Lockridge collected his wits. Here was a chance to get an honest account. “I went afar, on Her business,” he said slowly, “And know not what’s happened in these lands. No little surprised am I to find your clan returned.” He planted a barb: And to find yourself playing sentry like any common youth.”
Withucar signed himself and answered with quick gravity, “Who but the highest born is fit to serve Her?”
Uh . . . yes. Still, when did the charioteers do so?”
“Since this midsummer, or a while after. See you, we were a frightened people, after him we thought the very Firelord was beaten and ourselves scattered by outlanders whose weapons were real metal. We counted ourselves lucky to get home, I can tell you, and made big sacrifices to the gods of this land. But an emissary came from Her and spoke to our council. He said She was not too angry with us, we being simple folk whom the giant had tricked. Indeed, She would fain use us as warriors, for Her own must go back whence they came.”
Of course, Lockridge remembered. The English had to be sent home: too ill adapted to be efficient help in this age, not to mention being too noticeably foreign. Storm had dropped a remark about some idea she’d gotten, for arming this headquarters of her newest theatre of operations. . . .
“Well,” Withucar continued, “we were unsure. Adventurous youngsters might join Her guard for some years. But family men? So far from our own kind and gods? Then the emissary explained She wanted a warrior people to come and stay. The fishermen are brave, but untrained in order of battle and modern weapons. She wanted us, not only our hale men but our entire tribe.
“We would get land, and be honoured. So would our gods be. Sun and Moon, Fire and Water, Air and Earth—why should they not wed, and be worshipped alike? So in the end, those phratries you have seen remembered how they were getting too large for their pastures, bethought themselves what could come of alliance with One so powerful, and trekked hither.
“Thus far, we’ve fared right well. We’ve skirmished just enough with the Sea People further along this shore to keep us sharp and fetch in some plunder and slaves., Next year there will belike be a real thrust, to make those places pay Her due respect which haven’t already done so. Meanwhile, we are settling down in a good land; and She, Sister to the Sun, walks among us.”
Storm, these Northern races were never before cursed with empire.
Harshly, Lockridge asked, “How do you get along with the Avildaro natives?”
Withucar spat. “Not so well. They dare not fight, when She has said they must not touch us. But some have stolen off overseas, and the rest are a surly lot. Why, you know what their women are like; yet if a lad of ours wants a bit of fun, his only hope is to catch one in the greenwood and force her. For we’re not supposed to harm them either, you know.” He brightened. “However, give us time. If they’ll not often trade with us, we can manage by ourselves. In the end, we’ll make them ours, even as our ancestors made those they overra’ into their own image.” He leaned close, nudged Lockridge in the ribs, and confided, “Indeed, She intends that outcome. She promised me Herself, not long ago, there’d be weddings between the high houses of both people. And that way, you see, the inheritance goes from their mothers to our sons.”
And the end of it, Lockridge thought, is Junker Erik.
No, wait. That was Ranger work.
But hadn’t the Wardens laid the foundation?
He fell so silent that Withucar was hurt and returned to his post. The sun moved toward afternoon.
For all his brooding, Lockridge was idiotically glad when Hu appeared and said, “She will see you now.” He almost sprang past the curtain. No one followed him.
The Long House was still fireless, coldly lit by the globes. The blackness still cut off the rear end. Where Lockridge stood, the floor had been covered with some hard material and the walls draped in grey. Furnishings and machines of the future stood among the wooden pillars like a jeer.
Storm came toward him.
The gauntness of her captivity had departed. Blue-black hair, golden skin, sea-green eyes, glowed as with a light of their own, and her gait flung her robe back against breast, hip, and leg until he must think anew of the Winged Victory. That robe was white today, deeply cut, trimmed with the blue of Crete’s kingdom. The lunar crescent shimmered above her brows.
Malcolm,” she said, in his own language. “This is my true ward: that you came back.” She caught his face between her hands and looked at him through a beating stillness. “Thank you,” she said in the Orugaray.
He knew when a woman awaited a kiss. Dizzily, he stood his ground and tried to keep every doubt and resentment. “Hu must’ve given you my report,” he said. “I’ve nothin’ to add.”
“Nothing you need add, my dear.” She gestured to a seat “Come. We’ve everything to talk about.”
He joined her. Their knees touched. A bottle and two filled goblets stood before them. She gave him one and raised her own. “Will you drink to us?”
“Brann gave me wine too,” he rasped.
Her smile faded. She regarded him long before she set her glass down again. “I know what you are thinking,” she said.
“That the Wardens are no better than the Rangers, and to hell with ’em both? Yeah, I reckon so.”
“But it isn’t true,” she said earnestly, never releasing his eyes. “Once you mentioned the Nazis of your time as a case of absolute evil. I agree. They were a Ranger creation. But think—be honest—suppose you were a man from the Neolithic now, transported to 1940. How much difference between countries could you have seen?”
“Your cousin Yuria used some such line of argument.”
“Ah, yes. Her.” Briefly, the full mouth hardened. “Someday I must do something about Yuria.”
She eased, laid her hand on his thigh, and said soft and fast, “You met two, exactly two people in my future, who for their own purposes had rescued you. For an hour or so, you were in their world. They took you back to a place of their own choosing, and left you after making some calculatedly ambiguous remarks. Come, Malcolm, you have had scientific training. What sort of basis is that on which to draw conclusions? Any conclusions!
“You saw what you were meant to see. You heard what you were intended to hear. They want something to come about to which you are a key. But what is a key, except a tool? You saw merely a world that has changed. How do you know the roots of that change are not a Warden victory? I think they must be.
“For, Malcolm, a great deal of the wrong you met in my land is due to the war. Without an enemy, we would need less discipline, we would be free to experiment and reform. Yes, I know what Istar is like. But you are not so naive as to think the most absolute ruler can simply issue a decree and have her will come to pass. Are you? I must use what fate has given. It so happens that Istar supports me. Her successor—and I cannot upset the law of succession with dangerously shaking the whole realm—the one who would come after her is of another faction.”
“Yuria’s?” he asked from his daze.
Storm grinned. “Dear Yuria. How she would like to be Koriach! And what a poor one she would make!” She grew sober. “I don’t undervalue myself, Malcolm. You have seen what I can do. By trapping Brann, with your help, I have dealt the Rangers what could be the start of a mortal blow. So few are able to mount these temporal operations, and so much depends on them. While Brann was free, most of my energy had to go simply to fending him off. Now, I know who’s gotten his command, and frankly, I can think circles around Garwen.
“But our very triumph has loosed a whole new set of problems. While you were gone, faithful Hu had his spies out, and his messengers went back and forth. My rivals—oh, yes, there are more and darker palace intrigues at home than you have guessed—those who plot against me, under the hood of friendship we must wear while the war continues—they’ve seized on the strategic issue. Did not Yuria hint at rewards if you would be her agent in my camp?” Lockridge must nod. “Well, for purposes of rallying support, that faction maintains we must continue to concentrate our efforts in the Mediterranean and Orient. Ignore the North, they say; it has no importance; though the Indo-European conquest will surely happen in the South and East, let us keep it from becoming of real value to the enemy. Whereas I say, abandon those regions; keep only a token force there, while the Rangers tie up their best men; unknown to them, let us create in the North a thousand-year stronghold!”