«Finally we come to your present case. Marhal was ready to fight for the rich prize of Lhing, and the League arbitrator, underestimating the determination of Luan, awarded the whole planet to them. That was enough to swing an election so that a pro-League government came into power there. I was sent here to check on your reactions, and soon saw a serious mistake had been made. War seemed inevitable. I tried the scoundrelly procedure of fomenting sabotage and revolution. After all, that damage would have been negligible compared to the cost of even a short war.»
«The cost to Marhal,» said Voal grimly.
«Maybe. But after all, I had to think of the whole Galaxy, not Luan. Sometimes someone must suffer a little lest someone else suffer a lot more. At any rate, my scheme failed. I resorted to alliance with a dope smuggler—he ruins a very few lives, while war takes them by the millions—and to kidnapping. I threatened and bluffed until you had backed up so far that mediation was possible.
«Well, that’s all, then. The League commission is on its way. They’ll have some other fat plum to give Luan in place of Lhing—which I suppose will make trouble elsewhere for the Patrol to settle. Your government will have to go out of power after such an about-face—you’re rejoining the League, of course—but I daresay you’ll soon get back in. And you have been entrusted with a secret which could split the Galaxy wide open.»
«I’ll keep it,» said Voal. He smiled faintly. «From what I know of your methods—I’d better!» For a moment he hesitated, then: «And thanks. I was a fool. All Luan was populated by hysterical fools.» He soon grimaced. «Only I still wonder if that isn’t better than being a rogue.»
«Take your choice,» shrugged Wing Alak. «As long as the Galaxy keeps going I don’t care. That’s my job.»
TO A TAVERN WENCH
THE IMMORTAL GAME
The first trumpet sounded far and clear and brazen cold, and Rogard the Bishop stirred to wakefulness with it. Lifting his eyes, he looked through the suddenly rustling, murmuring line of soldiers, out across the broad plain of Cinnabar and the frontier, and over to the realm of LEUKAS.
Away there, across the somehow unreal red-and-black distances of the steppe, he saw sunlight flash on armor and caught the remote wild flutter of lifted banners. So it is war, he thought. So we must fight again.
Again? He pulled his mind from the frightening dimness of that word. Had they ever fought before?
On his left, Sir Ocher laughed aloud and clanged down the vizard on his gay young face. It gave him a strange, inhuman look, he was suddenly a featureless thing of shining metal and nodding plumes, and the steel echoed in his voice: «Ha, a fight! Praise God, Bishop, for I had begun to fear I would rust here forever.»
Slowly, Rogard’s mind brought forth wonder. «Were you sitting and thinking—before now?» he asked.
«Why—» Sudden puzzlement in the reckless tones: «I think I was… Was I?» Fear turning into defiance: «Who cares? I’ve got some LEUKANS to kill!» Ocher reared in his horse till the great metallic wings thundered.
On Rogard’s right, Flambard the King stood, tall in crown and robes. He lifted an arm to shade his eyes against the blazing sunlight. «They are sending DIOMES, the royal guardsman, first,» he murmured. «A good man.» The coolness of his tone was not matched by the other hand, its nervous plucking at his beard.
Rogard turned back, facing over the lines of Cinnabar to the frontier. DIOMES, the LEUKAN King’s own soldier, was running. The long spear flashed in his hand, his shield and helmet threw back the relentless light in a furious dazzle, and Rogard thought he could hear the clashing of iron. Then that noise was drowned in the trumpets and drums and yells from the ranks of Cinnabar, and he had only his eyes.
DIOMES leaped two squares before coming to a halt on the frontier. He stopped then, stamping and thrusting against the Barrier which suddenly held him, and cried challenge. A muttering rose among the cuirassed soldiers of Cinnabar, and spears lifted before the flowing banners.
King Flambard’s voice was shrill as he leaned forward and touched his own guardsman with his scepter. «Go, Carlon! Go to stop him!»
«Aye, sire.» Carlon’s stocky form bowed, and then he wheeled about and ran, holding his spear aloft, until he reached the frontier. Now he and DIOMES stood face to face snarling at each other across the Barrier, and for a sick moment Rogard wondered what those two had done, once in an evil and forgotten year, that there should be such hate between them.
«Let me go, sire!» Ocher’s voice rang eerily from the slit-eyed mask of his helmet. The winged horse stamped on the hard red ground, and the long lance swept a flashing arc. «Let me go next.»
«No, no, Sir Ocher.» It was a woman’s voice. «Not yet. There’ll be enough for you and me to do, later in this day.»
Looking beyond Flambard, the Bishop saw his Queen, Evyan the Fair, and there was something within him which stumbled and broke into fire. Very tall and lovely was the gray-eyed Queen of Cinnabar, where she stood in armor and looked out at the growing battle. Her sun-browned young face was coifed in steel, but one rebellious lock blew forth in the wind, and she brushed at it with a gauntleted hand while the other drew her sword snaking from its sheath. «Now may God strengthen our arms,» she said, and her voice was low and sweet. Rogard drew his cope tighter about him and turned his mitered head away with a sigh. But there was a bitter envy in him for Columbard, the Queen’s Bishop of Cinnabar.
Drums thumped from the LEUKAN ranks, and another soldier ran forth. Rogard sucked his breath hissingly in, for this man came till he stood on DIOMES’ right. And the newcomer’s face was sharp and pale with fear. There was no Barrier between him and Carlon.