NINE
“Where are we going?” he demanded.
He waited until it became evident no one was paying any attention to his question. If anything, they had sped up. He stopped so abruptly the unfortunate Kronus caromed into him full tilt. The corpulent chronicler was saved from falling only by the strong arm of Mendiko. Ryder gave no sign he noticed. He repeated his demand, much louder this time. “Where are we going?”
Fortunatus stopped his headlong rush and his robes swirled as he turned. “We have no time for this.”
“Then I remain a prisoner,” Ryder answered bitterly. “And you are the new keeper of the keys to my chains.”
The Pat’Riark frowned. “You are not a prisoner, Ryder Talisman.”
“Then where are you dragging me to in such a hurry? What’s the rush?”
“A long night’s march lies ahead of us, and the Pegasus awaits our arrival with the dawn’s light. She will carry us to Faer-Alon, the Sacred Isle of Sanctuary, where you will be inducted into the Brotherhood of Swords. If this is bondage, then there are untold trillions waiting to take up your chains.”
“There is something I must do first,” Ryder declared.
“With raised eyebrows, the Pat’Riark growled in exasperation. “What can there be of such importance to someone so recently awakened from history?”
“I must see Lady Ashara.”
“What?” Not only Fortunatus but all the company had been listening closely. They opened their mouths in astonishment.
“I must see her,” Ryder insisted. His face had taken on a definite shade of red. “To thank her,” he finished lamely.
Fortunatus rolled his eyes heavenward. They had barely reached the outskirts of the garden. The lights had dimmed enough to see the bright twinkling of stars overhead. “Is there to be no end to my trial?” he whispered.
“Why do you act so surprised, my lord?” Mendiko was smiling. “Is she not the fairest of the fair?”
Fortunatus regarded the Sword Thane sternly from beneath lowered brows.
From the corner of his eye, Ryder saw that the others in the company, even the two Magi, were enjoying the exchange immensely.
“You are right, Prince of Sid,” Fortunatus admitted after a long sigh. “I suppose such things should not surprise me. His eyesight has certainly not dimmed over the long sleep.” He deliberated a moment longer, and then his blue eyes brightened. “In fact, you are the best qualified to explain this impossible situation since you are her kin. It will be a splendid introduction to your new duties.”
Ryder waited while Mendiko cleared his throat.
“The Rianna Ashara, my cousin, is betrothed to Zel, son of the archduke.” Though he attempted to keep his voice neutral, Mendiko could not hide his distaste. “The bans have been posted. The ceremony will take place at the beginning of the new cycle… and the new millennium.”
Ryder felt his throat constrict. It was as though someone had kicked him in the guts. Yet why should such news surprise him? She was a princess and he was…what? A thief with no memory?
“An arranged marriage?” he asked, still not accepting what he knew he must.
Mendiko glanced at the Pat’Riark and his eyes became guarded as he nodded his head. “Yes, but one she has accepted. Do not put yourself in even greater danger than the situation you so recently escaped.”
Ryder felt the refusal rising within him. “I….
“Wait!”
Fortunatus moved to confront him. He stood so close Ryder could feel the aura of power wash over him.
“You have voluntarily undertaken to learn the mysteries of the Swordkind. As I have said, it is a hard road and long. Many fall by the way. Others, though they strive to their utmost…” he paused and glanced at Mendiko, “…reach only part way.”
The Sword Thane stiffened but remained silent.
Fortunatus continued remorselessly. “You must remove yourself from the world for a time. Leave all its pleasures and forget the distraction of its sensations. Heed me, or you will most surely fail.”
Ryder met his eyes boldly. “If you grant me this favor, I will do as you ask. I will dedicate myself body and soul. But I must see her once more, even though it is the last time.” He turned to Mendiko. “She spoke to me.” He tapped his forehead. “She sent me her thoughts and told me what I should do. You and I both owe her a debt of gratitude.”
“She spoke to you?” Mendiko asked in disbelief. “Mind-link?”
Roland had come closer. “I suspected as much before this. She has the Gift. How great it is, I am not certain. But if she can meld with him so easily, it must be considerable.”
They waited while Fortunatus leaned upon his staff. His head lowered until his eyes were hidden beneath his thick brows. “They will leave for Faerwyn-Joss within the hour,” he mumbled. “Even now they may have reached the spaceport…”
“But the plane…the vehicle I came in!” Ryder argued, gripped by rising excitement. He could sense them wavering. “There must be others around we can borrow.”
“A Flitter,” Kronus corrected. Ryder eyed the Lord Chronicler in gratitude. He had not even noticed him standing there.
“I will travel in no invention of the Grimman-Seth,” Fortunatus intoned judiciously. “It would no doubt prove as unreliable as their wings.”
Ryder noticed how the two wenlords surreptitiously covered their mouths in order to hide their smiles. He was in no mood to join them.
“The chutes!” Kronus exclaimed. “Why not use the chutes?”
Fortunatus glared at the portly chronicler, but it was too late. The others were bobbing their heads in agreement. “Very well.” He strode to the two Magi. “You must go ahead and tell Balthazar to await our arrival. Say only that we shall be delayed a short while.” He paused, eyeing the taller of the two. “Eldon, grant me the favor of borrowing your robe.” He nodded in Ryder’s direction. “It is unseemly to travel in public dressed as he is, and you will have no need of it along the coast.”
The tall Magi shifted his feet, showing his discomfort at the suggestion. But under the unrelenting gaze of the Pat’Riark, he finally gave way and removed his robe. He wore only thin cotton trousers underneath. With his staff raised high, he now looked like a poor shepherd searching for his vanished flock.
Fortunatus accepted the robe without comment and handed it to Ryder. “Put it on,” he ordered.
Ryder did as instructed. Though much tighter on his larger frame, it was loose enough to permit reasonable movement.
“We will go with them,” Shaka declared as the Magi prepared to leave. “We must find as many Adepts as possible before your arrival and acquaint them with what has happened. The true story will be highly distorted by the holomen. No doubt by Argus as well. It is unlikely he will give up his determined bid to prevent Talisman from joining the Brotherhood.”
Fortunatus nodded. “Good speed. We shall meet again in the Hall of Swords.”
They parted, and once more the band hurried on their way. This time Ryder was more than willing. He guessed what the chutes were when they reached the brilliantly lit entryway close to the garden’s exit.
They encountered few people at first, but as they continued downward, more and more appeared as the passage funneled into others. All gave way at the sight of the Pat’Riark, many of them stopping to bow. For Ryder, they had only curious stares. Much to his surprise, Kronus received almost as much attention as the leader of the Magi. The Lord Chronicler was of greater renown than even he had guessed.
Ryder had trouble with his sense of direction after only a few minutes, yet the others seemed to know exactly where they were going. Aware of his confusion, Mendiko pointed out the overhead signs bearing a dark red emblem resembling a ship, accompanied by arrows directing them toward the spaceport. Within a short time there was a noticeable increase in the level of noise as well as the number of people, and they were soon surrounded by a surging though orderly mass.
“You are unimpressed,” Mendiko observed.
Ryder nodded and said, “We had something similar in our time.”
There was no sign of any ticket-takers as they funneled through an obvious gateway, yet it was indeed similar to the underground transit systems of his time. The major difference—apart from the lack of cost and the lack of confusion—was that there was no filth or waste strewn haphazardly about. And no graffiti. The entire area possessed an almost antiseptic cleanliness.
After a time, Ryder became aware that people were stopping to gawk in fascination, many even pointing. And the object of their focus was no longer the Pat’Riark or Kronus, but him.
“By the Rim!” Fortunatus muttered. “It has happened already.”
It was not so much a note of worry in the Pat’Riark’s voice as disgust.
“What is it?” Ryder asked.
“The holomen,” Kronus answered, his voice equally filled with loathing. “They wasted no time in finding out the result of the council session.” He eyed Ryder. “Someone must have taken a secret holo of your visage. You are now the most famous celebrity in the Pentarchy.”
They were now in view of the chutes. Whatever Ryder had expected, it was nothing like what he saw. There were no tracks. No trains. Only oblong cubicles roughly six meters in length, with seating for a score of people. They rose from the floor and were quickly filled, then fed into a chamber like bullets into a revolver.
“The principle of their propulsion is similar to the Flitter,” Mendiko explained. He had fallen easily into his role as guide. “There is a gravitational field inside the chute, which both creates the impetus and acts as a guide to keep the vehicle upon its course. It is fast, clean, and efficient. I am not a technik, so I cannot explain better.”
They were rapidly nearing one of the cubicles when they heard a shout from behind them. Kronus jerked around since someone had called his name.
Ryder recognized the man: the same green-robe who had been named as Daedalus, the Genetic Engineer. In the brighter light he looked more like a skeleton covered with skin—and that of a gray, deathly pallor. With him were the two others in green-striped robes imprinted with the same helical symbol, as well as the tall Adept who had accompanied them in the Star Chamber. The crowd parted to allow them through without any sign of disapproval.
“What is it, Daedalus?” the Pat’Riark asked. “Please be brief for we are in a hurry.”
“I’m glad I caught you,” Daedalus replied, breathing heavily. There was a narcotized look to his eyes as he stared pointedly at Ryder. It was similar to a snake gazing at a caged rodent. “I thought you would have allowed me to take the specimen before you left the Star Chamber. But it is of no great concern.” He glanced around. “Let us move over against the wall. I have brought the necessary equipment.”
Fortunatus’ brows had lowered. It was a look Ryder had come to recognize as annoyance and undoubtedly presaged an outburst of anger. “What are you talking about?”
“He did not tell you?” Daedalus nodded toward Kronus. “He agreed to allow me a further specimen of this man´s blood for testing. What I have left is insufficient for my needs. In return, I performed the necessary tests to determine his genetic structure...enough to prove his innocence.”
Fortunatus pinned Kronus with a look that would have melted ice. The Tsarkin fidgeted. Glancing at Ryder, he offered his excuse. “There was little time for subtlety. Our backs were to the wall, as the Old Ones used to say.”
“Your assistance is appreciated, Daedalus,” Fortunatus said, trying to make his voice soothing. “Yet Kronus had no right to make such a promise. It is not his blood to give.”
It was the engineer’s turn to frown. “Such trivialities are not an issue. He does not age. He has not imbibed the Serum. I must know why.” He eyed Ryder. He moistened his thin lips with his tongue until they glimmered wetly. “This could be an important discovery and one of infinite value to the Pentarchy. I must have your blood.”
The words evoked a chill and immediate decision in Ryder. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I will have to refuse at this time…at least until I know more about this new world.” He tried a smile, hoping to lessen the sting of his refusal. The half-hearted attempt fell flat.
The eyes of the engineer were now brittle with anger. “You repay my kindness with deceit!”
The words were flung rather than spoken. A fleck of spittle stung Ryder’s face as though it were acid.
“You are more than welcome to visit the Sacred Isle any time in the future,” Fortunatus offered. The way he spoke the words made them sound opposite to his real intent. “By then, he may be more inclined to agree.”
Daedalus would no doubt have liked to argue further, but one look at the stony face of the Pat’Riark was enough to convince him it would be futile. With a final glance of hatred at Kronus, he turned on his heel and left. The two apprentices followed him. The guardian Adept paused long enough to offer the Pat’Riark a parting salute, and then he too followed.
Before Ryder could ask a single question, Fortunatus motioned them toward the next vacant cubicle. They were just in time. There was a noise similar to a stampede of crazed animals, and they saw a mass of shouting and gesticulating men and women running toward them full tilt. They ploughed through the crowd like a metal ram, forcing everyone in their path to give way.
“Holomen!” Kronus shrieked with the same quality of horror as a hunter standing in front of a charging elephant.
“Hurry!” Fortunatus cried.
Sensing the urgency, but having no idea as to its cause, Ryder followed their example and they jumped into their seats. The cubicle rotated swiftly and snicked into place. They began to move at once. Like the Flitter, there was no sense of acceleration.
“What was that all about?” he managed to ask through gritted teeth.
“Just one of the many reasons for my haste!” Fortunatus snapped.
“The holomen are the news-gatherers of the empire,” Mendiko explained. “They wanted to interview you. It is not a pleasant experience. Their questions are like the sting of the banded krait. The visual reproduction would have appeared throughout the Pentarchy.”
“Like a virtset?”
“Similar, but an antiquated and crude comparison. We use the Zurd holonet. The various agencies who compile the net have many informants scattered throughout the empire who collect the flesh and bones of their stories. They will pay many quintals for something worthy of interest.”
“Quintals?”
Mendiko sighed. “Your time on the autolect was brief. There are still many gaps in your knowledge, Ryder Talisman, but there will be plenty of opportunities to remedy that during the next few moons.”
The shift from acceleration to deceleration was so smooth it was barely noticeable as they finally came to a halt.
“Make haste,” Fortunatus urged them. “They will most certainly follow.”
Seconds later, they boarded another chute and the journey continued. Ryder glanced at his watch—a conditioned response that had traveled with him through the long years. The timepiece had not.
“How long will it take before we reach the spaceport?” he asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
“We must throw the holomen off your scent, Mendiko advised, “so we will make a short detour first. I promise it will not take long.”
The crowds lining the junctions grew as they made several loops and once more neared the city center.
“From here we take the main line,” Mendiko told him as they quickly disembarked from their craft. “It will take us directly to the spaceport.”
If Ryder had been surprised at the first sight of the Grimman-Seth and the Rudd, the oddities he saw now made them look tame by comparison. There were creatures with three legs and some with four and five. Some had arms and some had things that looked like tentacles. There were ‘things’ with no necks and those with several, bearing strange appendages that might or might not have been heads. Many were brutish in their ugliness, while others possessed astonishing beauty.
“Above us lies Ravel,” Mendiko explained, having noticed his gawking. “Like the warren, it too should be enclosed. Every kind of creature from every dark hell-hole in the Pentarchy congregates there.”
“It is what it is,” Fortunatus pronounced. “There are not enough words to adequately describe its wonders. Ravel must be seen and experienced to be truly understood, and this too shall be a part of your training. But we have little room for any more delay…unless you have changed your mind?” he added hopefully.
“No,” Ryder said, shaking his head.
After a final look around, they boarded. There had been no further sign of the holomen.
***
“You know, my dear, I feel as though I have accomplished something important after all these weary trials and tribulations of the body and spirit.”
Ashara raised her head, for the words had sent a ripple into the deep pool of her thoughts. “And what, pray tell, would that be, Father?”
“That is the trouble. I don’t even know for sure.”
Her father’s voice held a whining note as he turned his hands over and back. His face wore a look of surprise, as though he could not believe they were empty.
“It is certainly nothing substantial. It is not the tharfi I longed for.” He turned and smiled at her. It was a boyish smile, beneath eyes that were bright and lively. “No…it is almost as if I had touched something wondrous. And having touched it, I am now a part of that wonder.”
Not only you, my dear father, she thought. Her world had never been so confused or unbalanced since that morn at the gate of the warren. But however dark her mood and uncertain her future, there was a light in it now, shining brighter than any other. A wondrous, glowing magic had melded with her mind.
“Such a pity,” Odrim murmured, his eyes wandering once more. “About the tharfi, I mean. It would have been such a wondrous addition to the menagerie…eh?” The rigan tensed as he peered toward the far end of the spaceport terminal. “Who is that?”
She too looked up quickly, the excitement of hope sending the adrenaline into her blood. Would he come?
The Rigan’s eyes squinted as he searched. “I thought I saw those damned holomen again.” He turned to study his son, who towered silent as a sentinel above him.”
“It is all right, Father,” Shaan soothed. “They have gone.”
Ashara hid her disappointment as her father sank back and relaxed. The holomen had descended like locusts only a few minutes before. Neither Garth nor the armed myrmidon had deterred them. Not even Shaan’s presence had been enough to thwart their persistence. Only when several Adepts of the Gardai had come and threatened to unsheathe their swords had they at last departed.
“Damned scavengers…what keeps Garth?”
Ashara did not reply. She was afraid for her father and for Faerwyn-Joss. He was losing his focus, slipping further and further as the moons passed. It was a slow, creeping process—a fungus gradually eating away at the host. No one, not the medicos or the Genetic Engineers, whom she despised, could fathom the cause or the remedy. Not the primitives with their bush medicines…not even the Domina of the Aelyth Faynir, the leader and greatest of the Healers, Niobe herself. Ashara had tried every avenue before the awful reality hit home. Her father was dying, and there was nothing she or anyone could do to stop it.
‘Look how the Serum fades…See how he withers like an over-ripe fruit left too long on the vine…’
The whispers. Always, there were the whispers. The truth was obvious now in the aging man who sat beside her, a shadow of the once proud rigan of only a cycle ago.
Odrim Sid had taken the Serum as he had approached his fortieth cycle, the very time that had seen the culmination of the Pentarchial bond—the ultimate joining of the five realms. For her, it was only ancient history, unlived and therefore unimaginable. She was not yet twenty. Then would be the time of her primacy, and she would take the first imbibe of the Serum.
Twenty—the time of safety, yet also the time of barrenness. Only the ova she had saved in the repository would prove the fertile ground for sons and daughters should she wish them in the future. The thought produced other unwanted images. Images of Zel. She immediately shied away from them.
Not now…do not intrude now…
The Pentarchy and the joining. That was safer ground…that and her father. He had lived through it.
Faerwyn-Joss, the least of the five. The Earth-twin. They could boast no great technology, as could the Rudd. They had barely reached the limits of their solar system, though many other races from countless other planets had done no better. They boasted no great array of armed warriors, as did the Grimman-Seth. No secrets of genetics, which could alter the code structure to produce the wonder of Zurd—the true cornerstone of the empire.
They possessed only one thing: the Gift, for they were true humankind. Even this might not have been enough but for the whim of the archduke and the assistance of the Rudd. Faerwyn-Joss was a water world—a rare jewel to the Rudd, who had befriended them much as they had those of Earth. It was a friendship that neither world had ever regretted.
They were firmly ensconced now: one of the five Pentarchial realms. This was unlikely to change. Yet the House of Sid was not proliferate. Her mother had made only two children before taking the Serum, and she had died long ago, the victim of an accident. Shaan showed no indication that he would take a wife. His whole world revolved around his preparations for the Korda. As for her…
“Rigan!”
She looked up, startled from her reverie by Garth’s loud hail, yet grateful for the distraction.
“By the Rim…what is it now?” Odrim demanded. He was still upset by Garth’s failure to capture the tharfi.
“We have received a communication from orbital command. They will awaken Zurd if we are ready.” Garth’s voice lowered as he spoke aside to both her and Shaan. “You know their attention span is short after the feeding.”
“Yes, yes…tell them we are prepared,” Odrim ordered. “And summon our transport.”
“Father…Ashara…”
Ashara looked up quickly, for something in her brother’s voice had caught her attention.
“It is the Pat’Riark.”
She rose swiftly. Too swiftly. And in her face the color heightened as well, a delicate blush of rose pink.
Shaan now smiled as he added—“and others with him.”
“Come to see us off, eh?” The rigan beamed. “How nice.”
The Pat’Riark’s long, hurried strides brought him swiftly to their position. Ashara answered his smile readily but looked beyond him to a man taller than the others. He now wore the white robe of the Magi and his long hair flowed thickly about his shoulders. His emerald eyes locked with hers, and at once she felt the warm glow suffuse her.
“We cannot stay long,” Fortunatus stated, addressing them all. “The holomen are about and I have no wish to meet them.”
Fortunatus and Kronus moved to converse with the rigan, while Mendiko remained with Shaan.
Ryder and Ashara stood slightly apart, oblivious to all about them. Ashara was the first to speak, for she could no longer be still under the intensity of his gaze. “I knew you would come, Ryder Talisman.”
“I could do nothing else. I had to see you one last time.”
Standing so close, she saw how he towered over her. The stark planes of his face showed strength. Too stark to be truly handsome, or so many women would have said. But not her. His eyes had captured her. They were like sunlit emeralds, yet more beautiful than any she had ever seen. “This time we shall speak with our lips, and with our lips we must say farewell.”
Ryder nodded. “You are to be wed.”
The words surprised her. He had begun to fall naturally into the speech pattern of this time. “Yes,” she agreed and looked away, suddenly feeling awkward. “When the sun rises to greet the ram, the moon of new beginnings…when the echo of the Great Horn sounds throughout the Korda, signaling the ending of the moot…then shall I wed Zel of House Mondragon.”
She could swear that she heard the ringing echo of that time, and she was amazed at the frustration it instilled.
“Say only that you love him and I shall wish you well.”
She could not say it. And she could not look at him. He will not need to meld this time to know the truth. Even as the thought raced through her mind, she knew her face had betrayed her.
“Do not join with him, Ashara.”
“I did not ask for it,” Ashara blurted. Though she kept her voice low, it was nevertheless filled with bitterness. “It was arranged many cycles ago when I was but a child. It was done for reasons of state. Good reasons…of more value than my personal desire.”
Ryder shook his head. “There is no reason so important you must lay your heart where it does not belong. It will make your life seem like death.”
“It is done. A promise once given cannot be undone in honor.”
“There must be a way,” Ryder asserted. “Somehow, I will find it. That is my promise to you, Ashara of Sid.”
“Ashara!”
The rigan had broken away from his conversation with the Pat’Riark and Kronus. The look he gave them showed he had noticed their closeness…the intensity of their conversation. “It is time to leave, Daughter.”
Ashara nodded. She felt sick at heart, for there were no more words to say. She took a last, long look as they moved away, wondering if she would ever see him again.
***
Ryder was forced to stand stiff and silent as they disappeared.
“To everything there is a beginning and an ending,” Fortunatus intoned. “That too is a lesson…”
“No!”
Ryder’s loud denial caused the Pat’Riark and indeed all the others to freeze in astonishment. In that instant, they had again witnessed the true power…what he had so aptly demonstrated in the desert of the warren.
“That is one lesson I will never learn,” Ryder affirmed. “This ending shall be rewritten. This I swear by my honor.”
With shoulders held stiffly, Ryder moved toward the exit. This time he led…and they followed him.