“We need something to climb on—a ladder.” He looked around, but the grave offerings were all on the other side of the wall. There was nothing here but—
He was moving the bier end up. Then he caught up the chains, jerking them loose from the wall ring so he had a length of links.
“You will have to steady this for me,” he told her briskly. One end of the bier was within the opening above. He draped the chain about his neck and climbed. Picking up the crown, careful not to touch the dangling gem, Ziantha came to his call, bracing and steadying the bier as best she could.
He was within the frame of the door, his head and shoulders out of her range of sight now. A moment later he was gone. The candles were burning low, but they gave light enough for her to see the chain end swinging through and knew that he must be fully out and prepared to aid her after him.
Moments later she shivered under the buffeting of a strong wind and the beginning of rain out in the open. Some of Vintra’s memories helped her.
“The guards—“ She caught at his arm. He was winding the chain about him like a belt, as if he might have further use for it.
“On a night like this,” he answered, “perhaps we need not fear they are too alert.”
It was wild weather. Her festive garment, for they had arrayed Vintra for this sacrifice in a scanty feast robe, was plastered to her body, and the wind whipped her long hair about her. The chill of wind and rain set her shuddering, and now she could see her companion only as a shadow in the night. But his hand, warm, reassuring, closed about her shoulder.
“To Singakok, I think.” His voice, hard to hear through the wail of the wind, reached her with difficulty.
“But they will—“ Vintra’s fear emerged.
“If Turan returns, as a miracle of Vut’s doing?” he asked. “The mere fact that I stand before them will give us the advantage for a space. And we need what Turan, or his people, know about that toy you carry. Guard it well, Ziantha, for it is all we have left to bring us back—if we can achieve a return.”
Perhaps there was a flaw in his reasoning, but she was too spent by emotion, by what lay immediately behind her, to see it. Vintra shrank from a return to the place of her imprisonment, her condemnation to death. But she was not Vintra—she dared not be. And when he drew her after him, she yielded.
They came through a screen of trees that had kept the storm from beating them down. And now, from this height, they could see Singakok, or the lights of the city, spread before them.
“The guards or their commander will have a land car.” Turan’s attention was entirely on the road that angled toward the root of the cliff like a thin tongue thrust out to ring them round and pull them in for Singakok’s swallowing.
“You can use Turan’s memories?” Ziantha was more than a little surprised. Turan’s body had been dead, emptied. How then could this other being know the ways of the guards?
“After a fashion. If we win through this foray we shall have some strange data to deliver. Yes, it appears that I can draw upon the memory of the dead to some degree. Now, you try Vintra also—“
“I hold her in check. If I loose her, can I then regain command?”
“That, too, we cannot know,” he returned. “But we must not go too blindly. Try a little to see what you can learn of the city—its ways.”
Ziantha loosed the control a fraction, was rewarded by memories, but perhaps not useful ones. For these were the memories of a prisoner, one who had been kept in tight security until she was brought forth to give the final touch to Turan’s funeral.
“Vintra was not of Singakok—only a prisoner there.”
“True. Well, if you learn anything that is useful, let me know quickly. Now, there is no use skulking here. The sooner we reach the city, the better.”
They ended their blind descent of the heights with a skidding rush that landed them on their hands and knees in brush. If Turan found that his badly used body took this ill, he gave no sign, pulling her up to her feet and onto the surface of the road.
And they reached that just in time to be caught in the full, blinding glare of light from a vehicle advancing from the city. They froze, knowing that they must already have been sighted. Then Turan turned deliberately to be full face to whoever was behind that light. They must see him, know him, if they would accept the evidence of their eyes.
Ziantha heard a shout, a demand to stand, rasped in the guttural tongue of the city. Men came into the path of the light, one wearing the weather coat of an officer, behind him two armsmen.
“Who are you?” The three halted warily, weapons at alert. They had hand disruptors, the officer an energy ray. Vintra’s memory supplied the information.
“You see my face,” Turan replied. “Name me.”
“You have the seeming—but it must be a trick—“ The officer stood his ground, though both the armsmen edged back a little.
Turan raised his hands to his throat, loosened and turned back the high collar of his tunic. The priests of Vut had closed his death wound, but it was still plain to see.
“No trick this. Do you mark it?”
“Whence came you this night?” The officer was shaken but he retained control. Ziantha granted him courage for this.
“Through that door which the Will of Vut leaves for every man to try,” Turan answered promptly. “Now—I would go to Singakok where there is that I am called to do.”
“To the Tower of Vut?”
“To the House of Turan,” he corrected. “Where else would I go at this hour? There are those who await me there. But first, give me your weather coat.”
Dazedly the officer loosed the fastenings and handed the garment over, though he made an effort not to touch Turan’s hand in that process.
Shaking it out, Turan set it about Ziantha’s shoulders. “This must do,” he said, “until better serves you.”
“That is an error,” she thought-flashed to him. “In this world we are enemies to the death! They will not accept such an act from you.”
“To the death,” he answered in the same fashion, “but not beyond. All things of this world are weighed now between us. If any ask, that I shall say.” Then he spoke aloud:
“Two of us were left in that place, to abide the mercy of Vut; two return after his fair judgment. Of what happened it is not yet the time to speak.”
One of the armsmen had put down his weapon, was peeling off his coat.
“Lord Commander, I was at Spetzk when you broke the rebel charge. Honor me by letting that which is mine be of service to you now.” He came to Turan holding out the garment.
“This night I have done a greater thing, comrade. For your good will I give thanks. And now, I—we—must go to the House of Turan—by your aid.”
Ziantha did not know what game he would play; she could only follow his lead. Within the curve of her arm, pressed tightly against her, was the crown with that pendant gem. To her mind they were pushing out into a swamp where at any moment some debatable footing would give way and plunge them both into disaster. But she allowed him to lead her to the car. And, silent, she took her seat in the passenger section, huddling within the weather coat for a warmth she could not find elsewhere. He settled beside her, and the vehicle turned to Singakok and all that might await them there.
8
“These,” the message flashed to her, “do not have the talent, nor, it seems, any knowledge of it.”
That her companion had dared to probe those with them made Ziantha anxious. It would seem that care was better than audacity now. Yet what he had learned made them free to use mind-touch.
“Can you then read their minds?” she asked.
“Not to any extent—emotions rather. They have a different wave pattern. These are disturbed as would be entirely natural. The armsmen accept our appearance as a miracle of return, are in awe. The officer—“ He checked, and when he did not continue, Ziantha prompted him:
“What of the officer?”
“I see someone, not clearly—someone to whom he feels he must report this as soon as he can. There is a shadow—“ Again his thought trailed off.
Ziantha unleashed her own mind-seek, aimed now not at maintaining communication with her companion, but probing the emotions of those about her. Yes, she could understand Turan’s bafflement. It was like trying to keep in steady focus a picture that blurred and changed whenever she strove to distinguish it in detail. But she recognized a woman. And that which was of Vintra awoke with a stormy memory.