And another memory. Rick's shouting rage when finally he understood what Sarakos had done to her. Almost, almost he had gone back to seek out Sarakos, but then Gwen spoke to him for a long time, and they rode on again.
But he did rage. He hates the man who harmed me.
"We hae our troubles here," Drumold was saying. "There was untimely rain, and the harvests will be poor. Wi'out the archers sent with you, we hae lost many of our pastures. Mac Clallan Muir does not stand so high as at the time you left, and when it is learned that my daughter can no longer send a thousand lances to my aid, it will go worse. Now you hae brought us guests who may draw the strength of Sarakos against us. Daughter, 'tis no' your fault, but this is not good."
He looked to his silent henchmen. They had no advice for him. Then he stared moodily into the fire. "But they are guests and they have my welcome, for what good it will be to them."
"What's taking them so damned long?" Corporal Mason asked. "My stomach's growling. They could at least feed us."
"I expect that's what the debate is about," Gwen said. "Hospitality is taken very seriously in some cultures. If they feed us, they have to take us in and protect us from our enemies."
"Well, I wish they'd get on with it."
"Count your blessings," Rick told him. "At least there's a warm fire and we'll get a safe night's sleep." Which, he thought, was more than they'd had for weeks while they fled across Drantos, staying ahead of the occupation forces that Sarakos and his new allies sent out in waves. It had been a nightmare journey, with all three of them sick with classic cases of Montezuma's Revenge, knowing nothing of the language and customs.
"But we made it," he said aloud. "And without leaving tracks. So now what do we do?"
"Blend in," Gwen said. "Get established in the community."
"Sure." Rick pointed out the window. The scenery was lovely. The village stood on a flat alpine meadow high above the sea, ringed on three sides by snowcapped mountains. Except for the seacoast to the southeast, it might have been a scene from a picture postcard of Switzerland. "Beautiful," he said. "But I don't see a hell of a lot of cultivated land, and some of the fields I did see were gullied. No industry, and not much pastureland. Gwen, you've noticed more than I have, but it's obvious even to me that this is a warrior society. They probably get more of their food by raiding their~ flatland neighbors than they do by growing their own. There's only one way Mason and I can make a living here. Fortunately, it's a trade we know."
"Until we run out of cartridges," Mason said. "Which may not take long."
"So we get busy manufacturing muzzle-loaders," Rick said. "I've been trying to remember the formula for gunpowder. I think I've got it."
"Rick, you can't!" Gwen protested.
"Why not? You want them unspoiled? Think arrows are a cleaner way to go than gunshots?"
"It's not that," Gwen said. "God, I wish my head would stop aching. Rick, if you start using gunpowder weapons, you'll advertise our location as surely as if you sent Parsons a letter."
Mason growled low in his throat. "Cap'n, I don't know about you, but I'm sick of worrying about Lieutenant-ha, he's a general by now-about Parsons. You saw the country we came through gettin' here. With five hundred good men, we could hold those passes forever. To hell with bein' scared of Parsons and his crew. I just wish I could be sure he'd come."
"He's right," Rick said. "And he's not the only one tired of running scared."
"Have you stopped to think that the Shalnuksis may help Parsons?" Gwen said. "Probably will. Can you fight them? Not to mention that you're involving Tylara's father in a needless war with the most powerful force on this planet." She sniffed. "I'd thought better of you than that."
"What the hell do you want us to do?" Rick demanded.
"What we agreed. Leave as few traces of our presence as possible-at least until the Shalnuksis have done with their trading. Once they're gone, you'll only have Parsons to fight."
Once again, Rick thought. Once again she makes sense. But why do I think she isn't telling me everything?
2
The cave was cold and smelled of ammonia. Rick shivered as the old priest led him down winding corridors. "This is all secret," Yanulf said. "Although a secret better kept in the west than here.
Still, secret enough."
"What is secret?" Rick asked. "Everyone knows there are caverns-"
"But not the size, or the location of the entrances, or how to enter them."
"Why show me?" Rick asked. He coughed from the ammonia fumes and the chill.
"They may believe you-they pay little heed to me," Yanulf said. "And I have learned this; that you star men put your own meaning to what you see."
"This is all strange to me," Rick said. "What makes it so cold?"
Yanulf held the torch close to a bulbous slimy mass that covered one wall of the cavern. "The roots of the Protector. A plant. It is why I know the stories of the Demon Sun are true. In all my life I have never seen the Protector larger than a man's body. Recently it began to grow, and now grows daily. The growth began when the Demon Star was seen in the night sky, as the legends said it would."
"How does a plant make ice?" Rick wondered aloud. "There must be parts above ground-"
"Aye. It is very large. Thick leaves. In the west the castles are built above caverns, and the Protector climbs the walls and battlements. In this impoverished land they build few castles, and the plant grows on the rocks. You have seen it."
"Ah." He remembered a broad-leafed vine with thick stems and ugly white berries. "Scientists-uh, those whose task it is to study nature-in my home would pay much to see a plant like this." Sunlight to ammonia, and somehow the ammonia produced cold; the evolutionary advantage for such a plant on a planet in a triple-star system was obvious. "What is it you want me to see?"
"The size of the caverns and the barren storerooms. When the Time is upon us, the only safe refuge is in these caves. There will be no crops that year or the next, and poor ones for two more. So say the legends. Your drawings of the suns make me believe them."
"Which is surprising," Rick said. "You are a priest of Ius Pater, the Dayfather. Did you not think the stars are gods?"
"Can they not be?" Yanulf demanded. "You say yourself that they are older than worlds and burn forever."
And I'd best leave it at that, Rick thought. I wonder why all the secrecy. Who are they hiding from?
Yanulf opened a massive wooden door. The smell of ammonia was very strong, and Rick thought the torch dimmed. The priest held the torch high, and coughing, said, "You see. A few miserable offerings. There is meat and grain, aye, enough for a few ten-days, but not enough even for a single winter. How will these people live in the Time?"
The legends said that the approach of the third sun heralded evil times: fire, flood, famine, and typhoon. Those not prepared would die. They were mixed in with tales of the wars of gods, the appearance of fabulous monsters, and garbled stories whose point was the futility of dealing with the evil gods from the skies. It was hard to sort fact from fable, but Rick didn't doubt there would be hard times ahead. The whole climate would change.
They went deeper. The caverns were quite large, and some went far below ground level, back into the granite itself. Water trickled through some of the chambers. Others were choked with ice.
"It is said that Yatar demands sacrifices," Yanulf said. "These are stored away, to be cared for by the priests and acolytes. In some lands the storerooms are kept filled. But not here."