Brother Aldo had a longer beard; it and the mustache which flowed into it were curled, rippling and waving down over his plain brown robe. He wore no jewelry or mark of any kind. His nose, though not snub, was rounded at the tip, and his skin was far darker, almost the color of the oak slab on which his elbows rested. Wisdom and a dancing humor sparkled in his every glance.
Both men had the lines of many strenuous years engraved on their brows, but their strength had not been sapped, and the vigor of their movements, while not that of youth, was neither that of senescence.
Now the Most Reverend Father Demero spoke, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “A health, your Majesty, and welcome once again to the North. I only wish this meeting didn’t have to be held in secret. I’m tired of this damned skulking around.”
“Demero, you old fool, I curse the sorry day I ever told you what I once had been. So they lost a king in D’alwah a few generations back. They long ago forgot the crazy creature. Quit calling me that, will you, Most Reverend Abbot?”
“As you wish, Brother Aldo. Perhaps a republic always likes kings, having got rid of its own. We had a king here once, you know, before The Death. 1 don’t remember who he was, or even if he lived here. I have a feeling that he lived far away and only visited now and again. The Abbey archivists could probably tell you.”
The sage in the brown robe laughed. “That’s the way kings, or queens for that matter, ought to be, frequently absent.” His face sobered at another thought, and he straightened on his backless bench.
“We should be talking about a prince, not a king, Demero. We have a lot to go through. I have to be on my way tomorrow, you know. So let’s get to present business. I have bad news from the South, and you won’t be happy.”
Abbot Kulase Demero, Senior Priest of the Abbeys of the Metz Republic, Hierarch, First Gonfalonier of the Church Universal, and leader of the Republic’s Upper House, bent a piercing gaze on his friend, “It’s Hiero, isn’t it? I’ve been uneasy all week. He’s so far away and so alone. What’s the news? Out with it, man!”
“He’s gone. Maybe missing, maybe—worse!” Brother Aldo, who had once borne a very different name and title, had lost all the humor in his voice. “The Order sent me the news only this morning, filtered through many strange routes from the South. I gather there has been a rebellion, led by a young hellion of a duke with a fair claim to the throne, if Luchare and her father were dead. That sounds like old D’alwahn history so far. But there’s more. The pretender has Unclean help. Danyale is badly wounded, but alive. Luchare is running things, and her husband has simply disappeared from the face of the earth!”
There was nothing slow about the Father Abbot. “If he were dead, she would know, right?”
“Ye-es,” Aldo said slowly. “She swears he isn’t. That’s our best hope, as far as he is concerned. I pray to God she is right. I’m fond of him. But we have other things to think about. I trust Luchare. She’ll hold D’alwah, if it’s humanly possible. Danyale can help, if he gets better in a hurry. He’s not so dumb that he can’t see through a blanket. But the Order says the Unclean are moving fast, too. And they seem to be heading in your direction, toward the Republic. We, the Council of the Order, think you need help fast. How is the work coming on what we brought you from the underground place?” Despite himself, he glanced at one corner, where a small, ivory pendulum hung motionless from wooden crossbars.
Demero followed his glance. “That warding device hasn’t failed us yet, and I trust it. Any Unclean mental probe would set it off, so we can talk in confidence. As for the computer, it is showing progress. At first, when we studied the books you brought, it seemed impossible to create the tiny devices—chips, they’re called—on which it is based.” For a moment, a smile came to his face. “Then one of our brighter young men realized that many of the pieces in our archives, recovered from the sites of the ancients, were really parts of the thing described in the books. We think now there must have been millions of computers around before The Death. But even with the books and the parts, it takes time. We have to re-create a whole new way of thinking. And when finished, the computer is going to need what is called programming. My young men say they can do the job—but again, it takes time. The same old story.”
He leaned across the rough table. “How many years ago was it, Aldo, when we first met and determined, even as young men—or youngish men, I should say—that the church and the Order ought to be allies? And even then, we knew that time was working always in every way against us. Well, it hasn’t changed. Here you are, high in the Council of the Eleventh Brotherhood, and you know where I am. But it’s still time, with them ahead and us behind. Nevertheless, we must get ready, as well as we can. That bear creature, now, the one you call Gorm. Is he really going to be of any use?”
“Very great use—I hope,” was the prompt answer. “But he has to get the backing of his people. I gather they have rulers, too, these new bear people. We know of them, though they have never contacted us directly. And before you ask, let me read your mind, dear fellow. Yes, they are as intelligent as we, though also different. On how different hangs their willingness to help. And that will, as you have already guessed, take more time.”
“Red tape with bears!” the old Metz snorted. “That’s all we need! And I’ve had no reply from the Dam People either, speaking of odd allies. But they never budge without months of fumbling around. The bears will be fast by comparison.”
“I hate to bring this up, since you must be sensitive,” Brother Aldo said, “but what about your personal problem on the Council? The two—ugh!” He hesitated.
“Don’t mind my nicer feelings,” Demero snapped. “The two traitors. Well, I have almost enough evidence to hang them. A week or so should do it. And meanwhile, they don’t blow their snotty noses without my knowledge.”
“I suppose they can’t just, well, disappear?”
“No, they can’t, you peace-loving Elevener! This is not your barbarous ex-kingdom in the swamps of the South! We’ll get them, but they have to be tried. Fairly!”
“Too bad. The rough old days had their points. I find in retrospect. A symptom of advanced age, no doubt. Well, what next? How many regiments can you field and in what order? And the new ships you have been building? And, above all, what of the Otwah League? They have traitors, too, you know.”
The discussion continued, growing both acrimonious and technical. And when, in the small hours of the morning, two old men said their separate prayers, Hiero would have been comforted to know how largely he figured in both sets.
The prince-priest, the exile from everywhere, as it sometimes seemed to him, had other things to think about. He was currently atop the tallest tree he could find, studying the distant prospect and trying to figure out exactly what he was seeing. The scene in the distance before him was in some ways an odd one, and he wanted to study it carefully before venturing closer.
He had sent out his cautious probes the night before as usual. This time, he had very quickly picked up a human response, the aura of an awake man. Then, widening his search, he had found many others. There were the minds of women and children too, and he sensed as well the massed presence of domestic animals, probably some variety of kaw, such as he had known in D’alwah. There must be villages ahead, or some sort of settlements. He resolved to probe yet further and to see what, if anything, he could learn from one individual mind.