"Don't!" they both cried. But she had run off down the garden path into the night and her mental admonition not to follow seemed to hang in the air, written in anguish.
"So Creyn was right after all," said Minanonn. "How very singular."
Dionket sighed. "I've had a hard day, and tomorrow will be even worse when I have to phase in you and the rest of the coercers. Don't worry about Elizabeth. She won't do anything rash tonight. I'm going to bed. Take my advice and do the same."
The two of them went back into the chalet. Somewhere a flute was playing.
9
IT WAS almost dawn. The First Day of the Grand Tourney was about to begin.
"I can't do it!" she protested to the Genetics Master. "I'm not worthy of such an honor."
But he said, "Don't be an idiot, girl. You're my guest—and my triumph!—andyou'll ride at my side and you'll love it."
And she did. And here they were, passing through the western gate of Nionel under the ritual overcast of the pearly sunrise, all in a great procession heading for the Rainbow Bridge.
Sugoll, as host of the games, led the way riding a white chaliko and wearing milk-colored armor chased with silver. Behind him came Katlinel in her auroral gown; and riding onher right hand were Sharn and Ayfa in jewel-lavished obsidian mail, and on her left Aiken-Lugonn the Shining One with Elizabeth, who wore Brede's black-and-scarlet robes and glittering mask. After the royalty, flanked by marching Howlers wearing their most attractive illusory bodies and carrying chains of flowers, rode the members of the High Table and the Gnomish Council in alternating double files. They were followed by the Howler Great Ones (and she and Greg-Donnet in the midst of them!) and the high nobility of the dimorphic race ranged four-and-four abreast, knights and noncombatants in colorful array. The rest of the Howler commons marched solemnly in the rear, carrying green branches and flower sheaves bound onto ribbon-topped poles. There were no skull-topped effigy standards in evidence, no martial battle-pennons, no unsheathed arms.
The air was alive with a deep humming, the Firvulag commonalty in the packed grandstand across the river voicing their traditional overture to the Opening of the Sky. In previous years, on the salt flats of the Tanu-dominated Grand Combat, the sound had been bitter and mindprickling. But here was no sterile expanse of sea bottom but rather a green meadow, and thousands of birds sang their dawn chorus in a cheerful descant to the portentous drone. Even the Firvulag nobles found themselves smiling as they crossed the Nonol and entered the Field of Gold, that scene of past glories, and noted that the Little People jammed their grandstand and overflowed onto the sidelines, whereas the other seating structure that accommodated Tanu and humanity was only three-quarters filled.
"How strangely bright everything looks!" she exclaimed to Greg-Donnet. "And so clear! It seems I can see every little flower in the festoons borne by our folk, and every gem adorning the armor of the Great Ones, and every decoration on every banner topping the twograndstands!"
"Binocular vision, my dear. Two eyes are much better than one. And, of course, you're happy."
The Royals were mounting the central dais before the twin stands, taking a position facing the eastern range of hills behind Nionel.
"I'm happy—and thankful to you, Greggy," she said. And then she peeped sidelong from beneath the ruby-studded bridal headdress. "Am I really beautiful now?"
Greg-Donnet kissed his fingertips in an extravagant gesture. "More than that. You're splendid."
Her mind still held a shadow of uncertainty. "Oh, Greggy, if only my Tonee were here to see. How will I bear the waiting?"
"Just a few days," he soothed her. "The King told me that Tony's job will be finished soon. He'll be able to join you before the end of the Tourney ... Now watch the Kings open the sky together. This is something new, to symbolize the bogus Armistice." He gave a sad giggle. "A nice sentiment, at any rate."
The small figure in golden armor and the gigantic one in sharply faceted black lifted Spear and Sword. The photon weapons sent em erald beams slanting skyward and the clouds parted as they had for countless millennia on lost Duat and for a thousand years on Pliocene Earth. As the entire assembly exerted its creativity, the mist rolled away and a shaft of sunlight shone upon the two monarchs. Tanu and Firvulag and Howler and human voices combined in the Song.
There is a land that shines through life and time,
A comely land through the length of the world's age,
And many-colored blossoms fall on it,
From the old trees where the birds are singing.
Every color glows there, delight is commonplace,
Music abounds on the Field of Gold,
On the Sweet-Scented Field of the Many-Colored Land,
On the Field of Gold to the north.
There is no weeping, no treachery, no grief,
There is no sickness, no weakness, no death.
There are riches, treasures of many colors,
Sweet music to hear, the best of wine to drink.
Golden chariots contend on the Plain of Sports,
Many-colored steeds run in days of lasting weather.
The host range over the Field of Sport,
It is beautiful and not weak their game is.
There will come at sunrise a star of morning,
Lighting up the land, riding the wave-beaten plain,
Stirring the sea until it turns to blood,
Raising the armies before the Singing Stone.
The Stone sings a Song to the host;
The music magnifies as all sing together.
Neither death nor the ebbing of the tide
Will come to those of the Many-Colored Land.
Elizabeth said to Aiken, "The words were different."
He said, "Morna-Ia Kingmaker said they were the ones we should sing this year." He gave her an enigmatic smile. "Look—here come the Firvulag artisans with the new trophy, the Singing Stone. Carved from a single huge aquamarine. Rumor hath it that the thing is aleady programmed to the aura of Sham and Ayfa. How do you like that for impudence?"
They were sitting in the Tanu royal enclosure watching the preliminary events. A lavish breakfast buffet had been spread and most of the High Table members and their guests were partaking heartily. The King only nibbled an unbuffered croissant. Elizabeth, whose lower face was still hidden by Brede's heavily gem-encrusted respirator, ate nothing.
She said, "The line in the Song about a 'star of morning' hit a trifle too close to the bone for my taste."
Aiken shrugged. "Marc's probably out there in the mob right this minute laughing himself sick at that cutesy-poo Firvulag folkdance routine going on around the Singing Stone. Florida was never like this."
"I don't suppose he tried to contact you?"
"About making a deal?" Aiken shook his head. "I'll give him credit for that much class. Not a peep. No ultimatum about me opening the Gateway sigma in exchange for his canceling Götterdämmerung."
"He knows you wouldn't betray the children once you placed them under your protection. He seems to have his own notion of honor."
"Not that it wouldn't be a simple solution to this crock of shit," Aiken said brutally. Tearing a chunk from the pastry, he chewed it in silence for a minute. "All I can do is hope that Hägen and his crew finish the Guderian device before Marc talks the Firvulag around. Once the kids are through to the Milieu, our homegrown Lucifer is euchred. I'll take my chances fighting Nightfall with the Firvulag just as long as Marc isn't leading them in metaconcert."
She said, "Whatever happens—I want to help you. You know I'm blocked against aggressive action, but there's still my farsensing function, and I can heal—"
She broke off, tears spilling from her eyes. The little man in the gold-lustre armor took both her hands in his own. "Why won't you go on Kyllikki?"
She looked away, shaking her head, trying to free her hands. The King only gripped hermore tightly.
"I don't want you here, Elizabeth. I want you safe. Kyllikki s
ails from Goriah tomorrow night. I'm going to fly you there and put you aboard with the others."
"No! I want to stay here and help you ... and if there's a chance of the time-gate opening—"
"So you'd go back to the Milieu if you could?"
"Wouldn't you?" she demanded hotly, her eyes glaring at him above the diamond mask.
He released her suddenly and she fell back in her chair. There was a roar from the crowd and a storm of laughter and applause. With the pompous formalities concluded, a troupeof Firvulag comedians were putting on a turn, making perilous mock of the Singing Stone and the upcoming factional rivalry for it. Almost everyone in the Tanu royal enclosure waswatching the fun. Nobody paid any attention to Aiken and Elizabeth.
He answered her question. "I'm the King and this is my land and I'll stay here until I die."
"Let me help you," she begged. "I want to very much, Aiken."
"All right." His agreement was abrupt. "If you'll take off the mask."
"No," she said stubbornly. "These people want me to symbolize Brede, and so I'm going to do it in full fig. Two-faced, just like her."
"Take it off." His black eyes were irresistible fonts of coercion. "Do you think I don't know what's in your mind? You don't want to be Brede, you want to be Saint Illusio the Martyr! And I'm a little slow on the uptake, so I've just begun to figure out why. But you're not going to get away with it, lass. You'll be no good to me playing weird little games: metapsychic hide-and-seek. If you're with me, it's going to be on my terms. Do you understand?"
"Yes." She reached up and unfastened the straps of the jeweled respirator, lowered it,and smiled at him in obvious relief. "It was getting very hot," she admitted. "I don't know what possessed me. It just seemed to be an appropriate gesture. Comforting. I suppose I was subconsciously hiding."
"That's right." He poured iced wine into a crystal goblet and held it out to her. "Andwhen you discover what you're hiding from, you'll be home free. Now drink this and relax. I'll see you later. It's time for me to be off and get things ready for our own half of the preliminary fun and games."
***
There were 900 knights in the precision-riding maneuver team, and they came proudly onto the field in Guild formations, led by the golden-armored King on his unique black steed. The chalikos of the company had their coats dyed in heraldic colors and were trapped in gem-studded garniture. Unicorn spikes adorned the mounts' chamfrons and they trailed gauzy lappets of gold or silver to match the floating capes and banner-topped lances carried by the riders. Following Aiken-Lugonn in the place of honor were the violet-and-gold knights of the Farsensor Guild; though few in number, they had been the first to take the King to kin. Then came the combatant redactors in ruby and silver; and the more numerous psychokinetics blazing rosy gold; and the bold sapphire chivalry of the Coercer Guild; andfinally the creators wearing lustrous and changeable sea-hues—cyan and beryl and olivine and deepest ultramarine glass armor. The Shining One took up a position in the middle of the display ground, and the riders maneuvered about him to the music of curling glass horns and thunderous kettledrums. The gorgeous clawed beasts marched and countermarched and wheeled and curvetted. They performed flashy caracoles and leaps, dancing in ever-changing patterns of color about the motionless King. Flowers bloomed, rainbow stars exploded and were metamorphosed into abstract swirling designs, and the Tanu and human spectators cheered and ooh'd at each fresh display of equestrian virtuosity.
"Very pretty," sneered King Sham, "if not particularly impressive from a martial arts point of view." He quaffed the beer in his skull-cup with a mighty gulp and gestured to adwarf servitor for a refill. "Freshen your lime squash, too, Cousin?"
"No, thank you, Awful King," Sugoll said.
"Tarting up the chalikos with those dye-jobs is a fairly recent innovation you may nothave seen before, Cousin. Lowlife golds introduced it at the Muriah games about thirty years ago, when they'd helped the Foe cement their domination of the Grand Combat. But you folks never bothered much with the ritual fighting, did you?"
"It was the reason we originally separated from the main body of Firvulag in my grandsire's day, and retreated to the hinterlands. The annual slaughter of the Combat had begunto seem meaningless to us."
In a low voice, Sharn said, "Don't mention it to the farts on my Gnomish Council—but Ayfa and I felt the same. War's good for one thing: putting yourself on top!"
"As it happens," Sugoll said, "I did attend the games in Muriah once. Last year, and incognito. I had been told that human scientists in thrall to the Tanu might have the technology to alleviate the deformities of my people. Thanks be to Teah the All-Merciful, this has proved to be true."
Sharn tipped a wink at the mutant. "If little Rowane turns out to be a typical refit job, you'll have to beat off Firvulag swains from your girlies with a stick at next year's Grand Loving! I suppose you'll be a candidate for the Skin-tank yourself now, eh?"
"I will be the last, as is fitting."
Sharn studied the foam in his goblet. "Oh. Well, of course. But you know, after we winthe Nightfall War, we'll have lots more of the Skin you can use. And we'll save the noncombatant redactors to help with your healing if they promise to behave."
Sugoll's illusory eyes regarded the King calmly. "As Teah wills."
"We need you on our side in Nightfall, Cousin. Are you with us?"
"I must do as the Goddess prompts me."
Sharn leaned forward. His face had become ominous in the ornate black-glass helm. "Shewills that we conquer, Cousin—and you'd better consider carefully if you think otherwise! Oh, I know what your Lady's been up to. Working on Ayfa, bad-mouthing Firvulag prospects in the war, saying we won't be able to hold our shit together when the Golden Futterbug comes against us in metaconcert ... Well, I'm bighearted, and I'll make allowances for Katy. She's a Tanu-human hybrid, after all, and probably a secret Peace Faction member to boot. But you've got a Firvulag soul, Cousin, no matter what shape your body is. You belong with us!"
Sugoll said, "We are all children of the Goddess, all of one blood in the great mystery, folk of Duat and folk of Earth fated to share each other's destiny."
"Bosh!" cried Sharn. "Boondock mysticism! While you lot were off in the wilderness thinking noble thoughts, the Tanu crushed our spirits with the help of their human minions. Now it's our turn! We've got the advantage and we're going to win!"
"Look," said the Howler Lord, pointing out onto the tournament field. "Aiken-Lugonn directs the finale of his demonstration."
"A Flying Hunt," Sharn growled. "It figures."
The Firvulag monarch and the mutant stood side by side watching. Out on the golden sand, the small figure on the black chaliko was the center of a vortex of iridescence. The jewel-colored knights on their faerie chargers were rising in a great spiral above him, mounting high into the clear blue sky as the blaring horns and the drums rolled to a crescendo.
"Nine hundred knights," Sharn said bitterly, "and he's hoisting them all himself, too, not phasing in a metaconcert."
"Aircraft are approaching," Sugoll noted.
Twenty-six dark flyers with the openhanded golden blazon arranged themselves in a vastdiamond pattern above the inverted cone of levitant knights. The rhocraft descended vertically until they floated a scant two hundred meters above the grandstands. The crawling purple network of the force-fields negating gravity's pull could be seen clearly, enveloping the birdlike shapes.
Suddenly, the music stopped.
The small golden manikin dismounted from his chaliko and stood with his arms raised high. The spiraling knights halted as though frozen in the bright transparent air. The spectators uttered a low sound, then were utterly silent.
The rho-fields clothing the fleet of aircraft winked out—and still the dark birds hung in the sky.
"Great Goddess," whispered Sharn.
Softly, the horns sang the Song of the Stone. Then it was finished, and the ships werecloaked again in violet fire and wafted away like a dri
ft of leaves. The Flying Hunt reversed its spiral, swiftly returned to earth, formed ranks, and marched away to a quick-beat of drums.
"Are you still confident of victory, Awful King?" Sugoll asked in a mild voice.
The ogre took a hasty swallow of beer. The dwarf with the pitcher came trotting up, a hesitant expression on his apple-cheeked face. "Majesty, I don't like bothering you ... but he won't go away."
"Who?" snarled the King. "What're you blithering about, Hofgarn?"
"A Lowlife requests audience, sire. A strapping sort of rogue with a very insolent manner who styles himself Star of Morning. He seems to think you're expecting him."
"I believe," Sharn said very slowly, "that I am." He turned to Sugoll. "Thank you for attending us, Cousin. I hope to see you after lunch, at the animal races, and at the Goblinade celebration tonight, together with your gracious Lady. You have my permission to withdraw."
The mutant arose, bowed his head, and moved away to join the others at the front end of the enclosure. Sharn beckoned for more beer in a peremptory manner. He took off his heavy glass helmet, ran fingers combwise through his sweaty hair, and said to the dwarf, "Bring the Lowlife to me now, Hofgarn. And see that we're not disturbed."
***
Late that evening, after Minanonn had farspoken the base at Goriah telling Commander Congreve that the healing of the black-torc children had finally been accomplished, a single aircraft came to evacuate Black Crag. It stood in the garden, long-legged beneath a gibbous Halloween moon, flight deck inclined like the head of a bemused crane, while the excited mothers carried their babies aboard. They were followed by the small teams of redactors and coercers of the Peace Faction, dead-tired but radiating profound satisfaction, and the chalet staff, and the few other residents who had stayed behind after Elizabeth's entourage went away to Nionel. Basil supervised the loading of the last pieces of baggagewhile Minanonn went through the shut-up lodge on a final tour of inspection.