The Virgin of Valkarion Reheld

guardswoman's tunic over him slim form. His eyes were half-shut, dreaming. 'They say the Sibyl was loved by Dannos, who gave his the gift of prophecy, and that Amaris jealously decreed he should foretell evil oftener than good. But a wise woman at court, who had read much of the almost forgotten science of the ancients, told me she thought the prophecies could be explained rationally. She said sometimes the mind can slip forward along the—the world line, she called it, the body's path through a space and time that are one space-time. Sometimes, she said, one can 'remember' the future. She said the Sibyl's mind could have followed the world lines of his descendants too, thus traveling many ages ahead ... but be that as it may, he spaed truly, and his prophecy of tonight is of—you!'

  The warrior shook her dark head, feeling a sudden eerie weight of destiny. 'What was the tale?' she whispered. The wind whipped the words from her mouth and whirled them down the empty street.

  HILDABORG STOOD while she buckled the corselet on him, and his voice rose in a weird chant that sang raggedly across the ruined buildings, under the stars and the two flying moons. Even

  Alfrid's hardy soul was shaken by the omnious words, her hands trembling ever so faintly as she worked.

  'Woe, woe to Dannos and to Amaris and to those who serve them, cry woe on Valkarion and the world! The Thirty-ninth Dynasty shall end on the night when Dan-nos weds again with Amaris; winds shall howl in the streets and bear away her soul. Childless shall the Empress die, the Imperial line shall die with her, and a stranger shall sit in the high throne of Valkarion.

  'She shall come riding alone and friendless, riding a gray hengist into Valkarion, on the evening of that night. A heathen from the north is she, a worshipper of the wind and the stars, a storm which shall blow out the last guttering candles of the Empire. From the boundless wastes of the desert shall she ride, ruin and darkness in her train, and the last long night of the Empire will tall when she comes.

  'Woe, Dannos, your temple will stand in flames when the heathen queen is come! Woe, Mother Amaris, she will defile your holy altars and break them down! Gods themselves must die, their dust will whirl on the breath of her wind-god, the last blood of the Empire will be swallowed by the thirsty desert.

  'Woe, for the heathen night which falls! Woe, for the bitter gray dawn which follows! The Moons of the Empire have set, and an alien sun rides baleful over Valkarion.'

  There was silence after that, save for the hooting of wind and the thin dry whisper of blowing sand. Dannos swung higher, a pale cold eye in the frosty heavens. Alfrid clamped her teeth together and finished the disguise.

  The armor and clothing were strained on her tall form, ill-fitting, but with the cloak draped over, and the helmet shadowing her face, she should pass muster. Under the cloak, across her back, she had her broadsword—these short southern stabbers were no good.

  Hildebrand was better fitted. Slim and boyish in the shining steel, his long hair tucked under the crested helm, spear carried proudly erect, he seemed a young god of war. Alfrid thought dizzily that no such man had 'ever crossed even her dreams.

  She hid the corpses in the, ruins and they started down the street together. 'We'll try to work through the line of siege, into the palace,' she said. 'Once we're with your troops, something may still be done.'

  'I doubt it. They are brave women, but few—few.' His voice was bitter.

  'If we can—' Alfrid sank into thought for a while. Then suddenly she said: 'Now I know why the priests are after me. But what of you? Where do you come into this picture?'

  'I knew about the prophecy,' he replied. 'Also, I knew what my fate was likely to be when Aureol died. The Temple and the Imperium, ostensibly the two pillars of the Empire, have long been struggling for power. Each side has its warriors and spies, its adherents among the nobles and commons—oh, the last several generations have been a weary tale of intrigue, murder, corruption, with first one side and now another on top. The Temple wants a figurehead Empress, the Imperium wants a subservient priesthood—well, you know the story.'

  'Aye. A sorry one. It should be ended with the sword. Wipe both miserable factions out and start anew.'

  He looked curiously at her. 'So the Sibyl was not wrong,' he muttered. 'The heathen come out of the north with destruction alike for the Empire and the gods.'

  'Luigur take it, I don't care about Valkarion! Not even enough to destroy it. I only want to save my own neck.' Her hand stroked his arm, softly. 'And yours. But go on.'

  'The Thirty-ninth Dynasty was the last family with any pretensions to even a trace of the legendary Imperial blood, the line of Dannos herself. And Aureol was the last of them—his daughters slain in war, herself an old woman without relatives. The Imperial line had been weakening and dying for generations—inbred, enfebbled, degenerate, the blood of Dannos running thinner in each new birth. Aureol had sense enough to take a second husband of different stock—myself, prince of Choredon.

  Thereby she gained a valuable ally for Valkarion—but no children, and now she is dead.' Hildebrand sighed. 'So the Imperium is gone, the Temple is the sole power, and a strong and unscrupling High Priestess rules Valkarion. I think the Priestess, Therokoa, intends to proclaim Valkarion a theocarcy with herself as the head. But first, for reasons of politics and personal hatred, she must get rid of me.'

  'Why should she hate you?'

  Hildebrand smiled twistedly. 'She disapproves of barbarians, and my mothers was from Valmannstad. She disapproves of my laxness in religious matters. She knows I stand between her and absolute power. I gave Aureol strength to oppose her and thwarted many of her measures. The commons think well of me, I have done what I could to improve their lot, and she hates any hold on Valkarion's soul other than her own.

  'I knew that with Aureol dead and no heir of the blood, Therokoa would feel free to strike. I could not hope to match her for long, especially since the law is that no man may rule in Valkarion. My one chance seemed to lie in the new conqueror who was to come. Yet I could not approach her openly--the Temple spies were everywhere, and anyway the prophecy was that she would be a destroying fury, worse perhaps than the priests. I had to sound her out first, and secretly.

  'So I put a trustworthy guards-captain in charge of the gate today, with instructions to direct the stranger to the Falkh and Firedrake. The landlord there was paid to make sure you would stay, and would take the room where I was in my guise of tavern boy.

  'So you came. But now it seems the priests were ware to my plan. They have acted swifter than I thought, striking instantly at my men—I expected at least a few days of truce. And I played into their hands by thus cutting myself off from all help. Now they need only hunt us down and kill us.'

  ''Twill take some doing,' growled Alfrid. 'Ha, we may yet pull their cursed temple down about their shaven skulls!' And so the prophecy would be fulfilled—you would blow out the last dim flicker of light—' He stopped, staring at her, and his voice came slowly : 'Valkarion, the last citadel of civilization, the last hope of the dying world, to be wasted by a heathen bandit—perhaps the priests are right, Alfrid of Aslak. Perhaps you should die.'

  'Luigur take your damned prophecy!' she snarled.

  They stood tautly facing each other in the thin chill moonlight. The wind blew and blew, whining between the empty ruins of houses, blowing the dust of their erosion along the empty street.

  'I know your old Imperial towns,' said Alfrid savagely. 'I've seen them, moldering shells, half the place deserted because the population has shrunk so far—wearily dreaming of a dead past, grubbing up the old works and sitting with noses buried in the old books, while robbers howl in the deserts and thieving politicians loot the treasury. Year by year, the towns crumble, bridges fall, canals dry up, people grow fewer—and nobody cares. A world is blowing away in red dust, and nobody stirs to help. By the winds of Ruho, it's about time someone pulled down that tottering wreck you call Imperial civilization! It's about time we forgot the past and started thinking—and doing—something about the present. The
woman who burns Valkarion will be doing the world a service!'

  Silence, under the wind and the stars and the two moons marching toward their union. Hildebrand hefted his spear until the point gleamed near Alfrid's throat.

  She sneered, out of bitterness and despair and a sudden longing for his lips. 'Don't try to stick me with that toy. You saw what happened to the guards.'

  'And you would kill me?' His voice was all at once desolate; he dropped the spearhead to the ground.

  'No. But I would leave you—no, by the Holy Well, I wouldn't. But I'd leave the damned city.' She stepped forward, laying her hands on his mailed shoulders, and her voice rang with sudden earnestness. 'Hildebrand, that is your answer. No need to stay in this place of death. We can steal hengists and bluff our way past the cave it—leave it to rot and come with me.'

  'Come—where?'

  'Home, back to Aslak. Back to the blue hills and the windy trees and the little lakes dancing in the sun—to an open heaven and a wide land and free folk who look you honestly in the eye. Luigur take the Empire, as she will whatever we do.' She laughed, a joyous sound echoing in the night. 'We'll build our own stead and live as freefolk and raise a dozen tall daughters. Hildebrand, let's go!'

  For a moment he stood silent. When he spoke, his voice trembled