Knave of Dreams Read online

  The plan sounded very neat and logical, if anything in this maze that had caught him could be termed that. He was to lie low in this Kilsyth place, guarded by men who would believe that a hired gun was out to get him, and wait out the coming of some explanation.

  What secret had this old Empress confided to Thecla that might even begin to explain what had happened to one Ramsay Kimble? He used to think he had a vivid imagination, but he could not now summon any idea of his own to mind. There was nothing to do but drift with the tide of events until he had some fact he could seize and work from.

  It was morning when they alighted from the bullet car. Ramsay could see nothing that might suggest an engine or motive power. And the series of bead-like passenger vehicles ran not on wheels but rather slipped along a groove in the ground, which took the place of the rails of his own world.

  The roofs of a town rose beyond. Pulled up to the platform where they had detrained was a small wagon to which was hitched—Ramsay took a closer look. They were not a team of horses, but large wapiti, elks of his own world! There were two in harness side by side, and a third to the fore as a leader. A man sat on the high seat holding the reins of the beasts, which were snorting and tossing their antlered heads as if they had little liking for the proximity of the train. But it was already gliding on.

  Ramsay picked up the chest by its woven handle and followed Grishilda, who was heading for the elk-drawn wagon. He helped her aboard onto a padded seat and sat down beside her. The driver, having noted they were in place, loosened the reins, and the elk frisked off at a smart pace.

  They did not turn into the road leading to the town, but rather paralleled the groove of the train track on an unpaved lane. Ahead, to the right, Ramsay could see the dark smudge of what was certainly a forest, though there were fenced fields now bordering the way, and ripening crops in the fields.

  The train track curved away from them. Now, on the left, was scrub land covered with a thin growth of bushes and brush, with here and there a tree in advance of a distant wood. The wapiti had fallen into a steady trot, but the wagon seemed to have little in the way of springs. Its passengers were jostled back and forth on the bench until they both took firm grip of its edge and tried to hold stiff against each bump and lurch.

  The lane itself was growing narrower, assuming the look of a couple of well-worn ruts rather than a real road. They left the last of the fields behind, and came into the fringe of the forest.

  Here they trundled over drifts of long-dead leaves, and there was the smell of growing things. Ramsay thought he could identify pine scent, and he was sure he saw maple, oak and birch trees. The wapiti of the team were larger and heavier than any he knew of in his own world, but the trees and vegetation appeared very similar. He could not have drawn this all from his imagination, no matter how deeply his so-called subconscious might be mining memories to reinforce any dream.

  They were out of the sun into a greenish gloom. At first Ramsay was glad to have drawn away from the heat. Then he became aware of a subtle oppression, a blight upon his spirit, as if the woods about them rejected his kind. Birds called and could be seen in flight among the trees. And there were chattering squirrels giving audible voice to their annoyance of this intrusion. But there was something else—old, formidable—

  Ramsay shook his head to deny his own fancy. He had said nothing to Grishilda since they had left the station. In fact, he was less aware of her presence now than he was of his own rising uneasiness.

  As the track curved to the right, they penetrated deeper into the green gloom, which he liked less and less. He had had few experiences of any life in the wild, only his logging venture and a couple of camping trips in well-supervised national parks. There he had never sensed this watching—waiting—

  Suddenly he caught sight of a monolithic pillar of red stone standing like an upright spear amid the green. He could not believe that that was some freak of nature. As he turned to ask Grishilda about it, he saw her hand loosen hold on the seat, rise quickly breast high, while her fingers and thumb curled into a fist, except her forefinger and little finger which she pointed at the rock. And she was muttering some words he could not catch.

  “What is that?”

  Her frown grew stronger, “It is of the First Ones—back there—hidden—is one of their Power Places. We do not go there. Nor do we talk of them.” The look she shot him was forbidding.

  Obediently he held his tongue. If he was to be Arluth, he had better follow any local customs. And he wondered how much longer they were going to bump through this wilderness. His arm ached from trying to keep his place on the seat, and he was tired—

  Yet the journey seemed to be endless. Once or twice the wagon pulled to a stop, allowing the team to blow and paw for a period of rest. But their driver never addressed any words to his passengers, and Grishilda was as silent. Ramsay was afraid to speak, lest his unfamiliarity with the language betray him to the stranger holding the reins.

  Finally there was a break in the green wall. The wapiti plunged out into a sunlit space, bellowing as if glad to see the end of their journey.

  Here a low house and outbuildings filled at least three-quarters of a glade. The walls were of the same red stone as the pillar Ramsay had seen in the woods, but this was a dwelling with narrow latticed windows and a plank door with huge hinges and latch. The roof was slated, and on the slates around the eaves was a green of velvety growth.

  The wagon pulled to a halt before the door, which opened before they had climbed down from the wagon. A woman stood there. The sleeves of her underclothing were rolled well up, and a belt about her overtunic had pulled up those skirts also, as if to free her body for some labor. She was thick of body, short, and her face broad, with a flattened nose, so unlike Thecla in feature that she might have been of another race, though her skin was the same even brown. Her hair was black, but she did not wear it short as did both Thecla and Grishilda. It was braided, and the braid was wound about her head, with a couple of burnished copper pins, their heads carrying small drops of the same metal, that both anchored and ornamented.

  She made a low bow to Grishilda and then looked uncertainly at Ramsay. Grishilda spoke a couple of sentences which Ramsay did not understand at all, and now the woman acknowledged him with the same gesture of deference.

  “This is Emeka, wife to the head forester, also the keeper of the lodge. And she is a woman of Zagova, so she does not speak our tongue except brokenly. I have said to her that you are my lady’s far kin. Later I shall give her the story my lady has arranged.”

  They entered a long room in which a huge fireplace yawned directly opposite the door. This interior was full of shadows because the narrow windows did not admit much light. The floor was blocked with slate, and the stone walls had hangings of a rather coarse weave on which were painted symbols and designs Ramsay did not recognize.

  There were three masks of burnished copper riveted to the wide mantel of the fireplace. And he recognized in them realistic representations of wolf, stag, and wild boar—the curving tusks of the boar giving that mask a wicked, threatening appearance.

  The furniture was massive and looked as if it had been there for centuries—the wood darkened by the passing of time. Two high-backed benches flanked the fireplace, and there were several stools, a long table, and some chests and cupboards against the walls.

  A few moments later, leaving Grishilda, Ramsay was ushered up a crooked-stepped stairway and through a door into a chamber, where the massive furniture below was echoed by a bed with carved posts, two cupboards, a table, and some stools. The hangings here were painted with various animals as realistically portrayed as the copper masks. And there was a stuffy, musty smell, as if this room had been closed for some time.

  Emeka bustled past him to fling open both of the latticed windows, letting in air and a small measure of light. Then she bowed again and was gone. Ramsay explored a little, discovering behind one of the hangings a primitive kind of bathroom—with wa
ter running constantly through a stone opening in the wall, as if piped from some spring. It could be caught and held in a basin as large as a small bath by inserting a waiting plug in the floor groove. But any bathing, Ramsay decided, would have to be done quickly before the overflow from the pipe flooded the place.

  He was more interested in the bed, for he could not deny that he was sleepy. Sleep—there was always the chance that if he wooed it hard enough, he would awake once more in his own rational world. Now he undressed and crawled into the cavern of the bed. The linen was not musty; in fact, it smelled agreeably of some flower or herb. He settled his head on the pillow with a sigh.

  This time he did not lie awake trying to find some answer to what had happened. And if he dreamed during the sleep into which he fell, he had no remembrance of it upon awakening.

  Ramsay was aroused by a knocking at the door. There was still the glow of sun outside the narrow windows. As he sat up in bed, he pulled the upper cover about him. For a moment all the words with which Grishilda had pounded his mind during their journey deserted him. He could not recall the simplest of expressions. Then he got control of himself and climbed out of bed, padded across the wooden floor, and lifted the hatch of the single door.

  A man waited without, a huge copper jug, held in both hands, giving off steam, while over his shoulder was draped what could only be fresh clothing.

  “Your liege man, lord—” The newcomer jerked his head in a rough salute.

  His own clothing was brown, with a green vest-coat, the ever-present cat-head badge, this time of copper, fastened near his shoulder. It was apparent that he was ill at ease; perhaps he had never before played the role of body servant. But he dumped the heated water into the waiting basin, and Ramsay, taking the hint of overflow, made haste to use it. The forester had gone back into the bedroom to lay out the garments he had brought. Like his own, they consisted of an undersuit of brown, an overtunic of green, but they were fashioned of somewhat finer material. The cat badge was embroidered in copper thread and had the eyes worked in with glistening green.

  “The Lady Grishilda, lord.” He spoke slowly, as if he, too, hunted words in a foreign tongue. “She asks your gracious presence. There has come a message—”

  Ramsay expressed his thanks and dressed quickly. The man had left him alone in the room where the dying sunlight of late afternoon no longer reached as far. A message? Ramsay thought that could come from only one person—Thecla. And he trusted that he would have a chance soon to ask her all the questions that had been gathering in his mind for what now seemed days.

  He found Grishilda seated on a stool by the table below, over one end of which was stretched a cloth of a deep cream shade. Laid out on it were plates, spoons, a two-tined fork, and a knife with a matching handle.

  She arose at his coming and inclined her head, giving the impression, Ramsay thought, that she greeted one who was her superior in rank. But he returned her unspoken greeting with a bow he had copied from that of the forester.

  “Lady—”

  She smiled. “You are very gracious, my lord. Will you not sit and eat? This is no city feasting. But it has a flavor and appeal of its own.”

  The stool she indicated stood at the head of the table. Ramsay took his place there while Emeka and a younger girl of much the same cast of features hurried forward to serve them.

  He found the food, as Grishilda had promised, both flavorsome and good. There was half of what was clearly some small fowl, steeped in sauce, a dark bread, honey still in the comb, sweet potatoes, beans—both cooked with a flavoring new to him. Again, the food reminded him of his own world, and it was these similarities that really troubled him the most, relatively unimportant though they were.

  “You have a message, lady?” He could wait no longer.

  Grishilda nodded. “It came by bird wing, as my lady always sends word to the lodge. She is on her way, but since she must go by Irtysh, her own home, she will be delayed. The Ears and Eyes of Ulad watch her—of that she is certain. Though whether they suspect—” Grishilda shrugged. “On suspicion only, they dare not detain her. Since Kaskar is dead, there is no betrothal, so she has every right and need to withdraw to Olyroun. We may expect her in two days—perhaps even less.”

  Two days—for Ramsay that time appeared to stretch far too long. And he discovered, as hour followed hour, that impatience could indeed eat at a man. Grishilda warned against any straying from the lodge, even going out from its doors—lest he be marked, though she was also vehement that any intruder would be quickly located and reported by the foresters.

  The lodge was kept by Emeka’s family—which consisted of her husband, who had driven the wapiti wagon, her eldest daughter, whose husband was acting as Ramsay’s rather unhandy servant, and two younger children, a boy and a girl, who peered very shyly at the visitors now and then through a window or from a doorway, apparently much in awe of Grishilda, and perhaps of Ramsay, who had reported kin, if distant, to the ruler of their land.

  There was little to do but try to perfect his grasp of the language, in which Grishilda patiently concurred, and to discover from her all he could concerning the situation of this land, of the tangle about Kaskar and how it affected Thecla herself.

  He learned that Olyroun was both independent and small. In spite of the greed of Ulad for its wealth of minerals, which the natives mined only frugally, Olyroun’s independence had perhaps persisted mainly because it also sheltered a powerful and awesome group of what he guessed were religious leaders—the Enlightened Ones. From Grishilda’s comments, Ramsay gathered that they possessed some form of mental power that completely overawed the common people. And had Ulad thrown her might against a country sheltering them, she would have raised a hornet’s nest among her own countrymen.

  However, lately the Empress-mother of Ulad had had as an adviser one of these Enlightened Ones— Osythes. And the councillors of Olyroun were afraid that the balance of this unseen power might shift to their neighbor. In addition, Ochall had reorganized much of the army, letting go the volunteers from the various steads; in their place, employing mercenaries from beyond the borders, men who fought not from any inborn loyalty but for the one who paid them. And from some source, Ochall apparently had gathered unlimited funds to do exactly that.

  With mercenaries under his banner who had apparently no fear of the Enlightened Ones, and with all men knowing that Kaskar was just his creature and that upon his accession to the throne, Ochall would be the real ruler—Olyroun was threatened indeed. So much so that Thecla had had to make the hard choice of marrying the weak and controlled heir.

  “To the Grove she went,” Grishilda said. “And there she spoke freely with a Listener. The Listener read the foretelling, and there was only one road— that she wed with the heir of Ulad. Otherwise there was destruction to all. For the Enlightened will not use their power to save any nation, taking sides one against the other. To do this, they say, will lead only to their Power fleeing from them. They will advise, but they will not support any who turn to them. Every man and woman must make decisions for himself—herself. Yet, my dear lady must have had some warning—for she went to Lom as one in triumph rather than despair.”

  “But you said,” Ramsay pointed out, “that an Enlightened One now advises the Mother Empress of Ulad. If they do not take sides—”

  “It is so. He can advise. Advise, not act for the good of Ulad. But we do not know what he advises. For the Enlightened Ones do not see our lives as we do. They follow some greater pattern visible only to those passing through the mysteries. And oftentimes their advice may lead a man to sorrow for himself. Still, they claim that in that sorrow lie the seeds of a greater good to come. So it is not every man or ruler who will ask for a foretelling. My lady did so because she is fearful for Olyroun. I know not what they told her, only that she was shown her choice.”

  Grishilda was correct in her guess about when her mistress would arrive at Kilsyth. But Thecla came not by the wapiti wagon, bu
t in an airborne flyer, which touched down neatly in front of the lodge just long enough for her to disembark, then rose immediately, to be lost from sight as it shot away over the forest straight toward the setting sun.

  Grishilda, with a cry of welcome, ran forward, catching one of her mistress’s hands, first kissing it and then holding it tightly to her breast. Tears welled from her eyes. At that moment Ramsay realized that, in spite of her outward calm during the past few days, the woman must have been inwardly racked with uneasiness for the girl she so plainly loved. Thecla kissed her cheek and patted her shoulder with her free hand. But her own eyes glistened, as if tears she did not shed had begun to gather there. Then she looked beyond to where Ramsay stood, and her hand went up in a small salute.

  He bowed but did not move toward them. Impatient as he was, he must leave the initiative now to the girl. This was not the time to marshal all his questions.

  They did not get to that until after the evening meal, after Emeka and her eldest daughter had cleared the table and the forester family had all withdrawn to their own quarters at the rear of the house. Thecla watched the door close behind the bowing Emeka and then she swung at once to Ramsay.

  “Our forest dress becomes you, cousin,” she commented. “But we have little time. I have consulted again with Adise—”

  He heard Grishilda draw a whistling breath that made Thecla glance at her.

  “Yes, I have been to the foretelling once again, my dear friend. And—” She lifted both her hands, let them fall limply to her lap. “It remains the same, even with Kaskar gone. Olyroun must wed with Ulad, in order that the future be safe for my people. Which means, of course, Berthal, cousin to Prince Kaskar. Well, I have heard naught to his discredit, though little to his credit either. At least he is no creature of Ochall’s. But enough of what may be my future—it is yours we must deal with.” Again she addressed Ramsay directly.