The Golden Torc

  Brede bowed her head. "I will give you your balloon. And if you wish, I will deal with the Host of Nontusvel. Please—let me go with you to the King."

  "Very well."

  The two of them went out and stood again briefly on the promontory above the White Silver Plain. The salt was crowded with miniature lights. As the time for the Grand Combat approached, the tent-city of the Firvulag grew. Even though it was the middle of the night, supply caravans flanked by rama linkmen could be farsensed as they crept down the slope south of the city toward the temporary encampment. Landing stages at the shore of the lagoon were illuminated and there were lights on the water as well.

  Brede studied the scene, masked and inscrutable. "Only three weeks until the Grand Combat, and then it will be resolved."

  "Three weeks," Elizabeth repeated, "and six million years."

  7

  AT THE TIME of the Grand Combat Truce, all roads in the northern regions of the Many-Colored Land led to Roniah. Through this city passed Tanu and Firvulag alike on their way to the games—the Great Ones of both exotic races traveling via riverboat while the humbler majority followed the Great South Road that paralleled the west bank of the Rhône all the way down to Lac Provenpal and la Glissade Formidable.

  Most of the travelers from northern regions broke their journey at the Roniah Fair. There the ancient enemies mingled freely in a once-a-year orgy of commerce that extended through the middle two weeks of the pre-Combat Truce, day and night without a letup. Booths were set up along the great pillared midway and among the surrounding exterior gardens of the river city. The peripheral area became a huge campground where human and Firvulag entrepreneurs presided over tented caravanserais and dining establishments catering to the tourists.

  This year it was the Finiah refugees, well supplied with money but almost completely bereft of possessions, who were the most eager customers at the Fair. To bolster their spirits they spent lavishly for the luxury goods that were the stock-in-trade of Firvulag crafters: polished gems and amber, jewelry, novelties carved of ivory or semiprecious stone, gold and silver gewgaws, begemmed headdresses and garment trims, fancy tack for chalikos, ornate belts and scabbards and battle-harness, perfumes and unguents and scented soaps derived from wildflowers and herbs, peculiar liqueurs, psychoactive flycap and panaeolus fungi, and delicatessen such as wild honey, candies with alcoholic syrup centers, truffles, garlic, spices, gourmet sausages, and that paramount exotic delectable—wild strawberry preserves. More-staple goods were purveyed by human vendors from Roniah and the other Tanu settlements: fine textiles and readymade garments, dyestuffs and other domestic chemicals, glass tools of every description, glass tableware and containers, glass armor, and glass weapons. From the Tanu plantations flowed quantities of beer, wine, and spirits packaged in wooden casks or leather bottles, smoked and preserved meats, dried and pickled fruits and vegetables, and a wide variety of nonperishable cereal products such as flour, groats, and plain and flavored hard-breads. The food was not only sold to the travelers, but was also sent down the river to aid in the provisioning of the Grand Combat itself.

  Late on October fourteenth a certain refugee party came riding down the crowded highroad and arrived at the Roniah Fair. It made its way into the private campground area where petty Tanu and Firvulag nobility could erect their own pavilions separate from the commonalty. The group of travelers was unique only in that it consisted entirely of humans. There were two gold-torc ladies who might have been mother and daughter—the elder wearing flowing emerald gauze robes and an outrageous jeweled chapeau, the younger in full blue coercer's armor and a golden cloak, bearing a lance from which floated a banner of gold with a raven displayed sable. The ladies' entourage consisted of five bronze-armored soldiers led by a captal of gigantic stature, an elderly steward, two handmaids, and a gnarled little one-legged wrangler, in whose presence the pack-chalikos and remounts seemed unaccountably skittish.

  "Yes—we lost everything in the Finiah disaster," the grandam told the sympathetic human campmaster as they signed in. "All save a few treasures and these faithful gray-torc servants are gone, leaving my daughter and me sadly destitute. Still ... there is the possibility that we may recoup our fortunes at the Combat, for the Lady Phyllis-Morigel has trained diligently and shows great promise as a warrior-maid, and so we may gain both riches and revenge at the White Silver Plain, if Tana wills."

  The campmaster saluted respectfully. The lovely young face of the Lady Phyllis-Morigel smiled at him beneath the raised visor of her helmet. "Good fortune will surely attend you in the lists, Lady. I can feel your mighty coercive power even though you've got it leashed back."

  "Phyllis, dear," the old woman chided. "For shame."

  The girl blinked and the wave of coercion receded. "Your pardon, Worthy Campmaster. I didn't mean to press you. This will be my first Combat and I'm overexcited."

  "Small wonder," said the man. "But don't you worry, little Lady. Just keep cool and you'll come out a sure winner in the prelims. I've got a feeling about you."

  "You're kind to say so, Campmaster. I feel that I've been waiting all my life to participate in the games..."

  "Ladies, it's late," interrupted the old steward, who had been fidgeting in the saddle during the chitchat. "You must rest."

  "Master Claudius is right," said the huge captal of the guard. "Tell us our allotted space, Campmaster, so that we can rest our bones. We've been on the trail six days and we're worn out."

  "Six days," tsk'd the campmaster. "Then you weren't with the refugee group that was sheltered at Castle Gateway?"

  Hastily, the captal said, "We were too late to join the train led by Lord Velteyn. There is great confusion still in the northland."

  The campmaster studied a board-map. "Most of your fellow citizens from Finiah who are still here are camped in the riverfront spaces, which are the most attractive sites that we have. I can place you down there for only a slight surcharge—"

  The old woman was firm. "Much as we would like to join our compatriots, it is necessary that we economize so that we will not run short of funds at the Combat itself. Furthermore, we should be embarrassed among our friends because we are unable to reciprocate any entertainment they might offer us. Therefore, good Campmaster, indicate to us a modest place sufficient for our two tents and the picketing of our animals. One would prefer high ground, if this is available."

  Slightly disappointed, the man restudied his board. "Well, there's Number 478 on the northern edge of Section E. High and breezy—but you'll have to carry water."

  "It will do splendidly. My noble daughter will bring us water by virtue of her psychokinetic power. The fee? Ah. Ça y est. And now we bid you good night."

  The man took the coins and threw a shrewd glance at the warrior-maid. "So you have PK, too—eh, Lady Phyllis? Now I'm positive you'll do well in the lists! I'll watch for you and risk a few bob. As a rookie, you should get nice long-shot odds. Yes, indeed!" He waved a cordial farewell as the party rode down the lamp-bordered lane into the hurly-burly of the crowded campground.

  "You dummy, Felice," said Chief Burke. "What's the idea letting loose your coercion? Now that man's going to remember you."

  She gave a light laugh. "He'd remember us anyway, Peo. At least now he knows I'm a genuine gold. You should have seen your face when that guy suggested we camp next to the Finiah crowd!"

  "This is our worst danger," Madame said. "Felice and I may easily delude any torced persons by pretending to be half-deranged with grief because of our misfortunes. But the rest of you, with your sundered gray torcs, are sure to be detected as interlopers if Tanu or torc-wearing humans attempt to communicate with you mentally. You must stay close to Felice and me at all times so that we may intercept and turn aside any telepathic importunities. The purchase of supplies and forage must be undertaken tonight by Fitharn. Unless he is deliberately probed by a powerful metapractitioner, he will be above suspicion."

  "I still think it's risky camping in here," sai
d Vanda-Jo.

  "We've been over that," Burke said. "This far south, it would be suspicious if we tried to camp anywhere else."

  "No more Firvulag tumuli to shelter in down here, missy," Fitharn said. "The Little Folk in these parts don't dare have large settlements, the way we do up north. Only single-family burrows for the most part, well-hidden in the wildest regions far from the trails. Folks around here are leery of strangers—even ones that come recommended by King Yeochee."

  "We have already had hints," remarked Madame with some tartness, "that the royal authority becomes exiguous in the hinterlands."

  Fitharn grinned. "Our King's sovereignty is a little less formal than old Thagdal's. We've an elected monarchy, you know. But we Firvulag are loyal in our fashion. And unlike some other people I could mention, we'd never stoop to using a deposed ruler as a life-offering."

  The party came into a region where the tents and campfires were more widely spaced. There were large rock outcroppings and fewer trees and the lamp-bordered trail led increasingly uphill. That they traversed the low-rent district was obvious from the small number of chalikos and hellads that were pegged out among the campsites. The shelters were mostly black Firvulag tents or the motley lodgings of elderly Tanu bachelors. Unlike the noisy conviviality of the central area, this part of the campground was somnolent except for the calling of insects and snorts and grumbles from domestic animals.

  Fitharn said, "Here's 478. Nice and secluded." He, of course, could see in the dark better than the humans could see by daylight. Hopping easily on his pegleg, he went up the rocks that hemmed the space on three sides and ascertained that the adjoining sites were empty. "Our closest neighbors are Firvulag, Madame. Looks like a perfect spot. I'll hobble the beasts for unloading and take a pair of remounts to the Fair for supplies right away."

  Felice swung down from the saddle of her tall steed. "And I'll set up the tents." She came over to Amerie's mount and smiled up at the nun, who, like Vanda-Jo, was disguised in the blue-and-yellow-striped robes of a gray-torc serving woman. "Still feeling creaky? Let me help you."

  Amerie was levitated out of the saddle and floated gently to earth.

  "You're learning how, all right," the nun observed.

  "Oh, yes. By the time we reach Muriah, I should have it pretty well figured out."

  "How about Madame and me?" Vanda-Jo was letting her irritation show. "And poor old Claude and Khalid could use a leg down, too."

  The athlete bent her psychokinetic power to the unseating of the others. Then, as Peo and Basil and Gert and Hansi unloaded the pack-animals, the girl erected the two Tanu-style tents, with their telescoping poles and guy-lines, simply by putting her mind to it. Another mental exercise brought waters streaming through the air from the Rhône, which lay nearly half a kilometer away, into three large decamole tubs that the men had set inflated and ready. An entire deadwood tree, plucked from the cliffs behind the camp, came sailing down and landed without a sound at the edge of the site.

  "Now comes the dicey part," Felice said, concentrating. "My creativity isn't under control yet, so everybody stand back while I blast the tree into firewood. I hope! If I bobble it, we'll end up with charcoal or ashes, so cross your fingers."

  Zap.

  "Oh, well done," said Basil. "Split her right down the middle. Now off with the branches, my dear."

  Zap zap zap. Pammedy-pow-pow-pow.

  "Slice 'er like bratwurst!" Uwe urged. The girl's small-scale mental lightning flared again and again, cutting the tree into convenient billets. When the pile of wood lay there, steaming gently, most of the party applauded.

  Madame said, "One can perceive that your three primary metafunctions are developing to a formidable degree, ma petite. You will exercise prudence, will you not?"

  "Haven't I behaved myself on the trip from Hidden Springs?" Felice inquired reproachfully. "Don't worry. I won't go wandering away to show off. I want to see these Tanu bastards screwed just as much as you do, Madame. I won't jeopardize the plan."

  The old woman looked exhausted, but she said with determination, "C'est bien. Then let us have a small council of war before our good friend Fitharn returns. The time has come for important decision making."

  "We can gather round the campfire," said Felice.

  A dozen stool-sized rocks came flying through the darkness and formed a circle. Pieces of wood arranged themselves into a cone and ignited when a glowing ball of psychoenergy materialized beneath them. Within perhaps ten seconds, the fire was ablaze. The conspirators sat down on the rock seats and began divesting themselves of armor and other superfluous gear.

  "We have arrived," Madame said, "at a critical point in our enterprise. The usefulness of Fitharn and his Firvulag confrères is virtually at an end, since they will not violate the Truce by participating directly in any attack upon the Tanu. We, of course, have no such scruples. We Lowlives are ever outlaws, protected by no Truce. We know what we may expect if we should be captured. Nevertheless, the exotic enemy will not expect us to strike again so soon after Finiah. Tanu intelligence is doubtless aware that most of our irregulars have dispersed. They will expect us to consolidate our position in the north—which we are doing, of course—but they can scarcely dream that we would be so bold as to move against them in the south, on their own home ground."

  Chief Burke said, "The presence of Tanu refugees has worked in our favor. There are so many ill-equipped exotics on the road that our group, dressed in the stuff Felice liberated at Finiah, attracts no particular attention."

  "Things have progressed smoothly thus far," Madame agreed. "But now begins the most dangerous part of the operation. The new moon is on the twentieth, six days from now. This is also the last day of the Roniah Fair, after which there will be an emptying of this campground as the exotic people hurry on to the White Silver Plain. It is my belief that the torc factory strike-force should embark at once for Muriah via riverboat. It is possible to make the trip in less than four days—perhaps only three—if a skilled skipper is obtained and one can conjure up psychokinetic winds."

  "We'll find us a good boatman," said Felice, peeling off her sapphire shell. "And he'll do exactly as we say, once Khalid puts the chisel to his gray torc."

  "You're sure you'd rather not try to mind-bend him?" the metalsmith asked Felice.

  "I'm still too clumsy to work through the torcs. If he fought me, I could accidentally kill him. Don't worry—I'll be able to tame him barenecked."

  Madame continued. "We may hope that you will arrive in Muriah around the dark of the moon, obtain the assistance of Aiken Drum if possible, and mount your attack at a suitable time. Let us say, early on the twenty-second. In the small hours of the morning. And at dawn, I myself will put the message through the time-portal."

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  "So you're still determined to make the grand gesture," Claude said.

  The firelight showed Madame's face tightened into its most obstinate expression. "We have been over this. There are only two of us capable of approaching the time-gate under the cloak of invisibility—and Felice would be wasted in the Castle Gateway operation. Her great talents can best be used in the southern thrust, while my more meager ones are quite adequate for the castle action."

  "You'll have to wait around here for a week," Claude said. "What if you come down with another pneumonia attack?"

  "Amerie has given me medicines."

  "So you'll just stroll up to the time-gate and toss the amber inside!"

  "Au juste."

  "Velteyn is still at Castle Gateway coping with his refugees," Chief Burke warned. "He may not go south until the last minute. We know that he has no difficulty seeing through your illusions. You may be able to approach the gate without being detected—but I doubt that your creative metafunction would be able to operate within the tau-field itself. Once you throw the message carrier inside, it will become visible to the guardians and soldiers standing nearby. They'll sound the alarm."

&nbs
p; Claude added, "And Velteyn or some other high-powered Tanu will come running and melt your personal invisibility screen like the snows of yesteryear."

  "I will have accomplished my task," the old woman said.

  "And died!" Claude exploded. "But it's not necessary, Angélique! I've thought of another way." And he told them.

  Uwe nodded his bearded head. "That just might march, Claude. You should be able to do the necessary work without difficulty, and it would solve the problem of finding a place for Madame to hide out as well. And you'd be a backup for her in case—"

  Claude broke in. "You guys don't need me down south. I'd be a nuisance—I admit it. But up here, I can be an asset."

  "We know your motives, all right," Felice said. "Chivalrous old poop."

  Madame glanced around the circle, then made a small gesture of resignation. "We will revise the castle action as Claude has recommended, then. At dawn on the twenty-second, when we two make our attempt against the time-gate, the rest of you will already have accomplished the assault on the torc factory."

  "Sit deus nobis," muttered the nun.

  Chief Burke said, "Our iron will be a secret weapon in any hand-to-hand fighting with the Tanu, but it will have no special advantage over human enemies—especially gold-torcs. We have only two weapons with really large destructive potential for the blasting of the Coercer Guild stronghold. There's Felice's psychozap—which may or may not be powerful enough to do the job—and the Spear. "

  "Which is nothing but a pretty glass clothespole," Khalid reminded them, "unless we get Aiken Drum to help us recharge it ... How about it, Felice? Do you think your energy projection will build up strong enough to break down thick masonry and bronze doors?"

  "As of now, I doubt it," the girl said. "I get better every day, but we'd damn well better not plan on that kind of attack. But, listen—as I understand it, our primary target isn't the whole headquarters building but just the factory part. Wouldn't those torc components be delicate little gadgets? Could be, all we'll have to do is bring the roof down on 'em and it's bye-bye, baby! Vanda-Jo could tell by looking at the building just what spots I'd have to hit. Right?"