Brice was astounded—and showed it.
“You-?”
He nodded. “Right. Incognito, of course. I was investigating some reports that Vice-Admiral Carringson was running the fleet like a private little kingdom all his own. And he was—pity that Linton doesn’t know the man who ordered the butchery of Darogir was court-martialed and broken out of Naval service three weeks ago—on my testimony. It might change his mind about misgovemment.”
“Great Cosmos, man, if you—”
He nodded again. “Right. But now I’ve got to find him before Sharl and his crew ship him off-planet and he falls into the Kahani’s clutches… . Why does she want him, anyway?”
“Oldest story in the world. The Rilké Warriors are a proud, stubborn, patriarchal people. They love her and will obey her—but they will not follow a woman into battle. She needs a man—a Shakar, a war-leader, for them to follow. What better man than the late-Commander Raul Linton?”
“You’re right. I’d better get jumping.”
“Do. Once she gets ahold of him, he’s lost to us, that I know. She’s smart as smart. Got a man’s head on her shoulders. And she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen— and I’ve seen plenty. Linton would have to be blind, or dead stupid, to keep from falling into her trap, once he lays eyes on her.”
He looked up—but Wilm Bardry was already working, and had gone out of the meeting-room like a shot.
Hallen sighed, and poured down the last of the chark.
“Let’s get back to work, boys. I’ve got fifty-nine memos to initial, and thirty people to talk to. I hope to Arion Wilm gets ahold of Linton before they jump him off-planet. Were all finished if that happens!”
FIVE
The black tunnel stretched endlessly on, branching off into a fantastic network of side-tunnels every fifty yards or so. At first, Raul tried to keep track of their route: left, then left, then left, then right, then left, and left, and left and then—left? or right?—he gave up after fifteen or twenty minutes. With Sharl and the Rilké sword-seller leading the way, and bearing the light, and Raul and Gundorm Varl stumbling along behind, they passed through an incredible, seemingly endless series of labyrinthine tunnels beneath Omphale City, whose existence no one had ever suspected.
During a rest-pause, Sharl came back to Raul.
“These are the remnants of the Old City, that was abandoned and covered up and nearly forgotten a century ago, long after your ancestors, the vokarthu starmen came, to build their New City far above where we are standing now. But some did not forget—it is a secret of the Rilké.”
“And I shall honor it as such … but how much further are we going?” Linton asked, fighting to catch his breath.
The canary-yellow eyes flashed with sly humor.
“Only a few steps further, kazor. But we must make speed. With permission, then—if you and your servant are rested—?”
“I’m set—if you are, sir,” Gundorm Varl wheezed, his face beet-red. “But I don’t like these damn sewer-tunnels. And I’d give thanks for a mouthful of somethin’ cold and wet—that I would, sir!”
“There will be refreshments, and rest. But come—only a few steps more,” the Chieftain said soothingly. They rose and continued on through the rabbit-warren of cross-connecting age-old catacombs.
The “few steps more” turned out to number in the several thousands, but eventually—and suddenly—their journey did reach its goal.
Without warning, they turned into a lighted chamber whose walls of gray rock, rough-hewn and damp with moisture, were lined with hanging carpets, intricately worked in rich colors with the geometrical Clan-totem designs of the Rilké artisans. The floor, too, was thickly carpeted and strewn with nests of fat cushions, and here and there, scattered about the cavern chamber, stood low tables and taborets of dark, smooth wood inlaid with designs of ashmar-ivory, garnet, sardonx and yellow jade from the Khorva Hills. They bore covered copperwear platters and closed beakers with cups hollowed from huge green crystals. Lights flared from old iron open-work brackets—not torches or candelabra, as might have been expected from the greasy smoke-stains on the roof, but good modem illuminants, both tube and globe forms.
Sharl threw off his snuff-brown robe, stretched, and sat luxuriously on a nest of bright, parrot-green cushions.
“Here we may rest for awhile. Please yourselves with food and drink.”
They sat, gratefully sinking into cushioned softness, and Gundorm Varl busied himself poking about the covered dishes.
“Well, now, sir, for fugitives from justice we got a fine feed laid out for us! Here’s loaves of iskth bread, a bit stale but tasty enough after all that walkin’ up an appetite. An’ sliced iophodon-steak with mint jelly. Here’s a platter of spiced pargolac, and some of those little Hill Country cakes with darrogay seeds—and Vegan brandy, by all the Gods of Space I Let me serve y’, sir. Fresh wine-fruit, too, over here. Well, now … we can hole up here for quite a spell o’ time without sufferin’ much from hunger, anyways.”
Raul and Gundorm Varl fell to with hearty appetites, but the Rilké Chieftain only picked fastidously at the mixed platter the sword-seller silently prepared for him. When they were through, and relaxing each with a cigarel and crystal cup of brandy, Raul said:
“Tell me why this chamber was all set up, furnished with fresh food and drink, as if we were expected?”
The brown face smiled imperturbably.
“You were not expected, of gentility. But I was. Kazar, I have been here on Omphale for three days. Naturally, the Monitors came to know of my presence here—I am considered by the vokarthu government somewhat of a nuisance—because I insist on serving my lady the Kahani, even though she be exile and outlaw, too, instead of betraying her and bending-the-knee to that vapid fool, her husband’s brother. Twice a day those who also serve she whom I serve come to this place and set down clean food, should I be needful of it, and in hiding.”
“Who is this lady whom you serve?”
Sharl’s eyes flashed proudly. “A great lady, of the blood of many Kings—the true Gods’-Race—sprung truly from the lions of Cazim and Ambalhu and Iokhar, and the other High Kings of ancient time! She served Rilké on her realm of Valadon truly, and well, with many great works: places-of-books where all who knew the craft couldst read and learn—places of teaching, where those who knew not the craft, couldst leam it. All these she and my lord the Kahan (may the Seven give him bliss!) wrought and raised, for the bettering of the People. And, too, of much honor, places-of-healing, where those in pain or of illness, with broken limbs and eyes that are clouded, or troubled-in-the-mind, might come and be healed by wondrous dok-i-tars of much craft, from beyond the stars. And other things as well that I do not understand, being a simple man and without learning, save of war and sword-craft.”
“And what happened to your lady?”
“Her the vokorthu pushed from the Dais, unrightfully and withouten honor, setting aside as void and unlawful the screed of commands my lord the Kahan left behind, naming her husband’s younger brother Kahan and not herself, as her husband willed should be done! Her they would have brought here—with unlawful force—here, to Omphale, to a Palace-Prison they keep for those they wish to keep from view but not to kill. But my lady took herself and all loyal to her, good warriors and wise elders, far from Valadon in secret and at night when there were none to see. To a tiny and very-barren world in the Rift—a world called Ophmar, beyond the reach of Imperial law; and there she gathers about her good men and true, for the winning-back of the Dais of a Thousand Kings, rightfully and lawfully hers by blood-right and screed. And half the Princes of the Border worlds—aye, and Outworlds, too—cleave to her bright banners, day by day … for if blood-right and Kahan’s screed and sacred law of inheritance are of naught and may be set aside by whim or word of vokarthu lords, what law protects us? What can we believe in?”