“Still, it grew. So did Empire, Terra’s, that is, till they met and clashed. Couple centuries ago, they fought. Ythri lost war and had to give up good deal of border territory. But it’d fought too stiffly for Imperium to think of annexin’ entire Domain.
“Since, relations have been … variable, let’s say. Some affrays, though never another real war; some treaties and joint undertaking, though often skulduggery on both sides; plenty of trade, individuals and organizations visitin’ back and forth. Terra’s not happy about how Domain of Ythri is growin’ in opposite direction from us, and in strength. But Merseia’s kept Imperium too busy to do much in these parts—except stamp out freedom among its own subjects.”
“Nothing like that to make a person objective about his government,” Mikkal remarked aside.
“I see,” Fraina said. “How clearly you explain…. Didn’t I hear him tell he was, m-m, from Avalon?”
“Yes,” Ivar replied. “Planet in Domain, colonized by humans and Ythrians together. Unique society. It’d be reasonable to send Avalonian to spy out Aeneas. He’d have more rapport with us, more insight, than ordinary Ythrians.”
Her eyes widened. “He’s a spy?”
“Intelligence agent, if you prefer. Not skulkin’ around burglarizin’ Navy bases or any such nonsense. Gatherin’ what bits of information he can, to become part of their picture of Terran Empire. I really can’t think what else he’d be. They must’ve landed him here while space-traffic control was broken down because of independence war. As Mikkal says, eventually he’ll leave—I’d guess when Ythrians again have consulate in Nova Roma, that can arrange to smuggle him out.”
“You don’t care, Rolf?”
“Why should I? In fact—”
Ivar finished the thought in his head. We got no Ythrian help in our struggle. I’m sure Hugh McCormac tried, and was refused. They wouldn’t risk new war. But . . . if we could get clandestine aid—arms and equipment slipped to us, interstellar transport furnished, communications nets made available—we could build strength of freedom forces till— We failed because we weren’t rightly prepared. McCormac raised standard almost on impulse. And he wasn’t tryin’ to split Empire, he wanted to rule it himself. What would Ythri gain by that? Whereas if our purpose was to break Sector Alpha Crucis loose, make it independent or even bring it under Ythri’s easygoin’ suzerainty— wouldn’t that interest them? Perhaps be worth war, especially if we got Merseian help too— He looked up at
Erannath and dreamed of wings which stormed hitherward in the cause of liberty.
An exclamation drew him back to his body. They had topped a ridge. On the farther slope, mostly buried by a rockslide, were the remnants of great walls and of columns so slim and poised that it was as if they too were flying. Time had not dimmed their nacreous luster.
“Why … Builder relic,” Ivar said. “Or do you call them Elders?”
“La-Sarzen,” Fraina told him, very low. “The High Ones.” Upon her countenance and, yes, Mikkal’s, lay awe.
“We’re off our usual route,” the man breathed. “I’d forgotten that this is where some of them lived.”
He and his sister sprang from their saddles, knelt with uplifted arms, and chanted. Afterward they rose, crossed themselves, and spat: in this parched country, a deed of sacrifice. As they rode on, they gave the ruins a wide berth, and hailed them before dropping behind the next rise.
Erannath had not descended to watch. Given his vision, he need not. He cruised through slow circles like a sign in heaven.
After a kilometer, Ivar dared ask: “Is that … back yonder … part of your religion? I wouldn’t want to be profane.”
Mikkal nodded. “I suppose you could call it sacred. Whatever the High Ones are, they’re as near godhood as makes no difference.”
That doesn’t follow, Ivar thought, keeping silence. Why is it so nearly universal belief?
“Some of their spirit must be left in what they made,” Fraina said raptly. “We need its help. And, when they come back, they’ll know we keep faith in them.”
“Will they?” Ivar couldn’t help the question.
“Yes,” Mikkal said. In him, sober quiet was twice powerful. “Quite likely during our own lifetimes, Rolf. Haven’t you heard the tale that’s abroad? Far south, where the dead men dwell, a prophet has arisen to prepare the way—”