“Should I go, too?” Gallen asked.
Ceravanne frowned. “No,” she said after a moment. “I think not. I still need a guard. And if your friends stayed put, the Bock and Rougaire should reach them soon enough. Four people traveling together in the early evening are not in great danger-especially not when Rougaire is among them.”
The giant Rougaire took a heavy robe from atop a nearby crate and put it on, then strapped his swords to his back. Gallen studied the man’s movements. He was all strength and no grace. When he was ready, the giant handed Gallen one of his swords, a weapon that seemed just a bit too long and heavy for convenient use.
“For you, sir,” Rougaire said, bowing deeply.
“I’d rather have one of your daggers,” Gallen said. The giant frowned a bit at Gallen’s choice, then took one of his daggers from its sheath at his knee and handed it to Gallen. It was large enough for Gallen to use as a short sword. Gallen just held it, for he’d left his belt with Maggie and had nowhere to put the weapon.
“Thank you, Rougaire,” the Lady Ceravanne said to the guard. “Go quickly!” The guard bowed to her, then hurried out in company with the Bock. Gallen bolted the door behind them.
Ceravanne studied Gallen, and the haunted look did not leave her eyes. She appeared to be a child of thirteen or fourteen, but she held herself with a dignity, a wisdom, far beyond her years. Her platinum hair cascaded in waves down over her shoulders, and she watched him from green eyes, paler than any eyes he’d ever seen or imagined. She wore a delicate white dress with white birds embroidered upon it, and she looked like something not quite human, like a fragile fairy bride in a dark glen. But there was the pain in her eyes, and Gallen wondered idly how many cloned bodies she had worn out.
“I’m sorry for asking the Bock to bring you stripped and alone,” she said. “I asked him to bring you alone because curious children sometimes follow the Bock, and I didn’t want them tagging along. The Bock … is very wise in his way, but he does not think on our level. He often takes the things we say too literally, and he does not comprehend the import of our struggle. He meant no harm, and I hope that no harm will come of it.”
“My friend Orick is handy in a fight,” Gallen said, trying to put her at ease, still uneasy himself. “I suspect they’ll be all right.”
“I am not worried that they will be injured or killed,” Ceravanne said. “I’m worried that they will be infected by the Inhuman.”
“Infected?”
“The Inhuman sends agents-small creatures-to burrow into their victims from the back of the neck, and then the creature infects its host with the Inhuman’s propaganda, downloading information into the victim’s brain. Those who have recently been infected will bear a scar at the base of the neck.”
Ceravanne went to a large barrel, used a match to light a single candle, then set it on the barrel. She sat down cross-legged at the base of it, and motes of dust rose up, floated in the light.
“I asked the rebellion to send someone I could trust. Can I trust you?” she asked.
Gallen stared into the child’s eyes, and his heart felt as if it would melt. He had forgotten how powerful the scent of a Tharrin woman could be, had forgotten how the pheromones she exuded could tug at his sanity. One look at her frail, perfect figure, and he wanted only to fall to his knees, pledge his fealty. And because she was Tharrin, because she was bred to rule in kindness, he could see no reason not to do so. Yet Gallen remembered the deadly rose in its glass last night, someone warning him against trusting the beautiful Tharrin? He stood aloof from her. “Of course you can trust me.”
“You are new to our world,” Ceravanne said. “I forget my manners. Is there anything you need? Food, drink?”
“No,” Gallen said.
“I suppose you have questions?”
“Your friend, the Bock-he said that you Tharrin worship him. Is this true?”
“Worship?” The question seemed to make her nervous. She shook her head and looked away a bit guiltily. “I’m afraid he does not understand all of the nuances of our language. I revere him, certainly. I respect him, seek to emulate him. He is my teacher, and I love him as a friend.…Perhaps ‘worship’ is close to the right word.” She looked at him squarely. “I do not worship him any more than you worship the Tharrin, I suspect. Do you worship the Tharrin?”
Gallen puzzled at the question. In many ways, he almost did. He found that when he was in their presence, he could not help but serve them faithfully. He admired them. He had loved the Lady Everynne. Still … “No,” Gallen said. “I do not trust them completely. I have learned that despite all appearances, we are not the same species.”
Ceravanne smiled wryly at that. “In some ways, I trust the Bock completely. He is a man of peace, who can do no harm. But it seems that I cannot trust him to fetch a Lord Protector to me, without botching the job.”
Gallen changed the subject. “Why does the Inhuman want you?”
“I’m Tharrin,” Ceravanne answered. “And therefore am born to lead. The Inhuman may want me as a leader.”
“I am surprised,” Gallen admitted. “With the dronon gone from this world, I would have thought you would be a Lord Judge, wearing a mantle.”
“No,” Ceravanne said. “The human lords in the City of Life act as judges on this world, not me. I act as a counselor to them only-should they seek my counsel. I have not held much power for the past several centuries. Still, I am the last of the Tharrin here, and so the Inhuman seeks to control me.
“Beyond that, what I can tell you about the Inhuman is mostly guesses.
“We began to hear rumors of it three years ago. At first it was only one or two odd reports, borne from the interior of Babel by nonhumans who came with wild tales. The lands there are very rugged and backward, and we imagined that it was only some new religion. But when our leaders sought to send scouts to the area, the dronon opposed us. Among the Rebellion, there was some talk of sending our own scouts in secret, but we erred-we ignored the rumors for the moment, and concentrated instead on fighting the dronon.
“So the Inhuman seemed to grow slowly, until last year. Among the peoples of Babel, there is a race called the Tekkar, a brilliant people, engineered to live on a brutal world so hot that men can only safely move about at night. They have purple eyes that see in the dark, and they are themselves stealthy and dark. Within weeks, all the tribes of Tekkar were converted, and then they began to attack their neighbors by night, converting those they could, slaying those who opposed them.”
Gallen said slowly, “The Bock showed me some of the peoples who live here, and he warned that some were more powerful, more vicious than humans. Yet I wonder: the Tharrin are peaceful people-why would you create such beings?”
“Once again, you overestimate my influence,” Ceravanne said. “The human lords in the City of Life choose which races to create, which attributes are needed for those who will inhabit other worlds. Some of the beings they’ve created were designed before the Tharrin were born. Others I see as abominations that should never have been formed. Still, I have long sought to maintain peace between our various races.”
“You were telling me about the Inhuman?” Gallen said.
“Yes. It was about a year ago that the Inhuman sent its first scouts to the City of Life, where I had been in hiding from the dronon for many years. The agents of the Inhuman tried to abduct me, but I resisted to the death, and my faithful followers downloaded my memories into a new clone.
“Then sailing ships began arriving from Babel, ships filled with refugees, and they warned us of the darkness growing in the land of Moree. Only then did we begin to recognize the true size of the danger, but we could not mount an attack against the Inhuman. The dronon still ruled here, and they refused our pleas. At first, we thought they were only refusing to take sides in a local squabble, so we sent out scouts then, in secret. Even I went with that first scouting party, but most of our people were killed, and those who survived returned as Inhuman converts who betrayed the Rebellion by pointing out our operatives. Some small bands of our people went to war secretly then, but they were no match for the Inhuman.