Some of the men were in uniform. Others wore civilian clothes or the green of foresters. Their small band of fugitives had doubled many times.
“Could you eat, m’lady? We have nothing but field rations— or there is one of those tubes of your own food left.”
“Get that,” Nelis ordered and the Sergeant moved out of her line of sight.
“How are your eyes?”
“I can see!” And she knew by her very joy how deep-reaching had been her fear.
“Do the others know what has happened?” she asked.
“Not the whole of it. It is not the kind of story to be widely told. To know one has lived in slavery to a machine—” There was a hot undercurrent in his voice. “And how far that domination has gone—”
“Ludorica and the crown.” Her thought followed his. “If it has so affected all of you who had no direct contact with it, what will it do to those who hold the crowns?”
He was looking beyond her, as if he did not want her to see what lay in his eyes.
“That we must learn. The destruction seems to have affected people in various ways. So far all these men have come out of it. But with some the daze was longer, deeper. And they are all relatively far removed from influence. As you say—what has happened close to the crowns—”
“Here, m’lady.” The Sergeant was back with the E ration. Roane sucked at the semiliquid avidly, for she discovered that her hunger had awakened.
Her recovery seemed to be the signal for which they had been waiting. Sergeant Wuldon went to the picket line, and men began to ride out, in twos and threes, each saluting Imfry as he passed. In the end only Wuldon, Mattine, and two others were left.
“We had best be on the move,” Nelis said. “I know you are not strong enough to ride alone, but we have a mount that will carry double, and that we can share.”
So it was that after Imfry had mounted, Wuldon lifted her as if she had no weight at all, passing her up to his superior.
“Where do we go?” Roane asked as the trees arched over them, shutting out the sun.
“Skulking. Until we know more of what chances. We shall follow the river road. The men are scouting in a wide sweep to see what they can pick up. If there is an open path we shall head for Urkennark.”
“The Queen?”
“The Queen—if she is still Queen.” His voice was remote, cool. “We do not know what we shall find, we can only ride to find it.”
“You had no part in this.” She tried to guess his line of thought. “It was my hand—and chance—which did it.”
“I told you, I do not believe that chance alone ruled this,” was his reply. And he did not add to that as they jogged ahead.
18
The room was warm in spite of its size, almost too warm. But the light from the two lamps on the table and the fire on the hearth did not reach the corners, where shadows crouched. Roane looked about her with an interest fatigue did not quite dull. This was the first time she had been in any house on Clio save a forester’s and the border keeps, with their rough frontier interiors, and the magnificent mansion in Gastenhow.
This was an upper private room of the Inn of the Three Wayfarers, within a half day’s ride of Urkennark. Their steaming cloaks lay across a bench pulled close to the fire, for outside came the steady beat of rain. And it was under that cover they had ridden so far into the land.
Three days—Roane counted them off. The first had been much of a blur for her. They had spent that night in the forester’s cabin. And there the first reports had come.
Reveny was in a state of chaos. And the dislocation had been the greater in the upper reaches of authority. The yeoman farmers, the “little” men and women, made better recoveries from the initial state of bewilderment. But in turn they had been alarmed by the erratic actions of their leaders.
Some appeared to go insane, either sinking into a state of idiocy to give no coherent orders at all, or mouthing such irresponsible ones that their own servants and followers refused to obey. Fighting had broken out, stopped as the men engaged suddenly asked themselves what they were fighting for. There were bands of raiders taking advantage of the misfortunes of others.
The closer their own party came to Urkermark—and now they traveled openly, having little to fear during this confusion—the wilder became the stories of what chanced there. Imfry grew bleak of expression, curt of tongue, with every succeeding report from his scouts. That there was dire trouble was certain. Three times they had met parties of refugees spurring away from the city. And each time those riders, men guarding women, some of whom had children in their arms, had refused any contact, twice shooting to warn off Imfry’s men. There had been wounded among them. And seeing those bandaged bodies, Roane was deeply unhappy. Chance or not, she felt that each of those hurts had come from her hand.
Imfry’s company had grown. The scouts who had spread to gain news brought, or directed, back to him more and more guardsmen, foresters, even stragglers from the private guards of stead nobles. He interviewed each newcomer himself, trying to sift from their stories a clearer picture. He was doing so now, sitting at the table, listening to the rambling story of a man in uniform.
There were few officers among these so far, and the one or two who did appear were all of lower rank, though some of them still held together a nucleus of their former commands.
“. . . the incall came,” the newcomer was saying. “And Major Emmick talked to this other officer in the guardroom. We heard a shot. When we broke down the door the Major was dead—took it right through the head. This strange Colonel—he started to say that the Major was a traitor, which we did not believe, then he grabbed at his head and ran straight at the wall and smashed against it, knocked himself right out. We’ll, we did not know what to do. The Captain, he was still dazed like, lay on his bed and just laughed when the Sergeant asked for orders. So Sergeant Quantil, he said up with the gates and not to let anyone else in, not until we got some news that made sense. And he sent three of us out-Mangron, he was to ride to the Westergate, Afran up to Balsay, and me, I was to try to reach our own Colonel in Urkermark Only the gates were up there, too. They will not let anyone in. And I think there is a fight going on inside-there are fires blazing, anyway. Then I met up with your man, sir, and what he told me made a lot more sense than anything I heard since Major Emmick was killed, so I came here.” “And this man who brought the incall, this Colonel-you did not know him?”
“Never saw him before, sir. He had a new royal badge, too-a black forfal head, with the mouth open and a forked tongue out, nasty-looking thing. The Sergeant searched him for papers afterward. Nothing but the warrant on the table. It was all written up like a real one but it did not have the Queen’s name. It just said ‘in the King’s name’-and King Niklas has been dead for days now! It was just some more craziness!”
“‘In the King’s name,’” repeated Imfry. And then he shot another question. “What king?”
The man stared at Imfry and then hurriedly pushed away from the table, glancing from side to side as if seeking some escape. Roane guessed his suspicions. He must think that Imfry was mad now.
“No, guardsman, I am not crazy. But there is good reason to believe that there is one near the Queen who might try to seize power in a time of trouble. If he has done so—”
The man swallowed. “Oh,” he said eagerly, “that could explain- I cannot remember any name signed. There was the thumb seal on the warrant proper enough-but no name! Maybe that was what made Sergeant Quantil think it so queer. It was a warrant telling the Major to hand over command, but no proper name signed. But, sir, where—where is the Queen?”
“In Urkermark, or should bel” Imfry said with the emphasis of one taking an oath. “You say the city is closed?”
“Every gate sealed up as tight, sir, as it was the time the Nimps got down within siege distance in the old days. It would take the biggest siege guns to force those.”
“The outer gates, yes, but there are other ways. Guardsman, how long will it take you to get a message back to your post?”