He signaled by hand wave and the Sergeant edged around Roane, touching her shoulder lightly as he went.
“Pass that back, m’lady.”
She did, the signal halting the line of men.
Now, handing his lantern to Mattine, who held both lights closer to the wall, the Colonel felt across the wooden surface. His shoulders hunched as if he were exerting pressure on some stubborn fastening. Then a portion of the paneling swung open to make a door.
When it came Roane’s turn to step through she found herself in a room as richly furnished as had been that dining hall of her dream. The same kind of massive, heavily carved furniture stood about; the same colorful, if time-faded, tapestries ringed the walls.
She stepped to one side as the men following her fanned out. Imfry was at another door of the room, the Sergeant flanking him, both with those guns in their hands. The Colonel edged open that barrier, looked beyond, and then waved them on.
So they came into the heart of Urkermark High Keep. And it was through its rooms Imfry led them. Twice Roane waited with a beating heart, listening to the sound of shots loud in these echoing rooms. And once she hurried by a body lying face down, from under which runneled a thin red stream.
But there was no unified resistance to their passage and they went swiftly. Here and there small squads of the company broke off under low-voiced orders. So that when they reached another door, before which the Colonel again paused, there were only ten of them, counting Roane, left.
Imfry tried the latch carefully before he gave a quick, sharp pull, at the same time moving to face whoever might be within, gun ready.
“Drop it!”
There was a queer sound like broken laughter. The Colonel was already inside, the rest crowding behind him, so Roane was the last to enter. She did not find a battle about to begin, but rather a strange scene, as if the actors had been frozen in place by their entrance.
On a couch lay Ludorica, her eyes closed, her dress disordered, even torn, with draggled trails of black lace hanging from the bodice. Her hair was loose, matted in tangles.
Beyond her was a chair in which sat Shambry. He held both hands breast-high before him, and on them rested a glowing ball of rippling light. His mouth was slackly open, a thread of spittle drooling from one corner. But as he looked at Imfry his lips wrinkled in a hideous grin.
“Quiet, sir, the Queen sleeps. She sleeps, she dreams, dreams of us, and if she wakes, why, we shall all cease to be. Because we are her dream creatures. Only I, Shambry, can keep her dreaming so, and us alive!”
The men moved uneasily, edged a little away. Only Imfry continued to front the Soothspeaker. Then he went into action before Shambry could dodge, plucked the ball from the other’s hold.
With a cry of pure terror, Shambry flung himself at Imfry, his crooked fingers reaching for the ball, or perhaps the Colonel’s throat. But Wuldon interposed, hurling the man, now mouthing curses, back into his chair with such force that it went over, spilling Shambry to the floor.
Roane was already at the Princess’s side. Ludorica’s face was very pale, worn, but it had lost that shadow of evil the crown had laid upon it. Her skin was hot and dry as if she burned with fever, her lips cracked and peeling. But she still lived, and her breathing was the even rise and fall of one who slept.
Wuldon had his hands hooked in the collar of the Soothspeaker’s black cloak, was pulling the groveling Shambry to his feet. He shook the man, who now hung limply in his grasp, and looked to Imfry.
“He is really over the edge, sir. You will not get any sense out of him now. What has he done to the Queen?”
Imfry moved to the couch, took one of Ludorica’s hands between his.
“She is under mind-globe, I think. If so, there is one drastic remedy for that.” He turned and caught up the ball, which had spun away to the floor. Raising it high, he deliberately smashed it. Shambry gave a wild beast’s cry, fought with such a frenzy that Wuldon could not hold him alone. Two of the men came to his aid.
Ludorica’s head turned on the pillow. Then her eyes opened. But there was no recognition in them.
“See to her,” Imfry told Roane. “There is one lacking from this company who must be found.”
He strode across the chamber to the second door, setting his shoulder to burst it open by force. Beyond, Roane saw part of a pillared hall, most of which swept beyond her range of vision. But what the door framed was undoubtedly a throne on a dais, yet set low enough for her to see that it was occupied. He who sat there wore a crown which was a glitter of icy splendor. And he did not turn his head to view Imfry’s abrupt entrance.
Neither was he alone. But those who companied him were not standing to attention in their king’s presence, but rather sprawled on the floor before him, so that when the Colonel, gun still at ready, went to confront the usurper, he had to step over and around their bodies.
“Reddick!”
There was no sign that the Duke either heard or saw Imfry. He sat so still he might have been frozen by the ice of the Crown. The Colonel studied him, and then went swiftly up to the throne and laid a hand on his enemy’s shoulder.
He started back with a quickly suppressed cry, for his touch broke the dream in the form of a man. There was a chime of sound; the Crown shattered, fell in a rain of splinters about the head and shoulders of him who wore it. Then Reddick shriveled, blackened, turned into something Roane could not bear to look upon. She cried out and hid her face in her hands.
Lamplight showed the richness of the heavily embroidered cover on the daised bed. Though that radiance was far less than what Roane had been used to, it was enough to fully illumine Ludorica’s face. They had propped her up on a backing of pillows and Roane fed her bite by bite, giving her many sips of watered wine.
The Queen did not lift her hands, seemed unable to help herself. She smiled now and then, once murmured Imfry’s name when he came to look upon her. And in that much they were assured she had some measure of consciousness. Only she was very weak.
Roane tried with caution two of the remedies from her kit. But neither seemed to give any strengthening to this slender girl who was now a helpless child in her care.
Perhaps they would never know what had happened in the High Keep before their coming. It could be that Reddick had already taken the Ice Crown to wear before that fateful moment when the distant controls had blazed into nothingness. That could well explain his gruesome death on the throne, the ending of
39 L those committed to his rule—for all in that chamber were dead. Shambry was insane, retreating into a catatonic state they could not break.
Roane watched the Queen. She was now afraid that Ludorica might be beyond the aid of untrained help, though they could cling to the hope that she would gradually awaken fully. But Roane had told Imfry the truth, that it would be well to seek the aid they needed elsewhere. And his messengers had already ridden to ask it.
Meanwhile the keep was coming to life. That town which had been in the iron grip of Reddick’s traitors was freed. Some of the lawful councilors had been killed, one or two had disappeared, but four had been found, brought back. The servants were returning, other help had been recruited from the city, and the guards were all Imfry’s men and so trustworthy. Roane knew this was in progress, but her own field of battle remained this bedroom.
She had two of the Princess’s maids with her. They had been discovered locked in their chambers and freed by Imfry’s searchers. They had at first been jealous of Roane, but then were worried enough about the state of their mistress to welcome the stranger’s aid. At night Roane herself rested on a divan at the other end of the room, ready for any summons.
Imfry had not returned since she had begged him to send a messenger to contact her own people. If the LB was still there, and the off-worlders were willing, now that the installation was gone and Clio was no longer slave to the past, they could have better help than any she thought native to Clio. But it could be they were too late in seeking it.