to stand so still in the water one would believe her a statue—”

“The Lady Ansla—she is here?”

“She is gone.” The Princess did not look away from the window. “It was the frost fever. I did not even get to put the fareforth candle in her hand—though she had been so good to me. When I came she was already closed away. I think that when I was small she was the only one who cared for me, Ludorica, and not because I was the Princess.”

Though they could not go out into that stiff garden, nor even out of the section of rooms which had been made over to them, they found enough to occupy their time. Ludorica amused herself and Roane (to the latter’s mild astonishment) by coaching her temporary lady-in-waiting in the duties of her position and furnishing her with the current gossip of the Court of Reveny—though due to the King’s age and illness Court life had shrunk to a few shadowy functions and those only observed through necessity. Roane absorbed it even as she had the learning at Cram-brief, but found it more interesting. The Princess’s description of the nobles and courtiers, their backgrounds and motives, were so detailed that the off-world girl thought she would know each when she met him—
if
she ever met him.

Deep in Roane herself something began to grow. She would smooth the soft flow of her skirts, glance now and then into a mirror, finger some cushion glowing with beautiful needlework or an ornament. All this was far different from the treasures of her own civilization, yet surrounded by such she was not ill at ease nor unhappy, but rather relaxed. If she was dreaming, she wished less and less to awake. At least, as she reflected with dry humor, if she ever got back to her own people she could supply enough data on this Psychocrat experiment from the point of view of those caught in it to amaze the Service.

On their second night at Gastonhow she was sitting in front of the mirror about to unpin the birdlike bonnet when Ludorica slipped into the room, a long, fur-lined cloak over her arm, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Imbert has done it! I am to go to King Gostar secretly. But not alone, Roane—Lord Imbert thinks you should be with me, that you can bear witness about the tower and your testimony will carry force. Hurry—there is a coach waiting. Where is a cloak?”

She opened the wardrobe and rummaged among its contents. Roane hurried to the bed, to her private hiding place. She felt under the wide pillow and drew out her belt with its off-world equipment. Even temporarily she was not going to be separated from that.

CHAPTER 9

THE COACH AWAITING THEM
in the dark courtyard was like the one which had fetched them to Gastonhow. As then, heavy curtains hung in place across the windows, and in the light of a single lantern the interior looked very dark. Lord Imbert himself stood to hand them in, and he murmured something in a very low voice to the Princess before putting out his hand to Roane as she tried to manage the folds of her skirts on the small step.

There was no Colonel to share their ride this time, but the cushions were softer than those of the equipage which had brought them to Gastonhow. The door closed and they were in the total dark, for there was no riding lantern.

“No light!” Apparently the Princess found this strange, but then she added, “I suppose Imbert wishes us to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

“Where do we go?” Roane pulled her cloak about her. The evening was chill and there was a cold which seemed part of the coach itself, as if the vehicle had not been recently in use.

“To Gastonhigh. It is a stead used by the royal family—by Immer Lake. I suppose the Queen wishes more quiet.”

A swing of the coach sent Roane against the Princess and she heard Ludorica laugh.

“My dear Roane, feel along the wall and you shall find a hold strap. It is best to make use of those when the pace is swift.”

Roane groped for the anchor, running her hand over the side she could not see, though now and then came a faint glimmer of light around the edge of the curtain, as if they drove by some well-lighted site. She found the loop and took firm hold on it, but she wished they could raise the curtains, just so she did not have the impression that they were imprisoned in a jiggling, swaying cage. And once more her stomach rebelled against this form of travel.

“My mother was King Gostar’s cousin,” the Princess said. “I wish I knew on what terms they were. It might strengthen my appeal if they had parted in friendship when she went to Reveny to wed. If he had kind memories of her—”

“Is there any reason why he would not?” Roane asked.

“There are feuds not only among the stead lords, but also in the royal Houses. Am I not so caught with Reddick? And the House of Hillaroy, which is King Gostar’s, have been noted for their quick tempers and many strange actions, even as Imbert has warned us about Gostar. It would seem that since the Guardians cut communication with men there have been many changes in the course of history. Only when we hold the crowns can we be sure of surviving such changes. I must get the Crown! At least Nelis will do what he can to further the search.”

“You sent the Colonel to hunt the Crown?” Roane tensed. What would that mean for Uncle Offlas and Sandar? If a large party of Revenian troops showed up to prospect along the cliffs and so meet the men from the camp—She could see such trouble as had never disgraced a Service operation before. Why, they might even have to lift off!

“He knows the country, and him I can trust. If he moves in boldly, Reddick cannot face him, since I do not believe that until the King is dead the Duke will dare to come into the open.”

“But the Crown—I thought you wanted to keep others from knowing it was hidden.”

“No one shall. For Nelis will wait for me to take it up. None
can
touch the Crown save me. Nelis is only to find the way to it.”

But what of her own people? Roane thought of them and clung to her strap anchor as the coach rocked on. They must now be traveling at the fastest pace this vehicle was capable of maintaining.

“King Gostar must be impatient,” she commented. “It would seem that he wants us in a hurry, or is this the usual speed of a royal coach?”

The pace grew even faster. In spite of that anchor loop she was shaken back and forth, and she gulped and swallowed with grim determination not to yield to the queasiness of her much-abused interior.

“This—is—too—fast—” The Princess’s words came in little gasps as if shaken out of her. “What can they be—”

There came still another burst of speed and the swing of the coach was such that Roane was sure she could not stand it long before disgracing herself by being thoroughly sick. She held her free hand over her mouth and fought for control.

“What—” The Princess’s voice rose a note. “Roane!” And now her cry was a danger alert. “Feel along the edge of the window if you can. Are you able to raise the curtain?”

Roane tried, but found it difficult. Finally her groping hand did touch what she judged was the edge of the curtain. But that did not yield to her tug. It was rather as if it had been nailed or otherwise sealed in place.

“It is the same on this side! The curtains are fastened down. Now, Roane, can you lean forward, find the latch of the door?”

It seemed perilous to try that. Roane feared that if she loosed her finger-cramping grip of the anchor strap, she might be thrown against the narrow seat facing her. But she stretched and, between more and worse jolts which sent her back and forth, ran her other hand over the inner surface of what she was sure was the door. There was no latch, nothing but a smooth surface. And her fear of a trap added to her sickness until she longed to scream for them to stop. Then came another spell of really violent rocking.

“I—cannot—find—It—is all—smooth!” she gasped.

“Nor—can—I—on—this—side—”

“But why—” Roane began when Ludorica answered her.

“Why? Because we are prisoners. But of whom? Lord Imbert? No—unless he feels he must manage me for some reason he has not told me. But I can guess, Roane, that we are not now bound for Gastonhigh.”

“Where—” Roane was thrown back by a particularly heavy jolt and cried out at a sharp pain in her side.

“What is it?”

“My—but how stupid! I have a light.” The belt she had brought with her, how had she come to forget it? That lapse of memory was another symptom of the fuzzy thinking which had bothered her for days. It was almost as if she did not want to, or could not, remember the familiar things which had been a part of her off-world life. With one hand she worked the beamer out of its loop and turned it on low.

“The doors!”

But she did not need that direction; she had already turned the light on the one through which they had entered. And her exploration by touch had told the truth. There was no sign of a latch. When she moved the beam up to the windows they could see the strips of wood which sealed the curtains down.

“We are prisoners until we arrive and they—whoever they may be—are willing to let us out. But our future hangs on who is behind this—”

“Reddick?”

“Not with Imbert aiding—unless there had come a message purporting to be from the King. Or a substitution of coaches, or—We could offer as many reasons as we have fingers and perhaps still skip the real one. It suffices that we are prisoners, and the reason is less important now than the fact. What other tools or weapons have you that may get us out of here?” As usual she went directly to the most important matter.

“I have this beamer, and a medic kit, and a weapon.” Roane thought of the stunner. “It does not wound, only puts to sleep the one caught in its ray—”

“Such a weapon as your cousin used on me in the cave? But how clever of you to have brought that, Roane! We need only wait until they let us out and then you can put them to sleep and—”

“I shall do what I can,” Roane said slowly. What she did not want to admit was that disturbance which came upon her when she had to make a choice between off-world and Clio matters, and which she now felt. She had used the beamer without really thinking, but to handle the stunner so was a different matter—Never before had she experienced anything like this. Or had she? Conditioning! She had gone through conditioning on numerous occasions—mainly to prepare body and mind to resist some planetary stress hostile to her species. But once that was done she had never been consciously aware of its effects upon her. Now it was as if her mind, when turned in certain directions, worked more slowly, and she shrank from off-world weapons—weapons fashioned to repel aliens from their use.

To prove this point to herself, she held out the beamer to the Princess. “If you will hold this—”

Then Roane laid her hand upon the butt of the stunner, although she did not draw it. And she had to force herself to that move. Her fingers shrank from touching the smooth metal. By the Tongue of Truth, what had happened to her? The cover which kept such a weapon inviolate on another world was operating against
her!
She was frightened as she had never been before in her life. Ludorica must have read that emotion in her expression, for she asked quickly:

“What is it? What is the matter?”

“It is nothing,” Roane said quickly. The Princess was entirely too sharp-eyed, and she must not let her suspect—the more so when she did not know the truth herself. “The rocking—it makes me sick.”

Ludorica grimaced. “I have traveled often by coach, though it is better to ride mounted, but never at such a wild pace. I, too, would like to—”

What she might have said was never uttered, for the gallop began to abate and the swing became less violent. They slowed and came to a halt.

“Be ready,” the Princess ordered. She still held the beamer, training it on the door to shine full in the face of whoever opened it. Roane forced herself to ready the stunner.

But nothing happened. They listened closely and could hear, very muffled by the walls, a faint jangling. Only the door did not open.

“I think we are changing duocorns!” the Princess said. “A fresh team, which means a longer journey. Already we are far past the distance to Gastonhigh.”

She must have been right, for only moments later there was a shudder through the coach and they were on the move again, first easily and then back to the rocking run which shook them so. Roane stowed away both stunner and beamer, not wanting to exhaust the charge in the latter. She was battered, sore, as if she had been beaten and bumped. But mercifully that second pounding did not last long. Once more they slowed to what was hardly more than a walking pace. The coach body tilted at an angle which suggested that they climbed. The Princess spoke again:

“We return to Reveny.”

“How can you tell?”

“This is hill country and the only hills close to Gastonhow are those of the border. Now there are only two possibilities as to who will meet us—some representative of the King, or Reddick!”

“But you think the latter.”

“Imbert must have been tricked. Yes, it will be best for us to expect the worst. I was foolish indeed—”

Either the dark which had held them for so long was lightening a little or else their eyes had adjusted. Roane could now make out the outline of her companion braced beside her on the seat.

“Fancher and the Soothspeaker—and how many others, some planted certainly in Imbert’s own household as he suspected. But even he could not have thought how deep their plans ran. Nelis—we can depend upon Nelis. Perhaps we shall have a chance after all. It rests now on where they take us.”

The Princess was quiet and Roane believed she must be weighing one chance against another. She had respect for Ludorica’s courage, endurance, and wits. But even those three in combination could not bring her safely out of some kinds of disaster.

It was time, surely it was time, for Roane to begin to think of herself. She had the stunner, against which on Clio there was no defense, and with it she could break free from any party ready to greet their arrival. Then, back to camp—if camp still existed and Uncle Offlas had not gone off-world.

The toiling of the coach became even more labored, and then its climbing slant leveled and it stopped. Again no one came to the door. There was a wait, during which they became fully aware of all their aches and bruises. When they started on, it was plain that they were now going downhill—luckily at a very slow pace or they would have been flung forward against the other seat. The slope of the road they followed must be steep. It did level out later, so that they rode in more comfort, and the light seeping in around the curtains grew stronger.

“It is full day. And we must cross the border soon. If we pass a gatehouse—” Then Ludorica shook her head. “No, they would not risk such passage unless they have good reason to believe this carriage will not be inspected. Yet this must be the main highway. A coach could not travel a lesser road. They must have a good plan—” She stopped so short that Roane turned to look at her.

The furred hood of the Princess’s cloak had fallen back, her head was a little forward, and she was staring at the coach wall directly ahead. Roane followed the direction of that survey.

From some crack there puffed a thread of white vapor. Roane caught the taint of a new odor against the musty closeness of the atmosphere.

“They—they drug us! That is upus smoke!”

Ludorica dropped her hold on the anchor strap, threw herself at the wall, holding a fold of her cape over the inflow of white. But it was little use—there were two more spirals at opposite sides. They could not hope to stop them all. Roane’s own move was not to try to hold out the menace but to force her belt into as small a package as she could.

Squirming about, she got up the heavy folds of her skirt and fastened the belt under it, though her fingers worked slower and slower and her head spun so that she had to fight to finish that job. Her last view of the Princess was of Ludorica sliding down the wall of the coach, away from the vent she had tried to cover, to lie upon the seat. And a moment or two later Roane followed her into the same unconsciousness.

She was warm, too warm. This was like lying under the desert sun of Cappadella. Roane stirred, brought up a hand to shield her face, her eyes, from the bite of the sun. But she did not lie on sand. Fabric of some kind drew and wrinkled under her as she moved. She opened her eyes.

Above her was dark wood, while across her face a bar of sunshine nearly blinded her. She turned her head fretfully. Her mouth was dry; her lips stuck together, and she parted them with difficulty. She wanted water, more than she ever had in her life, even in the desert country the sun reminded her of.

In the rays of the sun, on a small bench not too far away, stood a flagon. The shape of it promised what she needed so badly. Roane pulled herself up. Movement was a trial of strength, for she needed all the force of her will to make her body obey. She braced herself on stiff arms, her attention all for the flagon which might hold water.