Queen of Springtime (52 page)

Across her mind now, like a red line of fire, came the recollection of the horrors she had seen this morning when she had stared into the star of grass, the things that had sent her fleeing in chaos to her father for solace. The claws, the clicking beaks, the mocking alien eyes. She heard the hissing laughter, the whispers of seduction. And she knew now what that terrible vision had been telling her.

Once more she summoned the image of the disruption of the Nest by the triumphant armies of the People, the ruination of Nest-plenty, the savaging of Nest-truth, the thwarting of Egg-plan, the terrible destruction even of the Queen of Queens. She confronted it all, even that, bringing it to vivid life in her thoughts.

And to her astonishment, none of it mattered to her at all. She was unable to find that fiery indignation which the same images had kindled in her just a moment before. She was free. Today she had finished the task of breaking the spell at last.

What is it to me, if the Nest is destroyed. If the Five have willed our path and the path of the hjjks to collide, why, then it must happen, and so be it. So be it. And if the collision comes, my loyalty must be with my own.

Everything was clear to her now.

The thing she must mourn, if the war did come, was not the fate of the insect-folk whose advocate she had been so long, but rather the loss of the young men and women of the People—her People—who would perish in the campaign, dead long before their time, a tragic pointless waste. There was the real horror: the thought of their blood staining the bleak wastelands of the north for leagues in every direction.

“Nialli?”

Hresh’s voice, cutting through her thoughts like a voice from another world.

She made no response. Her mind churned with unaskable questions and inconceivable answers.

Who are these hjjks whom I have claimed to love?

Why, they are the creatures who stole me from my mother and father, and took me to a strange place, and transformed me into that which I was never meant to be.

Why did I want to defend them against my own kind?

Because they magicked my soul, and won me to their cause.

And Kundalimon, whom you loved? What about him?

I still love him. But they had done to him what they did to me, so that they could use him; and they would have used me through him, if he had lived.

“Nialli? Nialli?” Hresh again, calling her from the far side of the sky.

As though in trance she said, “Yes, father?”

“What’s happening to you, Nialli?”

She opened her eyes. “An awakening,” she said. “From a very long dream.”

The caviandis were close by her sides, warm and soft, nuzzling her. Gently she stroked them.

Hresh said, “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m fine.” She smiled. “Don’t be sad, father. The gods are still watching over us. They’re still guiding us.” Taking his hand in hers, she said, “I think I’ll go now, if that’s all right with you. I want to talk to Thu-Kimnibol.”

The warriors of the Sword of Dawinno were everywhere on the stadium field, running, jumping hurdles, dueling with blunt wooden swords. Thu-Kimnibol knew he had little time left to toughen them up. Any day now, the army that Salaman had sent into hjjk territory to avenge the death of his Acknowledgers would be set upon by the defenders of the Nest. Then the period of feinting would be at an end and the war would begin in earnest. Long before news came south of the destruction of Salaman’s expeditionary force, Thu-Kimnibol knew, his own army would have to begin marching north to rendezvous with the king at Yissou.

“Jump higher, you sleepy bastard!” That was Maju Samlor. Most of Thu-Kimnibol’s drillmasters were city guardsmen. “You run like pregnant women!” came another guardsman’s voice from the far side of the stadium. “Put some wind into it!” And in another corner a huge Beng decked out in an immense seven-horned helmet laughed so loudly he could be heard clear across the field, and sent three men whirling with one great sweep of his quarterstaff.

Thu-Kimnibol rose and applauded. The warriors needed encouragement. It was just as Esperasagiot had said of his xlendis, long ago when they were first setting out for Yissou: they were city-bred, with no experience of the long haul. Even the strongest of them needed to be hardened for the battle ahead.

There was irony in that. Thu-Kimnibol remembered his father telling him that in the long sleepy days of the cocoon the warriors had had machines to work out on, to keep their muscles from rusting. All day long they grunted and toiled over devices with names like the Wheel of Dawinno, the Loom of Emakkis, the Five Gods: and yet the thousands of years of cocoon life went by and there was never an enemy to face, sealed away in the mountainside as they were. Now the People lived out in the open, where enemies abounded everywhere. But even so city life was too comfortable. It had led them to grow soft.

“Jump!” Maju Samlor called again. “Higher! Stretch those legs! Keep your sensing-organ out of the way, you idiot!”

Thu-Kimnibol laughed. Then he looked up and saw Chevkija Aim approaching him down the rows of seats. The guard-captain saluted and said, “Dumanka’s here, lordship. And Esperasagiot and his brother.”

“Good. Bring them to me.”

The three men emerged from the passageway under the stands, Dumanka first, then the two Bengs. They offered gestures of respect. Esperasagiot said, “You know my brother, prince? A good man with a xlendi, he is. His name’s Thihaliminion.”

Thu-Kimnibol looked him over. Thihaliminion was a hair taller than Esperasagiot, with pure Beng fur of the brightest gold. He seemed two or three years younger than his brother. “High praise, if Esperasagiot thinks you know how to handle xlendis. This is the first time I’ve ever heard him admit that he isn’t the only man in the world who understands those beasts.”

“Prince!” Esperasagiot cried.

Thihaliminion inclined his head. “What I know, I know from him. He has been my teacher in xlendis. Just as Dumanka here has been my teacher in obedience to the gods.”

“Acknowledgers, are you? All three?”

“All three, prince,” Dumanka said. The quartermaster slapped his hands together gleefully. “And what peace and joy it is, the faith we hold! I’ll show you our little book, sir. Which I got in Yissou, from a certain meat-cutter, Zechtior Lukin by name. When you read it you’ll attain understanding of the great truth of the world, which is that all is as it is meant to be, that there’s no use railing against fortune, because it’s the gods who send us our fortune, and what point is there—”

“Enough, good friend,” said Thu-Kimnibol, holding up a hand. “Convert me another time. We have an army to train just now. For which you’ll be very useful.”

“Whatever your lordship asks,” said Dumanka.

“I heard something of your Zechtior Lukin when we were in Yissou,” Thu-Kimnibol said. “Or of his teachings, at any rate. It was Salaman the king who told me. Death isn’t anything to lament or regret, that’s the idea. For it’s part of the divine plan of the gods. And so we have to accept it unquestioningly, no matter what form it comes to us in. Do I have it right?”

“In a nutshell, you do,” said Esperasagiot.

“Good. Good. How many are there in Dawinno now who follow these Acknowledger teachings now, would you say?”

“Some two hundred, prince, and more of us all the time.” The wagonmaster glanced over his shoulder. “I see some of our people on this field right now.”

“And you three are the chief teachers?”

“I was the one that learned the creed in Yissou,” Dumanka said, “and taught it to Esperasagiot and Thihaliminion. They’ve been spreading it as fast as they can.”

“Spread it even faster. I’ll be counting on you. I want all my men to be Acknowledgers by the time we march north. I want soldiers about me who have no fear of dying.”

He dismissed them.

The dull clangor of the wooden training-swords resounded like merry music on the drill-field. A bright vision sprang into Thu-Kimnibol’s mind: the Nest ablaze, hjjks strewn dying on the ground by the thousands, their beaks clacking impotently, the Queen writhing in her death-throes—

“Sir?” Chevkija Aim again. “Nialli Apuilana’s here to see you.”

“Nialli? Why in the name of all the gods would she—” He grinned. “Ah. Yes. To lecture me about the evils of the war, I suppose. Tell her to come some other time, Chevkija Aim. Next week. Next year.”

“Very good, lordship.”

But Nialli Apuilana had come up right behind him. Chevkija Aim’s golden fur flared in irritation.

“The Lord Prince Thu-Kimnibol is busy now with—”

“He’ll see me.”

“He instructs me to tell you—”

“And
I
instruct you to tell him that his kinswoman the chieftain’s daughter has urgent business with him.”

“Lady, it’s impossible for you to—”

This squabble could go on all day. “It’s all right, Chevkija Aim,” Thu-Kimnibol said. “I’ll speak with her.”

“Thank you, kinsman,” Nialli Apuilana said, not particularly graciously.

It was so long since Thu-Kimnibol had seen her—not since his departure for Yissou—that she seemed almost a stranger to him. He was astonished by how much she had changed: not so much in the way she looked as in the aura, the vibration, that surrounded her. She seemed stronger, deeper, purged of the last of her girlishness. She radiated strength and passion, and a new maturity. Her soul burned with an unmistakable luminous glow. And there was a formidable regality about her now. It enfolded her like a glittering mantle. It gave her a fiery beauty. He had never seen that in her before. It amazed him now. He felt as though he were seeing her for the first time.

They confronted each other in silence for a long moment.

He said finally, “Well, Nialli? If you’re here to do battle with me, let’s get on with it. These are busy days for me.”

“You think I’m your enemy?”

“I know you are.”

“Why is that?”

He laughed. “How could you be anything other? We have troops here, preparing for war. The enemy we’ll march against is the Nest. Surely you know that. And you’re the one who stood up in the Presidium and told us all how wonderful and wise and noble the hjjks are.”

“That was a long time ago, kinsman.”

“You said that making war on them was unthinkable, because they’re such great civilized beings.”

“Yes. I said that. And in some ways it’s true.”

“In
some
ways?”

“Some, yes. Not all. I put it all too simply that day at the Presidium. I was very young then.”

“Ah. Ah, yes, of course.”

“Don’t smile at me in that patronizing way, Thu-Kimnibol. You make me feel like a child.”

“I don’t mean to do that. You hardly seem like a child to me, believe me. But I don’t have to be as wise as Hresh to realize that you’ve come here today—at the urging, I suspect, of Puit Kjai and Simthala Honginda and other such peaceloving types—to denounce me and the war that I’m about to launch against your beloved hjjks. All right. Denounce me, then. And then let me get on with what I have to do.”

Her eyes sparkled defiantly. “You don’t understand me at all, do you, Thu-Kimnibol? I’ve come to you today to offer my support and help.”

“Your
what
?”

“I want to join you. I want to go north with you.”

“To spy on us for the Queen?”

She shot him a blazing look, and he could see her choking back some hot angry retort. Then she said, in a frosty tone, “You don’t know a thing about the beings you’re going out there to fight. I’ve experienced them at the closest possible range. I can guide you. I can explain things to you as you approach the Nest. I can help you ward off dangers you can’t even begin to imagine.”

“You give me very little credit if you think I’m such a fool, Nialli.”

“And you give me very little, if you think I’d act as traitor to my own blood.”

“Do I have any reason to think you’d be anything else?”

Her gaze was icy. Her nostrils flared and her fur rose, and he saw her biting down on her lower lip.

Then, to his complete amazement, she extended her sensing-organ toward him.

In a deadly calm voice she said, “If you doubt my loyalty, Thu-Kimnibol, I invite you to twine with me here and now. And then you can decide for yourself whether I’m a traitor or not.”

This was strange country out here, five days’ journey to the north of Dawinno and then some days more inland. Hresh had never seen it before, and he doubted that many others had, either. There were no farming settlements on this side of the interior hills, and the main road from Dawinno to Yissou passed well to the west.

It was broken land, cut by canyons and gullies. Dry cool winds blew from the center of the continent. Earthquakes had shattered this region many times, and the passage of ancient glaciers had ground it to ruin again and again, so that the bones of the world lay exposed here, great dark stripes cutting through the soft reddish rock of the hillsides.

A single xlendi drew his wagon. It might have been wiser to take two; but he knew so little about handling xlendis that he had decided not to risk the difficulties he’d encounter if the pair turned out to be ill-matched. He let the xlendi amble at its own pace, resting when it felt like it.

He had taken just a little with him in the way of provisions, enough to see him through the first few days. After that he would depend on the countryside for whatever he needed.

Nor had he brought anything from the House of Knowledge, any of his books or charts or ancient artifacts. Those things no longer mattered. He wanted to leave everything behind: everything. This was to be the final adventure of his life, this pilgrimage. Best not to be impeded by baggage out of the past.

With one exception: the Barak Dayir, in its little velvet pouch, tied about his waist beneath his sash. At the very last, he hadn’t been willing to abandon that.

Day after day he rode calmly onward, allowing his path to choose itself. Constantly he scanned the horizon, hoping to catch sight of roving parties of hjjks.

Where are you, children of the Queen? Here is Hresh-full-of-questions, come to talk with you!