Those who had made Clio a testing ground for their theories would not want a stagnant society. Perhaps the influences would not affect those of equal rank, or would only hold for periods of time—say when a monarch was in dire danger. Or— she could supply a multitude of plausible answers.
But could she in turn use such suggestions to counter the accusations made against her by Uncle Offlas and the Service? Admittedly they would be glad to learn all they could about Clio. And if there was such an influence, a psycho-tech could verify
H4 that. But she would have to reach camp—and hope that native activity around it had not led Uncle Offlas to order withdrawal.
Roane now regretted most of all not bringing her com. Why had she not? Why, her thinking must have been influenced! To have been so afraid of being traced by her own people!
She shook her head. With every passing moment she was more and more unable to understand her own actions. The answer was, of course, that they must avoid the Clio natives in order to escape this influence set up to prove theories for men long dead.
The road she followed took a turn and then another. But never did it veer too far from her landmark and Roane kept to it. It did not seem to be traveled by night; at least she heard no sounds such as might be made by men, only those of wild life, a crashing in the brush as if something ran from her. A full moon was rising and its silver light lay along the road.
Roane reached a place where there was a turn away from her landmark as the road angled sharply north, crossing a stream. But the running water could now be her guide. Perhaps at some seasons it was a full river, but at present it had shrunk so that sweeps of gravel and sand edged it on both sides. And she used the nearer bank for her new path. Twice she disturbed animals which had come to drink, one a quite large but seemingly timid beast which let out a mournful hooting cry as it plunged away. She kept her stunner ready in the event she met something more belligerent.
Shortly thereafter the moonlight revealed deep prints in the soil, hoof slots. Duocorns, she was certain, a number of them. And there was a broken branch or two here and there to suggest passage had been forced by a mounted party. They were heading in the same direction she had taken. And though she had little training in woodcraft, Roane suspected the prints were fresh.
The party with Ludorica? If so, all the more reason for Roane to reach camp with her warning. They could be kept away from the actual site by the distorts. But too much use of those not only would exhaust their charges, but might awaken dim wonder in men who had been more than once subconsciously thrown off trail.
She need fear only one thing really—seeing the Princess again. Because in her own mind Roane had come to accept her idea that Ludorica could demand her aid as a fact. Also Uncle Offlas and Sandar must be warned of the same danger, though they had not succumbed to it when the Princess had been in their hands earlier. But then she had been under the effects of the stunner.
In the moonlight the night was very white and black—shadows had sharp edges. Suddenly Roane paused and put her hand to her head. The first small touch of discomfort. She knew it for what it was—the first warning of a distort. Then she realized what she might have to face. She was not wearing her counter beam—the distort would have the same effect on her as it did on those it was designed to discourage. She could only hope that she might use the warn-off as a guide and force herself on into what she was most reluctant to approach.
Not far away the trail of the riders turned, leaving traces in the brush of their passing which suggested a quick retreat. That, too, had been caused by the distort. But Roane kept on course, though not much farther. The attack came without warning. Out of the night snaked a loop to encircle her chest-high, jerk tight before she knew what was happening to her. She had no time to use her weapon, for her arms were pinned to her sides, and then a body crashed against her, bearing her to the ground.
The weight was withdrawn but she was held in a grip which all her struggles could not break. She was pulled to her feet, turned to face a party of three, though a fourth must stand behind her holding her.
In the moonlight she recognized the leader of her captors and as she gasped breath back into her lungs, she managed to get out his name:
“Colonel Imfryl”
“Who are you?” He came closer, peered into her face. She saw his expression of surprise.
“Lady Roane! But what—where is the Princess? Free her instantly!” Question and command followed fast on one another. The grasp on her shoulders loosened, and with a twitch the rope circlet fell to her feet.
“Where is the Princess?” the Colonel asked again as he put out a hand to steady her.
“She rode out of the tower with Reddick.”
“What tower—where—” She thought his grasp tightened as if he would shake the truth out of her.
“Let me get my breath.” Roane determined not to be again swept in involvement.
“Of course.” His grip loosened. “I pray pardon, Lady. But with Her Highness in Reddick’s hold—”
She made her story as terse as she could. Though she was not able to name the prison from which she had escaped, save to give the Princess’s name of Famslaw, the rest she reported up to the time she had seen the Princess ride away.
“They used a mind-globe on her,” the Colonel interrupted. “And that coach with Rehling’s symbol— I am sure he played a double game for all her belief in him. There is only one place they could be heading for now—to find the Crown! And you, Lady, know where that is. You can take us there. There is something strange— We have been wandering for two days unable to come near the landmarks the Princess gave me. But we must reach there now, or Reddick will use the Princess to claim the throne and then do with her as he wishes—”
“No!” Roane jerked out of his light hold.
“No? What do you mean?” He was startled, looking at her now as if she were a person and not merely a way to aid Ludorica.
“No, I will not go with you!” She had the stunner still. With it she sprayed him and the two men behind him as she pivoted to bring it also on the one a pace or two behind her.
They staggered, but they did not go down. However, she believed the blast enough to keep them unsteady until she could get away. She plunged straight ahead, into the full force of the distort, wavering herself under that mind-dazing blast, but enough the mistress of her body to keep staggering on in a direction she did not believe any of them would follow. And she did not waste time looking behind to see.
Brush whipped about her. She flung up her arm to shield her face from the sting of lashing branches. Always she was buffeted by those distort rays meant to bewilder. She tried to blank those as best she could, to reach the safe zone beyond the barrier. Let Ludorica and her henchmen find their own way out of then-troubles; she was not again going to be drawn into their games.
11
The waves of the distort were less effective—she must be close to the edge of the protection zone. Roane plunged on, not trying to pick any path, merely attempting to get free of the influence. Then—she was in the clear!
Before her was the glade of the camp. She expected some challenge and threw back her hood so they could see her if they had picked up her image on tri-dee com. But there was no sign of life. Nobody here—but then where?
Roane half expected that the entrance might have been set on a new code, not answering to her thumb identification. But it opened as readily as if she had left it only moments earlier. So they had not yet exiled her.
There was no one within any of the small cubicles. But in the one that had housed their work tools were significantly empty racks and niches. They were at work somewhere, and she thought it could only be in the cave.
Roane went to the com. She could call from here—warn them. But even as that thought crossed her mind, she saw that the planet- side hookup had been detached. In its place was the off-world call ready for use. Either they had already arranged for lift-off, or else they expected that they must do so at a moment’s notice.