Norvis felt a warm glow of accomplishment as he watched them round the corner and head northward. Kris had done his job and done it well; he deserved what he was getting—wealth beyond any ordinary person's dreams, and one of the most beautiful girls on the face of Nidor.
Quite a triumph, Norvis thought, for one who would have been a simple peasant's son had all gone well with Nidor.
Norvis shrugged and mounted his own deest. He had other work to do. He, too, trotted northward, but by a different route; he had no desire to take part in the parade. As he wended his way through the streets, no one seemed to pay any attention to him. He was a nonentity, a nobody, merely the Party Secretary. Which was just the way he liked it.
He was only a few blocks from the Temple when he saw a familiar figure turn onto the avenue from a side street just ahead.
"Dran!" he called. "Dran peDran Gormek!" He urged his mount to a faster pace.
Dran reined in and turned his head. "Hoy! Secretary!"
Norvis pulled up beside him. "How was the trip?"
"I is dirty and tired," Dran said.
There was a grin, on his owlish face. "Climbing mountains is hard work." As they trotted on down the street, side by side, he added, "I is got good news for you, though. I find—"
"Not yet," Norvis interrupted. "This is too public. You can tell me what you know about them at the office."
"But that's just it," Dran said, still grinning. "We isn't got anything to worry about! They isn't there!"
Norvis jerked his head around. "What? What's that?"
"They isn't there," Dran repeated. "I find the place you mention—a wide, flat area. But there isn't anything there. No buildings, no magic machines, no nothing."
"I see," Norvis said slowly. "Yes, I see."
"That means the captain really is driven them off Nidor! We is free— really free!"
Norvis nodded abstractedly. When they pulled up in front of the Temple, he said, "Since you found nothing, Dran, there's no need to tell anyone of my foolish suspicions, is there? We'll just forget it."
"Sure, Secretary," Dran agreed. "You is done the right thing. You has to know the truth. Now we knows."
"That's right, Dran. I'll see that you get a bonus for this—and you can do a little celebrating."
"Hoyhoy! Thanks to you, Secretary Norvis!"
An hour later, Norvis was saddling his deest and slinging two saddlebags of supplies over the animal. He had told Kris that he was going to Tammulcor on business, to check on the Bank of Dimay, which was still in the throes of reorganization.
But he had no intention of heading south; he was going east, to the Mountains of the Morning. Dran peDran had seen nothing—but that meant nothing. Norvis recalled his mother's telling him how the Earthmen had taken a part of his father's memory. Rahn peDorvis had never remembered anything about that trip to the mountains.
If the Earthmen could take a memory away, couldn't they replace it with a false one?
Maybe there was nothing up there; maybe there never had been. But Norvis realized he could never take another's word for that. Dangerous jobs could be delegated, sure —and, Norvis thought, it was best for all that dangerous jobs be done by someone else. But there were times when a job could only be done by one person—and in this case, that person was Norvis peRahn Brajjyd.
He pushed a pair of pistols into his belt and lifted himself into the saddle. Twenty minutes later, he was trotting across the Bridge of Gon, heading eastward across the Tammul into Thyvash towards the Mountains of the Morn.
Chapter XXII
The day of the Feast of the Sixteen Clans brought a brisk wind from the east, heavy-laden with dampness.
Kris looked out the window of his office, watching the lower wisps of the eternal cloud blanket scudding across the sky.
"I hope we're not in for a storm," he said. "This would be a poor time for the Great Light to send His Flashing Emissaries across the sky." He smiled grimly. "The noise they make might drown out my speech."
Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda chuckled. "The investiture takes place immediately after the midday services, and the sky ought to be quiet by then. Don't worry about it."
Kris turned from the window and settled himself in his chair. "You know, Grandfather, it's a peculiar feeling to realize that more than four thousand sacrifices have been made to the Great Light on the Feast of the Sixteen Clans at the Great Temple—and this year there will be none."
"I know," the priest agreed. "It is His will."
Kris stared at the surface of his desk for a long moment, and then pulled himself out of his introspective mood with some effort. "You'll be the celebrant at the services, of course?"
The Elder Grandfather nodded. "We'll start at the Temple of Kivar, just as we did with your wedding— but this will be an official ceremony, and, if I may say so, much more imposing. The actual investiture will take place on the balcony of the Great Temple, as you asked."
Kris nodded. "Good. You—" There was a rap at the door. "It's Ganz peDel, Leader," came the voice.
"Come in, Ganz," Kris called out. He was getting to like the hoy; except for the hatred for the priesthood that his father had instilled in him, young Ganz might eventually have made a good Party. Leader. Perhaps, even yet—
The boy walked in. There's a priest to see you, Leader." There was no distaste in his voice; he had learned to conceal it well. Or perhaps he was actually changing his mind about the priesthood.
"Who is it?" Kris asked.
"A Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek, of the Bronze Islands."
Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda stood up. "The Gormek Elder! Excellent! Send him in, my son."
Ganz stepped back, closing the door.
Grandfather Marn turned to Kris. "This makes fourteen! The Elder Council will soon be complete, my son. I hope he's as good a man as his predecessor, Elder Vesol peSkel Gormek; in spite of the fact that he was ... ah ... under the influence of Darkness, he was a wise old man."
Kris shrugged. "Darkness take Vesol peSkel; let's see what this Bronze Islander is like."
The door opened, and a blue-robed priest stepped in. His face was like a piece of wrinkled leather, covered with sparse silvery fuzz. He peered around the room with bright, clear eyes, seeming to take in everything at a glance.
He nodded his head at the Elder Grandfather. "Elder, I asks your blessing. I is Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek."
Marn peFulda gave his blessing. Then: "May I ask the date of your birth, Grandfather?"
The priest smiled. "On the ninth day after the Feast of the Great Lawyer, in the Year of Dmorno, of the 320th Cycle."
Kris sat up in his seat. The old Gormek was older than Marn peFulda—and theoretically deserved to be Leader!
But the old priest raised his hand. "You doesn't need to worry, Elder Grandfather; I is heard about Leader Kris peKym's order. You is the Elder Leader, and I does not wish to make any claims. I is an old man; I knows nothing about governing a world. I is been isolated on my Islands for more than seventy years. I has no political ambitions, but when I is called, I comes." He turned to Kris. "I gives you my blessing, Leader Kris. You is been needed on Nidor."
Elder Grandfather Marn peFulda relaxed visibly. "I welcome you, Elder Grandfather Gasus peNils Gormek. Will you be ready to take part in the investiture of our Executive Officer after the midday services?"
"I is happy to," the Elder Gormek said.
Marn peFulda looked back at Kris and said, "The Council is about to meet. I'll be with you at the services."