He drew his attention from high-boned features and curving body to say, with less force than intended, “Is that why you’ve betrayed people here who trusted you?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve called in the Yuthoaz, and the megalith builders don’t like it.” Storm sighed. “Malcolm, I had you read books and spend time in the Danish National Museum. You should blow the archaeological facts. The new culture is coming in and will mould the future, and nothing you or I can do will remove those relics which prove it from their glass cases. Yet we can control the details, of which the relics say nothing. Would you rather the newcomers take Denmark as they are going to take India, with butchery and enslavement?”
“But in God’s name, what’re they to you?”
“I couldn’t keep the Englishmen,” she said. “They have been sent home, except for a handful who will guard that gate until it closes in several weeks. As a matter of fact, I’ve even sent those agents you met back to their sixteenth century. Once the basic work here was done, they were of little help. And because of my rivals’ pressure, I cannot order real experts from Crete—not until I can show solid promise here.”
She gestured widely. “What then will I show?” she said. “A new and long-enduring nation. A powerful folk who, under whatever mythological compromise, follow the Goddess. A source of supplies, wealth, men if we need them. A section of space-time so well defended that there we can build Warden strength against the final conflict. Given the beginnings of this—well, the other Koriachs will incline toward me. My position at home will be secured. More important, my plan will be accepted and our full force brought to bear here. And so the Ranger obscenity will come nearer its destruction—after which we can right some wrongs in our own place.”
Her head sank. “But I am so alone,” she whispered.
He couldn’t help himself, he must take the hand that lay empty on her lap. And his other arm went about her shoulder.
She leaned close. “War is an ugly business,” she said. “One has to do heartbreaking things. I promised you, after this mission you could go home. But I need every soul who will stand by me.”
“I will,” he said.
After all . . . did he not have a mission unfulfilled?
“You’re no ordinary man, Malcolm,” she said. “The kingdom we build will need a king.”
He kissed her.
She replied to him.
Presently she said in his ear, “Come on, you man. Over yonder.”
The sun declined. Fisher boats returned from a west where the waters sheened yellow, smoke rose out of huts, the Wise Woman and her acolytes went forth to offer their evening oblations in the grove. Thunders beat across the meadows, where the Battle Axe men drummed their god to rest.
Storm stirred. “You’d better go now,” she sighed. “I’m sorry, but I do need sleep. And this being divine takes most of my time. But you’ll come again. Won’t you? Please.”
“Whenever you want,” he answered, deep in his throat.
He walked into twilight. Peace dwelt within him. Beyond the Long House he found the Tenil Orugaray at their lives. Children still romped outdoors, men gossiped, through open entrances he saw women weaving, sewing, cooking, grinding meal, shaping pots. His passage left a wake of silence.
At the cabin which had been Echegon’s, he entered. Here he could stay.
The family sat around their fire. They scrambled up and signed themselves, in a manner that not long ago had been foreign to them. Only to Auri was he still human. She came to him and said unsteadily, “How long you were with the Goddess.”
“I had to be,” he told her.
“You’ll speak to Her for us, won’t you?” she begged. “She may not know how wicked they are.”
“Who?”
“Those She brought in. Oh, Lynx, what I’ve heard! How they graze their beasts in our crops, and seize unwilling women, and scorn us in our own country. They raided our cousins, did you know? There are people from Ulara and Faono, my own dear kinfolk, in their camp this night—slaves. Tell Her, Lynx!”
“I will, if I can,” he said impatiently. He wanted to be alone with this day for a while. “But what must be, must be. Now, may I have something to eat, and then a quiet corner? I’ve much to think about.”
19
Like every other war Lockridge knew of, this one demanded that the bulk of effort go into the unspectacular organising of things. Being shorthanded was equally familiar. With agents scattered the length and breadth of history, the time contenders were appallingly so. Storm Darroway was still worse off: practically alone.
She admitted that political jealousy was not the sole reason she had no support from her coavatars. Her scheme was radical, involved scrapping a considerable investment in the old, doomed civilisations elsewhere. Some of the Warden queens had been sincere when they informed her the payoff she swore could be gotten must be demonstrated before they would help. For the fact was, the time war seemed to bypass Bronze Age Northern Europe. Neither Wardens nor Rangers were known to be conducting significant operations in that thousand-year, thousand-mile stretch of space-time.
“But hey, doesn’t that prove you’re wrong?” Lockridge fretted.
“No,” Storm said. “It could just as well mean success. Remember, because of the corridor guardians, we in our age are ignorant of our own future. We can’t foretell what we are going to do next. Even such cause-and-effect circles as we used to trap Brann are rare, thanks to the uncertainty factor in the gates.”
Sure, sure. But look, sweetheart, you most certainly can check a past era, like this one, and find out whether any Of your own people are around.”
“If their work runs smoothly, what will we see? Nothing except the natives leading their everyday lives. When Warden agents are hidden from the Rangers, they are to a large extent also hidden from other Wardens.”
“Uh . . . I reckon so. The security problem. You can’t let your own cohorts know more than they have to, or the enemy’s goin’ to find out.”
“Furthermore,” Storm said haughtily, “this is my theatre. I will employ my own people, in what manner I see fit. The power I get will not be used just against the Rangers. No, I’ve some accounts to settle at home too.”
“Sometimes you scare the dickens out of me,” he said.
She smiled and rumpled his hair. “And other times?” she purred.
“You make up for it, in spades!”
But they had not long together. There was too much to be done.
Storm must remain in Avildaro, goddess, judge, maker of decisions and maker of laws, until the nation she was building had taken the shape she wanted. Hu must be her thread of contact with home and with Crete. Ordinary soldiers were useful only as couriers or guards; in this case, the men Hu had brought were not even required in that capacity, and she sent them back. Trained agents could not well be spared from other milieus. Most desperately she needed an able man to work with the tribes.
Lockridge went forth. Withucar and some warriors accompanied him. He had gotten quite fond of the red Yutho, they’d guested each other and drunk mead together and bragged till far into the night. Okay, so he’s not civilized, Lockridge thought. I reckon I’m not either. I like this life.